THE OLD CLOCKCASE.
In the meanwhile
The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre
In the accuser's scale, ere he can know
How justice shall incline it.
THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY.
The entrance to the mansion was by the narrow tower already
described, and which contained what is called in Scotland the
Turnpike, a spiral stair, turning sharply round on its axis. The
small doorway was heavily moulded, and ornamented above by a mossy
coat armorial, the saltire and four roses. The door was of massive
oak, covered with a profusion of iron studs, and furnished with two
eyelet holes, through which visitors could be reconnoitred, or, if
necessary, favoured with a dose of musketry.
"What graceless runions are you, that knock in this way, and sae near
the deid hour of the nicht, too?" asked the querulous voice of old
John Leekie, the gardener, while two rays of streaming light through
the eylets imparted to the doorway the aspect of some gigantic
visage, of which the immense risp was the nose.
"Gae wa' in peace," added the venerable butler, in a very blustering
voice, "or bide to face the waur!"
"Open, rascals!" cried the sergeant, "or we will set the four corners
of the house on fire."
"Doubtless, my bauld buckie," chuckled the old serving-man; "but the
wa's are thick, and the winnocks weel grated, and we gaed a stronger
band o' the English Puritans their kail through the reek in the year
saxteen-hunderd-and-fifty." The over-night potations of the aged
vassals had endued them with a courage unusual at that time, when a
whole village trembled at the sight of a soldier.
"Wha are ye, sirs!" queried the butler, Mr. Drouthy; "wha are ye?"
"Those who are empowered to storm the house if its barriers are not
opened forthwith!" replied the sonorous voice of Douglas; "so, up!
varlets! and be doing, for the soldiers of the King cannot bide your
time."
The only reply to this was a smothered exclamation of fear from
various female voices within, and the clank of one or two additional
heavy bolts being shot into their places; and then succeeded the
clatter of various slippers and high-heeled shoes, as the household
retreated up the steep turnpike in great dismay.
"Now, ye dyvour loons!" cried the old butler, from a shot-hole,
"we'll gie ye a taste o' the Cromwell days, if ye dinna mak' toom the
barbican in five minutes. Lads," he continued, as if speaking to men
behind, although, save the old and equally intoxicated gardener, the
whole household were women; "lads, tak' the plugs frae the
loop-holes. John Leekie, burn a light in the north turret, and in a
crack we'll hae our chields frae the grange wi' pitchfork, pike, and
caliver. Awa' to the vaults and bartizan--blaw your coals, and fire
cannily when I tout my old hunting horn."
These orders caused a muttering among the soldiers, who were quite
unprepared to find the house garrisoned and ready for resistance. An
additional puffing of gun-matches ensued, and all eyes were bent to
the turrets and those parts which were battlemented; but no man
appeared therein or thereon, and the thundering was renewed at the
door with great energy. Suddenly the bolts were withdrawn, the door
revolved slowly on its hinges, and the musqueteers who were about to
rush in, hung back with mingled indecision and respect.
In the doorway stood Lady Grizel Napier, leaning on her long
walking-cane; her dark-grey eyes lit up with indignation, and her
forehead, though marked by the furrows of eighty years, still
expressive of dignity and determination; nearly six feet in height,
erect and stately as lace and brocade could make her, she was the
belle ideal of an old Scottish matron. She wore on the summit of her
frizzled hair a little coif of widow-hood, which she had never laid
aside since her husband was slain at Inverkeithing; and the
circumstance of his having died by a Puritan's hand alone made her
somewhat cold in the cause of the Covenant. Her retinue of female
servitors crowded fearfully behind her, and by her side appeared the
silver-haired butler, armed with a huge partisan, while a battered
morion covered his head, as it often had done in many a tough day's
work; and behind him staggered the old gardener, armed with a
watering-pan, and a steel cap with the peak behind.
"Gentlemen," said the old lady, in a tone of great asperity, while
striking her long cane thrice on the doorstep, and all her frills
seemed to ruffle with indignation like the feathers of a swan;
"Gentlemen, what want ye at this untimeous hour? Know ye not that
this is a house whilk we are entitled by Crown charter to fortify and
defend, as well against domestic enemies as foreign! and methinks it
is a daring act, and a graceless to boot, to march with cocked
matches, and bodin in array of war on the bounds of a lone auld woman
like me. By my faith, in the days of my honoured Sir Archibald, ye
had gone off our barony faster than ye came, king's soldiers though
ye be."
