Having heard that King Charles was dead, the two sisters supposed that the persecution had abated, and ventured to the house of Margaret McLaughlan, an old faithful friend.  Here they were discovered and arrested; and, with this aged widow, were cast into prison.  Agnes was ransomed by her father, at a price equal to $500.  The two Margarets were sentenced to die.  The manner of their death was peculiar and very shocking.

On May 11, 1685, they were taken to the sea-shore to be drowned.  While the tide was low two stakes were driven deep into the oozy sand, one close to the water, the other nearer the shore.  To the first Margaret McLaughlin was bound; to the second, Margaret Wilson.  The shore was crowded with people.  Major Windram, with his troop, had charge of the execution.  This man himself like Gilbert Wilson had two daughters and a son.  They, too, like the Wilson children, had become aroused at the deeds of blood, and remonstrated with their father against his atrocious cruelty, in persecuting the Covenanters.  One after another they had sickened and died, each charging their death on him, as God’s vengeance upon his deeds.  This man, after all his bitter experience, was hard enough to watch these women die beneath the briny waves, and show them no pity.  The tide slowly recovered its strength; higher and higher it arose around the more distant woman—­up to her face—­over her head—­then a death-struggle.  “What think you now of your companion?” said a soldier to the young maiden, as the head of the aged martyr rose and fell on the waves.  “What do I see but Christ, in one of His members, wrestling there,” she calmly replied.  “Think you that we are the sufferers?  No, it is Christ in us; for He sends none a warfaring on their own charges.”  The tide crept up upon this second martyr like the death-chill, but her heart was strong and fearless in the Lord.  Her voice arose sweetly above the swash of the waves, reciting Scripture, pouring forth prayer, and singing Psalms.  The tide swelled around her bosom, ascended her naked neck, touched her warm lips, yet the heavenly music continued.  But now a breaker dashes over the uplifted face; the voice is silenced; the head droops upon the water.  At this moment a soldier rushed forward, and dragged her to the shore, hoping that she had received enough of the sea to frighten her into a confession, and thereby securing her release.  The gasping girl was asked to renounce her Covenant.  She refused.  “Dear Margaret,” said a friend in melting tones, “Say, ‘God save the king!’ say, ‘God save the king!’” With sweet composure, she answered, “God save him if He will, for it is his salvation I desire.”  Her friends, rushing up to the officers, exclaimed, “O, Sir, she has said it; she has said it.”  “Then let her take the oath, and renounce her Covenant,” he replied with cruel harshness.  She answered with emphasis, “I will not; I am one of Christ’s children; let me go.”  They plunged her back into the heaving waters; the struggle was brief.  The lifeless form was cast upon the strand, and soon borne off by loving hands.  The limp body was now free from all sorrow and suffering.  The beautiful casket was empty; the shining jewel had been taken to adorn the crown of the king of kings, and to flash forever in the glory of heaven.