*CHAPTER XXIII.*
*IN CAPTIVITY.*
The prisons in Edinburgh were so full that they could hold no more.What, then, was to be done with the twelve hundred victims brought fromthe slaughter at Bothwell Bridge?
The Government ordered that they should be shut into the churchyard ofthe Greyfriars, and there kept unceasing watch over day and night. Sothe old burying-ground, made memorable and sacred by another greatgathering which had assembled within its boundaries forty years before,was now converted into an open gaol, the horrors of which pen couldnever describe.
In the Grass-market there abode still Edward Kilgour, the merchant,brother-in-law to the late minister of Inverburn. Although a zealousand worthy Presbyterian, he had never joined with his brethren in arms,but had followed the dictates of his conscience and religion morequietly at home, attending to his business and the affairs of hishousehold, and had thus escaped molestation. He was a man now strickenin years, but was still able to perform the duties of his calling, andattend personally in his place of business. His daughter Ailie, now amiddle-aged woman, had remained unmarried for her father's sake, andkept his house.
When they heard of the arrival of the prisoners from Bothwell, they wereboth much exercised in their minds as to whether any of their Inverburnkinsfolk should be among them.
"I'll go up, Ailie," said the old man, "I'll go up to the kirkyard, and,if permitted to approach the gates, see whether I can discern any of thefaces of our dear ones among that pitiful throng. Very sure am I that,unless your cousins Andrew and David and Adam Hepburn were slain on thefield, they will be there, for they would never turn their backs uponthe foe."
"Do not needlessly expose yourself, father," said his daughter,anxiously. "Though you find any of my cousins there, what profit willit be but only to vex us, seeing we cannot help them?"
"You may be right, but I cannot sit still at home till I learn whetherany of them be there," said the old man, quietly, and, getting his plaidabout his shoulders, went out upon his quest.
Ailie Kilgour busied herself about the house, but as the time passed shebegan to grow extremely anxious for her father's return. He had beenmore than two hours gone, when, to her great relief, she at length heardhis foot on the stair. When he entered the house she at once saw thathe was greatly troubled, for seldom had she seen him look so grave andyet so agitated.
"Well, father?" she said, inquiringly.
"Let me sit down, my daughter, for I am exhausted with sorrow over whatI have seen this day. That the Almighty does not at once interpose inthe might of His omnipotent arm is, to my mind, evidence that the Churchhas required all these fearful sufferings to purify her from heriniquity, and that not yet is she refined enough in the fire to be ameet vessel for her Master's glory."
"Tell me what you saw, father," said Ailie, anxiously.
"Saw, lassie! Ask me rather what I did not see! Hundreds of myfellow-countrymen penned up among the tombs like beasts, without any ofthe comforts which the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air areallowed to seek for themselves. And, more, they are at the ribald mercyof their vile and brutal sentinels, who never cease to taunt them,asking them what has become of their God, that He does not interpose intheir behalf," said the old man, with heaving chest and flashing eye,which told how his whole being was stirred.
"Did they allow you to go near the gates?"
"No; I had to stand a good distance away. No man is allowed to approachthe gates, though I saw some pious and kind-hearted women enduringpatiently the jibes and insults of the soldiers, thankful that they wereallowed to pass some little comforts to the prisoners through the ironbars. It seems that they receive no food save what is grudginglyallowed to be given in this way."
"How terrible!" said Ailie, and her ruddy cheek blanched as the pictureof the wretched state of the captives was thus vividly presented to hermind. "But tell me, did you see any one you know there?"
"Yes, I saw the face of your cousin, David Gray, the minister ofBroomhill, and he also recognised me. I saw, too, a figure I could swearbelongs to Adam Hepburn, though the face was so changed that I would nothave known it," returned the old man, sorrowfully.
Ailie Kilgour reflected a moment in silence, and then spoke in quiet butdecided tones.
"Since they allow women to carry necessaries to the prisoners, I will goat once and take some food to my cousins. I am not afraid of theinsults of the soldiers, for I can bear much, and make no sign."
"My daughter, I knew your kind heart would be moved to do this thing,"said the old man, gladly. "Make haste, then, Ailie, for if ever hungerand want set their mark on human faces I saw it to-day on the wretchedcountenances of your cousins."
Accordingly, Ailie got some food prepared, and immediately set out forthe Greyfriars. As was to be expected, there were many people about,for the unwonted spectacle to be seen in the churchyard drew many to theplace, some out of idle curiosity, others out of sorrow and anxiety,lest perchance any relative or friend might be among that miserablethrong. The chief entrance to the churchyard was guarded byhalf-a-dozen soldiers, who alternately amused themselves with theprisoners within and those compassionate people who sought to ministerto them from without. The captives, gaunt, hungry-eyed, andeager-looking, were flocking near the entrance, watching with painfulintensity the meagre dole of provisions allowed to be passed within thebars.
