Lochinvar: A Novel

  CHAPTER XLV

  KILLIEKRANKIE

  The July morning wakened broad and fair. The swifts circled in wideningsweeps about the castle of Blair. Wat Gordon slept in the hall, wrappedin his plaid--a gift from Keppoch. The McDonald lay that night withhis own men out on the lea, but many of the younger chiefs of Dundee'slevy, McLean of Duart and Donald of Sleat, were also encamped round thehall.

  It was after four of the clock when a hand touched Wat's shoulder. Helooked up alert on the instant with the trained wakefulness of thesoldier. His eyes met those of the Lord Dundee, who, without a word,strode slowly up the stairs.

  Wat rose and followed his general, making his toilet with a singleshake of the plaid over his shoulder. Presently they stood togetheron the battlements, where Dundee leaned his elbow on the highest partof the wall and looked to the east. The sun was just rising betweenBen-y-Gloe and Ben-y-Vrackie.

  Dundee stood a long time looking round him before he spoke. Wat kept inthe background, standing modestly by the edge of the tiles, where theywent crow-stepping up to the rigging. He dared not intrude upon thethoughts or plans of his commander.

  At last Dundee pointed with his hand, sweeping it over the swardbeneath, which was black with Highlanders, all squadded accordingto their clans. Most of them still lay in their plaids, scatteredbroadcast as if they had been slain on the field of battle, with theirclaymores held in their arms as a mother holds a favorite child. Buthere and there a few early foragers were already busy gathering birchand dwarf oak to build the morning camp-fires, while down by the river,where the lowland cavalry were picketed, many blue columns of smokearose.

  "A bonny sight!" said the general, slowly. "Aye, a bonny sight! Threethousand men that are men, and not a feared heart nor an unwillingblade among them. And yet," he added, a little sadly, "if I were away,all that would break and vanish like yon white cloud crawling on theshoulder of Ben Vrackie."

  He pointed to where the morning mist was trailing itself in quicklydissolving wreaths and vanishing wisps over the mountain.

  "Aye, like the mist they came, and like the mist they will go--if Ibe not here the morrow's morn to lead them. Lochiell is wise indeed.He would command us all with skill and fortitude. But then, how GlenGarry and Keppoch would cock their bonnets at that! Sandy McLean theremight hold the clansmen and take them to Edinburgh, yet Sandy is notchief even of his own clan, but an apple-cheeked lad, who thinks onlyof taking the eyes of maidens. Grown babes all of them--yet men whom Ihave welded into a weapon of strength to fight the king's warfare."

  "Think you the enemy will attack us this day?" said Wat, with thedeference of a young soldier to an elder, whose favor, though great,may not be presumed upon.

  "They will come, indeed," said the general, "but it is we that shallattack. I would it had been a day or two later. For the Western menare not come in, and Lochiell hath not yet half his tail behindhim. Nevertheless, 'twill serve. Mackay I mind of old--in the Dutchprovinces--a good drill-sergeant that fights by the book; but a braveman--yes, a very brave man."

  For as an unquestioned beauty is the first to acknowledge beauty inothers, so John Graham could readily allow courage to his opponents.

  Yet this morning a constant melancholy seemed to overspread thebeautiful countenance that had been the desire of women, the fear oradoration of men. In his converse with Lochinvar not a trace remainedof that haughtiness which had so often distinguished his dealings withother men, nor yet of that relentlessness which he himself had so oftenmistaken for the firmness of military necessity.

  Wat's bosom swelled within him as he looked on that host of plaidedmen. He seemed to see Scotland swept to the Solway, and the king cominghome in triumph to his own again. The old tower of Lochinvar rose upbefore him. He thought proudly of building up again the broken-downwalls, and for his love's sake setting the lordship of Lochinvar oncemore among its peers. It would be passing sweet to walk with her by thehill-side and look down upon their home, with the banner once againfloating at the staff, and the hum of serving-men about it.

  "It is indeed a most noble sight!" he cried, in rapture.

  Dundee glanced at him, and marked the heightened color of the lad withkindly, tolerant favor. He thought he spoke of the mustered clans.

