EDINBURGH--THE NIGHT OF THE REVOLUTION.
Meanwhile, regardless of the royal cause,
His sword for James no brother sov'raign draws.
The Pope himself, surrounded with alarms,
To France his bulls, to Corfu sends his arms;
And though he hears his darling son's complaint,
Can hardly spare one tutelary saint.
TICKELL, Edit. 1749.
From the hour in which Lilian had been torn from her, the ased Lady
Grisel had never raised her head. Affection and horror, wrath and
insulted pride, had all aggravated to the utmost the weakness and
debility consequent to exceeding old age; and by her weeping
domestics the venerable dame was borne to her great chair in the
Chamber-of-Dais, where she remained long insensible to all that
passed around her.
The storm and hurry of political events employed otherwise Sir Thomas
Dalyel and those friends who might have served her in this dilemma;
and now she found herself quite deserted.
Syme the baillie, and the whole male population of the barony had
fruitlessly searched the Burghmuir for the remainder of the night and
morning; but, for reasons which will shortly be apparent, any
application to the Privy Council or magistrates of Edinburgh would
have been utterly futile, as their attention was amply occupied by
more important matters than the abduction of a girl.
Long fits of stupor, succeeded by querulous bursts of passion, left
the poor old lady so weak, that, as Elsie related to Sir Thomas of
Binns, "between the night and morning, she cried on Sir Archibald _to
save_ her doo Lilian; and then she just soughed awa like a blink o'
the sunshine, and lay back under her canopy in the Chaumer-o'-Deese,
a comely corpse to see as ever was streekit."
The old lady did not die, however, but recovered her senses by having
a pistol fired at her ear by the rough old Muscovite trooper, "a cure
for the vapours, whilk," he said, "he had often seen practised on
Samoieda."
As before related, in consequence of the vigilance of Sir James
Montgomerie, the Privy Council and people of Scotland had been kept
for several weeks in a state of painful uncertainty as to the fate of
James's affairs in England: but a letter from Lord Dundee reached the
Scottish ministry, expressive of apprehensions for the issue of a
conflict between the troops of the King and those of his invader.
To ascertain the true aspect of affairs, they despatched into England
a man named Brand, a baillie of Edinburgh, who basely betrayed his
trust by carrying his despatches straight to the Prince of Orange, to
whom he was introduced by Dr. Burnet.
On Craigdarroch's arrival at the Scottish capital, and others with
similar tidings of the desertion and dissolution of the army, the
flight of James, and success of William, the long-threatening storm
burst forth in all its fury. Scotland at that time swarmed with
brave and hardy soldiers, skilful officers, ruined barons, and
desperate vassals--the veterans of the Covenant, and the endless wars
of Sweden, France, and Flanders; thus, ingloriously as the campaign
had passed over in the south, a cloud was gathering on the Highland
hills, that threatened to descend, as of yore, in wrath and blood on
the fertile Lowlands.
Infuriated by the severities of what was called the "twenty-eight
years' persecution," the Lowland population were ripe for armed
revolt, and the capital, to which they flocked in overwhelming
masses, became the grand centre of their operations, and the scene of
newer atrocities. The greatest outrages were committed upon the
persons and property of those unhappy Catholics, Episcopalians, and
cavaliers, who fell into the hands of this wild mob.
Perth, the Lord Chancellor fled; the Privy Council, which had been
severe to the nation, in proportion as it was servile to James,
dispatched an immediate address to William, and none were more
cordial in their offers of dutiful service than Provost Prince, and
the worthy council of Edinburgh: those very men who had so lately
declared to the unfortunate Stuart, that they "would stand by his
sacred person on all occasions." Now they were equally prompt in
offers to his dethroner, to whom they complained bitterly "of the
hellish attempts of Romish incendiaries, and of the just grievances
of all men relating to conscience, liberty, and property."
For three days the capital was in the power of a mad and lawless
rabble, who, rendered furious by bigotry and intoxication, committed
the most dreadful atrocities.
