Quantum in nobis, we’ve thought good
To save the expense of Christian blood,
And try if we, by mediation
Of treaty, and accommodation,
Can end the quarrel, and compose
This bloody duel without blows.
Butler.
The increased pace of the party of horsemen soon took away from their
zealous captives the breath, if not the inclination, necessary for
holding forth. They had now for more than a mile got free of the
woodlands, whose broken glades had, for some time, accompanied them after
they had left the woods of Tillietudlem. A few birches and oaks still
feathered the narrow ravines, or occupied in dwarf-clusters the hollow
plains of the moor. But these were gradually disappearing; and a wide and
waste country lay before them, swelling into bare hills of dark heath,
intersected by deep gullies; being the passages by which torrents forced
their course in winter, and during summer the disproportioned channels
for diminutive rivulets that winded their puny way among heaps of stones
and gravel, the effects and tokens of their winter fury;--like so many
spendthrifts dwindled down by the consequences of former excesses and
extravagance. This desolate region seemed to extend farther than the eye
could reach, without grandeur, without even the dignity of mountain
wildness, yet striking, from the huge proportion which it seemed to bear
to such more favoured spots of the country as were adapted to
cultivation, and fitted for the support of man; and thereby impressing
irresistibly the mind of the spectator with a sense of the omnipotence of
nature, and the comparative inefficacy of the boasted means of
amelioration which man is capable of opposing to the disadvantages of
climate and soil.
It is a remarkable effect of such extensive wastes, that they impose an
idea of solitude even upon those who travel through them in considerable
numbers; so much is the imagination affected by the disproportion between
the desert around and the party who are traversing it. Thus the members
of a caravan of a thousand souls may feel, in the deserts of Africa or
Arabia, a sense of loneliness unknown to the individual traveller, whose
solitary course is through a thriving and cultivated country.
It was not, therefore, without a peculiar feeling of emotion, that Morton
beheld, at the distance of about half a mile, the body of the cavalry to
which his escort belonged, creeping up a steep and winding path which
ascended from the more level moor into the hills. Their numbers, which
appeared formidable when they crowded through narrow roads, and seemed
multiplied by appearing partially, and at different points, among the
trees, were now apparently diminished by being exposed at once to view,
and in a landscape whose extent bore such immense proportion to the
columns of horses and men, which, showing more like a drove of black
cattle than a body of soldiers, crawled slowly along the face of the
hill, their force and their numbers seeming trifling and contemptible.
“Surely,” said Morton to himself, “a handful of resolute men may defend
any defile in these mountains against such a small force as this is,
providing that their bravery is equal to their enthusiasm.”
While he made these reflections, the rapid movement of the horsemen who
guarded him, soon traversed the space which divided them from their
companions; and ere the front of Claverhouse’s column had gained the brow
of the hill which they had been seen ascending, Bothwell, with his
rearguard and prisoners, had united himself, or nearly so, with the main
body led by his commander. The extreme difficulty of the road, which was
in some places steep, and in others boggy, retarded the progress of the
column, especially in the rear; for the passage of the main body, in many
instances, poached up the swamps through which they passed, and rendered
them so deep, that the last of their followers were forced to leave the
beaten path, and find safer passage where they could.
On these occasions, the distresses of the Reverend Gabriel Kettledrummle
and of Mause Headrigg, were considerably augmented, as the brutal
troopers, by whom they were guarded, compelled them, at all risks which
such inexperienced riders were likely to incur, to leap their horses over
drains and gullies, or to push them through morasses and swamps.
“Through the help of the Lord I have luppen ower a wall,” cried poor
Mause, as her horse was, by her rude attendants, brought up to leap the
turf enclosure of a deserted fold, in which feat her curch flew off,
leaving her grey hairs uncovered.
“I am sunk in deep mire where there is no standing--I am come into deep
waters where the floods overflow me,” exclaimed Kettledrummle, as the
charger on which he was mounted plunged up to the saddle-girths in a
well-head, as the springs are called which supply the marshes, the sable
streams beneath spouting over the face and person of the captive
preacher.
These exclamations excited shouts of laughter among their military
attendants; but events soon occurred which rendered them all sufficiently
serious.
The leading files of the regiment had nearly attained the brow of the
steep hill we have mentioned, when two or three horsemen, speedily
discovered to be a part of their own advanced guard, who had acted as a
patrol, appeared returning at full gallop, their horses much blown, and
the men apparently in a disordered flight. They were followed upon the
spur by five or six riders, well armed with sword and pistol, who halted
upon the top of the hill, on observing the approach of the Life-Guards.
