Sketches of the Covenanters

by J. C. McFeeters

XLV.

SCOTLAND'S MAIDEN MARTYR.—A.D. 1685.

King Charles II. died February 6, 1685. Few tears were shed, many hearts were glad, at his departure. He was called the "Merry Monarch," in allusion to his frivolous spirit and gross dissipation. "Wherever you see his portrait, you may fancy him in his court at Whitehall, surrounded by some of the worst vagabonds in the kingdom, drinking, gambling, indulging in vicious conversation, and committing every kind of profligate excess."

Charles left behind him a gory path. Pools of blood, precious blood, the blood of the saints, marked it all the way through the twenty-five years of his reign. Where did that horrible path lead? We shudder at the answer; we draw a veil over the scene; we are careful not to speak our thoughts. But the strong-hearted martyrs followed the vision to the end. "Would you know what the devil is doing in hell?" exclaimed John Semple, one of the Covenanted ministers. "He is going with a long rod in his hand, crying, Make way, make room, for the king is coming; and the other persecutors are posting hither." How like the scathing irony of Isaiah, in describing the death of the king of Babylon! "Hell from beneath is moved for thee, to meet thee at thy coming." An ovation in the lower world! What horrid mockery there awaits the chieftains of crime!

A curious coincidence occurred at this time. Alexander Peden, on a certain night, was conducting family worship. He was hundreds of miles distant from the king. While reading from the Bible, he suddenly stopped, and exclaimed, "What's this I hear?" He uttered the strange words three times. Then after a brief pause, he clapped his hands and said, "I hear a dead shot at the throne of Britain. Let him go; he has been a black sight to these lands, especially to poor Scotland. We're well quit of him." That same night the king fell in a fit of apoplexy, or as some say, by a dose of poison, and died within five days. His brother, the Duke of York, succeeded him on the throne.

James VII, the new king, inherited Charles' work of slaughter, and continued it with revolting savagery. He, too, was infatuated with the thought of being supreme over the Church, and became infuriated with the purpose of overthrowing Presbyterianism, and suppressing the Covenanters, now called "The Cameronians." Had he paused to consider, surely he would have hesitated to follow the man, who had gone to meet his Judge, to answer for the blood that was crying against him for vengeance. We tremble at the thought of the naked soul facing the accusations of the slain, and receiving righteous retribution for its cruel deeds. How great the infatuation of the successor, who determined to follow the same path!

Among those who suffered under king James, the family of Gilbert Wilson is worthy of special notice. Neither Gilbert, nor his wife, had espoused the Covenanters' cause; but they had three children who claimed the enviable distinction; Margaret, aged eighteen years, Thomas, sixteen, and Agnes, thirteen. These children had been deeply moved by the stories of bloodshed, that were then recited, night by night at many a fireside. Their sympathy with the persecuted was aroused unwittingly, and they absorbed the principles of the Covenant; somehow, and it could not be explained, they became Covenanters, and that of the noblest type. Their parents were shocked, for their property, and freedom, and even their lives were involved. The children were required to abandon the Covenant, or quit their home. They chose the latter, sad and terrible as it was. These young hearts had grasped one of the highest and hardest truths in the religion of Jesus Christ—"He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me."

[!--IMG--] Choosing Death Rather Than Life Margaret McLaughlin was a widow, 63 years of age; Margaret Wilson a girl of 18. False accusations were preferred against them, but the real ground of their death was their faith in Jesus Christ and piety before God. They were offered life, if they would renounce the Covenant. They chose death rather than forfeit God's favor, by breaking Covenant. Several costly and beautiful monuments have been erected in Scotland to their honor. The strand where they died is still marked by stakes, which are replaced from time to time. The place is near Wigtown, in the south of Scotland.

One day they walked slowly and sadly away from their beloved parents, and their pleasant home. From a distance they cast a farewell glance upon the scenes of their childhood, then quickened their pace to reach the solitudes and escape the soldiers. The dragoons came to the house, but missed their prey. They were very angry, and enjoined the parents, under a heavy penalty, to refuse their children food and shelter; yea, all human kindness. The children pursued their way, not knowing whither they were going. The desolate moors, the dreary mountains, the damp caves, the chilly moss-hags were before them, but their resting-place this night must be determined by the setting of the sun. We have not been told where they wrapped themselves in their plaids for sleep, but it was likely on the ground. They sadly missed the cozy bed their mother used to make. Where they had to stop was so shelterless, silent, chilly, and lonely. They were weary, hungry, defenceless, trembling like nestlings cast violently out of the nest. Margaret the oldest was a mother to the others. She loved her Bible. It contained God's many promises, one especially precious on a night like this: "Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." With such assuring words, they fell asleep in each other's arms, their heads resting on the bosom of Christ's everlasting love. The sun arose, and they, wandering on, found the Covenanters, with whom they shared the privations, yea, also the consolations, of persecuted life.

Having heard that King Charles was dead, the two sisters supposed that the persecution had abated, and ventured to the house of Margaret McLaughlan, an old faithful friend. Here they were discovered and arrested; and, with this aged widow, were cast into prison. Agnes was ransomed by her father, at a price equal to $500. The two Margarets were sentenced to die. The manner of their death was peculiar and very shocking.