THE PREACHER.
A stranger, and a slave, unknown like him,
Proposing much means little;--talks and vows,
Delighted with the prospect of a change,
He promised to redeem ten Christians more,
And free us all from slavery.
ZARA.
On the succession of James VII. to the throne, the persecution of the
covenanters by the civil authorities, and by the troops under Dalzel,
Claverhouse, Lag, and officers of their selection, was waged without
pity or remorse, and the mad rage which had disgraced the government
of the preceding reign, was still poured forth on the poor peasantry,
who were hunted from hill to wood, and from moss to cavern, by the
cavalry employed in riding down the country, until by banishment,
imprisonment, famine, torture, the sword, and the scaffold,
presbyterianism was likely to be crushed altogether; but an odium was
raised, and a hatred fostered, against the Scottish ministry of the
House of Stuart, which is yet felt keenly in the pastoral districts,
where the deeds of those days are still spoken of with bitterness and
reprehension.
The parliament of Scotland was presided over by the Duke of
Queensbury, a base time-server: it appeared devoted to the new
sovereign, and declared him vested with solid and absolute authority,
in which none could participate, and had promised him the whole array
of the realm, between the ages of sixteen and sixty, whenever he
should require their services. Notwithstanding these and similar
loyal and liberal offers, there existed a strong faction intensely
averse to the rule of a Catholic king; and though only three years
before Archibald, Earl of Argyle, and the equally unfortunate Duke of
Monmouth, had both perished in a futile attempt to preserve the civil
and religious liberties of the land, the unsubdued Presbyterians were
still intriguing with Holland, and concerting measures with William
Prince of Orange, for a descent on the British shores, the expulsion
of James by force of arms, and thus breaking the legitimate
succession of the Crown. Suspicion of these plots, and the intended
invasion, had called forth all the fury and tyranny of the Scottish
ministry against those whom they supposed to be inimical to the then
existing state of things.
A certain covenanting preacher of some celebrity, the Reverend Mr.
Ichabod Bummel, and a man of a very different stamp, Captain Quentin
Napier, (an officer of the Scottish Brigade in the service of the
States-General,) both supposed to be emissaries of the Prince of
Orange, were known to be concealed in the house of Bruntisfield, the
residence of Lady Grizel Napier, widow of Sir Archibald of the
Wrytes, a brave commander of cavalier troops, who had fallen in the
Battle of Inverkeithing. Unluckily for herself the old lady was a
kinswoman of the intercommuned traitor, Patrick Hume, "umquhile
designate of Polworth," to use the legal and malevolent phraseology
of the day; and consequently, notwithstanding the loyalty of her
husband, the eyes of that stern tribunal, which ruled the Scottish
Lowlands with a rod of iron, had been long upon her. And now,
attended by a macer of Council, bearing a warrant of search and
arrest, a party of soldiers were approaching her mansion.
An archway, the piers of which were surmounted by two great stone
eagles in full flight, each bearing a lance aloft, gave admittance to
the long avenue that curved round the eminence on which the mansion
stood. As the soldiers entered, the measured tap of a distant drum
was borne from the city on the passing night-wind, and announced the
hour of ten.
Thick dark beeches and darker oaks waved over them; the gigantic
reliques of the great forest of Drumsheugh, beneath whose shade in
the days of other years, the savage wolf, the stately elk, the
bristly boar, and the magnificent white bull of ancient Caledonia,
had roamed in all the glory of unbounded freedom, on the site now
occupied by the Scottish capital.
The blustering wind of March swept through their leafless branches,
and whirled the last year's leaves along the lonely and grass-grown
avenue, a turn of which brought the detachment at once in front of
the mansion.
The Wrytes-house, or Castle of Bruntisfield, was a high and narrow
edifice, built in that striking and peculiar style of architecture
which has again become so common--the old Scottish. It was several
stories in height, and had steep corbie-stoned gables with little
round turrets at every angle, a lofty circular tower terminating in a
slated spire, numerous dormer windows, the acute gablets of which
were surmounted by thistles, rosettes, crescents, and stars. Every
casement was strongly grated, and the tall fantastic outline of the
mansion rose from the old woodlands against the murky sky in a dark
opaque mass, as the soldiers passed the barbican gate, and found
themselves close to the oak-door, which closed the central tower.
