Next evening saw the whole party—minister, wife, and sister—conveyed, not without some difficulty, to Brownrig. This movement, however, secret and guarded as it was, had not been unobserved by some of those detestable informers, who, for hire, would have betrayed their own fathers into the hands of a murderer; and, whilst Mr Austin was, next day, addressing a number of young men and women, inhabitants of this pastoral land, he was suddenly surrounded by a band of dragoons, and captured without resistance. When his poor blind sister heard that her brother was in the hands of his enemies, whose voices she heard, though she could not see their persons, she rushed out in the direction of the sound, in a frantic manner—calling aloud on the men to spare her brother—her only stay in this world, when, ere any one could prevent the accident, she tumbled over a steep precipice, upon the brink of which, or nearly so, Brownrig farm-steading was, and is still, placed, and, lighting upon her head, she was killed on the spot. Mr Austin, seeing the danger in which his blind sister, unacquainted with the locality, was placed, strove hard to disengage himself from the grasp of the soldiers, who held him fast, but in vain; and, when he saw the poor helpless being putting her last step upon air, he uttered a scream, and bursting a bloodvessel, was with difficulty conveyed into the house alive.
“Keep down your sticks, lads—keep down your sticks. That’s no the game we are accustomed to play at; when we begin, cheeks and chaft blades are apt to dance a Highland fling. Keep off your hands, or, by the mettle of this old Ferrara, which never yet failed me against Turk or Tartar, ye shall have fewer hands to keep off.” Thus saying, Dalziell pushed up his horse, cutting right and left, in such a manner, however, as to terrify rather than seriously to injure; for he struck with the side and not with the edge of his weapon. In the meantime, Mr Austin was put to bed; his wife had recovered to a perception of her misery; and the cavalcade rode off, Dalziell having first appointed a guard of two men, to abide by the apparently dying man, till (as he expressed it) the “deil had his soul fairly in tow.”
The day of the funeral of the poor maiden sister arrived, and with it came, through snow and storm, a considerable band of mountaineers, secretly armed with various weapons, but avowedly and openly prepared to convey the coffin to a considerable distance—to Dulgarno churchyard. The soldiers did everything in their power to annoy and obstruct, offering to assist in carrying, and then suddenly withdrawing their hands, and causing the coffin to fall to the ground—placing their muskets betwixt the feet of some of the company, and thus tripping up their heels, &c., &c. This was more than could be endured; so, after the funeral, a consultation was held, and it was agreed that, as Mr Austin was now considerably recovered, he and his wife should be conveyed from beneath surveillance of these horrid men. But how was this to be done? Many advices were tendered and discussed. At last, it was resolved upon that, about twelve o’clock at night, information having been previously given to the parties more immediately concerned, a company of twelve stout shepherd lads, armed with pistols and staves, should suddenly enter the door of Brownrig house, the bolt being previously drawn from within, and immediately seize upon and bind the twin demons, who had wrought, and were still working such dreadful mischief and cruelty. The minister and his lady were to be conveyed, through the snow, to the town of Moffat, about four miles distant, there to be concealed in a friend’s house, to whom a messenger was immediately despatched, advertising him of their purpose.
Accordingly, at the hour appointed, and in the manner already mentioned, the men were secured whilst asleep, and bound and guarded; whilst Mr Austin, still incapable of walking, was conveyed on horseback—with his wife behind him, and two men holding him up on each side—over the long moor towards Moffat. It was about five o’clock in the morning when the party arrived at its destination, and the flying couple were placed for the time in a place of safety. Upon the return of the young men to Brownrig, they found nothing but a heap of smoking ruins. Dalziell, who had received information of the meditated flight, but who had not learned in what direction it was to be conducted, came about half an hour after their departure, upon the farm-steading of Brownrig; and, not being able, on account of the yird-drift, to trace the fugitives, he returned in wrath upon the inhabitants of the place, whom, after exchanging a few shots, and wounding one man severely in the leg, he ultimately captured; liberated the soldiers, and then, in the presence of the whole party, coolly set fire to the thatched dwellings, and kept close guard till the fire had done its commission.
Owing to the extreme cold and constant state of excitement, Mrs Austin fevered soon after her arrival at Moffat, and died in her husband’s arms, exhorting him, with her last breath, to persevere in the good cause which he had undertaken; so much had “trial and trouble” altered the views and sanctified the heart of this weak but upright and pious woman.
