among us, but nothing so dark and awful as what fell out in the
course of this unhappy year. The evil omen of daft Jenny Gaffaw and
her daughter's sacrilege, had soon a bloody verification.

About the beginning of the month of March in this year, the war in
America was kindling so fast that the government was obligated to
send soldiers over the sea, in the hope to quell the rebellious
temper of the plantations; and a party of a regiment that was
quartered at Ayr was ordered to march to Greenock, to be there
shipped off. The men were wild and wicked profligates, without the
fear of the Lord before their eyes; and some of them had drawn up
with light women in Ayr, who followed them on their march. This the
soldiers did not like, not wishing to be troubled with such gear in
America; so the women, when they got the length of Kilmarnock, were
ordered to retreat and go home, which they all did but one Jean
Glaikit, who persisted in her intent to follow her joe, Patrick
O'Neil, a Catholic Irish corporal. The man did, as he said, all in
his capacity to persuade her to return, but she was a contumacious
limmer, and would not listen to reason; so that, in passing along
our toll-road, from less to more, the miserable wretches fell out,
and fought, and the soldier put an end to her with a hasty knock on
the head with his firelock, and marched on after his comrades.

The body of the woman was, about half an hour after, found by the
scholars of Mr Lorimore's school, who had got the play to see the
marching, and to hear the drums of the soldiers. Dreadful was the
shout and the cry throughout the parish at this foul work. Some of
the farmer lads followed the soldiers on horseback, and others ran
to Sir Hugh, who was a justice of the peace, for his advice.--Such a
day as that was!