The night was still and dark; at times a red star gleamed tremulously
amid the flying vapour, or a ray of moonlight cast a long and silvery
line of radiance across the beautiful sheet of water to the eastward.
The turret-vanes, and old ancestral oaks creaked mournfully in the
rising wind, and the venerable rooks that occupied their summits
croaked and screamed in concert.
"A noble old mansion!" said Walter Fenton; "and if tradition says
truly, was built by our gallant James IV. for one of his frail fair
ones."
"It dates as far back as the days of the first Stuart, and men say,
Walter, that its founder was William de Napier, a stark warrior of
King Robert II.; but fair though the mansion, and broad the lands
around it, the greedy gleds of our council-board will soon rend all
piecemeal. Soldiers, blow your matches, and give all who attempt to
escape a prick of the hog's-bristle."
The musqueteers cautiously surrounded the lofty edifice, resistance
to the death being an every-day occurrence--but the windows remained
dark, and the vast old manor-house exhibited no sign of life, save
where between the half-parted shutters of a thickly-grated window a
ray of flaky light streamed into the obscurity without. To this
opening the curious macer immediately applied his legal eye, and
cried in a loud whisper,
"Look ye here, Sirs, and behauld the godly Maister Ichabod himsel'
sitting in the cosiest neuk o' the ingle between the auld lady and
her kinswoman. Hech! a gallows'-looking buckie he is as ever skirled
a psalm in the muirlands, or testified at the Bowfoot, wi' a St.
Johnstoun cravat round his whaislin craig."
"Silence!" said Fenton in an agitated voice, as, clutching the haft
of his poniard, he applied his face to the barred window; "silence,
wretch, or I will trounce thee!" and the scowling macer could
perceive that his colour came and went, and that his eye sparkled
with vivacity as he took a rapid survey of the apartment. "Fool,
fool!" he muttered, as a cracked voice was heard singing
"I like ane owle in desart am,
That nichtlie there doth moan;
I like unto ane sparrow am,
On the house-top alone."
"The true sough o' the auld conventicle," said the bluff old
sergeant, merrily. "Hark your honours, the game's afoot."
According to the rank of the house and the fashion of the present
time, the room which Fenton surveyed would be deemed small for a
principal or state apartment; but it was richly decorated with a
stuccoed ceiling, divided into deep compartments, as the walls were
by wainscotting, but in the pannels of the latter were numerous
anomalous paintings of scenery, scripture pieces, armorial bearings,
and the quaint devices of the Scoto-Italian school. An old ebony
buffet laden with glittering crystal and shining plate massively
embossed. The furniture was ancient, richly carved, and dark with
time; stark, high-backed chairs with red leather cushions, and tables
supported by lions legs and wyverns heads. The floor was richly
carpeted around the arched fire-place, where a bright fire of coals
and roots burned cheerily, while the grotesque iron fire-dogs around
which the fuel was piled, were glowing almost red-hot, and the blue
ware of Delft that lined the recess, reflected the kindly warmth on
all sides. The ponderous fire-irons were chained to the stone
jambs--a necessary precaution in such an age; and on a stone shield
appeared the blazon of the Napiers: _argent_, a saltire, engrailed,
between four roses, _gules_, and an eagle in full flight, with the
lance and motto, "_Aye ready_." A tall portrait of Sir Archibald
Napier in the dark armour of Charles the First's age, appeared above
it.
A young lady sat near the fire-place, and on her the attention of the
handsome eavesdropper became immediately rivetted. Her face was of a
very delicate cast of beauty; her bright blue eyes were expressive of
the utmost vivacity, as her short upper lip and dimpled chin were of
archness and wit. The fairness, the purity of her complexion was
dazzling, and her glittering hair of the brightest auburn, fell in
massive locks on her white neck and stiff collar of starched lace. A
string of Scottish pearls alone confined them, and they rolled over
her shoulders in soft profusion, adding to the grace of her round and
beautiful figure, which the hideous length of her long stomacher, and
the volume of her ample skirt could not destroy. She was Lilian
Napier.
