Part 14

"The reply was, 'What the devil, have you not had time to prepare since Bothwell?' (Here Mrs. Walker shook her head.) He was, therefore, instantly shot with the rest; and so far did this persecuting renegado push his revenge, that he even denied interment to their lifeless dust![#] Shortly after this, Lord Kenmuir happening to meet Lag with Claverhouse in Kirkcudbright, called him to account for his cruelty to Mr. Bell, and more especially for his inhumanity in refusing burial to his remains. Sir Robert answered with an oath, 'Take him, if you will, and salt him in your beef barrel.' The insulted nobleman immediately drew his sword, and must have ran him through the body, had not Claverhouse interposed. And surely such a death had been too honourable for such a villain.

[#] This epitaph engraved upon the tombstone in the churchyard of Anwith lying on the corpse of John Bell of Whiteside, who was most barbarously shot to death at the command of Douglass of Morton and Grierson of Lag, in the parish of Tongland, in Galloway, anno 1685.

"This monument shall tell posterity That blessed Bell of Whiteside here doth ly; Who by command of bloody Lag was shot, A murther strange, which should not be forgot. Douglass of Morton did him quarters give, Yet cruel Lag would not let him survive, This martyr sought some time to recommend. The tyrant said, 'What devil? ye've pray'd eneugh, Those long seven years on mountain and in clough, So instantly caused him and other four Be shot to death upon Kirkconnel Muir. So this did end the lives of these brave saints, For their adhering to the Covenants."

"The same summer, Annandale having apprehended G. Short and D. Halliday, and having bound them, after quarters granted, the monster Lag came up, and as they lay on the ground, under the cloud of night, caused shoot them immediately, leaving their bodies thus all blood and gore; nay, such was their audacious impiety, that he, with the rest of his boon companions and persecutors would, over their drunken bowls, feign themselves divils and those whom they supposed in hell, and then whip one another as a jest upon that place of torment. When he could serve his master this way no longer, he wallowed in all manner of atheism, drunkenness, and swearing, for which he was excommunicated by the church after the Revolution; and yet by the then powers was made Justice of the Peace, some time before 1714, a disgrace to any civilised nation, not to mention a Presbyterian profession. Death's pangs at last arresting him, and all other refuges failing him, under the views of his former wicked life, in imitation of his master Charles, he feigned himself of the popish profession, because a popish priest made him believe for money he could pardon his sins, and even when in purgatory for them he could bring him to heaven. He died December 23, 1733, and there is little doubt went down to Tophet with a lie in his mouth, and so remains in spite of all the priest could mutter over him, as the author of his elegy in his master's name well expresses it:--

"For when I heard that he was dead, A legion of my den did lead Him to my place of residence, And there he'll stay and not go hence. This Lag will know and all the rest, Who of my lodging are possesst; On earth no more they can serve me, But still I'll have their company," etc.

"This is what is said of him in the 'Scots' Worthies,'" said Mrs. Walker, as she placed the numbers on a table beside her, "and it's not much in his favour as you will perceive. I suppose," she continued, "you will have heard of many other cruelties he committed--such as putting the poor Covenanters into barrels stuck round in the inside with knives, dagger-points, etc., then causing the barrels to be rolled down a steep hill, so that the persons inside were all cut to pieces in the descent; and shooting and stabbing others, so that his name became a by-word in the country."

Answering in the affirmative, I then inquired of her "if there had been any picture taken of the Laird?"

"Oh! yes," she replied, "there was one at Rockhall, but it was stolen from thence by some person in the time of one of the late baronets."

"Did you ever hear any description of his personal appearance?"

"Well," she replied, "I have heard it said that he was a fair man with long yellow hair which hung in ringlets down to his shoulders, but I cannot believe that any fair person ever possessed such a black soul as he must have had. However, he might have been a bonnie man for all that."

Begging pardon for the interruption, I prayed her to continue, which she did as follows:--

"Well ma'm, as I told you before, my memory is not so good as it was, and there are many things told of the Laird of Lag that I have quite forgotten; yet one thing I still remember, and that is the account of what took place at the time of his burial. My Thomas told me his grandfather remembered that day well, and such a one he never saw. It was in the winter time and bitterly cold; yet notwithstanding, there was a storm of thunder and lightning the like of which never occurred in the memory of man. As Lag died in Dumfries, horses were brought from the Kings' Arms Inn in order to bring his body to Dunscore. I suppose you have seen his grave?"

"Yes," I replied, "and very sorry I am to see it all in ruins!"

