Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

"Speak, I implore you, speak," gasped forth Jeanie Irving, "is he killed? Is he wounded?"

"He is a prisoner!" was the sad reply.

"God be praised it is no worse!" fervently ejaculated the weeping girl; "I shall yet save him, or perish in the attempt."

"And you, Thomas, what of yourself?" demanded Mrs. Telford, observing the ghastly expression of her son's face, while traces of blood were yet apparent on his coat and hands. The young man, without a reply, uncovered his head, and displayed, in so doing, a frightful gash on his forehead. "My son, my son!" groaned forth the afflicted mother, "Oh! this is hard—hard to bear. I thought I had taught myself to say with resignation, 'the Lord's will be done;' but, oh my rebellious heart!"

"'I said I should bring it back to you, mother, if life were spared me to perform my promise, and I have done it," proudly exclaimed her son. "I have brought it in safety; but, alas! from a dishonoured field. Treachery has lost us the day, and ruined our cause for ever. But Willie and I did our duty. While a ray of hope still animated the bosoms of our leaders, we would not quit the field. Willie was mad with rage. He fought like a lion. Every soldier he encountered fell beneath his sword. My care was the banner. Three dragoons attacked me. Encumbered with the standard, I called upon Willie for assistance. He came hewing down all in his way. A musket was upraised to shoot him. I struck it down, and, in so doing, received this wound on my forehead from a cowardly ruffian, who took advantage of my being engaged with another, to inflict the dastardly blow. I fell with the banner beneath me. Then the dragoons, aided by two others, rushed upon Willie, and bore him away. They would have killed him, but for the Duke of Monmouth, who commanded them to spare his life. I struggled to regain my feet; but fainted away through loss of blood. On recovering my senses, I observed a dragoon stealing up to deprive me of my standard; but one blow from the butt-end of my musket despatched him, and, grasping my banner in my hand, I made another effort to rise, and succeeded. Captain Paton advanced. 'My poor fellow,' he said, 'you are sadly wounded; get off the field as swiftly as possible;' so saying, he took some herbs from his pocket, and applying them to the wound, staunched the blood; then, taking me by the arm, he moved onwards a few paces by my side, as though to protect me from further injury—the road in this direction being clear of the Royalists, who were murdering my comrades right and left at the other end of the field. I thanked the noble Captain—whose eyes gleamed with pleasure on observing the uncaptured standard—and proceeded on my way in safety. Having ascended an eminence, I turned to look on the bloody plain. There stood Captain Paton, as I had left him, leaning on his sword, and gazing on the fearful scene around him, apparently overwhelmed with grief. General Hamilton, with a party of officers, was advancing towards him. I looked again. They were slowly quitting the field. And I continued my solitary flight."

Mrs. Telford, at the close of her son's narrative, threw her arms around his neck, and wept aloud. "My poor Thomas," she exclaimed, "grateful should I be to the Lord, who hath spared you to return this day to your home; but, oh! when I think on my noble Willie a captive in the hands of these cruel, blood-thirsty men, my heart feels like to burst with its load of sorrow; and, yet, what can I do to save him?"

"Mother," said Jeanie Irving, "for such you have been to me, do not despair. A voice whispers in my heart that Willie will soon be free—that he will yet live to bless and comfort us all. Do not give way to grief, but trust in God, who, I feel assured, will grant the wishes of our hearts in this matter."

"The widow—for such Mrs. Telford was—soothed and comforted by the earnest assurances of the kind-hearted and hopeful maiden, embraced her warmly, and blessed her for her dutiful resignation to the will of Providence. But a high and noble purpose had filled the loving heart of the simple Scottish girl; and it was the determination to free her lover that caused her eye to sparkle, and her cheek to burn, with the sweet anticipations of hope, as she dwelt on the triumph of obtaining her lover's pardon, even should she kneel at the feet of the Duke of Monmouth to obtain it. Accordingly, at an early hour on the following morning, when Mrs. Telford and her son were locked in the arms of slumber, Jeanie Irving, acting on a previously adopted resolution, stole gently from her couch and dressed herself hastily; then, kissing Mrs. Telford silently on the forehead, she knelt down and prayed fervently for guidance and protection during her absence; and, snatching a small bundle of necessaries prepared over-night for her journey, and placing a letter—informing Mrs. Telford of the step she was about to take—on the table, she noiselessly opened the door, stood for one moment, while her lips moved as if she was engaged in mental prayer, shut it slowly, and departed. Having been informed by Thomas Telford that the prisoners were to be taken to Edinburgh, thither Jeanie determined to proceed; but on arriving at Linlithgow, she heard no tidings of their having passed that way. Fearful lest some change had been made regarding their destination, Jeanie Irving stood irresolute, not knowing what to do, but, on second thoughts, she proceeded to the house of her aunt, a sister of her mother, who resided in Linlithgow, there to await their coming, lest something might have occurred to delay their progress. Mrs. Johnstone—which was the name of her aunt—received her niece very kindly; but on her expressing her surprise at seeing her enter so unexpectedly, the long-sustained fortitude of Jeanie Irving gave way, and she burst into a passionate flood of tears. Amazed and distressed at the sight of her niece's grief, Mrs. Johnstone soothed and comforted her to the best of her ability, and was rewarded for her kind sympathy by the recital of Jeanie's hopes, fears, and intentions respecting her lover's escape, which she confided to the willing ears of her aunt, when her sorrow allowed her the power of utterance.

"Oh, my dear lassie!" said Mrs. Johnstone, at the close of her niece's narration, "you do not know the difficulty of the course you mean to pursue; you never can succeed. Willie Telford will be so closely guarded that you will not get near him; do not go on, but stay with me at least until we hear something regarding the destination of the unfortunate men."

At this moment a distant murmur of voices was heard, mingled with the trampling of many feet. Nearer came the sounds; louder swelled the tumult, till none could mistake its meaning. Poor Jeanie turned as pale as death; her heart told her the prisoners were approaching. Grasping her aunt by the arm, she staggered towards the window, and what a dismal sight greeted her eager eyes! Onwards came the dragoons—their plumes waving—their horses prancing. Next advanced a body of men, to the number of about five hundred, foot-sore and weary; wounded, and prisoners. Jeanie Irving groaned in agony. The quick glance of affection soon descried the stately form of William Telford. Amidst the motley crowd, he walked erect and proudly, as though he were marching onwards to victory—not to a prison—perchance to death.