(the narrative of quintin macclellan resumed.)

it was a day of high summer when the anger of mine enemies drew finally to a head, and that within mine own land of balmaghie. the presbytery were in the habit of meeting at a place a little way from the centre of the parish, called cullenoch—or, as one would say in english, “the woodlands.”

in twos or threes they came, riding side by side on their ponies, or appearing singly out of some pass among the hills. so, as i say, the presbytery assembled at cullenoch, and the master of it, andrew cameron of kirkcudbright, was there, with his orders from wily carstaires, the pope of the restored kirk of scotland.

to this day i can see his aspect as he rose up among the brethren with a great roll in his{186} hand—solemn, portentous, full of suave, easy words and empty, sonorous utterances.

“fathers and brethren,” he said, looking on us with a comprehending pity for our feebleness of capacity, “there hath come that from her most noble and christian majesty the queen anna, which it behooves us to treat with all the respect due to one who is at once the anointed of god, and also as the fountain of all authority, in some sense also the head of the church!”

as he finished he laid upon the table a great parchment, and tapped it impressively with his finger.

“it is, if i may be permitted the words, the message of god’s vicegerent upon earth; whom his own finger has especially designed to rule over us. and i am well assured that no one among the brethren of the presbytery will be so ill-advised as not at once to sign this declaration of our submission and dutiful obedience to our liege lady in all things.”

this he uttered soundingly, with much more to the same purpose, standing up all the time, and glowering about him on the look-out for contradiction.

then, though i was the youngest member{187} of the presbytery, save one, i felt that for the ancient liberty of the kirk and for the sake of the blood shed on the moors, i could not permit so great a scandal as this to pass. i rose in my place, whilst cameron looked steadily upon me, endeavouring to browbeat me into silence.

somewhat thus i spoke:

“the most learned and reverend brother brings us a paper to sign—a paper which we have neither seen nor yet heard read. it comes (he tells us) from the church’s head, from god’s vicegerent. it is to be received with hushed breath and bowed knee. ‘the head of the church!’ says mr. cameron—ah, brethren, the men who have so lately entered into rest through warring stress, sealed with their blood the testimony that the kirk of god has no head upon earth. the kirk of scotland is the kirk of jesus christ, the alone king and head of the church. the kirk of scotland is more noble, high and honourable in herself than any human government. she alone is god’s vicegerent. she alone has power within her own borders to rule her own affairs. the kirk has many faults, but at least she will surely never permit herself to be ruled again by privy{188} councils and self-seeking state-craft. is she not the bride, the lamb’s wife? and for me, and for any that may adhere to me, we will sign no test nor declaration which shall put our free necks beneath the yoke of any temporal power, nor yet for fear of this or that queen’s majesty deny the name that is above every name.”

whilst these words were put into my heart and spoken by my voice, i seemed, as it were, taken possession of. a voice prompted me what i was to speak. i heard the sound of rushing wings, and though i was but lately a herd-lad on the hills of sheep i knew that the time had come, which on the day of the killing on the bennan top i had seen afar off.

whilst i was speaking, cameron stood impatiently bending the tips of his politic fingers upon the document on the table. a dark frown had been gathering on his brow.

“this is treason, black treason! it is blank defiance of the queen’s authority!” he cried; “i will not listen to such words. it is the voice of a man who would raise the standard of rebellion, and disturb the peace of all the parishes of our kirk, recently and adequately settled according to the laws of the land.”{189}

but i had yet a word to say.

“i am neither rebel nor heretic,” said i; “i am, it is true, the youngest and the least among you. but even i am old enough to have seen men shot like running deer for the liberties of the kirk of god. i have heard the whistle of the deadly bullet flying at the command of kings and queens called in their day heads of the church. i have seen the martyr fall, and his blood redden the ooze of the moss hag. we have heard much of tests and papers to sign, of allegiances to other divine vicegerents upon earth, even to such lord’s anointeds as james and charles, the father and the uncle of her in whose name the privy council of scotland now demands this most abject submission. but for myself i will sign no such undertaking, give countenance to no bond which might the second time deliver us who have fought for our ancient liberties with weapons in our hands, bound hand and foot to the powers temporal—yea, that we might wrest the powers of the spiritual arm from the son of god and deliver them to the daughter of james stuart.”

“and who are you,” cried cameron, “thus to teach and instruct men who were ministers{190} when you were but a bairn, to reprove those who have wrought in sun and shine, and in gloom and darkness alike, to make the kirk of scotland what she is this day?”

there was a noise of some approval among the presbytery. i knew, however, that i had small sympathy among those present, men fearful of losing their pleasant livings and fat stipends. nevertheless, very humbly i made answer. “it is not quintin macclellan, but the word he speaks that cannot be gainsaid. there is also an old saying that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings god expects the perfection of praise.”

“fool!” cried cameron, “ye would endanger and cast down the fair fabric of this kirk of scotland, ignorantly pulling down what wiser and better men have laboriously built up. ye are but a child throwing stones at windows and ready to run when the glass splinters. you stand alone among us, sir—alone in scotland!”

“i stand no more alone,” i replied, “than your brother richard cameron did at ayrsmoss when he rode into the broil and tumult of battle for the honour of the covenant. the banner of christ’s cause that was trampled in{191} the peat-brew of the moss of ayr, is a worthier standard than the rag of submission which lies upon the table under your hand.”

cameron was silent. he liked not the memory of his great brother. i went on, for the man’s pliable pitifulness angered me.

“think you that richard cameron would have signed words like these? aye, i think he would. but it would have been with his sword, cutting the vile bond into fragments, giving them to the winds, and strewing them upon the waters.”

then the presbytery would hear no more, but by instant vote and voice they put me forth. yet ere i went from their midst, i cried, “if there be any that think more of the freedom of god’s kirk in this land of scotland than of their stipends and glebes, let them come forth with me.”

and two there were who rose and followed—reid of carsphairn, a man zealous and far-seeing, and one other, a young minister lately come within the bounds.

so the door was shut upon us, and they that hated us were left to concert their measures without let or hindrance.{192}

and for a moment we three clasped hands without the door.

“let us stand by each other and the word of truth,” i said, “and the truth shall never make us ashamed.”