THE PRIVY COUNCIL.
'Tis noble pride withholds thee--thou disdain'st
Wrapt in thy sacred innocence--these mad
Outrageous charges to refute.
SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS.
A long table, covered with scarlet cloth, extended from the throne
towards the end of the room where Walter stood. Large, red-edged,
and massively gilded statute books, docquets of papers, inkstands,
and the silver mace (now used by the Lords of Session), lay
glittering on the table, while a large silver candelabrum, with
twelve tall wax lights, shed a lustre on the striking figures of
those personages who composed the select committee of council.
On a low wooden side-bench lay certain fearful things, which (in his
present predicament) made the heart of Walter quail; though on the
field he would have faced, without flinching, the rush of a thousand
charging horse; they were the instruments of torture then authorised
by law; the _pilnie-winks_, the _caspie-claws_, and the
_iron-boots_--all diabolical engines, such as the most refined
cruelty alone could have invented. With these, both sexes, even
little children were sometimes tortured until the blood spouted from
the bruised and crushed limbs.
The thumbikins were small steel screws like handvices, which, by
compressing the thumb-joints, produced the most acute agony; and this
amiable and favourite engine (which saved all trouble of
cross-examining witnesses), was first introduced by one of the
council, whose stern eyes were fixed on Walter Fenton,
Lieutenant-General Sir Thomas Dalyel of Binns, a cavalier baronet of
great celebrity, whose name is still justly abhorred in Scotland. He
had long borne a command under the Russian standard, where his
humanity had not been improved by service among Tartars and Calmucks.
The boot was a strong box enclosed with iron hoops, between which and
the victim's leg, the executioner, by gradual and successive blows,
drove a wooden wedge with such violence, that blood, bone, and marrow
were at last bruised into a hideous and pulpy mass.
Walter could scarcely repress a shudder when he surveyed those
frightful engines, under the application of which, so many
unfortunates had writhed; but he confronted with an undaunted air the
various members of that stern tribunal, which had so long ruled
Scotland by the sword, and many of whose acts and edicts might well
vie with those of the Inquisition, the Star-chamber, or any other
instrument of tyranny and misgovernment.
Two earls, Perth, the Lord Chancellor, and Balcarris, the High
Treasurer, were present; they were both fine-looking men, in the
prime of life, richly dressed, and wearing those preposterous black
wigs (brought into fashion by Charles II.), the ends of which rolled
in many curls over their broad collars of point lace. The Bishop of
Edinburgh, the Lord Advocate, and his predecessor, the terrible Sir
George Mackenzie, of Rosehaugh, "that persecutor of the saints of
God;"--(he whose tomb was, till of late years, a place so full of
terror to the schoolboy,) occupied one side of the council-board.
Opposite sat John Grahame, of Claverhouse, colonel of the Scottish
life-guards, the horror of the Covenanters, (and to this hour the
accursed of the Cameronians,) but the handsomest man of his time.
His face was singularly beautiful, and his black, magnificent eyes,
were one moment languid and tender as those of a love-sick girl, and
the next sparkling with dusky fire and animation. When excited, they
actually seemed to blaze, and were quite characteristic of his
superhuman daring and unmatched ferocity.
Cruel as the character of the Laird of Claverhouse has ever been held
up to us, let us not forget the times in which he lived, and how much
room there is for malevolent exaggeration. Even Wodrow allows that
at times he showed compunction, mercy, and compassion. Mutual
injuries, assassinations, and outrages heightened the hostility of
spirit between the Scottish troops and the Scottish people to a
frightful extent; but it is a curious fact, that the local militia
and vassals of the landholders were, by far, the most severe tools of
persecution. The _real_ sentiments of the troops of the line, were
powerfully evinced by their joining _en masse_ the banner of the
Protestant invader. In making these remarks, let it not be thought
we are attempting to gloss over the atrocities of the persecution,
the records of which are enough to make one's blood boil even at this
distant period of time. The darkest days of our history are those of
which the industrious Wodrow wrote; but glorious indeed was the
ardour and constancy with which so many of Scotland's best and
bravest men gave up their souls to God in the cause of the "oppressed
kirk and the broken covenant."
Claverhouse was splendidly attired; his coat was of white velvet,
pinked with scarlet silk and laced with gold; over his breast spread
a cravat of the richest lace, and on that fell the heavy dark
ringlets of his military wig. Near him sat Sir Thomas Dalyel,
colonel of the Scots grey dragoons. This fierce soldier was in the
eightieth year of his age; he was perfectly bald, and a lofty
forehead towered above his keen grey eyes, that shone brighter than
his polished gorget in the light of the candelabrum. To his stern
features a noble and dignified aspect was imparted by a long white
beard, that flowed over his plain buff coat, reaching to the buckle
of his sword-belt. There was a very striking and antique expression
in the fine face of the aged and detested 'persecutor,' that never
failed to impress beholders with respect and awe.
