THE CAVALIERS OF DUNDEE.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress;
Honour's war we strongly waged,
But the heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend;
The world wide is all before us,
But a world--without a friend.
STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.
The magnanimity of those unfortunate officers of the Scottish army
who remained loyal to James VII., and had shared his misfortunes and
exile, was equally worthy of ancient Caledonia and of the most
glorious ages of Athens and of Sparta. They were about one hundred
and fifty in number, all men of noble spirit, unblemished honour, and
high birth; for they were the representatives of some of the first
families in Scotland. Enthusiastically attached to the King, they
gloried in the sufferings their principles had brought upon them.
On their first arrival in France, small pensions were assigned them
by Louis XIV.; but these were shortly afterwards withdrawn, on the
paltry pretext of public expedience; and the whole of those
unfortunate gentlemen, who by their incorruptible loyalty and
indomitable patriotism had forfeited their commissions, when they
might have purchased new honours in the ranks of the invader, and
many of whom had lost titles and estates by their expatriation, were
thus thrown destitute in a foreign land.
It is related that, with a noble spirit of generosity, they shared
their little funds for the benefit of those who were in greater
destitution; and those who had raised money by the sale of their gilt
corslets, jewels, laced uniforms, rings, &c., readily shared it with
others who were penniless. But these occasional funds soon became
exhausted; the King soon found it impossible, from the pittance
allowed him, to maintain the numerous exiles and ruined dependants
who made his court of St. Germain their rallying point. The poor
Scottish officers finding the horrors of starvation before them,
petitioned James for leave to form themselves into a company of
private soldiers for the service of the French king, asking no other
favour than permission to choose their own leaders: their former
general, Dunbarton, to be their captain; their Serjeants to be
lieutenant-colonels; and so forth. The King reluctantly consented.
Those high-spirited cavaliers were immediately furnished with the
clothing and arms of French soldiers; and previously to their
incorporation with the army of Mareschal Noailles, repaired to St.
Germain, to be reviewed by the King, and to take a long--to many a
last--adieu of him.
It was the day after Walter's arrival; and the summer morning rose
beautifully on the Gothic towers of St. Germain, the crystal windings
of the Seine, and on the dense dark woodlands that, interspersed with
blooming vineyards and waving fields, imparted such charms to the
landscape.
James VII. had become passionately fond of the chase since the loss
of his kingdom; for his brave and restless spirit always sought
excitement when not absorbed in the austere duties of religion, in
the course of which he often subjected himself to the most severe
penances. Kind, affable, and easy to all around him, religion
improved the virtues of his heart, subdued the fire of his spirit,
and by imparting a monk-like gentleness to his demeanour, endeared
him to his enthusiastic followers. The butcheries of Kirke and
Claverhouse, and the tyrannies of Jefferies and Rosehaugh, were
forgotten. Though his uncompromising bigotry remained, all his
arbitrary spirit had vanished; and when he laid aside his visions of
worldly grandeur and kingly power, nothing could be more blameless
and amiable than the life he led.
He frequently visited the poor monks of La Trappe, whom he surprised
by the piety and humility of his deportment; but there were times
when the sparkling eye, the flushed cheek, the forward stride, and
the clanked sword, shewed how regal a spirit and bold a heart
misfortune had crushed and fanaticism clouded. He was an enthusiast
in the pleasures of the chase, which he enjoyed after the good old
English fashion; and on the morning in question, the baying of dogs,
the neighing of horses, and the merry ringing of the clear
bugle-horn, awoke the echoes of the woods, the gloomy arcades, and
quadrangle of St. Germain.
On each side of the archway were drawn up a guard of honour of les
Gardes Françaises, in their white hoquetons laced with gold, powdered
wigs, little hats looped on three sides and surmounted with plumes of
feathers, and having the white banner of Bourbon displayed. The
porters unclosed the heavy folding-doors, and a merry troop of
huntsmen in green galloped forth, with their dogs barking and
straining in the leashes, as the blasts of the shrill horns were
poured to the morning wind, and roused their English blood. The
heavy drawbridge clanked into its place across the grass-grown
moat--the planks resounded to iron hoofs--the French guard presented
arms--the oriflamme of St. Denis was lowered--the drums beat a
march--and James VII., raising his plumed hat, sallied forth at the
head of his train, and advanced along the spacious and magnificent
terrace. The Earl of Dunbarton rode by his side; and as they
caracoled along the level terrace, by the margin of the beautiful
Seine, a body of soldiers in French uniform was seen in front, drawn
up in steady array, with their fixed bayonets shining in the morning
sun. They presented arms as the King approached, upon which he
immediately reined up, and raised his hat.
"My Lord Dunbarton," said he, "what troops are these?"
