CHAPTER VIII.
And, to my breast, a bodkin in her hand Were worth a thousand daggers. Marlow.
The cavalcade which left the Castle of Tillietudlem, halted for a fewminutes at the small town of Bothwell, after passing the outposts of theinsurgents, to take some slight refreshments which their attendants hadprovided, and which were really necessary to persons who had sufferedconsiderably by want of proper nourishment. They then pressed forwardupon the road towards Edinburgh, amid the lights of dawn which were nowrising on the horizon. It might have been expected, during the course ofthe journey, that Lord Evandale would have been frequently by the side ofMiss Edith Bellenden. Yet, after his first salutations had beenexchanged, and every precaution solicitously adopted which could servefor her accommodation, he rode in the van of the party with MajorBellenden, and seemed to abandon the charge of immediate attendance uponhis lovely niece to one of the insurgent cavaliers, whose dark militarycloak, with the large flapped hat and feather, which drooped over hisface, concealed at once his figure and his features. They rode side byside in silence for more than two miles, when the stranger addressed MissBellenden in a tremulous and suppressed voice.
"Miss Bellenden," he said, "must have friends wherever she is known; evenamong those whose conduct she now disapproves. Is there any thing thatsuch can do to show their respect for her, and their regret for hersufferings?"
"Let them learn for their own sakes," replied Edith, "to venerate thelaws, and to spare innocent blood. Let them return to their allegiance,and I can forgive them all that I have suffered, were it ten times more."
"You think it impossible, then," rejoined the cavalier, "for any one toserve in our ranks, having the weal of his country sincerely at heart,and conceiving himself in the discharge of a patriotic duty?"
"It might be imprudent, while so absolutely in your power," replied MissBellenden, "to answer that question."
"Not in the present instance, I plight you the word of a soldier,"replied the horseman.
"I have been taught candour from my birth," said Edith; "and, if I am tospeak at all, I must utter my real sentiments. God only can judge theheart--men must estimate intentions by actions. Treason, murder by thesword and by gibbet, the oppression of a private family such as ours, whowere only in arms for the defence of the established government, and ofour own property, are actions which must needs sully all that haveaccession to them, by whatever specious terms they may be gilded over."
"The guilt of civil war," rejoined the horseman--"the miseries which itbrings in its train, lie at the door of those who provoked it by illegaloppression, rather than of such as are driven to arms in order to asserttheir natural rights as freemen."
"That is assuming the question," replied Edith, "which ought to beproved. Each party contends that they are right in point of principle,and therefore the guilt must lie with them who first drew the sword; as,in an affray, law holds those to be the criminals who are the first tohave recourse to violence."
"Alas!" said the horseman, "were our vindication to rest there, how easywould it be to show that we have suffered with a patience which almostseemed beyond the power of humanity, ere we were driven by oppressioninto open resistance!--But I perceive," he continued, sighing deeply,"that it is vain to plead before Miss Bellenden a cause which she hasalready prejudged, perhaps as much from her dislike of the persons as ofthe principles of those engaged in it."
"Pardon me," answered Edith; "I have stated with freedom my opinionof the principles of the insurgents; of their persons I knownothing--excepting in one solitary instance."
"And that instance," said the horseman, "has influenced your opinion ofthe whole body?"
"Far from it," said Edith; "he is--at least I once thought him--one inwhose scale few were fit to be weighed--he is--or he seemed--one of earlytalent, high faith, pure morality, and warm affections. Can I approve ofa rebellion which has made such a man, formed to ornament, to enlighten,and to defend his country, the companion of gloomy and ignorant fanatics,or canting hypocrites,--the leader of brutal clowns,--the brother-in-armsto banditti and highway murderers?--Should you meet such an one in yourcamp, tell him that Edith Bellenden has wept more over his fallencharacter, blighted prospects, and dishonoured name, than over thedistresses of her own house,--and that she has better endured that faminewhich has wasted her cheek and dimmed her eye, than the pang of heartwhich attended the reflection by and through whom these calamities wereinflicted."
