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Old Mortality, Volume 2.

by Walter Scott · English · Gutenberg #6940 · 506,145 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Old Mortality, Volume 2.

Author: Walter Scott


        
Release date: August 22, 2004 [eBook #6940]
                Most recently updated: December 30, 2020

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by David Widger, with assistance from an etext produced by
        David Moynihan


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD MORTALITY, VOLUME 2. ***




Produced by David Widger, with assistance from an etext produced by
David Moynihan





[Illustration: Bookcover]


[Illustration: Spines]




OLD MORTALITY

By Walter Scott


[Illustration: Titlepage]



VOLUME II.




CHAPTER I.

               And look how many Grecian tents do stand
               Hollow upon this plain--so many hollow factions.
                                        Troilus and Cressida.

In a hollow of the hill, about a quarter of a mile from the field of
battle, was a shepherd's hut; a miserable cottage, which, as the only
enclosed spot within a moderate distance, the leaders of the presbyterian
army had chosen for their council-house. Towards this spot Burley guided
Morton, who was surprised, as he approached it, at the multifarious
confusion of sounds which issued from its precincts. The calm and anxious
gravity which it might be supposed would have presided in councils held
on such important subjects, and at a period so critical, seemed to have
given place to discord wild, and loud uproar, which fell on the ear of
their new ally as an evil augury of their future measures. As they
approached the door, they found it open indeed, but choked up with the
bodies and heads of countrymen, who, though no members of the council,
felt no scruple in intruding themselves upon deliberations in which they
were so deeply interested. By expostulation, by threats, and even by some
degree of violence, Burley, the sternness of whose character maintained a
sort of superiority over these disorderly forces, compelled the intruders
to retire, and, introducing Morton into the cottage, secured the door
behind them against impertinent curiosity. At a less agitating moment,
the young man might have been entertained with the singular scene of
which he now found himself an auditor and a spectator.

The precincts of the gloomy and ruinous hut were enlightened partly by
some furze which blazed on the hearth, the smoke whereof, having no legal
vent, eddied around, and formed over the heads of the assembled council a
clouded canopy, as opake as their metaphysical theology, through which,
like stars through mist, were dimly seen to twinkle a few blinking
candles, or rather rushes dipped in tallow, the property of the poor
owner of the cottage, which were stuck to the walls by patches of wet
clay. This broken and dusky light showed many a countenance elated with
spiritual pride, or rendered dark by fierce enthusiasm; and some whose
anxious, wandering, and uncertain looks, showed they felt themselves
rashly embarked in a cause which they had neither courage nor conduct to
bring to a good issue, yet knew not how to abandon, for very shame. They
were, indeed, a doubtful and disunited body. The most active of their
number were those concerned with Burley in the death of the Primate, four
or five of whom had found their way to Loudon-hill, together with other
men of the same relentless and uncompromising zeal, who had, in various
ways, given desperate and unpardonable offence to the government.

With them were mingled their preachers, men who had spurned at the
indulgence offered by government, and preferred assembling their flocks
in the wilderness, to worshipping in temples built by human hands, if
their doing the latter should be construed to admit any right on the part
of their rulers to interfere with the supremacy of the Kirk. The other
class of counsellors were such gentlemen of small fortune, and
substantial farmers, as a sense of intolerable oppression had induced to
take arms and join the insurgents. These also had their clergymen with
them, and such divines, having many of them taken advantage of the
indulgence, were prepared to resist the measures of their more violent
brethren, who proposed a declaration in which they should give testimony
against the warrants and instructions for indulgence as sinful and
unlawful acts. This delicate question had been passed over in silence in
the first draught of the manifestos which they intended to publish, of
the reasons of their gathering in arms; but it had been stirred anew
during Balfour's absence, and, to his great vexation, he now found that
both parties had opened upon it in full cry, Macbriar, Kettledrummle, and
other teachers of the wanderers, being at the very spring-tide of
polemical discussion with Peter Poundtext, the indulged pastor of
Milnwood's parish, who, it seems, had e'en girded himself with a
broadsword, but, ere he was called upon to fight for the good cause of
presbytery in the field, was manfully defending his own dogmata in the
council. It was the din of this conflict, maintained chiefly between
Poundtext and Kettledrummle, together with the clamour of their
adherents, which had saluted Morton's ears upon approaching the cottage.
Indeed, as both the divines were men well gifted with words and lungs,
and each fierce, ardent, and intolerant in defence of his own doctrine,
prompt in the recollection of texts wherewith they battered each other
without mercy, and deeply impressed with the importance of the subject of
discussion, the noise of the debate betwixt them fell little short of
that which might have attended an actual bodily conflict.

Burley, scandalized at the disunion implied in this virulent strife of
tongues, interposed between the disputants, and, by some general remarks
on the unseasonableness of discord, a soothing address to the vanity of
each party, and the exertion of the authority which his services in that
day's victory entitled him to assume, at length succeeded in prevailing
upon them to adjourn farther discussion of the controversy. But although
Kettledrummle and Poundtext were thus for the time silenced, they
continued to eye each other like two dogs, who, having been separated by
the authority of their masters while fighting, have retreated, each
beneath the chair of his owner, still watching each other's motions, and
indicating, by occasional growls, by the erected bristles of the back and
ears, and by the red glance of the eye, that their discord is unappeased,
and that they only wait the first opportunity afforded by any general
movement or commotion in the company, to fly once more at each other's
throats.

Balfour took advantage of the momentary pause to present to the council
Mr Henry Morton of Milnwood, as one touched with a sense of the evils of
the times, and willing to peril goods and life in the precious cause for
which his father, the renowned Silas Morton, had given in his time a
soul-stirring testimony. Morton was instantly received with the right
hand of fellowship by his ancient pastor, Poundtext, and by those among
the insurgents who supported the more moderate principles. The others
muttered something about Erastianism, and reminded each other in
whispers, that Silas Morton, once a stout and worthy servant of the
Covenant, had been a backslider in the day when the resolutioners had led
the way in owning the authority of Charles Stewart, thereby making a gap
whereat the present tyrant was afterwards brought in, to the oppression
both of Kirk and country. They added, however, that, on this great day of
calling, they would not refuse society with any who should put hand to
the plough; and so Morton was installed in his office of leader and
counsellor, if not with the full approbation of his colleagues, at least
without any formal or avowed dissent. They proceeded, on Burley's motion,
to divide among themselves the command of the men who had assembled, and
whose numbers were daily increasing. In this partition, the insurgents of
Poundtext's parish and congregation were naturally placed under the
command of Morton; an arrangement mutually agreeable to both parties, as
he was recommended to their confidence, as well by his personal qualities
as his having been born among them.

When this task was accomplished, it became necessary to determine what
use was to be made of their victory. Morton's heart throbbed high when he
heard the Tower of Tillietudlem named as one of the most important
positions to be seized upon. It commanded, as we have often noticed, the
pass between the more wild and the more fertile country, and must
furnish, it was plausibly urged, a stronghold and place of rendezvous to
the cavaliers and malignants of the district, supposing the insurgents
were to march onward and leave it uninvested. This measure was
particularly urged as necessary by Poundtext and those of his immediate
followers, whose habitations and families might be exposed to great
severities, if this strong place were permitted to remain in possession
of the royalists.

"I opine," said Poundtext,--for, like the other divines of the period, he
had no hesitation in offering his advice upon military matters of which
he was profoundly ignorant,--"I opine, that we should take in and raze
that stronghold of the woman Lady Margaret Bellenden, even though we
should build a fort and raise a mount against it; for the race is a
rebellious and a bloody race, and their hand has been heavy on the
children of the Covenant, both in the former and the latter times. Their
hook hath been in our noses, and their bridle betwixt our jaws."

"What are their means and men of defence?" said Burley. "The place is
strong; but I cannot conceive that two women can make it good against a
host."

"There is also," said Poundtext, "Harrison the steward, and John Gudyill,
even the lady's chief butler, who boasteth himself a man of war from his
youth upward, and who spread the banner against the good cause with that
man of Belial, James Grahame of Montrose."

"Pshaw!" returned Burley, scornfully, "a butler!"

"Also, there is that ancient malignant," replied Poundtext, "Miles
Bellenden of Charnwood, whose hands have been dipped in the blood of the
saints."

"If that," said Burley, "be Miles Bellenden, the brother of Sir Arthur,
he is one whose sword will not turn back from battle; but he must now be
stricken in years."

"There was word in the country as I rode along," said another of the
council, "that so soon as they heard of the victory which has been given
to us, they caused shut the gates of the tower, and called in men, and
collected ammunition. They were ever a fierce and a malignant house."

"We will not, with my consent," said Burley, "engage in a siege which may
consume time. We must rush forward, and follow our advantage by occupying
Glasgow; for I do not fear that the troops we have this day beaten, even
with the assistance of my Lord Ross's regiment, will judge it safe to
await our coming."

"Howbeit," said Poundtext, "we may display a banner before the Tower, and
blow a trumpet, and summon them to come forth. It may be that they will
give over the place into our mercy, though they be a rebellious people.
And we will summon the women to come forth of their stronghold, that is,
Lady Margaret Bellenden and her grand-daughter, and Jenny Dennison, which
is a girl of an ensnaring eye, and the other maids, and we will give them
a safe conduct, and send them in peace to the city, even to the town of
Edinburgh. But John Gudyill, and Hugh Harrison, and Miles Bellenden, we
will restrain with fetters of iron, even as they, in times bypast, have
done to the martyred saints."

"Who talks of safe conduct and of peace?" said a shrill, broken, and
overstrained voice, from the crowd.

"Peace, brother Habakkuk," said Macbriar, in a soothing tone, to the
speaker.

"I will not hold my peace," reiterated the strange and unnatural voice;
"is this a time to speak of peace, when the earth quakes, and the
mountains are rent, and the rivers are changed into blood, and the
two-edged sword is drawn from the sheath to drink gore as if it were
water, and devour flesh as the fire devours dry stubble?"

While he spoke thus, the orator struggled forward to the inner part of
the circle, and presented to Morton's wondering eyes a figure worthy of
such a voice and such language. The rags of a dress which had once been
black, added to the tattered fragments of a shepherd's plaid, composed a
covering scarce fit for the purposes of decency, much less for those of
warmth or comfort. A long beard, as white as snow, hung down on his
breast, and mingled with bushy, uncombed, grizzled hair, which hung in
elf-locks around his wild and staring visage. The features seemed to be
extenuated by penury and famine, until they hardly retained the likeness
of a human aspect. The eyes, grey, wild, and wandering, evidently
betokened a bewildered imagination. He held in his hand a rusty sword,
clotted with blood, as were his long lean hands, which were garnished at
the extremity with nails like eagle's claws.

"In the name of Heaven! who is he?" said Morton, in a whisper to
Poundtext, surprised, shocked, and even startled, at this ghastly
apparition, which looked more like the resurrection of some cannibal
priest, or druid red from his human sacrifice, than like an earthly
mortal.

"It is Habakkuk Mucklewrath," answered Poundtext, in the same tone, "whom
the enemy have long detained in captivity in forts and castles, until his
understanding hath departed from him, and, as I fear, an evil demon hath
possessed him. Nevertheless, our violent brethren will have it, that he
speaketh of the spirit, and that they fructify by his pouring forth."

Here he was interrupted by Mucklewrath, who cried in a voice that made
the very beams of the roof quiver--"Who talks of peace and safe conduct?
who speaks of mercy to the bloody house of the malignants? I say take the
infants and dash them against the stones; take the daughters and the
mothers of the house and hurl them from the battlements of their trust,
that the dogs may fatten on their blood as they did on that of Jezabel,
the spouse of Ahab, and that their carcasses may be dung to the face of
the field even in the portion of their fathers!"

"He speaks right," said more than one sullen voice from behind; "we will
be honoured with little service in the great cause, if we already make
fair weather with Heaven's enemies."

"This is utter abomination and daring impiety," said Morton, unable to
contain his indignation.

"What blessing can you expect in a cause, in which you listen to the
mingled ravings of madness and atrocity?"

"Hush, young man!" said Kettledrummle, "and reserve thy censure for that
for which thou canst render a reason. It is not for thee to judge into
what vessels the spirit may be poured."

"We judge of the tree by the fruit," said Poundtext, "and allow not that
to be of divine inspiration that contradicts the divine laws."

"You forget, brother Poundtext," said Macbriar, "that these are the
latter days, when signs and wonders shall be multiplied."

Poundtext stood forward to reply; but, ere he could articulate a word,
the insane preacher broke in with a scream that drowned all competition.

"Who talks of signs and wonders? Am not I Habakkuk Mucklewrath, whose
name is changed to Magor-Missabib, because I am made a terror unto myself
and unto all that are around me?--I heard it--When did I hear it?--Was it
not in the Tower of the Bass, that overhangeth the wide wild sea?--And it
howled in the winds, and it roared in the billows, and it screamed, and
it whistled, and it clanged, with the screams and the clang and the
whistle of the sea-birds, as they floated, and flew, and dropped, and
dived, on the bosom of the waters. I saw it--Where did I see it?--Was it
not from the high peaks of Dunbarton, when I looked westward upon the
fertile land, and northward on the wild Highland hills; when the clouds
gathered and the tempest came, and the lightnings of heaven flashed in
sheets as wide as the banners of an host?--What did I see?--Dead corpses
and wounded horses, the rushing together of battle, and garments rolled
in blood.--What heard I?--The voice that cried, Slay, slay--smite--slay
utterly--let not your eye have pity! slay utterly, old and young, the
maiden, the child, and the woman whose head is grey--Defile the house and
fill the courts with the slain!"

"We receive the command," exclaimed more than one of the company. "Six
days he hath not spoken nor broken bread, and now his tongue is
unloosed:--We receive the command; as he hath said, so will we do."

Astonished, disgusted, and horror-struck, at what he had seen and heard,
Morton turned away from the circle and left the cottage. He was followed
by Burley, who had his eye on his motions.

"Whither are you going?" said the latter, taking him by the arm.

"Any where,--I care not whither; but here I will abide no longer."

"Art thou so soon weary, young man?" answered Burley. "Thy hand is but
now put to the plough, and wouldst thou already abandon it? Is this thy
adherence to the cause of thy father?"

"No cause," replied Morton, indignantly--"no cause can prosper, so
conducted. One party declares for the ravings of a bloodthirsty madman;
another leader is an old scholastic pedant; a third"--he stopped, and his
companion continued the sentence--"Is a desperate homicide, thou wouldst
say, like John Balfour of Burley?--I can bear thy misconstruction without
resentment. Thou dost not consider, that it is not men of sober and
self-seeking minds, who arise in these days of wrath to execute judgment
and to accomplish deliverance. Hadst thou but seen the armies of England,
during her Parliament of 1640, whose ranks were filled with sectaries and
enthusiasts, wilder than the anabaptists of Munster, thou wouldst have
had more cause to marvel; and yet these men were unconquered on the
field, and their hands wrought marvellous things for the liberties of the
land."

"But their affairs," replied Morton, "were wisely conducted, and the
violence of their zeal expended itself in their exhortations and sermons,
without bringing divisions into their counsels, or cruelty into their
conduct. I have often heard my father say so, and protest, that he
wondered at nothing so much as the contrast between the extravagance of
their religious tenets, and the wisdom and moderation with which they
conducted their civil and military affairs. But our councils seem all one
wild chaos of confusion."

"Thou must have patience, Henry Morton," answered Balfour; "thou must not
leave the cause of thy religion and country either for one wild word, or
one extravagant action. Hear me. I have already persuaded the wiser of
our friends, that the counsellors are too numerous, and that we cannot
expect that the Midianites shall, by so large a number, be delivered into
our hands. They have hearkened to my voice, and our assemblies will be
shortly reduced within such a number as can consult and act together; and
in them thou shalt have a free voice, as well as in ordering our affairs
of war, and protecting those to whom mercy should be shown--Art thou now
satisfied?"

"It will give me pleasure, doubtless," answered Morton, "to be the means
of softening the horrors of civil war; and I will not leave the post I
have taken, unless I see measures adopted at which my conscience revolts.
But to no bloody executions after quarter asked, or slaughter without
trial, will I lend countenance or sanction; and you may depend on my
opposing them, with both heart and hand, as constantly and resolutely, if
attempted by our own followers, as when they are the work of the enemy."

Balfour waved his hand impatiently.

"Thou wilt find," he said, "that the stubborn and hard-hearted generation
with whom we deal, must be chastised with scorpions ere their hearts be
humbled, and ere they accept the punishment of their iniquity. The word
is gone forth against them, 'I will bring a sword upon you that shall
avenge the quarrel of my Covenant.' But what is done shall be done
gravely, and with discretion, like that of the worthy James Melvin, who
executed judgment on the tyrant and oppressor, Cardinal Beaton."

"I own to you," replied Morton, "that I feel still more abhorrent at
cold-blooded and premeditated cruelty, than at that which is practised in
the heat of zeal and resentment."

"Thou art yet but a youth," replied Balfour, "and hast not learned how
light in the balance are a few drops of blood in comparison to the weight
and importance of this great national testimony. But be not afraid;
thyself shall vote and judge in these matters; it may be we shall see
little cause to strive together anent them."

With this concession Morton was compelled to be satisfied for the
present; and Burley left him, advising him to lie down and get some rest,
as the host would probably move in the morning.

"And you," answered Morton, "do not you go to rest also?"

"No," said Burley; "my eyes must not yet know slumber. This is no work to
be done lightly; I have yet to perfect the choosing of the committee of
leaders, and I will call you by times in the morning to be present at
their consultation."

He turned away, and left Morton to his repose.

The place in which he found himself was not ill adapted for the purpose,
being a sheltered nook, beneath a large rock, well protected from the
prevailing wind. A quantity of moss with which the ground was overspread,
made a couch soft enough for one who had suffered so much hardship and
anxiety. Morton wrapped himself in the horse-man's cloak which he had
still retained, stretched himself on the ground, and had not long
indulged in melancholy reflections on the state of the country, and upon
his own condition, ere he was relieved from them by deep and sound
slumber.

The rest of the army slept on the ground, dispersed in groups, which
chose their beds on the fields as they could best find shelter and
convenience. A few of the principal leaders held wakeful conference with
Burley on the state of their affairs, and some watchmen were appointed
who kept themselves on the alert by chanting psalms, or listening to the
exercises of the more gifted of their number.





CHAPTER II.

               Got with much ease--now merrily to horse.
                                             Henry IV. Part I.

With the first peep of day Henry awoke, and found the faithful Cuddie
standing beside him with a portmanteau in his hand.

"I hae been just putting your honour's things in readiness again ye were
waking," said Cuddie, "as is my duty, seeing ye hae been sae gude as to
tak me into your service."

"I take you into my service, Cuddie?" said Morton, "you must be
dreaming."

"Na, na, stir," answered Cuddie; "didna I say when I was tied on the
horse yonder, that if ever ye gat loose I would be your servant, and ye
didna say no? and if that isna hiring, I kenna what is. Ye gae me nae
arles, indeed, but ye had gien me eneugh before at Milnwood."

"Well, Cuddie, if you insist on taking the chance of my unprosperous
fortunes"--

"Ou ay, I'se warrant us a' prosper weel eneugh," answered Cuddie,
cheeringly, "an anes my auld mither was weel putten up. I hae begun the
campaigning trade at an end that is easy eneugh to learn."

"Pillaging, I suppose?" said Morton, "for how else could you come by that
portmanteau?"

"I wotna if it's pillaging, or how ye ca't," said Cuddie, "but it comes
natural to a body, and it's a profitable trade. Our folk had tirled the
dead dragoons as bare as bawbees before we were loose amaist.--But when I
saw the Whigs a' weel yokit by the lugs to Kettledrummle and the other
chield, I set off at the lang trot on my ain errand and your honour's.
Sae I took up the syke a wee bit, away to the right, where I saw the
marks o'mony a horsefoot, and sure eneugh I cam to a place where there
had been some clean leatherin', and a' the puir chields were lying there
buskit wi' their claes just as they had put them on that morning--naebody
had found out that pose o' carcages--and wha suld be in the midst thereof
(as my mither says) but our auld acquaintance, Sergeant Bothwell?"

