Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times

by Robert William MacKenna

  *CHAPTER III*

  *BY BLEDNOCH WATER*

  Sharp and clear rang out the bugle notes of the reveille, rending themorning stillness that brooded over the thatched houses of Wigtown. Wetumbled out of our beds of straw in the old barn where we hadbivouacked--some with a curse on their lips at such a rude awakening,and others with hearts heavy at the thought of what lay before us. Tohunt hill-men among the boulders and the sheltering heather of theirnative mountains was one thing: for the hunted man had a fox's chance,and more than a fox's cunning: but it was altogether another thing toexecute judgment on two defenceless women, and only the most hardenedamong us had any stomach for such devil's work. Inured to scenes ofbrutality as I had become, I felt ill at ease when I remembered the taskthat awaited us, and, in my heart, I nursed the hope that, when thebugle sounded the assembly, we should learn that the prisoners had beenreprieved and that we could shake the dust of Wigtown from our feetforever.

  It was a glorious morning: and I can still remember, as though it wereyesterday, every little event of these early hours. I shook the strawfrom my coat and went out. There was little sign of life in the streetexcept for the dragoons hurrying about their tasks. My horse, tetheredwhere I had left him the night before, whinnied a morning greeting as Idrew near. He was a creature of much understanding, and as I patted hisneck and gentled him, he rubbed his nose against my tunic. I undid hishalter and with a hand on his forelock led him to the watering trough.The clear water tumbled musically into the trough from a red clay pipethat led to some hidden spring; and as my nag bent his neck and dippedhis muzzle delicately into the limpid coolness, I watched a minnow dartunder the cover of the green weed on the trough-bottom. When I judged hehad drunk enough I threw a leg over his back and cantered down thestreet to the barn where we had slept. There, I slipped the end of hishalter through a ring in the wall, and rejoined my companions who weregathered round the door.

  We had much to do; there was harness to polish, bridles and bits toclean, and weapons to see to--for Sir Robert was a man vigilant, whotook a pride in the smartness of his troop.

  "It's a bonnie mornin' for an ugly ploy," said Trooper Agnew, as I satdown on a bench beside him with my saddle on my knees. From his tone Icould tell that his heart was as little in the day's work as mine.

  "Ay, it's a bonnie morning," I replied, "too bonnie for the work we haveto do. I had fain the day was over, and the work were done, if done itmust be."

  "Weel, ye never can tell: it may be that the women will be reprieved.I've heard tell that Gilbert Wilson has muckle siller, and is ready topay ransom for his dochter: an' siller speaks when arguments are wasteo' wind." He spat on a polishing rag, and rubbed his saddle vigorously."They tell me he's bocht Aggie off: and if he can he'll buy off Margettae. But there's the auld woman Lauchlison: she has neither siller norfrien's wi' siller, and I'm fearin' that unless the Royal Clemency comesinto play she'll ha'e tae droon."

  "But why should they drown?" said I, voicing half unconsciously thequestion that had so often perplexed me.

  "Weel, that's a hard question," replied Agnew, as he burnished his bit,"and a question that's no for the like o' you and me to settle. A' weha'e to dae is to carry oot the orders of our superior officers. Wemaunna think ower muckle for oorsel's."

  I was already well acquainted with this plausible argument, and indeed Ihad heard Lag himself justify some of his acts by an appeal to suchdogma; but I was not satisfied, and ventured to remonstrate:

  "Must we," I asked, "do things against which our conscience rebels,simply because we are commanded to do so?"

  Agnew hesitated for a moment before replying, passing the end of hisbridle very deliberately through a buckle, and fastening it with care.

  "Conscience!" he said, and laughed. "What richt has a trooper to sic' athing? I've nane noo." He lowered his voice--and spoke quickly."Conscience, my lad! Ye'd better no' let the sergeant hear ye speakthat word, or he'll be reporting ye tae Sir Robert for a Covenanter, andye'll get gey short shrift, I'm thinkin'. Tak' the advice o' ane thatmeans ye nae ill, and drap yer conscience in the water o' Blednoch, andsay farewell tae it forever. If ye keep it, ye'll get mair blame thanpraise frae it--and I'm thinkin' ye'll no' get ony promotion till ye'reweel rid o't."

  "Whit's this I hear aboot conscience?" said Davidson, a dragoon who wasstanding by the door of the barn.

  "Oh, naething," said Agnew. "I was just advising Bryden here to get rido' his."

  "Maist excellent advice," said Davidson. "A puir trooper has nae richtto sic a luxury. Besides, it's a burden, and wi' a' his trappings hehas eneuch to carry already." He paused for a moment--looked into thebarn over his shoulder and continued: "To my way o' thinkin', naebodyhas ony richt to a conscience but the King. Ye see it's this way. Atrooper maun obey his officers: he has nae richt o' private judgment, sohe has nae work for his conscience to do. His officers maun obey themthat are higher up--so they dinna need a conscience, and so it goes on,up, and up till ye reach the King, wha is the maister o' us a'. He'sthe only body in the realm that can afford the luxury: and even he findsit a burden."

