“When cruel men against us rose
To make of us their prey!”
“Why, they are singing treason,” said one of the troopers. “What more do we need?”
The sergeant placed his forefinger on his lips, and for about ten minutes they continued to listen. The song of praise ceased, and a person commenced to read a chapter. They heard him also expound to his hearers as he read.
“It is enough,” said the sergeant; and, placing their shoulders against the door, it was burst open. “You are our prisoners!” exclaimed the troopers, each man grasping a sword in his right hand, and a pistol in the left.
“It is the will of Heaven!” said the Rev. Mr. Duncan; for it was he who had been reading and expounding the Scriptures; “but, if ye stretch forth your hands against a hair o’ our heads, He, without whom a sparrow cannot fall to the ground, shall remember it against ye at the great day o’ reckoning, when the trooper will be stripped of his armour, and his right hand shall be a witness against him!”
The soldiers burst into a laugh of derision. “No more of your homily, reverend oracle,” said the sergeant; “I have an excellent recipe for short sermons here; utter another word and you shall have it!” The troopers laughed again, and the sergeant, as he spoke, held his pistol in the face of the preacher.
Besides the clergyman, there were in the room old John Brydone, his son Daniel, and Mary.
“Well, old greybeard,” said the sergeant, addressing John, “you have been reported as a dangerous and disaffected Presbyterian knave, as we find you to be; you are also accused of being a harbourer and an accomplice of the preachers of sedition; and, lo! we have found also that your house is used as a conventicle. We have caught you in the act, and we shall take every soul of you as evidence against yourselves. So come along, old boy—I should only be doing my duty by blowing your brains against the wall; but that is a ceremony which our commander may wish to see performed in his own presence!”
“Sir,” said John, “I neither fear ye nor your armed men. Tak me to the bloody Claverhouse, if you will, and at the day o’ judgment it shall be said—‘Let the murderers o’ John Brydone stand forth!’”
“Let us despatch them at once,” said one of the troopers.