A CHAPTER FROM THE “TRADITIONS OF THE COVENANTERS.”
BY THE LATE REV. R. SIMPSON, D.D., SANQUHAR.*
JOHN PATERSON, of Penyvenie, was born in the year 1650—ten years prior to the Restoration. When he grew up, he embraced the principles of the persecuted people, and followed their preachers in moors and mosses, at the risk of his life. The farm which he rented belonged to Logan, of Camlarg, a man who, like the most of the landed proprietors of the period, in order to save his estate, fell in with the ruling party, and submitted to their measures.
One day when John Paterson called at Camlarg, for the purpose of paying his rent, the laird remarked that the roads must have been very foul, as his feet was so much besmeared with moss and mud. In his simplicity, John informed him that he had that morning come from Mayfield Hill, from attending a conventicle, which happened to be held there. At this Logan stormed, and severely reprimanded his tenant, pointing out the dangerous consequences that would certainly ensue if the circumstance were to become known to the authorities. In those days of misrule and oppression, the lairds were made responsible for the behaviour of their tenants, and servants, and cottagers; and Camlarg distinctly saw the danger which threatened himself if it should be discovered that any of the people on his grounds had transgressed the ecclesiastical law of the times. Logan, therefore, remonstrated with John, and stated that, if he did not desist from the practice of attending field conventicles, he would be obliged, in self-defence, either to inform on him or to eject him from his
* These “Traditions,” though so named, are reliable and trustworthy stories of the Covenanters, written in an edifying and attractive style. Penyvenie is in Ayrshire. John Paterson’s house was “on the right hand of the road from Cumnock to Dalmellington.”—ED.
farm. In Paterson, however, he found a man of unyielding principle, and one who, having counted the cost, was prepared to sacrifice every earthly comfort, and even life itself, in maintaining what he deemed to be the cause of truth and righteousness. When he came home, he informed his wife of what had passed between the laird and him, and intimated his suspicions of what was likely to happen. His wife, who entertained the same views on religious matters with himself, was equally prepared to endure hardship in the cause of Christ. She encouraged her husband, by every virtuous consideration, to maintain an unflinching adherence to the principles which he had espoused. “If it be the will of God,” said she, “let us suffer in well-doing; and, at the same time, let us make all necessary preparations for our defence, in case of an attack from the enemy.”
It was now obvious to John that more than ordinary precautions were necessary. He began to consider how, in case of a surprise, they might be able to conceal themselves from their persecutors in places about the house and out-buildings; and it occurred to him that a small opening might be made in the wall, by which a passage might be secured into the adjoining office-houses, and from thence into the fields. Having, therefore, dug a hole in the gable, through which one person at a time could creep with ease, and all other things being prepared, he, in order to conceal the aperture in the wall, placed before it a large wooden seat, yclept a lang settle, a piece of furniture very common in the old farm-houses in Scotland. In a day or two, as was anticipated, the soldiers paid them a visit; and Paterson observing their approach, made his way through the opening, and hid himself in a deep trench cut in the moss, not far from the house. The soldiers having, according to their custom, examined every place in which they thought there was any likelihood of his being hid, and not finding him, they became very uproarious, and used very threatening language to his wife. They at last retired, and Paterson returned to his house unscathed.