"Ay, has that man fallen?" said Morton.

"Troth has he," answered Cuddie; "and his een were open and his brow
bent, and his teeth clenched thegither, like the jaws of a trap for
foumarts when the spring's doun--I was amaist feared to look at him;
however, I thought to hae turn about wi' him, and sae I e'en riped his
pouches, as he had dune mony an honester man's; and here's your ain
siller again (or your uncle's, which is the same) that he got at Milnwood
that unlucky night that made us a' sodgers thegither."

"There can be no harm, Cuddie," said Morton, "in making use of this
money, since we know how he came by it; but you must divide with me."

"Bide a wee, bide a wee," said Cuddie. "Weel, and there's a bit ring he
had hinging in a black ribbon doun on his breast. I am thinking it has
been a love-token, puir fallow--there's naebody sae rough but they hae
aye a kind heart to the lasses--and there's a book wi'a wheen papers, and
I got twa or three odd things, that I'll keep to mysell, forby."

"Upon my word, you have made a very successful foray for a beginner,"
said his new master.

"Haena I e'en now?" said Cuddie, with great exultation. "I tauld ye I
wasna that dooms stupid, if it cam to lifting things.--And forby, I hae
gotten twa gude horse. A feckless loon of a Straven weaver, that has left
his loom and his bein house to sit skirling on a cauld hill-side, had
catched twa dragoon naigs, and he could neither gar them hup nor wind,
sae he took a gowd noble for them baith--I suld hae tried him wi' half
the siller, but it's an unco ill place to get change in--Ye'll find the
siller's missing out o' Bothwell's purse."

"You have made a most excellent and useful purchase, Cuddie; but what is
that portmanteau?"

"The pockmantle?" answered Cuddie, "it was Lord Evandale's yesterday, and
it's yours the day. I fand it ahint the bush o' broom yonder--ilka dog
has its day--Ye ken what the auld sang says,

          'Take turn about, mither, quo' Tam o' the Linn.'

"And, speaking o' that, I maun gang and see about my mither, puir auld
body, if your honour hasna ony immediate commands."

"But, Cuddie," said Morton, "I really cannot take these things from you
without some recompense."

"Hout fie, stir," answered Cuddie, "ye suld aye be taking,--for
recompense, ye may think about that some other time--I hae seen gay weel
to mysell wi' some things that fit me better. What could I do wi' Lord
Evandale's braw claes? Sergeant Bothwell's will serve me weel eneugh."

Not being able to prevail on the self-constituted and disinterested
follower to accept of any thing for himself out of these warlike spoils,
Morton resolved to take the first opportunity of returning Lord
Evandale's property, supposing him yet to be alive; and, in the
meanwhile, did not hesitate to avail himself of Cuddie's prize, so far as
to appropriate some changes of linen and other triffling articles amongst
those of more value which the portmanteau contained.

He then hastily looked over the papers which were found in Bothwell's
pocket-book. These were of a miscellaneous description. The roll of his
troop, with the names of those absent on furlough, memorandums of
tavern-bills, and lists of delinquents who might be made subjects of fine
and persecution, first presented themselves, along with a copy of a
warrant from the Privy Council to arrest certain persons of distinction
therein named. In another pocket of the book were one or two commissions
which Bothwell had held at different times, and certificates of his
services abroad, in which his courage and military talents were highly
praised. But the most remarkable paper was an accurate account of his
genealogy, with reference to many documents for establishment of its
authenticity; subjoined was a list of the ample possessions of the
forfeited Earls of Bothwell, and a particular account of the proportions
in which King James VI. had bestowed them on the courtiers and nobility
by whose descendants they were at present actually possessed; beneath
this list was written, in red letters, in the hand of the deceased, Haud
Immemor, F. S. E. B. the initials probably intimating Francis Stewart,
Earl of Bothwell. To these documents, which strongly painted the
character and feelings of their deceased proprietor, were added some
which showed him in a light greatly different from that in which we have
hitherto presented him to the reader.

In a secret pocket of the book, which Morton did not discover without
some trouble, were one or two letters, written in a beautiful female
hand. They were dated about twenty years back, bore no address, and were
subscribed only by initials. Without having time to peruse them
accurately, Morton perceived that they contained the elegant yet fond
expressions of female affection directed towards an object whose jealousy
they endeavoured to soothe, and of whose hasty, suspicious, and impatient
temper, the writer seemed gently to complain. The ink of these
manuscripts had faded by time, and, notwithstanding the great care which
had obviously been taken for their preservation, they were in one or two
places chafed so as to be illegible.

"It matters not," these words were written on the envelope of that which
had suffered most, "I have them by heart."

With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in a copy of verses,
written obviously with a feeling, which atoned, in Morton's opinion, for
the roughness of the poetry, and the conceits with which it abounded,
according to the taste of the period:

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, As in that well-remember'd
night, When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd
love. Since then, how often hast thou press'd The torrid zone of this
wild breast, Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin
which peopled hell; A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, Each throb
the earthquake's wild commotion!--O, if such clime thou canst endure, Yet
keep thy hue unstain'd and pure, What conquest o'er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! I had not wander'd wild and wide,
With such an angel for my guide; Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove
me, If she had lived, and lived to love me. Not then this world's wild
joys had been To me one savage hunting-scene, My sole delight the
headlong race, And frantic hurry of the chase, To start, pursue, and
bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then from the carcass
turn away; Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound
which pride inflamed;--Yes, God and man might now approve me, If thou
hadst lived, and lived to love me!

As he finished reading these lines, Morton could not forbear reflecting
with compassion on the fate of this singular and most unhappy being, who,
it appeared, while in the lowest state of degradation, and almost of
contempt, had his recollections continually fixed on the high station to
which his birth seemed to entitle him; and, while plunged in gross
licentiousness, was in secret looking back with bitter remorse to the
period of his youth, during which he had nourished a virtuous, though
unfortunate attachment.

"Alas! what are we," said Morton, "that our best and most praiseworthy
feelings can be thus debased and depraved--that honourable pride can sink
into haughty and desperate indifference for general opinion, and the
sorrow of blighted affection inhabit the same bosom which license,
revenge, and rapine, have chosen for their citadel? But it is the same
throughout; the liberal principles of one man sink into cold and
unfeeling indifference, the religious zeal of another hurries him into
frantic and savage enthusiasm. Our resolutions, our passions, are like
the waves of the sea, and, without the aid of Him who formed the human
breast, we cannot say to its tides, 'Thus far shall ye come, and no
farther."'

While he thus moralized, he raised his eyes, and observed that Burley
stood before him.

"Already awake?" said that leader--"It is well, and shows zeal to tread
the path before you.--What papers are these?" he continued.

Morton gave him some brief account of Cuddie's successful marauding
party, and handed him the pocket-book of Bothwell, with its contents. The
Cameronian leader looked with some attention on such of the papers as
related to military affairs, or public business; but when he came to the
verses, he threw them from him with contempt.

"I little thought," he said, "when, by the blessing of God, I passed my
sword three times through the body of that arch tool of cruelty and
persecution, that a character so desperate and so dangerous could have
stooped to an art as trifling as it is profane. But I see that Satan can
blend the most different qualities in his well-beloved and chosen agents,
and that the same hand which can wield a club or a slaughter-weapon
against the godly in the valley of destruction, can touch a tinkling
lute, or a gittern, to soothe the ears of the dancing daughters of
perdition in their Vanity Fair."

"Your ideas of duty, then," said Morton, "exclude love of the fine arts,
which have been supposed in general to purify and to elevate the mind?"

"To me, young man," answered Burley, "and to those who think as I do, the
pleasures of this world, under whatever name disguised, are vanity, as
its grandeur and power are a snare. We have but one object on earth, and
that is to build up the temple of the Lord."

"I have heard my father observe," replied Morton, "that many who assumed
power in the name of Heaven, were as severe in its exercise, and as
unwilling to part with it, as if they had been solely moved by the
motives of worldly ambition--But of this another time. Have you succeeded
in obtaining a committee of the council to be nominated?"

"I have," answered Burley. "The number is limited to six, of which you
are one, and I come to call you to their deliberations."

Morton accompanied him to a sequestered grassplot, where their colleagues
awaited them. In this delegation of authority, the two principal factions
which divided the tumultuary army had each taken care to send three of
their own number. On the part of the Cameronians, were Burley, Macbriar,
and Kettledrummle; and on that of the moderate party, Poundtext, Henry
Morton, and a small proprietor, called the Laird of Langcale. Thus the
two parties were equally balanced by their representatives in the
committee of management, although it seemed likely that those of the most
violent opinions were, as is usual in such cases, to possess and exert
the greater degree of energy. Their debate, however, was conducted more
like men of this world than could have been expected from their conduct
on the preceding evening. After maturely considering their means and
situation, and the probable increase of their numbers, they agreed that
they would keep their position for that day, in order to refresh their
men, and give time to reinforcements to join them, and that, on the next
morning, they would direct their march towards Tillietudlem, and summon
that stronghold, as they expressed it, of malignancy. If it was not
surrendered to their summons, they resolved to try the effect of a brisk
assault; and, should that miscarry, it was settled that they should leave
a part of their number to blockade the place, and reduce it, if possible,
by famine, while their main body should march forward to drive
Claverhouse and Lord Ross from the town of Glasgow. Such was the
determination of the council of management; and thus Morton's first
enterprise in active life was likely to be the attack of a castle
belonging to the parent of his mistress, and defended by her relative,
Major Bellenden, to whom he personally owed many obligations! He felt
fully the embarrassment of his situation, yet consoled himself with the
reflection, that his newly-acquired power in the insurgent army would
give him, at all events, the means of extending to the inmates of
Tillietudlem a protection which no other circumstance could have afforded
them; and he was not without hope that he might be able to mediate such
an accommodation betwixt them and the presbyterian army, as should secure
them a safe neutrality during the war which was about to ensue.





CHAPTER III.

               There came a knight from the field of slain,
               His steed was drench'd in blood and rain.
                                             Finlay.

We must now return to the fortress of Tillietudlem and its inhabitants.
The morning, being the first after the battle of Loudon-hill, had dawned
upon its battlements, and the defenders had already resumed the labours
by which they proposed to render the place tenable, when the watchman,
who was placed in a high turret, called the Warder's Tower, gave the
signal that a horseman was approaching. As he came nearer, his dress
indicated an officer of the Life-Guards; and the slowness of his horse's
pace, as well as the manner in which the rider stooped on the saddle-bow,
plainly showed that he was sick or wounded. The wicket was instantly
opened to receive him, and Lord Evandale rode into the court-yard, so
reduced by loss of blood, that he was unable to dismount without
assistance. As he entered the hall, leaning upon a servant, the ladies
shrieked with surprise and terror; for, pale as death, stained with
blood, his regimentals soiled and torn, and his hair matted and
disordered, he resembled rather a spectre than a human being. But their
next exclamation was that of joy at his escape.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Lady Margaret, "that you are here, and have
escaped the hands of the bloodthirsty murderers who have cut off so many
of the king's loyal servants!"

"Thank God!" added Edith, "that you are here and in safety! We have
dreaded the worst. But you are wounded, and I fear we have little the
means of assisting you."

"My wounds are only sword-cuts," answered the young nobleman, as he
reposed himself on a seat; "the pain is not worth mentioning, and I
should not even feel exhausted but for the loss of blood. But it was not
my purpose to bring my weakness to add to your danger and distress, but
to relieve them, if possible. What can I do for you?--Permit me," he
added, addressing Lady Margaret--"permit me to think and act as your son,
my dear madam--as your brother, Edith!"

He pronounced the last part of the sentence with some emphasis, as if he
feared that the apprehension of his pretensions as a suitor might render
his proffered services unacceptable to Miss Bellenden. She was not
insensible to his delicacy, but there was no time for exchange of
sentiments.

"We are preparing for our defence," said the old lady with great dignity;
"my brother has taken charge of our garrison, and, by the grace of God,
we will give the rebels such a reception as they deserve."

"How gladly," said Evandale, "would I share in the defence of the Castle!
But in my present state, I should be but a burden to you, nay, something
worse; for, the knowledge that an officer of the Life-Guards was in the
Castle would be sufficient to make these rogues more desperately earnest
to possess themselves of it. If they find it defended only by the family,
they may possibly march on to Glasgow rather than hazard an assault."

"And can you think so meanly of us, my lord," said Edith, with the
generous burst of feeling which woman so often evinces, and which becomes
her so well, her voice faltering through eagerness, and her brow
colouring with the noble warmth which dictated her language--"Can you
think so meanly of your friends, as that they would permit such
considerations to interfere with their sheltering and protecting you at a
moment when you are unable to defend yourself, and when the whole country
is filled with the enemy? Is there a cottage in Scotland whose owners
would permit a valued friend to leave it in such circumstances? And can
you think we will allow you to go from a castle which we hold to be
strong enough for our own defence?"

"Lord Evandale need never think of it," said Lady Margaret. "I will dress
his wounds myself; it is all an old wife is fit for in war time; but to
quit the Castle of Tillietudlem when the sword of the enemy is drawn to
slay him,--the meanest trooper that ever wore the king's coat on his back
should not do so, much less my young Lord Evandale.--Ours is not a house
that ought to brook such dishonour. The tower of Tillietudlem has been
too much distinguished by the visit of his most sacred"--

Here she was interrupted by the entrance of the Major.

"We have taken a prisoner, my dear uncle," said Edith--"a wounded
prisoner, and he wants to escape from us. You must help us to keep him by
force."

"Lord Evandale!" exclaimed the veteran. "I am as much pleased as when I
got my first commission. Claverhouse reported you were killed, or missing
at least."

"I should have been slain, but for a friend of yours," said Lord
Evandale, speaking with some emotion, and bending his eyes on the ground,
as if he wished to avoid seeing the impression that what he was about to
say would make upon Miss Bellenden. "I was unhorsed and defenceless, and
the sword raised to dispatch me, when young Mr Morton, the prisoner for
whom you interested yourself yesterday morning, interposed in the most
generous manner, preserved my life, and furnished me with the means of
escaping."

As he ended the sentence, a painful curiosity overcame his first
resolution; he raised his eyes to Edith's face, and imagined he could
read in the glow of her cheek and the sparkle of her eye, joy at hearing
of her lover's safety and freedom, and triumph at his not having been
left last in the race of generosity. Such, indeed, were her feelings; but
they were also mingled with admiration of the ready frankness with which
Lord Evandale had hastened to bear witness to the merit of a favoured
rival, and to acknowledge an obligation which, in all probability, he
would rather have owed to any other individual in the world.

Major Bellenden, who would never have observed the emotions of either
party, even had they been much more markedly expressed, contented himself
with saying, "Since Henry Morton has influence with these rascals, I am
glad he has so exerted it; but I hope he will get clear of them as soon
as he can. Indeed, I cannot doubt it. I know his principles, and that he
detests their cant and hypocrisy. I have heard him laugh a thousand times
at the pedantry of that old presbyterian scoundrel, Poundtext, who, after
enjoying the indulgence of the government for so many years, has now,
upon the very first ruffle, shown himself in his own proper colours, and
set off, with three parts of his cropeared congregation, to join the host
of the fanatics.--But how did you escape after leaving the field, my
lord?"

"I rode for my life, as a recreant knight must," answered Lord Evandale,
smiling. "I took the route where I thought I had least chance of meeting
with any of the enemy, and I found shelter for several hours--you will
hardly guess where."

"At Castle Bracklan, perhaps," said Lady Margaret, "or in the house of
some other loyal gentleman?"

"No, madam. I was repulsed, under one mean pretext or another, from more
than one house of that description, for fear of the enemy following my
traces; but I found refuge in the cottage of a poor widow, whose husband
had been shot within these three months by a party of our corps, and
whose two sons are at this very moment with the insurgents."

"Indeed?" said Lady Margaret Bellenden; "and was a fanatic woman capable
of such generosity?--but she disapproved, I suppose, of the tenets of her
family?"

"Far from it, madam," continued the young nobleman; "she was in principle
a rigid recusant, but she saw my danger and distress, considered me as a
fellow-creature, and forgot that I was a cavalier and a soldier. She
bound my wounds, and permitted me to rest upon her bed, concealed me from
a party of the insurgents who were seeking for stragglers, supplied me
with food, and did not suffer me to leave my place of refuge until she
had learned that I had every chance of getting to this tower without
danger."

"It was nobly done," said Miss Bellenden; "and I trust you will have an
opportunity of rewarding her generosity."

"I am running up an arrear of obligation on all sides, Miss Bellenden,
during these unfortunate occurrences," replied Lord Evandale; "but when I
can attain the means of showing my gratitude, the will shall not be
wanting."

All now joined in pressing Lord Evandale to relinquish his intention of
leaving the Castle; but the argument of Major Bellenden proved the most
effectual.

"Your presence in the Castle will be most useful, if not absolutely
necessary, my lord, in order to maintain, by your authority, proper
discipline among the fellows whom Claverhouse has left in garrison here,
and who do not prove to be of the most orderly description of inmates;
and, indeed, we have the Colonel's authority, for that very purpose, to
detain any officer of his regiment who might pass this way."

"That," said Lord Evandale, "is an unanswerable argument, since it shows
me that my residence here may be useful, even in my present disabled
state."

"For your wounds, my lord," said the Major, "if my sister, Lady
Bellenden, will undertake to give battle to any feverish symptom, if such
should appear, I will answer that my old campaigner, Gideon Pike, shall
dress a flesh-wound with any of the incorporation of Barber-Surgeons. He
had enough of practice in Montrose's time, for we had few regularly-bred
army chirurgeons, as you may well suppose.--You agree to stay with us,
then?"

"My reasons for leaving the Castle," said Lord Evandale, glancing a look
towards Edith, "though they evidently seemed weighty, must needs give way
to those which infer the power of serving you. May I presume, Major, to
enquire into the means and plan of defence which you have prepared? or
can I attend you to examine the works?"

It did not escape Miss Bellenden, that Lord Evandale seemed much
exhausted both in body and mind. "I think, sir," she said, addressing the
Major, "that since Lord Evandale condescends to become an officer of our
garrison, you should begin by rendering him amenable to your authority,
and ordering him to his apartment, that he may take some refreshment ere
he enters on military discussions."

"Edith is right," said the old lady; "you must go instantly to bed, my
lord, and take some febrifuge, which I will prepare with my own hand; and
my lady-in-waiting, Mistress Martha Weddell, shall make some friar's
chicken, or something very light. I would not advise wine.--John Gudyill,
let the housekeeper make ready the chamber of dais. Lord Evandale must
lie down instantly. Pike will take off the dressings, and examine the
state of the wounds."

"These are melancholy preparations, madam," said Lord Evandale, as he
returned thanks to Lady Margaret, and was about to leave the hall,--"but
I must submit to your ladyship's directions; and I trust that your skill
will soon make me a more able defender of your castle than I am at
present. You must render my body serviceable as soon as you can, for you
have no use for my head while you have Major Bellenden."

With these words he left the apartment.

"An excellent young man, and a modest," said the Major.

"None of that conceit," said Lady Margaret, "that often makes young folk
suppose they know better how their complaints should be treated than
people that have had experience."

"And so generous and handsome a young nobleman," said Jenny Dennison, who
had entered during the latter part of this conversation, and was now left
alone with her mistress in the hall, the Major returning to his military
cares, and Lady Margaret to her medical preparations.

Edith only answered these encomiums with a sigh; but, although silent,
she felt and knew better than any one how much they were merited by the
person on whom they were bestowed. Jenny, however, failed not to follow
up her blow.

"After a', it's true that my lady says--there's nae trusting a
presbyterian; they are a' faithless man-sworn louns. Whae wad hae thought
that young Milnwood and Cuddie Headrigg wad hae taen on wi' thae rebel
blackguards?"

"What do you mean by such improbable nonsense, Jenny?" said her young
mistress, very much displeased.

"I ken it's no pleasing for you to hear, madam," answered Jenny hardily;
"and it's as little pleasant for me to tell; but as gude ye suld ken a'
about it sune as syne, for the haill Castle's ringing wi't."

