KILLIEKRANKIE
The July morning wakened broad and fair. The swifts circled in widening
sweeps about the castle of Blair. Wat Gordon slept in the hall, wrapped
in his plaid--a gift from Keppoch. The McDonald lay that night with
his own men out on the lea, but many of the younger chiefs of Dundee's
levy, McLean of Duart and Donald of Sleat, were also encamped round the
hall.
It was after four of the clock when a hand touched Wat's shoulder. He
looked up alert on the instant with the trained wakefulness of the
soldier. His eyes met those of the Lord Dundee, who, without a word,
strode slowly up the stairs.
Wat rose and followed his general, making his toilet with a single
shake of the plaid over his shoulder. Presently they stood together
on the battlements, where Dundee leaned his elbow on the highest part
of the wall and looked to the east. The sun was just rising between
Ben-y-Gloe and Ben-y-Vrackie.
Dundee stood a long time looking round him before he spoke. Wat kept in
the background, standing modestly by the edge of the tiles, where they
went crow-stepping up to the rigging. He dared not intrude upon the
thoughts or plans of his commander.
At last Dundee pointed with his hand, sweeping it over the sward
beneath, which was black with Highlanders, all squadded according
to their clans. Most of them still lay in their plaids, scattered
broadcast as if they had been slain on the field of battle, with their
claymores held in their arms as a mother holds a favorite child. But
here and there a few early foragers were already busy gathering birch
and dwarf oak to build the morning camp-fires, while down by the river,
where the lowland cavalry were picketed, many blue columns of smoke
arose.
"A bonny sight!" said the general, slowly. "Aye, a bonny sight! Three
thousand men that are men, and not a feared heart nor an unwilling
blade among them. And yet," he added, a little sadly, "if I were away,
all that would break and vanish like yon white cloud crawling on the
shoulder of Ben Vrackie."
He pointed to where the morning mist was trailing itself in quickly
dissolving wreaths and vanishing wisps over the mountain.
"Aye, like the mist they came, and like the mist they will go--if I
be not here the morrow's morn to lead them. Lochiell is wise indeed.
He would command us all with skill and fortitude. But then, how Glen
Garry and Keppoch would cock their bonnets at that! Sandy McLean there
might hold the clansmen and take them to Edinburgh, yet Sandy is not
chief even of his own clan, but an apple-cheeked lad, who thinks only
of taking the eyes of maidens. Grown babes all of them--yet men whom I
have welded into a weapon of strength to fight the king's warfare."
"Think you the enemy will attack us this day?" said Wat, with the
deference of a young soldier to an elder, whose favor, though great,
may not be presumed upon.
"They will come, indeed," said the general, "but it is we that shall
attack. I would it had been a day or two later. For the Western men
are not come in, and Lochiell hath not yet half his tail behind
him. Nevertheless, 'twill serve. Mackay I mind of old--in the Dutch
provinces--a good drill-sergeant that fights by the book; but a brave
man--yes, a very brave man."
For as an unquestioned beauty is the first to acknowledge beauty in
others, so John Graham could readily allow courage to his opponents.
Yet this morning a constant melancholy seemed to overspread the
beautiful countenance that had been the desire of women, the fear or
adoration of men. In his converse with Lochinvar not a trace remained
of that haughtiness which had so often distinguished his dealings with
other men, nor yet of that relentlessness which he himself had so often
mistaken for the firmness of military necessity.
Wat's bosom swelled within him as he looked on that host of plaided
men. He seemed to see Scotland swept to the Solway, and the king coming
home in triumph to his own again. The old tower of Lochinvar rose up
before him. He thought proudly of building up again the broken-down
walls, and for his love's sake setting the lordship of Lochinvar once
more among its peers. It would be passing sweet to walk with her by the
hill-side and look down upon their home, with the banner once again
floating at the staff, and the hum of serving-men about it.
"It is indeed a most noble sight!" he cried, in rapture.
Dundee glanced at him, and marked the heightened color of the lad with
kindly, tolerant favor. He thought he spoke of the mustered clans.
"Aye, glorious--truly," said he. "But build not on sand. Ere ten days
be past, if these lads of the mist find not plunder, Clan Ronald will
be off to spoil Clan Cameron, and Keppoch, the Wild Cat, will be at the
throat of Clan Mackintosh. I have welded me a weapon which, tempered to
the turning of a steel blade this morning, may be but a handful of sand
when the wind blows off the sea by to-morrow at this time."