There are but two others to describe, and these are of some
importance to our history.
Swinton, of Mersington, a law lord, who was never known to have been
perfectly sober since the Restoration, and whose meagre body,
nutcracker jaws, bleared eyes, and fantastic visage, contrasted so
strongly with the upright and square form of the venerable cavalier
on his right, and the dignified Randal, Lord Clermistonlee, who sat
on his left.
A renegade Covenanter, a profligate, and debauched roué, steeped to
the lips in cruelty, tyranny, and vice, the latter, after having
squandered away a noble patrimony and the dowry of his unfortunate
wife, still maintained his career of excess by gifts from the fines,
extortions, and confiscations, made by the Council on every pretence,
or without pretence at all. He was forty years of age, possessing a
noble form, and a face still eminently handsome, though marked by
dissipation; it was slightly disfigured by a sword cut, and,
notwithstanding its beauty of contour, when clouded by chagrin and
ferocity, and flushed by wine, it seemed that of a very ruffian, and
now was no way improved by his ample wig and cravat being quite awry.
His dark vindictive eyes were sternly fixed on Walter, who, from that
moment, knew him to be his enemy. Clermistonlee, who was not a man
to have his purposes crossed by any mortal consideration, had long
marked out fair Lilian Napier as a new victim to be run-down and
captured. Her beauty had inflamed his senses, her ample possessions
his cupidity--it was enough; his wrath, and perhaps his jealousy,
were kindled against the young man by whose agency she had found
concealment, after he thought all was _en train_ by his accusing the
Baroness of Bruntisfield to the Council, and procuring a warrant of
search and arrest for inter-communed persons at her Manor of the
Wrytes-house. His brows were contracted until they formed one dark
arch across his forehead; one hand was clenched upon the table, and
the other on the embossed hilt of his long rapier, which rested
against his left shoulder, and there was no mistaking the glance of
hostility and scrutiny he bent upon the prisoner. The other members
of the Council were all highly excited by the revelations recently
extracted from Mr. Ichabod Bummel (by dint of hammer and screw),
concerning the intrigues of the whigs with the Prince of Orange. The
letters of the exiled Baron of Polwarth, and of Mynheer Fagel, the
Great Pensionary of Holland, were lying before the Lord Chancellor,
who played thoughtfully with the tassels of his rapier, while his
secretaries wrote furiously in certain closely-written folios.
Several clerks, macers, and other underlings who loitered in the
background, were now ordered to withdraw.
"Approach, Walter Fenton," said the Earl of Perth.
"Fenton," muttered General Dalyel, "'tis a name that smacks o' the
auld covenant; I hanged a cottar loon that bore it, for skirling a
psalm at the foot o' the Campsie Hills, no twa months ago."
"And of true valor, if we remember the old Fentons of that ilk, and
the brave Sir John de Fenton of the Bruce's days," continued the
chancellor. "Young man, you of course know for what you this night
compear before us?"
"My Lord, for permitting the escape of prisoners placed under my
charge."
"Prisoners charged with treason and leaguing with intercommuned
enemies of the state!" added Clermistonlee, in a voice of thunder.
"And you plead guilty to this?"
"I cannot deny it, my Lords."
"Good--you save the trouble of examining witnesses."
"A bonnie piece o' wark, young Springald!" said General Dalyel
scornfully; "a braw beginning for a soldier--but ken ye the price
o't?"
"My life, perhaps, Sir Thomas," replied Walter, gently; "yet may it
please you and their Lordships to pardon this, my first offence, in
consideration of my three years' faithful and, as yet, unrequited
service. Heaven be my witness, noble sirs, I could not help it!"
"By all the devils! Help what, thou fause loon!"
"Permitting the escape of Lady Bruntisfield and her kinswoman, the
young lady."
"Aha! the young lady!" laughed Claverhouse and Balcarris.
"I was overcome by their terror and entreaties. Oh, my Lords, I seek
not to extenuate my offence."
"Plague choke thee!" said Dalyel, with a grim look; "a braw birkie ye
are, and a bonnie to wear a steel doublet--a fine chield to march to
battle and leaguer, if ye canna hear a haveral woman greet, but your
heart maun melt like snaw in the sunshine. By the head of the king,
ye shall smart for this! Sic kittle times thole nae trifling."
"I doubt not the young fellow was well paid for his untimely
gallantry," said Clermistonlee, with a provoking sneer.
