Page 27 of A Fire in Their Hearts

S AMUEL AND I TREMBLE UNCONTROLLABLY as we hug each other, the thin blanket wrapped around us doing little to help.

We’ve known lower temperatures but without the ability to light a fire and still with no shelter except the four walls of the enclosure there’s no escape from the cold.

For weeks it’s been seeping into our bodies every single minute of the day and night. Hot food is a distant memory.

People are beginning to fear that the authorities will let the harsh weather kill us and solve their problem.

Two Covenanters have died since the beginning of the month, the bodies stripped of clothing before being laid out for the gravediggers.

These days they come in through the gates and pick up the deceased themselves.

My chest feels so constricted that speaking is difficult. ‘There’s one good thing about the cold,’ I stutter.

‘I’m struggling to think of it.’

‘Nobody considers it odd that we hug each other.’

All around us men are gathered in small groups, so desperate for warmth that they embrace each other as tightly as lovers.

Calum comes towards us. Like everyone else he’s swaddled in multiple items of clothing that make him appear misshapen, a parody of humour at which no one laughs.

Clothes have been stripped from the dead or bought from the women who visit, using the remaining coin that hasn’t been stolen.

His blond hair is hidden under a large bonnet held down firmly with a woman’s kerchief tied under his chin.

Nobody moves quickly. When he reaches us Samuel opens the blanket and includes his brother within it, then the three of us stand, our limbs trembling and our teeth chattering.

‘Something’s happening,’ says Calum. ‘There’s a large number of soldiers gathering beyond the gates. I think they’re going to come in.’

‘To kill us?’ I say.

‘Why bother now?’ says Samuel. ‘Unless the authorities have finally lost all patience.’

‘We’re about to find out,’ says Calum.

The gates are being unlocked and moments later dozens of soldiers rush in, bayonets fitted to muskets in a show of force that is so unnecessary it’s almost laughable. The majority of us can just about walk.

‘Fall into lines! Fall into lines!’ shouts a sergeant.

Everyone is taken aback and many stand around without moving until soldiers start pushing prisoners forward and getting them into lines three abreast.

‘Violet, keep between us,’ whispers Samuel.

We join the others. There is some muttering and a few cries of pain when someone is hit or shoved too hard, but otherwise people line up without protest. There are over two hundred and most of us have lived within this open prison for almost five months.

It seems unreal that we’re actually about to leave. But we do.

We stumble through the stone archway and into the first street, where crowds wait in silence.

I assume that news of our departure has been deliberately spread throughout Edinburgh and residents are probably expected to come out and see what happens to those who defy the king’s authority.

A couple of men call out insults, but most don’t comment.

Whether they feel shock, disdain or pity, I’ve no idea and am too weary to care.

‘Why do they need so many soldiers?’ I ask. ‘We’re far too weak to fight.’

‘I don’t think they’re for us,’ says Samuel. ‘They must be worried that there could be an attempted rescue.’

We certainly see no sign of such a thing as we’re taken down street after street.

Covenanters fall and are helped back up only to fall again as we trudge along on our journey of punishment.

Finally, when there are more of us falling than walking, we arrive in Leith and are taken to the harbour, where we’re brought to a halt near a two-masted ship called the Crown of London .

‘It’s small,’ I say.

‘Too small,’ replies Samuel. ‘This isn’t big enough for so many.’

‘Look!’ says Calum. ‘Dear God above. Are those who I think they are?’

Arriving only minutes after us dozens of militia approach along a different street. They’re got cloths and scarves wrapped around their faces and some are carrying stretchers that, at first sight, seem to have dead people on them.

‘Samuel,’ I utter in horror. ‘These are the wounded Covenanters who were taken to Heriot’s Hospital when we arrived.’

‘I see them,’ he says, ‘though I don’t believe what I’m seeing.’

There are around twenty and the stench of their bodies overpowers every other smell around the harbour regardless of how unpleasant or powerful.

It’s clear that most have lost control of their bodily functions and the poor souls haven’t been cleaned, or certainly not properly.

I can hardly believe they’re still living.

Everyone from the enclosure stares in shock at the sight and murmured comments are increasingly interspersed by angry shouts as more people realise what we’re facing.

