ate nose, and I could not but believe on my entrance that an hour
of such a hole would be the death of me. Soon the darkness came, and we
were given a tallow dip in a horn lantern hung on a nail to light us to
food. Such food I had never dreamed of. There was a big iron basin of
some kind of broth, made, as I judged, from offal, from which we drank
in pannikins; and with it were hunks of mildewed rye-bread. One
mouthful sickened me, and I preferred to fast. The behaviour of the
other prisoners was most seemly, but not so that of my company. They
scrambled for the stuff like pigs round a trough, and the woman Isobel
threatened with her nails any one who would prevent her. I was black
ashamed to enter prison with such a crew, and withdrew myself as far
distant as the chamber allowed me.

I had no better task than to look round me at those who had tenanted
the place before our coming. There were three women, decent-looking
bodies, who talked low in whispers and knitted. The men were mostly
countryfolk, culled, as I could tell by their speech, from the west
country, whose only fault, no doubt, was that they had attended some
field-preaching. One old man, a minister by his dress, sat apart on a
stone bench, and with closed eyes communed with himself. I ventured to
address him, for in that horrid place he had a welcome air of sobriety
and sense.

He asked me for my story, and when he heard it looked curiously at
Muckle John, who was now reciting gibberish in a corner.

"So that is the man Gib," he said musingly. "I have heard tell of him,
for he was a thorn in the flesh of blessed Mr. Cargill. Often have I
heard him repeat how he went to Gib in the moors to reason with him in
the Lord's name, and got nothing but a mouthful of devilish
blasphemies. He is without doubt a child of Belial, as much as any
proud persecutor. Woe is the Kirk, when her foes shall be of her own
household, for it is with the words of the Gospel that he seeks to
overthrow the Gospel work. And how is it with you, my son? Do you seek
to add your testimony to the sweet savour which now ascends from moors,
mosses, peat-bogs, closes, kennels, prisons, dungeons, ay, and
scaffolds in this distressed land of Scotland? You have not told me
your name."

When he heard it he asked for my father, whom he had known in old days
at Edinburgh College. Then he inquired into my religious condition with
so much fatherly consideration that I could take no offence, but to