VIII.—THE ESKDALEMUIR STORY.
In the rural retreats of Eskdalemuir, the following narrative still exists in tradition:—
A soldier belonging to Johnstone of Westerhall's company had a fall from his horse, in consequence of which he was disabled for a time from service. He was committed to the charge of a poor but honest family in Eskdalemuir, near Yettbyres, where he was carefully nursed and well attended to. This family consisted of a mother, a daughter, and two sons, who were shepherds on the property of Yettbyres. The daughter's name was Jean Wilson; and the soldier's heart was lost to Jean, ere he was aware. In truth, Jean was a beauteous rosebud, a flower of the wilderness, in her seventeenth year, and most kind and attentive to their guest. To own more truth, Jean was likewise in love with the brave and manly figure and bearing of her patient; but she never told him so, being greatly averse to his profession and his politics—for he was one of the persecutors of God's people, and Jean's father had been shot on Dumfries Sands for his adherence to the Covenant. At last, however, and after many fruitless attempts on Jean's part to convert the soldier, and convince him of the evil of his profession, he was again summoned to his post—and the shieling of Yettbyres assumed its wonted peaceful aspect.
In the midst of the Eskdale mountains a scene was exhibited of no ordinary interest. A poor captive stood bound and blinded; a party of five soldiers, under the command of a serjeant, was ordered out to shoot him. The poor man had asked for five minutes of indulgence, which was granted; during which time he had sung some verses of a psalm, and prayed. It was night and full moon. It was in the midst of a mountain glen, and by the side of a mountain stream; all was still, and peaceful, and lonely around—but the passions of men were awake. There was a voice—it was the voice of Johnstone of Westerhall—which commanded the men to do their duty, and to blow out the brains of the poor kneeling captive.
"If I do, may I be hanged!" exclaimed the serjeant, standing out before his men, and looking defiance on his captain.
"What!" exclaimed Johnstone, "do you dare to disobey my orders? Soldiers, seize Serjeant Watson, and bind him!"
In the meantime, partly through the connivance of the men, and partly from the confusion which ensued, the captive had made his escape. To him the localities of this glen were all familiar; and, by ensconcing himself beneath and beyond a sheet of foaming water which was projected from an apron-fall in the linn, John Wilson effected his escape for the time.
The serjeant was immediately carried to head-quarters at Lockerby, and tried by a court-martial for disobedience of orders. The court consisted of Grierson of Lag, Winram of Wigton, Douglas of Drumlanrig, and Bruce of Bunyean. The fact of disobedience was not denied; but the soldier pled the obligations which he had been under to the Wilson family during his distress; and his consequent unwillingness to become the instrument of John Wilson's murder. Even Clavers was somewhat softened by the statement, and was half-inclined to sustain the reason, when Johnstone struck in, and urged strongly the necessity of preserving subordination at all times in the army—and particularly in these times, when instances of disobedience to orders were anything but uncommon. Douglas of Drumlanrig seemed likewise to be on the point of yielding to the better feelings of humanity, when Grierson, Winram, and Bruce decided, by a majority, that Serjeant Watson should be carried back to the ground where the act had been committed, and shot dead on the spot.
The poor serjeant's eyes were tied up, and the muskets of four soldiers levelled at his head, when a scream was heard, and a lovely girl, in the most frantic manner, threw herself into the arms of the victim.