"Any man who would insinuate so much, I deem a liar and coward!" said
Walter, fearlessly: the eyes of the Privy Councillor shot fire; he
started, but restrained himself, and the young man continued. "No,
my Lord Clermistonlee! though poor, I have a soul above bribery, and
would not for the most splendid coronet in Scotland change sides, as
_some_ among us have done, and may do again."
"Silence!" replied Clermistonlee, in a voice of rage, for he writhed
under this pointed remark, having once been a staunch covenanter;
"silence, rascal, and remember that on yonder bench there lieth a
bodkin of steel, for boring the tongue that wags too freely."
"Enough of this," said the Chancellor, striking the table impatiently
with his hand; "Mr. Secretary, attend, and note answers. Walter
Fenton, you are doubtless well aware of where the ladies of
Bruntisfield are concealed, and can enlighten us thereon."
"I swear to you, most noble Earl, that I know not!"
"Ridiculous!" said his tormenter, Clermistonlee, who was under the
influence of wine. "Say instantly, or by all the devils, if there is
any marrow in your bones, we shall see it shortly:" with his
gold-headed cane he significantly touched the iron boots that lay
near.
"Hath he been searched according to the act of council, whilk
ordains,--sae forth," said Mersington; "for some of Madam Napier's
perfumed carolusses may be found in his pouch."
"Nothing was found on him, my Lord," replied Maclutchy, "save a sang
or twa, a wheen gun matches, twa dice, a wine bill o' Hughie
Blair's--the Council's orders to the Forces--and--and--"
"And what, Sir?"
"A few white shillings, my Lord."
"Whilk ye keepit, I suppose."
The macer scratched his head and bowed.
"Whence got ye that ring, sirrah?" asked the imperious Clermistonlee,
suddenly feeling a new qualm of jealousy.
"Ring, my Lord, ring!" stammered Walter, colouring deeply.
"Yea knave, it flashed even now, and by this light seems a diamond of
the purest water. A common pikeman seldom owns a trinket such as
that."
"I cry-ye-mercy," said Dalyel; "had your Lordship seen my brigade of
Red Cossacks retreating after the sack of Trebizond and Natolia, ye
would have seen the humblest spearman with his boots and holsters
crammed to the flaps with the richest jewels of Asiatic Turkey. I
mysel borrowed a string of pearls from an auld Khanum, worth deil
kens how mony thousand roubles. Gad! some pretty trinkets fall in a
soldier's way at times."
"Sir Thomas," said Claverhouse, "I would we had a few troops of your
Cossacks, to send among the wrest-land whigs for six months or so."
"S'death!" said the General, through his massy beard, "your guardsmen
think themselves fine rufflers, and so they are, Clavers'e, but I
doubt muckle if in a charge they would have come within o' spear's
length of my Red Brigade. Puir chields! lang since hae they stuffed
the craps of the wolves and vultures that hovered oure the bluidy
plains of Smolensk."
"Well, my Lords, about this ring," observed Clermistonlee, with
ill-disguised impatience, while endeavouring to waken His Majesty's
advocate, who, oblivious of "His Majesty's interest," had fallen fast
asleep. "We all know that the Lady Bruntisfield has a god-daughter,
grand-niece, or something of that kind--a fair damsel, however; and
'tis very unlikely this young cock would run his neck under the
gallows (whereon I doubt not his father dangled) for nothing.
Fenton--harkee, sirrah, surrender the jewel forthwith, and say whence
ye had it, or the thumbscrews may prove an awkward exchange for it."
"Do with me as you please, my Lords, but ah! spare me the ring. It
is the secret of my life--it is all that I possess in the world--all
that I can deem my own:" pausing with sudden emotion the young man
covered his eyes. "It was found on the hand of my mother--my poor
mother, when she lay dead among the graves of the Grey Friars."
"When, knave?"
"In the year of Bothwell."
A cloud came over the face of Clermistonlee.
"In the year of Bothwell, my Lords," continued Walter, in a thick
voice; "that year of misery to so many. I have been told my father
died in defence of the bridge; and my mother--she--spare to me, my
Lords, what even the poor soldiers who found me respected! It was
preserved and restored to me by the good and noble Countess of
Dunbarton when, three years ago, I marched against James of Monmouth."
"The true pup of the crop-eared breed!" said Clermistonlee,
scornfully; "false in blood as in name. Macer, hand up the ring!
His mother (some trooper's trull) never owned a Jewell like that."
The macer advanced, but hesitated.
"Approach, wretch, and, by the God that beholds us, I will destroy
thee!" cried Fenton, inflamed with sudden passion; and so resolute
was his aspect, that Maclutchy retreated, and now Mersington and the
king's advocate, who had been snoring melodiously, woke suddenly up.
