PHILIP ROLLO;
OR,
THE SCOTTISH MUSKETEERS.
BY
JAMES GRANT,
AUTHOR OF "ROMANCE OF WAR," "JANE SETON," &c. &c.
"'Tis a tale of campaigning, of love, and invading,
Of marches, of routes, bivouacs, enfilading;
Of batteries and breaches, howitzers and mortars,
Of posts and intrenchments; of in and out quarters;
Of advancing in line, by columns, divisions,
And fighting whole days without rum or provisions."
IN TWO VOLUMES,
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
1854.
M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON.--WORKS, NEWTON.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
Book the Eighth
CHAPTER
I.--A Discovery
II.--The Arms of Expectation
III.--The Rose Leaves
IV.--Winter Quarters--The Secret of Gabrielle
V.--The Dogger
VI.--The Capture of Burg
VII.--St. Mark's Day
VIII.--The Fireship
Book the Ninth
IX.--The Sisters
X.--The Forest of Eckernfiörd
XI.--Ulrick, Count of Merodé
XII.--Proving the maxim, that advantage may be taken in
Love, as well as in War
XIII.--The White Powder
XIV.--The Nuns of St. Knud
XV.--Comforts of War
XVI--Bombardment of Kiel
XVII.--A Horrible Adventure
XVIII.--Suffocation--The Dark Pit
XIX.--The Castle of Kiel
Book the Tenth
XX.--The Highland Outpost
XXI.--The Dying Soldier
XXII.--Count Kœningheim's Story--The Lily of Culbleine
XXIII.--The Cousins--the Story continued
XXIV.--The Raid of Macallum Mhor
XXV.--The Battle of Glenlivat--Conclusion of the Count's Story
Book the Eleventh
XXVI.--Wallenstein
XXVII.--The Major of Musketeers
XXVIII.--The Castle of Helnœsland
XXIX.--The Serpent in a New Skin
XXX.--Bernhard's Offer
XXXI.--How Bernhard delivered the Letter
XXXII.--Can she Escape now?
XXXIII.--The Crape Scarf of M'Alpine
XXXIV.--The Pistol Shot
XXXV.--The Midnight Funeral
Book the Twelfth
XXXVI.--Helsingor
XXXVII.--Stralsund
XXXVIII.--War
XXXIX.--The Frankendör
XL.--The Kirk Bell of Gometra--the Sortie
Book the Thirteenth
XLI.--The White Flag
XLII.--Retribution
XLIII.--The Jesuit
XLIV.--The Black Lake of Stubbenkamer
XLV.--The Black Plague
XLVI.--The Plague Spot
XLVII.--Last Assault of Stralsund
XLVIII.--The Sun shines again
Notes
I.--The Scots in Denmark
II.--The Scottish Flag
III.--The Highland Purse
IV.--Mackay's Officers
PHILIP ROLLO.
Book the Eighth
CHAPTER I.
A DISCOVERY.
A week glided away at the quiet old castle of Nyekiöbing.
Every day the old queen rode forth on a fat Danish horse, accompanied
by Ernestine and other ladies; every day, at the same hour as
yesterday, the guard presented arms at the gate--the officers
saluted--the drum rolled--the pipe yelled, and for the remainder of
that day all became quiet again. A few ships now--but very few, for
war had desolated the cities of the coast--spread their white sails
on the waters of the Sound, and listlessly we watched them from the
lower ramparts, where moss and grass grew under the wheels of the
unused cannon. I saw Ernestine frequently, but always briefly and in
presence of her father; so that no opportunity was afforded to me for
addressing her as my heart wished, and as vanity and hope told me
she, perhaps, expected.
As our commandant, Ian was, more than I, about the queen's little
court; I envied his opportunities of enjoying the society of the two
charming sisters; and I frequently saw him in the garden with
Gabrielle leaning on his arm; for, though grave and somewhat
thoughtful, he told me that he loved her prattle, for it reminded him
of Moina. When not on duty I rarely saw the venerable widow of
Frederick II., and she spoke to me seldom; but on these occasions it
was invariably to make some remark on her late son-in-law, the king
of Scotland, James VI., or on his gallant retinue--the chancellor,
old John of Montrose, and the three hundred Scottish nobles and
cavaliers, who accompanied him to Upsala, when he espoused her
daughter Anne, and when so merry a winter was spent by the whole
Danish court.
From King Christian couriers came frequently, and it was evident that
they bore evil tidings, which were industriously concealed from us.
One day the Count of Carlstein met me hurriedly; I observed that he
had on his belt with his sword and poniard, as well as a stout
corslet, which the Baron Fœyœ had given him.
"I am about to leave you, captain," said he.
"Leave us, count--for whence?"
"The king generously gave me liberty, and, while the great game of
glory and fortune is being played so well by Wallenstein, by Tilly,
and Merodé, can I remain inactive here at Falster? Another column of
Christian's army has surrendered to the soldiers of the empire."
"Another!" I reiterated, thunderstruck by the intelligence; "which?"