One or two who had carabines dismounted, and, taking a leisurely and
deliberate aim at the foremost rank of the regiment, discharged their
pieces, by which two troopers were wounded, one severely. They then
mounted their horses, and disappeared over the ridge of the hill,
retreating with so much coolness as evidently showed, that, on the one
hand, they were undismayed by the approach of so considerable a force as
was moving against them, and conscious, on the other, that they were
supported by numbers sufficient for their protection. This incident
occasioned a halt through the whole body of cavalry; and while
Claverhouse himself received the report of his advanced guard, which had
been thus driven back upon the main body, Lord Evandale advanced to the
top of the ridge over which the enemy’s horsemen had retired, and Major
Allan, Cornet Grahame, and the other officers, employed themselves in
extricating the regiment from the broken ground, and drawing them up on
the side of the hill in two lines, the one to support the other.
The word was then given to advance; and in a few minutes the first lines
stood on the brow and commanded the prospect on the other side. The
second line closed upon them, and also the rear-guard with the prisoners;
so that Morton and his companions in captivity could, in like manner, see
the form of opposition which was now offered to the farther progress of
their captors.
The brow of the hill, on which the royal Life-Guards were now drawn up,
sloped downwards (on the side opposite to that which they had ascended)
with a gentle declivity, for more than a quarter of a mile, and presented
ground, which, though unequal in some places, was not altogether
unfavourable for the manoeuvres of cavalry, until near the bottom, when
the slope terminated in a marshy level, traversed through its whole
length by what seemed either a natural gully, or a deep artificial drain,
the sides of which were broken by springs, trenches filled with water,
out of which peats and turf had been dug, and here and there by some
straggling thickets of alders which loved the moistness so well, that
they continued to live as bushes, although too much dwarfed by the sour
soil and the stagnant bog-water to ascend into trees. Beyond this ditch,
or gully, the ground arose into a second heathy swell, or rather hill,
near to the foot of which, and’ as if with the object of defending the
broken ground and ditch that covered their front, the body of insurgents
appeared to be drawn up with the purpose of abiding battle.
Their infantry was divided into three lines. The first, tolerably
provided with fire-arms, were advanced almost close to the verge of the
bog, so that their fire must necessarily annoy the royal cavalry as they
descended the opposite hill, the whole front of which was exposed, and
would probably be yet more fatal if they attempted to cross the morass.
Behind this first line was a body of pikemen, designed for their support
in case the dragoons should force the passage of the marsh. In their rear
was their third line, consisting of countrymen armed with scythes set
straight on poles, hay-forks, spits, clubs, goads, fish-spears, and such
other rustic implements as hasty resentment had converted into
instruments of war. On each flank of the infantry, but a little backward
from the bog, as if to allow themselves dry and sound ground whereon to
act in case their enemies should force the pass, there was drawn up a
small body of cavalry, who were, in general, but indifferently armed, and
worse mounted, but full of zeal for the cause, being chiefly either
landholders of small property, or farmers of the better class, whose
means enabled them to serve on horseback. A few of those who had been
engaed in driving back the advanced guard of the royalists, might now be
seen returning slowly towards their own squadrons. These were the only
individuals of the insurgent army which seemed to be in motion. All the
others stood firm and motionless, as the grey stones that lay scattered
on the heath around them.
The total number of the insurgents might amount to about a thousand men;
but of these there were scarce a hundred cavalry, nor were the half of
them even tolerably armed. The strength of their position, however, the
sense of their having taken a desperate step, the superiority of their
numbers, but, above all, the ardour of their enthusiasm, were the means
on which their leaders reckoned, for supplying the want of arms,
equipage, and military discipline.
On the side of the hill that rose above the array of battle which they
had adopted, were seen the women and even the children, whom zeal,
opposed to persecution, had driven into the wilderness. They seemed
stationed there to be spectators of the engagement, by which their own
fate, as well as that of their parents, husbands, and sons, was to be
decided. Like the females of the ancient German tribes, the shrill cries
which they raised, when they beheld the glittering ranks of their enemy
appear on the brow of the opposing eminence, acted as an incentive to
their relatives to fight to the last in defence of that which was dearest
to them. Such exhortations seemed to have their full and emphatic effect;
for a wild halloo, which went from rank to rank on the appearance of the
soldiers, intimated the resolution of the insurgents to fight to the
uttermost.