As she thus spoke, she turned upon her companion a countenance, whosefaded cheek attested the reality of her sufferings, even while it glowedwith the temporary animation which accompanied her language. The horsemanwas not insensible to the appeal; he raised his hand to his brow with thesudden motion of one who feels a pang shoot along his brain, passed ithastily over his face, and then pulled the shadowing hat still deeper onhis forehead. The movement, and the feelings which it excited, did notescape Edith, nor did she remark them without emotion.
"And yet," she said, "should the person of whom I speak seem to you toodeeply affected by the hard opinion of--of--an early friend, say to him,that sincere repentance is next to innocence;--that, though fallen from aheight not easily recovered, and the author of much mischief, becausegilded by his example, he may still atone in some measure for the evil hehas done."
"And in what manner?" asked the cavalier, in the same suppressed, andalmost choked voice.
"By lending his efforts to restore the blessings of peace to hisdistracted countrymen, and to induce the deluded rebels to lay down theirarms. By saving their blood, he may atone for that which has been alreadyspilt;--and he that shall be most active in accomplishing this great end,will best deserve the thanks of this age, and an honoured remembrance inthe next."
"And in such a peace," said her companion, with a firm voice, "MissBellenden would not wish, I think, that the interests of the people weresacrificed unreservedly to those of the crown?"
"I am but a girl," was the young lady's reply; "and I scarce can speak onthe subject without presumption. But, since I have gone so far, I willfairly add, I would wish to see a peace which should give rest to allparties, and secure the subjects from military rapine, which I detest asmuch as I do the means now adopted to resist it."
"Miss Bellenden," answered Henry Morton, raising his face, and speakingin his natural tone, "the person who has lost such a highly-valued placein your esteem, has yet too much spirit to plead his cause as a criminal;and, conscious that he can no longer claim a friend's interest in yourbosom, he would be silent under your hard censure, were it not that hecan refer to the honoured testimony of Lord Evandale, that his earnestwishes and most active exertions are, even now, directed to theaccomplishment of such a peace as the most loyal cannot censure."
He bowed with dignity to Miss Bellenden, who, though her languageintimated that she well knew to whom she had been speaking, probably hadnot expected that he would justify himself with so much animation. Shereturned his salute, confused and in silence. Morton then rode forward tothe head of the party.
"Henry Morton!" exclaimed Major Bellenden, surprised at the suddenapparition.
"The same," answered Morton; "who is sorry that he labours under theharsh construction of Major Bellenden and his family. He commits to myLord Evandale," he continued, turning towards the young nobleman, andbowing to him, "the charge of undeceiving his friends, both regarding theparticulars of his conduct and the purity of his motives. Farewell, MajorBellenden--All happiness attend you and yours--May we meet again inhappier and better times!"
"Believe me," said Lord Evandale, "your confidence, Mr Morton, is notmisplaced; I will endeavour to repay the great services I have receivedfrom you by doing my best to place your character on its proper footingwith Major Bellenden, and all whose esteem you value."
"I expected no less from your generosity, my lord," said Morton.
He then called his followers, and rode off along the
heath in thedirection of Hamilton, their feathers waving and their steel capsglancing in the beams of the rising sun. Cuddie Headrigg alone remainedan instant behind his companions to take an affectionate farewell ofJenny Dennison, who had contrived, during this short morning's ride, tore-establish her influence over his susceptible bosom. A straggling treeor two obscured, rather than concealed, their _tete-a-tete_, as theyhalted their horses to bid adieu.
"Fare ye weel, Jenny," said Cuddie, with a loud exertion of his lungs,intended perhaps to be a sigh, but rather resembling the intonation of agroan,--"Ye'll think o' puir Cuddie sometimes--an honest lad that lo'esye, Jenny; ye'll think o' him now and then?"
"Whiles--at brose-time," answered the malicious damsel, unable either tosuppress the repartee, or the arch smile which attended it.
Whiles--at Brose-Time--pa098]
Cuddie took his revenge as rustic lovers are wont, and as Jenny probablyexpected,--caught his mistress round the neck, kissed her cheeks and lipsheartily, and then turned his horse and trotted after his master.
"Deil's in the fallow," said Jenny, wiping her lips and adjusting herhead-dress, "he has twice the spunk o' Tam Halliday, after a'.--Coming,my leddy, coming--Lord have a care o' us, I trust the auld leddy didnasee us!"
