Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and CovenantSwan, Annie S.
History
Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and Covenant
Swan, Annie S.
Covenanters -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
There was nothing for it but to fight, which the brave remnant
immediately decided to do, and quietly but resolutely looked to their
arms, and set themselves in order for the fray. It was a pitiable sight
upon which the summer sun beat that July afternoon--that handful of
God’s people dauntlessly facing a goodly regiment of dragoons, all fresh
and eager for the fight. Ere the enemy was quite upon them, Cameron led
the devotions of his brethren, and in his prayer said, with great
fervour, "Lord, spare the green and take the ripe."
Then they exchanged a hand clasp and a solemn farewell, pledging each
other to meet in glory.
It was a desperate fight.
The Covenanters fought with conspicuous gallantry, and, even after brave
Cameron fell, they continued the conflict over his dead body.
Seeing that there was no hope of victory, and that Rathillet and some
others were already taken captive, David Gray, in a last extremity,
leaped upon the back of a horse whose rider had been slain, and, rapidly
galloping off the field, made his escape. Only one or two others were
equally fortunate, and so once again the Covenanters were swept away
before the oppressors like chaff on a windy day.
Richard Cameron’s remains were carried to Edinburgh, and his head was
fixed on the Netherbow port, where it was left to moulder and blacken in
the sun. Rathillet, after the usual mockery of a trial, was subjected to
terrible and searching tortures, which he bore with a firmness which
astonished those who had seen evidence of his sweet yielding nature.
His troubles were finally ended on the scaffold, and he went to receive
his exceeding great reward. Thus it seemed as if this most precious
blood of the Covenant, yea, every drop of it, must be spilled upon the
ground, ere the hour of Scotland’s deliverance had come.
By slow degrees, and through many strange perils, David Gray wandered
wearily back to his native parish. There were times when the weight of
his many sorrows was like to overwhelm him, and when he could have cried
out for the inheritance in heaven, to which so many of his brethren had
already been admitted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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