Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and Covenant

  *CHAPTER XVII*

  *A SHOCK OF CORN FULLY RIPE.*

  The body of dragoons stationed in the village of Inverburn were soconstantly upon the alert, and swept so wide a range of the surroundingdistrict, that it was well-nigh impossible for the fugitives to leavetheir hiding either by night or day. They had removed to the saferhiding of Watty's hole in the Witches' Cleugh [glen or ravine], andthither Jane Gray, courageous as usual, carried their provisions, eitherin the very early morning, or after the moon was up at night. They hadmade the place as comfortable as it was possible under thecircumstances, having formed themselves couches of dried leaves overwhich were spread the substantial coverings which Jane had carried tothem by degrees. She was now abiding constantly at Hartrigge, where allAdam Hepburn's most valuable goods had been removed, and Rowallan shutup. As for the stock, the soldiers had relieved him of any anxietyregarding it by removing it all for their own use and profit. SoRowallan was now a deserted and desolate homestead, about which the owlsscreeched mournfully at night, and the bats flapped their weird wingsunheeded and undisturbed against the shuttered windows.

  The people of the village were now driven to church at the point of thesword, consequently the curate's services were no longer disgraced bymeagre attendances. As the people listened to the mockery of worship heconducted within the now desecrated walls, they bowed their heads insorrow and shame, knowing very well that directly the services were overhe would be away drinking with the officers of the regiment. Hisexcesses, which were not confined to week-days, had now become a publicscandal, so much so, that Sir Thomas Hamilton in disgust had ceased toattend the church of Inverburn, and had returned to the ministrations ofJohn Methven, at Lochlee.

  The dragoons, being under command not to quit the place until they hadlaid hands on the four obstinate and cunning insurgents, who werelurking in the neighbourhood, growing tired of their quarters, began amore vigorous raid on the outlying farmhouses and homesteads, as well asa more thorough exploration of the woods and hills. But though theyrode along the very heights above the hiding place of the wanderers theysought, and, dismounting, even made an attempt to explore the verythicket sheltering the cave, their search was unsuccessful.

  Being quite aware of the very strict search going on, the fugitives werecompelled to abide yet more closely in their shelter. It was now theend of the year, and though as yet little snow had fallen, there hadbeen heavy rain storms accompanied by wild and bitter winds which almostfroze the marrow in their bones. It being considered unsafe to make afire, the fugitives suffered much from the cold, and from the dampnessof their hiding-place. The minister of Inverburn, especially, sufferedfrom its effects, and grew so weak that he was scarcely able to standupright. He also complained of great pain and uneasiness of the chest,which indicated that the long exposure had wrought very evil effectsupon his aged and delicate frame.

  Towards midnight, one evening early in January, a slight snow being onthe ground, and the roads rendered easy footing by a touch of frost,Mistress Gray of Hartrigge, accompanied by Jane, set out to carryprovisions to the fugitives. Since her son's death, Susan Gray'sfeelings concerning the Covenanters and their persecutions had undergonea change. In times gone she had not been a very zealous Churchwoman,and had often remonstrated with her husband concerning what sheconsidered his bigoted and unwise zeal; but now her hatred against theoppressors equalled, if not excelled, that of Andrew. Yet his was theoutcome of true religious zeal, while hers was the result of outragedhuman feelings. And I fear that very many of those who followed thefortunes of the Covenanters were actuated by like feelings with MistressGray.

  No thought of fear troubled these two women as they traversed theirlonely way through the wilds to the Witches' Cleugh. They spoke butlittle as they went, for the time had now come when talking overtroubles only made them seem worse to bear. They found it better toshut them up in their own hearts, and make no moan to the world. Thebright light of the moon made the surrounding landscape indescribablybeautiful, yet what eye had these two for what in happier times wouldhave afforded them pleasure and delight? To them the beauty of Naturewas obscured by the pall of bitter personal sorrow. When they reachedthe cleugh, Jane Gray put a whistle to her mouth and blew the signal,which those in hiding had learned to know and welcome. Andrew Grayhastened through the thicket to guide them up to the cave; and Janewalked on a little in front, guessing that her brother would have manythings to say to his wife, whom he had not seen for some weeks. Whenthey together entered the cavern, which was dimly lighted, quiet butexpressive greetings passed between them, but somewhat to Jane'ssurprise and alarm, her father did not offer to rise and speak to them.She advanced to the side of the low bed, and holding the flickeringlight above it, saw such a deep and significant change in the dearfeatures, that she could not repress a cry of anguish.