The houses of all who were obnoxious to them were plundered and given
to the flames, and all effects of value were scattered in the
streets. There were episodes of horror ensued such as Edinburgh had
never witnessed before. The streets were filled with the smoke of
burning houses; the air was sheeted with flame; the shrieks of the
perishing inmates, the howls of their destroyers, and the crash of
falling masonry, rang night and day. The college of the Jesuits was
levelled to the dust; crosses, and reliques, statues, pictures, and
vestments were borne aloft through the streets, and consigned to the
flames amid yells of derision.
The ale and wine found in the cellars of the cavaliers, inflamed the
inborn savagism of the multitude, who were urged by their ministers
to commit a thousand nameless atrocities. For three days they
continued in a state of perfect intoxication (says Lord Balcarris in
his _Memoirs_), and in open daylight, in the crowded streets of the
city, committed upon the persons of many Catholic ladies such
outrages as cannot be written, and "without any attempt being made by
the authorities to restrain such brutality." (pp. 22, 27.)
Of all the members of the old government none was more obnoxious to
the people than Sir George Mackenzie, of Rosehaugh, the celebrated
lawyer and essayist, who had rendered himself an object of intense
hatred, by the severity with which he had stretched the criminal laws
to answer the views of the Government; and who, in his office of
Public Prosecutor, had obtained the unenviable soubriquet of "the
persecutor of God's saints," "the blood-thirsty advocate," "bluidy
Mackenzie;" and to this hour his vaulted mausoleum at Edinburgh is
regarded with hatred and loathing by the old Cameronians and "true
blue" Presbyterians.
His mansion in Rosehaugh Close was soon made the object of attack.
The night of the third day had closed over the city, and still the
scene of tumult and frenzy, the din and the flames of destruction,
loaded the air with sounds of horror and outrage.
In great anxiety for his personal safety, the unhappy statesman heard
with no ordinary perturbation the increasing roar of sounds, like the
chafing of a distant sea; the mingling of a myriad human voices, and
the rush of feet, which betokened the approach of a vast mob.
With drums beating before them, and armed with various weapons, the
thousand bright points of which gleamed in the lurid blaze of the
uplifted torches, a dense mass of ragged, squalid, and insane-looking
men, poured like a human flood into the deep and narrow alley at the
foot of which still stands the house of Rosehaugh. Begrimed with
smoke and filth, maddened by intoxication and excess, their yells as
they resounded between the solid walls of the narrow street, rang
like those of fiends from some deep abyss, and the heart of Mackenzie
died away within him. To appeal to their pity would be like craving
mercy from the waves of an angry ocean? there was no escape, no
remedy, no bribe, no hope; for among that terrible mob were the
fathers, the sons, the brothers--yea, and the mothers of those who at
his instance had perished in thousands, by the sword, by the torture,
and the gibbet, or were lingering out a miserable existence as slaves
and bondsmen in the distant Indies.
"My God! my God! for what am I reserved?" he exclaimed, as from a
lofty upper window he surveyed the dense mass of madmen, who, wedged
in the alley below, impeded each other's motions. Conspicuous above
all, raised on the shoulders of two strong men, whose arms and faces
were smeared with blood and blackness, there was upborne a man, whose
sad-coloured garments and white bands announced him a preacher; his
gaunt visage and long hair of raven hue waving around a face ghastly,
though flashed with passion, his large hazel eyes glowing like those
of a tiger, his upraised hands clenching one a bible, and the other a
broadsword, declared him a wild enthusiast (another "Habakuk
Mucklewrath").
It was Ichabod Bummel, who had escaped from the damp vaults of the
wave-beaten Bass, and had now come to take vengeance on Mackenzie for
his exile, his captivity, his crushed bones, and long persecution.
"Come forth, Achan, thou troubler of Israel!" he shrieked; "come
forth, thou destroyer of the good and just, thou persecutor of the
saints of God! come forth, thou thing that art accursed, or we will
burn thee in the ruins of thy dwelling, and salt them with salt.