  "I'm no surprised," interjected Agnew. "A conscience like that maun bean awfu' encumbrance."

  "Ay, so it is," replied Davidson. "They do say that the King finds itsic a heavy darg to look after his conscience that he appoints a man tobe its keeper."

  Agnew laughed. "Does he lead it about on a chain like a dog?" he asked.

  "I canna tell you as to that," replied Davidson, "but it's mair thanlikely, for it maun be a rampageous sort o' beast whiles."

  "And what if it breaks away," asked Agnew, laughing again, "and fleshesits teeth in the King's leg?"

  "Man," said Davidson, "ye remind me: the very thing ye speak o' aincehappened. Nae doot the keeper is there to haud back his conscience fraeworrying the King, but I mind readin' that ane o' the keepers didna haudthe beast in ticht eneuch, and it bit the King. It had something to daewi' a wumman. I've forgotten the partic'lers: but I think the King wasauld King Hal."

  "And what happened to the keeper?" asked Agnew.

  "Oh, him," replied Davidson. "The King chopped his heid off. And that,or something like it, is what will happen to you, my lad," he said,looking meaningly at me, "if Lag hears ye talk ony sic nonsense. If thaedamnable Covenanters didna nurse their consciences like sickly bairnsthey would be a bit mair pliable, and gi'e us less work."

  I would gladly have continued the conversation, but we were interruptedby the appearance of the cook, who came round the corner of the barnstaggering under the weight of a huge black pot full of our morningporridge.

  "Parritch, lads, wha's for parritch?" he called, setting down his load,and preparing to serve out our portions with a large wooden ladle. Wefiled past him each with our metal platter and a horn spoon in ourhands, and received a generous ladleful. The regimental cook is alwaysfair game for the would-be wit, and our cook came in for his share ofchaff; but he was ready of tongue, and answered jibe with jibe--some ofhis retorts stinging like a whip-lash so that his tormentors were soreand sorry that they had challenged him.

  Soon the last man was served and all of us fell to.

  When our meal was over there was little time left ere the assemblysounded. As the bugle notes blared over the village, we flung ourselvesinto our saddles, and at the word turned our horses up the villagestreet. The clatter of hoofs, and the jingle of creaking harness broughtthe folks to their doors, for the appeal of mounted men is as old as theart of war. We were conscious of admiring glances from many a lassie'seye, and some of the roysterers among us, behind the back of authority,gave back smile for smile, and threw furtive kisses to the comelier ofthe women-folk.

  Near the Tolbooth Sir Robert awaited us, sitting his horse motionlesslike a man cut out of stone. A sharp word of command, and we reined ourhorses in, wheeling and forming a line in front of the Tolbooth door.There we waited.

  By and by w
e heard the tramp of horses, and Colonel Winram at the headof his company rode down the other side of the street and haltedopposite to us. Winram and Lag dismounted, giving their horses into thecharge of their orderlies, and walked together to the Tolbooth door.They knocked loudly, and after a mighty clatter of keys and shooting ofbolts the black door swung back, and they passed in. We waited long,but still there was no sign of their return. My neighbour on the right,whose horse was champing its bit and tossing its head in irritation,whispered: "They maun ha'e been reprievit."

  "Thank God for that," I said, out of my heart.

  But it was not to be. With a loud creak, as though it were in pain, thedoor swung open, and there came forth, splendid in his robes of office,Sheriff Graham. Followed him, Provost Coltran, Grier of Lag, and ColonelWinram. Behind them, each led by a gaoler, came two women. Foremostwas Margaret Lauchlison, bent with age, and leaning on a stick, her thingrey hair falling over her withered cheeks. She did not raise her eyesto look at us, but I saw that her lips were moving silently, and a greatpity surged up in my breast and gripped me by the throat. Some fourpaces behind her came Margaret Wilson, and as she passed out of thedarkness of the door she raised her face to the sky and took a longbreath of the clean morning air. She was straight as a willow-wand,with a colour in her cheeks like red May-blossom, and a brave look inher blue eyes. Her brown hair glinted in the sunlight, and she walkedwith a steady step between the ranks of horsemen like a queen going toher coronal. She looked curiously at the troopers as she passed us. Iwatched her coming, and, suddenly, her big child-like eyes met mine, andfor very shame I hung my head.