Any further conversation about their arrival is prevented by the appearance on deck of someone I take to be the captain. He looks down upon us with such loathing that my skin suddenly feels even dirtier than it did moments ago.

‘I’m Captain Teddico,’ he says, ‘and you are the worst treacherous scum that ever walked this land. For your heinous crimes, you’ll be transported on board my ship to your final destination.

I will brook no ill behaviour and any man who angers me will feel the lash of the whip.

You’re going to stink my ship like rotting fish.

’ He wrinkles his nose with a sneer before barking orders. ‘Get them aboard!’

We’re pulled and shoved into a line so that we can walk across the gangplank.

I follow Samuel on to the rocking vessel, where sailors order us down a ladder and into the hold.

It’s a slow process, as many need help. The captain’s anger grows by the second and he’s soon shouting obscene abuse at us while ordering sailors to push those who are considered not quick enough.

Desperate cries of pain and warning reach us from Covenanters who have fallen off the ladder and landed on the hard floor below.

‘Calum, you go ahead of Douglas and I’ll go after him,’ says Samuel, trying to work out how best to protect me, although in fairness I’m more able than many others.

I descend into a world so unlike the one we’ve been held in since June that the breath is snatched from my lungs. Instead of an open space with no shelter we’re encased by walls of wood, pressing on us closer and closer.

‘It’s like a huge coffin,’ Calum whispers fearfully.

‘Let’s find a space,’ says Samuel, indicating a place not far from the ladder. ‘It’s going to get unbelievably hot and we need to get as much air as possible. And we want to be away from those.’

Samuel indicates a row of buckets against one wall and my heart sinks at the realisation that this is all there is for our natural needs.

We spread out the thin blanket and collapse upon it, then watch as more figures come into the hold.

Most people are shocked into silence. A few moan as though fighting some inner terror.

It doesn’t take long to study our new home. Half a dozen lanterns swing gently upon hooks in the ceiling and cast a flickering, yellow light upon the surroundings. Every surface is wood, without a single item to provide comfort.

‘We may be out of the wind and rain but even a cow in the meanest of barns would have some straw,’ says Calum.

‘I fear, brother, that we’ve swapped our hell for one even worse.’

Starvation has reduced our bodies till we are little more than walking skeletons. While Covenanters are still shuffling into the hold, I feel pain streaking up my legs and back in whatever position I sit.

‘Douglas?’

‘I’m all right, Samuel. I just need to settle down.’

‘Here they come,’ warns Calum.

Whatever discomfort, pain or fear we’re experiencing is forgotten at the sight of the wounded Covenanters. Men on deck lower them by their arms while others at the bottom of the ladder reach up and take the emaciated bodies, carrying them to various corners of the hold, where they’re gently laid.

‘There’s not going to be enough room for everyone to lie down at the same time,’ says Calum.

The wounded continue to be lowered, some unconscious, others moaning and a few piteously begging to be taken back up or to be killed. Their pleading is heart-breaking.

‘Are we really in Scotland?’ says Samuel, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

In the confined space the smell is like nothing I’ve ever known.

A couple of men nearby retch, but they’ve nothing in their stomachs to bring up.

Eventually all of the wounded are here and the remaining Covenanters start coming down the ladder.

Upon reaching the bottom, one man suddenly screams. Two friends take hold of him and try to move him away, but he holds on to a step with such fierce determination that he can’t be shifted, no matter how much they try.

Others have to squeeze around him to pass.

Someone calls out, ‘Get him away before a sailor comes down!’

The warning is too late, for moments later we hear angry shouts from the hatch followed by a stocky figure quickly descending the ladder.

The sailor assesses the situation in an instant and the next moment he removes a wooden cudgel from his waistband and hits the hysterical Covenanter until he’s nearly unconscious.

His friends pull him away from the danger as soon as they can.

Everyone has fallen silent, shocked at the brutality but also at the way this foretells how we will be treated.

The sailor stares around, completely unafraid at being surrounded by so many prisoners.

‘His certainty that he’s safe is worrying,’ says Calum.

‘The sailors must have clear orders from the captain for this one to be confident that he can treat us so harshly,’ says Samuel.