One day this Man came past my fort, folk with him, looking for
preaching or prophesy from him. Suddenly turning he came inside my
fort, and, standing upon the ladder against the wall, spoke to them
fervently. His last words became a legend in Balmore, and spread
even to Glasgow and beyond.
"'Hear me!' cried he. 'As I stand looking at ye from this wall,
calling on ye in your natural bodies to take refuge in the Fort of
God, the Angel of Death is looking ower the battlements of heaven,
choosing ye out, the sheep frae the goats; calling the one to
burning flames, and the other into peaceable habitations. I hear the
voice now,' cried he, 'and some soul among us goeth forth. Flee ye
to the Fort of Refuge.' I can see him now, his pale face shining,
his eyes burning, his beard blowing in the wind, his grizzled hair
shaking on his forehead. I had stood within the fort watching him.
At last he turned, and, seeing me intent, stooped, caught me by the
arms, and lifted me upon the wall. 'See you,' said he, 'yesterday's
babe a warrior to-day. Have done, have done, ye quarrelsome hearts.
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