"Ringing with what, Jenny? Have you a mind to drive me mad?" answered
Edith, impatiently.

"Just that Henry Morton of Milnwood is out wi' the rebels, and ane o'
their chief leaders."

"It is a falsehood!" said Edith--"a most base calumny! and you are very
bold to dare to repeat it to me. Henry Morton is incapable of such
treachery to his king and country--such cruelty to me--to--to all the
innocent and defenceless victims, I mean, who must suffer in a civil
war--I tell you he is utterly incapable of it, in every sense."

"Dear! dear! Miss Edith," replied Jenny, still constant to her text,
"they maun be better acquainted wi' young men than I am, or ever wish to
be, that can tell preceesely what they're capable or no capable o'. But
there has been Trooper Tam, and another chield, out in bonnets and grey
plaids, like countrymen, to recon--reconnoitre--I think John Gudyill ca'd
it; and they hae been amang the rebels, and brought back word that they
had seen young Milnwood mounted on ane o' the dragoon horses that was
taen at Loudon-hill, armed wi' swords and pistols, like wha but him, and
hand and glove wi' the foremost o' them, and dreeling and commanding the
men; and Cuddie at the heels o' him, in ane o' Sergeant Bothwell's laced
waistcoats, and a cockit hat with a bab o' blue ribbands at it for the
auld cause o' the Covenant, (but Cuddie aye liked a blue ribband,) and a
ruffled sark, like ony lord o' the land--it sets the like o' him,
indeed!"

"Jenny," said her young mistress hastily, "it is impossible these men's
report can be true; my uncle has heard nothing of it at this instant."

"Because Tam Halliday," answered the handmaiden, "came in just five
minutes after Lord Evandale; and when he heard his lordship was in the
Castle, he swore (the profane loon!) he would be d--d ere he would make
the report, as he ca'd it, of his news to Major Bellenden, since there
was an officer of his ain regiment in the garrison. Sae he wad have said
naething till Lord Evandale wakened the next morning; only he tauld me
about it," (here Jenny looked a little down,) "just to vex me about
Cuddie."

"Poh, you silly girl," said Edith, assuming some courage, "it is all a
trick of that fellow to teaze you."

"Na, madam, it canna be that, for John Gudyill took the other dragoon
(he's an auld hard-favoured man, I wotna his name) into the cellar, and
gae him a tass o' brandy to get the news out o' him, and he said just the
same as Tam Halliday, word for word; and Mr Gudyill was in sic a rage,
that he tauld it a' ower again to us, and says the haill rebellion is
owing to the nonsense o' my Leddy and the Major, and Lord Evandale, that
begged off young Milnwood and Cuddie yesterday morning, for that, if they
had suffered, the country wad hae been quiet--and troth I am muckle o'
that opinion mysell."

This last commentary Jenny added to her tale, in resentment of her
mistress's extreme and obstinate incredulity. She was instantly alarmed,
however, by the effect which her news produced upon her young lady, an
effect rendered doubly violent by the High-church principles and
prejudices in which Miss Bellenden had been educated. Her complexion
became as pale as a corpse, her respiration so difficult that it was on
the point of altogether failing her, and her limbs so incapable of
supporting her, that she sunk, rather than sat, down upon one of the
seats in the hall, and seemed on the eve of fainting. Jenny tried cold
water, burnt feathers, cutting of laces, and all other remedies usual in
hysterical cases, but without any immediate effect.

"God forgie me! what hae I done?" said the repentant fille-de-chambre. "I
wish my tongue had been cuttit out!--Wha wad hae thought o' her taking on
that way, and a' for a young lad?--O, Miss Edith--dear Miss Edith, haud
your heart up about it, it's maybe no true for a' that I hae said--O, I
wish my mouth had been blistered! A' body tells me my tongue will do me a
mischief some day. What if my Leddy comes? or the Major?--and she's
sitting in the throne, too, that naebody has sate in since that weary
morning the King was here!--O, what will I do! O, what will become o'
us!"

While Jenny Dennison thus lamented herself and her mistress, Edith slowly
returned from the paroxysm into which she had been thrown by this
unexpected intelligence.

"If he had been unfortunate," she said, "I never would have deserted him.
I never did so, even when there was danger and disgrace in pleading his
cause. If he had died, I would have mourned him--if he had been
unfaithful, I would have forgiven him; but a rebel to his King,--a
traitor to his country,--the associate and colleague of cut-throats and
common stabbers,--the persecutor of all that is noble,--the professed and
blasphemous enemy of all that is sacred,--I will tear him from my heart,
if my life-blood should ebb in the effort!"

She wiped her eyes, and rose hastily from the great chair, (or throne, as
Lady Margaret used to call it,) while the terrified damsel hastened to
shake up the cushion, and efface the appearance of any one having
occupied that sacred seat; although King Charles himself, considering the
youth and beauty as well as the affliction of the momentary usurper of
his hallowed chair, would probably have thought very little of the
profanation. She then hastened officiously to press her support on Edith,
as she paced the hall apparently in deep meditation.

"Tak my arm, madam; better just tak my arm; sorrow maun hae its vent, and
doubtless"--

"No, Jenny," said Edith, with firmness; "you have seen my weakness, and
you shall see my strength."

"But ye leaned on me the other morning. Miss Edith, when ye were sae sair
grieved."

"Misplaced and erring affection may require support, Jenny--duty can
support itself; yet I will do nothing rashly. I will be aware of the
reasons of his conduct--and then--cast him off for ever," was the firm
and determined answer of her young lady.

Overawed by a manner of which she could neither conceive the motive, nor
estimate the merit, Jenny muttered between her teeth, "Odd, when the
first flight's ower, Miss Edith taks it as easy as I do, and muckle
easier, and I'm sure I ne'er cared half sae muckle about Cuddie Headrigg
as she did about young Milnwood. Forby that, it's maybe as weel to hae a
friend on baith sides; for, if the whigs suld come to tak the Castle, as
it's like they may, when there's sae little victual, and the dragoons
wasting what's o't, ou, in that case, Milnwood and Cuddie wad hae the
upper hand, and their freendship wad be worth siller--I was thinking sae
this morning or I heard the news."

With this consolatory reflection the damsel went about her usual
occupations, leaving her mistress to school her mind as she best might,
for eradicating the sentiments which she had hitherto entertained towards
Henry Morton.





CHAPTER IV.

          Once more into the breach--dear friends, once more!
                                                  Henry V.

On the evening of this day, all the information which they could procure
led them to expect, that the insurgent army would be with early dawn on
their march against Tillietudlem. Lord Evandale's wounds had been
examined by Pike, who reported them in a very promising state. They were
numerous, but none of any consequence; and the loss of blood, as much
perhaps as the boasted specific of Lady Margaret, had prevented any
tendency to fever; so that, notwithstanding he felt some pain and great
weakness, the patient maintained that he was able to creep about with the
assistance of a stick. In these circumstances he refused to be confined
to his apartment, both that he might encourage the soldiers by his
presence, and suggest any necessary addition to the plan of defence,
which the Major might be supposed to have arranged upon something of an
antiquated fashion of warfare. Lord Evandale was well qualified to give
advice on such subjects, having served, during his early youth, both in
France and in the Low Countries. There was little or no occasion,
however, for altering the preparations already made; and, excepting on
the article of provisions, there seemed no reason to fear for the defence
of so strong a place against such assailants as those by whom it was
threatened.

With the peep of day, Lord Evandale and Major Bellenden were on the
battlements again, viewing and re-viewing the state of their
preparations, and anxiously expecting the approach of the enemy. I ought
to observe, that the report of the spies had now been regularly made and
received; but the Major treated the report that Morton was in arms
against the government with the most scornful incredulity.

"I know the lad better," was the only reply he deigned to make; "the
fellows have not dared to venture near enough, and have been deceived by
some fanciful resemblance, or have picked up some story."

"I differ from you, Major," answered Lord Evandale; "I think you will see
that young gentleman at the head of the insurgents; and, though I shall
be heartily sorry for it, I shall not be greatly surprised."

"You are as bad as Claverhouse," said the Major, "who contended yesterday
morning down my very throat, that this young fellow, who is as
high-spirited and gentleman-like a boy as I have ever known, wanted but
an opportunity to place himself at the head of the rebels."

"And considering the usage which he has received, and the suspicions
under which he lies," said Lord Evandale, "what other course is open to
him? For my own part, I should hardly know whether he deserved most blame
or pity."

"Blame, my lord?--Pity!" echoed the Major, astonished at hearing such
sentiments; "he would deserve to be hanged, that's all; and, were he my
own son, I should see him strung up with pleasure--Blame, indeed! But
your lordship cannot think as you are pleased to speak?"

"I give you my honour, Major Bellenden, that I have been for some time of
opinion, that our politicians and prelates have driven matters to a
painful extremity in this country, and have alienated, by violence of
various kinds, not only the lower classes, but all those in the upper
ranks, whom strong party-feeling, or a desire of court-interest, does not
attach to their standard."

"I am no politician," answered the Major, "and I do not understand nice
distinctions. My sword is the King's, and when he commands, I draw it in
his cause."

"I trust," replied the young lord, "you will not find me more backward
than yourself, though I heartily wish that the enemy were foreigners. It
is, however, no time to debate that matter, for yonder they come, and we
must defend ourselves as well as we can."

As Lord Evandale spoke, the van of the insurgents began to make their
appearance on the road which crossed the top of the hill, and thence
descended opposite to the Tower. They did not, however, move downwards,
as if aware that, in doing so, their columns would be exposed to the fire
of the artillery of the place. But their numbers, which at first seemed
few, appeared presently so to deepen and concentrate themselves, that,
judging of the masses which occupied the road behind the hill from the
closeness of the front which they presented on the top of it, their force
appeared very considerable. There was a pause of anxiety on both sides;
and, while the unsteady ranks of the Covenanters were agitated, as if by
pressure behind, or uncertainty as to their next movement, their arms,
picturesque from their variety, glanced in the morning sun, whose beams
were reflected from a grove of pikes, muskets, halberds, and battle-axes.
The armed mass occupied, for a few minutes, this fluctuating position,
until three or four horsemen, who seemed to be leaders, advanced from the
front, and occupied the height a little nearer to the Castle. John
Gudyill, who was not without some skill as an artilleryman, brought a gun
to bear on this detached group.

"I'll flee the falcon,"--(so the small cannon was called,)--"I'll flee
the falcon whene'er your honour gies command; my certie, she'll ruffle
their feathers for them!"

The Major looked at Lord Evandale.

"Stay a moment," said the young nobleman, "they send us a flag of truce."

In fact, one of the horsemen at that moment dismounted, and, displaying a
white cloth on a pike, moved forward towards the Tower, while the Major
and Lord Evandale, descending from the battlement of the main fortress,
advanced to meet him as far as the barricade, judging it unwise to admit
him within the precincts which they designed to defend. At the same time
that the ambassador set forth, the group of horsemen, as if they had
anticipated the preparations of John Gudyill for their annoyance,
withdrew from the advanced station which they had occupied, and fell back
to the main body.

The envoy of the Covenanters, to judge by his mien and manner, seemed
fully imbued with that spiritual pride which distinguished his sect. His
features were drawn up to a contemptuous primness, and his half-shut eyes
seemed to scorn to look upon the terrestial objects around, while, at
every solemn stride, his toes were pointed outwards with an air that
appeared to despise the ground on which they trode. Lord Evandale could
not suppress a smile at this singular figure.

"Did you ever," said he to Major Bellenden, "see such an absurd
automaton? One would swear it moves upon springs--Can it speak, think
you?"

"O, ay," said the Major; "that seems to be one of my old acquaintance, a
genuine puritan of the right pharisaical leaven.--Stay--he coughs and
hems; he is about to summon the Castle with the but-end of a sermon,
instead of a parley on the trumpet."

The veteran, who in his day had had many an opportunity to become
acquainted with the manners of these religionists, was not far mistaken
in his conjecture; only that, instead of a prose exordium, the Laird of
Langcale--for it was no less a personage--uplifted, with a Stentorian
voice, a verse of the twenty-fourth Psalm:

"Ye gates lift up your heads! ye doors, Doors that do last for aye, Be
lifted up"--

"I told you so," said the Major to Evandale, and then presented himself
at the entrance of the barricade, demanding to know for what purpose or
intent he made that doleful noise, like a hog in a high wind, beneath the
gates of the Castle.

"I come," replied the ambassador, in a high and shrill voice, and without
any of the usual salutations or deferences,--"I come from the godly army
of the Solemn League and Covenant, to speak with two carnal malignants,
William Maxwell, called Lord Evandale, and Miles Bellenden of Charnwood."

"And what have you to say to Miles Bellenden and Lord Evandale?" answered
the Major.

"Are you the parties?" said the Laird of Langcale, in the same sharp,
conceited, disrespectful tone of voice.

"Even so, for fault of better," said the Major.

"Then there is the public summons," said the envoy, putting a paper into
Lord Evandale's hand, "and there is a private letter for Miles Bellenden
from a godly youth, who is honoured with leading a part of our host. Read
them quickly, and God give you grace to fructify by the contents, though
it is muckle to be doubted."

The summons ran thus: "We, the named and constituted leaders of the
gentlemen, ministers, and others, presently in arms for the cause of
liberty and true religion, do warn and summon William Lord Evandale and
Miles Bellenden of Charnwood, and others presently in arms, and keeping
garrison in the Tower of Tillietudlem, to surrender the said Tower upon
fair conditions of quarter, and license to depart with bag and baggage,
otherwise to suffer such extremity of fire and sword as belong by the
laws of war to those who hold out an untenable post. And so may God
defend his own good cause!"

This summons was signed by John Balfour of Burley, as quarter-master
general of the army of the Covenant, for himself, and in name of the
other leaders.

The letter to Major Bellenden was from Henry Morton. It was couched in
the following language:

"I have taken a step, my venerable friend, which, among many painful
consequences, will, I am afraid, incur your very decided disapprobation.
But I have taken my resolution in honour and good faith, and with the
full approval of my own conscience. I can no longer submit to have my own
rights and those of my fellow-subjects trampled upon, our freedom
violated, our persons insulted, and our blood spilt, without just cause
or legal trial. Providence, through the violence of the oppressors
themselves, seems now to have opened a way of deliverance from this
intolerable tyranny, and I do not hold him deserving of the name and
rights of a freeman, who, thinking as I do, shall withold his arm from
the cause of his country. But God, who knows my heart, be my witness,
that I do not share the angry or violent passions of the oppressed and
harassed sufferers with whom I am now acting. My most earnest and anxious
desire is, to see this unnatural war brought to a speedy end, by the
union of the good, wise, and moderate of all parties, and a peace
restored, which, without injury to the King's constitutional rights, may
substitute the authority of equal laws to that of military violence, and,
permitting to all men to worship God according to their own consciences,
may subdue fanatical enthusiasm by reason and mildness, instead of
driving it to frenzy by persecution and intolerance.

"With these sentiments, you may conceive with what pain I appear in arms
before the house of your venerable relative, which we understand you
propose to hold out against us. Permit me to press upon you the
assurance, that such a measure will only lead to the effusion of
blood--that, if repulsed in the assault, we are yet strong enough to
invest the place, and reduce it by hunger, being aware of your
indifferent preparations to sustain a protracted siege. It would grieve
me to the heart to think what would be the sufferings in such a case,
and upon whom they would chiefly fall.

"Do not suppose, my respected friend, that I would propose to you any
terms which could compromise the high and honourable character which you
have so deservedly won, and so long borne. If the regular soldiers (to
whom I will ensure a safe retreat) are dismissed from the place, I trust
no more will be required than your parole to remain neuter during this
unhappy contest; and I will take care that Lady Margaret's property, as
well as yours, shall be duly respected, and no garrison intruded upon
you. I could say much in favour of this proposal; but I fear, as I must
in the present instance appear criminal in your eyes, good arguments
would lose their influence when coming from an unwelcome quarter. I will,
therefore, break off with assuring you, that whatever your sentiments may
be hereafter towards me, my sense of gratitude to you can never be
diminished or erased; and it would be the happiest moment of my life that
should give me more effectual means than mere words to assure you of it.
Therefore, although in the first moment of resentment you may reject the
proposal I make to you, let not that prevent you from resuming the topic,
if future events should render it more acceptable; for whenever, or
howsoever, I can be of service to you, it will always afford the greatest
satisfaction to
                                     "Henry Morton."

Having read this long letter with the most marked indignation, Major
Bellenden put it into the hands of Lord Evandale.

"I would not have believed this," he said, "of Henry Morton, if half
mankind had sworn it! The ungrateful, rebellious traitor! rebellious in
cold blood, and without even the pretext of enthusiasm, that warms the
liver of such a crack-brained fop as our friend the envoy there. But I
should have remembered he was a presbyterian--I ought to have been aware
that I was nursing a wolf-cub, whose diabolical nature would make him
tear and snatch at me on the first opportunity. Were Saint Paul on earth
again, and a presbyterian, he would be a rebel in three months--it is in
the very blood of them."

"Well," said Lord Evandale, "I will be the last to recommend surrender;
but, if our provisions fail, and we receive no relief from Edinburgh or
Glasgow, I think we ought to avail ourselves of this opening, to get the
ladies, at least, safe out of the Castle."

"They will endure all, ere they would accept the protection of such a
smooth-tongued hypocrite," answered the Major indignantly; "I would
renounce them for relatives were it otherwise. But let us dismiss the
worthy ambassador.--My friend," he said, turning to Langcale, "tell your
leaders, and the mob they have gathered yonder, that, if they have not a
particular opinion of the hardness of their own skulls, I would advise
them to beware how they knock them against these old walls. And let them
send no more flags of truce, or we will hang up the messenger in
retaliation of the murder of Cornet Grahame."

With this answer the ambassador returned to those by whom he had been
sent. He had no sooner reached the main body than a murmur was heard
amongst the multitude, and there was raised in front of their ranks an
ample red flag, the borders of which were edged with blue. As the signal
of war and defiance spread out its large folds upon the morning wind, the
ancient banner of Lady Margaret's family, together with the royal ensign,
were immediately hoisted on the walls of the Tower, and at the same time,
a round of artillery was discharged against the foremost ranks of the
insurgents, by which they sustained some loss. Their leaders instantly
withdrew them to the shelter of the brow of the hill.

"I think," said John Gudyill, while he busied himself in re-charging his
guns, "they hae fund the falcon's neb a bit ower hard for them--It's no
for nought that the hawk whistles."

But as he uttered these words, the ridge was once more crowded with the
ranks of the enemy. A general discharge of their fire-arms was directed
against the defenders upon the battlements. Under cover of the smoke, a
column of picked men rushed down the road with determined courage, and,
sustaining with firmness a heavy fire from the garrison, they forced
their way, in spite of opposition, to the first barricade by which the
avenue was defended. They were led on by Balfour in person, who displayed
courage equal to his enthusiasm; and, in spite of every opposition,
forced the barricade, killing and wounding several of the defenders, and
compelling the rest to retreat to their second position. The precautions,
however, of Major Bellenden rendered this success unavailing; for no
sooner were the Covenanters in possession of the post, than a close and
destructive fire was poured into it from the Castle, and from those
stations which commanded it in the rear. Having no means of protecting
themselves from this fire, or of returning it with effect against men who
were under cover of their barricades and defences, the Covenanters were
obliged to retreat; but not until they had, with their axes, destroyed
the stockade, so as to render it impossible for the defenders to
re-occupy it.

Balfour was the last man that retired. He even remained for a short space
almost alone, with an axe in his hand, labouring like a pioneer amid the
storm of balls, many of which were specially aimed against him. The
retreat of the party he commanded was not effected without heavy loss,
and served as a severe lesson concerning the local advantages possessed
by the garrison.

