CHAPTER XIII.
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name. Anonymous.
When the desperate affray had ceased, Claverhouse commanded his soldiersto remove the dead bodies, to refresh themselves and their horses, andprepare for passing the night at the farm-house, and for marching earlyin the ensuing morning. He then turned his attention to Morton, and therewas politeness, and even kindness, in the manner in which he addressedhim.
"You would have saved yourself risk from both sides, Mr Morton, if youhad honoured my counsel yesterday morning with some attention; but Irespect your motives. You are a prisoner-of-war at the disposal of theking and council, but you shall be treated with no incivility; and I willbe satisfied with your parole that you will not attempt an escape."
When Morton had passed his word to that effect, Claverhouse bowedcivilly, and, turning away from him, called for his sergeant-major.
"How many prisoners, Halliday, and how many killed?"
"Three killed in the house, sir, two cut down in the court, and one inthe garden--six in all; four prisoners."
"Armed or unarmed?" said Claverhouse.
"Three of them armed to the teeth," answered Halliday; "one withoutarms--he seems to be a preacher."
"Ay--the trumpeter to the long-ear'd rout, I suppose," repliedClaverhouse, glancing slightly round upon his victims, "I will talk withhim tomorrow. Take the other three down to the yard, draw out two files,and fire upon them; and, d'ye hear, make a memorandum in the orderly bookof three rebels taken in arms and shot, with the date and name of theplace--Drumshinnel, I think, they call it.--Look after the preacher tillto-morrow; as he was not armed, he must undergo a short examination. Orbetter, perhaps, take him before the Privy Council; I think they shouldrelieve me of a share of this disgusting drudgery.--Let Mr Morton becivilly used, and see that the men look well after their horses; and letmy groom wash Wild-blood's shoulder with some vinegar, the saddle hastouched him a little."
All these various orders,--for life and death, the securing of hisprisoners, and the washing his charger's shoulder,--were given in thesame unmoved and equable voice, of which no accent or tone intimated thatthe speaker considered one direction as of more importance than another.
The Cameronians, so lately about to be the willing agents of a bloodyexecution, were now themselves to undergo it. They seemed prepared alikefor either extremity, nor did any of them show the least sign of fear,when ordered to leave the room for the purpose of meeting instant death.Their severe enthusiasm sustained them in that dreadful moment, and theydeparted with a firm look and in silence, excepting that one of them, ashe left the apartment, looked Claverhouse full in the face, andpronounced, with a stern and steady voice,--"Mischief shall haunt theviolent man!" to which Grahame only answered by a smile of contempt.
They had no sooner left the room than Claverhouse applied himself to somefood, which one or two of his party had hastily provided, and invitedMorton to follow his example, observing, it had been a busy day for themboth. Morton declined eating; for the sudden change of circumstances--thetransition from the verge of the grave to a prospect of life, hadoccasioned a dizzy revulsion in his whole system. But the same confusedsensation was accompanied by a burning thirst, and he expressed his wishto drink.
"I will pledge you, with all my heart," said Claverhouse; "for here is ablack jack full of ale, and good it must be, if there be good in thecountry, for the whigs never miss to find it out.--My service to you, MrMorton," he said, filling one horn of ale for himself, and handinganother to his prisoner.
Morton raised it to his head, and was just about to drink, when thedischarge of carabines beneath the window, followed by a deep and hollowgroan, repeated twice or thrice, and more faint at each interval,announced the fate of the three men who had just left them. Mortonshuddered, and set down the untasted cup.
"You are but young in these matters, Mr Morton," said Claverhouse, afterhe had very composedly finished his draught; "and I do not think theworse of you as a young soldier for appearing to feel them acutely. Buthabit, duty, and necessity, reconcile men to every thing."
"I trust," said Morton, "they will never reconcile me to such scenes asthese."