Some time after this, our worthy attended a conventicle at a place called Fingland, near the source of the Water of Ken; but the meeting having been apprised of the approach of a company of Highland soldiers, broke up, and Paterson pursued his way homeward. As he was proceeding onward, he observed two dragoons on horseback following him; but the ground being very soft and boggy, they made no speed, while he, being on foot, made his way lightly through the moss. It was his intention to conceal himself in some deep hag among the shaggy heath till his pursuers had passed by. Accordingly, having passed the summit of what is called “Meikle Hill,” he found a mossy furrow, into which he leapt, and lay close in the bottom. The troopers, however, had dogs with them, which they put on the scent, and directed them after him. The animals advanced over the broken surface of the morass, exactly in the line of his hiding-place: he heard them
approaching, and expected every moment that they would present themselves on the edge of the trench above him; but just when they were about to spring forward to the place where he lay, a fox jumped from his lair, in their very face, and bounded down the hill. The hunt commenced; the joyous dogs left their former scent, and stretched themselves out at their full speed after the fugitive reynard! The soldiers, like the dogs, oblivious of the principal object of their pursuit, followed in the chase, and passed Paterson in the moss, a few yards distant from the place where he lay. Hearing the hubbub, and not knowing what was the matter, he raised himself from his smearly couch; and peering cautiously over the edge of the deep hag, he observed the fox, the dogs, and the soldiers in full race adown the healthy slope, leaving him far behind in comfortable seclusion. From the place where he had ensconced himself, he had a full view of the whole track to the door of his own house. He observed the movement of the party in the line of their route till they reached the house, at which they stopped for a short time, and then moved off in the direction of Dalmellington. He then cautiously left the height, and came home unobserved. Next day Logan sent for him, and informed him that he was publicly denounced as a rebel, and that a reward was offered for his apprehension, and that now he might consult his safety in the best way he could.
Matters having come to this pass, Paterson resolved to leave his house, and to take up his residence in Benbeoch Craigs—a place well adapted for concealment. From this situation he descended, as frequently as he found it consistent with his safety, to visit his household. One day, as he was preparing to go to his house, and had just left his retreat, he observed a company of dragoons approaching. He instantly retraced his steps, but was noticed by the troopers, who, seeing him hastily ascend the hill as if wishing to avoid their observation, concluded that he was either the man they were seeking, or some other equally obnoxious; and, accordingly, they rode after him. As he was climbing over the stone-dyke which stood a few hundred yards from the bottom of the crags, he turned round to see what progress the horsemen were making, and perceiving the speed with which they advanced, he sprang from the wall, and ran to seek his hiding-place. In this place there are large masses of coarse granite, torn from the hill in the vicinity, and tossed to a considerable distance from the parent mountain, obviously by some powerful convulsion of nature. As Paterson in his haste was passing the base of one of these granite heaps, he fell, and tumbled into a deep and dark cavity underneath the rocky pile. Here he found a seclusion altogether unexpected, and much preferable to his usual hiding-place. When he fell into the cavern, he lay in utter astonishment at the incident; and, being partly stunned, could scarcely persuade himself that it was not a dream. As he lay in darkness and silence, he imagined he heard the party, who were in search of him, talking and moving
from place to place among the stones. In reflecting on the occurrence, he could not fail to perceive the special hand of Providence, in thus, suddenly and unexpectedly, covering him from the view of those who came to seek his life, and who, if they had found him, would, without ceremony, have shot him on the spot. When he considered the gracious care of that God in whom he trusted, his heart swelled with grateful emotions, and he often looked back to the time he lay under the rock as a season of the purest spiritual enjoyment he ever experienced on earth. It was a Bethel in which he found God; and so delightful was it, as a place of communion with the Saviour, that he did not leave it till next day, when his anxious wife came to seek him, not knowing what had befallen him. John crept from the cavern, and met her in a transport of joy, and recounted his providential deliverance, and the outlettings of divine goodness to his soul, and then the husband and the wife knelt down on the grass and prayed, and gave thanks to the God of their life. The incident at the granite rock was cherished in this good man’s memory till his dying day, not simply on account of the temporal safety it afforded him, but more especially on account of that full assurance of his salvation which, during that night, it is said he attained, and of which he made frequent mention on his deathbed.
