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There is a wild,
uninhabited district, which separates Nithsdale from Annandale, in
Dumfriesshire. It is called Gavin Muir; and, though lonely, and covered
with spret and heather, exhibits some objects which merit the attention of
the traveller in the wilderness. There is the King’s Loch, the King’s
Burn, and the King’s Chair, all records of King James V.’s celebrated raid
to subdue the thieves of Annandale. Tradition says, what seems extremely
likely, that he spent a night in the midst of this muir; and hence the
appellations of royalty which adhere to the objects which witnessed his
bivouac. But, although the localities referred to possess an interest,
they are exceeded, in this respect, by a number of "cairns," by which the
summits of several hills, or rising grounds, are topped. These cairns,
which amount to five or six, are all within sight of each other—all on
eminences, and all composed of an immense mass of loose, water-worn
stones. And yet the neighbourhood is free from stones, being bare, and fit
for sheeppasturage only. Tradition says nothing of these cairns in
particular; or, indeed, very little of any similar collections, frequent
as they are in Scotland and throughout all Scandinavia. Stone coffins, no
doubt, have been discovered in them, and human bones; but, beyond this,
all is surmise and uncertainty. Often, when yet a boy, and engaged in
fishing in the King’s Burn, have we mounted these pyramids, and felt that
we were standing on holy ground. "Oh," thought we, "that some courteous
cairn would blab it out what ‘tis they are!" But the cairns were silent;
and hence the necessity we are under of professing our ignorance of what
they refused to divulge. But there is a large opening in the side of one
of these cairns, respecting which tradition has preserved a pretty
distinct narrative, which we shall now venture, for the first time, to put
under types, for the instruction of our readers.
The whole hill country, in
Dumfriesshire and Galloway in particular, is riddled, as it were, with
caves and hiding-places. These, no doubt, afforded refuge, during the
eight-and-twenty years of inhuman persecution, to the poor Covenanter; but
they were not, in general, constructed for or by him. They existed from
time immemorial, and were the work of the sons of night and darkness—the
smuggler, who, in passing from the Brow at the mouth of the Nith, from
Bombay, near Kirkcudbright, or from the estuary of the Cree, with untaxed
goods from the Isle of Man—then a separate and independent kingdom—found
it convenient to conceal both his goods and himself from the observation
of the officers of excise. So frequent are these concealed caves in the
locality to which we refer, that, in passing through the long, rank
heather, we have more than once disappeared in an instant, and found
ourselves several feet below the level of the upper world, and in the
midst of a damp, but roomy subterraneous apartment of considerable extent.
We believe that they are now, in these piping times of peace and
preventive service, generally filled up and closed by the shepherds, as
they were dangerous pitfalls in the way of their flocks. In the time,
however, to which we refer—namely, in the year 1683—they were not only
open, but kept, as it were, in a state of repair, being tenanted by the
poor, persecuted, remnant (as they expressed it) of God’s people. That the
reader may fully understand the incidents of this narratives it will be
necessary that he and we travel back some hundred and fifty years, and
some miles from the farm-house of Auchincairn, that we may have ocular
demonstration of the curious contrivances to which the love of life, of
liberty, and of a good conscience, had compelled our forefathers to have
recourse. The cairn which appears so entire and complete, of which the
stones seem to have been huddled together, without any reference to
arrangement whatever, is, nevertheless, hollow underneath, and on
occasions you may see—but only if you examine it narrowly—the blue smoke
seeking its way in tiny jets through a thousand apertures. There is, in
fact, room for four or five individuals. Beneath, there are a few plaids
and bed-covers, with an old chair, a stool, and seats of stone. There is
likewise a fire-place and some peats, extracted from the adjoining moss.