  "My father seems very ill. How long has he been thus?" she exclaimed,turning to her brothers. The tones of her familiar and much-loved voiceseemed to awaken the old man to struggling consciousness, for hepresently stirred, and opened his eyes.

  "Is that my daughter's voice?" he asked anxiously.

  "Yes, father, I am here," answered Jane, and dropping on her knees, shetook the wasted hands in her firm gentle clasp. "Tell me, do you feelmuch distressed? Do you suffer much pain?"

  "Not much pain, only great uneasiness and oppression, my daughter," heanswered. "If it be the precursor of my summons home, how gladly do Ibear it all, if only my Lord sees fit to call me speedily from thesetroubles, which I fear I bear with but a poor measure of cheerfulnessand patience. But being old and stricken in years, I have not the sameendurance with these young men, your brethren."

  Jane Gray's eyes filled with bitter tears, and for a space sobsprevented her from speaking. Susan Gray now moved over to the bed, andafter looking steadfastly at the old man's face for a brief space, shesaid decidedly, "Grandfather is very ill. What say you to having himmoved to a comfortable bed at Hartrigge?"

  For a moment they looked somewhat surprised at her proposal, whichinvolved considerable risk, but she hastened to reassure them.

  "The dragoons have grown weary of searching through Hartrigge, and,indeed, I hear, that having become convinced that you are not in thedistrict, they are about to shift their quarters. So I think we needna'fear for them. You could carry him home this very nicht between you,and be back safe in hiding afore the first peep o' day."

  "God bless you for your suggestion, Susan," said Jane Gray, gratefully."It is kind of you to risk your own safety, and that of your bairns andhouse, for our sakes."

  After a brief hesitation it was resolved to act upon Mistress Gray'splan.

  The old man being too weak to understand what they were talking about,lay perfectly still, only keeping his eyes fixed upon his daughter'sface, as if they loved to dwell there. He seemed surprised whenpresently they began to roll the coverings round him, but did not askany questions, nor did they tell him what was about to be done. He wasso thin and attenuated that his light weight was as nothing to AndrewGray, who carried him in his arms as easily as if he had been a child.After a little Adam relieved him, and thus that strange and mournfulprocession wended its way to the house of Hartrigge. The women-folkhurried on in front, and reaching the house considerably before theothers, Jane made haste to get something hot prepared for them, whilethe mistress hung sheets and blankets at the cheerful kitchen fire, andcarried up a shovelful of blazing peats to a little garret room, whichwas situated in the most remote and the safest part of the house. Thebed was ready when the wanderers arrived, and the old man was at onceundressed, and having had warm, dry, comfortable underclothing put on,was laid in the clean and cosy bed, where he stretched his limbs gladly,and wearily laid his head on the soft pillow, too thankful to ask wherehe was, so sweet and grateful was the unwonted comfort to his exhaustedand pain-racked frame. His daughter held a warm drink to his lips,which when he had taken, he la
y down and fell asleep. Meanwhile, in thechamber below the others were partaking of a hasty repast, wonderingmuch at their own temerity in venturing within the house of Hartrigge,which, in spite of its familiarity, had a strange look, so long was itsince their eyes had dwelt upon the interior of a dwelling made withhands. Leaving his food unfinished, Andrew Gray stole up to the chamberwhere he knew he should find his little ones asleep. As he looked uponthe sweet, chubby faces of the two younger ones, and then on Jeanie'spaler and more womanly features, his eyes grew strangely dim, andstooping he kissed them one after the other, so lightly that they didnot even stir in their sleep. His wife presently joined him, and movingto his side, she leaned her head on his shoulder and he put his armabout her, and they stood for a brief space in utter silence.

  The thoughts of each were too deep for words or tears.

  "God will take care of you, wife, and keep our bairns," he said atlength. "Fain would I tarry, but it is time we were going hence."

  She nodded, and leaving the room, they rejoined David Gray and Adam,waiting with some impatience below. Then after many fervent farewells,and many injunctions to send word if any danger were likely to come nearHartrigge, so that, if possible, they might again remove the old man,the wanderers left the cheerful warmth and comfort of Hartrigge, andbetook themselves to their bleak hiding in the dens and caves of theearth.