"Ay," she, said, "Lag is in a sad state!"

After this sage remark, Mrs. Walker continued: "As I was saying, horses were brought from the inn at Dumfries, for the purpose of driving the hearse to the burial-ground; but when they were yoked, and the driver endeavoured to set them in motion, not one foot would they stir. All this time the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed in an awful manner. Half-blinded by the vivid flashes that played around, and smarting under the furious strokes of the driver's whip, the poor horses trembled in every limb; yet no power on earth was capable of causing them to proceed with their burden. Well, Sir Thomas of Closeburn was there, and he swore a great oath that he would drive Lag to his grave, although the devil was in him. So, unyoking the horses from his own carriage, he fastened them to the hearse, and mounting himself on the driver's seat, prepared to urge them forward. At this moment, a large black rook, that had been seated on one of the housetops, apparently watching the whole proceedings with the deepest interest, flew down from its elevated situation, and, with a loud caw, seated itself on the top of the hearse. Strange to say, whenever it placed itself there, the horses set off at a gallop; and the roads being rough and heavy with the recent rains, the hearse was jolted about in a fearful manner; still the rook kept its seat, and cawed every now and again. Whenever it did so the horses went faster and faster, until at length on arriving at the churchyard, they fell down dead, from sheer exhaustion. Then the strange bird rose up from its seat, and, with a loud scream and a flap of its wings, flew away and was soon out of sight. The people about maintain to this day that it was the devil who had come in person to superintend the funeral of his colleague. At the time I speak of there were copies of an elegy on the Laird of Lag--a verse of which I read to you from the 'Scots' Worthies'--distributed throughout the country; and as no one knew the composer, it was universally believed that the devil himself wrote it, as a lament for having lost so good a servant as Lag had been to him while on earth. All the copies that could be procured were bought up by by Sir Robert's granddaughter, who could not bear that her grandfather's memory should be held in such detestation, and I doubt if there is a copy now in existence."

"How far is Lag Tower from here?" I inquired, after thanking her for the tale.

"About four miles," replied Mrs. Walker, "and an easy road it is to find out. You go past the Free Church Manse, and turn up the Barjarg Road: then go through Glen Midge, and you will soon see the old tower. It is a wild place, and well worth visiting."

Whilst pursuing my way along the path which led to the ancient residence of the Laird of Lag, a sudden turning in the road revealed to my gaze the form of an aged man, who pursued, with praiseworthy assiduity, his laborious employment of stone-breaking. There was something at once pleasing and impressive in the physiognomy of the venerable labourer. From beneath the Kilmarnock bonnet which surmounted his grey hairs, his blue eyes sparkled with yet unsubdued fire and animation; while the ruddy glow on his weather-beaten cheek, and the vigorous strokes with which his hammer descended on the stony pile before him, betokened energy of character and a total absence of those ailments so often attendant on the footsteps of age.

Being now somewhat at a loss how to arrive at the object of my wishes, the road at this point branching off in different directions, I inquired of the labourer whither I should direct my steps, so as to avoid losing my way amongst the surrounding morasses. The old man, thus accosted, paused in his labour, and replied to my inquiry, in the usual Scotch fashion, by putting another, "And so you are going to visit the old Toor o' Lag?" I answered in the affirmative. "Ay ay! well it's a queer solitary place." "From all accounts, the Laird must have been a very extraordinary man," I observed. "You may well say so," said the old stone-breaker, as ceasing from his arduous task, he stood with one hand on the handle of his implement, while with the other he uncovered his head, to allow the cool breezes to refresh his heated temples, "he was just a most ex-tre-or-nary man, if all be true that is said about him." "Are you inclined to doubt the truth of those stories told concerning him in Dumfriesshire?"

"No," was the reply, accompanied by a sagacious shake of the head, "I cannot say that I do. Many of them may be enlarged on, for, as one knows, a story always gathers in the telling; but still in the main they are true enough, and certainly reflect little honour on him about whom they are told. A-well-a-day!" he continued, "these were indeed sad times when men, left to their own inventions, played such a cruel and unworthy part; the persecutors were, in general, a cold-blooded, relentless sect, and at the head o' the tribe you may put the Laird of Lag, for none of the others, in my opinion, were fit to hold a candle to him for pure malice and steadfastness of purpose in the shedding of blood. There was Claverhouse, evil spirit as he was, it is well known he felt some compunction of consciences for having murdered that godly person, John Brown, and seldom or never refused his intended victim a few moments to commend his departing spirit to Him who save it; but, as related of Sir Robert Grierson, he laughed to scorn the tearful entreaties of the captured Covenanter, and turning a deaf ear to all the poor man's agonised appeals for only one moment to make his peace with God, or to implore a blessing on his country, sent him straight to that bourne from whence no traveller returns."