"That which retreated first by the Limfiörd. Tilly overtook it, and
forced every regiment successively to lay down its arms. The old
corporal has sworn by our Lady of the Seven Sorrows, that ere
Yule-day every inch of Danish earth shall be under the dominion of
Ferdinand. Christian has fled with all his court--fled none know
where, and Denmark is all but conquered! Kœningheim has sent word
that Tilly expects to see me daily."
"Can all this be true, Baron Fœyœ?" I asked the steward
incredulously, as he joined us at the castle gate.
"About as true as that the Norwegian bears speak very good Danish,"
he replied, twisting his yellow mustaches and looking spitefully at
Carlstein.
"No doubt such tidings are very unpleasant for you, Herr Baron,"
replied the count, with a haughty and somewhat provoking smile; "but
I beg again to assure you that all laid down their arms without
firing a shot--all save the Scottish battalions of Lord Nithsdale and
Sir James Sinclair of Murkle, who obtained leave to march into
Sweden, and join the banner of the young and gallant Gustavus
Adolphus."
"It is impossible!" said the stout baron passionately, as he stamped
about in his calfskin boots; "it is impossible, and I will never
believe it!"
"I had it from the best authority," said the count, still smiling;
"Bandolo has been here."
"Bandolo!" I exclaimed; "I had quite forgotten that wretch."
"Well, then, he who is to Tilly what Father Joseph is to Richelieu,
has been here."
"Bandolo here,--on this island of Falster?" said the baron, turning
angrily to me. "Now, by the holy Dannebrog, mein Herr, your kilted
sentinels must be no better than moles or blind bats!"
"A single company of soldiers cannot furnish sentinels for the whole
island, Herr Baron," I replied, with some asperity; "there are here a
hundred little creeks and bays where a boat may land a man unseen,
and sail again. But I thought this rascal died at Heilinghafen."
"He bears a charmed life," growled Fœyœ.
"The deil is aye gude to his ain, as we say at home," said the count;
"but to me this rogue appears at present a very amiable and estimable
character--ha! ha!"
The passionate old baron took this merriment in deep dudgeon, and
retired abruptly.
"Tilly, who knows every thing," continued the count, "on learning
that I was here and at liberty, sent a small skiff across the Belt
for me--yonder it is afar off, floating like a seagull. At night it
will be here to take me to the isle of Fehmarn, where my honour and
the emperor's service require my instant presence; for Wallenstein is
about to take command of the whole army, and the most brilliant
conquests are expected. Ere another year is past, the Swedish rocks
and Norwegian Alps shall have echoed to the trumpets of the Empire.
I will gladly avail myself of the good queen's offer to leave my
daughters here; for in this cold season they could not cross the Belt
in an open boat, exposed to the mist by day and dew by night.
However, that they may not be dependent even on a queen, I have given
Ernestine five hundred doubloons, and, in case war or disaster should
reach this peaceful isle, you will protect them--will you not, sir?"
"Oh! count--to the last drop of my blood will I guard them; and, if I
request it, they shall never lack protection while one brave heart
survives in the regiment of Strathnaver."
"The mother of Ernestine was of Spanish Flanders; Gabrielle of
France--as I have told you, but----"
"We will never forget that they are the daughters of a countryman--of
a brave soldier."
"Enough, captain; in the care of Scottish cavaliers they are safe."
"Yes, count--doubt not that if poor Rollo is knocked on the head,
that in Ian Dhu, the Lairds of Kildon or M'Coll, they will find
steadfast friends."
"Rollo!" said he, with a start and a smile, "your Highlanders call
you M'Combich, and I have never heard your officers name you
otherwise than Philip; _my name_," he added, taking my hands in his,
"is also Rollo!"
"Yours, count?"
"Yes, my ancestors were a branch of the Rollos of Duncruib, in
Perthshire."
"Astonishing! we all spring from the same stock."
We shook hands, and would have made other inquiries, but there was no
time.
"My _nom de guerre_ is Rupert-with-the-Red-Plume," said the count, as
we walked into the castle.
"A name that all men know of, from the shores of the Baltic to the
mountains of Carinthia. We have all been so familiar with it, that
we never thought of inquiring whether you had another."
"My story is a strange and a sad one; some time I may tell it to you;
but not just now."
My soul rose to my lips, and I was about to divulge the secret of my
heart--to tell him how I loved Ernestine, and would strive by good
works and gallant deeds to make myself worthy of her; but he left me
hurriedly, and the opportunity passed, like many others which never
return again.
Fear of the Danish burghers in the town made us circumspect, and at
midnight I saw him embark in a small dogger manned by four or five
men, who immediately put to sea, and long before the morning sun
shone upon the waters of the Baltic, which widen there between the
Danish isles and Pomeranian shore, the little vessel, speeding before
an eastern wind, had vanished at the horizon towards the isle of
Fehmarn.
He was gone, and I had forgotten--so much had I been occupied with my
own thoughts--to narrate to him that conversation between Tilly and
Bandolo, which I had overheard in the bed-chamber of the former at
Luneburg. Thus, though Carlstein was not ignorant of the spy's great
ambition, to settle down in private life as a count of Hanover, he
had no idea that the expected coronet was to be shared with his own
daughter--with Ernestine; for, with all its presumption, the project
seemed so mad and ridiculous, that it had never until that night made
much impression on my mind.