THE VEILED PICTURE.
To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver's that spoke,
Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.
SCOTT.
Skirting the city, Walter soon left the roar of the angry multitude
far behind him; he was galloping among fallow fields, hedge-rows, and
solitary lanes, and the silence of the country was a relief to his
excited spirit after the fierce tumult of the last six hours. The
snow had melted; Dairy-burn, and other little rills that traversed
the dark fields, gleamed like silver threads in the starlight.
Walter passed the loch, and reached the old Place of Drumdryan; the
house was ruined and desolate, roofless and windowless, and the
roadway was strewn with fragments of furniture. His anxiety
increased, and, goring his horse onward, he dashed up the dark dewy
avenue of Bruntisfield, and reined up at the Barbican-gate. The
perfect silence, unbroken even by the barking of a dog, and the
strong odour of burned wood, had in some sort prepared him for the
sight he witnessed. There, too, had been the hand of the destroyer,
and a great part of the once noble mansion was a bare, blackened, and
open ruin. Its corbie-stoned gables and round turrets stood bleakly
in bold relief against the starry sky; and from the depths of its
vaulted chambers, the remains of the smouldering conflagration sent
forth at times a column of smoke into the calm winter atmosphere.
The court and garden were strewn with broken furniture, torn
hangings, books, and household utensils.
The sudden snorting of his horse drew Walter's attention to two
corpses that lay near the outer door. They were those of John Leekie
the gardener, and Drouthy the aged butler, who, like true vassals,
had both "with harness on their backs" perished at their lady's
threshold. Both had on corslets and steel caps, and one yet grasped
a broken partisan.
Full of dire thoughts of vengeance, Walter galloped back to the city,
every corner of which was now overflown with the tide of confusion
and uproar that had been so long concentrated around Holyrood. He
naturally sought the Castle-hill, where Dundee and Dunbarton, with
their sixty followers, who of all the Lowlands seemed now alone to
remain true to their fugitive king, were drawn up under the cannon of
the Half-moon.
"So the villains have sacked Holyrood," said Dundee, smiling grimly.
"To their contentment," replied Walter. "Poor Finland, our jolly
chaplain, Wallace, and a hundred brave soldiers, have gone to render
a last account of their faithful service; and I alone survive, my
lords."
"To avenge them, add, sir. 'Tis the hope of repaying with most
usurious interest this heavy account of blood that alone makes me
bear up," replied Dundee with enthusiasm; "and God give me
inspiration, for I feel I am the last hope of the old house of
Stuart."
At that time certain persons who styled themselves a Convention of
the Estates were assembled in conclave, and thither went the brave
Dundee, though conscious that, personally or politically, he was the
bitterest foe of every man present.
"My lords and gentlemen," said he, observing the chill that fell on
the assemblage when he appeared---"I have come here as a peer of the
realm, to serve his Majesty James VII. and the Parliament of
Scotland; and I demand that, if the latter has no occasion for my
service, it will at least protect my friends and self from the
insults of the base-born rabble."
With one voice this hastily collected and illegally constituted
assembly exclaimed--"We cannot and will not!"
"Then farewell, sirs," replied the Viscount, with a smile of pride
and scorn. "When again I appear before you, it will not be to
entreat, but to command--it will not be to plead, but to punish; and
now, let my trumpets sound To horse! In the country of the clans,
the hills are as steep, the woods are as pathless, the glens as deep,
and the rivers as rapid, as in the days of the Romans; and again from
the wild north shall the whole tide of Celtic war roll on the traitor
Lowlands, as in the days of the great Montrose. When again you hear
the voice of Dundee, my Lords of Convention,--_tremble_!"
He clasped on his headpiece and retired. As the jangle of his sword
and spurs descending the stone turnpike died away, a deep silence
pervaded the dusky hall; for the threats of this chivalric soldier,
when united to their foreknowledge of his dauntless courage, his
unflinching loyalty, his loftiness of mind, and intense ferocity,
threw a chill upon the more cold-blooded and calculating
revolutionists. But soon the gallant blare of the trumpet, the
stirring brattle of the brass kettle-drums, the clang of iron hoofs,
and jingle of steel scabbards and chain bridles, awaking all the
echoes of the great cathedral, and the hollow arcades of the dark
Parliament Square, announced the march of the Life Guards--those
sixty brave gentlemen who, of all his once numerous and fondly
cherished army, now alone remained staunch to the hapless James.
