Adam Hepburn's Vow: A Tale of Kirk and Covenant. Annie S. Swan
"Yes, Adam Hepburn of Rowallan, and a party with him, were to start on the evening of the day on which we left," replied the minister. "They would arrive a few hours' later than us--their animals being swifter of foot than our 'Roger.'"
"What is the Laird of Inverburn saying to the Covenant, Andrew?" asked Mistress Kilgour, replenishing her brother's cup with milk, which, with some wheaten cakes, composed his frugal meal.
A slight shade of sadness stole over the minister's fine face.
"Truly, Jean, Sir Thomas Hamilton proves himself a loyal subject and a faithful servant of the king. They tell me he uses the Liturgy in his household devotions, and he has never been in his pew in my church since the proclamation concerning the new book of service. I am told too, on good authority, that my neighbour minister, John Methven of Lochlee, uses it in the services of his church, in accordance with the express desire of the laird who worships there every Sabbath Day."
"John Methven was ever a time-server and a worshipper of rank," said Edward Kilgour, with curling lip. "He would sell conscience and liberty for the smile of a patron so high in station as the Laird of Inverburn."
"Let us not so hardly judge the man, Edward," said the minister, gently. "His motives and his conscience are known only to himself and his God. Yet I fear that when the times of trouble grow hotter in the land, the Church will not find a supporter in the minister of Lochlee."
"What I fear, Andrew," said Mistress Kilgour, with a sigh, "is lest the Laird of Inverburn, not finding you conforming to his desires, may do you injury in the parish, may even turn the people against you."
The minister smiled.
"I am in the Lord's hands, Jean. Except He will, Sir Thomas Hamilton cannot touch a hair of my head, nor even damage my interests in the parish. And my people, thanks be to God, are faithful and honest, and I think have some little love for their minister in their hearts."
"As well they may," said the merchant, fervently.
"The name of Gray has long been honoured in Inverburn, certainly," said the mistress, musingly. "Our forbears have been so many generations in the manse that I think the people would be sad to see a stranger under its roof-tree, or ministering to them in the kirk on the Sabbath Day."
"We will not trouble ourselves with such things to-day, Jean, there being graver issues at stake than the interests of Inverburn, which, though very dear to us, is but a small corner of the Lord's vineyard," said the minister, rising. "While you dress the bairns, Edward and I might walk a little way into the town, and see what is doing. I see the shadows of the night are wearing away from the castle heights, and day breaking in the east!"
Accordingly the twain left the house together, and wended their way through the streets. Even thus early there were many people abroad, some standing in little groups, earnestly discussing the one topic of absorbing interest occupying the minds of citizens and strangers alike. Arm in arm the minister and the merchant walked together in the shadow of the grey turrets of the castle, until they came to the shores of the North Loch, which was tossing uneasily under the grey and wintry sky. A keen east wind was sweeping up from the Frith, and it had a wailing in its tone as if in warning of a coming storm.
The two pedestrians, alone at that hour by the solitudes of the loch, talked low and earnestly together on the crisis to which affairs in Scotland had now reached. The merchant was a keen Churchman, and a devoted, pious Christian, with a heart ready to suffer and endure for the cause of religion, and a brave, indomitable courage to fight for his principles if required. Needless to say, the friendship between his brother-in-law and himself was warm and sincere, because they had so much in common. Engrossed in conversation, the time passed unheeded, until the solemn strokes of the Tolbooth bell proclaimed the hour of nine.
Then they turned their steps towards the Grassmarket once more, which was now considerably busier than it had been an hour ago. Yet there was no disorder or sign of tumult, nor was the aspect of the people wild or excited. There was an expression of calm yet fixed resolution, especially upon the faces of the older among them, which indicated that no giddy froth of passion, no excitement of a moment moved them. Andrew Gray remarked upon that to the merchant, and expressed his satisfaction at the visible earnestness and quietness of spirit which seemed to be abroad.
When they returned to the house they found the children up and dressed and partaking of their morning meal, good Aunt Jean talking to them all the while.
"Are you going forth to witness for the Covenant with us to-day, Jean?" enquired the minister.
The mistress shook her head.
"I cannot well leave my house and my bairn, Andrew, but the Lord knows that I can make my vow at home and keep it as faithfully as I would keep a public testimony," she answered, with a smile and a tear. "But are you going to take both these young things with you to the vast assembly gathered in and about the Greyfriars?"
"For that purpose I brought them on this journey, Jean. As I said to Edward, the proceedings of this day may make an impression on their minds which will never be effaced, and--who knows?--the memory of it may even serve to build them up yet more steadfastly in the faith in days to come. Well, I think we should be going now. The proceedings, I learn, are to begin early, and I would not that we should be at the outside limits of the crowd."
Accordingly Aunt Jean prepared the children for going out of doors, fastening the cloak of the little Agnes very closely about her neck, and adding a scarf of her own to protect the throat against the biting wind of March. David wrapped his plaid about his shoulders in true Highland fashion, put on his bonnet, and, taking in his hand the stout ash stick he had cut in the woods of Inverburn, bravely announced that he was ready. So, followed by kind Aunt Jean's blessing and prayer, the little party left the house and emerged into the busy streets.
Although it was yet early, every thoroughfare was thronged with human beings, some moving on towards the place of meeting, others standing about in little knots discussing the solemn occasion upon which so many were gathered together. Our friends made their way leisurely up the Bow, and were among the earliest to enter the churchyard, and thus were enabled to take up a good position where everything could be seen and heard. The church doors were standing wide open, and it was evidently intended that the chief service should be held within the walls of the sacred edifice itself. The minister of Inverburn, leaving his little ones with their uncle, entered into the church, and met there many of his colleagues in the ministry, as well as others with whom he had some acquaintance.
As the stream of humanity surging towards the churchyard widened and broadened, until it seemed as if there could be no room for even one more, it was hastily decided that the proceedings should take place out of doors, in order to prevent any undue crowding in the church, and to enable as many as possible to hear and take part in the solemn service, which was to precede the signing of the Covenant.
Accordingly a table was set in the middle of the church, and thereon was laid the Bible used in the Greyfriars pulpit, and side by side with it the gigantic sheet prepared to receive the signatures of a nation. Everything being made ready, there gathered about the table the venerable Earl of Loudon, the Earl of Sutherland, Sir Archibald Johnston, the Reverend Alexander Henderson, with many other nobles and ministers and prominent personages.
Beyond that circle was gathered a vast throng, comprising every rank, age, and calling, upon whose faces, lit by a holy enthusiasm, the chill March sunlight played fitfully as it escaped through the refts in the cloudy sky. It was a wondrous sight. There was no noise, no unseemly clamourings or vain babblings; the great concourse seemed to be hushed into solemn expectancy, even the hot blood of the more passionate among them being held in curb by the strange awe-inspiring nature of this national gathering.
After a confession of national sin, an eloquent sermon was preached to the assembled multitude by one of the most gifted ministers in the Church.
Then amid a strange, deep silence Sir Archibald Johnston slowly and distinctly read aloud to the people the contents of the document to which every loyal Scot was asked to subscribe his name. It was beautifully and reverently compiled, and so simple and clear in its phraseology, that even