The next attack of the Covenanters was made with more caution. A strong
party of marksmen, (many of them competitors at the game of the
popinjay,) under the command of Henry Morton, glided through the woods
where they afforded them the best shelter, and, avoiding the open road,
endeavoured, by forcing their way through the bushes and trees, and up
the rocks which surrounded it on either side, to gain a position, from
which, without being exposed in an intolerable degree, they might annoy
the flank of the second barricade, while it was menaced in front by a
second attack from Burley. The besieged saw the danger of this movement,
and endeavoured to impede the approach of the marksmen, by firing upon
them at every point where they showed themselves. The assailants, on the
other hand, displayed great coolness, spirit, and judgment, in the manner
in which they approached the defences. This was, in a great measure, to
be ascribed to the steady and adroit manner in which they were conducted
by their youthful leader, who showed as much skill in protecting his own
followers as spirit in annnoying the enemy.

He repeatedly enjoined his marksmen to direct their aim chiefly upon the
red-coats, and to save the others engaged in the defence of the Castle;
and, above all, to spare the life of the old Major, whose anxiety made
him more than once expose himself in a manner, that, without such
generosity on the part of the enemy, might have proved fatal. A dropping
fire of musketry now glanced from every part of the precipitous mount on
which the Castle was founded. From bush to bush--from crag to crag--from
tree to tree, the marksmen continued to advance, availing themselves of
branches and roots to assist their ascent, and contending at once with
the disadvantages of the ground and the fire of the enemy. At length they
got so high on the ascent, that several of them possessed an opportunity
of firing into the barricade against the defenders, who then lay exposed
to their aim, and Burley, profiting by the confusion of the moment, moved
forward to the attack in front. His onset was made with the same
desperation and fury as before, and met with less resistance, the
defenders being alarmed at the progress which the sharp-shooters had made
in turning the flank of their position. Determined to improve his
advantage, Burley, with his axe in his hand, pursued the party whom he
had dislodged even to the third and last barricade, and entered it along
with them.

"Kill, kill--down with the enemies of God and his people!--No
quarter--The Castle is ours!" were the cries by which he animated his
friends; the most undaunted of whom followed him close, whilst the
others, with axes, spades, and other implements, threw up earth, cut
down trees, hastily labouring to establish such a defensive cover in the
rear of the second barricade as might enable them to retain possession
of it, in case the Castle was not carried by this coup-de-main.

Lord Evandale could no longer restrain his impatience. He charged with a
few soldiers who had been kept in reserve in the court-yard of the
Castle; and, although his arm was in a sling, encouraged them, by voice
and gesture, to assist their companions who were engaged with Burley. The
combat now assumed an air of desperation. The narrow road was crowded
with the followers of Burley, who pressed forward to support their
companions. The soldiers, animated by the voice and presence of Lord
Evandale, fought with fury, their small numbers being in some measure
compensated by their greater skill, and by their possessing the upper
ground, which they defended desperately with pikes and halberds, as well
as with the but of the carabines and their broadswords. Those within the
Castle endeavoured to assist their companions, whenever they could so
level their guns as to fire upon the enemy without endangering their
friends. The sharp-shooters, dispersed around, were firing incessantly on
each object that was exposed upon the battlement. The Castle was
enveloped with smoke, and the rocks rang to the cries of the combatants.
In the midst of this scene of confusion, a singular accident had nearly
given the besiegers possession of the fortress.

Cuddie Headrigg, who had advanced among the marksmen, being well
acquainted with every rock and bush in the vicinity of the Castle, where
he had so often gathered nuts with Jenny Dennison, was enabled, by such
local knowledge, to advance farther, and with less danger, than most of
his companions, excepting some three or four who had followed him close.
Now Cuddie, though a brave enough fellow upon the whole, was by no means
fond of danger, either for its own sake, or for that of the glory which
attends it. In his advance, therefore, he had not, as the phrase goes,
taken the bull by the horns, or advanced in front of the enemy's fire. On
the contrary, he had edged gradually away from the scene of action, and,
turning his line of ascent rather to the left, had pursued it until it
brought him under a front of the Castle different from that before which
the parties were engaged, and to which the defenders had given no
attention, trusting to the steepness of the precipice. There was,
however, on this point, a certain window belonging to a certain pantry,
and communicating with a certain yew-tree, which grew out of a steep
cleft of the rock, being the very pass through which Goose Gibbie was
smuggled out of the Castle in order to carry Edith's express to
Charnwood, and which had probably, in its day, been used for other
contraband purposes. Cuddie, resting upon the but of his gun, and looking
up at this window, observed to one of his companions,--"There's a place I
ken weel; mony a time I hae helped Jenny Dennison out o' the winnock,
forby creeping in whiles mysell to get some daffin, at e'en after the
pleugh was loosed."

"And what's to hinder us to creep in just now?" said the other, who was a
smart enterprising young fellow.

"There's no muckle to hinder us, an that were a'," answered Cuddie; "but
what were we to do neist?"

"We'll take the Castle," cried the other; "here are five or six o' us,
and a' the sodgers are engaged at the gate."

"Come awa wi' you, then," said Cuddie; "but mind, deil a finger ye maun
lay on Lady Margaret, or Miss Edith, or the auld Major, or, aboon a', on
Jenny Dennison, or ony body but the sodgers--cut and quarter amang them
as ye like, I carena."

"Ay, ay," said the other, "let us once in, and we will make our ain terms
with them a'."

Gingerly, and as if treading upon eggs, Cuddie began to ascend the
well-known pass, not very willingly; for, besides that he was something
apprehensive of the reception he might meet with in the inside, his
conscience insisted that he was making but a shabby requital for Lady
Margaret's former favours and protection. He got up, however, into the
yew-tree, followed by his companions, one after another. The window was
small, and had been secured by stancheons of iron; but these had been
long worn away by time, or forced out by the domestics to possess a free
passage for their own occasional convenience. Entrance was therefore
easy, providing there was no one in the pantry, a point which Cuddie
endeavoured to discover before he made the final and perilous step. While
his companions, therefore, were urging and threatening him behind, and he
was hesitating and stretching his neck to look into the apartment, his
head became visible to Jenny Dennison, who had ensconced herself in said
pantry as the safest place in which to wait the issue of the assault. So
soon as this object of terror caught her eye, she set up a hysteric
scream, flew to the adjacent kitchen, and, in the desperate agony of
fear, seized on a pot of kailbrose which she herself had hung on the fire
before the combat began, having promised to Tam Halliday to prepare his
breakfast for him. Thus burdened, she returned to the window of the
pantry, and still exclaiming, "Murder! murder!--we are a' harried and
ravished--the Castle's taen--tak it amang ye!" she discharged the whole
scalding contents of the pot, accompanied with a dismal yell, upon the
person of the unfortunate Cuddie. However welcome the mess might have
been, if Cuddie and it had become acquainted in a regular manner, the
effects, as administered by Jenny, would probably have cured him of
soldiering for ever, had he been looking upwards when it was thrown upon
him. But, fortunately for our man of war, he had taken the alarm upon
Jenny's first scream, and was in the act of looking down, expostulating
with his comrades, who impeded the retreat which he was anxious to
commence; so that the steel cap and buff coat which formerly belonged to
Sergeant Bothwell, being garments of an excellent endurance, protected
his person against the greater part of the scalding brose. Enough,
however, reached him to annoy him severely, so that in the pain and
surprise he jumped hastily out of the tree, oversetting his followers, to
the manifest danger of their limbs, and, without listening to arguments,
entreaties, or authority, made the best of his way by the most safe road
to the main body of the army whereunto he belonged, and could neither by
threats nor persuasion be prevailed upon to return to the attack.


[Illustration: Jenny Dennison--050]


As for Jenny, when she had thus conferred upon one admirer's outward man
the viands which her fair hands had so lately been in the act of
preparing for the stomach of another, she continued her song of alarm,
running a screaming division upon all those crimes, which the lawyers
call the four pleas of the crown, namely, murder, fire, rape, and
robbery. These hideous exclamations gave so much alarm, and created such
confusion within the Castle, that Major Bellenden and Lord Evandale
judged it best to draw off from the conflict without the gates, and,
abandoning to the enemy all the exterior defences of the avenue, confine
themselves to the Castle itself, for fear of its being surprised on some
unguarded point. Their retreat was unmolested; for the panic of Cuddie
and his companions had occasioned nearly as much confusion on the side
of the besiegers, as the screams of Jenny had caused to the defenders.

There was no attempt on either side to renew the action that day. The
insurgents had suffered most severely; and, from the difficulty which
they had experienced in carrying the barricadoed positions without the
precincts of the Castle, they could have but little hope of storming the
place itself. On the other hand, the situation of the besieged was
dispiriting and gloomy. In the skirmishing they had lost two or three
men, and had several wounded; and though their loss was in proportion
greatly less than that of the enemy, who had left twenty men dead on the
place, yet their small number could much worse spare it, while the
desperate attacks of the opposite party plainly showed how serious the
leaders were in the purpose of reducing the place, and how well seconded
by the zeal of their followers. But, especially, the garrison had to fear
for hunger, in case blockade should be resorted to as the means of
reducing them. The Major's directions had been imperfectly obeyed in
regard to laying in provisions; and the dragoons, in spite of all warning
and authority, were likely to be wasteful in using them. It was,
therefore, with a heavy heart, that Major Bellenden gave directions for
guarding the window through which the Castle had so nearly been
surprised, as well as all others which offered the most remote facility
for such an enterprise.





CHAPTER V.

               The King hath drawn
               The special head of all the land together.
                                   Henry IV. Part II.

The leaders of the presbyterian army had a serious consultation upon the
evening of the day in which they had made the attack on Tillietudlem.
They could not but observe that their followers were disheartened by the
loss which they had sustained, and which, as usual in such cases, had
fallen upon the bravest and most forward. It was to be feared, that if
they were suffered to exhaust their zeal and efforts in an object so
secondary as the capture of this petty fort, their numbers would melt
away by degrees, and they would lose all the advantages arising out of
the present unprepared state of the government. Moved by these arguments,
it was agreed that the main body of the army should march against
Glasgow, and dislodge the soldiers who were lying in that town. The
council nominated Henry Morton, with others, to this last service, and
appointed Burley to the command of a chosen body of five hundred men, who
were to remain behind, for the purpose of blockading the Tower of
Tillietudlem. Morton testified the greatest repugnance to this
arrangement.

"He had the strongest personal motives," he said, "for desiring to remain
near Tillietudlem; and if the management of the siege were committed to
him, he had little doubt but that he would bring it to such an
accommodation, as, without being rigorous to the besieged, would fully
answer the purpose of the besiegers."

Burley readily guessed the cause of his young colleague's reluctance to
move with the army; for, interested as he was in appreciating the
characters with whom he had to deal, he had contrived, through the
simplicity of Cuddie, and the enthusiasm of old Mause, to get much
information concerning Morton's relations with the family of
Tillietudlem. He therefore took the advantage of Poundtext's arising to
speak to business, as he said, for some short space of time, (which
Burley rightly interpreted to mean an hour at the very least), and seized
that moment to withdraw Morton from the hearing of their colleagues, and
to hold the following argument with him:

"Thou art unwise, Henry Morton, to desire to sacrifice this holy cause to
thy friendship for an uncircumcised Philistine, or thy lust for a
Moabitish woman."

"I neither understand your meaning, Mr Balfour, nor relish your
allusions," replied Morton, indignantly; "and I know no reason you have
to bring so gross a charge, or to use such uncivil language."

"Confess, however, the truth," said Balfour, "and own that there are
those within yon dark Tower, over whom thou wouldst rather be watching
like a mother over her little ones, than thou wouldst bear the banner of
the Church of Scotland over the necks of her enemies."

"If you mean, that I would willingly terminate this war without any
bloody victory, and that I am more anxious to do this than to acquire any
personal fame or power, you may be," replied Morton, "perfectly right."

"And not wholly wrong," answered Burley, "in deeming that thou wouldst
not exclude from so general a pacification thy friends in the garrison of
Tillietudlem."

"Certainly," replied Morton; "I am too much obliged to Major Bellenden
not to wish to be of service to him, as far as the interest of the cause
I have espoused will permit. I never made a secret of my regard for him."

"I am aware of that," said Burley; "but, if thou hadst concealed it, I
should, nevertheless, have found out thy riddle. Now, hearken to my
words. This Miles Bellenden hath means to subsist his garrison for a
month."

"This is not the case," answered Morton; "we know his stores are hardly
equal to a week's consumption."

"Ay, but," continued Burley, "I have since had proof, of the strongest
nature, that such a report was spread in the garrison by that wily and
grey-headed malignant, partly to prevail on the soldiers to submit to a
diminution of their daily food, partly to detain us before the walls of
his fortress until the sword should be whetted to smite and destroy us."

"And why was not the evidence of this laid before the council of war?"
said Morton.

"To what purpose?" said Balfour. "Why need we undeceive Kettledrummle,
Macbriar, Poundtext, and Langcale, upon such a point? Thyself must own,
that whatever is told to them escapes to the host out of the mouth of the
preachers at their next holding-forth. They are already discouraged by
the thoughts of lying before the fort a week. What would be the
consequence were they ordered to prepare for the leaguer of a month?"

"But why conceal it, then, from me? or why tell it me now? and, above
all, what proofs have you got of the fact?" continued Morton.

"There are many proofs," replied Burley; and he put into his hands a
number of requisitions sent forth by Major Bellenden, with receipts on
the back to various proprietors, for cattle, corn, meal, to such an
amount, that the sum total seemed to exclude the possibility of the
garrison being soon distressed for provisions. But Burley did not inform
Morton of a fact which he himself knew full well, namely, that most of
these provisions never reached the garrison, owing to the rapacity of the
dragoons sent to collect them, who readily sold to one man what they took
from another, and abused the Major's press for stores, pretty much as Sir
John Falstaff did that of the King for men.

"And now," continued Balfour, observing that he had made the desired
impression, "I have only to say, that I concealed this from thee no
longer than it was concealed from myself, for I have only received these
papers this morning; and I tell it unto thee now, that thou mayest go on
thy way rejoicing, and work the great work willingly at Glasgow, being
assured that no evil can befall thy friends in the malignant party, since
their fort is abundantly victualled, and I possess not numbers sufficient
to do more against them than to prevent their sallying forth."

"And why," continued Morton, who felt an inexpressible reluctance to
acquiesce in Balfour's reasoning--"why not permit me to remain in the
command of this smaller party, and march forward yourself to Glasgow? It
is the more honourable charge."

"And therefore, young man," answered Burley, "have I laboured that it
should be committed to the son of Silas Morton. I am waxing old, and this
grey head has had enough of honour where it could be gathered by danger.
I speak not of the frothy bubble which men call earthly fame, but the
honour belonging to him that doth not the work negligently. But thy
career is yet to run. Thou hast to vindicate the high trust which has
been bestowed on thee through my assurance that it was dearly
well-merited. At Loudon-hill thou wert a captive, and at the last assault
it was thy part to fight under cover, whilst I led the more open and
dangerous attack; and, shouldst thou now remain before these walls when
there is active service elsewhere, trust me, that men will say, that the
son of Silas Morton hath fallen away from the paths of his father."

Stung by this last observation, to which, as a gentleman and soldier, he
could offer no suitable reply, Morton hastily acquiesced in the proposed
arrangement. Yet he was unable to divest himself of certain feelings of
distrust which he involuntarily attached to the quarter from which he
received this information.

"Mr Balfour," he said, "let us distinctly understand each other. You have
thought it worth your while to bestow particular attention upon my
private affairs and personal attachments; be so good as to understand,
that I am as constant to them as to my political principles. It is
possible, that, during my absence, you may possess the power of soothing
or of wounding those feelings. Be assured, that whatever may be the
consequences to the issue of our present adventure, my eternal gratitude,
or my persevering resentment, will attend the line of conduct you may
adopt on such an occasion; and, however young and inexperienced I am, I
have no doubt of finding friends to assist me in expressing my sentiments
in either case."

"If there be a threat implied in that denunciation," replied Burley,
coldly and haughtily, "it had better have been spared. I know how to
value the regard of my friends, and despise, from my soul, the threats of
my enemies. But I will not take occasion of offence. Whatever happens
here in your absence shall be managed with as much deference to your
wishes, as the duty I owe to a higher power can possibly permit."

With this qualified promise Morton was obliged to rest satisfied.

"Our defeat will relieve the garrison," said he, internally, "ere they
can be reduced to surrender at discretion; and, in case of victory, I
already see, from the numbers of the moderate party, that I shall have a
voice as powerful as Burley's in determining the use which shall be made
of it."

He therefore followed Balfour to the council, where they found
Kettledrummle adding to his lastly a few words of practical application.
When these were expended, Morton testified his willingness to accompany
the main body of the army, which was destined to drive the regular troops
from Glasgow. His companions in command were named, and the whole
received a strengthening exhortation from the preachers who were present.
Next morning, at break of day, the insurgent army broke up from their
encampment, and marched towards Glasgow.

It is not our intention to detail at length incidents which may be found
in the history of the period. It is sufficient to say, that Claverhouse
and Lord Ross, learning the superior force which was directed against
them, intrenched, or rather barricadoed themselves, in the centre of the
city, where the town-house and old jail were situated, with the
determination to stand the assault of the insurgents rather than to
abandon the capital of the west of Scotland. The presbyterians made their
attack in two bodies, one of which penetrated into the city in the line
of the College and Cathedral Church, while the other marched up the
Gallowgate, or principal access from the south-east. Both divisions were
led by men of resolution, and behaved with great spirit. But the
advantages of military skill and situation were too great for their
undisciplined valour.

Ross and Claverhouse had carefully disposed parties of their soldiers in
houses, at the heads of the streets, and in the entrances of closes, as
they are called, or lanes, besides those who were intrenched behind
breast-works which reached across the streets. The assailants found their
ranks thinned by a fire from invisible opponents, which they had no means
of returning with effect. It was in vain that Morton and other leaders
exposed their persons with the utmost gallantry, and endeavoured to bring
their antagonists to a close action; their followers shrunk from them in
every direction. And yet, though Henry Morton was one of the very last to
retire, and exerted himself in bringing up the rear, maintaining order in
the retreat, and checking every attempt which the enemy made to improve
the advantage they had gained by the repulse, he had still the
mortification to hear many of those in his ranks muttering to each other,
that "this came of trusting to latitudinarian boys; and that, had honest,
faithful Burley led the attack, as he did that of the barricades of
Tillietudlem, the issue would have been as different as might be."

It was with burning resentment that Morton heard these reflections thrown
out by the very men who had soonest exhibited signs of discouragement.
The unjust reproach, however, had the effect of firing his emulation, and
making him sensible that, engaged as he was in a perilous cause, it was
absolutely necessary that he should conquer or die.

"I have no retreat," he said to himself. "All shall allow--even Major
Bellenden--even Edith--that in courage, at least, the rebel Morton was
not inferior to his father."

The condition of the army after the repulse was so undisciplined, and in
such disorganization, that the leaders thought it prudent to draw off
some miles from the city to gain time for reducing them once more into
such order as they were capable of adopting. Recruits, in the meanwhile,
came fast in, more moved by the extreme hardships of their own condition,
and encouraged by the advantage obtained at Loudon-hill, than deterred by
the last unfortunate enterprise. Many of these attached themselves
particularly to Morton's division. He had, however, the mortification to
see that his unpopularity among the more intolerant part of the
Covenanters increased rapidly. The prudence beyond his years, which he
exhibited in improving the discipline and arrangement of his followers,
they termed a trusting in the arm of flesh, and his avowed tolerance for
those of religious sentiments and observances different from his own,
obtained him, most unjustly, the nickname of Gallio, who cared for none
of those things. What was worse than these misconceptions, the mob of the
insurgents, always loudest in applause of those who push political or
religious opinions to extremity, and disgusted with such as endeavour to
reduce them to the yoke of discipline, preferred avowedly the more
zealous leaders, in whose ranks enthusiasm in the cause supplied the want
of good order and military subjection, to the restraints which Morton
endeavoured to bring them under. In short, while bearing the principal
burden of command, (for his colleagues willingly relinquished in his
favour every thing that was troublesome and obnoxious in the office of
general,) Morton found himself without that authority, which alone could
render his regulations effectual. [Note: These feuds, which tore to
pieces the little army of insurgents, turned merely on the point whether
the king's interest or royal authority was to be owned or not, and
whether the party in arms were to be contented with a free exercise of
their own religion, or insist upon the re-establishment of Presbytery in
its supreme authority, and with full power to predominate over all other
forms of worship. The few country gentlemen who joined the insurrection,
with the most sensible part of the clergy, thought it best to limit their
demands to what it might be possible to attain. But the party who urged
these moderate views were termed by the more zealous bigots, the Erastian
party, men, namely, who were willing to place the church under the
influence of the civil government, and therefore they accounted them, "a
snare upon Mizpah, and a net spread upon Tabor." See the Life of Sir
Robert Hamilton in the Scottish Worthies, and his account of the Battle
of Both-well-bridge, passim.]

