Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

"Surely," continued the widow, regardless of the interruption, "you will feel for me, and grant my prayer. Kill not the prisoner. I have grown old and gray with affliction, and my time on earth may not be long; but my daughter is young in years, and her happiness is bound up in the life of this young man. O spare her the fearful trial of losing him—bring not down her youthful hairs with sorrow to the grave. Pardon him, I beseech you!"

Claverhouse sternly answered "No!" and impatiently waved his hand for them to be gone.

"Lucy, Lucy!" cried William Crosbie, "let not your mother kneel to these cold-blooded wretches! Do not debase yourself by imploring mercy from creatures who know it not. I can face death like a man. I do not fear it. Farewell, Lucy, we shall, I trust, meet in another and a better world where none can part us." Then bidding the soldiers do their worst, the brave youth uncovered his head, and stood prepared to receive the fatal fire. These last words, uttered in a louder tone, reached the ears of a young officer who stood at some little distance from his companions, as though unwilling to witness the bloody tragedy about to be enacted. He started on hearing the familiar voice; and coming hastily forward, gazed earnestly on the prisoner as he stood bold and erect before the dragoons. A flush passed over the officer's face, and advancing to the spot where Claverhouse stood conversing with Sir Robert Grierson, he requested to speak a few words with him in private. Claverhouse at once complied with the request; and withdrawing his horse a little apart from the others, a long and earnest conversation ensued. The conference seemed to terminate unfavourably, for a darker frown sat upon Claverhouse's brow, and his voice sounded harsh and cruel as he uttered these last words aloud—"I am sorry to refuse your request; but his life is forfeited by the laws of this land, and my conscience would for ever upbraid me should I fail in my duty to my king and my country." The red blood mantled on the cheeks of the supplicant; and he seemed about to make an angry reply, but instantly checking the impulse, he bowed his head, and then added carelessly, "As you please, Colonel; but since the poor fellow must suffer, have I your permission to exchange a few words with him ere he dies? I should like to tell him I have done what I could to procure his pardon, as I promised faithfully to save him."

"Most certainly!" said Claverhouse with a courtly smile, apparently well satisfied to get off with so small a concession. "Soldiers, down muskets! Lieutenant Musgrave wishes to speak with the prisoner."

At mention of the name, Lucy, who had been weeping passionately on her mother's shoulder, raised her head, a ray of hope animated her countenance, and she watched the young officer's movements in breathless anxiety—William Crosbie also looked disturbed and anxious. With a swaggering gait and careless mien, young Musgrave approached the prisoner, and taking him by the arm, led him some little distance apart, when he addressed him as follows:—"I have vainly endeavoured to procure your pardon. I vowed to save you; and my oath must be kept. Therefore listen to me. Accept this purse; you may stand in need of money, and when I say aloud farewell! dart off as quickly as you can in the direction of Crichup Linn. The darkness will favour your escape, and I will, if necessary, prevent the soldiers from following, until you are beyond their reach. Fear not for Lucy! I will protect her as though she were mine own sister. God bless you—farewell!" Scarcely had the word escaped Lieutenant Musgrave's lips, ere William Crosbie was speeding along the plain towards Crichup Linn; and so thoroughly was the whole party overwhelmed with astonishment at this unlooked-for proceeding on the part of the prisoner, that ere the soldiers could mount their horses and set off in pursuit, he was already lost in the gloom. With a cry of thankfulness Lucy fell down on her knees; but not to man she knelt. She was breathing a prayer of gratitude to Heaven for her lover's safety.

"Traitor!" shouted Claverhouse, his eyes sparkling with fury, "how dare you do this? By heavens! you shall answer for it, and that presently."

"When and where you please," said Lieutenant Musgrave haughtily; "you have yourself to blame for what I have done. I begged the young man's life. I told you this good woman and her daughter had sheltered me when wounded, and that William Crosbie had prevented my blood being shed by his companions. In return, I vowed I would protect him if ever he fell into your hands. You refused to listen to my petition. It was the first request I had ever made, and I told you it should be the last; but you scorned my entreaties, and now you have reaped the fruits of your cruel refusal. Disgusted by your cold-blooded murders,——"

"Ha! this insolence to your commanding officer? Consider yourself under arrest! Captain Lennox, relieve Lieutenant Musgrave of his sword."

"Never!" said young Musgrave; "here I resign my commission, and for ever abandon a cause characterised only by cruelty and oppression."

With these words he drew his sword from its sheath, and breaking it across his knee, threw the pieces on the ground. Then taking Mrs. Armstrong by the hand, he led her and Lucy from the spot. Claverhouse remained motionless with rage on beholding himself deprived of his revenge; while Sir Robert Grierson exclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders—"We are well rid of the fellow. He has been too long in the society of these psalm-singing rascals not to have imbibed some of their notions. Let him go. He is not fit for the society of loyal-hearted subjects like ourselves; his place is the conventicle; there he will have whining and praying enough." Unwilling to exhibit any further annoyance before his soldiers, Ciaverhouse joined in the laugh occasioned by this speech of Sir Robert's, and after issuing a command to one of his men to follow in the direction of the dragoons and ascertain whether they had discovered any traces of the fugitive, he set out on his return to Dumfries. Favoured by the darkness which now enveloped the earth like a mantle, William Crosbie succeeded in baffling the dragoons. More than once their bullets whistled close past his ears, and their voices sounded ominously near, still he held on his way; and at length, when nearly exhausted, he gained the entrance to Crichup Linn. With a shout of triumph, which sounded in the ears of his pursuers like the yell of a demon, William Crosbie darted into its friendly shades; and, as he sped along its narrow path, he heard with unmingled pleasure the voices of the dragoons—who, unwilling to encounter the evil spirits said to infest the linn, had turned back from the pursuit—grow faint in the distance. The first act of the grateful Covenanter, on reaching a place of safety, was to fall on his knees and return thanks to God for his deliverance. This done, he proceeded, so far as the increasing darkness would permit, to examine the nature of the place he had chosen as a refuge against his enemies. For never before had he dared to venture within the haunted precincts of Crichup Linn.