There was a pause for a few moments, which was at length broken by the old man.

"This was a great part of the country for the Laird's exploits: the militia, with him at their head, were constantly riding up and down Dumfriesshire and Galloway, and woe to the unlucky wight who fell into their hands: guilty or not guilty, it was all one--shot or hanged he must be. The Laird sent forth the iniquitous decree, 'Soldiers, do your duty! Prisoner, prepare for death! not one word!' Bang, bang! he is dead; and away rides Sir Robert, priding himself in no small degree on his strict adherence to the laws of vengeance, and taking no pains to conceal his exultation at the summary punishment he had inflicted on one of the canting rebels, as he was pleased, in common with his fellow-labourers in the vineyard of iniquity, to designate the hapless body of men he had sworn to exterminate."

"Have you read much about the Covenanters?" I inquired of the labourer, whose eyes burned like coals of living fire while dwelling on the misfortunes of those whose cause he evidently espoused with no small amount of zeal.

"Every book that I can lay my hands on, from the 'Scots' Worthies' down to 'Helen of the Glen,' and not only once, but over and over again, until I could repeat the most of them off by heart. Next to the lives of these good and holy men, whose names are an honour and glory to Scotland," pursued the labourer, "James Renwick's sermons is the book most prized by me--ay! there are no preachers like him now-a-days! What would I not have given to have been with him on some bonnie hill-side when he was holding forth to the faithful few privileged to hear him! Have you ever read his sermons?" he inquired.

I replied in the negative.

He then continued, "Well, all I can say is, you have missed something good, so full are they of sound, wholesome doctrine and Christian principles; how he must have been inspired by the cause he espoused, to be able to preach such truly comforting doctrines!"

"It is a pity," I said, "but Sir Robert Grierson had heard him, he might have been converted----"

"Him!" interrupted the old man; "no, no; he was a brand reserved for the burning; no sermons, however forcible, would have had the slightest effect on his black nature; his heart would have resisted the knocks of the minister, as the stone resisteth the hammer."

Here the labourer, by way of illustration, inflicted with his implement a vigorous stroke on an obdurate piece of rock, which effectually resisted all his attempts to reduce its dimensions.

"That hill," I observed, alluding to the one previously mentioned by Mrs. Walker, "seems to have been the theatre of many an evil deed; was it not there that the Laird executed judgment on many of the poor men who chanced to fall into his power?"

The old man gazed for a moment on the hill in question, then with a shake of the head, accompanied by a deep-drawn sigh, confirmed Mrs. Walker's statements to their fullest extent, dwelling at considerable length on the many acts of butchery perpetrated on the summit of the eminence, which, covered with a sombre mass of dark firs, frowned gloomily upon us.

"Is there no story you can recall to remembrance connected with some of Sir Robert Grierson's wild exploits?" I inquired, fully persuaded from the old man's garrulity that his memory was like a well-stored garner in respect to these matters, and that a little time and leisure were all that was necessary to produce some thrilling narration of horror--some marvellous tale still treasured up in the breasts of a few, relating to the days of persecution. I was not disappointed. The old man, thus appealed to, stood silent for a moment, as if buried in deep thought, then throwing his hammer carelessly from him, he leisurely seated himself on the pile of stones beside him, and after a few preparatory hems, commenced the following tale, which clothed in my own language is now presented to the reader.