Dark looks were exchanged, and as the music grew faint, all seemed to
breathe more freely. Then the querulous voice of Lord Mersington was
heard, and in the half-lighted hall, his dwarfish figure, clad in his
senatorial robes, was dimly seen on the rostrum, and, as he addressed
the convention, from the effect of his recent potations and over
exertion, he swayed on his heels like a statue on a pivot. His
speech was somewhat to the following purpose.
"That for sae mickle as the vile and bloody papistical James, Duke of
Albany and York, having assumed the regal sceptre without the oath
required for due maintenance of religion, and having altered the
ancient constitution of the kingdom by ane exertion of tyrannous and
arbitrary power, had forfeited all richt to the crown of Scotland,
now and for ever; that it be forthwith settled on the Statholder
William, and Mary his spouse; that there be made a list of grievances
to be redressed, and a new act framit, anent witchcraft, papacy,
prelacy, and ither abominations."
The last echoes of the trumpets of Dundee had died away under the
arch of the Netherbow Port, and the motions of Mersington were
carried with universal approbation. "Thus," says the author of
_Caledonia_ "the revolution in England was conducted constitutionally
by the parliament; but in Scotland, unconstitutionally by the
convention. The English _found_ a vacancy of the throne, the Scots
_made_ one; the one grave and regarding law, the other vehement and
disregarding it."
With a heaviness of heart, a deep and morbid sadness against which he
struggled in vain, Walter rode down the steep Leith Wynd. He was now
a private trooper under Dundee, and leaving Lilian far behind him;
for he was going, he foresaw, to perish under the fallen banner of a
desperate cause and ruined king; but soon the clash of the cymbals,
the fanfare of the trumpets, the tramp of the stately horses, the
high bearing of their gallant riders, and that innate loftiness of
soul, which made Dunbarton and Dundee rise superior to their fortune,
and seem to set fate at defiance, communicated a new ardour to his
heart, and it soon beat responsive to the martial music, as the troop
of cavaliers traversed the city's northern ridge, and riding by the
Long Gate saw the morning sun rising afar off above the snow clad
Lammermuir, gilding Preston Bay, the far hills of Fife, and the
shining waters of the dark blue Forth.
Dundee rode near Fenton, who, finding more than once, the dark and
pensive eyes of this singularly handsome soldier fixed upon him with
something of that foredoomed expression, indicative of his future
fate and fame, he ventured to ask, "Whither go you, my lord?"
"Wherever the shade of Montrose shall direct me," was the thoughtful
and poetical reply. "Believe me, Mr. Fenton," he continued, after a
pause, "under whatever circumstances, or however oppressed by fate, I
will acquit myself before God, the world, and my own conscience.
Yes!" he exclaimed, with flashing eyes, and striking his gloved hand
upon his corsletted breast, "I will hazard life and limb, estate and
title, name and fame, yes, I would peril even my salvation, were it
possible, in the cause of my honour and allegiance; and if I cannot
save the throne of King James, at least I will not survive its
fall--so the will of God be done!"
There was something sublime in his aspect as he spoke; his dark and
lustrous eyes were full of fire; his face, the manly beauty of which
few have equalled and none surpassed, was suffused with a warm glow,
and the proud curl of his mustachioed lip, showed the high spirit of
achievement that burned within him. The soul of the great Montrose
seemed indeed to inspire him, and in such a moment all the darker and
weaker points were forgotten. His ardour was communicated to Walter,
whose heart beat fast as he exclaimed,
"Noble Dundee, to victory or the grave, to the field or the scaffold,
I will follow thee, and in that hour when I fail in my duty or
allegiance, may woe betide me and dishonour blot my name!"
Dundee pressed his hand and replied,
"In the wilds of the pathless north, ten thousand claymores will
flash from their scabbards at the call of Dundee. The loyal and
gallant clans have not forgotten the glories of Alford, Inverlochy,
and Auldearn, when the standard of James Grahame, of Montrose, was
never unfurled but to victory. Again, like him, will I lead them
against this Dutch usurper, whom in an evil hour I saved from death
upon the battle-field of Seneff. Yes, after he had fallen beneath
the hoofs of Vaudemont's Reitres, I saved his life at the risk of my
own, and horsed him on my own good charger, when, could his future
ingratitude to me, and the usurpation of this hour have been
foreseen, my petronel had blown his brains to the wind."
"Ha! what wants his grace of Gordon?" said Dunbarton as the flash of
a cannon broke from the dark castle wall, and a puff of white smoke
curled away on the clear morning air, while the echoes of the report
reverberated like thunder among the black basaltic cliffs of the
great fortress past which they were riding. A little arched postern
to the westward opened, and a soldier appeared waving a white flag
from the brow of the steep rock, which the turretted bastion
overhung. The troop halted, and their kettle-drums gave three
ruffles in honour of the duke.