Yet, notwithstanding these obstacles, he had, during the course of a few
days, laboured so hard to introduce some degree of discipline into the
army, that he thought he might hazard a second attack upon Glasgow with
every prospect of success.

It cannot be doubted that Morton's anxiety to measure himself with
Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse, at whose hands he had sustained such
injury, had its share in giving motive to his uncommon exertions. But
Claverhouse disappointed his hopes; for, satisfied with having the
advantage in repulsing the first attack upon Glasgow, he determined that
he would not, with the handful of troops under his command, await a
second assault from the insurgents, with more numerous and better
disciplined forces than had supported their first enterprise. He
therefore evacuated the place, and marched at the head of his troops
towards Edinburgh. The insurgents of course entered Glasgow without
resistance, and without Morton having the opportunity, which he so deeply
coveted, of again encountering Claverhouse personally. But, although he
had not an opportunity of wiping away the disgrace which had befallen his
division of the army of the Covenant, the retreat of Claverhouse, and the
possession of Glasgow, tended greatly to animate the insurgent army, and
to increase its numbers. The necessity of appointing new officers, of
organizing new regiments and squadrons, of making them acquainted with at
least the most necessary points of military discipline, were labours,
which, by universal consent, seemed to be devolved upon Henry Morton, and
which he the more readily undertook, because his father had made him
acquainted with the theory of the military art, and because he plainly
saw, that, unless he took this ungracious but absolutely necessary
labour, it was vain to expect any other to engage in it.

In the meanwhile, fortune appeared to favour the enterprise of the
insurgents more than the most sanguine durst have expected. The Privy
Council of Scotland, astonished at the extent of resistance which their
arbitrary measures had provoked, seemed stupified with terror, and
incapable of taking active steps to subdue the resentment which these
measures had excited. There were but very few troops in Scotland, and
these they drew towards Edinburgh, as if to form an army for protection
of the metropolis. The feudal array of the crown vassals in the various
counties, was ordered to take the field, and render to the King the
military service due for their fiefs. But the summons was very slackly
obeyed. The quarrel was not generally popular among the gentry; and even
those who were not unwilling themselves to have taken arms, were deterred
by the repugnance of their wives, mothers, and sisters, to their engaging
in such a cause.

Meanwhile, the inadequacy of the Scottish government to provide for their
own defence, or to put down a rebellion of which the commencement seemed
so trifling, excited at the English court doubts at once of their
capacity, and of the prudence of the severities they had exerted against
the oppressed presbyterians. It was, therefore, resolved to nominate to
the command of the army of Scotland, the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth,
who had by marriage a great interest, large estate, and a numerous
following, as it was called, in the southern parts of that kingdom. The
military skill which he had displayed on different occasions abroad, was
supposed more than adequate to subdue the insurgents in the field; while
it was expected that his mild temper, and the favourable disposition
which he showed to presbyterians in general, might soften men's minds,
and tend to reconcile them to the government. The Duke was, therefore,
invested with a commission, containing high powers for settling the
distracted affairs of Scotland, and dispatched from London with strong
succours to take the principal military command in that country.





CHAPTER VI.

                    I am bound to Bothwell-hill,
                    Where I maun either do or die.
                                             Old Ballad.


[Illustration: The Battle of Bothwell Bridge--128


There was now a pause in the military movements on both sides. The
government seemed contented to prevent the rebels advancing towards the
capital, while the insurgents were intent upon augmenting and
strengthening their forces. For this purpose, they established a sort of
encampment in the park belonging to the ducal residence at Hamilton, a
centrical situation for receiving their recruits, and where they were
secured from any sudden attack, by having the Clyde, a deep and rapid
river, in front of their position, which is only passable by a long and
narrow bridge, near the castle and village of Bothwell.

Morton remained here for about a fortnight after the attack on Glasgow,
actively engaged in his military duties. He had received more than one
communication from Burley, but they only stated, in general, that the
Castle of Tillietudlem continued to hold out. Impatient of suspense upon
this most interesting subject, he at length intimated to his colleagues
in command his desire, or rather his intention,--for he saw no reason why
he should not assume a license which was taken by every one else in this
disorderly army,--to go to Milnwood for a day or two to arrange some
private affairs of consequence. The proposal was by no means approved of;
for the military council of the insurgents were sufficiently sensible of
the value of his services to fear to lose them, and felt somewhat
conscious of their own inability to supply his place. They could not,
however, pretend to dictate to him laws more rigid than they submitted to
themselves, and he was suffered to depart on his journey without any
direct objection being stated. The Reverend Mr Poundtext took the same
opportunity to pay a visit to his own residence in the neighbourhood of
Milnwood, and favoured Morton with his company on the journey. As the
country was chiefly friendly to their cause, and in possession of their
detached parties, excepting here and there the stronghold of some old
cavaliering Baron, they travelled without any other attendant than the
faithful Cuddie.

It was near sunset when they reached Milnwood, where Poundtext bid adieu
to his companions, and travelled forward alone to his own manse, which
was situated half a mile's march beyond Tillietudlem. When Morton was
left alone to his own reflections, with what a complication of feelings
did he review the woods, banks, and fields, that had been familiar to
him! His character, as well as his habits, thoughts, and occupations, had
been entirely changed within the space of little more than a fortnight,
and twenty days seemed to have done upon him the work of as many years. A
mild, romantic, gentle-tempered youth, bred up in dependence, and
stooping patiently to the control of a sordid and tyrannical relation,
had suddenly, by the rod of oppression and the spur of injured feeling,
been compelled to stand forth a leader of armed men, was earnestly
engaged in affairs of a public nature, had friends to animate and enemies
to contend with, and felt his individual fate bound up in that of a
national insurrection and revolution. It seemed as if he had at once
experienced a transition from the romantic dreams of youth to the labours
and cares of active manhood. All that had formerly interested him was
obliterated from his memory, excepting only his attachment to Edith; and
even his love seemed to have assumed a character more manly and
disinterested, as it had become mingled and contrasted with other duties
and feelings. As he revolved the particulars of this sudden change, the
circumstances in which it originated, and the possible consequences of
his present career, the thrill of natural anxiety which passed along his
mind was immediately banished by a glow of generous and high-spirited
confidence.

"I shall fall young," he said, "if fall I must, my motives misconstrued,
and my actions condemned, by those whose approbation is dearest to me.
But the sword of liberty and patriotism is in my hand, and I will neither
fall meanly nor unavenged. They may expose my body, and gibbet my limbs;
but other days will come, when the sentence of infamy will recoil against
those who may pronounce it. And that Heaven, whose name is so often
profaned during this unnatural war, will bear witness to the purity of
the motives by which I have been guided."

Upon approaching Milnwood, Henry's knock upon the gate no longer
intimated the conscious timidity of a stripling who has been out of
bounds, but the confidence of a man in full possession of his own rights,
and master of his own actions,--bold, free, and decided. The door was
cautiously opened by his old acquaintance, Mrs Alison Wilson, who started
back when she saw the steel cap and nodding plume of the martial visitor.

"Where is my uncle, Alison?" said Morton, smiling at her alarm.

"Lordsake, Mr Harry! is this you?" returned the old lady. "In troth, ye
garr'd my heart loup to my very mouth--But it canna be your ainsell, for
ye look taller and mair manly-like than ye used to do."

"It is, however, my own self," said Henry, sighing and smiling at the
same time; "I believe this dress may make me look taller, and these
times, Ailie, make men out of boys."

"Sad times indeed!" echoed the old woman; "and O that you suld be
endangered wi'them! but wha can help it?--ye were ill eneugh guided, and,
as I tell your uncle, if ye tread on a worm it will turn."

"You were always my advocate, Ailie," said he, and the housekeeper no
longer resented the familiar epithet, "and would let no one blame me but
yourself, I am aware of that,--Where is my uncle?"

"In Edinburgh," replied Alison; "the honest man thought it was best to
gang and sit by the chimley when the reek rase--a vex'd man he's been and
a feared--but ye ken the Laird as weel as I do."

"I hope he has suffered nothing in health?" said Henry.

"Naething to speak of," answered the housekeeper, "nor in gudes
neither--we fended as weel as we could; and, though the troopers of
Tillietudlem took the red cow and auld Hackie, (ye'll mind them weel;)
yet they sauld us a gude bargain o' four they were driving to the
Castle."

"Sold you a bargain?" said Morton; "how do you mean?"

"Ou, they cam out to gather marts for the garrison," answered the
housekeeper; "but they just fell to their auld trade, and rade through
the country couping and selling a' that they gat, like sae mony
west-country drovers. My certie, Major Bellenden was laird o' the least
share o' what they lifted, though it was taen in his name."

"Then," said Morton, hastily, "the garrison must be straitened for
provisions?"

"Stressed eneugh," replied Ailie--"there's little doubt o' that."

A light instantly glanced on Morton's mind.

"Burley must have deceived me--craft as well as cruelty is permitted by
his creed." Such was his inward thought; he said aloud, "I cannot stay,
Mrs Wilson, I must go forward directly."

"But, oh! bide to eat a mouthfu'," entreated the affectionate
housekeeper, "and I'll mak it ready for you as I used to do afore thae
sad days," "It is impossible," answered Morton.--"Cuddie, get our horses
ready."

"They're just eating their corn," answered the attendant.

"Cuddie!" exclaimed Ailie; "what garr'd ye bring that ill-faur'd, unlucky
loon alang wi' ye?--It was him and his randie mother began a' the
mischief in this house."

"Tut, tut," replied Cuddie, "ye should forget and forgie, mistress.
Mither's in Glasgow wi' her tittie, and sall plague ye nae mair; and I'm
the Captain's wallie now, and I keep him tighter in thack and rape than
ever ye did;--saw ye him ever sae weel put on as he is now?"

"In troth and that's true," said the old housekeeper, looking with great
complacency at her young master, whose mien she thought much improved by
his dress. "I'm sure ye ne'er had a laced cravat like that when ye were
at Milnwood; that's nane o' my sewing."

"Na, na, mistress," replied Cuddie, "that's a cast o' my hand--that's ane
o' Lord Evandale's braws."

"Lord Evandale?" answered the old lady, "that's him that the whigs are
gaun to hang the morn, as I hear say."

"The whigs about to hang Lord Evandale?" said Morton, in the greatest
surprise.

"Ay, troth are they," said the housekeeper. "Yesterday night he made a
sally, as they ca't, (my mother's name was Sally--I wonder they gie
Christian folk's names to sic unchristian doings,)--but he made an
outbreak to get provisions, and his men were driven back and he was taen,
'an' the whig Captain Balfour garr'd set up a gallows, and swore, (or
said upon his conscience, for they winna swear,) that if the garrison was
not gien ower the morn by daybreak, he would hing up the young lord, poor
thing, as high as Haman.--These are sair times!--but folk canna help
them--sae do ye sit down and tak bread and cheese until better meat's
made ready. Ye suldna hae kend a word about it, an I had thought it was
to spoil your dinner, hinny."

"Fed, or unfed," exclaimed Morton, "saddle the horses instantly, Cuddie.
We must not rest until we get before the Castle."

And, resisting all Ailie's entreaties, they instantly resumed their
journey.

Morton failed not to halt at the dwelling of Poundtext, and summon him to
attend him to the camp. That honest divine had just resumed for an
instant his pacific habits, and was perusing an ancient theological
treatise, with a pipe in his mouth, and a small jug of ale beside him, to
assist his digestion of the argument. It was with bitter ill-will that he
relinquished these comforts (which he called his studies) in order to
recommence a hard ride upon a high-trotting horse. However, when he knew
the matter in hand, he gave up, with a deep groan, the prospect of
spending a quiet evening in his own little parlour; for he entirely
agreed with Morton, that whatever interest Burley might have in rendering
the breach between the presbyterians and the government irreconcilable,
by putting the young nobleman to death, it was by no means that of the
moderate party to permit such an act of atrocity. And it is but doing
justice to Mr Poundtext to add, that, like most of his own persuasion, he
was decidedly adverse to any such acts of unnecessary violence; besides,
that his own present feelings induced him to listen with much complacence
to the probability held out by Morton, of Lord Evandale's becoming a
mediator for the establishment of peace upon fair and moderate terms.
With this similarity of views, they hastened their journey, and arrived
about eleven o'clock at night at a small hamlet adjacent to the Castle at
Tillietudlem, where Burley had established his head-quarters.

They were challenged by the sentinel, who made his melancholy walk at the
entrance of the hamlet, and admitted upon declaring their names and
authority in the army. Another soldier kept watch before a house, which
they conjectured to be the place of Lord Evandale's confinement, for a
gibbet of such great height as to be visible from the battlements of the
Castle, was erected before it, in melancholy confirmation of the truth of
Mrs Wilson's report. [Note: The Cameronians had suffered persecution, but
it was without learning mercy. We are informed by Captain Crichton, that
they had set up in their camp a huge gibbet, or gallows, having many
hooks upon it, with a coil of new ropes lying beside it, for the
execution of such royalists as they might make prisoners. Guild, in his
Bellum Bothuellianum, describes this machine particularly.] Morton
instantly demanded to speak with Burley, and was directed to his
quarters. They found him reading the Scriptures, with his arms lying
beside him, as if ready for any sudden alarm. He started upon the
entrance of his colleagues in office.

"What has brought ye hither?" said Burley, hastily. "Is there bad news
from the army?"

"No," replied Morton; "but we understand that there are measures adopted
here in which the safety of the army is deeply concerned--Lord Evandale
is your prisoner?"

"The Lord," replied Burley, "hath delivered him into our hands."

"And you will avail yourself of that advantage, granted you by Heaven, to
dishonour our cause in the eyes of all the world, by putting a prisoner
to an ignominious death?"

"If the house of Tillietudlem be not surrendered by daybreak," replied
Burley, "God do so to me and more also, if he shall not die that death to
which his leader and patron, John Grahame of Claverhouse, hath put so
many of God's saints."

"We are in arms," replied Morton, "to put down such cruelties, and not to
imitate them, far less to avenge upon the innocent the acts of the
guilty. By what law can you justify the atrocity you would commit?"

"If thou art ignorant of it," replied Burley, "thy companion is well
aware of the law which gave the men of Jericho to the sword of Joshua,
the son of Nun."

"But we," answered the divine, "live under a better dispensation, which
instructeth us to return good for evil, and to pray for those who
despitefully use us and persecute us."

"That is to say," said Burley, "that thou wilt join thy grey hairs to his
green youth to controvert me in this matter?"

"We are," rejoined Poundtext, "two of those to whom, jointly with
thyself, authority is delegated over this host, and we will not permit
thee to hurt a hair of the prisoner's head. It may please God to make him
a means of healing these unhappy breaches in our Israel."

"I judged it would come to this," answered Burley, "when such as thou
wert called into the council of the elders."

"Such as I?" answered Poundtext,--"And who am I, that you should name me
with such scorn?--Have I not kept the flock of this sheep-fold from the
wolves for thirty years? Ay, even while thou, John Balfour, wert fighting
in the ranks of uncircumcision, a Philistine of hardened brow and bloody
hand--Who am I, say'st thou?"

"I will tell thee what thou art, since thou wouldst so fain know," said
Burley. "Thou art one of those, who would reap where thou hast not sowed,
and divide the spoil while others fight the battle--thou art one of those
that follow the gospel for the loaves and for the fishes--that love their
own manse better than the Church of God, and that would rather draw their
stipends under prelatists or heathens, than be a partaker with those
noble spirits who have cast all behind them for the sake of the
Covenant."

"And I will tell thee, John Balfour," returned Poundtext, deservedly
incensed, "I will tell thee what thou art. Thou art one of those, for
whose bloody and merciless disposition a reproach is flung upon the whole
church of this suffering kingdom, and for whose violence and
blood-guiltiness, it is to be feared, this fair attempt to recover our
civil and religious rights will never be honoured by Providence with the
desired success."

"Gentlemen," said Morton, "cease this irritating and unavailing
recrimination; and do you, Mr Balfour, inform us, whether it is your
purpose to oppose the liberation of Lord Evandale, which appears to us a
profitable measure in the present position of our affairs?"

"You are here," answered Burley, "as two voices against one; but you will
not refuse to tarry until the united council shall decide upon this
matter?"

"This," said Morton, "we would not decline, if we could trust the hands
in whom we are to leave the prisoner.--But you know well," he added,
looking sternly at Burley, "that you have already deceived me in this
matter."

"Go to," said Burley, disdainfully,--"thou art an idle inconsiderate boy,
who, for the black eyebrows of a silly girl, would barter thy own faith
and honour, and the cause of God and of thy country."

"Mr Balfour," said Morton, laying his hand on his sword, "this language
requires satisfaction."

"And thou shalt have it, stripling, when and where thou darest," said
Burley; "I plight thee my good word on it."

Poundtext, in his turn, interfered to remind them of the madness of
quarrelling, and effected with difficulty a sort of sullen
reconciliation.

"Concerning the prisoner," said Burley, "deal with him as ye think fit. I
wash my hands free from all consequences. He is my prisoner, made by my
sword and spear, while you, Mr Morton, were playing the adjutant at
drills and parades, and you, Mr Poundtext, were warping the Scriptures
into Erastianism. Take him unto you, nevertheless, and dispose of him as
ye think meet.--Dingwall," he continued, calling a sort of aid-de-camp,
who slept in the next apartment, "let the guard posted on the malignant
Evandale give up their post to those whom Captain Morton shall appoint to
relieve them.--The prisoner," he said, again addressing Poundtext and
Morton, "is now at your disposal, gentlemen. But remember, that for all
these things there will one day come a term of heavy accounting."

So saying, he turned abruptly into an inner apartment, without bidding
them good evening. His two visitors, after a moment's consideration,
agreed it would be prudent to ensure the prisoner's personal safety, by
placing over him an additional guard, chosen from their own parishioners.
A band of them happened to be stationed in the hamlet, having been
attached, for the time, to Burley's command, in order that the men might
be gratified by remaining as long as possible near to their own homes.
They were, in general, smart, active young fellows, and were usually
called by their companions, the Marksmen of Milnwood. By Morton's desire,
four of these lads readily undertook the task of sentinels, and he left
with them Headrigg, on whose fidelity he could depend, with instructions
to call him, if any thing remarkable happened.

This arrangement being made, Morton and his colleague took possession,
for the night, of such quarters as the over-crowded and miserable hamlet
could afford them. They did not, however, separate for repose till they
had drawn up a memorial of the grievances of the moderate presbyterians,
which was summed up with a request of free toleration for their religion
in future, and that they should be permitted to attend gospel ordinances
as dispensed by their own clergymen, without oppression or molestation.
Their petition proceeded to require that a free parliament should be
called for settling the affairs of church and state, and for redressing
the injuries sustained by the subject; and that all those who either now
were, or had been, in arms, for obtaining these ends, should be
indemnified. Morton could not but strongly hope that these terms, which
comprehended all that was wanted, or wished for, by the moderate party
among the insurgents, might, when thus cleared of the violence of
fanaticism, find advocates even among the royalists, as claiming only the
ordinary rights of Scottish freemen.

He had the more confidence of a favourable reception, that the Duke of
Monmouth, to whom Charles had intrusted the charge of subduing this
rebellion, was a man of gentle, moderate, and accessible disposition,
well known to be favourable to the presbyterians, and invested by the
king with full powers to take measures for quieting the disturbances in
Scotland. It seemed to Morton, that all that was necessary for
influencing him in their favour was to find a fit and sufficiently
respectable channel of communication, and such seemed to be opened
through the medium of Lord Evandale. He resolved, therefore, to visit the
prisoner early in the morning, in order to sound his dispositions to
undertake the task of mediator; but an accident happened which led him to
anticipate his purpose.





