Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing TimesMacKenna, Robert William
History
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times
MacKenna, Robert William
Adventure stories; Covenanters -- Scotland -- Fiction; Love stories; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
He paused and sighed deeply, then picking up the thread of his words
again he told me the chequered history of the Covenanters for close on
fifty years. It was a story that thrilled me--a record of suffering, of
high endeavour, of grievous wrong. Of his own sufferings he made
little, though he had suffered sore, and I, who had never felt the call
to sacrifice myself for a principle, was humbled to the dust as I
listened. He spoke in accents tense with emotion, and sometimes his
voice rang with pride. I was too spell-bound to interrupt him, though
many questions were upon my lips.
At last he ceased, as though the memories he was recalling had
overwhelmed him, then he resumed:
"So, in some sort, my story is the story of puir auld Scotland, for the
past fifty years. It is a tragedy, and the pity is--a needless tragedy!
If the rulers of a land would study history and human nature, it would
save them from muckle wrong-doing and oppression. It has been tried
before and, I doubt not, it will be tried many a time again, but it will
never succeed--for no tyrant can destroy the soul of a people by brute
force. They call us rebels, and maybe so we are, but we were not rebels
in the beginning. Two kings signed the bond: the Parliament passed it.
We remained true to our pledged word; the kings forgot theirs, and they
call us the law-breakers. And some call us narrow-minded fanatics.
Some of us may be; for when the penalty of a man’s faith is his death,
he may come to lay as much stress on the commas in his creed as on the
principles it declares. No man has the right to compromise on the
fundamentals.
"Sometimes I wonder if I had my life to live over again whether I would
do as I have done. Maist likely I should, for all through I have let my
conscience guide me. I have no regrets, but only a gnawing sorrow that
sometimes torments me. I have been in dangers many, and I have never
lowered my flag, either to a fear or to a denial of my faith, and yet
the Lord has not counted me worthy to win the martyr’s crown." His
voice broke, and he hesitated for a moment, then went on: "I have fought
a good fight; I have almost finished my course, but whether I have kept
the faith is no’ for me to say. I have tried.
"The night of Scotland’s woe has been long and stormy; but the dawn of a
better day is not far off, and she will yet take her place in the
forefront of the nations as the land in which the battle for liberty of
conscience was fought and won.
"Look ye," and he pointed to the east, where the darkness was beginning
to break as the sun swung up from his bed.
*CHAPTER X*
*THE FIELD MEETING*
A week passed uneventfully. Each night I joined my friend and the glad
notes of his flute were still our signal: each morning we parted to
sleep through the daylight hours each in his own hiding-place.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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