  "Aye, glorious--truly," said he. "But build not on sand. Ere ten daysbe past, if these lads of the mist find not plunder, Clan Ronald willbe off to spoil Clan Cameron, and Keppoch, the Wild Cat, will be at thethroat of Clan Mackintosh. I have welded me a weapon which, tempered tothe turning of a steel blade this morning, may be but a handful of sandwhen the wind blows off the sea by to-morrow at this time."

  He stood silent a while, and his face grew fixed and stern as when hegave orders in battle.

  "To-day I draw sword for a king that dared not draw sword forhimself--for a house that has ever used its mistresses well and itssoldiers ill. Let us make no mistake. You and I, Wat, go out this dayon a great venture, and on our heads it is. We have a true soldier tofight. For you and I have seen William of Orange, and in this the dayof our distress we shall have no help from our friends, save thesethree hundred Irish kerns with their bent pikes and their bows andarrows, no better than bairns that shoot crows among the corn."

  He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his graceful body erect.

  "So be it! After all, it is not my business. Enough for me that I dothe king's will and walk straightly among so many that go crookedly.To-night I will end it if I can, and drive the Dutchman to his ownplace. But if not--why, then, it shall end me. I know, I know," he wenton, quickly, as if Walter had reminded him of something, "I have awife and a bairn down there. I am a man as other men. I would fain seeJean Cochrane, clad in white, passing here and there among the walksof the garden, gathering flowers, and the youngling toddling about herfeet--were it but for once, before this night I bid the war-pipes blowat the setting of the sun."

  He turned towards the lands of the south where he had earned muchhatred and deadly fear.

  "It may be, as they say, that I have ridden overharshly on the king'sservice, and trodden on some whom I might have lifted with my hand.But, God wot, it was ever the king's service and not mine own! I everjudged it better that there should be a little timeous bloodlettingthan that a whole people should perish. But now I see that the king andI were not wise. For a war that stirs up folk's religion never comes toan end. And, for all the good I did, I might just as well never haveset foot in Galloway or the south. But enough; 'tis over now, andthere remains--three thousand claymores and an empty title! Well, weshall find out to-day whether kings are indeed anointed, as they say.Ah, Wat, the sun is high, the light broad and fair on Athol braes.But ere it fades, you and I may find out many things that priest andpresbyter could not unriddle to us."

  He made as if to descend from the castle wall, but took a secondthought.

  "Bid the bugle sound!" he ordered, quickly changing his tone. "Invitethe chiefs to a council. Send Dunfermline to me--and go yourself andget some breakfast."

  * * * * *

  It was almost at the way-going of the day. The sons of the mistcrouched low among the heather and watched the Saxon soldiersstruggling up through the dark and narrow glen. King William's men wereweary and sore driven, for they had been there under the sun's fierceassault since noon that day.

  So near were the clansmen to their foes that they could distinguishthe uniform and accoutrement of each regiment as it straggled slowlyout under the eyes of the general and formed on the little green shelfoverhanging the deep cleft of the Garry.

  Wat stood with Dundee upon the crest of the hill above. The general hadfallen silent, but a look of eager expectancy lit his face.

  "I have them," he said, low, to himself; "it is coming right. We shallbalance accounts with the Dutchman ere it be dark."

  To him came Keppoch, pale to the lips with rage.

  "This is no war, my lord-general," he said, "they are through the passand you hold us here in check! Why, with the ro
cks of the hill-side mysingle clan could have annihilated them--swept them in heaps into theblack pools of the Garry."

  My Lord Dundee smiled a tolerant smile, as a mother might at theignorance of a wayward, fretful child.

  "Bide ye, Keppoch," he said, kindly, "ye shall have your fill of thatwork--but we must not make two mouthfuls of this Orange. Our advantageis great enough. We shall meet them on plain field, and, ere we bedone with them, ye shall walk across the Garry upon their dead bodies,bootless and in dry socks, if it please you."

  Presently the Lowland army had dribbled itself completely out of thepass and stood ranked, regiment by regiment, awaiting the onset. Mackayhad done all that skill and silence could do in such a desperate case,for the men of the mountains had all the choice of the ground and ofthe time for attack.

  Clan by clan Dundee set his men on the hill crests, solidly phalanxed,but with wide gaps between the divisions--a noble array of great namesand mighty chiefs--McLean, Clan Ranald, Clan Cameron, Glengarry,Stewarts of Athol and Appin, men of the king's name from east and west.Well might Dundee have forgotten his melancholy mood of the morning.

