The Men of the Moss-Hags: Being a history of adventure taken from the papers of William Gordon of Earlstoun in GallowayCrockett, S. R. (Samuel Rutherford)
History
The Men of the Moss-Hags: Being a history of adventure taken from the papers of William Gordon of Earlstoun in Galloway
Crockett, S. R. (Samuel Rutherford)
Covenanters -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction
But on the morrow I, who desired to see the ways of the Compellers,
learned a lesson that ended my scholarship days with them. James
Johnstone seemed somewhat moved by the matter of the bairns, but by the
morning light he had again hardened his heart, like Pharaoh, more
bitterly than before. For he was now on his own land, and because his
thought was that the King would hold him answerable for the behaviour
and repute of his people, he became more than ordinarily severe. This he
did, being a runnagate from the wholesome ways of the Covenant; and,
therefore, the more bitter against all who remained of that way.
He drove into the yards of the farm-towns, raging like a tiger of the
Indies, now calling on the names of the goodman of the house, and now
upon other suspected persons. And if they did not run out to him at the
first cry, he would strike them on the face with the basket hilt of his
shable till the blood gushed out. It was a sick and sorry thing to see,
and I think his Majesty's troopers were ashamed; all saving the
Johnstone's own following, who laughed as at rare sport.
But I come now to tell what I saw with my own eyes of the famous matter
of Andrew Herries, which was the cause of my cousin of Lochinvar leaving
their company and riding with me and Hugh Kerr all the way to Edinburgh.
As, indeed, you shall presently hear. And the manner of its happening
was as follows. We were riding full slowly along the edge of a boggy
loch in the parish of Hutton, and, as usual, quartering the ground for
Whig refugees, of whom it was suspected that there were many lurking in
the neighbourhood. We had obtained no success in our sport, and
Westerhall was a wild man. He ran about crying "Blood and wounds!" which
was a favourite oath of his, and telling what he would do to those who
dared to rebel, and harbour preachers and preachers' brats on his
estate. For we had heard that the lass who had bearded us on the
brae-face by the school, with her little brother Alec in her hand, was
the daughter of Roger Allison, a great preacher of the hill-folk who had
come to them over from Holland, to draw them together into some of their
ancient unity and power.
Westerhall, then, knew not as yet in whose house she was dwelling, but
only that she had been received by one of his people. But this, if it
should come to Claverhouse's ears, was enough to cause him to set a fine
upon the Johnstone--so strict as against landlords were the laws
concerning intercommuning with rebels or rebels' children on their
estates. This was indeed the cause of so many of the lairds, who at
first were all on the side of the Covenant, turning out Malignants and
persecutors. And more so in the shire of Dumfries than in Galloway,
where the muirs are broader, the King's arm not so long, and men more
desperately dour to drive.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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