"Jenny," said Lady Margaret, as the damsel came up, "was not that youngman who commanded the party the same that was captain of the popinjay,and who was afterwards prisoner at Tillietudlem on the morningClaverhouse came there?"
Jenny, happy that the query had no reference to her own little matters,looked at her young mistress, to discover, if possible, whether it washer cue to speak truth or not. Not being able to catch any hint to guideher, she followed her instinct as a lady's maid, and lied.
"I dinna believe it was him, my leddy," said Jenny, as confidently as ifshe had been saying her catechism; "he was a little black man, that."
"You must have been blind, Jenny," said the Major: "Henry Morton is talland fair, and that youth is the very man."
"I had ither thing ado than be looking at him," said Jenny, tossing herhead; "he may be as fair as a farthing candle, for me."
"Is it not," said Lady Margaret, "a blessed escape which we have made,out of the hands of so desperate and bloodthirsty a fanatic?"
"You are deceived, madam," said Lord Evandale; "Mr Morton merits such atitle from no one, but least from us. That I am now alive, and that youare now on your safe retreat to your friends, instead of being prisonersto a real fanatical homicide, is solely and entirely owing to the prompt,active, and energetic humanity of this young gentleman."
He then went into a particular narrative of the events with which thereader is acquainted, dwelling upon the merits of Morton, and expatiatingon the risk at which he had rendered them these important services, as ifhe had been a brother instead of a rival.
"I were worse than ungrateful," he said, "were I silent on the merits ofthe man who has twice saved my life."
"I would willingly think well of Henry Morton, my lord," replied MajorBellenden; "and I own he has behaved handsomely to your lordship and tous; but I cannot have the same allowances which it pleases your lordshipto entertain for his present courses."
"You are to consider," replied Lord Evandale, "that he has been partlyforced upon them by necessity; and I must add, that his principles,though differing in some degree from my own, are such as ought to commandrespect. Claverhouse, whose knowledge of men is not to be disputed, spokejustly of him as to his extraordinary qualities, but with prejudice, andharshly, concerning his principles and motives."
"You have not been long in learning all his extraordinary qualities, mylord," answered Major Bellenden. "I, who have known him from boyhood,could, before this affair, have said much of his good principles andgood-nature; but as to his high talents"--
"They were probably hidden, Major," replied the generous Lord Evandale,"even from himself, until circumstances called them forth; and, if I havedetected them, it was only because our intercourse and conversationturned on momentous and important subjects. He is now labouring to bringthis rebellion to an end, and the terms he has proposed are so moderate,that they shall not want my hearty recommendation."
"And have you hopes," said Lady Margaret, "to accomplish a scheme socomprehensive?"
"I should have, madam, were every whig as moderate as Morton, and everyloyalist as disinterested as Major Bellenden. But such is the fanaticismand violent irritation of both parties, that I fear nothing will end thiscivil war save the edge of the sword."
It may be readily supposed, that Edith listened with the deepest interestto this conversation. While she regretted that she had expressed herselfharshly and hastily to her lover, she felt a conscious and proudsatisfaction that his character was, even in the judgment of hisnoble-minded rival, such as her own affection had once spoke it.
"Civil feuds and domestic prejudices," she said, "may render it necessaryfor me to tear his remembrance from my heart; but it is not small reliefto know assuredly, that it is worthy of the place it has so long retainedthere."
While Edith was thus retracting her unjust resentment, her lover arrivedat the camp of the insurgents, near Hamilton, which he found inconsiderable confusion. Certain advices had arrived that the royal army,having been recruited from England by a large detachment of the King'sGuards, were about to take the field. Fame magnified their numbers andtheir high state of equipment and discipline, and spread abroad othercircumstances, which dismayed the courage of the insurgents. What favourthey might have expected from Monmouth, was likely to be intercepted bythe influence of those associated with him in command. Hislieutenant-general was the celebrated General Thomas Dalzell, who, havingpractised the art of war in the then barbarous country of Russia, was asmuch feared for his cruelty and indifference to human life and humansufferings, as respected for his steady loyalty and undaunted valour.This man was second in command to Monmouth, and the horse were commandedby Claverhouse, burning with desire to revenge the death of his nephew,and his defeat at Drumclog. To these accounts was added the mostformidable and terrific description of the train of artillery and thecavalry force with which the royal army took the field.
