surveying the metamorphosed shepherd, "but Idoot yer auld friends the dragoons wad sune see through 't--considerin'yer size an' the soond o' yer voice."
So saying he proceeded to place the red herrings on a gridiron, as if hewere the recognised cook of the establishment.
Presently Bruce himself--Mrs. Black's friend the blacksmith--made hisappearance, and the four were soon seated round a supper of oat-cakes,mashed potatoes, milk, and herring. For some time they discussed theprobability of Wallace being recognised by spies as one who had attendedthe conventicle at Irongray, or by dragoons as a deserter; then, asappetite was appeased, they diverged to the lamentable state of thecountry, and the high-handed doings of the Privy Council.
"The Airchbishop cam' to the toon this mornin'," remarked Mrs. Black,"so there'll be plenty o' torterin' gaun on."
"I fear you're right," said Bruce, who, having sojourned a considerabletime in England, had lost much of his northern language and accent."That horrible instrument, the _boot_, was brought this very morning tomy smiddy for repair. They had been so hard on some poor wretch, Isuppose, that they broke part of it, but I put a flaw into its heartthat will force them to be either less cruel or to come to me again forrepairs!"
"H'm! if ye try thae pranks ower often they'll find it oot," saidQuentin. "Sherp is weel named, and if he suspects what ye've done,ye'll get a taste of the buit yersel'."
The hatred with which by far the greater part of the people of Scotlandregarded Archbishop Sharp of Saint Andrews is scarcely a matter ofwonder when the man's character and career is considered. Originally aPresbyterian, and Minister of Crail, he was sent to Court by hisbrethren and countrymen as their advocate and agent, and maintainedthere at their expense for the express purpose of watching over theinterests of their church. Sharp not only betrayed his trust but wentover to what might well at that time be described as "the enemy," andsecretly undermined the cause which he was bound in honour to support.Finally he threw off all disguise, and was rewarded by being madeArchbishop of Saint Andrews and Primate of Scotland! This was badenough, but the new Prelate, not satisfied with the gratification of hisambition, became, after the manner of apostates, a bitter persecutor ofthe friends he had betrayed. Charles the Second, who was indolent,incapable and entirely given over to self-indulgence, handed over theaffairs of Scotland to an unprincipled cabal of laymen and churchmen,who may be fittingly described as drunken libertines. By these men--ofwhom Middleton, Lauderdale, and Sharp were the chief--all the lawspassed in favour of Presbytery were rescinded; new tyrannical laws suchas we have elsewhere referred to were enacted and ruthlessly enforced;Prelacy was established; the Presbyterian Church was laid in ruins, andall who dared to question the righteousness of these transactions werepronounced rebels and treated as such. There was no impartial tribunalto which the people could appeal. The King, who held Presbyterianism tobe unfit for a gentleman, cared for none of these things, and even if hehad it would have mattered little, for those about him took good carethat he should not be approached or enlightened as to the true state ofaffairs in Scotland.
Sharp himself devised and drafted a new edict empowering any officer orsergeant to kill on the spot any armed man whom he found returning fromor going to a conventicle, and he was on the point of going to London tohave this edict confirmed when his murderous career was suddenlyterminated.
In the days of James the Sixth and Charles the First, the bishops,although forced on the Scottish Church and invested with certainprivileges, were subject to the jurisdiction of the General Assembly,but soon after Charles the Second mounted the throne ecclesiasticalgovernment was vested entirely in their hands, and all the ministers whorefused to recognise their usurped authority were expelled.
It was in 1662 that the celebrated Act was passed by Middleton and hiscolleagues in Glasgow College. It provided that all ministers musteither submit to the bishops or remove themselves and families out oftheir manses, churches, and parishes within a month. It was known asthe "Drunken Act of Glasgow," owing to the condition of the legislators.Four hundred brave and true men left their earthly all at that time,rather than violate conscience and forsake God. Their exampleultimately saved the nation from despotism.