  Next morning mistress Gray took little Jeanie aside, and told her thather grandfather was in the garret, and said she had trusted her with thesecret, lest she should discover it, and unthinkingly speak of itoutside.

  Jeanie looked up into her mother's face with a wise, womanly expression,almost sad to see in so young a child.

  "Oh, mother, you needna fear for me," she said quietly. "Though youhadna told me, I would have known very well not to tell any one ofgrandfather being here. But, mother, did he come in the middle of thenight, and was father with him? I dreamed that father was standing bymy bed last night, and that he kissed me, and was crying when he didit."

  "It was nae dream, lassie," said her mother, through her tears; "yourpoor father was indeed here last night, and kissed and blessed you, andSandy, and Nannie too."

  For several days it seemed as if the minister of Inverburn were likelyto recover, under the kind nursing of his daughter at Hartrigge. Butthe pain in the chest did not abate its severity, and though they didthe utmost for him within their knowledge and skill, there was novisible improvement in his condition. They dared not send for a doctor,but had just to use their own means, and pray for a blessing.

  In the course of a week, however, it became quite evident to the anxiouswatchers that death was not far off.

  The day came at last when the old man, conscious himself of hisapproaching end, desired that his children might be gathered about hisbed. Jane Gray ran in haste to the Witches' Cleugh, and in thedarkening those in hiding stole up to Hartrigge.

  When the dying servant of God saw all the faces beloved best on earthgathered round him, a well-pleased expression stole into his face.Looking at his first-born son, he desired him to raise him a little inthe bed, in order that he might better utter his words of blessing andfarewell. Then fixing his eyes on Andrew's face, he said, in low andsolemn tones:--

  "You have ever been a faithful and dutiful son to me, Andrew, for whichthe Lord will reward you. I have but one word of warning to giveregarding the part you will take in the struggle which will shortly ragewith hotter violence than it has hitherto done in the land. See to itthat you fight for the Covenant with singleness of heart and purpose,out of pure love for its sweet and simple doctrines, and do not allowany personal spleen to mingle with your nobler aim, lest the blessing ofthe Most High be withheld. To you, David, my son, I have also a word tosay. I bid you be of good courage, and fail not to strengthen andencourage your brethren in arms with the ministrations of your holyoffice whenever time and opportunity permit. And fear not those who cankill the body, for it is written, 'Whosoever shall lose his life for Mysake shall find it.' To you, Adam Hepburn, the widowed spouse of mysweet Agnes, and dear to me as my own sons, my words will also be brief.I would seek to remind you that vengeance belongs only to the Lord, andthat from high Heaven alone cometh sure retribution for deeds of blood.Therefore I would warn you that you strive to overcome your evil andrevengeful passion, reminding you that it is not a spirit which theransomed soul of your beloved could approve. It is written that he thatslayeth with the sword shall perish by the sword. To you, my sweet andwell-beloved daughter, Jane, who have indeed followed closely in yourmother's footsteps, since the mournful day when that dear saint leftthis world for a better, I have simply to leave my gratitude andfatherly blessing. Your reward for many deeds and words of love willcome by-and-by. And, last of all, Susan, my daughter, I would but callto your remembrance that our God can bind up the broken heart, and thatyour tears are treasured up against that day when He cometh to judge thequick and the dead. And the parting is but for a little while.Farewell, my children; save for your sakes I am not sorry to quit thisearthy tabernacle, and enter upon the inheritance which my sweet Lordhas kept for me since before the foundation of the world."

  With these words the minister sank back exhausted among his pillows. Itmust not be supposed that he was able to utter the foregoing sentencesas connectedly as they are written. Nay, they were spoken with muchdifficulty, and many long pauses, and his parched lips had to becontinually moistened with the stimulant Jane kept ready at hand. Helay so still after the last words passed his lips that they almostfeared he was gone. But at length his eyelids quivered slightly, andthen they saw a seraphic smile dawning upon his face, as if some lovelyvision had appeared to his soul. His lips moved slightly, and Jane,hastily bending down, caught the faintly whispered words:--

  "Coming, O my sweet Lord Jesus!"

  So, quietly and painlessly, he fell asleep.

  "It is all over," said Hartrigge, huskily.

  "For this present life only, Andrew," quietly answered the minister ofBroomhill. "And, thanks be to His name, He has spared the green, andtaken the ripe."