Walter at first thought this was strange, but he soon perceived the policy of it, and wondered at his friend’s readiness at such an awful hour, when any acknowledgment of connection would have been so fatal to himself. They kneeled all down, clasped their hands together, turned their faces to Heaven, and prayed in a scarce audible whisper. Captain Bruce, in the mean time, kneeled behind the files, and prayed in mockery, making a long face, wiping his eyes, and speaking in such a ludicrous whine, that it was impossible for the gravest face to retain its muscles unaltered. He had more to attend to him than the miserable sufferers. When the two minutes were expired, Clavers, who held his watch all the time, made a sign to the dragoons who were drawn up, without giving any intimation to the sufferers, which, perhaps, was merciful, and in a moment all the four were launched into eternity.
The soldiers, for what reason Walter never understood, stretched the bodies all in a straight line on the brae, with their faces upwards, and about a yard distant from one another, and then rode off as fast as they could to get another hunt, as they called it. These four men were afterwards carried by the fugitives, and some country people, and decently interred in Ettrick church–yard. Their graves are all in a row a few paces from the south–west corner of the present church. The goodman of Chapelhope, some years thereafter, erected a head–stone over the grave of the unfortunate sufferer whose arm he had broken, which, with its rude sculpture, is to be seen to this day. His name was Walter Biggar. A small heap of stones is raised on the place where they were shot.
The last look which Walter took of the four corpses, as they lay stretched on the brae, with the blood streaming from them, had nearly turned his brain. His heart sunk within him. For years and days they never left his mind’s eye, sleeping nor waking. He always thought he saw them lying on the green sloping brae, with their pale visages, blue open lips, clasped hands, and dim stedfast eyes still fixed on the Heavens. He had heard Clavers and his officers called heroes: He wished those who believed so had been there that day to have judged who were the greatest heroes.
“There! let them take that!” said Captain Bruce, as he mounted his horse.
“Poor misled unfortunate beings!” said Copland, and mounted his.
“Huh! Cot t‑‑n!” said Roy Macpherson, in a voice that seemed to struggle for an outlet; and Walter, to his astonishment, saw a tear glistening on his rough weather–beaten cheek, as he turned to ride away!
The pursuit continued unabated for the whole of that day. There was a great deal of firing, but the hills of Polmoody were inaccessible to cavalry. There was no more blood shed. They lodged that night at a place called Kippelgill, where they put every thing in requisition about the house, and killed some of the cattle. Clavers was in extremely bad humour, and Walter had no doubt that he once intended to have sacrificed him that night, but seemed to change his mind, after having again examined him. He was very stern, and threatened him with the torture, swearing that he knew him to be the supporter of that nest of miscreants that harboured around him, and that though he should keep him prisoner for a dozen years, he would have it proven on him. Walter made oath that there had never one of them been within his door, consistent with his knowledge; that he had never been at a conventicle; and proffered to take the test, and oath of abjuration, if allowed to do so. All this would not satisfy Clavers. Walter said he wondered at his discernment, for, without the least evil or disloyal intent, he found he had rendered himself liable to punishment, but how he could be aware of that he knew not.
That night Walter was confined in a cow–house, under the same guard that had conducted him from Chapelhope. The soldiers put his arms round one of the stakes for the cattle, and then screwed on the thumbikins, so that he was fastened to the stake without being much incommoded. When Macpherson came in at a late hour, (for he was obliged likewise to take up his abode in the cow–house over night), the first word he said was,—
“Cot t‑‑n, she no pe liking to schee an honest shentleman tied up to a stake, as she were peing a poollock.”