As the horsemen halted their lines on the ridge of the hill, their
trumpets and kettle-drums sounded a bold and warlike flourish of menace
and defiance, that rang along the waste like the shrill summons of a
destroying angel. The wanderers, in answer, united their voices, and sent
forth, in solemn modulation, the two first verses of the seventy-sixth
Psalm, according to the metrical version of the Scottish Kirk:
“In Judah’s land God is well known,
His name’s in Israel great:
In Salem is his tabernacle,
In Zion is his seat.
There arrows of the bow he brake,
The shield, the sword, the war.
More glorious thou than hills of prey,
More excellent art far.”
A shout, or rather a solemn acclamation, attended the close of the
stanza; and after a dead pause, the second verse was resumed by the
insurgents, who applied the destruction of the Assyrians as prophetical
of the issue of their own impending contest:--
“Those that were stout of heart are spoil’d,
They slept their sleep outright;
And none of those their hands did find,
That were the men of might.
When thy rebuke, O Jacob’s God,
Had forth against them past,
Their horses and their chariots both
Were in a deep sleep cast.”
There was another acclamation, which was followed by the most profound
silence.
While these solemn sounds, accented by a thousand voices, were prolonged
amongst the waste hills, Claverhouse looked with great attention on the
ground, and on the order of battle which the wanderers had adopted, and
in which they determined to await the assault.
“The churls,” he said, “must have some old soldiers with them; it was no
rustic that made choice of that ground.”
“Burley is said to be with them for certain,” answered Lord Evandale,
“and also Hackston of Rathillet, Paton of Meadowhead, Cleland, and some
other men of military skill.”
“I judged as much,” said Claverhouse, “from the style in which these
detached horsemen leapt their horses over the ditch, as they returned to
their position. It was easy to see that there were a few roundheaded
troopers amongst them, the true spawn of the old Covenant. We must manage
this matter warily as well as boldly. Evandale, let the officers come to
this knoll.”
He moved to a small moss-grown cairn, probably the resting-place of some
Celtic chief of other times, and the call of “Officers to the front,”
soon brought them around their commander.
“I do not call you around me, gentlemen,” said Claverhouse, “in the
formal capacity of a council of war, for I will never turn over on others
the responsibility which my rank imposes on myself. I only want the
benefit of your opinions, reserving to myself, as most men do when they
ask advice, the liberty of following my own.--What say you, Cornet
Grahame? Shall we attack these fellows who are bellowing younder? You are
youngest and hottest, and therefore will speak first whether I will or
no.”
“Then,” said Cornet Grahame, “while I have the honour to carry the
standard of the Life-Guards, it shall never, with my will, retreat before
rebels. I say, charge, in God’s name and the King’s!”
“And what say you, Allan?” continued Claverhouse, “for Evandale is so
modest, we shall never get him to speak till you have said what you have
to say.”
“These fellows,” said Major Allan, an old cavalier officer of experience,
“are three or four to one--I should not mind that much upon a fair field,
but they are posted in a very formidable strength, and show no
inclination to quit it. I therefore think, with deference to Cornet
Grahame’s opinion, that we should draw back to Tillietudlem, occupy the
pass between the hills and the open country, and send for reinforcements
to my Lord Ross, who is lying at Glasgow with a regiment of infantry. In
this way we should cut them off from the Strath of Clyde, and either
compel them to come out of their stronghold, and give us battle on fair
terms, or, if they remain here, we will attack them so soon as our
infantry has joined us, and enabled us to act with effect among these
ditches, bogs, and quagmires.”
“Pshaw!” said the young Cornet, “what signifies strong ground, when it is
only held by a crew of canting, psalm-singing old women?”
“A man may fight never the worse,” retorted Major Allan, “for honouring
both his Bible and Psalter. These fellows will prove as stubborn as
steel; I know them of old.”
“Their nasal psalmody,” said the Cornet, “reminds our Major of the race
of Dunbar.”
“Had you been at that race, young man,” retorted Allan, “you would have
wanted nothing to remind you of it for the longest day you have to live.”
“Hush, hush, gentlemen,” said Claverhouse, “these are untimely
repartees.--I should like your advice well, Major Allan, had our rascally
patrols (whom I will see duly punished) brought us timely notice of the
enemy’s numbers and position. But having once presented ourselves before
them in line, the retreat of the Life-Guards would argue gross timidity,
and be the general signal for insurrection throughout the west. In which
case, so far from obtaining any assistance from my Lord Ross, I promise
you I should have great apprehensions of his being cut off before we can
join him, or he us. A retreat would have quite the same fatal effect upon
the king’s cause as the loss of a battle--and as to the difference of
risk or of safety it might make with respect to ourselves, that, I am
sure, no gentleman thinks a moment about. There must be some gorges or
passes in the morass through which we can force our way; and, were we
once on firm ground, I trust there is no man in the Life-Guards who
supposes our squadrons, though so weak in numbers, are unable to trample
into dust twice the number of these unpractised clowns.--What say you, my
Lord Evandale?”