CHAPTER VII.

                    Gie ower your house, lady, he said,--
                    Gie ower your house to me.
                                        Edom of Gordon.

Morton had finished the revisal and the making out of a fair copy of the
paper on which he and Poundtext had agreed to rest as a full statement of
the grievances of their party, and the conditions on which the greater
part of the insurgents would be contented to lay down their arms; and he
was about to betake himself to repose, when there was a knocking at the
door of his apartment.

"Enter," said Morton; and the round bullethead of Cuddie Headrigg was
thrust into the room. "Come in," said Morton, "and tell me what you want.
Is there any alarm?"

"Na, stir; but I hae brought ane to speak wi' you."

"Who is that, Cuddie?" enquired Morton.

"Ane o' your auld acquaintance," said Cuddie; and, opening the door more
fully, he half led, half dragged in a woman, whose face was muffled in
her plaid.--"Come, come, ye needna be sae bashfu' before auld
acquaintance, Jenny," said Cuddie, pulling down the veil, and discovering
to his master the well-remembered countenance of Jenny Dennison. "Tell
his honour, now--there's a braw lass--tell him what ye were wanting to
say to Lord Evandale, mistress."

"What was I wanting to say," answered Jenny, "to his honour himsell the
other morning, when I visited him in captivity, ye muckle hash?--D'ye
think that folk dinna want to see their friends in adversity, ye dour
crowdy-eater?"

This reply was made with Jenny's usual volubility; but her voice
quivered, her cheek was thin and pale, the tears stood in her eyes, her
hand trembled, her manner was fluttered, and her whole presence bore
marks of recent suffering and privation, as well as nervous and
hysterical agitation.

"What is the matter, Jenny?" said Morton, kindly. "You know how much I
owe you in many respects, and can hardly make a request that I will not
grant, if in my power."

"Many thanks, Milnwood," said the weeping damsel; "but ye were aye a kind
gentleman, though folk say ye hae become sair changed now."

"What do they say of me?" answered Morton.

"A' body says," replied Jenny, "that you and the whigs hae made a vow to
ding King Charles aff the throne, and that neither he, nor his posteriors
from generation to generation, shall sit upon it ony mair; and John
Gudyill threeps ye're to gie a' the church organs to the pipers, and burn
the Book o' Common-prayer by the hands of the common hangman, in revenge
of the Covenant that was burnt when the king cam hame."

"My friends at Tillietudlem judge too hastily and too ill of me,"
answered Morton. "I wish to have free exercise of my own religion,
without insulting any other; and as to your family, I only desire an
opportunity to show them I have the same friendship and kindness as
ever."

"Bless your kind heart for saying sae," said Jenny, bursting into a flood
of tears; "and they never needed kindness or friendship mair, for they
are famished for lack o' food."

"Good God!" replied Morton, "I have heard of scarcity, but not of famine!
It is possible?--Have the ladies and the Major"--

"They hae suffered like the lave o' us," replied Jenny; "for they shared
every bit and sup wi' the whole folk in the Castle--I'm sure my poor een
see fifty colours wi' faintness, and my head's sae dizzy wi' the
mirligoes that I canna stand my lane."

The thinness of the poor girl's cheek, and the sharpness of her features,
bore witness to the truth of what she said. Morton was greatly shocked.

"Sit down," he said, "for God's sake!" forcing her into the only chair
the apartment afforded, while he himself strode up and down the room in
horror and impatience. "I knew not of this," he exclaimed in broken
ejaculations,--"I could not know of it.--Cold-blooded, iron-hearted
fanatic--deceitful villain!--Cuddie, fetch refreshments--food--wine, if
possible--whatever you can find."

"Whisky is gude eneugh for her," muttered Cuddie; "ane wadna hae thought
that gude meal was sae scant amang them, when the quean threw sae muckle
gude kail-brose scalding het about my lugs."

Faint and miserable as Jenny seemed to be, she could not hear the
allusion to her exploit during the storm of the Castle, without bursting
into a laugh which weakness soon converted into a hysterical giggle.
Confounded at her state, and reflecting with horror on the distress which
must have been in the Castle, Morton repeated his commands to Headrigg in
a peremptory manner; and when he had departed, endeavoured to soothe his
visitor.

"You come, I suppose, by the orders of your mistress, to visit Lord
Evandale?--Tell me what she desires; her orders shall be my law."

Jenny appeared to reflect a moment, and then said, "Your honour is sae
auld a friend, I must needs trust to you, and tell the truth."

"Be assured, Jenny," said Morton, observing that she hesitated, "that you
will best serve your mistress by dealing sincerely with me."

"Weel, then, ye maun ken we're starving, as I said before, and have been
mair days than ane; and the Major has sworn that he expects relief daily,
and that he will not gie ower the house to the enemy till we have eaten
up his auld boots,--and they are unco thick in the soles, as ye may weel
mind, forby being teugh in the upper-leather. The dragoons, again, they
think they will be forced to gie up at last, and they canna bide hunger
weel, after the life they led at free quarters for this while bypast; and
since Lord Evandale's taen, there's nae guiding them; and Inglis says
he'll gie up the garrison to the whigs, and the Major and the leddies
into the bargain, if they will but let the troopers gang free themsells."

"Scoundrels!" said Morton; "why do they not make terms for all in the
Castle?"

"They are fear'd for denial o' quarter to themsells, having dune sae
muckle mischief through the country; and Burley has hanged ane or twa o'
them already--sae they want to draw their ain necks out o' the collar at
hazard o' honest folk's."

"And you were sent," continued Morton, "to carry to Lord Evandale the
unpleasant news of the men's mutiny?"

"Just e'en sae," said Jenny; "Tam Halliday took the rue, and tauld me a'
about it, and gat me out o' the Castle to tell Lord Evandale, if possibly
I could win at him."

"But how can he help you?" said Morton; "he is a prisoner."

"Well-a-day, ay," answered the afflicted damsel; "but maybe he could mak
fair terms for us--or, maybe, he could gie us some good advice--or,
maybe, he might send his orders to the dragoons to be civil--or"--

"Or, maybe," said Morton, "you were to try if it were possible to set him
at liberty?"

"If it were sae," answered Jenny with spirit, "it wadna be the first time
I hae done my best to serve a friend in captivity."

"True, Jenny," replied Morton, "I were most ungrateful to forget it. But
here comes Cuddie with refreshments--I will go and do your errand to Lord
Evandale, while you take some food and wine."

"It willna be amiss ye should ken," said Cuddie to his master, "that this
Jenny--this Mrs Dennison, was trying to cuittle favour wi' Tam Rand, the
miller's man, to win into Lord Evandale's room without ony body kennin'.
She wasna thinking, the gipsy, that I was at her elbow."

"And an unco fright ye gae me when ye cam ahint and took a grip o' me,"
said Jenny, giving him a sly twitch with her finger and her thumb--"if ye
hadna been an auld acquaintance, ye daft gomeril"--

Cuddie, somewhat relenting, grinned a smile on his artful mistress, while
Morton wrapped himself up in his cloak, took his sword under his arm, and
went straight to the place of the young nobleman's confinement. He asked
the sentinels if any thing extraordinary had occurred.

"Nothing worth notice," they said, "excepting the lass that Cuddie took
up, and two couriers that Captain Balfour had dispatched, one to the
Reverend Ephraim Macbriar, another to Kettledrummle," both of whom were
beating the drum ecclesiastic in different towns between the position of
Burley and the head-quarters of the main army near Hamilton.

"The purpose, I presume," said Morton, with an affectation of
indifference, "was to call them hither."

"So I understand," answered the sentinel, who had spoke with the
messengers.

He is summoning a triumphant majority of the council, thought Morton to
himself, for the purpose of sanctioning whatever action of atrocity he
may determine upon, and thwarting opposition by authority. I must be
speedy, or I shall lose my opportunity.

When he entered the place of Lord Evandale's confinement, he found him
ironed, and reclining on a flock bed in the wretched garret of a
miserable cottage. He was either in a slumber, or in deep meditation,
when Morton entered, and turned on him, when aroused, a countenance so
much reduced by loss of blood, want of sleep, and scarcity of food, that
no one could have recognised in it the gallant soldier who had behaved
with so much spirit at the skirmish of Loudon-hill. He displayed some
surprise at the sudden entrance of Morton.

"I am sorry to see you thus, my lord," said that youthful leader.

"I have heard you are an admirer of poetry," answered the prisoner; "in
that case, Mr Morton, you may remember these lines,--

              'Stone walls do not a prison make,
               Or iron bars a cage;
               A free and quiet mind can take
               These for a hermitage.'

But, were my imprisonment less endurable, I am given to expect to-morrow
a total enfranchisement."

"By death?" said Morton.

"Surely," answered Lord Evandale; "I have no other prospect. Your
comrade, Burley, has already dipped his hand in the blood of men whose
meanness of rank and obscurity of extraction might have saved them. I
cannot boast such a shield from his vengeance, and I expect to meet its
extremity."

"But Major Bellenden," said Morton, "may surrender, in order to preserve
your life."

"Never, while there is one man to defend the battlement, and that man has
one crust to eat. I know his gallant resolution, and grieved should I be
if he changed it for my sake."

Morton hastened to acquaint him with the mutiny among the dragoons, and
their resolution to surrender the Castle, and put the ladies of the
family, as well as the Major, into the hands of the enemy. Lord Evandale
seemed at first surprised, and something incredulous, but immediately
afterwards deeply affected.

"What is to be done?" he said--"How is this misfortune to be averted?"

"Hear me, my lord," said Morton. "I believe you may not be unwilling to
bear the olive branch between our master the King, and that part of his
subjects which is now in arms, not from choice, but necessity."

"You construe me but justly," said Lord Evandale; "but to what does this
tend?"

"Permit me, my lord"--continued Morton. "I will set you at liberty upon
parole; nay, you may return to the Castle, and shall have a safe conduct
for the ladies, the Major, and all who leave it, on condition of its
instant surrender. In contributing to bring this about you will only
submit to circumstances; for, with a mutiny in the garrison, and without
provisions, it will be found impossible to defend the place twenty-four
hours longer. Those, therefore, who refuse to accompany your lordship,
must take their fate. You and your followers shall have a free pass to
Edinburgh, or where-ever the Duke of Monmouth may be. In return for your
liberty, we hope that you will recommend to the notice of his Grace, as
Lieutenant-General of Scotland, this humble petition and remonstrance,
containing the grievances which have occasioned this insurrection, a
redress of which being granted, I will answer with my head, that the
great body of the insurgents will lay down their arms."

Lord Evandale read over the paper with attention.

"Mr Morton," he said, "in my simple judgment, I see little objection that
can be made to the measure here recommended; nay, farther, I believe, in
many respects, they may meet the private sentiments of the Duke of
Monmouth: and yet, to deal frankly with you, I have no hopes of their
being granted, unless, in the first place, you were to lay down your
arms."

"The doing so," answered Morton, "would be virtually conceding that we
had no right to take them up; and that, for one, I will never agree to."

"Perhaps it is hardly to be expected you should," said Lord Evandale;
"and yet on that point I am certain the negotiations will be wrecked. I
am willing, however, having frankly told you my opinion, to do all in my
power to bring about a reconciliation."

"It is all we can wish or expect," replied Morton; "the issue is in God's
hands, who disposes the hearts of princes.--You accept, then, the safe
conduct?"

"Certainly," answered Lord Evandale; "and if I do not enlarge upon the
obligation incurred by your having saved my life a second time, believe
that I do not feel it the less."

"And the garrison of Tillietudlem?" said Morton.

"Shall be withdrawn as you propose," answered the young nobleman. "I am
sensible the Major will be unable to bring the mutineers to reason; and I
tremble to think of the consequences, should the ladies and the brave old
man be delivered up to this bloodthirsty ruffian, Burley."

"You are in that case free," said Morton. "Prepare to mount on horseback;
a few men whom I can trust shall attend you till you are in safety from
our parties."

Leaving Lord Evandale in great surprise and joy at this unexpected
deliverance, Morton hastened to get a few chosen men under arms and on
horseback, each rider holding the rein of a spare horse. Jenny, who,
while she partook of her refreshment, had contrived to make up her breach
with Cuddie, rode on the left hand of that valiant cavalier. The tramp of
their horses was soon heard under the window of Lord Evandale's prison.
Two men, whom he did not know, entered the apartment, disencumbered him
of his fetters, and, conducting him down stairs, mounted him in the
centre of the detachment. They set out at a round trot towards
Tillietudlem.

The moonlight was giving way to the dawn when they approached that
ancient fortress, and its dark massive tower had just received the first
pale colouring of the morning. The party halted at the Tower barrier, not
venturing to approach nearer for fear of the fire of the place. Lord
Evandale alone rode up to the gate, followed at a distance by Jenny
Dennison. As they approached the gate, there was heard to arise in the
court-yard a tumult, which accorded ill with the quiet serenity of a
summer dawn. Cries and oaths were heard, a pistol-shot or two were
discharged, and every thing announced that the mutiny had broken out. At
this crisis Lord Evandale arrived at the gate where Halliday was
sentinel. On hearing Lord Evandale's voice, he instantly and gladly
admitted him, and that nobleman arrived among the mutinous troopers like
a man dropped from the clouds. They were in the act of putting their
design into execution, of seizing the place into their own hands, and
were about to disarm and overpower Major Bellenden and Harrison, and
others of the Castle, who were offering the best resistance in their
power.

The appearance of Lord Evandale changed the scene. He seized Inglis by
the collar, and, upbraiding him with his villainy, ordered two of his
comrades to seize and bind him, assuring the others, that their only
chance of impunity consisted in instant submission. He then ordered the
men into their ranks. They obeyed. He commanded them to ground their
arms. They hesitated; but the instinct of discipline, joined to their
persuasion that the authority of their officer, so boldly exerted, must
be supported by some forces without the gate, induced them to submit.

"Take away those arms," said Lord Evandale to the people of the Castle;
"they shall not be restored until these men know better the use for which
they are intrusted with them.--And now," he continued, addressing the
mutineers, "begone!--Make the best use of your time, and of a truce of
three hours, which the enemy are contented to allow you. Take the road to
Edinburgh, and meet me at the House-of-Muir. I need not bid you beware of
committing violence by the way; you will not, in your present condition,
provoke resentment for your own sakes. Let your punctuality show that you
mean to atone for this morning's business."

The disarmed soldiers shrunk in silence from the presence of their
officer, and, leaving the Castle, took the road to the place of
rendezvous, making such haste as was inspired by the fear of meeting with
some detached party of the insurgents, whom their present defenceless
condition, and their former violence, might inspire with thoughts of
revenge. Inglis, whom Evandale destined for punishment, remained in
custody. Halliday was praised for his conduct, and assured of succeeding
to the rank of the culprit. These arrangements being hastily made, Lord
Evandale accosted the Major, before whose eyes the scene had seemed to
pass like the change of a dream.

"My dear Major, we must give up the place."

"Is it even so?" said Major Bellenden. "I was in hopes you had brought
reinforcements and supplies."

"Not a man--not a pound of meal," answered Lord Evandale.

"Yet I am blithe to see you," returned the honest Major; "we were
informed yesterday that these psalm-singing rascals had a plot on your
life, and I had mustered the scoundrelly dragoons ten minutes ago in
order to beat up Burley's quarters and get you out of limbo, when the dog
Inglis, instead of obeying me, broke out into open mutiny.--But what is
to be done now?"

"I have, myself, no choice," said Lord Evandale; "I am a prisoner,
released on parole, and bound for Edinburgh. You and the ladies must take
the same route. I have, by the favour of a friend, a safe conduct and
horses for you and your retinue--for God's sake make haste--you cannot
propose to hold out with seven or eight men, and without provisions--
Enough has been done for honour, and enough to render the defence of the
highest consequence to government. More were needless, as well as
desperate. The English troops are arrived at Edinburgh, and will speedily
move upon Hamilton. The possession of Tillietudlem by the rebels will be
but temporary."

"If you think so, my lord," said the veteran, with a reluctant sigh,--"I
know you only advise what is honourable--if, then, you really think the
case inevitable, I must submit; for the mutiny of these scoundrels would
render it impossible to man the walls.--Gudyill, let the women call up
their mistresses, and all be ready to march--But if I could believe that
my remaining in these old walls, till I was starved to a mummy, could do
the King's cause the least service, old Miles Bellenden would not leave
them while there was a spark of life in his body!"

The ladies, already alarmed by the mutiny, now heard the determination of
the Major, in which they readily acquiesced, though not without some
groans and sighs on the part of Lady Margaret, which referred, as usual,
to the /dejeune/; of his Most Sacred Majesty in the halls which were now
to be abandoned to rebels. Hasty preparations were made for evacuating
the Castle; and long ere the dawn was distinct enough for discovering
objects with precision, the ladies, with Major Bellenden, Harrison,
Gudyill, and the other domestics, were mounted on the led horses, and
others which had been provided in the neighbourhood, and proceeded
towards the north, still escorted by four of the insurgent horsemen. The
rest of the party who had accompanied Lord Evandale from the hamlet, took
possession of the deserted Castle, carefully forbearing all outrage or
acts of plunder. And when the sun arose, the scarlet and blue colours of
the Scottish Covenant floated from the Keep of Tillietudlem.





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 few
minutes at the small town of Bothwell, after passing the outposts of the
insurgents, to take some slight refreshments which their attendants had
provided, and which were really necessary to persons who had suffered
considerably by want of proper nourishment. They then pressed forward
upon the road towards Edinburgh, amid the lights of dawn which were now
rising on the horizon. It might have been expected, during the course of
the journey, that Lord Evandale would have been frequently by the side of
Miss Edith Bellenden. Yet, after his first salutations had been
exchanged, and every precaution solicitously adopted which could serve
for her accommodation, he rode in the van of the party with Major
Bellenden, and seemed to abandon the charge of immediate attendance upon
his lovely niece to one of the insurgent cavaliers, whose dark military
cloak, with the large flapped hat and feather, which drooped over his
face, concealed at once his figure and his features. They rode side by
side in silence for more than two miles, when the stranger addressed Miss
Bellenden in a tremulous and suppressed voice.

"Miss Bellenden," he said, "must have friends wherever she is known; even
among those whose conduct she now disapproves. Is there any thing that
such can do to show their respect for her, and their regret for her
sufferings?"

"Let them learn for their own sakes," replied Edith, "to venerate the
laws, 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 to
serve 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 Miss
Bellenden, "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 to
speak at all, I must utter my real sentiments. God only can judge the
heart--men must estimate intentions by actions. Treason, murder by the
sword and by gibbet, the oppression of a private family such as ours, who
were only in arms for the defence of the established government, and of
our own property, are actions which must needs sully all that have
accession to them, by whatever specious terms they may be gilded over."

"The guilt of civil war," rejoined the horseman--"the miseries which it
brings in its train, lie at the door of those who provoked it by illegal
oppression, rather than of such as are driven to arms in order to assert
their natural rights as freemen."

"That is assuming the question," replied Edith, "which ought to be
proved. 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 to
have recourse to violence."

"Alas!" said the horseman, "were our vindication to rest there, how easy
would it be to show that we have suffered with a patience which almost
seemed beyond the power of humanity, ere we were driven by oppression
into open resistance!--But I perceive," he continued, sighing deeply,
"that it is vain to plead before Miss Bellenden a cause which she has
already prejudged, perhaps as much from her dislike of the persons as of
the principles of those engaged in it."

"Pardon me," answered Edith; "I have stated with freedom my opinion
of the principles of the insurgents; of their persons I know
nothing--excepting in one solitary instance."

"And that instance," said the horseman, "has influenced your opinion of
the whole body?"

