liable to be hanged, on the sentence already
pronounced against us. The people of the
place came out to meet us, and, taking pity
on our unfortunate condition, plied us with
many questions, asking of us who we were,
whence we came, and what we could do to
help ourselves in the new land. It
happened, in God's providence, that one of
the inhabitants, who kept a store for the
sale of grocery and provisions, was a Glasgow
man, who knew me by sight, having
known my father before me, and had
voluntarily emigrated fifteen years before.
He took me to his house, and treated me
kindly, and like a brother, and asked me to
tell him all my story, the which I told him.
The name of this good man was Patrick
Henderson. In his house, and tended
affectionately by his wife, a comely Scottish
woman from Paisley, I lay nine weeks in a
sickness that every one thought would be
mortal. But I had a strong body, and
a heart that not even a mortal sickness
could depress, and, thanks to my inner
hope and strength, and to the care of
worthy Mrs. Henderson, I began to
revive with the early spring. By the month
of May, when the buds had bursted into
leaves, and the flowers were glinting
through the warm covering of the last
year's leaves, I was not only able to walk
abroad, and enjoy the invigorating
sunshine, but to do a fair day's work at
felling the forest trees for a clearing in a
little farm of Mr. Henderson's, which he
had laid out near Newark. Many of the
companions of my voyage, and previous
sufferings in Dunottar, relinquishing all
hope of revisiting their native country, and
finding themselves in a land where every
man was free to worship God according
to his conscience, resolved to stay in the
New World. About thirty proceeded to
Massachusetts Bay, and as many more to
Connecticut and to Rhode Island, and
other colonies founded by the saints who
sailed from England in the May Flower.
I, too, had some thoughts of making
America my future home, and wrote to
my brother in Glasgow to wind up all
my affairs in Scotland, and send over to
me my wife and family, with such money
as might be due to me, on an equal
partition of the business between him and
me, after proper provision for my beloved
mother. It appeared afterwards that he
did not act on my instructions, because
of events which were in progress in
England, known to him at the time, and
not to me; for about eight months after
I had written to him I received a reply, in
which he bade me be of good cheer, for that
King James had alienated and disgusted
all parties in Great Britain, and would, in
all human likelihood, either share the fate
of his father, Charles the First, or be driven
from the throne; in either of which happy
events it would be both wise and safe for
me to return to Scotland. He even thought
it would be advisable for me not to wait
for events, but to return at the first
convenient opportunity. The spirit of the
Scottish people, he said, as well as that of
the English, was thoroughly aroused, and
he was confident that the end of the
persecution was drawing near.

Boston, Massachusetts, April 27th, 1689.

It is nigh upon two years since I wrote
the last words in the foregoing history of
my life. These words form a prediction
that has been verified. During the last
year I have resided in the near neighbourhood
of this city, occupying myself with
such affairs as have fallen in my way;
cultivating a little farm and garden on the
Charles River; and making the acquaintance
of many good men and true servants
of Christ. It seemed to me at times that
even here there was to be no real peace for
the people of the Covenant, and that the
hands of the papist James Stuart could
reach across the ocean. The governor of
New England, one Sir Edmund Andros,
sent over from England in a royal frigate,
soon after the death of Charles the Second,
with full powers to enforce various acts that
were obnoxious to the colonists, and to
remove and appoint members of the council
at his pleasure without reference to the
will of the people, made both himself and
the British government odious throughout
New England, and created a discontent
as great as had ever existed even in
Scotland. But four weeks ago good tidings,
and very unexpected, arrived in Boston.
It was announced that the Protestant
Prince of Orange had landed at Torbay;
that James the Second had fled; and that
William the Third and his consort Mary had
been recognised by parliament and people
as sovereigns of England. The messenger
that brought these tidings from New York
to Sir Edmund Andros was thrust into
prison without being allowed to say a
word in his defence, for bearing false
news, or, as the governor profanely called
it, for telling "a damned lie." Further
tidings arrived from New York in a few
days, and on the eighteenth, Governor
Andros, seeing the gathering wrath of the
people, fled to the fort for safety. A boat
that came from a royal frigate in the