But what with the decay of trade, and the temptation of the king’s bounty, and, over all, the witlessness that was in the spirit of man at this time, the number that enlisted in the course for the year from the parish was prodigious. In one week no less than three weavers and two cotton-spinners went over to Ayr, and took the bounty of the Royal Artillery. But I could not help remarking to myself, that the people were grown so used to changes and extraordinary adventures, that the single enlistment of Thomas Wilson, at the beginning of the American war, occasioned a far greater grief and work among us, than all the swarms that went off week after week in the months of November and December of this year. CHAPTER XXXVI YEAR 1795 THE present Ann. Dom. was ushered in with an event that I had never dreaded to see in my day, in our once sober and religious country parish. The number of lads that had gone over to Ayr to be soldiers from among the spinners and weavers of Cayenneville had been so great, that the government got note of it, and sent a recruiting party to be quartered in the town; for the term clachan was beginning by this time to wear out of fashion: indeed, the place itself was outgrowing the fitness of that title. Never shall I forget the dunt that the first tap of the drum gied to my heart, as I was sitting on Hansel Monday by myself at the parlour fireside, Mrs. Balwhidder being throng with the lassies looking out a washing, and my daughter at Ayr, spending a few days with her old comrades of the boarding school. I thought it was the enemy; and then anon the sound of the fife came shrill to the ear, for the night was lown and peaceful. My wife and all the lassies came flying in upon me, crying all in the name of heaven, what could it be? by which I was obligated to put on my big-coat, and, with my hat and staff, go out to enquire. The whole town was aloof, the aged at the doors in clusters, and the bairns following the tattoo, as it was called, and at every doubling beat of the drum, shouting as if they had been in the face of their foemen. Mr. Archibald Dozendale, one of my elders, was saying to several persons around him, just as I came up, “Hech, sirs! but the battle draws near our gates,” upon which there was a heavy sigh from all that heard him; and then they told me of the sergeant’s business; and we had a serious communing together anent the same. But while we were thus standing discoursing on the causey, Mrs. Balwhidder and the servant lassies could thole no longer, but in a troop came in quest of me, to hear what was doing. In short, it was a night both of sorrow and anxiety. Mr. Dozendale walked back to the manse with us, and we had a sober tumbler of toddy together; marvelling exceedingly where these fearful portents and changes would stop, both of us being of opinion that the end of the world was drawing nearer and nearer.