  Some twenty yards from the Tolbooth door, beside the Town Cross, thelittle procession halted, and the town-crier, after jangling his crackedbell, mounted the lower step at the base of the cross and read from abig parchment:

  "God save the King! Whereas Margaret Lauchlison, widow of JohnMulligan, wright in Drumjargon, and Margaret Wilson, daughter of GilbertWilson, farmer in Penninghame, were indicted on April 13th, in the yearof grace 1685 before Sheriff Graham, Sir Robert Grierson of Lag, ColonelWinram, and Captain Strachan, as being guilty of the Rebellion ofBothwell Brig, Aird's Moss, twenty field Conventicles, and twenty houseConventicles, the Assize did sit, and after witnesses heard did bringthem in guilty, and the judges sentenced them to be tied to palisadoesfixed in the sand, within the floodmark of the sea, and there to standtill the flood overflows them. The whilk sentence, being in accordancewith the law of this Kingdom, is decreed to be carried out this day, the11th of May in the year of grace 1685. God Save the King."

  When he ceased there was silence for a space, and then Grier of Lag, hissword scraping the gravel as he moved, walked up to the older prisoner,and shouted:

  "Margaret Lauchlison, will ye recant?"

  She raised her head, looked him in the eyes with such a fire in hersthat his gaze fell before it, and in a steady voice replied:

  "Goodness and mercy ha'e followed me a' the days o' my life, and I'm no'gaun back on my Lord in the hour o' my death,"--and she bowed her headagain, as though there was nothing more to be said, but her lips keptmoving silently.

  Lag turned from her with a shrug of the shoulders, and approached theyounger prisoner. She turned her head to meet him with a winsome smilethat would have softened a heart less granite hard; but to him herbeauty made no appeal.

  "Margaret Wilson," he said, "you have heard your sentence. Will yerecant?"

  I can still hear her reply:

  "Sir, I count it a high honour to suffer for Christ's truth. He aloneis King and Head of His Church."

  It was a brave answer, but it was not the answer that Lag required, sohe turned on his heel and rejoined the Sheriff and the Provost. I didnot hear what passed between them, but it was not to the advantage ofthe prisoners, for the next moment I saw that the gaoler was fasteningthe old woman's left wrist to the stirrup leather of one of the trooperswho had been ordered to bring his horse up nearer the Town Cross. Manya time since I have wondered whether it was ill-luck or good fortunethat made them hit on me to do such a disservice for Margaret Wilson.It may have been nothing more than blind chance, or it may have been theact of Providence--I am no theologian, and have never been able tosettle these fine points--but, at a word from Lag, her gaoler broughtthe girl over beside me, and shackled her wrist to my stirrup leather.I dared not look at her face, but I saw her hand, shapely and brown,close round the stirrup leather as though she were in pain when thegaoler tightened the thong.

  "Curse you," I growled, "there's no need to cut her hand off. She'llnot escape," and I would fain have hit the brute over the head with thebutt of my musket. He slackened the thong a trifle, and as he slouchedoff I was conscious that my prisoner looked up at me as though to thankme: but I dared not meet her eyes, and she spoke no word.

  There was a rattle of drums, and we wheeled into our appointed places,and began our woeful journey to the sea. Heading our procession walkedtwo halberdiers, their weapons glistening above their heads. Followedthem the Sheriff and the Provost: and after these Winram and thetroopers in two lines, between which walked the prisoners. Lag rodebehind on his great black horse. It was a brave sight for the old townof Wigtown--but a sight of dule.

  Down the street we went, but this time there were no glances ofadmiration cast upon us: nothing but silent looks of awe, touched withpity. Ahead I saw anxious mothers shepherding their children into theshelter of their doors, and when we came near them I could see that someof the children and many of the women were weeping. I dared not lookMargaret Wilson in the face, but I let my eyes wander to her hair, brownand lustrous in the sunshine. My hand on the reins was moist, my lipswere dry, and I cursed myself that ever I had thrown in my lot with sucha horde of murderers. Agnew's words about conscience kept ringing in myears, and I felt them sear my brain. Conscience indeed! What kind ofconscience had I, that I could take part in such a devilish ploy? If Ihad had the courage of a rabbit I would have swung the girl up beforeme, set spurs to my horse, broken from the line and raced for life. ButI was a coward. I had no heart for such high adventure, and many a timesince, as I have lain in the dark before the cock-crowing, I have beentortured by remorse for the brave good thing I was too big a craven toattempt.

  The procession wound slowly on, then wheeled to the left and descendedto the river bank. I believe the Blednoch has altered its course sincethat day. I have never had the heart to revisit the scene, but men tellme so. Then, it flowed into the sea over a long stretch of brown sandjust below the town. It was neither broad, nor yet very deep: but whenthe tide of Solway was at its full it flooded all the sand banks, andfilled the river-mouth so that the river water was dammed back, and itbecame a broad stream.