But there is, in fact, no entrance in this direction. You must bend your
course round by the brow of that hollow, over which the heather hangs
profusely; and there, by dividing and gently lifting up the heathy cover,
you will be able to insert your person into a small orifice, from which
you will escape into a dark but a roomy dungeon, which will, in its turn,
conduct you through a narrow passage, into the very heart or centre of
this seemingly solid accumulation of stones. When there, you will have
light such as Milton gives to Pandemonium—just as much as to make darkness
visible, through the small, and, on the outside, invisible crevices
betwixt the stones. Should you be surprised in your lighted and fire
apartment—should any accident or search bring a considerable weight above
you, so as to break through your slightly supported roofing—you can
retreat to your ante-room or dungeon, and from thence, if necessary, make
your way into the adjoining linn, along the bottom of which, you may
ultimately find skulking-shelter, or a pathway into a more inhabited
district. Now that you have surveyed this arrangement, as it existed a
hundred and fifty years ago, we may proceed to give you the narrative
which is connected with it.
In the year above referred
to, the persecution of the saints was at its height—Clavers, in
particular, went about the country with his dragoons, whom he designated
(like the infamous Kirk) his Lambs, literally seeking to hurt and
destroy in all the hill country, in particular of Dumfriesshire and
Galloway. Auchincairn was a marked spot; it had often been a city of
refuge to the shelterless and the famishing; but it had so frequently been
searched, that every hole and corner was as well known to Clavers and his
troop as to the inhabitants themselves. There was now, therefore, no
longer any refuge to the faithful at Auchincairn; in fact, to come there
was to meet the enemy half-way--to rush as it were into the jaws of the
lion. In these circumstances, old Walter Gibson, a man upwards of seventy
years of age, who, by his prayers and his attending conventicles, had
rendered himself particularly obnoxious, was obliged to prolong a green
old age by taking up his avode in the cave, and under the cairn which has
already been described. With him were associated, in his cold and
comfortless retreat, the Rev. Robert Lawson, formerly minister of the
parish of Closeburn; but who, rather than conform to the English
prayer-book and formula, had taken to the mountain, to preach, to baptize,
and even to dispense the Sacrament of the Supper, in glens, and linns, and
coverts, far from the residence of man. Their retreat was known to the
shepherds of the district, and indeed to the whole family of Auchincairn;
but no one ever was suspected of imitating the conduct of the infamous
Baxter, who had proved false, and discovered a cave in Glencairn, where
four Covenanters were immediately shot, and two left hanging upon a tree.
On one occasion, a little innocent girl, a granddaughter of old Walter,
was surprised whilst carrying some provisions towards the hill retreat, by
a party of Clavers’ dragoons, who devoured the provisions, and used every
brutal method to make the girl disclose the secret of the retreat; but she
was neither to be intimidated nor cajoled, and told them plainly that she
would rather die, as her granduncle had done before her, than betray her
trust. They threw her into a peat-hag filled with water, and left her to
sink or swim. She did not swim, however, but sank, never to rise
again. Her spirit had been broken, and life had been rendered a burden to
her. She expressed to her murderers, again and again, a wish that they
would send her to meet her uncle (as she termed it) William. Her body was
only discovered some time after, when the process of decomposition had
deformed one of the most pleasing countenances which ever beamed with
innocence and piety.
"The old hound will not be
far off, when the young whelp was so near," exclaimed Clavers, upon a
recital of the inhuman murder. "We must watch the muirs by night; for it
is then that these creatures congregate and fatten. We must continue to
spoil their feasting, and leave them to feed on cranberries and
moss-water." In consequence of this resolution, a strict watch was set all
along Gavin Muir; and it became almost impossible to convey any sustenance
to the famishing pair; yet the thing was done, and wonderfully managed,
not in the night-time, but in the open day. One shepherd would call to
another, in the note of the curlew or the mire-snipe, and, without
exciting suspicion, convey from the corner of his plaid the necessary
refreshments, even down to a bottle of Nantz. The cave was never entered
on such occasions; but the provisions were dropped amidst the rank
heather; and a particular whistle immediately secured their disappearance.
Night after night, therefore, were these prowlers disappointed of their
object, till at last, despairing of success, or thinking, probably, that
the birds had escaped, they betook themselves, for the time, elsewhere,
and the cairn was relieved from siege. Clavers, in fact, had retired to
Galloway, along with Grierson and Johnstone, and the coast was clear, at
least for the present.