"They are your Majesty's most faithful subjects and devoted
followers," replied Dunbarton in a faltering voice. "Yesterday they
were Scottish gentlemen of coat-armour and bearers of your Majesty's
commission--to-day they are but poor privates in the army of Louis of
France."
"My God!" said the King; "and, in the levity of the chase, am I so
oblivious of the misfortunes of those unhappy gentlemen?"
Instantly leaping from his horse with a heart that swelled by its
emotions, he approached them and raised his hat.
Every heart was full in that silent line before him, and every eye
glistened. Walter Fenton, who now for the first time beheld that
King for whom he had suffered so much, felt his bosom glow with the
most intense loyalty and ardour,--a gush of sentiment that would have
enabled him to hail with joy the terrors of a scaffold or the dangers
of a battle-field.
"Gentlemen," said the King, "bitter though my own misfortunes be,
yours lie nearer my heart, which is grieved, beyond what language can
express, to behold so many men of valour and worth, from being the
officers of my Scottish army, reduced by their loyalty to the station
of private soldiers. Nothing but this more than Spartan devotion on
the part of the few, but gallant and leal, makes my life worth
preserving. Deeply, deeply indeed is my heart impressed with the
sense of all you have undergone for my sake; and if it should ever
please the blessed God"--(removing his hat)--"to restore me to the
throne of my fathers, your sufferings, your services, and your
devotion shall not be forgotten--never, oh, never! The prince my
son, he shares your northern blood. Oh, may he likewise inherit your
spirit of bravery and truth!
"At your own desire, gentlemen, you are now going on a long and
perilous march, far distant from me, to encounter privation, danger,
and death. To the utmost of my small means, I have provided you with
money, shoes, and stockings. Heaven knoweth how great are my own
necessities. I can no more.....
"Fear God--love one another, and you will ever find me your parent,
if I cannot be your King."
The eyes of James VII. were full of tears, and a long pause ensued.
"There is a gentleman here who arrived only yesterday," said Lord
Dunbarton, who had also dismounted. "He is the bearer of two relics
to your Majesty: the first is the despatch of the expiring Dundee;
the second will bear witness of his own zeal and courage in your
cause at the victory of Killycrankie."
"Let him approach," said the king, covering his face to hide his
emotion.
"Mr. Fenton," said the Earl, "His Majesty would speak with you," and
Walter, whose heart trembled from the depth of his emotions, grounded
his musquet, and, kneeling before James, placed in his hands the
long-treasured despatch of Dundee, and the Dutch standard of Mackay's
regiment.
"My brave Dundee!" exclaimed James, in a low voice, as he kissed and
perused the brief letter which had been hurriedly penned amid the
agonies of death; "'tis stained with his loyal and noble blood! Oh!
never had a king a subject more devoted, more loyal, or more true!
Accept my thanks, young gentleman, for the services you have
performed, the valour you have displayed, and the fidelity you
evince; accept my thanks, for misfortune has left me nothing else
wherewith to reward the faithful and the brave, who have followed me
to exile and obscurity. This standard I will retain; one day,
perhaps, in Holyrood or Windsor, I may replace it in your hands with
such rewards as a king alone can give."
Walter strove to speak, but his voice failed him, on which Lord
Dunbarton said,--
"Like his brothers in misfortune, my young friend seeks no other
reward than the honour of serving your Majesty, and the satisfaction
of doing that which is right."
The King drew his sword.
"What is your name, Sir!" he asked.
"Fenton--Walter Fenton, of Dunbarton's Foot."
"No kinsman, I hope, of Fenton of that ilk, who is so active in his
treason against us?"
"Alas, no!" replied Walter, colouring in painful humility; "may it
please your Majesty I am but a poor protegée of the noble Dunbarton.
I know not my family, my name, or my origin."
"It matters not--I shall render honour to all who deserve it; arise
_Sir_ Walter Fenton, Knight Banneret--of this power, at least, my son
William cannot deprive me."
Startled by the suddenness of the action, Walter, whose heart leaped
within him at the words of the King, could only kiss his hand and
resume his place in the ranks of his cavalier comrades, who with
difficulty repressed a shout of applause. Walter felt giddy and
confused; the King still seemed to be addressing him.
The temporary excitement which had led James through this painful
interview, now passed away, and his features became overclouded with
a sad and bitter expression, as he went slowly along the line asking
each officer his name, inserting it in his note book, and returning
him personal thanks. Meanwhile the troop of huntsmen, equerries, and
whippers-in, with their packs of panting-hounds, were grouped about
the terrace, and quite forgotten in the excitement of this sorrowful
review.
"Your name, Sir--yesterday you were at my levée in a garb more
suitable to your rank," said James, to a tall and very handsome man,
whose fashionably curled wig consorted ill with the coarse looped hat
and plain blue coat of a French musqueteer; "your name, Sir, if you
please?"