Courage, my brethren! Oh, is not this a brave hour and a glorious
one? For lo, the time is come when the host of Pharaoh shall be
discomfited and stricken as of old. Achan, thou persecutor of the
covenanted kirk, behold me towering amid Baal's prophets, four
hundred and fifty men, as the book saith!"
This rhapsody was responded to with yells of ardour, and the din of
hammers rang like thunder against the strong oaken door of the
mansion, while many bullets were discharged at the windows, which
were securely grated. A door of massive oak closed the entrance of
the turnpike stair, and though the whole house resounded under the
energy of the blows, the barrier refused to yield, though gradually
it was falling in splinters, a process too slow to suit the fierce
impatience of the increasing mob.
"Let fire be brought," cried Ichabod, "let the mansion be consumed,
that its flames may be as a light to the house of Judah. Know, O
thou persecutor of God's covenanted saints, that a sword is this
night upon the inhabitants of Babylon, and upon her princes, and her
mighty men; for it is the load of graven images, and they are mad
upon their idols."
Urged by this blasphemous application of Scripture, burning brands
were heaped by the people against the door, and soon the increased
yells of satisfaction announced to the miserable advocate that the
barrier was rapidly giving way, and that in another moment the
reeking hands of the destroyers would be upon him. He threw round a
glance of agony, the barred windows denied all hope of escape, and
now his stern soul sank at the prospect of a cruel and immediate
death, when lo! one tremendous yell of another import brought him
once more to the shattered windows. "It is a dream!" he exclaimed.
A troop of the Royal Life Guards, with their bright arms flashing in
the light of the waving torches, were hewing and treading down the
mob like a field of rye; and chief above all shone one cavalier--it
was Dundee--the gallant, the terrible Claver'se, that man-fiend, whom
all deemed six hundred miles away. There was no mistaking the
splendour of his armour, the nobility of his air, the ferocity of his
purpose.
"Close up--fall on, gentlemen; no quarter to the knaves!" he
exclaimed, while, standing erect in his stirrups, he showered his
blows on every side, his white plumes rising and falling in unison
with his trenchant rapier.
"Hey for King James! Ho for the cavaliers! Down with the
rebels--down with the whigamores!" cried Holsterlee and others, as
they pressed forward, and the rabble grovelled in the dust beneath
the tremendous rush of the heavy horses, and their riders in steel
and buff. In a minute the narrow alley was cleared of the living,
and piled knee-deep with dead and dying. The shrill voice of
Ichabod, as he was borne off by his disciples, was heard dying away
in the distance, like that of an evil spirit carried away by a stormy
wind.
By something like a miracle, Lord Dundee had traversed the whole of
hostile England, and though menaced on every hand by great bodies of
troops, had reached his native capital in safety; bringing with him
not only the sixty cavalier troopers (who of all his cavalry alone
remained staunch to him), but with them Walter Fenton, Lord
Dunbarton, Finland, and other officers retaken from De Ginckel. They
now rode under his orders as gentlemen-troopers, mounted on heavy
black chargers that had whilome belonged to the Swart Ruyters; and
the whole, with standards displayed, had entered the city about an
hour before the assault on Rosehaugh's house.
The Rev. Dr. Joram, late chaplain to the Royal Scots, also bestrode a
horse which he had taken as his spoil in battle; and had donned a
trooper's corslet, with which his clerical bob-periwig consorted as
oddly as with the fierce and tipsy expression of his flushed and
florid face, and with the stern cock of the Monmouth beaver that
surmounted it. The gallant divine had recently imbibed so much wine
that he could scarcely keep his saddle.
Of the fate of their captured comrades they as yet knew nothing; but
Gavin of that Ilk, with twenty other officers and five hundred men,
were then at London, close prisoners; the rest had returned to their
colours; and after a time, the whole, seeing the futility of
resistance, ultimately embarked peaceably under the orders of their
new commander, the veteran Duke de Schomberg. None were punished,
"as the new government had not yet been fully recognized in Scotland."