On a fine spring evening in the year sixteen hundred and eighty-five, that year so fraught with gloom and disaster to all espousing the Covenanting cause, a young man, who, judging from his military garb and martial appearance, belonged to one of those militia regiments then scouring the country in search of those they were commissioned to kill or make captive, came riding slowly along the road leading from Irongray to Dunscore. He was evidently in a thoughtful mood, for his forehead was contracted by a deep frown and his eyes were bent steadily on the ground so as to render him oblivious to the motions of his charger, which, finding from the slackened rein and idle spur that his former impatient master had ceased to hasten his onward progress, speedily took advantage of this discovery to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass which grew in wild luxuriance along the sides of the road. This little indulgence of his inclinations being allowed to pass unpunished, the poor animal, apparently worn out by his previous hard work, finally came to a stand-still and proceeded leisurely to crop the tempting herbage presented to his view. This sudden stoppage on the part of his charger, speedily aroused the soldier from the absorbing reverie into which he had fallen, and snatching up the neglected reins, he thrust his rowels into his sides and forced him into a hand-gallop. For some little time he pursued his rapid career, until his horse, accidentally treading on a stone, stumbled, and being unable to recover his lost footing, fell heavily on the road, bearing his rider with him. For one moment, the horseman lay stunned and motionless from the force of the shock; but speedily recovering his scattered senses, he extricated his feet from the stirrups, and proceeded to raise his fallen charger. Greatly to his annoyance, the soldier perceived from the halting gait of his faithful steed that further use of his services was for the present impossible. Uttering an exclamation of disappointment, he gathered the reins in his hands, and leading the horse off the highway, struck into a wild, solitary path, winding away amongst the hills which lay to the right hand of the road leading to Dunscore. The gloaming was now advancing with rapid strides; and anxious to reach his destination without further delay, the young man pressed onwards as swiftly as the disabled state of his horse would allow; but soon the lameness of the poor animal increased to such a degree that he was fain to pause for a few moments, in order to discover, if possible, the extent of the injury inflicted. The horse, with the natural instinct of its race, seemed at once aware of the nature of the service about to be rendered, and placing his swollen foot in the outstretched hand of his master rubbed his head against his shoulder, as if to evince his gratitude for the kindly feelings which prompted the examination. Whilst inspecting the bruised leg, the natural buoyancy of the soldier's spirits, which had been in no small measure disturbed by the untoward events of the day, returned in full vigour; and with all the joyous gaiety of youth, which rises superior to the frowns of adversity, he commenced singing the song so popular with his party, namely, that which related to King Charles' return. He had not proceeded farther than the words--

"Oh, the twenty-ninth of May, It was a glorious day When the king did enjoy his own again!"

when a slight cough behind made him pause in the midst of his ditty, and, greatly to his surprise, on turning round he perceived an aged man, whose broad, blue bonnet and dress of hodden-grey betokened his adherence to the cause of the Kirk and Covenant leaning on the butt-end of a musket, and regarding him attentively with a look of stern displeasure, which seemed rather to amuse than terrify the object of his scrutiny, who, noways daunted by the ominous-looking weapon upon which the stranger leaned, returned his scowling glance with one of haughty defiance for he instantly exclaimed, "How now, old wiseacre! wer't nourished on vinegar, that thou lookest so sour? Why, man alive! one would fancy from thy rueful visage that things are not so well with thee as thou fain wouldst wish; speak out, man, and tell us at once the cause of thy disturbed aspect."

The aged wanderer smiled grimly, but vouchsafed no further reply to the scoffing inquiries of the soldier, who, somewhat nettled by the contemptuous silence maintained by the stranger, burst forth into one of the many songs then so much in vogue amongst the cavaliers, and which consigned to (in their eyes) condign punishment all those who ventured to differ from them so essentially as did the Puritans. The eyes of the Covenanter flashed sparks of fire on hearing this scornful ballad, and grasping his musket, he seemed as if about to rush on the object of his wrath, then, apparently by a mighty effort, conquering his disposition for violence, he regained his original position, and continued gazing with a gloomy brow on the performer, who heedless of its effects on the person before him, pursued his ditty with admirable coolness, repeating over and over again with marked emphasis, the verses he thought most likely to annoy and irritate the grey-haired Covenanter.

"Young man," said the stranger at the conclusion of the song, "you have verily moved me to anger by your unwarrantable attack on our poor, afflicted body; and yet fain would I argue with you in all soberness and good-will on the evil doings of the party with whom you consort, for that you are one of these cruel persecutors of our church, now ranging the country, I make bold to believe, therefore----"

"Now, cease your fanatical jargon," interrupted the soldier, "I care not to bandy words with one pertaining to that rebellious sect I am bound to molest by every means in my power, and to despise as being utterly incapable of listening to a word of sense, even although delivered in season," (this was said by the soldier in a snivelling tone); "so leave me in peace to attend my good steed, which well merits all the attention I have to bestow."

"The horse," rejoined the old man, "has more sense than its master, and faints in the bloody service to which you have doomed it; but since you despise the good counsel I would bestow, even on an enemy, I will content myself by simply inquiring from whence you come and whither you are bound?"

"I do not see," was the reply, "by what right you presume to question me as regards my movements; but still I will not refuse to satisfy you on that point, so make answer that I have come from Drumlanrig, burdened with a special message from the Earl of Queensbury to Sir Robert Grierson, whom I serve, as in duty bound, having been born on his estate, and whom I am willing to follow to the death should he please so to lead me."