"Tarry for me, gentlemen comrades," said Claverhouse, "while I confer
with 'the cock of the north,'" and galloping to the base of the
castle rock, he dismounted, and notwithstanding his steel harness,
buff coat, and jack boots, clambered with great agility to the
postern, where he held a conference with the Duke of Gordon.
What passed was never known; but each is said to have needlessly
exhorted the other to loyalty and truth.
The multitude, who from a distance had watched the departure of the
hated Dundee, fled back to the city, and reported to the Lords of the
Convention, that "there was a coalition and general insurrection of
the adherents of the bluidy Claver'se," and thereupon a dreadful
panic ensued. The city drums beat the point of war; the Duke of
Hamilton and other revolutionists, who had for weeks past been
secretly bringing great bands of their vassals into Edinburgh, where
they were concealed in cellars and garrets, now rushed to arms, and
the members of Convention, confined in their hall, were terrified and
put to their wit's end by the uproar. Lord Mersington, it is
related, exchanging his senatorial robe and wig, "for ane auld wife's
mutch and plaid," fled to his lodging, and appeared no more that day;
but their fears were causeless, for Dundee, and the devoted cavaliers
who accompanied him in his chivalric but hopeless enterprise, were
then passing the woods and morasses of Corstorphine, on their route
to the land of the Gael.
At a hand gallop they soon flanked the grey rocks and pine covered
summits of those beautiful hills, and the sequestered village lay
before them, with the morning smoke curling from its moss-roofed
cottages, its broad lake swollen by the melting snows, but calm as a
mirror, save where the swan and dusky waterouzel squattered its
shining surface; the ancient kirk peeped above a grove of venerable
sycamores, and to the south stood the castle of the old hereditary
Foresters of Corstorphine.
"What castles are these on the right and left?" asked Dundee. "I
warrant Mr. Holster can tell; he knows everything and everybody."
"Yonder hold with the loch flowing almost to its gates, is the house
of the Lord Forester," replied the cavalier trooper, "a leal man and
true."
"And that tall peel on the muirland to the north?"
"The tower of Clermiston, my lord."
"What! the house of Randal Clermont--um--a converted covenanter, and
worshipper of the rising sun, eh?"
"'Tis said his name is at the address sent by the turncoat council to
the Statholder," said Dunbarton.
"Assure me of that," exclaimed Dundee, sharply reining up his horse,
"and by all the devils, I will hang him from his own bartizan, lord
and baron though he be! Halt, gentlemen, we will pay these lords a
visit; they, or their stewards, must pay us riding money, for the
king's service. My lord, Earl, and thirty of you gentlemen, will
detour across to Clermiston, while I will ride down to make my devoir
to the Forester of these hills--forward, trot."
The troop separated, and Walter somewhat unwillingly accompanied Lord
Dunbarton, whose party galloped in single files along the muddy and
rough bridle-road that led over the lea to the gate of the solitary
tower. They encircled the barbican wall, which was built partly on
fragments of low rock, without being able to find entrance, the great
gate being securely fastened, and the stillness of the place seemed
to imply that it was uninhabited. A shriek, echoing through the
vaulted recesses of the tower, rang out upon the clear morning air; a
window was dashed open, and a female hand, white and bleeding,
appeared, while a voice calling for aid made the blood of Walter
Fenton rush back upon his heart.
"On, on, good sirs!" he exclaimed, leaping from his horse; "some work
of hell is being enacted here!" and he rushed against the tower gate,
making fruitless efforts to burst it open; but they were as those of
a child against the solid planks of the barrier.
"By Mahoud's horns, Clermistonlee is at his old tricks again!" cried
Jack Holster, leaping from his saddle, and unslinging his carbine.
"He hath a lass in his meshes; alight gallants all, or the fair
fortress will be won by storm, while we dally in the trenches."
"Would to God I had a petard!" exclaimed Walter; "this gate is like a
wall."
"Unsling your carbines, gentlemen," said the Earl of Dunbarton. "A
volley at the lock--give fire!"
Thirty carbines poured their concentrated volley upon the gate; it
was torn to fragments, and an aperture formed which admitted the
troopers; to creep through, and rush on with his drawn rapier, were
to Walter a moment's work. By pulling the leathern latch of a long
oak pin which secured the door of the tower, they procured ingress,
and rushed up the turnpike stair to the hall, at the very moment that
Lilian was just sinking backwards, with her hands clasped in despair,
while Lord Clermistonlee, enraged by her outcries, and the new and
pressing danger, was endeavouring with ferocious violence to drag her
into some place of concealment.