Opposite sat her grand-aunt, Lady Grizel, a tall, stately, and at
first sight, grim old dame, as stiff as a tremendous boddice, a skirt
of the heaviest brocade, the hauteur of the age, and an inborn sense
of much real and more imaginary dignity, could make her. Frizzled
with the nicest care, her lint-white locks were all drawn upwards,
thus adding to the dignity of her noble features, though withered by
care and blanched by time; and the healthy bloom of the young girl
near her made the contrast between them greater: it was the summer
and the winter of life contrasted. Lady Grizel's forehead was high,
her nose decidedly aquiline, her eyes grey and keen, her brows a
perfect arch. Though less in stature, and softer in feature, her
kinswoman strongly resembled her; and though one was barely eighteen,
and the other bordering on eighty, their dresses were quite the same;
their gorgeously flowered brocades, their vandyked cuffs, high
collars, and red-heeled shoes, were all similar.
As was natural in so young a man, Walter Fenton remarked only the
younger lady, whose quick, small hands toyed with a flageolet, and a
few leaves of music, while her more industrious grand-aunt was busily
urging a handsome spinning-wheel, the silver and ivory mountings of
which flashed in the light of the fire, as it sped round and round.
Close at her feet lay an aged staghound, that raised its head and
erected its bristles at times, as if aware that foes were nigh.
There was such an air of happiness and domestic comfort in that noble
old chamber-of-dais, that the young volunteer felt extremely loth to
be one of those who should disturb it; but fairly opposite the
glowing fire, in the most easy chair in the room, (a great cushioned
one, valanced round with silken bobs,) sat he of whom they were in
search, and whom the macer had pronounced so worthy of martyrdom.
He was a spare but athletic man, above the middle height; his blue
bonnet hung on a knob of his chair, and his straight dark hair hung
in dishevelled masses around his lean, lank visage, and sallow neck.
His face was gaunt, with red and prominent cheek-bones; his eyes
intensely keen, penetrating, and generally unsettled in expression.
He wore clerical bands falling over that part of his heavily skirted
and wide-cuffed coat, where lapelles would have been had such been
the fashion of the day; his breeches and spatterdashes were of rusty
grey cloth; his large eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, and his hands
were clasped on his left knee. When he spoke his whole face seemed
to be convulsed by a spasm.
"Maiden," said he, reproachfully, "and ye will not accompany me in
the godly words of Andro Hart's Scottish metre?"
"Think of the danger of being overheard, Mr. Bummel," urged the young
lady. "I will sing you my new song, the _Norlan' Harp_."
"Name it not, maiden, for thy profane songs sound as abomination in
my ears!"
Lilian Napier laughed merrily, and all her white teeth glittered like
pearls.
"Fair as thou art to look upon, maiden, and innocent withal, the fear
grieves me that ye are one of the backsliders of this sinful
generation. Thy 'Norlan' Harp' quotha? Know that there is no harp
save that of Zion, whilk is a lyre of treble refined gold. What
saith the sacred writ,--'Is any among ye afflicted, let him pray. Is
any merrie, let him _sing psalmes_.'"
"I wot it would be but sad merriment," laughed the young lady.
"Peace, Lilian," said grand-aunt Grizel, while the solemn divine
fidgetted in his chair, and hemmed gruffly, preparatory to returning
to the charge.
"Maiden, when thou hast perused my forthcoming discourse, whilk is
entitled, '_A Bombshell aimed at the tail of the Great Beast_,' and
whilk, please God, shall be imprinted when I can procure ink and
irons from Holland (that happy Elysium of the faithful), thou shalt
there see in words of fire the straight and narrow path, contrasted
with the broad but dangerous way that leadeth to the sea of flame:
and therein will I shew thee, and all that are yet in darkness, that
the four animals in the Vision of Daniel hieroglyphically represent
four empires, Rome, Persia, Grecia, and Babylonia, and that the man
of sin, the antichrist, and the scarlet harlot of Babylon----"
At that moment the stag-hound barked and howled furiously, upon which
the preacher's voice died away in a quaver, and his upraised hand
sank powerless by his side.