Ailie Kilgour stood a little back, scanning the faces in the hope thather eyes would presently fall upon that of her cousin, David Gray. AdamHepburn she did not think she could recognise again, having only seenhim on the occasion of his marriage with her cousin Agnes, thirty yearsbefore. Seeing an old, worn-looking man, with a thin, haggard face, andflowing white hair, very earnestly regarding her, she looked moreparticularly at him, and then gave a violent start, for a look ofundisguised recognition of her was on his face. Could that old, oldman, with the bent head and tottering frame, be her cousin David, whomshe had last seen in all the pride and glory of his manhood, not tenyears before? The recognition was so marked, and there was something sostrangely familiar in the glance of the eye, that she felt she could notbe mistaken. She therefore made a sign to him, and advanced towards thegate. Her basket was then rudely snatched from her by a soldier, andemptied of its contents. The tastiest morsels he reserved for his owneating; then, pointing to what lay on the ground, he bade her, with anoath and a coarse laugh, feed the dogs with the crumbs which fell fromthe master's table.
A sharp retort was on Ailie's lips, for her temper was easily roused,but she resolutely forced it back, and, meekly stooping, picked up thedespised articles he had cast down, and passed them through the bars. Asentinel stood close by her side to see that no word was exchangedbetwixt her and the prisoners, but he could not prevent them exchangingglances with each other. The plain loaves which the pampered soldierhad so contemptuously cast aside were greedily devoured by the starvingprisoners. David Gray distributed a portion among those about him andretired with the remainder to a tombstone, whereon sat Adam Hepburn, apicture of utter dejection and despair. As she walked home, AilieKilgour's mind was filled with certain plans and thoughts, which as yetshe would not even communicate to her father. She was a shrewd, cleverwoman, and a prudent one as well, who never got herself into any troublewhatsoever through her tongue; therefore she kept all her thoughts thatday to herself.
In the course of the week she went down to Leith, ostensibly to visit akinswoman who dwelt in that town. But instead of directing her steps tothe suburbs, where the maiden lady dwelt, she took her way directlytowards that busier portion of the town which clustered about theharbour. Arrived there, she sought out the house of an old schoolcompanion, who had married the captain of a trading vessel, and wholived on shore during her husband's voyaging betwixt Denmark and Leith.This woman, Mrs. Barclay by name, was strongly attached to AilieKilgour, because she had shown her much real kindness in a time ofdistress, having he
rself come from Edinburgh to nurse her through aserious illness. Mrs. Barclay was unfeignedly glad to see her, and badeher a warm welcome. After the usual greetings, the talk turned, as wasnatural, upon the grievous condition of affairs, and the woefulsufferings of the Presbyterians, and especially of those lately taken onthe field of Bothwell. In the course of their talk, Ailie informed Mrs.Barclay that her two cousins were among those imprisoned in theGreyfriars, and then asked when Captain Barclay was expected in port.
"On Sabbath morning, if the wind favour him," responded Mrs. Barclay."And he will be at home for a few days before leaving to fill a cargo atQueensferry for Copenhagen."
"You can guess my interest in enquiring about your husband, Effie," saidAilie Kilgour, with a slight smile. "You have often said you wished youcould repay what I did for you. It is in your power now, not only torepay me, but to place me for ever in your debt, if you will persuadeyour husband to assist my cousins to escape from the country, that is,if they can by any means get out of their present wretched prison."
"It is a great risk to attempt such a thing, and is accounted a graveoffence," said Mrs. Barclay. "Nevertheless, I will very gladly do myutmost. I do not think William will be very difficult to persuade, forhe is a real Covenanter at heart."
"Then if I come down again, say upon the Sabbath night, I will seeCaptain Barclay himself, and get his advice," said Ailie. Then warmlythanking her friend, she went away home. That same day she againprepared a basket of food for the prisoners, and about the sunsetproceeded with it to the Greyfriars. Being now known to the sentinels,they did not seek much to molest her, and she was allowed to pass thefood through the bars, though one kept guard as formerly, lest any wordsshould pass betwixt them. As Ailie took one small loaf out of thebasket, she lifted her eyes to her cousin's face, with a look of suchdeep and peculiar meaning, that he at once understood he was to keep itto himself, there being something of special importance about it.Having, as was his wont, distributed a portion among a few of his lessfavoured fellow-sufferers, David Gray rejoined his brother-in-law, whooccupied his usual position of listless despairing dejection on one ofthe tombs. So utterly impossible was it to arouse for a moment hisextreme apathy, that David Gray sometimes feared lest Adam's mind hadbecome unhinged by too long dwelling upon one morbid idea. Lookinground, to see that none was particularly watching him, David Gray brokein two halves the loaf to which Ailie had directed his attention, andfound in the inside a small slip of paper, whereon were some writtenwords, which he immediately perused with feverish eagerness. They ranthus:--
"There are steps being taken for your flight from the country, in thevessel of a friend now lying at Leith. If you can make good yourescape, and come here, we will assist you."
