only some distant shot. A gallant officer led his band down to the
borders of the swamp, in search of a proper place to cross. We
threw ourselves before him, a severe firing commenced. My gallant
men fired with great steadiness. We could see many tumbling from
their saddles. Not content with repelling the foemen, we found an
opportunity to cross, and attack sword in hand. The Captain, whose
name I afterwards ascertained to be Arrol, threw himself into my
path. In the first shock, I discharged my pistols. His sudden
start in the saddle, told me that one of them had taken effect.
With one of the tremendous oaths of Charles II. he closed with
me. He fired his steel pistol. I was in front of him;--my sword
glanced on the weapon, and gave a direction to the bullet, which
saved my life. By this time my men had driven the enemy before
them, and had left the ground clear for the single combat. As he
made a lounge at my breast, I turned his sword aside, by one of
those sweeping blows, which are rather the dictate of a kind of
instinct of self-defence, than a movement of art.--As our strokes
redoubled, my antagonist’s dark features put on a look of deep
and settled ferocity. No man who has not encountered the steel of
his enemy, in the field of battle, can conceive the looks and the
manner of the warrior, in the moments of his intense feelings. May
I never witness them again! We fought in silence. My stroke fell
on his left shoulder; it cut the belt of his carabine, which fell
to the ground. His blow cut me to the rib, glanced along the bone,
and rid me also of the weight of my carabine. He had now advanced
too near me to be struck with the sword. I grasped him by the
collar. I pushed him backwards; and, with an entangled blow of my
Ferrara, I struck him across his throat. It cut only the strap of
his head-piece, and it fell off. With a sudden spring, he seized
me by the sword belt. Our horses reared, and we both came to the
ground. We rolled on the heath in deadly conflict. It was in this
situation of matters, that my brave fellows had returned from the
rout of the flanking party, to look after their commander. One of
them was actually rushing on my antagonist, when I called on him to
retire. We started to our feet. Each grasped his sword. We closed
in conflict again. After parrying strokes of mine enemy, which
indicated a hellish ferocity, I told him, my object was to take him
prisoner; that sooner than kill him, I should order my men to seize
him. “Sooner let my soul be brandered on my ribs in hell,” said he,
“than be captured by a Whigmore. ‘_No quarter_’ is the word of my
Colonel, and my word. Have at the Whig--I dare the whole of you to
the combat.”--“Leave the mad man to me--leave the field instantly,”
said I to my party, whom I could hardly restrain. My sword fell on
his left shoulder.--His sword dropped from his hand.--I lowered
my sword, and offered him his life. ‘_No quarter_,’ said he, with
a shriek of despair. He snatched his sword, which I held in my
hand, and made a lounge at my breast. I parried his blows till he
was nearly exhausted; but, gathering up his huge limbs, he put
forth all his energy in a thrust at my heart.--My Andro Ferrara
received it, so as to weaken its deadly force; but it made a deep
cut. Though I was faint with loss of blood, I left him no time for
another blow. My sword glanced on his shoulder, cut through his
buff coat, and skin, and flesh; swept through his jaw, and laid
open his throat from ear to ear. The fire of his ferocious eye
was quenched in a moment. He reeled, and falling with a terrible
clash, he poured out his soul with a torrent of blood on the heath.
I sunk down, insensible for a moment. My faithful men, who never
lost sight of me, raised me up. In the fierce combat, the soldier
suffers most from thirst. I stooped down to fill my helmet with the
water which oozed through the morass. It was deeply tinged with
human blood, which flowed in the conflict above me. I started back
with horror; and Gawn Witherspoon bringing up my steed, we set
forward in the tumult of the battle.
All this while, the storm of war had raged on our left. Cleland
and the fierce Burley had charged the strong company sent to flank
them. These officers permitted me to cross the swamp, then, charged
them with a terrible shout. ‘_No quarter_,’ cried the dragoons.