"Excuse us, madam," replied Douglas, lowering his rapier, and bowing
with a peculiar grace which then was only to be acquired by service
in France: "we have a warrant from the Lords of his Majesty's Privy
Council, to arrest the persons of a certain Captain Napier, of a
Scots Dutch regiment, and the Reverend Mr. Ichabod Bummel, who are
accused of being treasonable emissaries of the
States-General--intercommuned traitors, and now concealed in your
mansion. Your Ladyship must be aware that implicit obedience is the
soldier's first duty: surrender unto us these guilty men, otherwise
your house must be ransacked by my soldiers,--a severe humiliation,
which I would willingly spare the baronial mansion of a dame of
honour, more especially when I remember the rank and loyal service of
her husband."
"Gude keep us, Laird of Finland," replied the old lady, trembling
violently and leaning on her cane. "O what dool is this that hath
come upon us at last? My dream--my dream--it forewarned me of this:
as the rhyme saith--
"A Friday nicht's grue
On the Saturday tauld,
Is sure to come true,
Be it never sae auld."
"On my honour--nae such persons--I protest to you----"
"Enough, Lady Grizel," replied Douglas, with a little hauteur;
"positively we must spare you the trouble, if not the shame, of
making those unavailing but humiliating assertions, which the laws of
humanity and hospitality require. The sooner this affair is over the
better--we crave your pardon, madam, but the king's service is
paramount. Serjeant Wemyss, guard the door--follow me,
Walter--forward, soldiers, and I will unearth this clerical fox!"
Rushing past Lady Grizel, while the startled household fled before
them, the musqueteers pressed forward into the chamber-of-dais; but
the Reverend Mr. Bummel had vanished, and no trace remained of him,
save his ample blue bonnet, with its red cherry or tuft, and Walter
Fenton was certainly not the last to perceive that the young lady had
disappeared also.
"Search the whole house, from roof-tree to foundations," exclaimed
Douglas; "cut down all who make the least resistance; but on your
lives beware of plunder or destruction--away!"
A violent and unscrupulous search was made forthwith; every curtain,
every bed and pannel were pierced by swords and daggers; every press,
bunker, and girnel--the turrets and all the innumerable nooks and
corners of the old house were searched. Every lockfast place was
blown open by musket-balls, and thirty stentorian voices summoned the
miserable preacher "to come forth;" but he was nowhere to be found.
Pale and trembling between terror and indignation, propped on her
long cane, the old lady stood under her baronial canopy on the dais
of the dining-hall, listening to the uproar that rang through all the
stone-vaults, wainscotted chambers, and long corridors of her
mansion, and regarding Richard Douglas and his friend the young
volunteer, with glances of pride and hostility.
Walter Fenton coloured deeply, and appeared both agitated and
confused; but Douglas coolly and collectedly leaned against the
buffet, toying with the knot of his rapier, and drinking a cup of
wine to Lady Bruntisfield's health, helping himself from the buffet
uninvited.
"Lady Grizel," said he, "by surrendering up these foolish and guilty
men, whom, contrary to law, you have harboured and resetted within
your barony, you may considerably avert the wrath of the already
incensed Council."
"Never, Sir! never will I be guilty of such a breach of hospitality
and honour. Bethink ye, Sirs, the Captain Napier is my sister's son,
and it would ill become a Scottish dame to prove false to her ain
blude. The minister, though but a gomeral body, is his friend--one
of those whom the people deem exiled and persecuted for Christ's
sake--ye may hew me to pieces with your partisans, but never would I
yield a fugitive to the tortures and executioners of that bluidy and
infamous Council." And to give additional force to her words, Lady
Grizel as usual struck the floor thrice with her cane.
"Lady Bruntisfield," said Walter Fenton, gently, "beware lest our
soldiers, or that dog the macer overhear you."
"Glorious canary this!" muttered the Lieutenant, apostrophizing the
silver mug--"hum--I believe your ladyship is a Presbyterian."