"False villain!" exclaimed Walter, springing upon him with his
rapier. "I have a thousand insults to avenge; but this, and this,
and this, repay them all!" and he made three furious lunges at his
rival, who escaped two by the intervention of Dunbarton, who
vigorously interposed; but he received one severe wound in the left
shoulder. Infuriated by the sight of his own blood, and being a man
of great strength and agility, he grappled fiercely with Walter,
breathlessly exclaiming, in accents of rage--
"Woe betide thee, thou unhanged rascal! A sword! a sword! lend me a
sword, some one! Juden! Traitors, I am a Lord of Parliament, and
dare ye slaughter me under the rooftree of my own fortified house?
This is hership and hamesucken with a vengeance! Death and
confusion, villains; recollect I am unarmed!"
"Lend him a sword, some of you," said Walter.
"Oh no, no; spare him," moaned Lilian, who was supported by the Earl
of Dunbarton.
"Base-born runnion, and son of a dunghill!" exclaimed Clermistonlee,
with that intense ferocity and scorn which he could so easily assume
at all times; "an hour will come when this insult shall be fearfully
repaid----" here the clenched hand of Walter struck him down.
Staggering backward, making a futile attempt to recover himself, his
clutching hands tore away the veil that concealed the portrait
already mentioned. The face it revealed instantly arrested the
forward stride and menacing sword of Walter Fenton, who stood
irresolute, trembled, and the sinking sword half fell from his
relaxed hand, as he muttered--
"What is this coming over my spirit now? That face seems like a
vision from the grave to me!"
"'Tis the Lady Alison, my Lord's late wife," said the shrill but
sullen voice of Beatrix.
"Pshaw!" rejoined Walter; "then my weakness is over. Give him a
sword, gentlemen. In fair stand-up fight, I will meet him here, with
case of pistols, sword, and dagger, or anything he pleases."
"O part them, for the sake of mercy!" implored Lilian.
Juden came in at that moment, clad in his steel bonnet and buff jack,
and swaying an enormous partisan, was rushing upon Walter Fenton like
a wild boar, when Holsterlee laid him flat with his clubbed carbine.
The swooning of Lord Clermistonlee closed the brawl for the time;
loss of blood, over-drinking, and over-excitement, had quite
prostrated all his energies. Walter immediately sheathed his sword,
and, kneeling down, was the first to tender assistance; for
"compassion ever marks the brave."
Clermistonlee was borne away to his own apartment by the growling
Juden, whose thick pate was little the worse of Holsterlee's stroke;
and Lilian was now Walter's next and immediate care.
The disorder and scantiness of her attire, the pallor and horror of
her aspect, and her presence in such a place, had previously informed
him of all, and no sooner were they in a more retired apartment,
than, throwing herself into his arms, she wept bitterly. Meanwhile,
the unscrupulous cavaliers were ranging over the entire household,
breaking open every press, cabinet, and girnel, with the butts and
balls of their carbines, in search of wine, vivres, or anything else
that suited their fancies. Juden kept always a full larder, and its
contents furnished a sumptuous breakfast. Several whole cheeses, a
cask of ale, and a thirty-gallon runlet or two of canary, were
trundled into the hall; and a hearty repast, with the usual military
accompaniments of mirth and laughter, was enjoyed by the hungry
troopers, whose appetites a night spent in their saddles, and a ride
in the keen air of a winter morning, had sufficiently whetted.
In a few minutes, Lilian, with faltering accents, had informed Walter
of her abduction, of the hours of suffering she had endured, and her
anxiety to return to Lady Grisel; but, alas! poor Lilian knew not
that perhaps her only relative had perished in the conflagration of
her old ancestral home.
Aware that Dundee meant to halt for an hour or so, to await
despatches from the Earl of Balcarris and the ex-Lord-Advocate,
Walter resolved without delay to accompany Lilian to Edinburgh, and
there convey her to some place of safety, ere he cast himself upon
the world for ever; for from that hour he was like a reed tossed upon
the waves of misfortune. By the assistance of Jack Holster, he had
Clermistonlee's favourite mare prepared for Lilian; and, after
refreshing her with a milk-posset made by the cynical Beatrix, they
departed for the city at a quick trot: the plain buff coat, steel
cap, and accoutrements of Walter, enabling him to pass for a Royalist
or Revolutionist, as occasion required.
As soon as they began to converse, the pace of their horses was
checked, and they proceeded slowly: forgetful of Claverhouse and of
his pledged word, Walter remembered only the presence of Lilian; and
their minds were so much absorbed in their mutual explanations and
plans for the future, that they marked not the tardiness of their
progression towards Edinburgh.