Paterson was in raptures with his new hiding-place, which had been thus incidentally revealed to him; and he began instantly to arrange the interior, which he found capacious enough to contain several persons at a time, that he might render it a fit habitation for himself and for any other wanderer who might happen to sojourn with him. It would be easy to make such a place very comfortable, by removing the loose stones, and spreading the earthy floor of the cavity with dry straw, or with soft and scented hay—the common carpeting of the floors of the houses of even the nobles of Scotland in ruder times. The entrance to this retreat he contrived so to form that no stranger could easily find it; and thus the place was rendered so secure as to become a very eligible asylum in the time of danger. To this place he conducted the refugees that fell in his way, and it was here that he lodged Hugh Hutchison, the incidents that befel whom, when he sojourned with Paterson, have been already noticed. Though none knew of his particular hiding-place but friends, the people in the neighbourhood, by whom he was greatly respected, were ready to give warning to his family when danger appeared. Among others, the farmer who lived on the side of the valley opposite to Penyvenie agreed to give notice by crying across the ravine the common watchword, “The nowt’s i’ the corn,” and by this means he escaped on several occasions the vigilance of his enemies.
Some time after this he was in Galloway, at a place called Irelington, attending a conventicle kept there by Mr. Renwick. The meeting was held in the night season, under the serene shining of the bright moon—the night being preferred to the day
to avoid discovery. As the company were listening to the preacher, from whose lips the words of eternal life distilled like the refreshing dew on the grass of the field, a sound was heard in the distance, and anon there appeared a huntsman’s dog in full chase, but without any apparent object of pursuit. The fleet and hilarious animal bounded several times round the outskirts of the assembly, and then darted in among the crowd. The circumstance attracted the notice of the congregation, and the preacher paused for a moment, and expressed his fears of approaching danger, especially as the dog seemed to have come from a distance, and not to be known to any person present. When they were beginning to deliberate on the propriety of separating, the warder, who had been stationed in the distance to give warning in case of the approach of the enemy, came running in breathless haste to announce the appearance of a company of Highland soldiers, who were cautiously advancing in the direction of the conventicle. In an instant the meeting was dispersed; for it was now obvious that their gathering was known to the enemy. Paterson, with five of his acquaintances, David Halliday, John Bell, Robert Lennox, Andrew M’Roberts, and James Clymont, took refuge in a barn in Irelington, and hid themselves in the midst of a quantity of wool that was piled up in a corner of the building, and by this means escaped detection.
But the danger consequent on his attendance on conventicles did not deter him from meeting with the worshippers in the fields or in the mosses whenever an opportunity offered. He again attended a meeting near Little Mill, which gave serious offence to the lairds of Carse and Keir, who complained of him to Logan, who sent for him, and remonstrated with him on the assumed impropriety of his conduct, but without effect. Logan and his fellows did not comprehend the principles on which such men as Paterson acted; they were themselves worldly men, and shifted with the religion or the times from mere expediency, and to retain their earthly possessions—so hard is it for rich men to enter into the kingdom of heaven. The wealthy frequently possess far less independence of mind than the poor; for they have to guard their worldly interests, and to change their opinions and professions to suit these interests; while the poor pious man, finding that the chief things which he has to protect are truth and a good conscience, acts independently of worldly considerations, not seeking to please men, but God. “Buy the truth, and sell it not,” was to those worthy men, in the lowly walks of life, an injunction of the most sacred obligation. They indeed sold their lives, but they would not part with the truth. The great men of that time were mean and shuffling characters compared with the upright and noble-minded peasants, who, reckless of every worldly advantage, stood bravely by the cause of liberty, and high religious principle. They were men, many of them, in whose presence the truckling gentry of the nation were not worthy to stand an hour, and before whom they actually quailed, and from whose face they slunk away, vanquished by an oppressive sense of their own baseness.
Logan probably really wished Paterson well, although, for self-interest, and to ingratiate himself with the ruling party, he was obliged to appear displeased with him. He projected a sort of well-meant though silly scheme, with a view to bring our Cove-nanter, in some measure, into the good graces of the neighbouring proprietors, who had conceived a very bad opinion of him. A number of the small lairds, whose grounds lay on the pleasant Water of Doon, had proposed to construct a dam across the stream, either for irrigation or some other purpose, and a day was appointed when they and their dependents should meet for the purpose of executing the plan. Logan, who intended to meet with them, sent for Paterson, and asked him to go with him to assist in the operations, stating that he hoped his compliance would tend to produce a favourable impression on the minds of the gentlemen respecting him. John replied, that if his attendance on that occasion was to be construed into a compliance with the measures of the times, he would sooner subject himself to any suffering than move one foot in advance of another to lend his aid in the work. Logan answered, that all he wanted was his appearance there as a well-disposed neighbour, ready to assist in any useful undertaking.