"You would hardly believe," said Claverhouse in reply, "that, in thebeginning of my military career, I had as much aversion to seeing bloodspilt as ever man felt; it seemed to me to be wrung from my own heart;and yet, if you trust one of those whig fellows, he will tell you I drinka warm cup of it every morning before I breakfast. [Note: The author isuncertain whether this was ever said of Claverhouse. But it was currentlyreported of Sir Robert Grierson of Lagg, another of the persecutors, thata cup of wine placed in his hand turned to clotted blood.] But in truth,Mr Morton, why should we care so much for death, light upon us or aroundus whenever it may? Men die daily--not a bell tolls the hour but it isthe death-note of some one or other; and why hesitate to shorten the spanof others, or take over-anxious care to prolong our own? It is all alottery--when the hour of midnight came, you were to die--it has struck,you are alive and safe, and the lot has fallen on those fellows who wereto murder you. It is not the expiring pang that is worth thinking of inan event that must happen one day, and may befall us on any givenmoment--it is the memory which the soldier leaves behind him, like thelong train of light that follows the sunken sun--that is all which isworth caring for, which distinguishes the death of the brave or theignoble. When I think of death, Mr Morton, as a thing worth thinking of,it is in the hope of pressing one day some well-fought and hard-wonfield of battle, and dying with the shout of victory in my ear--thatwould be worth dying for, and more, it would be worth having lived for!"
At the moment when Grahame delivered these sentiments, his eye glancingwith the martial enthusiasm which formed such a prominent feature in hischaracter, a gory figure, which seemed to rise out of the floor of theapartment, stood upright before him, and presented the wild person andhideous features of the maniac so often mentioned. His face, where it wasnot covered with blood-streaks, was ghastly pale, for the hand of deathwas on him. He bent upon Claverhouse eyes, in which the grey light ofinsanity still twinkled, though just about to flit for ever, andexclaimed, with his usual wildness of ejaculation, "Wilt thou trust inthy bow and in thy spear, in thy steed and in thy banner? And shall notGod visit thee for innocent blood?--Wilt thou glory in thy wisdom, and inthy courage, and in thy might? And shall not the Lord judge thee?--Beholdthe princes, for whom thou hast sold thy soul to the destroyer, shall beremoved from their place, and banished to other lands, and their namesshall be a desolation, and an astonishment, and a hissing, and a curse.And thou, who hast partaken of the wine-cup of fury, and hast beendrunken and mad because thereof, the wish of thy heart shall be grantedto thy loss, and the hope of thine own pride shall destroy thee. I summonthee, John Grahame, to appear before the tribunal of God, to answer forthis innocent blood, and the seas besides which thou hast shed."
He drew his right hand across his bleeding face, and held it up to heavenas he uttered these words, which he spoke very loud, and then added morefaintly, "How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avengethe blood of thy saints!"
As he uttered the last word, he fell backwards without an attempt to savehimself, and was a dead man ere his head touched the floor.
Morton was much shocked at this extraordinary scene, and the prophecy ofthe dying man, which tallied so strangely with the wish which Claverhousehad just expressed; and he often thought of it afterwards when that wishseemed to be accomplished. Two of the dragoons who were in the apartment,hardened as they were, and accustomed to such scenes, showed greatconsternation at the sudden apparition, the event, and the words whichpreceded it. Claverhouse alone was unmoved. At the first instant ofMucklewrath's appearance, he had put his hand to his pistol, but onseeing the situation of the wounded w
retch, he immediately withdrew it,and listened with great composure to his dying exclamation.
When he dropped, Claverhouse asked, in an unconcerned tone of voice--"Howcame the fellow here?--Speak, you staring fool!" he added, addressing thenearest dragoon, "unless you would have me think you such a poltroon asto fear a dying man."
The dragoon crossed himself, and replied with a faltering voice,--"Thatthe dead fellow had escaped their notice when they removed the otherbodies, as he chanced to have fallen where a cloak or two had been flungaside, and covered him."
"Take him away now, then, you gaping idiot, and see that he does not biteyou, to put an old proverb to shame.--This is a new incident, Mr. Morton,that dead men should rise and push us from our stools. I must see that myblackguards grind their swords sharper; they used not to do their work soslovenly.--But we have had a busy day; they are tired, and their bladesblunted with their bloody work; and I suppose you, Mr Morton, as well asI, are well disposed for a few hours' repose."
So saying, he yawned, and taking a candle which a soldier had placedready, saluted Morton courteously, and walked to the apartment which hadbeen prepared for him.
Morton was also accommodated, for the evening, with a separate room.Being left alone, his first occupation was the returning thanks to Heavenfor redeeming him from danger, even through the instrumentality of thosewho seemed his most dangerous enemies; he also prayed sincerely for theDivine assistance in guiding his course through times which held out somany dangers and so many errors. And having thus poured out his spirit inprayer before the Great Being who gave it, he betook himself to therepose which he so much required.