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and which would have cloven him to the teeth. "It was "a delicious moment amid the carnage of a battle," he used to say. "A look from the brave fellow, at the moment "when he felt himself brought back from the verge of eter"nity, told me that he was more than repaid for all that he "had done for me."

After many adventures, laird Thomas was taken prisoner at the battle of Bothwell. By some unaccountable act of clemency, he was doomed only to banishment. The vessel sailed for Virginia, with two hundred and fifty victims of religious tyranny; but the ship was not destined to cross the Atlantic. It struck on the Mule head of Darness, near the Orkneys, and two hundred of the wanderers were drowned. Fifty escaped-the laird was one of them. He was thrown on the waves; a surge carried him over a high peak, and laid him on the top of a cliff; he was washed back; another, and a greater billow, threw him battered and bruised on a rock, whence he was taken by some humane people; and in spite of Clavers and council, and winds and waves, he returned once more, by the grace of God, to bless his desolate and afflicted family.*

The laird had fought in different battles against the enemies of his country and of the kirk. Of Bothwell he never was heard to say much; of Ayrsmoor he never made mention without shedding tears over the memories of Richard Cameron, and the gallant general Hackstone; the first fell by his side, the latter was taken captive, and literally butchered, and his limbs suspended on the shambles of the council; of Drumclog he spoke with military enthusiasm.

The following is the laird's account of the battle: the spelling and style have, of course, undergone some correction. I have profited also by family tradition, particularly from two aunts, the last of whom died lately in Pennsylvania, aged nearly ninety. She was the granddaughter of the laird's second son, and being of the genuine "covenanting branch of the family," her mind was rich in the traditions, or I should say history of the whigs.

* See his name, Thomas Brownlee of Avendale, “Cloud of Witnesses," p. 334, Lond. edit. By mistake he is numbered among the lost.

THE BATTLE OF DRUMCLOG.

6 Εωθούντο, εμάχοντο, απεκτεινον, απέθνησκον.” Xenoph. On a fair Sabbath morning in June, of A. D. 1679, an assembly of covenanters sat down on the heathy mountains of Drumclog. We had assembled not to fight, but to worship the God of our fathers. We were far from the tumult of cities. The long dark heath waved around us, and we disturbed no living creatures saving the peesweep, and the heather-cock. As usual we had come armed. It was for self-defence. For desperate and ferocious bands made bloody raids through the country. And pretending to put down treason, they waged war against religion and morals. They spread ruin and haVoc over the face of bleeding Scotland.

The venerable Douglas had commenced the solemnities of the day. He was expatiating on the execrable evils of tyranny. Our souls were on fire at the remembrance of our country's sufferings, and the wrongs of the church. In this moment of intense feeling, our watchman posted on the neighbouring height, fired his carbine, and ran toward the congregation. He announced the approach of the enemy. We raised our eyes to the minister. "I have done," said Douglas, with his usual firmness. "You have got the theory, now for the practice; you know you duty; self-defence is always lawful. But the enemy approaches." He raised his eyes to heaven, and uttered a prayer, brief and emphatic, like the prayer of Richard Cameron. "Lord spare the green, and take the ripe."

The officers collected their men, and placed themselves each at the head of those of his own district. Sir Robert Hamilton placed the foot in the centre, in three ranks. A company of horse, well armed and mounted, was placed on the left; and a small squadron also on the left. These were drawn back, and they occupied the more solid ground; as well with a view to have a more firm footing, as to arrest any flanking party that might take them on the wings. A deep morass lay between us and the ground of the enemy. Our aged men, our females and children

* Anglice, Teewit, or lapwing.

retired. But they retired slowly. They had the hearts and the courage of the females and children in those days of intense religious feeling, and of suffering. They manifested more concern for the fate of relatives-for the fate of the church, than for their own personal safety. As Claverhouse descended the opposite mountains, they retired to the rising ground in the rear of our host. The aged men walked with their bonnets in hand. Their long gray locks waved in the breeze. They sang a cheering psalm. The music was that of the well known tune of the Martyrs;" and the sentiment breathed defiance. The music floated down on the wind. Our men gave them three cheers as they fell into their ranks. Never did I witness such animation in the looks of men. For me, my spouse, and my little children were in the rear. My native plains, and the halls of my father, far below, in the dale of Aven, were full in view, from the heights which we occupied. My country seemed to raise her voice the bleeding church seemed to wail aloud. “And these," I said, as Clavers and his troops winded slowly down the dark mountain's side, "these are the unworthy slaves, and bloody executioners, by which the tyrant completes our miseries."