He stood silent a while, and his face grew fixed and stern as when he
gave orders in battle.
"To-day I draw sword for a king that dared not draw sword for
himself--for a house that has ever used its mistresses well and its
soldiers ill. Let us make no mistake. You and I, Wat, go out this day
on a great venture, and on our heads it is. We have a true soldier to
fight. For you and I have seen William of Orange, and in this the day
of our distress we shall have no help from our friends, save these
three hundred Irish kerns with their bent pikes and their bows and
arrows, no better than bairns that shoot crows among the corn."
He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his graceful body erect.
"So be it! After all, it is not my business. Enough for me that I do
the king's will and walk straightly among so many that go crookedly.
To-night I will end it if I can, and drive the Dutchman to his own
place. But if not--why, then, it shall end me. I know, I know," he went
on, quickly, as if Walter had reminded him of something, "I have a
wife and a bairn down there. I am a man as other men. I would fain see
Jean Cochrane, clad in white, passing here and there among the walks
of the garden, gathering flowers, and the youngling toddling about her
feet--were it but for once, before this night I bid the war-pipes blow
at the setting of the sun."
He turned towards the lands of the south where he had earned much
hatred and deadly fear.
"It may be, as they say, that I have ridden overharshly on the king's
service, and trodden on some whom I might have lifted with my hand.
But, God wot, it was ever the king's service and not mine own! I ever
judged it better that there should be a little timeous bloodletting
than that a whole people should perish. But now I see that the king and
I were not wise. For a war that stirs up folk's religion never comes to
an end. And, for all the good I did, I might just as well never have
set foot in Galloway or the south. But enough; 'tis over now, and
there remains--three thousand claymores and an empty title! Well, we
shall find out to-day whether kings are indeed anointed, as they say.
Ah, Wat, the sun is high, the light broad and fair on Athol braes.
But ere it fades, you and I may find out many things that priest and
presbyter could not unriddle to us."
He made as if to descend from the castle wall, but took a second
thought.
"Bid the bugle sound!" he ordered, quickly changing his tone. "Invite
the chiefs to a council. Send Dunfermline to me--and go yourself and
get some breakfast."
* * * * *
It was almost at the way-going of the day. The sons of the mist
crouched low among the heather and watched the Saxon soldiers
struggling up through the dark and narrow glen. King William's men were
weary and sore driven, for they had been there under the sun's fierce
assault since noon that day.
So near were the clansmen to their foes that they could distinguish
the uniform and accoutrement of each regiment as it straggled slowly
out under the eyes of the general and formed on the little green shelf
overhanging the deep cleft of the Garry.
Wat stood with Dundee upon the crest of the hill above. The general had
fallen silent, but a look of eager expectancy lit his face.
"I have them," he said, low, to himself; "it is coming right. We shall
balance accounts with the Dutchman ere it be dark."
To him came Keppoch, pale to the lips with rage.
"This is no war, my lord-general," he said, "they are through the pass
and you hold us here in check! Why, with the rocks of the hill-side my
single clan could have annihilated them--swept them in heaps into the
black pools of the Garry."
My Lord Dundee smiled a tolerant smile, as a mother might at the
ignorance of a wayward, fretful child.
"Bide ye, Keppoch," he said, kindly, "ye shall have your fill of that
work--but we must not make two mouthfuls of this Orange. Our advantage
is great enough. We shall meet them on plain field, and, ere we be
done with them, ye shall walk across the Garry upon their dead bodies,
bootless and in dry socks, if it please you."
Presently the Lowland army had dribbled itself completely out of the
pass and stood ranked, regiment by regiment, awaiting the onset. Mackay
had done all that skill and silence could do in such a desperate case,
for the men of the mountains had all the choice of the ground and of
the time for attack.
Clan by clan Dundee set his men on the hill crests, solidly phalanxed,
but with wide gaps between the divisions--a noble array of great names
and mighty chiefs--McLean, Clan Ranald, Clan Cameron, Glengarry,
Stewarts of Athol and Appin, men of the king's name from east and west.
Well might Dundee have forgotten his melancholy mood of the morning.