  The sun touched the western hills, halved itself, and sank like aswiftly dying flame. The blue shadows strode eastward with a rush. Thegray mist began to fill the deep glen of the Garry.

  "Ready!" cried the general.

  The war-pipes blared. The plaided men gave a shout that drowned thepibrochs, and the clans were ready for the charge.

  From beneath arose a response, a faint, wavering cry, without faith orcohesion.

  "Ah," cried Lochiell, "have at them now! That is not the cry of men whoare going to conquer!"

  Dundee raised his hand and the chiefs watched for it to fall. It fell.

  "Claymore!" shouted Lochiell, who had been standing like a pillar atthe head of his clan.

  Keppoch, wild with the joy of battle, instantly fired his gun fromwhere he stood, and throwing his brand into the air, he caught it bythe hilt as he too gave the order to charge.

  Slowly at first, but quickening their pace as they neared the foe, theclans came down. They held their fire till they were within a hundredyards of the enemy, grimly enduring without reply three separatevolleys from the disciplined ranks of the Lowland army. They paused amoment and fired a wild, irregular volley. Then, with the unanimousflash of drawn swords in the air, the whole wild array charged downwith a yell upon the triple line of the enemy.

  Wat rode by the side of the general; for Dundee charged with the van,exposing himself in the very front of danger. Half way down the slopethe old colonel of horse noticed that the Lowland cavalry were notfollowing. He turned in his saddle, lifted his sword, and waved thesquadrons on.

  "For the king! Charge!" he cried, pointing with the blade to theserried line of Mackay's regiments below.

  But at that moment there came another withering volley from the Englishline, threshing the hill-side like hail. A bullet struck Dundee underthe uplifted arm. Instinctively he shifted his bridle hand, and sethimself grimly to the charge again; but the quickly growing pallor ofhis face and the slackness of his grasp told the tale of a terriblewound.

  Lochinvar had scarce time to dismount and receive his general in hisarms before Dundee fainted and his head fell on Wat's shoulder. Hischarger galloped on, leading the regiment into action, as though hefelt that his master's part had devolved on him.

  In an instant the assault swept past them, and Wat and the woundedsoldier were left as it had been alone on the field. Here and there aclansman, stricken by a bullet, strove to rise and follow the onset ofhis clan. He would stumble a few yards, and then throw up his hands andfall headlong. But up from the river edge there came a hell of fiercelymingled sounds. At the first glance at the wound Wat saw there was nohope. Looking over the pale set features of the general, as he layreclined in his arms, he could see the thin English lines fairly sweptaway. One or two regiments seemed to have been missed, standing idly attheir arms, like forgotten wheat in a corner of an ill-reaped field;but for the rest, clansmen and red soldiers alike had passed out ofsight.

  Presently the dying commander opened his eyes.

  "My lord," said Wat, softly, "how is it with you?"

  "Nay, rather, how goes the day?" said Dundee, with an eager look.

  "Well for the king," answered Wat.

  "Then," replied John Graham, "if it be well with him it is the less thematter for me."

  With that he laid his head back on Wat's breast contentedly. He seemedto wander somewhat in his thoughts, speaking fast and disorderly.

  "Maybe I was in the wrong--in the wrong. Yet I did it for the king'sgood. But I was sore vexed for the wife and bairns. And yet the carriersuffered it very unconcernedly, and said he was glad to die--which Ican well believe. Maybe he, too, had done well for his king."

  His mind dwelt much upon far-off, unhappy things. Anon he seemed to seesome terrible tragedy, for he put his hand before his face as if toshut out a painful sight.

  "Enough of that, Westerha'," he said, in a grieved tone, "this servesno good end."

  Then at the last there came a smile breaking over his face, and helifted his hand lightly and gently like one who dandles somethingtender and easily broken.

  "'Tis a fine bairn, Jean," he said, pleasantly, "ye may well be proudo' the babe. I wish I could bide wi' you. They might have left mealone this ae nicht. But I must mount and ride. Fare ye weel, Jean, mylass--braw lass and bonny wife ye ever were to me. I must e'en bit andsaddle, for I hae a far gate and a gloomy road to travel this night!"

  So with no more than this farewell to his wife and young bairn, thehope of the Stuarts, the scourge of the Covenant, the glory of theGrahams, lay dead on the clean-reaped field of victory.