  Far out on the sand I saw a stake planted: and another some thirty pacesnearer shore. They led the old woman, weary with her walk, to thefarther stake, and tying her to it left her there. Down the channel onecould see the tide coming in--its brown and foam-sprinkled front raisedabove the underlying water. Cruel it looked, like some questing wildbeast raising its head to spy out its prey. A halberdier came andsevered the thong that fastened Margaret Wilson to my stirrup leather,and led her away. My eyes followed her, and as she passed my horse'shead she looked at me over her shoulder and our eyes met. I shall seethose eyes until the Day of Judgment: blue as the speedwell--blue, andunafraid.

  They led her to the nearer stake, and bound her there. There was a kindof mercy in their cruelty, for they thought that if the younger womanshould witness the death of the elder one she might be persuaded torecant before she herself was engulfed. Quickly, as is its wont, theSolway tide rushed over the sand. Before Margaret Wilson was fastenedto the stake, the water was knee-deep where Margaret Lauchlison stood:and soon it was at the maiden's feet. As the first wave touched herthere was a murmur like a groan from some of the town folk who hadfollowed us and stood behind us in little knots upon the river bank.The tide flowed on, mounting higher and higher, until old Marg
aretLauchlison stood waist deep in a swirl of tawny water. She was too farout for us to hear her if she spoke, but we could see that she hadraised her head and was looking fearlessly over the water. And then theyounger woman did a strange thing. Out of the fold of her gown over herbosom she drew a little book, opened it and read aloud. A hush fellupon us: and our horses, soothed by the music of her voice, stoppedtheir head-tossing and were still. She read so clearly that all of uscould hear, and there was a proud note in her voice as she ended: "For Iam persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, norprincipalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, norheight, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate usfrom the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Then shekissed the open page, and returned her testament to her bosom, and in amoment burst into song:

  "My sins and faults of youth Do Thou, O Lord, forget! After Thy mercy think on me, And for Thy goodness great."

  She sang like a bird, her clear notes soaring up to the blue vault ofheaven, out of the depths of a heart untouched by fear. I heard Agnew,who was ranged next me, mutter "This is devil's work," but my throat wastoo parched for speech. Would she never cease? On and on went thatpure young voice, singing verse after verse till the psalm was finished.When she had ended the tide was well about her waist, and had alreadytaken Margaret Lauchlison by the throat.

  "What see ye yonder, Marget Wilson?" shouted Lag, pointing with hissword to the farther stake.

  She looked for a moment, and answered: "I see Christ wrestling there."

  Then there was a great silence, and looking out to sea we saw a hugewave sweep white-crested over the head of the older woman, who bent tomeet it, and was no more seen. The law had taken its course with her.

  There was a murmur of angry voices behind us, but a stern look from Lagsilenced the timorous crowd. Setting spurs to his horse he plunged intothe water, and drew up beside the nearer stake. He severed the rope thatbound the girl, whereat a cheer rose from the townsfolk who imaginedthat the law had relented and that its majesty was satisfied with thedeath of one victim. He turned his horse and dragged the girl ashore.As they reached the bank, he flung her from him and demanded:

  "Will ye take the oath? Will ye say 'God Save the King?'"

  "God save him an He will," she said. "I wish the salvation of all men,and the damnation of none."

  Now to my thinking that was an answer sufficient, and for such the townfolk took it, for some of them cried: "She's said it! She's said it!She's saved!"

  Lag turned on them like a tiger: "Curse ye," he shouted, "for a pack o'bletherin' auld wives! The hizzy winna' recant. Back intil the sea wi'her," and gripping her by the arm he dragged her back, and with his ownhands fastened her again to the stake. Her head fell forward so thatfor an instant her face lay upon the waters, then she raised it proudlyagain. But a halberdier, with no pity in his foul heart, reached outhis long halberd, and placing the blade of it upon her neck pushed herface down into the sea.

  "Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said, and leered at the townsfolk: butthey cried shame upon him and Lag bade him desist.

  On came the waters, wave after wave, mounting steadily till they reachedher heart: then they swept over the curve of her bosom and mountedhigher and higher till they touched her neck. She was silentnow--silent, but unafraid. She turned her face to the bank, and, Owonder, she smiled, and in her eyes there was a mystic light as thoughshe had seen the Invisible. The cruel waves came on, climbing up thecolumn of her throat until, as though to show her a mercy which mandenied her, the sea swirled over her and her face fell forward beneaththe waves. Her brown hair floated on the water like a piece of beautifulsea-wrack, and the broken foam clung to it like pearls. Justice--Godforgive the word--justice had been done: and two women, malignant anddangerous to the realm because they claimed the right to worship theirMaker according to the dictates of their conscience, had been lawfullydone to death.

  There was a rattle of drums, and we fell into rank again. I lookedacross the water. Far off I saw a gull flash like a streak of silverinto the waves, and near at hand, afloat upon the water, a wisp of brownseaweed--or was it a lassie's hair?