"John Ogilvie, of the house of Airly--late a captain in your
Majesty's Life Guard."
"Sir, I thank you--the day may come when you shall command that Life
Guard," replied James, writing down his name; "and yours, Sir?" he
asked of the next.
"Grant of Dunlugais--a captain of Mar's Fusiliers."
"Then you have lost an estate in my service?"
"I have lost nothing that I can regret in such a cause."
"May I live to requite it! 'Tis an ancient house, and one of
unblemished honour. Are you Catholic?"
"No, I am a Presbyterian."
"Then the greater honour is due to you for disinterested loyalty.
And yours, Sir?"
"Douglas of Finland--a lieutenant under the Lord Dunbarton."
"Another forfeiture!" exclaimed James, striking his breast; "and
yours, Sir?"
"Drumquhasel--first major to the same noble earl," replied the tali
cavalier, on whose breast sparkled the cross of St. Louis.
"Another, and another! Oh, gentlemen, your sufferings and your
losses, your loyalty and your truth--God may requite them adequately,
but I never can!" exclaimed James, in a troubled voice, and when he
had inserted the names of the whole hundred and fifty in his note
book, he moved again to the front, and taking off his hat, bowed
profoundly with an air in which thankfulness and respect were
exquisitely blended with dignity and majesty. He then retired
pensively towards the palace; but painfully aware of the misery of
those who suffered for him, and still unwilling to leave them, with
sensations too deep for utterance, the unhappy King returned once
more, and bowing to them again and again, covered his face with his
handkerchief, and burst into tears. Animated by one sympathetic
impulse, the whole line sank at once upon their knees and bowed their
heads; the spirit of many a brave man was subdued; several wept, and
there was not an unmoistened eye among them. The King, in
particular, was deeply affected; his sobs were audible; and again
removing his hat, he raised his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, in the
words of the last chapter of Lamentations,--
"Remember, O Lord, what is come upon us! Consider and behold our
reproach! _Our inheritance is returned to strangers--our houses to
aliens!_"
He repeatedly smote himself upon the breast in an energetic fashion
he had acquired among the Jesuits, who had been too much about him
for his own fortune; and a long pause succeeded, until Lord Dunbarton
gave for the last time the word of command. The Scottish officers
resumed their aspect of steadiness and order, and marched past the
King, whom nearly all of them were fated to behold no more; for death
on the field, disease in the camp, poverty and despair, did their
work surely and rapidly, and few of that brave but forlorn band ever
returned from the frontiers of Spain.
From Versailles this company of unfortunate cavaliers received an
order to join the army of Mareschal Noailles; and, next day, they set
out from St. Germain, on their long and weary march of nine hundred
miles, which they performed on foot, heavily accoutred, bearing their
own camp-kettles and equipages, and accompanied by miseries and
mortifications that baffle all description; but which, by the
indomitable spirit and ardour that animated them, they seldom failed
to surmount.
Louis of France was now plunged in a war, into which his mistaken
policy had hurried him. In a long persecution of the unhappy
Protestants, he had weakened his kingdom by the expatriation of
thousands of his best and most industrious subjects, who wandered as
refugees throughout other countries, and justly inflamed all Europe
against him. To crush him, there had been formed at Augsburg a
powerful league, to which the whole empire of Germany, Spain,
Holland, Savoy, Sweden, and Denmark were parties; but, in no way
daunted, he anticipated this great confederation by invading the
empire and laying siege to Philipsburg. The recent revolution in
England had given a new turn to this religious war, and Ireland
became the theatre of a contest which ended on the banks of the
Boyne, where William triumphed over his unfortunate father-in-law.
It may be that the great expenses of the war in which he was now
involved prevented Louis XIV. from remunerating adequately to their
merit the officers of Dundee's army; but when they joined the
standard of Noailles on the Spanish frontier, they were in a state of
lamentable destitution and misery. The coarse uniform in which they
had marched from St. Germain was worn to rags; they were shoeless,
shirtless, and emaciated by hardships, privations, and want of the
most common necessaries of life; for by the selfishness and duplicity
of individuals to whom their little commissariat was entrusted, they
were cheated of their poor supplies, the few presents the generous
had sent them, and even of a small pittance (a few pence daily) which
James, amid all his own necessities, endeavoured to pay them; yet
they were never known to utter a complaint, for the misfortunes of
their sovereign pressed heavier on their hearts than their own.
Wherever they marched they were beheld with pity and remembered with
sorrow. The kind ladies of Perpignan presented them with a purse
containing 200 pistoles, and bought all their rings as relics of _les
officiers Ecossais_. "Wherever they passed they were received with
tears by the women and admiration by the men. They were the foremost
in the battle, and the last in retreat, and of all the troops in the
service of France they were most obedient to orders."
