Wallace; “of course I shall only be too glad to escape from the consequences of my unfortunate position; but do not misunderstand me: although neither a spy nor a Covenantor I am a loyal subject, and would not now be a deserter if that character had not been forced upon me, first by the brutality of the soldiers with whom I was banded, and then by the insolence of my comrade-in-arms to your daughter—”
“Niece; niece,” interrupted Black; “I wish she was my dauchter, bless her bonny face! Niver fear, sir, I’ve nae doot o’ yer loyalty, though you an’ yer freends misdoot mine. I claim to be as loyal as the best o’ ye, but there’s nae dictionary in this warld that defines loyalty to be slavish submission o’ body an’ sowl to a tyrant that fears naether God nor man. The quastion noo is, Div ye want to escape and wull ye trust me?”
The sound of horses galloping in the distance tended to quicken the young trooper’s decision. He submitted to be blindfolded by his captor.
“Noo, Peter,” said Andrew, as he was about to lead Wallace away, “ye ken what to dae. Gie them plenty to eat; show them the rum bottle, let them hae the rin o’ the hoose, an’ say that I bade ye treat them weel.”
“Ay,” was Ramblin’ Peter’s laconic reply.
Leading his captive out at the door, round the house, and re-entering by a back door, apparently with no other end in view than to bewilder him, Andrew went into a dark room, opened some sort of door—to enter which the trooper had to stoop low—and conducted him down a steep, narrow staircase.
The horsemen meanwhile had found the cottage and were heard at that moment tramping about in front, and thundering on the door for admittance.
Wallace fancied that the door which closed behind him must be of amazing thickness, for it shut out almost completely the sounds referred to.
On reaching the foot of the staircase, and having the napkin removed from his eyes, he found himself in a long, low, vaulted chamber. There was no one in it save his guide and a venerable man who sat beside a deal table, reading a document by the light of a tallow candle stuck in the mouth of a black bottle.
The soldiers, meanwhile, having been admitted by Ramblin’ Peter, proceeded to question that worthy as to Andrew Black and his household. Not being satisfied of the truth of his replies they proceeded to apply torture in order to extract confession. It was the first time that this mode of obtaining information had been used in Black’s cottage, and it failed entirely, for Ramblin’ Peter was staunch, and, although inhumanly thrashed and probed with sword-points, the poor lad remained dumb, insomuch that the soldiers at length set him down as an idiot, for he did not even cry out in his agonies—excepting in a curious, half-stifled manner—because he knew well that if his master were made aware by his cries of what was going on he would be sure to hasten to the rescue at the risk of his life.
Having devoured the porridge, drunk the rum, and destroyed a considerable amount of the farmer’s produce, the lawless troopers, who seemed to be hurried in their proceedings at that time, finally left the place.
About the time that these events were taking place in and around Black’s cottage, bands of armed men with women and even children were hastening towards the same locality to attend the great “conventicle,” for which the preparations already described were being made.
The immediate occasion of the meeting was the desire of the parishioners of the Reverend John Welsh, a great-grandson of John Knox, to make public avowal, at the Communion Table, of their fidelity to Christ and their attachment to the minister who had been expelled from the church of Irongray; but strong sympathy induced many others to attend, not only from all parts of Galloway and Nithsdale, but from the distant Clyde, the shores of the Forth, and elsewhere; so that the roads were crowded with people making for the rendezvous—some on foot, others on horseback. Many of the latter were gentlemen of means and position, who, as well as their retainers, were more or less well armed and mounted. The Reverend John Blackadder, the “auld” minister of Troqueer—a noted hero of the Covenant, who afterwards died a prisoner on the Bass Rock—travelled with his party all the way from Edinburgh, and a company of eighty horse proceeded to the meeting from Clydesdale.
Preliminary services, conducted by Mr Blackadder and Mr Welsh, were held near Dumfries on the Saturday, but at these the place of meeting on the Sabbath was only vaguely announced as “a hillside in Irongray,” so anxious were they to escape being disturbed by their enemies, and the secret was kept so well that when the Sabbath arrived a congregation of above three thousand had assembled round the Communion stones in the hollow of Skeoch Hill.
Sentinels were posted on all the surrounding heights. One of these sentinels was the farmer Andrew Black, with a cavalry sword belted to his waist, and a rusty musket on his shoulder. Beside him stood a tall stalwart youth in shepherd’s costume.
“Yer ain mother wadna ken ye,” remarked Andrew with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I doubt that,” replied the youth; “a mother’s eyes are keen. I should not like to encounter even Glendinning in my present guise.”
As he spoke the rich melody of the opening psalm burst from the great congregation and rolled in softened cadence towards the sentinels.
Chapter Three.
The True and the False at Work
The face of nature did not seem propitious to the great gathering on Skeoch Hill. Inky clouds rolled athwart the leaden sky, threatening a deluge of rain, and fitful gusts of wind seemed to indicate the approach of a tempest. Nevertheless the elements were held in check by the God of nature, so that the solemn services of the day were conducted to a close without discomfort, though not altogether without interruption.
Several of the most eminent ministers, who had been expelled from their charges, were present on this occasion. Besides John Welsh of Irongray, there were Arnot of Tongland, Blackadder of Troqueer, and Dickson of Rutherglen—godly men who had for many years suffered persecution and imprisonment, and were ready to lay down their lives in defence of religious liberty. The price set upon the head of that “notour traitor, Mr John Welsh,” dead or alive, was 9000 merks. Mr Arnot was valued at 3000!
These preached and assisted at different parts of the services, while the vast multitude sat on the sloping hillside, and the mounted men drew up on the outskirts of the congregation, so as to be within sound of the preachers’ voices, and, at the same time, be ready for action on the defensive if enemies should appear.
Andrew Black and his companion stood for some time listening, with bowed heads, to the slow sweet music that floated towards them. They were too far distant to hear the words of prayer that followed, yet they continued to stand in reverent silence for some time, listening to the sound—Black with his eyes closed, his young companion gazing wistfully at the distant landscape, which, from the elevated position on which they stood, lay like a magnificent panorama spread out before them. On the left the level lands bordering the rivers Cairn and Nith stretched away to the Solway, with the Cumberland mountains in the extreme distance; in front and on the right lay the wild, romantic hill-country of which, in after years, it was so beautifully written:—
“O bonnie hills of Galloway oft have I stood to see,
At sunset hour, your shadows fall, all darkening on the lea;
While visions of the buried years came o’er me in their might—
As phantoms of the sepulchre—instinct with inward light!
The years, the years when Scotland groaned beneath her tyrant’s hand!
And ’twas not for the heather she was called ‘the purple land.’
And ’twas not for her