[Note: Royal Army at Bothwell Bridge. A Cameronian muse was awakened from slumber on this doleful occasion, and gave the following account of the muster of the royal forces, in poetry nearly as melancholy as the subject:--
They marched east through Lithgow-town For to enlarge their forces; And sent for all the north-country To come, both foot and horses.
Montrose did come and Athole both, And with them many more; And all the Highland Amorites That had been there before.
The Lowdien Mallisha--Lothian Militia they Came with their coats of blew; Five hundred men from London came, Claid in a reddish hue.
When they were assembled one and all, A full brigade were they; Like to a pack of hellish hounds, Roreing after their prey.
When they were all provided well, In armour and amonition, Then thither wester did they come, Most cruel of intention.
The royalists celebrated their victory in stanzas of equal merit. Specimens of both may be found in the curious collection of Fugitive Scottish Poetry, principally of the Seventeenth Century, printed for the Messrs Laing, Edinburgh.]
Large bodies, composed of the Highland clans, having in language,religion, and manners, no connexion with the insurgents, had beensummoned to join the royal army under their various chieftains; and theseAmorites, or Philistines, as the insurgents termed them, came like eaglesto the slaughter. In fact, every person who could ride or run at theKing's command, was summoned to arms, apparently with the purpose offorfeit
ing and fining such men of property whom their principles mightdeter from joining the royal standard, though prudence prevented themfrom joining that of the insurgent Presbyterians. In short, everyrumourtended to increase the apprehension among the insurgents, that the King'svengeance had only been delayed in order that it might fall more certainand more heavy.
Morton endeavoured to fortify the minds of the common people by pointingout the probable exaggeration of these reports, and by reminding them ofthe strength of their own situation, with an unfordable river in front,only passable by a long and narrow bridge. He called to their remembrancetheir victory over Claverhouse when their numbers were few, and then muchworse disciplined and appointed for battle than now; showed them that theground on which they lay afforded, by its undulation, and the thicketswhich intersected it, considerable protection against artillery, and evenagainst cavalry, if stoutly defended; and that their safety, in fact,depended on their own spirit and resolution.
But while Morton thus endeavoured to keep up the courage of the army atlarge, he availed himself of those discouraging rumours to endeavour toimpress on the minds of the leaders the necessity of proposing to thegovernment moderate terms of accommodation, while they were stillformidable as commanding an unbroken and numerous army. He pointed out tothem, that, in the present humour of their followers, it could hardly beexpected that they would engage, with advantage, the well-appointed andregular force of the Duke of Monmouth; and that if they chanced, as wasmost likely, to be defeated and dispersed, the insurrection in which theyhad engaged, so far from being useful to the country, would be renderedthe apology for oppressing it more severely.
Pressed by these arguments, and feeling it equally dangerous to remaintogether, or to dismiss their forces, most of the leaders readily agreed,that if such terms could be obtained as had been transmitted to the Dukeof Monmouth by the hands of Lord Evandale, the purpose for which they hadtaken up arms would be, in a great measure, accomplished. They thenentered into similar resolutions, and agreed to guarantee the petitionand remonstrance which had been drawn up by Morton. On the contrary,there were still several leaders, and those men whose influence with thepeople exceeded that of persons of more apparent consequence, whoregarded every proposal of treaty which did not proceed on the basis ofthe Solemn League and Covenant of 1640, as utterly null and void,impious, and unchristian. These men diffused their feelings among themultitude, who had little foresight, and nothing to lose, and persuadedmany that the timid counsellors who recommended peace upon terms short ofthe dethronement of the royal family, and the declared independence ofthe church with respect to the state, were cowardly labourers, who wereabout to withdraw their hands from the plough, and despicable trimmers,who sought only a specious pretext for deserting their brethren in arms.These contradictory opinions were fiercely argued in each tent of theinsurgent army, or rather in the huts or cabins which served in the placeof tents. Violence in language often led to open quarrels and blows, andthe divisions into which the army of sufferers was rent served as tooplain a presage of their future fate.