"Though unused to be catechised by soldiers," replied the dame,
drawing herself up with great dignity, "I acknowledge what all my
neighbours know. I am Presbyterian, thank God, and so are all my
household, who never miss a sabbath at kirk or meeting; and our
minister is one, who having complied with the government regulations,
hath an indulgence to preach."
"This applies not to the spy of that rogue William of Orange--this
pious Ichabod, whom we must hale forth by the lugs at every risk."
"Never before was I suspected of disloyalty to the Scottish Crown,"
said Lady Grizel, sobbing, "and now in my auld and donnart days, with
ane foot in the grave, it's hard to thole, Sirs--it's hard to thole.
How often hae these hands, wrinkled now, and withered though they be,
laced steel cap, greave and corslet, on my buirdly husband and his
three fair sons. Ehwhow, Sirs! how often hae my very heart pulses
died away with the clang o' their horses' hoofs in yonder avenue.
Ane fell at Dumbar--another in his stirrups at the sack of Dundee,
and my fair-haired Archy, my youngest and my best beloved, the apple
o' my e'e, was shot deid by the side of his dying father, on the
field of Inverkeithing. Save my sister's grandchild, all I loved
have gone before me to God--but though my heart be seared, and my
bower desolate, O Laird of Finland, this disgrace is harder to thole
than a' I hae tholed in my time."
Touched with her sorrow, Walter Fenton and Finland approached her;
but ere they could speak, a dismal voice, that seemed to ascend from
the profundity of some vast tun, was heard to sing, "I like an owle
in desert am," &c., and the verse was scarcely concluded when the
officer burst into a violent fit of laughter.
"O, ye fule man!" exclaimed the old lady, shaking her cane
wrathfully: "ye have ruined yoursel' and the House of Bruntisfield
too!"
"Where the devil is he?" said Douglas. "Ah, there must be some
pannel here," he added, knocking on the wainscot with the pommel of
his sword.
"He is not very far off, your honour," said the macer approaching,
pushing his bonnet on one side, and scratching his head with an air
of vulgar drollery and perplexity. "I'll wager ye a score o' broad
pieces, Finland, that I howk out the tod in a moment."
"Then do so," said Douglas, haughtily, "but first, you irreverend
knave, doff your bonnet in the Lady Bruntisfield's presence."
"There is something queer about this braw Flanders wag-at-the-wa',"
said the macer, approaching a clock, the case of which formed part of
the wainscotting. It was violently shaken, and emitted a hollow
groan. The macer opened the narrow pannel, and revealed the poor
preacher coiled up within, in great spiritual and bodily tribulation,
and half stifled by want of air. His face was almost black, his eyes
bloodshot, and his features sharpened by an expression of delirious
terror bordering on the ludicrous.
"Dolt and fool!" exclaimed Walter, "what fiend tempted ye to rant
thus within earshot of us?"
"Gadso, I think the varlet's mad," said Douglas, laughing. "Dost
think we will eat thee, fellow?"
"Mad!--I hope so, for the sake of this noble lady."
"And the marrow in his bones, Fenton."
"Come awa, my man," said the macer, making him a mock bow; "use your
shanks while the ungodly Philistines will let you. Ye'll no walk
just sae weel after you have tried on the braw buits my Lord
Chancellor keeps for such pious gentlemen as you."
"From these sons of blood and Belial, good Lord deliver me!"
ejaculated the poor man, turning up his hollow eyes, as he was
dragged forth; "ye devouring wolves, I demand your warrant for what
ye do?"
"Macer--your warrant?" said Douglas.
Unfolding the slip of paper, the worthy official now reverentially
took off his bonnet, and in a sing-song voice drawled forth--
"I, Michael Maclutchy, macer to the Privy Council of Scotland, by
virtue _of_, and conform _to_, the principal letters raised at ye
instance of Maister Roderick Mackenzie, Advocat-Depute to Sir David
Dalrymple, His Majesty's Advocat, summon, warn, and charge _you_, the
said Reverend Mr. Hugh--otherwise Ichabod Bummel--is that richt,
friend?"
"Yea--I was so named by my parents Hugh, a heathenish name, whilk in
a better hour I changit to Ichabod, signifying in the Hebrew
tongue--'where is glory?'"
