DAVID STRAITON.
In the same neighborhood there soon after appeared one who was to be the third to lay down his life for the Reformation in Scotland. A small country seat, situated on the sea-coast near the mouth of the North Esk, was inhabited by one of the Straitons of Lauriston, a family which had held the estate of that name from the sixth century. The members of this family were for the most part distinguished for their tall stature, their bodily strength, and their energy of character. David, a younger son (the eldest resided in Lauriston Castle), a man worthy of his ancestors, was of rude manners and obstinate temper. He displayed great contempt for books, especially for religious books, and found his chief pleasure in launching his boat on the sea, giving the sails to the wind, casting his nets, and struggling hand to hand with the winds and the waves. He had soon to engage in struggles of another kind. The prior of St. Andrews, Patrick Hepburn, afterwards bishop of Murray, a very avaricious man, hearing that David had great success in his fishing, demanded tithe of his fish. ‘Tell your master,’ said the proud gentleman, ‘that if he wants to have it, he may come and take it on the spot.’ From that time, every day as he drew up his nets, he exclaimed to the fishermen, ‘Pay the prior of St. Andrews his tithe,’ and the men would straightway throw every tenth fish into the sea.
When the prior of St. Andrews heard of this strange method of satisfying his claim, he ordered the vicar of Eglesgreg to go to take the fish. The vicar went; but as soon as the rough gentleman saw the priest and his men set to work without ceremony on their part, he cast the fish to him, and so sharply that some of them fell into the sea.[177]
The prior then instituted proceedings against Straiton for the crime of heresy. Never had a council applied that name to a man’s method of paying his tithe. No matter; the word heretic at that time inspired such terror that the stout-hearted gentleman began to give way; his pride was humbled, and, confessing his sins, he felt the need of a forgiving God. He sought out therefore all those who could tell him of the Gospel or could read it to him, for he could not read himself.
Not far from his abode was Dun Castle, whose lord, John Erskine, provost of Montrose, a descendant of the earls of Mar, had attended several universities in Scotland and abroad, and had been converted to the evangelical faith.
‘God,’ says Knox, ‘had miraculously enlightened him.’ His castle, in which the words of prophets and apostles were heard, was ever open to those who were athirst for truth; and thus the evangelical Christians of the neighborhood had frequent meetings there. Erskine detected the change which was taking place in the soul of his rude neighbor; he went to see him, conversed with him, and exhorted him to change his life. Straiton soon became a regular attendant at the meetings in the castle, ‘and he was,’ says Knox, ‘transformed as by a miracle.’[178]
His nephew, the young baron of Lauriston, possessed a New Testament. Straiton frequently went to the castle to hear portions of the Gospels read. One day the uncle and his nephew went out together, wandered about in the neighborhood, and then retired into a lonely place to read the Gospels. The young laird chose the tenth chapter of St. Matthew. Straiton listened as attentively as if it were to himself that the Lord addressed the discourse which is there reported. When they came to this declaration of Jesus Christ, ‘Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven,’ Straiton, affected and startled, fell on his knees, stretched his hands upwards, and turned for a long time a humble and earnest gaze towards heaven, but without speaking the while; he appeared to be in an ecstasy.[179] At last, no longer able to restrain the feelings which crowded on him, he exclaimed—‘I have been sinful, O Lord, and thou wouldst be only just wert thou to withhold thy grace from me! Nevertheless, for the sake of thy mercy, suffer not the dread of pain or of death to lead me ever to deny thee or thy truth.’[180] Thenceforward he set himself to serve zealously the master whose mighty love he had felt. The world appeared to him like a vast sea, full of movement, on which men are ever rudely tossed until they have entered into the haven of the Gospel. The fisherman became a fisher of men. He exhorted his friends and acquaintances to seek God, and he replied to the priests with firmness. On one occasion, when they urged him to do some pious works which deliver from purgatory, he answered, ‘I know of no other purgatory than Christ’s passion and the tribulations of this life.’ Straiton was carried off to Edinburgh, and cast into prison.
There was another Scotchman, Norman Gourlay, who after taking holy orders had travelled on the continent, and had there been enlightened by the word of the Gospel. Convinced that ‘marriage is honorable in all,’ Gourlay had married on his return to Scotland; and when a priest reminded him of the prohibition by Rome, ‘The pope,’ replied he, ‘is no bishop, but an Antichrist, and he has no jurisdiction in Scotland.’
On August 26, 1534, these two servants of God were led into a hall of Holyrood Abbey. The judges were seated, and with them the king, who, appareled in red from head to foot, seemed to be there for the purpose of assisting them. James V. pressed these two confirmed Christians to abjure their doctrines. ‘Recant; burn your bill,’[181] he said to them; but Straiton and Gourlay chose rather to be burnt themselves. The king, affected and giving way, would fain have pardoned them; but the priests declared that he had no authority to do so, since these people were condemned by the Church. In the afternoon of August 27 a huge pile was lit on the summit of Calton Hill, in order that the flames might be visible to a great distance; and the fire devoured these two noble Christians. If the Reform was afterwards so strong in Scotland it was because the seed was holy.
Enough however was not done yet. All these heresies, it was thought, proceed from Hamilton; his family must therefore be extirpated from the Scottish soil. But Sir James, a good-natured man, an upright magistrate and a lover of the Gospel, was for all that not in the humor to let himself be burnt like his brother. So, having received one day an order to appear before the tribunal, he addressed himself immediately to the king, who had him privately told not to appear. Sir James therefore quitted the kingdom; he was then condemned, excommunicated, banished, and deprived of his estates, and he lived for nearly ten years in London in the utmost distress.