"The dog howls eerily," said the old lady, "Gude sain us! that
foretells death--and far-seen folk say that dumb brutes can see him
enter the house when a departure is about to happen."
"--And further," continued the preacher incoherently, when his
confusion had somewhat subsided: "I will show thee that the blessing
of Heaven will descend upon the men of the Covenant--"
"Yea," chimed in Lady Grizel, "and upon their children--"
"Even unto the third and fourth generation."
"My honoured husband was as true a cavalier as ever wore buff," said
Lady Grizel, striking her cane emphatically on the floor; "but some
of my dearest kinsmen have shed bluid for the other side, and I can
think kindly o' baith."
"But if the King," urged Lilian; "if the King should permit--"
"Maiden!" cried Mr. Bummel, in a shrill and stern voice; "mean ye the
bloody and papistical Duke James, who, contrary to religion and to
law, hath usurped the throne of this unhappy land--that throne from
which (as I show in my _Bombshell_) justice hath debarred him--that
throne from the steps of which the blood of God's children, the
blessed sancts of our oppressed and martyred Kirk, rolls down on
every hand! But the hour cometh, Lilian, when it is written, that he
shall perish, and a new religious and political millenium will dawn
on these persecuted kingdoms. On one hand we have the power of the
horned beast that sitteth upon seven hills, and her best beloved son
James, with his thumbscrews, the iron boots and gory maiden,--the
savage Amorites of the Highland hills--who go bare-legged to
battle--yea, maiden, naked as the heretical Adamites of
Bohemia--those birds of Belial, the soldiers of Dunbarton--those kine
of Bashan, the troopers of Claverse, of Lag and Dalyel, the fierce
Muscovite cannibal--in England the _lambs_ of Kirke, and the gallows
of the Butcher Jeffreys--a sea of blood, of darkness, death, and
horror! But lo! on the other hand, behold ye the dawn of a new morn
of peace, of love, and mercy; when the exile shall be restored to his
hearth, and the doomed shall be snatched from the scaffold--for he
cometh, at whose approach the doors of a thousand dungeons shall fly
open, the torch of rapine be extinguished, the sword of the
persecutor sheathed, and when the flowers shall bloom, and the grass
grow green on the lonely graves of our ten thousand martyrs.
Yea--he, the Saviour--William of Orange!"
The eyes of Ichabod Bummel filled with fire and enthusiasm as he
spoke; the crimson glowed in his sallow cheek--the intonations of his
voice alternated between a whistle and a growl, and with his hands
clenched above his head, he concluded this outburst, which gave great
uneasiness and even terror to the old lady, though Lilian smiled with
ill-concealed merriment.
"You have all heard this tirade of treason and folly?" said Douglas
to his soldiers.
"Hech me!" ejaculated the macer, drawing a long breath; "it is enough
to hang, draw, and quarter a haill parochin, I think."
"The Dutch rebel!" exclaimed Douglas, whose loyalty was fired.
"Soldiers! look well that none escape by the windows; close up, my
'birds of Belial;' and, harkee, Sergeant Wemyss, tirl at the pin
there."
The risp rung, and the door resounded beneath the blows of the
halberdier. Lilian shrieked, Lady Grizel grew pale, and all the
blood left the cheeks of the poor preacher, save the two scarlet
spots on his cheek-bones.
"Woe is me!" he shouted; "for, lo! the Philistines are upon me!"
"The Guards of Pontius Pilate, he means," said the soldiers, as they
gave a reckless laugh.
A shutter flew open, and the fair face of Lilian Napier, with all her
bright hair waving around it, appeared for a moment gazing into the
obscurity without.
"Soldiers! soldiers!" she screamed, as the light fell on corslets and
accoutrements. "O! Aunt Grizel, we are ruined, disgraced, and
undone for ever!"