Mr Austin continued to recover from his severe indisposition, and spent some months at Moffat in comparative peace and safety. It was here that he met with his brother-in-law, the worthy and beloved Mr Shiels, minister of Kilbride. Indeed, all the ten ministers of the Presbytery of Penpont, with the exception of Black of Closeburn, and Wishart of Keir, had refused to conform, and, along with nearly four hundred ministers in the south and west of Scotland in particular, had been compelled to fly from their homes and their flocks, and were, in many cases, conveyed in droves beyond the Tay; compelled to emigrate to foreign lands, or to take up their abode with the curlews and gleds of the lake and the mountain. It was indeed a sad day for Scotland the 23rd of December, 16—, when, by Middleton’s drunken act of Privy Council, so many conscientious and pious men were laid aside for so long a time (many of them for ever), from their sphere of useful and acceptable ministration in the Presbyterian church. As the faithful historian of these dismal times very expressively observes—“When those I am now speaking of took leave of their dear flocks, it was a day not only of weeping but howling, like the weeping of Jazer, as when a besieged city is sacked.” Mothers were seen carrying their infants through snow and storm, and large families of children accompanying their helpless parents with tears and lamentations to the cold and often houseless desert. Whoever gave them food or shelter was liable to be fined; to have soldiers billeted upon them; or even to suffer imprisonment.
The leading persecutors being about this time principally engaged about Wigton, Dalry, Dumfries (town), and other districts in the south and west, the upper wards of Dumfriesshire were less annoyed, and had more freedom of conventicle exercise. It was therefore deemed a favourable opportunity—now that the month of July had arrived—to hold a very general meeting, as privately as possible, on the confines of Altrieve Lake—a locality which has since acquired considerable notoriety from its having been the residence of one of the most distinguished characters of more modern times. The reader knows that I refer to James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, a more wonderful (perhaps) instance of merit in a completely untaught man than even the case of the comparatively early and well-educated and civilized Bard of Coila. This situation was accordingly centrical and retired; elevated, and yet surrounded by still higher eminences, and commanding the higher districts or moors of the Yarrow, the Ettrick, the Tweed, and the Annan. Mr Thomas Shiels was well-known to be a fit coadjutor to the worthy Mr Samuel Austin; and several people of what may be termed the better class—the small lairds, and the moorland or sheep farmers—had agreed to defray all expense of the communion elements, and to come armed to the table, that their blood might not be mingled with their sacrifice, without their making some resistance.
In the midst of a terrible storm of thunder, and lightning, and hail, Mr Austin preached the action sermon, and Mr Shiels fenced the tables—both serving the succeeding tables alternately. After the storm had passed, the day cleared out, the mist left Mount Benger’s brow, and sweet Bowhill looked out in soft and sparkling radiance. No signal of an approaching enemy was made till all was over, and the two officiating clergymen had returned with worthy Davie Dun—mentioned in one of Hogg’s poems—to enjoy a night’s repose. He was then shepherd on Mount Benger, and lived in a sheilin on the banks of Ettrick. About daylight next morning the sheilin was surrounded by dragoons, and Austin and his brother-in-law, Shiels, were dragged out of bed and mounted together upon one horse, without a saddle, and their legs tied together under its belly; and, in this painful and ignominious state, driven across the mountains towards Peebles. When they arrived there, poor Austin, who had not yet completely recovered from his late indisposition, became so faint and weak that he could not sit, even when supported by a dragoon at each side on horseback, and they were compelled to lodge there for the night. Next morning, they were marched off in the same manner, but with legs untied, towards Edinburgh, where they were safely lodged in the Tolbooth. They were ultimately brought before Lauderdale and the council; and after severe questioning, dismissed into banishment, as was originally intended, into the shire of Angus. Next day, they were conveyed over to Burntisland, and left to make the best of their way across to Angus—being at the same time informed, that if found south of the Tay, they would be taken up and executed as traitors.
In Mr Austin’s note-book, I find the following notice with which I shall conclude:—
“August, 1689.—It hath pleased the Lord to restore poor old useless Samuel Austin to his people; but where are they?—twenty years have made a sad event and reckoning here. The child has attained to manhood; the man has disappeared, or labours under the infirmities of age; and many have been removed, not only by death but by duty; they have removed, in the course of God’s providence, to other parishes, and even to other lands; and my flock is changed, and I feel no heart in preaching to these new faces, who know not Joseph. O Lord, let me arise and go hence; I am alone, in an altered world, of which I am weary. My house is desolate; my child—my wife—my sister—all—all gone on before; and fain, O, guid Lord, wad I follow—now let thy servant depart and sleep in peace.”