Hamilton here displayed the hero. His portly figure was seen hastening from rank to rank. He inspired courage into our raw and undisciplined troops. The brave Hackstone, and Hall, of Haugh-head, stood at the head of the foot, and re-echoed the sentiments of their chief. Burley and Cleland had inflamed the minds of the horsemen on the left, to a noble enthusiasm. My small troop on the right, needed no exhortation. We were a band of brothers, resolved to conquer or fall.

The trumpet of Clavers sounded a loud note of defiance. The kettle-drum mixed its tumultuous roll. They halted. They made a long pause. We could see an officer with four file, conducting fifteen persons from the ranks, to a knoll on their left. I could perceive one in black. It was my friend King, the chaplain of lord Cardross, who had been taken prisoner by Clavers, at Hamilton. "Let them be shot through the head," said Clavers, with his usual dry way, "if they should offer to run away." We could see him view our position with

great care. His officers came around him. We soon learned that he wished to treat with us. He never betrayed symptoms of mercy or of justice, nor offered terms of reconciliation, unless when he dreaded that he had met his match. And even then it was only a manœuvre to gain time, or to deceive. His flag approached the edge of the bog. Sir Robert held a flag sacred; had it been borne by Clavers himself, he had honoured it. He demanded the purpose for which he came. "I came,"

said he," in the name of his sacred majesty, and of col. Grahame, to offer you a pardon, on condition that you lay down your arms, and deliver up your ringleaders." "Tell your officer," said sir Robert, that we are fully aware of the deception he practises. He is not clothed with any powers to treat, nor was he sent out to treat with us, and attempt a reconciliation. The government against whom we have risen, refuses to redress our grievances, or to restore as our liberties. Had the tyrant wished to render us justice, he had not sent by the hands of such a ferocious assassin as Claverhouse. Let him, however, show his powers, and we refuse not to treat. And we shall lay down our arms to treat, provided that he also lay down his. Thou hast my answer. "It is a hopeless cause, said Burley, while he called after the flag. "Let me add one word, by your leave, general-Get thee up to that bloody dragoon, Clavers, and tell him that we will spare his life, and the lives of his troops, on condition that he, your Clavers, lay down his arms, and the arms of these troops. We will do more; as we have no prisons on these wild mountains, we will even let him go on his parole, on condition that he swear never to lift arms against the religion and the liberties of his country." A loud burst of applause re-echoed from the ranks; and after a long pause in deep silence, the army sang the psalm yet sung in the Scottish churches.

"These arrows of the bow he break,

The shield, the sword, the war;
More glorious thou than hills of prey,

More excellent art far.

Those that are stout of heart are spoil'd,
They slept their sleep outright,

And none of them their hands did find,
That were the men of might." &c.

the

When the report was made to Claverhouse, he gave word with a savage ferocity. "Their blood be on their own heads. Be no quarters the word this day."* His fierce dragoons raised a yell, and no quarters re-echoed from rank to rank, while they galloped down the moun tain's side. It is stated that Burley was heard to say, "Then be it so-even let there be no quarters—at least in my wing of the host. So God send me a meeting," cried he aloud, with that chief under the white plume. My country would bless my memory, could my sword give his villanous carcase to the crows."

Our raw troops beheld, with firmness, the approach of the foemen; and at the moment when the enemy halted to fire, the whole of our foot dropt on the heath. Not a man was seen to remain down, when the order was given to rise, and return the fire. The first rank fired, then kneeled down, while the second fired. They made each bullet tell. As often as the lazy rolling smoke was carried over the enemy's heads, a shower of bullets fell on his ranks. Many a gallant man tumbled on the heath. The fire was incessant. It resembled one blazing sheet of flame, for several minutes along the line of the covenanters. Clavers attempted to cross the morass, and break our centre. "Spearmen! to the front," I could hear the deep-toned voice of Hamilton say, "Kneel, and place your spears to receive the enemy's cavalry; and you, my gallant fellows, fire-God and our Country, is our word." Our officers flew from rank to rank. Not a peasant gave way that day. As the smoke rolled off, we could see Clavers urging on his men with the violence of despair. His troops fell in heaps around him, and still the gaps were filled up. galled trooper would occasionally flinch; but ere he could turn or flee, the sword of Clavers was waving over his head. I could see him in his fury strike both man and horse. In the fearful carnage he himself sometimes reeled. He would stop short in the midst of a movement: then contradict his own orders, and strike the man because he could not comprehend his meaning.

A

He ordered flanking parties to take us on our right and left. "In the name of God," cried he, "cross the bog,

* This fact I find stated also in the "Scots Worthies," p. 408. Edinb. Edit. of 1812.