Covenanters -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Scotland -- History -- Stuarts, to the Union, 1371-1707 -- Fiction
But even in the midst of these repinings and bitter breathings, it was
whispered into the ears of my understanding, as with the voice of a
seraph, that the Lord in all things moveth according to His established
laws; and I was comforted to think that in the enormities whereof I was
a witness and partaker, there was a tempering of the hearts of the
people, that they might become as swords of steel, to work out the
deliverance of the land from the bloody methods of prelatic and
arbitrary domination; in so much, that when the soldiers prepared to
return to their quarters in Irvine, I walked with them--their captive,
it is true; but my steps were firm, and they marvelled to one another at
the proudness of my tread.
There was at the time a general sorrowing throughout the country, at the
avenging visitations wherewith all those who had been in the raid, or
who had harboured the fugitives, were visited. Hundreds that sympathised
with the sufferings of their friends, flocked to the town to learn who
had been taken, and who were put to death or reserved for punishment.
The crowd came pressing around as I was conducted up the gait to the
tolbooth; the women wept, but the men looked doure, and the children
wondered whatfor an honest man should be brought to punishment. Some
who knew me, cheered me by name to keep a stout heart; and the soldiers
grew fear't for a rescue, and gurled at the crowd for closing so closely
upon us.
As I was ascending the tolbooth-stair, I heard a shriek; and I looked
around, and beheld Michael, my first-born, a stripling then only twelve
years old, amidst the crowd, stretching out his hands and crying, "O, my
father, my father!"
I halted for a moment, and the soldiers seemed to thaw with compassion;
but my hands were tied,--I was a captive on the threshold of the
dungeon, and I could only shut my eyes and bid the stern agents of the
persecutors go on. Still the cry of my distracted child knelled in my
ear, and my agony grew to such a pitch, that I flew forward up the
steps, and, in the dismal vaults within, sought refuge from the misery
of my child.
CHAPTER LXI
I was conducted into a straight and dark chamber, and the cord wherewith
my hands were bound was untied, and a shackle put upon my right wrist;
the flesh of my left was so galled with the cord, that the jailor was
softened at the sight, and from the humanity of his own nature,
refrained from placing the iron on it, lest the rust should fester the
quick wound.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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