It was about the middle of the day when Mary, who happened to look out, perceived six armed troopers approaching. They were on foot, their broadswords hanging at their sides, and carbines swung over their shoulders. In addition to this, each had a couple of pistols stuck in his belt. As soon as she saw them she ran in to her father with manifest looks of alarm, and informed him of their approach. Allan could not help feeling uneasy at this intelligence; for the military were then universally dreaded, and whenever a number were seen together, it was almost always on some errand of destruction. He went to the door; but just as he reached it the soldiers were on the point of entering. The leader of this body he recognised to be the ferocious Captain Clobberton, who had rendered himself universally infamous by his cruelties; and who, it was reported, had in his career of persecution caused no less than seventeen persons to be put to death, in cold blood, without even the formality of a trial. He was one of the chief favourites of Dalzell, who used to call him his “lamb.” The man’s aspect did not belie his heart, for it was fierce, lowering, and cruel. His companions, with a single exception, seemed well suited to their leader, and fit instruments to carry his bloody mandates into execution. Allan, when he confronted this worthy agent of tyranny, turned back, followed by him and his crew into the house.
“Shut the door, my dear chucks,” said Clobberton; “we must have some conversation with this godly man. So, Mr Hamilton, you have taken up with that pious remnant: you have turned a psalm-singer, eh? Come, don’t stare at me as if you saw an owl; answer my question—yes or no.” Allan looked at him with a steady eye. “Captain Clobberton, you have asked me no question. I shall not scruple to answer anything which may be justly commanded of me.”
“Answer me, then, sir,” continued the captain. “Were you not present at the field-preaching near Lanark, when one of the king’s soldiers was slain, in attempting with several others to disperse it?”
“I was not,” answered Allan; “I never in my life attended a field-preaching.”
“Or a conventicle?”
“Nor a conventicle either.”
“Do you mean to deny that you are one of that hypocritical set, who preach their absurd and treasonable jargon in defiance of the law? In a word, do you deny that you are one of the sworn members of the Covenant?”
“I do deny it, stoutly.”
“Acknowledge it, and save your wretched life. Acknowledge it, or I will confront you with a proof which will perhaps astonish you, and cost you more than you are aware of.”
“I will tell no untruth, even to save my life.”