"See, here, Adam Hepburn, say, did ever such a thought occur to you?"queried David Gray, furtively slipping the paper into hisbrother-in-law's hand.
"Yes, the thought of my escape has never once left my mind since we camehere," said Adam. "I have gotten the plan matured now, and if you willjoin me, I think it could be done."
"I am willing and ready," said the minister, eagerly. "What is yourplan?"
"I have two, either to boldly scale the wall yonder under cover of thenight, and trust to our speed to make good our escape," said Adam, "orelse by stratagem creep down to the little gate at the north side, wherethey consider two guards sufficient. Surely, David, you and I yet couldsilence a man apiece."
"Desperation lends a new courage to a man when he is in straits," saidthe minister, thoughtfully. "I would be for trying the north gate inthe darkness, but we will wait till Ailie comes again."
On the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour again journeyed to Leith, andfound Captain Barclay at home. She also found him sympathetic, andwilling to assist, although quite conscious of the risk he incurred inaiding and abetting the escape of Government prisoners. There was onething in his favour, however, that he was first to convey a cargo fromLeith to Hamburg, the Queensferry commission being set aside, so thathis passage would be direct from one port to the other.
The harbour and other officials in the employment of the Government werestrictly enjoined to rigorously inspect every outward bound vessel, inquest of fugitives, but Captain Barclay did not despair of being able tosteal a march upon them in some way or other. He was a bold man, andloved a spice of adventure by sea or land, so Ailie Kilgour knew thematter was safe in his hands.
She was to carry another message to the prisoners next day warning themto try and make good their escape the following night, as CaptainBarclay expected to be ready to sail at daybreak on Tuesday morning, andunless they were at hand, could not possibly delay voyaging on theiraccount. Late on the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour and her father weresitting by the kitchen fire, discussing the probability of theprisoners' escape, when they heard a great scuffling on the stair, and alow knocking at the door.
Both started to their feet in alarm, and Ailie, recovering herselffirst, at once went and undid the bolts. What was her unutterableamazement to behold upon the threshold David Gray and Adam Hepburn!
"Are you pursued?" she asked, in a breathless whisper, and at the sametime holding the door wide open.
"Not here; they have lost the scent, and are following us out the Lanarkroad," they responded. "Except God had veritably helped us this night,by sending down a thick mist when we leaped the wall, we had been bothdead men," added David Gray, reverently; then suddenly, in the painfulintensity of his feelings, he bent his head on his hands and burst intotears. Looking upon his emaciated frame, guessing the weakness whichencompassed him, they marvelled not at his lack of self-control.
The old man now came forward, and being assured that they were indeedthere in the body, and not pursued, he bade them, with tears of joy,welcome to his house.
The night was spent in earnest discussion, as to the next step to betaken on the morrow. Adam Hepburn expressed his readiness to go aboard,since it mattered not what became of him, but David Gray shook his head.
"The Almighty, who covered us this night with the wings of His mist,must have some other work for me here," he said. "My soul does not bidme leave Scotland, and my heart cleaves to mine own kindred, upon whosefaces I have not looked for many weary days. Therefore I will travelwestward as opportunity offers, knowing that except of my Lord's willthe enemy shall not again lay hands on me."
On the morrow Ailie Kilgour produced a seaman's dress, which CaptainBarclay had given her for a disguise to one of the prisoners, and whenAdam Hepburn had shorn off his beard, and attired himself in this garb,his nearest kindred could not have recognised him. It was then agreed,that instead of stealing to the port in the darkness, he should walkboldly down in the broad light of day, and present himself at the abodeof Captain Barclay, who might then take him on board publicly as one ofhis crew.
So Adam Hepburn bade farewell to his friends in the Grass-market, walkedwithout molestation over to Leith, and was duly taken on board the_Bittern_. The vessel was rigorously inspected before she sailed, but nosuspicion being attached to the crew, she was allowed to quit theharbour, and in the dawning of Tuesday morning was out in the open sea.