The Archbishop of Saint Andrews was chief in arrogance and cruelty amonghis brethren. He afterwards obtained permission to establish a HighCommission Court in Scotland--in other words, an Inquisition--forsummarily executing all laws, acts, and orders in favour of Episcopacyand against recusants, clergy and laity. It was under this authoritythat all the evil deeds hitherto described were done, and of thisCommission Sharp was constant president.
It may be well to remark here that the Prelacy which was so detested bythe people of Scotland was not English Episcopacy, but Scotch Prelacy.It was, in truth, little better at that time than Popery disguised--asort of confused religio-political Popery, of which system the King wasself-constituted Pope, while his unprincipled minions of the councilwere cardinals.
No wonder, then, that at the mere mention of Sharp's name Mrs. Blackshook her head sorrowfully, Bruce the blacksmith frowned darkly, andQuentin Dick not only frowned but snorted vehemently, and smote thetable with such violence that the startled pussie fled from the scene indismay.
"Save us a'! Quentin," said Mrs. Black, "ye'll surely be hanged or shotif ye dinna learn to subdue yer wrath."
"Subdue my wrath, wumman!" exclaimed the shepherd, grinding his teeth;"if ye had seen the half o' what I've seen ye wad--but ye ken 'maistnaething aboot it! Gie me some mair tatties an' mulk, it'll quiet memaybe."
In order that the reader may know something of one of the things aboutwhich Mrs. Black, as well as Quentin Dick himself, was happily ignorantat that time, we must change the scene once more to the neighbourhood ofAndrew Black's cottage.
It was early in the day, and the farmer was walking along the road thatled to Cluden Ford, bent on paying a visit to Dumfries, when he wasovertaken by a troop of about twenty horsemen. They had ridden out ofthe bush and come on the road so suddenly that Black had no time tosecrete himself. Knowing that he was very much "wanted," especiallyafter the part he had played at the recent conventicle on Skeoch Hill,he at once decided that discretion was the better part of valour, andtook to his heels.
No man in all the country-side could beat the stout farmer at a raceeither short or long, but he soon found that four legs are more than amatch for two. The troopers soon gained on him, though he ran like amountain hare. Having the advantage, however, of a start of about threehundred yards, he reached the bend in the road where it begins todescend towards the ford before his pursuers overtook him. But Andrewfelt that the narrow strip of wood beside which he was racing could notafford him shelter and that the ford would avail him nothing. In hisextremity he made up his mind to a desperate venture.
On his right an open glade revealed to him the dark gorge through whichthe Cluden thundered. The stream was in flood at the time, andpresented a fearful aspect of seething foam mingled with black rocks, asit rushed over the lynn and through its narrow throat below. A path ledto the brink of the gorge which is now spanned by the Routen Bridge.From the sharp-edged cliff on one side to the equally sharp cliff on theother was a width of considerably over twenty feet. Towards this pointAndrew Black sped. Close at his heels the dragoons followed,Glendinning, on a superb horse, in advance of the party. It was anuntried leap to the farmer, who nevertheless went at it like athunderbolt and cleared it like a stag. The troopers behind, seeing thenature of the ground, pulled up in time, and wheeling to the left, madefor the ford. Glendinning, however, was too late. The recklesssergeant, enraged at being so often baulked by the farmer, had let hishorse go too far. He tried to pull up but failed. The effort to do sorendered a leap impossible. So near was he to the fugitive that thelatter was yet in the midst of his bound when the former went over theprecipice; head foremost, horse and all. The poor steed fell on therocks below and broke his neck, but the rider was shot into the deepdark pool round which the Cluden
whirled in foam-flecked eddies. In themidst of its heaving waters he quickly arose flinging his long armswildly about, and shouting for help with bubbling cry.
The iron helm, jack-boots, and other accoutrements of a seventeenthcentury trooper were not calculated to assist flotation. Glendinningwould have terminated his career then and there if the flood had notcome to his aid by sweeping him into the shallow water at the lower endof the pool, whence some of his men soon after rescued him. Meanwhile,Andrew Black, plunging into the woods on the opposite side of the river,was soon far beyond the reach of his foes.
But escape was not now the chief anxiety of our farmer, and selfishnessformed no part of his character. When he had left home, a short timebefore, his niece Jean was at work in the dairy,
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