"Weel--weel, mind na the Hebrew--charge you to surrender
peaceably--and sae forth; it's a' there in black and white:
subscribitur _Perth_."
"Fie upon ye!" exclaimed Ichabod, "ye abjurers of the Lord, and
persecutors of his covenanted kirk."
"Away with him!" said Fenton to the soldiers.
"Truly ye are properly clad in scarlet, for it is the garb----"
"Silence, Sir; you make bad worse."
"Of your Babylonian mother."
"Peace!" cried Douglas.
"I liken ye even unto broken reeds----"
"On with the gyves, and away wi' him!" said the serjeant, and the
poor crack-brained enthusiast was unceremoniously handcuffed and
dragged away, pouring a torrent of hard scriptural epithets and
invectives on his captors, and chanting suitable verses from Andro
Hart's book of the _Psalmes_.
Lady Bruntisfield started as he was taken away, and was about to
bestow on him some address of comfort and farewell; but the young
volunteer interposed, saying with great gentleness,
"Pardon me, Lady Grizel--by addressing him you will only compromise
your own safety and honour. O madam, I deeply regret your
involvement in this matter! The Privy Council is not to be trifled
with."
"Madam," observed Douglas, "I believe I have the honour of being not
unknown to you?"
"You are the young Laird of Finland, who wounded my nephew
Quentin----"
"In a duel in Flanders--O yes--ha! ha! we quarrelled about little
Babette of the Hans-in-Kelder, or some folly of that kind. I
acquaint you, madam, with regret, that in consequence of this
trumpeter of rebellion being found resetted here--your whole
family----"
"Alake, Laird, I have only my little grand-niece."
"Your whole household must be considered prisoners until the pleasure
of the Council is known. In the interim," he added in a low voice,
"I hope your kinsman will escape; though he has been no friend of
mine since that time we fought with sword and dagger on the ramparts
of Tournay, I would wish him another fate than a felon's, for a
braver fellow never marched under baton. Meanwhile, Lady
Bruntisfield, I am your servant--adieu;" and bowing until his plume
touched the floor, he withdrew.
Leaving his veteran serjeant, and Walter the volunteer, with twenty
men to keep ward, he returned to the city with his prisoner, who was
immediately consigned to the Iron Room of the Tolbooth.
For a few minutes after his departure Lady Grizel seemed quite
stunned by the dilemma in which she so suddenly found herself. She
had now been joined by Lilian, who hung upon her shoulder weeping;
for the Privy Council of Scotland was a court of religious and
political inquisition, whose name and satellites bore terror
throughout the land.
Sergeant Wemyss posted seven of his musketeers within the barbican,
with orders "to keep all in who were within, and all out who were
so;" after which he withdrew with the remainder to the spacious and
vaulted kitchen, where, as occupying free quarters, they made
themselves quite at home, and crowded round the great wood-fire that
was roaring in the vast archway which spanned one side of the
apartment, joked and toyed with the half-pleased and half-frightened
maids, and compelled the indignant housekeeper (who, with Lady
Grizel's cast coifs and fardingales assumed many of her airs) to
provide them with a substantial supper, the least items of which were
a huge side of beef, a string of good fat capons, and an unmeasured
quantity of ale and usquebaugh for the soldiers; while his honour the
halberdier insisted on wine dashed with brandy, swearing "by the
devil's horns," and other cavalier oaths, "he would drink nothing but
the best Rhenish." There was an immense consumption of viands, and
as the revellers became merrier, they made the whole house ring to
their famous camp-song,
"Dunbarton's drums beat bonnie, O,"
to the great envy of those luckless wights in the barbican, who heard
only the bleak March wind sighing among the leafless woods, and
witnessed through the windows all this hilarity and good cheer from
which they were for a time debarred.
Mr. Drouthy the butler, and other old servitors, who had seen
something of free quarters under the Duke of Hamilton in England,
entered heartily into the spirit of entertaining their noisy
visitors, to whom they detailed the fields of Inverkeithing, Dunbar,
and Kerbeister, with great vociferation, and ever and anon voted the
Reverend Mr. Bummel a most unqualified bore, and declared that "the
house of Bruntisfield was weel rid of his grunting and skirling about
owls and sparrows in the desert."