"Far from it," said Edith; "he is--at least I once thought him--one in
whose scale few were fit to be weighed--he is--or he seemed--one of early
talent, high faith, pure morality, and warm affections. Can I approve of
a 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-arms
to banditti and highway murderers?--Should you meet such an one in your
camp, tell him that Edith Bellenden has wept more over his fallen
character, blighted prospects, and dishonoured name, than over the
distresses of her own house,--and that she has better endured that famine
which has wasted her cheek and dimmed her eye, than the pang of heart
which attended the reflection by and through whom these calamities were
inflicted."

As she thus spoke, she turned upon her companion a countenance, whose
faded cheek attested the reality of her sufferings, even while it glowed
with the temporary animation which accompanied her language. The horseman
was not insensible to the appeal; he raised his hand to his brow with the
sudden motion of one who feels a pang shoot along his brain, passed it
hastily over his face, and then pulled the shadowing hat still deeper on
his forehead. The movement, and the feelings which it excited, did not
escape Edith, nor did she remark them without emotion.

"And yet," she said, "should the person of whom I speak seem to you too
deeply affected by the hard opinion of--of--an early friend, say to him,
that sincere repentance is next to innocence;--that, though fallen from a
height not easily recovered, and the author of much mischief, because
gilded by his example, he may still atone in some measure for the evil he
has done."

"And in what manner?" asked the cavalier, in the same suppressed, and
almost choked voice.

"By lending his efforts to restore the blessings of peace to his
distracted countrymen, and to induce the deluded rebels to lay down their
arms. By saving their blood, he may atone for that which has been already
spilt;--and he that shall be most active in accomplishing this great end,
will best deserve the thanks of this age, and an honoured remembrance in
the next."

"And in such a peace," said her companion, with a firm voice, "Miss
Bellenden would not wish, I think, that the interests of the people were
sacrificed unreservedly to those of the crown?"

"I am but a girl," was the young lady's reply; "and I scarce can speak on
the subject without presumption. But, since I have gone so far, I will
fairly add, I would wish to see a peace which should give rest to all
parties, and secure the subjects from military rapine, which I detest as
much as I do the means now adopted to resist it."

"Miss Bellenden," answered Henry Morton, raising his face, and speaking
in his natural tone, "the person who has lost such a highly-valued place
in 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 your
bosom, he would be silent under your hard censure, were it not that he
can refer to the honoured testimony of Lord Evandale, that his earnest
wishes and most active exertions are, even now, directed to the
accomplishment of such a peace as the most loyal cannot censure."

He bowed with dignity to Miss Bellenden, who, though her language
intimated that she well knew to whom she had been speaking, probably had
not expected that he would justify himself with so much animation. She
returned his salute, confused and in silence. Morton then rode forward to
the head of the party.

"Henry Morton!" exclaimed Major Bellenden, surprised at the sudden
apparition.

"The same," answered Morton; "who is sorry that he labours under the
harsh construction of Major Bellenden and his family. He commits to my
Lord Evandale," he continued, turning towards the young nobleman, and
bowing to him, "the charge of undeceiving his friends, both regarding the
particulars of his conduct and the purity of his motives. Farewell, Major
Bellenden--All happiness attend you and yours--May we meet again in
happier and better times!"

"Believe me," said Lord Evandale, "your confidence, Mr Morton, is not
misplaced; I will endeavour to repay the great services I have received
from you by doing my best to place your character on its proper footing
with 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 the
direction of Hamilton, their feathers waving and their steel caps
glancing in the beams of the rising sun. Cuddie Headrigg alone remained
an instant behind his companions to take an affectionate farewell of
Jenny Dennison, who had contrived, during this short morning's ride, to
re-establish her influence over his susceptible bosom. A straggling tree
or two obscured, rather than concealed, their /tete-a-tete/, as they
halted 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 a
groan,--"Ye'll think o' puir Cuddie sometimes--an honest lad that lo'es
ye, Jenny; ye'll think o' him now and then?"

"Whiles--at brose-time," answered the malicious damsel, unable either to
suppress the repartee, or the arch smile which attended it.


[Illustration: Whiles--at Brose-Time--pa098]


Cuddie took his revenge as rustic lovers are wont, and as Jenny probably
expected,--caught his mistress round the neck, kissed her cheeks and lips
heartily, and then turned his horse and trotted after his master.

"Deil's in the fallow," said Jenny, wiping her lips and adjusting her
head-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 didna
see us!"

"Jenny," said Lady Margaret, as the damsel came up, "was not that young
man who commanded the party the same that was captain of the popinjay,
and who was afterwards prisoner at Tillietudlem on the morning
Claverhouse 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 was
her cue to speak truth or not. Not being able to catch any hint to guide
her, she followed her instinct as a lady's maid, and lied.

"I dinna believe it was him, my leddy," said Jenny, as confidently as if
she had been saying her catechism; "he was a little black man, that."

"You must have been blind, Jenny," said the Major: "Henry Morton is tall
and fair, and that youth is the very man."

"I had ither thing ado than be looking at him," said Jenny, tossing her
head; "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 a
title from no one, but least from us. That I am now alive, and that you
are now on your safe retreat to your friends, instead of being prisoners
to 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 the
reader is acquainted, dwelling upon the merits of Morton, and expatiating
on the risk at which he had rendered them these important services, as if
he had been a brother instead of a rival.

"I were worse than ungrateful," he said, "were I silent on the merits of
the man who has twice saved my life."

"I would willingly think well of Henry Morton, my lord," replied Major
Bellenden; "and I own he has behaved handsomely to your lordship and to
us; but I cannot have the same allowances which it pleases your lordship
to entertain for his present courses."

"You are to consider," replied Lord Evandale, "that he has been partly
forced upon them by necessity; and I must add, that his principles,
though differing in some degree from my own, are such as ought to command
respect. Claverhouse, whose knowledge of men is not to be disputed, spoke
justly of him as to his extraordinary qualities, but with prejudice, and
harshly, concerning his principles and motives."

"You have not been long in learning all his extraordinary qualities, my
lord," answered Major Bellenden. "I, who have known him from boyhood,
could, before this affair, have said much of his good principles and
good-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 have
detected them, it was only because our intercourse and conversation
turned on momentous and important subjects. He is now labouring to bring
this 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 so
comprehensive?"

"I should have, madam, were every whig as moderate as Morton, and every
loyalist as disinterested as Major Bellenden. But such is the fanaticism
and violent irritation of both parties, that I fear nothing will end this
civil war save the edge of the sword."

It may be readily supposed, that Edith listened with the deepest interest
to this conversation. While she regretted that she had expressed herself
harshly and hastily to her lover, she felt a conscious and proud
satisfaction that his character was, even in the judgment of his
noble-minded rival, such as her own affection had once spoke it.

"Civil feuds and domestic prejudices," she said, "may render it necessary
for me to tear his remembrance from my heart; but it is not small relief
to know assuredly, that it is worthy of the place it has so long retained
there."

While Edith was thus retracting her unjust resentment, her lover arrived
at the camp of the insurgents, near Hamilton, which he found in
considerable confusion. Certain advices had arrived that the royal army,
having been recruited from England by a large detachment of the King's
Guards, were about to take the field. Fame magnified their numbers and
their high state of equipment and discipline, and spread abroad other
circumstances, which dismayed the courage of the insurgents. What favour
they might have expected from Monmouth, was likely to be intercepted by
the influence of those associated with him in command. His
lieutenant-general was the celebrated General Thomas Dalzell, who, having
practised the art of war in the then barbarous country of Russia, was as
much feared for his cruelty and indifference to human life and human
sufferings, as respected for his steady loyalty and undaunted valour.
This man was second in command to Monmouth, and the horse were commanded
by Claverhouse, burning with desire to revenge the death of his nephew,
and his defeat at Drumclog. To these accounts was added the most
formidable and terrific description of the train of artillery and the
cavalry 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 been
summoned to join the royal army under their various chieftains; and these
Amorites, or Philistines, as the insurgents termed them, came like eagles
to the slaughter. In fact, every person who could ride or run at the
King's command, was summoned to arms, apparently with the purpose of
forfeiting and fining such men of property whom their principles might
deter from joining the royal standard, though prudence prevented them
from joining that of the insurgent Presbyterians. In short, everyrumour
tended to increase the apprehension among the insurgents, that the King's
vengeance had only been delayed in order that it might fall more certain
and more heavy.

Morton endeavoured to fortify the minds of the common people by pointing
out the probable exaggeration of these reports, and by reminding them of
the strength of their own situation, with an unfordable river in front,
only passable by a long and narrow bridge. He called to their remembrance
their victory over Claverhouse when their numbers were few, and then much
worse disciplined and appointed for battle than now; showed them that the
ground on which they lay afforded, by its undulation, and the thickets
which intersected it, considerable protection against artillery, and even
against 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 at
large, he availed himself of those discouraging rumours to endeavour to
impress on the minds of the leaders the necessity of proposing to the
government moderate terms of accommodation, while they were still
formidable as commanding an unbroken and numerous army. He pointed out to
them, that, in the present humour of their followers, it could hardly be
expected that they would engage, with advantage, the well-appointed and
regular force of the Duke of Monmouth; and that if they chanced, as was
most likely, to be defeated and dispersed, the insurrection in which they
had engaged, so far from being useful to the country, would be rendered
the apology for oppressing it more severely.

Pressed by these arguments, and feeling it equally dangerous to remain
together, or to dismiss their forces, most of the leaders readily agreed,
that if such terms could be obtained as had been transmitted to the Duke
of Monmouth by the hands of Lord Evandale, the purpose for which they had
taken up arms would be, in a great measure, accomplished. They then
entered into similar resolutions, and agreed to guarantee the petition
and remonstrance which had been drawn up by Morton. On the contrary,
there were still several leaders, and those men whose influence with the
people exceeded that of persons of more apparent consequence, who
regarded every proposal of treaty which did not proceed on the basis of
the Solemn League and Covenant of 1640, as utterly null and void,
impious, and unchristian. These men diffused their feelings among the
multitude, who had little foresight, and nothing to lose, and persuaded
many that the timid counsellors who recommended peace upon terms short of
the dethronement of the royal family, and the declared independence of
the church with respect to the state, were cowardly labourers, who were
about 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 the
insurgent army, or rather in the huts or cabins which served in the place
of tents. Violence in language often led to open quarrels and blows, and
the divisions into which the army of sufferers was rent served as too
plain a presage of their future fate.





CHAPTER IX.

               The curse of growing factions and divisions
               Still vex your councils!
                                   Venice Preserved.

The prudence of Morton found sufficient occupation in stemming the
furious current of these contending parties, when, two days after his
return to Hamilton, he was visited by his friend and colleague, the
Reverend Mr Poundtext, flying, as he presently found, from the face of
John Balfour of Burley, whom he left not a little incensed at the share
he had taken in the liberation of Lord Evandale. When the worthy divine
had somewhat recruited his spirits, after the hurry and fatigue of his
journey, he proceeded to give Morton an account of what had passed in the
vicinity of Tillietudlem after the memorable morning of his departure.

The night march of Morton had been accomplished with such dexterity,
and the men were so faithful to their trust, that Burley received no
intelligence of what had happened until the morning was far advanced.
His first enquiry was, whether Macbriar and Kettledrummle had arrived,
agreeably to the summons which he had dispatched at midnight. Macbriar
had come, and Kettledrummle, though a heavy traveller, might, he was
informed, be instantly expected. Burley then dispatched a messenger to
Morton's quarters to summon him to an immediate council. The messenger
returned with news that he had left the place. Poundtext was next
summoned; but he thinking, as he said himself, that it was ill dealing
with fractious folk, had withdrawn to his own quiet manse, preferring a
dark ride, though he had been on horseback the whole preceding day, to a
renewal in the morning of a controversy with Burley, whose ferocity
overawed him when unsupported by the firmness of Morton. Burley's next
enquiries were directed after Lord Evandale; and great was his rage when
he learned that he had been conveyed away over night by a party of the
marksmen of Milnwood, under the immediate command of Henry Morton
himself.

"The villain!" exclaimed Burley, addressing himself to Macbriar; "the
base, mean-spirited traitor, to curry favour for himself with the
government, hath set at liberty the prisoner taken by my own right hand,
through means of whom, I have little doubt, the possession of the place
of strength which hath wrought us such trouble, might now have been in
our hands!"

"But is it not in our hands?" said Macbriar, looking up towards the Keep
of the Castle; "and are not these the colours of the Covenant that float
over its walls?"

"A stratagem--a mere trick," said Burley, "an insult over our
disappointment, intended to aggravate and embitter our spirits."

He was interrupted by the arrival of one of Morton's followers, sent to
report to him the evacuation of the place, and its occupation by the
insurgent forces. Burley was rather driven to fury than reconciled by the
news of this success.

"I have watched," he said--"I have fought--I have plotted--I have striven
for the reduction of this place--I have forborne to seek to head
enterprises of higher command and of higher honour--I have narrowed their
outgoings, and cut off the springs, and broken the staff of bread within
their walls; and when the men were about to yield themselves to my hand,
that their sons might be bondsmen, and their daughters a laughing-stock
to our whole camp, cometh this youth, without a beard on his chin, and
takes it on him to thrust his sickle into the harvest, and to rend the
prey from the spoiler! Surely the labourer is worthy of his hire, and the
city, with its captives, should be given to him that wins it?"

"Nay," said Macbriar, who was surprised at the degree of agitation which
Balfour displayed, "chafe not thyself because of the ungodly. Heaven will
use its own instruments; and who knows but this youth"--

"Hush! hush!" said Burley; "do not discredit thine own better judgment.
It was thou that first badest me beware of this painted sepulchre--this
lacquered piece of copper, that passed current with me for gold. It fares
ill, even with the elect, when they neglect the guidance of such pious
pastors as thou. But our carnal affections will mislead us--this
ungrateful boy's father was mine ancient friend. They must be as earnest
in their struggles as thou, Ephraim Macbriar, that would shake themselves
clear of the clogs and chains of humanity."

This compliment touched the preacher in the most sensible part; and
Burley deemed, therefore, he should find little difficulty in moulding
his opinions to the support of his own views, more especially as they
agreed exactly in their high-strained opinions of church government.

"Let us instantly," he said, "go up to the Tower; there is that among the
records in yonder fortress, which, well used as I can use it, shall be
worth to us a valiant leader and an hundred horsemen."

"But will such be the fitting aids of the children of the Covenant?" said
the preacher. "We have already among us too many who hunger after lands,
and silver and gold, rather than after the Word; it is not by such that
our deliverance shall be wrought out."

"Thou errest," said Burley; "we must work by means, and these worldly men
shall be our instruments. At all events, the Moabitish woman shall be
despoiled of her inheritance, and neither the malignant Evandale, nor the
erastian Morton, shall possess yonder castle and lands, though they may
seek in marriage the daughter thereof."

So saying, he led the way to Tillietudlem, where he seized upon the plate
and other valuables for the use of the army, ransacked the charter-room,
and other receptacles for family papers, and treated with contempt the
remonstrances of those who reminded him, that the terms granted to the
garrison had guaranteed respect to private property.

Burley and Macbriar, having established themselves in their new
acquisition, were joined by Kettledrummle in the course of the day, and
also by the Laird of Langcale, whom that active divine had contrived to
seduce, as Poundtext termed it, from the pure light in which he had been
brought up. Thus united, they sent to the said Poundtext an invitation,
or rather a summons, to attend a council at Tillietudlem. He remembered,
however, that the door had an iron grate, and the Keep a dungeon, and
resolved not to trust himself with his incensed colleagues. He therefore
retreated, or rather fled, to Hamilton, with the tidings, that Burley,
Macbriar, and Kettledrummle, were coming to Hamilton as soon as they
could collect a body of Cameronians sufficient to overawe the rest of the
army.

"And ye see," concluded Poundtext, with a deep sigh, "that they will then
possess a majority in the council; for Langcale, though he has always
passed for one of the honest and rational party, cannot be suitably or
preceesely termed either fish, or flesh, or gude red-herring--whoever has
the stronger party has Langcale."

Thus concluded the heavy narrative of honest Poundtext, who sighed
deeply, as he considered the danger in which he was placed betwixt
unreasonable adversaries amongst themselves and the common enemy from
without. Morton exhorted him to patience, temper, and composure; informed
him of the good hope he had of negotiating for peace and indemnity
through means of Lord Evandale, and made out to him a very fair prospect
that he should again return to his own parchment-bound Calvin, his
evening pipe of tobacco, and his noggin of inspiring ale, providing
always he would afford his effectual support and concurrence to the
measures which he, Morton, had taken for a general pacification.

     [Note:  Moderate Presbyterians. The author does not, by any means,
     desire that Poundtext should be regarded as a just representation of
     the moderate presbyterians, among whom were many ministers whose
     courage was equal to their good sense and sound views of religion.
     Were he to write the tale anew, he would probably endeavour to give
     the character a higher turn. It is certain, however, that the
     Cameronians imputed to their opponents in opinion concerning the
     Indulgence, or others of their strained and fanatical notions, a
     disposition not only to seek their own safety, but to enjoy
     themselves. Hamilton speaks of three clergymen of this description
     as follows:--

     "They pretended great zeal against the Indulgence; but alas! that
     was all their practice, otherwise being but very gross, which I
     shall but hint at in short. When great Cameron and those with him
     were taking many a cold blast and storm in the fields and among the
     cot-houses in Scotland, these three had for the most part their
     residence in Glasgow, where they found good quarter and a full
     table, which I doubt not but some bestowed upon them from real
     affection to the Lord's cause; and when these three were together,
     their greatest work was who should make the finest and sharpest
     roundel, and breathe the quickest jests upon one another, and to
     tell what valiant acts they were to do, and who could laugh loudest
     and most heartily among them; and when at any time they came out to
     the country, whatever other things they had, they were careful each
     of them to have a great flask of brandy with them, which was very
     heavy to some, particularly to Mr Cameron, Mr Cargill, and Henry
     Hall--I shall name no more."--Faithful Contendings, p. 198.]

Thus backed and comforted, Poundtext resolved magnanimously to await the
coming of the Cameronians to the general rendezvous.

Burley and his confederates had drawn together a considerable body of
these sectaries, amounting to a hundred horse and about fifteen hundred
foot, clouded and severe in aspect, morose and jealous in communication,
haughty of heart, and confident, as men who believed that the pale of
salvation was open for them exclusively; while all other Christians,
however slight were the shades of difference of doctrine from their own,
were in fact little better than outcasts or reprobates. These men entered
the presbyterian camp, rather as dubious and suspicious allies, or
possibly antagonists, than as men who were heartily embarked in the same
cause, and exposed to the same dangers, with their more moderate brethren
in arms. Burley made no private visits to his colleagues, and held no
communication with them on the subject of the public affairs, otherwise
than by sending a dry invitation to them to attend a meeting of the
general council for that evening.

On the arrival of Morton and Poundtext at the place of assembly, they
found their brethren already seated. Slight greeting passed between them,
and it was easy to see that no amicable conference was intended by those
who convoked the council. The first question was put by Macbriar, the
sharp eagerness of whose zeal urged him to the van on all occasions. He
desired to know by whose authority the malignant, called Lord Evandale,
had been freed from the doom of death, justly denounced against him.

"By my authority and Mr Morton's," replied Poundtext; who, besides being
anxious to give his companion a good opinion of his courage, confided
heartily in his support, and, moreover, had much less fear of
encountering one of his own profession, and who confined himself to the
weapons of theological controversy, in which Poundtext feared no man,
than of entering into debate with the stern homicide Balfour.

"And who, brother," said Kettledrummle, "who gave you authority to
interpose in such a high matter?"

"The tenor of our commission," answered Poundtext, "gives us authority to
bind and to loose. If Lord Evandale was justly doomed to die by the voice
of one of our number, he was of a surety lawfully redeemed from death by
the warrant of two of us."

"Go to, go to," said Burley; "we know your motives; it was to send that
silkworm--that gilded trinket--that embroidered trifle of a lord, to bear
terms of peace to the tyrant."

"It was so," replied Morton, who saw his companion begin to flinch before
the fierce eye of Balfour--"it was so; and what then?--Are we to plunge
the nation in endless war, in order to pursue schemes which are equally
wild, wicked, and unattainable?"