It was about the latter end
of October, when Mr Lawson was preaching and dispensing the Sacrament to
upwards of a hundred followers, in the hollow where stood the King’s
Chair. This locality was wonderfully well suited for the purpose—it was,
in fact, a kind of amphitheatre, surrounded on all sides by rising ground,
and in the centre of which three large stones constituted a chair, and
several seats of the same material were ranged in a circular form around.
The stones remain to this hour, and the truth of this description can be
verified by any one who crosses Gavin Muir. It was a moonlight night—a
harvest moon—and Mr Lawson, having handed the Sacramental cup around, was
in the act of concluding with prayer, when the note of a bird, seemingly a
plover, was heard at a great distance. It was responded to by a similar
call, somewhat nearer; and, in an instant, a messenger rushed in upon
their retreat, out of breath, and exclaiming, "You are all lost!—you are
all dead men!—C1avers is within sight, and at full gallop, with all his
troop at his back."
One advantage which the
poor persecuted had over their persecutors, was a superior knowledge of
localities. In an instant the hollow was tenantless; for the inmates had
fled in all directions, and to various coverts and outlets into the vale
of Annan. The minister alone remained at his post, continuing in
ejaculatory prayer, and resisting all persuasion even to take advantage of
the adjoining cairny-cave. In vain did Walter Gibson delay till the last
moment, and talk of his farther usefulness. Mr Lawson’s only answer was—"I
am in the hands of a merciful Master, and, if He has more service for me,
He himself will provide a way for my escape. I have neither wife nor
child, nor, I may say, relation, alive. I am, as it were, a stranger in
the land of duty. If the Lord so will it that the man of blood shall
prevail over me, He will raise up others in my stead, fitter to serve Him
effectually than ever I have been; but, Walter, you have a bonny
family of grandchildren around you, and your ain daughter, the mother of
them a’, to bless you, and hear you speak the words of counselling and
wisdom; so, make you for the cave and the cairn out by yonder—I will een
remain where am, and the Lord’s will be done!" Seeing that all persuasion
was unavailable, and that, by delaying his flight, he would only sacrifice
his own life, without saving that of his friend, Walter appeared to take
his departure for his place of refuge. It was neither Clavers, however,
nor Lag, nor Johnstone, nor Winram, who was upon them; but only Captain
Douglas, from Drumlanrig, to which place secret information of the night’s
wark, as it was termed, had been conveyed. Captain Douglas’ hands
were red with blood; he had shot poor Daniel M’Michan in Dalveen Glen, and
had given the word of command to blow out his brother’s brains, as has
been already recorded in the notices of these times. One of his troop had
been wounded in the affair at Dalveen, and he was literally furious with
rage and the thirst of blood. Down, therefore, Douglas came with about
half-a-dozen men, (the rest being on duty in Galloway), determined to kill
or be killed—to put an end to these nightly conventicles, or perish in the
attempt.
Mr Lawson had taken his
position in the King’s Chair, which, as was formerly described, consisted
of three large stones set on end, around one in the centre, which served
as a seat; and when Douglas came in sight, nothing appeared visible in the
moonshine but these solitary stones.
"They are off by G—!"
exclaimed Douglas; "the fox has broken cover—we must continue the chase;
and Rob," added he, to one who rode near him, "blaw that bugle till it
crack again. When you start the old fox, I should like mightily to be in
at the death. But so—ho!—what have we here?—why, here are bottles and a
cup, by Jove! These friends of the covenant are no enemies, I perceive, to
good cheer"—putting the bottle to his mouth, and making a long pull— "by
the living Jingo! most excellent wine. Here, Rob," emptying what remained
into the silver goblet or cup, "here, line your weasan with a drop of the
red, and then for the red heart’s blood of these psalm-singing,
cup-kissing gentry. So ho—so ho!—hilloa—one and all— the fox is under
cover still," (advancing towards the stone chair), "and we thought him
a-field, too. Stand forth, old Canticles, 5 and 8th, and let us see
whether you have got one or five bottles under your belt. What! you won’t,
or you can’t stand! Grunt again!—you are made of stone, are you?—why,
then, we will try your qualities with a little burnt powder and lead.
Gentlemen of the horse-brigade, do you alight, and be d—d to you, and,
just by way of experiment, rattle me half a dozen bullets in the face of
that there image of stone, which looks so mighty like the parson of
Closeburn that one might easily mistake the one for the other."
