Upon a lonely hillside, in a place sheltered between two high rocks, a man had been lying all night, a pile of dry grass for his bed, a few branches laid across from rock to rock his only roof. I think he had slept sweetly, for he had peace in his conscience. But at the same time, his sleep had been light, for whenever the wind had made more noise than usual among the trees, or the owl had hooted in the woods below, he lifted his head to listen. In the morning he looked anxiously all around. Nothing was in sight to harm him. He gazed down to that fair quiet home of his, nestling in the valley below, that home where his wife and children lived.

John Paterson⤒🔗

But why was he a wanderer? John Paterson was one of those godly Covenanters of whom we Scots are so thankful: one of those men who loved the will of God far better than house or lands, wife or children, aye, better than life itself. Because he would not join himself to a church that he thought corrupt, because he was resolved to worship the Lord as he believed the Lord had bid him to worship Him, therefore the rulers of the land were set to do him all the evil they could. Bands of soldiers had been sent out to take him prisoner, or to shoot him down like a wild beast. To save his life he had been obliged to leave his home — like so many hundreds of his brethren — and to seek a hiding place in the dark woods, on the lonely hillsides, in the dens and caves of the earth.

For many weeks he had lived in this little hole, on the top of Benbeoch crags, never going down to see his wife and children except in the early morning, or through the dark night, when he sometimes ventured to step into his own house for an hour, an hour spent in fear and trembling, listening for the clang of horses’ hooves. Such a hurried visit he was going to make this morning. As soon as he made sure that no enemy was in sight, he began to go swiftly down the hill, keeping his eye constantly upon the road that led to his farmhouse: that road by which the soldiers had come so often to search for him.

It was a lovely morning. Poor Paterson’s heart swelled with joy at the thought of holding his wife and children in his arms again. Already he was so near to the house as to see the blind of the little bedroom drawn back, and his wife looking anxiously up the hill towards his resting place, when suddenly his ear caught the sound of a flock of sheep scudding over the moor, and, looking round to find out what had startled them, he saw a whole troop of soldiers coming, not along the high road, but straight across the country towards him.

The Chase←⤒🔗

Instantly he turned to flee to his hiding place. But already the troopers had seen him, and with fierce whoop urged their horses across the moor. A dry stone wall girded Benbeoch crags. Paterson had to get over it, and paused for a minute on the top to look round and see where his pursuers were. Ah! How fast were they gaining ground on him! Almost he seemed within their clutches, and gave himself up for lost. He sprang down from the wall, and tried to clamber as best as he could among the large blocks of granite that lay strewed all over the surface of the hill. He fought on, stumbling, climbing among the stones, and tearing his way through the tangled thorns and briers, but with little hope in his heart of escaping altogether. For already the dragoons had leaped over the wall, and, some on foot, some still on horseback, were close after him, keeping him full in view.

Earnest Prayer←⤒🔗

‘Then’, to use Paterson’s own words, ‘I cried mightily to the Lord, for there was no help in me and no help in man: “Hide me under the shadow of Thy wings, Lord! Oh, save me, for I trust in Thee!” While the words were still in my mouth, while the curses of the foremost dragoons were almost in my very ears — their hot breath seemed almost to touch my cheek — I stumbled over a large block of stone and fell heavily to the earth. To the earth? No, through it. Down into the very depths I fell, away from the daylight, away from the sight of man, away from the wrath of mine enemies. When I ceased falling, I was for a minute stunned, but not at all hurt.

Presently, rising to my feet, I found myself in a large, dry, airy cavern in the heart of the crag, a place that seemed to me a perfect paradise in comparison to my poor little hiding place on the top of the hill. I could hardly believe my senses. It was as if the Lord had commanded the earth to open, and take me down to its loving bosom, to rest there in peace and safety. And while I heard the fierce dragoons overhead, raging and cursing and calling out to each other, I knelt down, and with all my heart gave praise and thanks to the Lord, who had thus directed my steps according to His grace. Never in all my life did I enjoy such a blessed time of communion with my Lord. Was it not as if I could feel the everlasting arms underneath me, His left hand under my head, His right arm embracing my soul. It was as if I were even losing myself in delight at the fullness of His love. That half an hour of such joy in the light of His countenance would have made up for a whole lifetime of persecution, of sorrow and danger’.

His Wife←⤒🔗

When Paterson had heard the voices of his persecutors die away in the distance, and when for a long time he had enjoyed that blessed communion with his loving God and Saviour, he began to think of the fears his wife must be suffering on his account, and to devise a way of sending her news of him. He found means to reach the opening of the cavern which he had so unexpectedly entered, and looking out to see if the troopers were really gone, he heard the call of a woman’s voice near to him. It was his wife, who, having seen the troopers in such hot pursuit after her husband, and then seeing them ride away in the direction of the county town, was sure that they had found him, and slain him on the hillside.

She was seeking his dead body when Paterson heard her voice, and called to her, and I am sure you can well imagine for yourselves her joy and gratitude in seeing him quite well and safe. With his help she climbed down into the cave, and kneeling together on the bare floor, they consecrated this new home for the wanderer by united prayer and praise to the God of their help. Afterwards, by degrees, bedding and a little furniture of different kinds were brought to this cave God had so wonderfully pointed out to them. And in a short time it was made a most comfortable and secure hiding place, not only for John Paterson, but for many of the persecuted brethren of the countryside.