There is nothing in the history of ancient or modern times to equal
their admirable bearing, heroic ardour, and devoted loyalty. They
endured the most severe humiliation and privations without uttering a
murmur, and performed actions of heroism outdoing the deeds of
romance; for to their inborn daring was united a spirit of
desperation, and a longing to be honorably rid of a life that was
without a charm and without a ray of hope.
The French were touched by their misfortunes and sufferings; a
universal shout rent the camp of Noailles on their marching into it,
and with that generosity which is so characteristic of soldiers, the
chevaliers and officers immediately subscribed for them, each
furnishing shirts, clothing, and money, and none was more liberal
with his purse than the noble Mareschal himself; but even of these
presents the unhappy Scots officers were cheated by the villany of
one to whom they were entrusted, and thus the kind efforts to
alleviate their miseries failed.
On the route to Catalonia, near Montpelier, when fording a mountain
torrent swollen by the recent rains, Walter Fenton and three other
cavaliers were swept away. Catching hold of some alders that
overhung the bank, they kept themselves above the current, and called
on the peasantry to save them. It is related, that though hundreds
were there looking on, they never offered the least assistance, but
mocked and jibed them in barbarous Catalonian French, while waiting
coolly until they were drowned, that they might possess their money,
clothes, and arms. But after great toil and danger they were rescued
by their comrades.
They were never seen on the field but with their faces to the enemy.
On every desperate duty and forlorn hope they led the way, and often
too where others dared not _follow_. Death and disease rapidly
thinned their ranks, but their ardour never failed, and had the
invisible spirit of the fierce Dundee led them as of old, they could
not have surpassed the deeds they achieved and the glory they
acquired. On Rosas surrendering,
"_Senor Mariscal_," said the Spanish governor, "what soldiers were
those who assailed the breach so valiantly?"
"_Ces sont mes enfans_," replied Noailles, smiling; "they are my
children--the King of Britain's Scottish officers, who share his
obscurity and exile, and do me the honor to serve under my command."
"By St. James! _they alone_ have compelled me to surrender," replied
the noble Spaniard.
They marched from Rosas to Piscador, and, of an army of 26,000 men,
16,000 perished by the way-side of privation. Twice only the
Scottish officers were known to disobey orders. The first occasion
was at the siege of Rosas, an ancient and well fortified city,
situated upon a gulf about twelve miles from Girona. The air was
intensely hot, and the water muddy and unwholesome; the only rations
of the Scots officers were horse-beans, garlic, and sardinas; they
were utterly penniless, and could procure no better food,
consequently deadly fevers and fluxes rapidly thinned their ranks,
upon which Mareschal Noailles ordered them to leave the camp for the
purpose of cantoning in a more healthy locality; but they delayed to
obey, and sent Sir Walter Fenton to acquaint him that they
"considered his order as an affront put upon them as soldiers of
fortune and gentlemen of honour."
The second instance was when a strong body of German troops had made
a lodgement on an island in the Rhine, from which it was necessary to
force them; the Marquis de Selle ordered a number of boats to be
prepared, under an impression that the river was too deep and rapid
to be fordable, and the Scottish officers were to lead the way, but
were not to move until orders were given to embark. Finding it
impossible to restrain their ardour till the arrival of the boats,
they slung their musquets and prepared to cross.
"Come on, Walter!" exclaimed the brave Douglas as he led the way,
"and we will shew these gay chevaliers of France that we, who have
forded the rapid Spey and rocky Forth, need not shrink on the margin
of the Rhine. Join hands, gentlemen Scots; forward! and I will lead
you to the dance. Hurrah!"
Hand in hand, in the Highland fashion, with their musquets slung,
they threw themselves into the rapid and impetuous stream, where
between jagged rocks it urged its foamy way over a slippery and stony
bed; and thus breaking its force they stemmed the current, and,
though under a fierce cannonade and storm of musquet balls poured on
them from the rocks of the islet, they forced the dangerous passage
in the view of both armies; the Laird of Drumquhasel and Captain
Ogilvie* were shot dead; but, led on by Finland, the Scottish
officers scaled the rocks, and assailing ten times their number of
Germans with screwed bayonets and clubbed musquets, drove them from
their intrenchments into the Rhine on the other side of the island,
and reared the French standard on its summit.
* Captain Ogilvie was author of a song, which is preserved in Hogg's
Jacobite reliques,--"_Adieu for evermore._"
"By St. Denis!" exclaimed the Marquis de Selle, "His the bravest
action soldiers ever performed!"
"_Vive les officiers Ecossais!_" cried the French soldiers. "_Le
gentilhomme est toujours gentilhomme_;" and to this day, in memory of
the Scottish valour, the place is named
L'ISLE D'ECOSSE.