The men had alighted with
their holster pistols, and had arranged themselves, as directed, in the
front of the stone chair, and with a full view of the figure which
occupied the seat, when, at this very critical juncture, a band of upwards
of fifty horses, with panthers on their backs, came up at a smart trot.
"Stop your hellish speed!"
said a voice from the front of the band; "or, by this broadsword, and
these long six-footers, you are all dead men, ere you can say, Present,
fire!" Instantly, Douglas saw and comprehended his position—"To horse!"
was his short exhortation, and, in an instant, his five followers and
himself had cleared the brow of the glen, and were out of sight at full
speed. "Shed not their blood!— shed not their blood!" continued to exclaim
a well-known voice amongst the band of smugglers—for such the reader may
have guessed they were. It was the voice of Walter Gibson, well known to
many of the smugglers; for again and again they had supplied Auchincairn
with Hollands and Nantz. "Shed not one drop of blood, I say; but leave
them to Him who has said, ‘Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it;’—He
will find His own time of revenging the death of my poor murdered bairn,
whom they drowned in the King’s Moss owre by there. But, dear me, Mr
Lawson, are ye dead or living, that ye tak nae tent o’ what’s going on?"
In fact, Mr Lawson, having given himself up as lost, had committed
himself, with shut eyes, so intently to prayer, that he had but a very
confused notion of what had happened.
"The Lord’s will be done!"
he exclaimed at last; "and is this you, Walter Gibson?—fearful!
Fearful!—are these the Philistines around you?—and are you and I to travel
hand in hand, into Immanuel’s land?—or, but do my poor eyes deceive me,
and are these only our good friends, the fair traders, come to the rescue,
under God and his mercy, in the time of our need?"
"Indeed," responded a known
voice—that, namely, at whose bidding the work of death had been
staid—"indeed, Mr Lawson, we are friends and not foes; and, whilst our
cattle, which are a little blawn, with the haste into which they were
hurried by old Walter here—until the beasts bite, I say, and eat their
corn, we will e’en thank God, and take a little whet of the creature. You
know, such comforts are not forbidden in the laws of Moses, or, indeed, in
any laws but those of this persecuted and oppressed land."
So saying, he disengaged
from a hamper a flagon of Nantz, and was about to make use of the
Sacramental cup, which Douglas had dropped, to convey it around, when his
arm was arrested by the still strong hand of Walter.
"For the sake of God and
his Church—of Him who shed His blood for poor sinners—profane not, I
beseech you, the consecrated, the hallowed vessel which I have so lately
held in these vile hands as the emblem of my purification through the
blood of sprinkling—profane not, I say, that vessel which, when all
worldly goods were forfeited and relinquished as things of no value, our
worthy pastor has borne along with him—being the gift of his
parishioners—to the mountain and the glen—to the desert and the
wilderness!"
There needed no further
admonition; the cup was deposited in the hands of its owner, and the whole
posse comitatus spread themselves out on the grass—for, though all
around was heath, this little spot was green and lovely—and, by applying
the vessel directly to their lips, each one took a draught so long and
hearty that the captain or leader had again and again to replenish the
measure. Nor were Lawson and old Walter Gibson behind in this work of
refreshment. Many a day they had laid themselves down to rest in the damp
and cold cave, with little of food, and with nothing to cheer and support
them but a mouthful, from time to time, of the Solway
waters—viz., smuggled brandy. We are all the children, to a great
amount, of circumstances; and the very men who, but a little ago, were
engaged in the most solemn act of religion, and counted themselves as at
the point of death— these very men were now so much cheered, and even
exhilarated, by the reviving cordial, that they forgot for the time their
dangers and their privations, and were not displeased to hear the
smugglers sing the old song, "We are merry men all," when a figure
approached, out of breath, exclaiming—
"The gaugers! the gaugers!—the
excisemen from Dumfries!"
In an instant the whole
troop stood to arms. They had been well disciplined; and the horses, along
with the parson and Walter, were stowed away, as they called it, behind.