“I humbly think,” said Lord Evandale, “that, go the day how it will, it
must be a bloody one; and that we shall lose many brave fellows, and
probably be obliged to slaughter a great number of these misguided men,
who, after all, are Scotchmen and subjects of King Charles as well as we
are.”
“Rebels! rebels! and undeserving the name either of Scotchmen or of
subjects,” said Claverhouse; “but come, my lord, what does your opinion
point at?”
“To enter into a treaty with these ignorant and misled men,” said the
young nobleman.
“A treaty! and with rebels having arms in their hands? Never while I
live,” answered his commander.
“At least send a trumpet and flag of truce, summoning them to lay down
their weapons and disperse,” said Lord Evandale, “upon promise of a free
pardon--I have always heard, that had that been done before the battle of
Pentland hills, much blood might have been saved.”
“Well,” said Claverhouse, “and who the devil do you think would carry a
summons to these headstrong and desperate fanatics? They acknowledge no
laws of war. Their leaders, who have been all most active in the murder
of the Archbishop of St Andrews, fight with a rope round their necks, and
are likely to kill the messenger, were it but to dip their followers in
loyal blood, and to make them as desperate of pardon as themselves.”
“I will go myself,” said Evandale, “if you will permit me. I have often
risked my blood to spill that of others, let me do so now in order to
save human lives.”
“You shall not go on such an errand, my lord,” said Claverhouse; “your
rank and situation render your safety of too much consequence to the
country in an age when good principles are so rare.--Here’s my brother’s
son Dick Grahame, who fears shot or steel as little as if the devil had
given him armour of proof against it, as the fanatics say he has given to
his uncle.
[Note: Cornet Grahame. There was actually a young cornet of the
Life-Guards named Grahame, and probably some relation of
Claverhouse, slain in the skirmish of Drumclog. In the old ballad on
the Battle of Bothwell Bridge, Claverhouse is said to have continued
the slaughter of the fugitives in revenge of this gentleman’s death.
“Haud up your hand,” then Monmouth said; “Gie quarters to these men
for me;” But bloody Claver’se swore an oath, His kinsman’s death
avenged should be.
The body of this young man was found shockingly mangled after the
battle, his eyes pulled out, and his features so much defaced, that
it was impossible to recognise him. The Tory writers say that this
was done by the Whigs; because, finding the name Grahame wrought in
the young gentleman’s neckcloth, they took the corpse for that of
Claver’se himself. The Whig authorities give a different account,
from tradition, of the cause of Cornet Grahame’s body being thus
mangled. He had, say they, refused his own dog any food on the
morning of the battle, affirming, with an oath, that he should have
no breakfast but upon the flesh of the Whigs. The ravenous animal,
it is said, flew at his master as soon as he fell, and lacerated his
face and throat.
These two stories are presented to the reader, leaving it to him to
judge whether it is most likely that a party of persecuted and
insurgent fanatics should mangle a body supposed to be that of their
chief enemy, in the same manner as several persons present at
Drumclog had shortly before treated the person of Archbishop Sharpe;
or that a domestic dog should, for want of a single breakfast,
become so ferocious as to feed on his own master, selecting his body
from scores that were lying around, equally accessible to his
ravenous appetite.]
He shall take a flag of truce and a trumpet, and ride down to the edge of
the morass to summon them to lay down their arms and disperse.”
“With all my soul, Colonel,” answered the Cornet; “and I’ll tie my cravat
on a pike to serve for a white flag--the rascals never saw such a pennon
of Flanders lace in their lives before.”
“Colonel Grahame,” said Evandale, while the young officer prepared for
his expedition, “this young gentleman is your nephew and your apparent
heir; for God’s sake, permit me to go. It was my counsel, and I ought to
stand the risk.”
“Were he my only son,” said Claverhouse, “this is no cause and no time to
spare him. I hope my private affections will never interfere with my
public duty. If Dick Grahame falls, the loss is chiefly mine; were your
lordship to die, the King and country would be the sufferers.--Come,
gentlemen, each to his post. If our summons is unfavourably received, we
will instantly attack; and, as the old Scottish blazon has it, God shaw
the right!”