The sun touched the western hills, halved itself, and sank like a
swiftly dying flame. The blue shadows strode eastward with a rush. The
gray mist began to fill the deep glen of the Garry.
"Ready!" cried the general.
The war-pipes blared. The plaided men gave a shout that drowned the
pibrochs, and the clans were ready for the charge.
From beneath arose a response, a faint, wavering cry, without faith or
cohesion.
"Ah," cried Lochiell, "have at them now! That is not the cry of men who
are going to conquer!"
Dundee raised his hand and the chiefs watched for it to fall. It fell.
"Claymore!" shouted Lochiell, who had been standing like a pillar at
the head of his clan.
Keppoch, wild with the joy of battle, instantly fired his gun from
where he stood, and throwing his brand into the air, he caught it by
the hilt as he too gave the order to charge.
Slowly at first, but quickening their pace as they neared the foe, the
clans came down. They held their fire till they were within a hundred
yards of the enemy, grimly enduring without reply three separate
volleys from the disciplined ranks of the Lowland army. They paused a
moment and fired a wild, irregular volley. Then, with the unanimous
flash of drawn swords in the air, the whole wild array charged down
with a yell upon the triple line of the enemy.
Wat rode by the side of the general; for Dundee charged with the van,
exposing himself in the very front of danger. Half way down the slope
the old colonel of horse noticed that the Lowland cavalry were not
following. He turned in his saddle, lifted his sword, and waved the
squadrons on.
"For the king! Charge!" he cried, pointing with the blade to the
serried line of Mackay's regiments below.
But at that moment there came another withering volley from the English
line, threshing the hill-side like hail. A bullet struck Dundee under
the uplifted arm. Instinctively he shifted his bridle hand, and set
himself grimly to the charge again; but the quickly growing pallor of
his face and the slackness of his grasp told the tale of a terrible
wound.
Lochinvar had scarce time to dismount and receive his general in his
arms before Dundee fainted and his head fell on Wat's shoulder. His
charger galloped on, leading the regiment into action, as though he
felt that his master's part had devolved on him.
In an instant the assault swept past them, and Wat and the wounded
soldier were left as it had been alone on the field. Here and there a
clansman, stricken by a bullet, strove to rise and follow the onset of
his clan. He would stumble a few yards, and then throw up his hands and
fall headlong. But up from the river edge there came a hell of fiercely
mingled sounds. At the first glance at the wound Wat saw there was no
hope. Looking over the pale set features of the general, as he lay
reclined in his arms, he could see the thin English lines fairly swept
away. One or two regiments seemed to have been missed, standing idly at
their arms, like forgotten wheat in a corner of an ill-reaped field;
but for the rest, clansmen and red soldiers alike had passed out of
sight.
Presently the dying commander opened his eyes.
"My lord," said Wat, softly, "how is it with you?"
"Nay, rather, how goes the day?" said Dundee, with an eager look.
"Well for the king," answered Wat.
"Then," replied John Graham, "if it be well with him it is the less the
matter for me."
With that he laid his head back on Wat's breast contentedly. He seemed
to wander somewhat in his thoughts, speaking fast and disorderly.
"Maybe I was in the wrong--in the wrong. Yet I did it for the king's
good. But I was sore vexed for the wife and bairns. And yet the carrier
suffered it very unconcernedly, and said he was glad to die--which I
can well believe. Maybe he, too, had done well for his king."
His mind dwelt much upon far-off, unhappy things. Anon he seemed to see
some terrible tragedy, for he put his hand before his face as if to
shut out a painful sight.
"Enough of that, Westerha'," he said, in a grieved tone, "this serves
no good end."
Then at the last there came a smile breaking over his face, and he
lifted his hand lightly and gently like one who dandles something
tender and easily broken.
"'Tis a fine bairn, Jean," he said, pleasantly, "ye may well be proud
o' the babe. I wish I could bide wi' you. They might have left me
alone this ae nicht. But I must mount and ride. Fare ye weel, Jean, my
lass--braw lass and bonny wife ye ever were to me. I must e'en bit and
saddle, for I hae a far gate and a gloomy road to travel this night!"
So with no more than this farewell to his wife and young bairn, the
hope of the Stuarts, the scourge of the Covenant, the glory of the
Grahams, lay dead on the clean-reaped field of victory.