Having agreed to accompany the laird, John returned home, and informed his wife of what had passed, and how he had promised to go with Logan to help in constructing the dam on the Doon. His wife, who understood the temper of the men with whom he had to deal, suspected that a plan was laid to entrap her honest husband, who, in the simplicity of his heart, had consented to present himself among the enemies of that cause in which he was a sufferer, and attempted to dissuade him from carrying the matter further. John could not deny that his wife had reasons enough to suspect treachery, but he had promised, and therefore was resolved to perform.
On the day appointed, the party convened on the banks of the Doon, and Logan appeared with John at his side. They applied themselves vigorously to the work, and all went on smoothly and comfortably during the day. Towards night, however, an incident occurred which broke up the harmony of the company, and threatened serious consequences. M’Adam, of Waterhead, in lending assistance to the workmen, lifted in his arms a large sod, and, staggering forward with his burden, flung it with force on the watery embankment, from which it sent a muddy spray, which, reaching in a shower the place where Logan stood, bespattered his clothes, and especially his fine white stockings, which so enkindled his ire, that he broke out in furious and profane expressions against the individual who had unintentionally been the cause of so much annoyance to him. The matter was beginning to assume a serious aspect, and the wrangling of parties was likely to issue in more substantial mischief, had not a peacemaker been at hand. Paterson was distressed at the altercation, and much more so at
the profane language, of which there was no sparing use made by the parties. His spirit was stirred, and he stood forward, first as a reprover of sin, and then as a promoter of reconciliation. He was in the presence of men where danger was to be apprehended, on account of his well-known nonconformity, and to dare to speak to them in the language of rebuke might be regarded as a reason sufficiently strong to deliver him up to the military; but Paterson stood with undaunted breast, and spoke his mind freely, at the risk of incurring the high displeasure of men already exasperated. He had a duty to discharge, and he was not to be deterred from its performance. He addressed himself particularly to Logan, whom he reprimanded, as in the sight of God, for his daring and blasphemous expressions. The whole company stood mute and struck with awe; for there was a solemnity and majesty about his manner that quelled their spirits and bereft them of power to reply. In the ardour of his address, and when he saw the advantage that he had gained, he drew, it is said, a Bible from his pocket, and read, with great gravity and impressiveness, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus; and, in his own plain way, endeavoured to draw a contrast between rich and wicked persecutors and the pious poor whom they oppressed for conscience’ sake. What permanent effect his speech wrought on his auditors at Loch Doon, is not said; but the party separated quietly, and none ventured to assail the honest speaker, nor is it known that any injurious consequences followed.
Paterson died so lately as the year 1740, at the great age of ninety, having long outlived the dreary period of persecution. His head was laid in an honoured grave, and his memory is still cherished in the locality where he lived. There were doubtless many interesting incidents in the history of this good man which tradition has not retained, but so many have been preserved as to keep his memorial alive, as a devoted follower of the Redeemer and as one whom God cared for.
Calvin’s Life of Suffering.—When one looks at the more than fifty goodly volumes that stand to the credit of Calvin, it seems almost incredible that they were written by one whose life was burdened by severe bodily suffering. Prof. Doumergue, in the third volume of his great work, Jean Calvin, refers to the extent of Calvin’s labours and his sufferings as follows:—”This extraordinary labour,” he says, “resulted in an extraordinary series of maladies. It would be easier to recount the diseases Calvin did not have than those of which he became successively the prey. He passed a life of simplicity and labour in the Rue de Chanoines, but he passed there especially a life of suffering—suffering, the continuity and intensity of which is absolutely exceptional, startling, prodigious.”