"Hear him!" said Balfour; "he blasphemeth."

"It is false," said Morton; "they blaspheme who pretend to expect
miracles, and neglect the use of the human means with which Providence
has blessed them. I repeat it--Our avowed object is the re-establishment
of peace on fair and honourable terms of security to our religion and our
liberty. We disclaim any desire to tyrannize over those of others."

The debate would now have run higher than ever, but they were interrupted
by intelligence that the Duke of Monmouth had commenced his march towards
the west, and was already advanced half way from Edinburgh. This news
silenced their divisions for the moment, and it was agreed that the next
day should be held as a fast of general humiliation for the sins of the
land; that the Reverend Mr Poundtext should preach to the army in the
morning, and Kettledrummle in the afternoon; that neither should touch
upon any topics of schism or of division, but animate the soldiers to
resist to the blood, like brethren in a good cause. This healing overture
having been agreed to, the moderate party ventured upon another proposal,
confiding that it would have the support of Langcale, who looked
extremely blank at the news which they had just received, and might be
supposed reconverted to moderate measures. It was to be presumed, they
said, that since the King had not intrusted the command of his forces
upon the present occasion to any of their active oppressors, but, on the
contrary, had employed a nobleman distinguished by gentleness of temper,
and a disposition favourable to their cause, there must be some better
intention entertained towards them than they had yet experienced. They
contended, that it was not only prudent but necessary to ascertain, from
a communication with the Duke of Monmouth, whether he was not charged
with some secret instructions in their favour. This could only be learned
by dispatching an envoy to his army.

"And who will undertake the task?" said Burley, evading a proposal too
reasonable to be openly resisted--"Who will go up to their camp, knowing
that John Grahame of Claverhouse hath sworn to hang up whomsoever we
shall dispatch towards them, in revenge of the death of the young man his
nephew?"

"Let that be no obstacle," said Morton; "I will with pleasure encounter
any risk attached to the bearer of your errand."

"Let him go," said Balfour, apart to Macbriar; "our councils will be well
rid of his presence."

The motion, therefore, received no contradiction even from those who were
expected to have been most active in opposing it; and it was agreed that
Henry Morton should go to the camp of the Duke of Monmouth, in order to
discover upon what terms the insurgents would be admitted to treat with
him. As soon as his errand was made known, several of the more moderate
party joined in requesting him to make terms upon the footing of the
petition intrusted to Lord Evandale's hands; for the approach of the
King's army spread a general trepidation, by no means allayed by the high
tone assumed by the Cameronians, which had so little to support it,
excepting their own headlong zeal. With these instructions, and with
Cuddie as his attendant, Morton set forth towards the royal camp, at all
the risks which attend those who assume the office of mediator during the
heat of civil discord.

Morton had not proceeded six or seven miles, before he perceived that he
was on the point of falling in with the van of the royal forces; and, as
he ascended a height, saw all the roads in the neighbourhood occupied by
armed men marching in great order towards Bothwell-muir, an open common,
on which they proposed to encamp for that evening, at the distance of
scarcely two miles from the Clyde, on the farther side of which river the
army of the insurgents was encamped. He gave himself up to the first
advanced-guard of cavalry which he met, as bearer of a flag of truce, and
communicated his desire to obtain access to the Duke of Monmouth. The
non-commissioned officer who commanded the party made his report to his
superior, and he again to another in still higher command, and both
immediately rode to the spot where Morton was detained.

"You are but losing your time, my friend, and risking your life," said
one of them, addressing Morton; "the Duke of Monmouth will receive no
terms from traitors with arms in their hands, and your cruelties have
been such as to authorize retaliation of every kind. Better trot your nag
back and save his mettle to-day, that he may save your life to-morrow."

"I cannot think," said Morton, "that even if the Duke of Monmouth should
consider us as criminals, he would condemn so large a body of his
fellow-subjects without even hearing what they have to plead for
themselves. On my part I fear nothing. I am conscious of having consented
to, or authorized, no cruelty, and the fear of suffering innocently for
the crimes of others shall not deter me from executing my commission."

The two officers looked at each other.

"I have an idea," said the younger, "that this is the young man of whom
Lord Evandale spoke."

"Is my Lord Evandale in the army?" said Morton.

"He is not," replied the officer; "we left him at Edinburgh, too much
indisposed to take the field.--Your name, sir, I presume, is Henry
Morton?"

"It is, sir," answered Morton.

"We will not oppose your seeing the Duke, sir," said the officer, with
more civility of manner; "but you may assure yourself it will be to no
purpose; for, were his Grace disposed to favour your people, others are
joined in commission with him who will hardly consent to his doing so."

"I shall be sorry to find it thus," said Morton; "but my duty requires
that I should persevere in my desire to have an interview with him."

"Lumley," said the superior officer, "let the Duke know of Mr Morton's
arrival, and remind his Grace that this is the person of whom Lord
Evandale spoke so highly."

The officer returned with a message that the General could not see Mr
Morton that evening, but would receive him by times in the ensuing
morning. He was detained in a neighbouring cottage all night, but treated
with civility, and every thing provided for his accommodation. Early on
the next morning the officer he had first seen came to conduct him to his
audience.

The army was drawn out, and in the act of forming column for march, or
attack. The Duke was in the centre, nearly a mile from the place where
Morton had passed the night. In riding towards the General, he had an
opportunity of estimating the force which had been assembled for the
suppression of the hasty and ill-concerted insurrection. There were three
or four regiments of English, the flower of Charles's army--there were
the Scottish Life-Guards, burning with desire to revenge their late
defeat--other Scottish regiments of regulars were also assembled, and a
large body of cavalry, consisting partly of gentlemen-volunteers, partly
of the tenants of the crown who did military duty for their fiefs. Morton
also observed several strong parties of Highlanders drawn from the points
nearest to the Lowland frontiers, a people, as already mentioned,
particularly obnoxious to the western whigs, and who hated and despised
them in the same proportion. These were assembled under their chiefs, and
made part of this formidable array. A complete train of field-artillery
accompanied these troops; and the whole had an air so imposing, that it
seemed nothing short of an actual miracle could prevent the ill-equipped,
ill-modelled, and tumultuary army of the insurgents from being utterly
destroyed. The officer who accompanied Morton endeavoured to gather from
his looks the feelings with which this splendid and awful parade of
military force had impressed him. But, true to the cause he had espoused,
he laboured successfully to prevent the anxiety which he felt from
appearing in his countenance, and looked around him on the warlike
display as on a sight which he expected, and to which he was indifferent.

"You see the entertainment prepared for you," said the officers.

"If I had no appetite for it," replied Morton, "I should not have been
accompanying you at this moment. But I shall be better pleased with a
more peaceful regale, for the sake of all parties."

As they spoke thus, they approached the commander-in-chief, who,
surrounded by several officers, was seated upon a knoll commanding an
extensive prospect of the distant country, and from which could be easily
discovered the windings of the majestic Clyde, and the distant camp of
the insurgents on the opposite bank. The officers of the royal army
appeared to be surveying the ground, with the purpose of directing an
immediate attack. When Captain Lumley, the officer who accompanied
Morton, had whispered in Monmouth's ear his name and errand, the Duke
made a signal for all around him to retire, excepting only two general
officers of distinction. While they spoke together in whispers for a few
minutes before Morton was permitted to advance, he had time to study the
appearance of the persons with whom he was to treat.

It was impossible for any one to look upon the Duke of Monmouth without
being captivated by his personal graces and accomplishments, of which the
great High-Priest of all the Nine afterwards recorded--

"Whate'er he did was done with so much ease, In him alone 'twas natural
to please; His motions all accompanied with grace, And Paradise was
open'd in his face." Yet to a strict observer, the manly beauty of
Monmouth's face was occasionally rendered less striking by an air of
vacillation and uncertainty, which seemed to imply hesitation and doubt
at moments when decisive resolution was most necessary.

Beside him stood Claverhouse, whom we have already fully described, and
another general officer whose appearance was singularly striking. His
dress was of the antique fashion of Charles the First's time, and
composed of shamoy leather, curiously slashed, and covered with antique
lace and garniture. His boots and spurs might be referred to the same
distant period. He wore a breastplate, over which descended a grey beard
of venerable length, which he cherished as a mark of mourning for Charles
the First, having never shaved since that monarch was brought to the
scaffold. His head was uncovered, and almost perfectly bald. His high and
wrinkled forehead, piercing grey eyes, and marked features, evinced age
unbroken by infirmity, and stern resolution unsoftened by humanity. Such
is the outline, however feebly expressed, of the celebrated General
Thomas Dalzell,

     [Note:  Usually called Tom Dalzell. In Crichton's Memoirs, edited by
     Swift, where a particular account of this remarkable person's dress
     and habits is given, he is said never to have worn boots. The
     following account of his rencounter with John Paton of Meadowhead,
     showed, that in action at least he wore pretty stout ones, unless
     the reader be inclined to believe in the truth of his having a
     charm, which made him proof against lead.

     "Dalzell," says Paton's biographer, "advanced the whole left wing of
     his army on Colonel Wallace's right. Here Captain Paton behaved with
     great courage and gallantry. Dalzell, knowing him in the former
     wars, advanced upon him himself, thinking to take him prisoner. Upon
     his approach, each presented his pistol. On their first discharge,
     Captain Paton, perceiving his pistol ball to hop upon Dalzell's
     boots, and knowing what was the cause, (he having proof,) put his
     hand in his pocket for some small pieces of silver he had there for
     the purpose, and put one of them into his other pistol. But Dalzell,
     having his eye upon him in the meanwhile, retired behind his own
     man, who by that means was slain."]

a man more feared and hated by the whigs than even Claverhouse himself,
and who executed the same violences against them out of a detestation of
their persons, or perhaps an innate severity of temper, which Grahame
only resorted to on political accounts, as the best means of intimidating
the followers of presbytery, and of destroying that sect entirely.

The presence of these two generals, one of whom he knew by person, and
the other by description, seemed to Morton decisive of the fate of his
embassy. But, notwithstanding his youth and inexperience, and the
unfavourable reception which his proposals seemed likely to meet with, he
advanced boldly towards them upon receiving a signal to that purpose,
determined that the cause of his country, and of those with whom he had
taken up arms, should suffer nothing from being intrusted to him.
Monmouth received him with the graceful courtesy which attended even his
slightest actions; Dalzell regarded him with a stern, gloomy, and
impatient frown; and Claverhouse, with a sarcastic smile and inclination
of his head, seemed to claim him as an old acquaintance.

"You come, sir, from these unfortunate people, now assembled in arms,"
said the Duke of Monmouth, "and your name, I believe, is Morton; will you
favour us with the pupport of your errand?"

"It is contained, my lord," answered Morton, "in a paper, termed a
Remonstrance and Supplication, which my Lord Evandale has placed, I
presume, in your Grace's hands?"

"He has done so, sir," answered the Duke; "and I understand, from Lord
Evandale, that Mr Morton has behaved in these unhappy matters with much
temperance and generosity, for which I have to request his acceptance of
my thanks."

Here Morton observed Dalzell shake his head indignantly, and whisper
something into Claverhouse's ear, who smiled in return, and elevated his
eyebrows, but in a degree so slight as scarce to be perceptible. The
Duke, taking the petition from his pocket, proceeded, obviously
struggling between the native gentleness of his own disposition, and
perhaps his conviction that the petitioners demanded no more than their
rights, and the desire, on the other hand, of enforcing the king's
authority, and complying with the sterner opinions of the colleagues in
office, who had been assigned for the purpose of controlling as well as
advising him.

"There are, Mr Morton, in this paper, proposals, as to the abstract
propriety of which I must now waive delivering any opinion. Some of them
appear to me reasonable and just; and, although I have no express
instructions from the King upon the subject, yet I assure you, Mr Morton,
and I pledge my honour, that I will interpose in your behalf, and use my
utmost influence to procure you satisfaction from his Majesty. But you
must distinctly understand, that I can only treat with supplicants, not
with rebels; and, as a preliminary to every act of favour on my side, I
must insist upon your followers laying down their arms and dispersing
themselves."

"To do so, my Lord Duke," replied Morton, undauntedly, "were to
acknowledge ourselves the rebels that our enemies term us. Our swords are
drawn for recovery of a birthright wrested from us; your Grace's
moderation and good sense has admitted the general justice of our
demand,--a demand which would never have been listened to had it not been
accompanied with the sound of the trumpet. We cannot, therefore, and dare
not, lay down our arms, even on your Grace's assurance of indemnity,
unless it were accompanied with some reasonable prospect of the redress
of the wrongs which we complain of."

"Mr Morton," replied the Duke, "you are young, but you must have seen
enough of the world to perceive, that requests, by no means dangerous or
unreasonable in themselves, may become so by the way in which they are
pressed and supported."

"We may reply, my lord," answered Morton, "that this disagreeable mode
has not been resorted to until all others have failed."

"Mr Morton," said the Duke, "I must break this conference short. We are
in readiness to commence the attack; yet I will suspend it for an hour,
until you can communicate my answer to the insurgents. If they please to
disperse their followers, lay down their arms, and send a peaceful
deputation to me, I will consider myself bound in honour to do all I can
to procure redress of their grievances; if not, let them stand on their
guard and expect the consequences.--I think, gentlemen," he added,
turning to his two colleagues, "this is the utmost length to which I can
stretch my instructions in favour of these misguided persons?"

"By my faith," answered Dalzell, suddenly, "and it is a length to which
my poor judgment durst not have stretched them, considering I had both
the King and my conscience to answer to! But, doubtless, your Grace knows
more of the King's private mind than we, who have only the letter of our
instructions to look to."

Monmouth blushed deeply. "You hear," he said, addressing Morton, "General
Dalzell blames me for the length which I am disposed to go in your
favour."

"General Dalzell's sentiments, my lord," replied Morton, "are such as we
expected from him; your Grace's such as we were prepared to hope you
might please to entertain. Indeed I cannot help adding, that, in the case
of the absolute submission upon which you are pleased to insist, it might
still remain something less than doubtful how far, with such counsellors
around the King, even your Grace's intercession might procure us
effectual relief. But I will communicate to our leaders your Grace's
answer to our supplication; and, since we cannot obtain peace, we must
bid war welcome as well as we may."

"Good morning, sir," said the Duke; "I suspend the movements of attack
for one hour, and for one hour only. If you have an answer to return
within that space of time, I will receive it here, and earnestly entreat
it may be such as to save the effusion of blood."

At this moment another smile of deep meaning passed between Dalzell and
Claverhouse. The Duke observed it, and repeated his words with great
dignity.

"Yes, gentlemen, I said I trusted the answer might be such as would save
the effusion of blood. I hope the sentiment neither needs your scorn, nor
incurs your displeasure."

Dalzell returned the Duke's frown with a stern glance, but made no
answer. Claverhouse, his lip just curled with an ironical smile, bowed,
and said, "It was not for him to judge the propriety of his Grace's
sentiments."

The Duke made a signal to Morton to withdraw. He obeyed; and, accompanied
by his former escort, rode slowly through the army to return to the camp
of the non-conformists. As he passed the fine corps of Life-Guards, he
found Claverhouse was already at their head. That officer no sooner saw
Morton, than he advanced and addressed him with perfect politeness of
manner.

"I think this is not the first time I have seen Mr Morton of Milnwood?"

"It is not Colonel Grahame's fault," said Morton, smiling sternly, "that
he or any one else should be now incommoded by my presence."

"Allow me at least to say," replied Claverhouse, "that Mr Morton's
present situation authorizes the opinion I have entertained of him, and
that my proceedings at our last meeting only squared to my duty."

"To reconcile your actions to your duty, and your duty to your
conscience, is your business, Colonel Grahame, not mine," said Morton,
justly offended at being thus, in a manner, required to approve of the
sentence under which he had so nearly suffered.

"Nay, but stay an instant," said Claverhouse; "Evandale insists that I
have some wrongs to acquit myself of in your instance. I trust I shall
always make some difference between a high-minded gentleman, who, though
misguided, acts upon generous principles, and the crazy fanatical clowns
yonder, with the bloodthirsty assassins who head them. Therefore, if they
do not disperse upon your return, let me pray you instantly come over to
our army and surrender yourself, for, be assured, they cannot stand our
assault for half an hour. If you will be ruled and do this, be sure to
enquire for me. Monmouth, strange as it may seem, cannot protect
you--Dalzell will not--I both can and will; and I have promised to
Evandale to do so if you will give me an opportunity."

"I should owe Lord Evandale my thanks," answered Morton, coldly, "did not
his scheme imply an opinion that I might be prevailed on to desert those
with whom I am engaged. For you, Colonel Grahame, if you will honour me
with a different species of satisfaction, it is probable, that, in an
hour's time, you will find me at the west end of Bothwell Bridge with my
sword in my hand."

"I shall be happy to meet you there," said Claverhouse, "but still more
so should you think better on my first proposal."

They then saluted and parted.

"That is a pretty lad, Lumley," said Claverhouse, addressing himself to
the other officer; "but he is a lost man--his blood be upon his head."

So saying, he addressed himself to the task of preparation for instant
battle.





CHAPTER X.

               But, hark! the tent has changed its voice,
               There's peace and rest nae langer.
                                                  Burns.

               The Lowdien Mallisha they
               Came with their coats of blew;
               Five hundred men from London came,
               Claid in a reddish hue.
                                        Bothwell Lines.

When Morton had left the well-ordered outposts of the regular army, and
arrived at those which were maintained by his own party, he could not but
be peculiarly sensible of the difference of discipline, and entertain a
proportional degree of fear for the consequences. The same discords which
agitated the counsels of the insurgents, raged even among their meanest
followers; and their picquets and patrols were more interested and
occupied in disputing the true occasion and causes of wrath, and defining
the limits of Erastian heresy, than in looking out for and observing the
motions of their enemies, though within hearing of the royal drums and
trumpets.

There was a guard, however, of the insurgent army, posted at the long and
narrow bridge of Bothwell, over which the enemy must necessarily advance
to the attack; but, like the others, they were divided and disheartened;
and, entertaining the idea that they were posted on a desperate service,
they even meditated withdrawing themselves to the main body. This would
have been utter ruin; for, on the defence or loss of this pass the
fortune of the day was most likely to depend. All beyond the bridge was a
plain open field, excepting a few thickets of no great depth, and,
consequently, was ground on which the undisciplined forces of the
insurgents, deficient as they were in cavalry, and totally unprovided
with artillery, were altogether unlikely to withstand the shock of
regular troops.

Morton, therefore, viewed the pass carefully, and formed the hope, that
by occupying two or three houses on the left bank of the river, with the
copse and thickets of alders and hazels that lined its side, and by
blockading the passage itself, and shutting the gates of a portal, which,
according to the old fashion, was built on the central arch of the bridge
of Bothwell, it might be easily defended against a very superior force.
He issued directions accordingly, and commanded the parapets of the
bridge, on the farther side of the portal, to be thrown down, that they
might afford no protection to the enemy when they should attempt the
passage. Morton then conjured the party at this important post to be
watchful and upon their guard, and promised them a speedy and strong
reinforcement. He caused them to advance videttes beyond the river to
watch the progress of the enemy, which outposts he directed should be
withdrawn to the left bank as soon as they approached; finally, he
charged them to send regular information to the main body of all that
they should observe. Men under arms, and in a situation of danger, are
usually sufficiently alert in appreciating the merit of their officers.
Morton's intelligence and activity gained the confidence of these men,
and with better hope and heart than before, they began to fortify their
position in the manner he recommended, and saw him depart with three loud
cheers.

Morton now galloped hastily towards the main body of the insurgents, but
was surprised and shocked at the scene of confusion and clamour which it
exhibited, at the moment when good order and concord were of such
essential consequence. Instead of being drawn up in line of battle, and
listening to the commands of their officers, they were crowding together
in a confused mass, that rolled and agitated itself like the waves of the
sea, while a thousand tongues spoke, or rather vociferated, and not a
single ear was found to listen. Scandalized at a scene so extraordinary,
Morton endeavoured to make his way through the press to learn, and, if
possible, to remove, the cau

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