Rosehaugh had been saved from a terrible immolation; but the services
of the night were not yet over. Claverhouse, with his cavaliers,
retired to a quiet part of the city, under protection of the castle
batteries, where a brave garrison of Catholic soldiers, led by the
Duke of Gordon, remained yet staunch to James.
"My lord Earl," said Dundee to Dunbarton, "we must be somewhat
economical of our persons and horses, when encountering these mad
burghers and drunken saints, and not forget that we are the last hope
of the King in this hotbed of Presbytery and rebellion."
"True," replied the Earl, "and I rejoice that we have but few to
regret, and few to mourn for us if we perish in the struggle on which
we are about to plunge."
The eyes of the Viscount filled with dusky fire.
"Dunbarton," said he, "I am alone in the world. Our grateful King
has given me honours to which none can succeed, for I have cast the
die by which they are lost for ever; and nowhere can my coronet be
more gloriously surrendered than on the battle-field."
"I thank Heaven that the Countess, my dear little Lætitia, is in
England," said the Earl, pointing to the lurid flames that from the
blazing houses of the Abbey-hill flashed along the shadowy vista of
the Canongate, glowing redly under the arch of the Nether Bow, and
throwing forward in bold relief a thousand fantastic projections of
the old Flemish mansions that reared up their giant fronts on either
hand. "I thank Heaven that she is in a safer place than this poor
city of wild fanatics."
"Would that I could say the same of Lilian!" thought Walter, with a
deep sigh. "Can she be safe amid all this dreadful uproar?"
At that moment a dense rabble approached, with drums beating, torches
blazing, and weapons glinting.
"To the Palace! to the Abbey!" cried a thousand hoarse voices. "Let
us pull doon the temple of the Idolater, and gie his fause gods to
the flames!" and they swept forward, greeting the troop of Guards
with yells of hatred and menace.
They were led--by whom? Lord Mersington, with his wig awry, his
clothes soiled with dust, and his face flushed with exertion! The
Earl of Balcarris relates "that this fanatical judge, with a halbert
in his hand, and drunk as ale and brandy could make him," led on the
rabble to the assault of time-hallowed Holyrood; but before reaching
the eastern extremity of the city, his followers were joined by the
trained bands in their buff coats and bandoleers, the magistrates,
and other authorities, who vested this lawless mob with an air of
order and official importance.
"Will those villains really dare to molest the palace of our kings?"
said Dundee, his eyes kindling, as he looked after the revolters, and
reined-up his impatient horse.
"What will they not dare?" rejoined Dunbarton; "but I doubt not they
will experience a warm reception. Wallace, who commands the guard,
is a brave cavalier as ever drew sword, and the traitors will make
nothing of it."
"Under favour, my Lords," said Fenton, "they are in great numbers,
and I have misgivings as to the issue."
"Wallace--he is an old friend of mine," said Finland. "'Sdeath!
we've seen some sharp work together on the frontiers of Flanders; and
with your permission, my Lords, I will take a turn of service with
him to-night."
"As you please," replied the Viscount; "Dunbarton commands here,
though he rides in my troop. Go--ha, ha! two heads are better than
one."
"I go then; and yonder fanatical senator may beware how he comes
within reach of my hand."
"Thy riding-whip, say rather."
"I volunteer also," said Walter, who was under great anxiety to have
an opportunity of visiting Lilian.
"And I too," added the Reverend Jonadab Joram. "I long to encounter
with bible and bilbo, yonder preacher of sedition, that urges on this
unhanged rout of traitors. For know ye, gentlemen, (hiccup) that one
preacher is better in Scotland than twenty drummers to find recruits
for the devil's service; so, in his own phraseology, I will gird up
my loins, and go forth to battle against them. Come on, gallants!
Ho, for King James, and down with the whigamores! Rub-a-dub,
rub-a-dub----"
"Beware, sirs, for the good cause has not many such spirits to
spare," said Claver'se, as they dashed spurs into their horses, and
making a detour down one narrow wynd and up another, reached without
interruption the deep groined archway of the Palace Porch, an ancient
gothic edifice, heavily turreted and battlemented.