"My Lords, you trifle," said the Earl of Perth.
"Halt, sirs!" added Claverhouse, who admired Walter's indomitable
spirit; "I cannot permit this; let the lad retain his ring, but say,
without parley, where those fugitives are concealed."
"On the honour of a soldier, I solemnly declare to you, Colonel
Grahame, that I know not."
"It is enough," responded Claverhouse, whose deep dark eyes had gazed
full upon Walter's with a searching expression which few men could
endure. "Never saw I mortal man who could look me openly in the
face, when affirming a falsehood."
"This is just havers," said Mersington; "jow the bell for Pate Pincer
to gie him one touch of the boot."
"My Lords, you may tear me piecemeal, but I cannot tell ye; and, were
it otherwise, I would rather die than betray them!"
"Hush!" whispered Claverhouse, who admired his spirited bearing; but
Clermistonlee exclaimed in triumph,
"Heard ye that, my Lords, heard ye that? Gadso! a half
acknowledgment that he can enlighten us anent the retreat of these
traitresses, and I demand that he be put to the question!"
Now ensued a scene of confusion.
"Aye, the boot!" said Rosehaugh, Mersington, and one or two others.
"Let him be remanded to the Water Hole--the caspie claws."
"My Lords, I protest--" said Claverhouse, starting up abruptly.
"Hoity toity!" said Mersington; "here's the Laird of Claverse' turned
philanthropist! Since when did this miracle take place?"
"Since the cold-blooded atrocities this chamber has witnessed--"
began Claverhouse, turning his eyes of fire on the law lord; but the
entrance of Pincer and his two subaltern torturers, whom that little
viper, Mersington, had summoned, cut short the observation. Walter's
blood grew cold--his first thought was resistance--his second, scorn
and despair.
"Had the noble Earl of Dunbarton, or all our blades, the old Royals,
been in Edinburgh instead of being among the westland whigs, ye had
not dared to degrade me thus!" he exclaimed, with fierce indignation.
"I disclaim your authority, and appeal to a council of war--to a
court of commissioned officers!"
"Uds daggers!" said Dalyel, "I love thee, lad. Thou art a brave
fellow, and the first man that ever bearded this council board."
"But we will teach thee, braggart," said Sir George of Rosehaugh
sternly, "that from this chamber there is no appeal, either to courts
of peace or councils of war. There can be no appeal----"
"Save to his majesty," added the Chancellor, who, to please James
VII., had recently embraced the Catholic faith.
"And of what value is the appeal, noble Earl, after one's bones have
been ground to powder by your accursed irons?'
"We do not sit here to bandy words in this wise," replied the
Chancellor; "Macer, lead the prisoner to the ante-room, while his
sentence is deliberated on."
After a delay of some minutes, which to Walter seemed like so many
ages, so great was his anxiety, he was again summoned before the
haughty conclave. The first whose malignant glance he again
encountered was Clermistonlee, whose voice he had often heard in loud
declamation against him, and he felt a storm of wrath and hatred
gathering in his breast against that vindictive peer. The monotonous
voice of the clerk reading his sentence with a careless off-hand air
now fell on his ear.
"Walter Fenton, private gentleman in the regiment of Dunbarton,
commonly called the Royal Scots Musqueteers of Foot, for default and
negligence of duty----"
"Anent whilk it is needless to expone," interposed Mersington.
"--And for your contumacy in presence of the Right Honourable the
Lords of His Majesty's Privy Council, you are to be confined in the
lowest dungeon of the common prison-house of Edinburgh, for the space
of six calendar months from the date hereof, to have your tongue
bored by the Doomster at the Tron-beam, to teach it the respect which
is due to superiors; and thereafter to be sent as a felon, with ane
collar of steel rivetted round your neck, to the coal heughs of the
right worshipful the Laird of Craigha' for such a period as the Lords
of the said Privy Council shall deem fitting--subscribitur Perth."
"Such mercy may ye all meet in the day of award!" muttered Walter.
"Withdraw!" said Lord Clermistonlee, with a bitter smile of
undisguised ferocity and malice. "Begone, and remember to thank Sir
Thomas of Binns and the Laird of Claverhouse, that your tongue is not
bored this instant, and thereafter given to feed the crows."
Walter bowed, and was led out by the macer, while the council
proceeded to "worry" and terrify the remaining prisoners, Lady
Bruntisfield's household, and, after nearly scaring them out of their
senses, dismissed them all, (save two stout ploughmen, who were given
to Sir Thomas Dalyel as troopers,) with warning to take care of
themselves in all time coming, and with a promise of a thousand marks
if they gave intimation of their lady's retreat.