They spoke not; but there was the click of gunlocks, and a powerful
recover, on the ground, of heavy muskets, with barrels fully six feet
long, which had been used by their forefathers in the times of the first
Charles and the civil commotion. The enemy came up at the gallop; but they
had plainly miscalculated the forces of their opponents — they were
only about fifteen strong; so, wheeling suddenly round, they took their
departure with as much despatch as they had advanced.
"We must off instantly!"
exclaimed the leader of this trading band. We must gain the pass of
Enterkin ere day dawn; for these good neighbours will make common cause
with the King’s troops, whenever they meet them, and there will be bloody
work, I trow, ere these kegs and good steeds change masters."
So saying, the march
immediately proceeded up Gavin Muir, and the minister and Walter took
possession of their usual retreat—the Cairny Cave I have so often referred
to.
Douglas was not thus, by
accident, to be foiled in his object; for having, in the course of a few
days, obtained additional forces from Galloway, he returned to the search
in Gavin Muir, where he had, again and again, been told meetings still
continued to be held, and some caves of concealment existed. Old
Lauderdale in council had one day said—"Why, run down the devils, like the
natives of Jamaica, with bloodhounds." And the hint was not lost on bloody
Clavers—he had actually a pair of hounds of this description with him in
Galloway at this time; and, at his earnest request, Douglas was favoured
with one of them. Down, therefore, this monster came upon Gavin Muir, not
to shoot blackcocks or muirfowl, in which it abounded, but to track, and
start, and pistol, if necessary, poor, shivering, half-starved human
beings, who had dared to think the laws of their God more binding than the
empire and despotism of sinful men. The game was a merry one, and it was
played by "merry men all:" forward went the hound through muirs and
mosses; onward came the troop, hollowing and encouraging the animal in the
pursuit of its horrid instincts. As they passed the moss hole in which the
poor granddaughter of Walter had been suffocated, the jest, and the oath,
and the merriment were at their utmost.
"Had we but a slice of the
young pup," said one, "to flesh our hound with, he would soon scent out
the old one—they are kindred blood, you know. But what do I see?— old
Bloody, is it, on the top of the cairn yonder!—and scooping, nosing, and
giving tongue most determinedly. By the holy poker!—and that’s a
sanctified oath—I will on, and see what ‘s agoing here." Thus saying, he
put spurs to his horse, and, waving his sword round his head, "Here goes
for old Watty!—and may the devil burn me if I do not unearth the fox at
last!" Onwards they all advanced at the gallop; but Jack Johnston was
greatly in front, and had dashed his horse half-way up the steep cairn,
when, in an instant, horse and man rushed down, and immediately
disappeared.
"Why," said Douglas, "what
has become of Jack?I—has old Sooty smelt him, and sent for him, on a short
warning, to help in roasting Covenanters?—or have the fairies, those fair
dames of the green knowe and the gray cairn, seen and admired his
proportions, and made a young ‘Tam Lean’ of poor Jack Johnston? Let us on
and see."
And see to be sure they
did; for there was Jack, lying in the last agonies of death, under his
horse, which itself was lamed and lying with feet uppermost. The horrid
hound was lapping, with a growl, the blood which oozed from the nose and
lips of the dying man, and, with a dreadful curse, the terrible being
expired just as the party came within view. He had tumbled headlong, owing
to the pressure from the horse’s feet, through the slight rafter-work
beneath, and had pitched head-foremost against a stone seat, in
consequence of which his skull was fractured, and his immediate death
ensued. Douglas looked like one bewildered; he would scarcely credit his
eyes; but his companion in arms did the needful; and Jack Johnston’s body
was removed, his horse shot through the brain, and the whole band
returned, drooping and crest-fallen, to Drumlanrig. Throwing his sword
down on the hall table when he arrived, he was heard to say, looking
wildly and fearfully all the while, "The hand of God is in this thing, and
I knew it not." It is a curious fact, but one of which my informant had no
doubt, that the very Douglas became, after this, quite an altered man. Mr
Lawson, who lived some years after his death, attended upon him in his
last illness. "God only knows the heart," would he say; "but to all
outward appearance, William Douglas was a cleansed and a sanctified
vessel: the mercy of God is infinite—it even extended to the thief on the
Cross." |