‘Be _no quarter_ to you, then, ye murderous loons,’ cried Burley;
and at one blow he cut their leader through the steel cap, and
scattered his brains on his followers. His every blow overthrew a
foeman. Their whole forces were now brought up, and they drove the
dragoons of Clavers into the swamp. They rolled over each other.
All stuck fast. The Covenanters dismounted, and fought on foot.
They left not one man to bear the tidings to their Colonel.
The firing of the platoons had long ago ceased, and the dreadful
work of death was carried on by the sword. At this moment, a
trumpet was heard in the rear of our army. There was an awful
pause, all looked up. It was only the gallant Captain Nesbit, and
his guide, Woodburn of Mains; he had no reinforcements for us, but
himself was a host. With a loud huzza, and flourish of his sword,
he placed himself by the side of Burley, and cried, ‘jump the
ditch, and charge the enemy.’ He and Burley struggled through the
marsh. The men followed as they could. They formed and marched on
the enemy’s right flank.
At this instant, Hamilton and Hackstone brought forward the whole
line of infantry in front. ‘_God and our Country_’ re-echoed
from all the ranks--‘_No quarters_’ said the fierce squadrons of
Clavers.--Here commenced a bloody scene.
I seized the opportunity this moment offered to me of making a
movement to the left of the enemy to save my friend King and the
other prisoners.--We came in time to save them. Our sword speedily
severed the ropes which tyranny had bound on the arms of the men.
The weapons of the fallen foe supplied what was lacking of arms;
and with great vigour we moved forward to charge the enemy on
the left flank. Claverhouse formed a hollow square--himself in
the centre; his men fought gallantly; they did all that soldiers
could do in their situation. Wherever a gap was made, Clavers
thrust the men forward, and speedily filled it up. Three times he
rolled headlong on the heath as he hastened from rank to rank,
and as often he remounted. My little band thinned his ranks. He
paid us a visit. Here I distinctly saw the features and shape
of this far-famed man. He was small of stature, and not well
formed. His arms were long in proportion to his legs; he had a
complexion unusually dark; his features were not lighted up with
sprightliness, as some fabulously reported; they seemed gloomy as
hell: his cheeks were lank and deeply furrowed; his eye-brows were
drawn down and gathered into a kind of knot at their junctions,
and thrown up at their extremeties; they had, in short, the strong
expression given by our painters to those on the face of Judas
Iscariot, his eyes were hollow, they had not the lustre of genius
nor the fire of vivacity; they were lighted up by that dark fire
of wrath which is kindled and fanned by an internal anxiety, and
conciousness of criminal deeds; his irregular and large teeth
were presented through a smile, which was very unnatural on his
set of features; his mouth seemed to be unusually large from
the extremeties being drawn backward and downward--as if in the
intense application to something cruel and disgusting; in short,
his upper teeth projected over his under lip, and on the whole,
presented to my view the mouth on the image of the Emperor Julian
the Apostate.--In one of his rapid courses past us, my sword could
only shear off his white plumb and a fragment of his buff coat.
In a moment he was at the other side of the square. Our officers
eagerly sought a meeting with him. ‘He has the proof of lead,’
cried some of our men.--‘Take the cold steel or a piece of silver.’
‘No,’ cried Burley, ‘It is his rapid movement on that fine charger
that bids defiance to any thing like an aim in the tumult of the
bloody fray. I could sooner shoot ten heather cocks on the wing,
than one flying Clavers.’ At that moment Burley, whose eye watched
his antagonist, pushed into the hollow square. But Burley was too
impatient. His blow was levelled at him before he came within its
reach. His heavy sword descended on the head of Clavers’ horse
and felled him to the ground.--Burley’s men rushed pell-mell on
the fallen Clavers, but his faithful dragoons threw themselves
upon them, and by their overpowering force drove Burley back,
Clavers was in an instant on a fresh steed. His bugleman recalled
the party who were driving back the flanking party of Burley. He
collected his whole troops to make his last and desperate attack.
He charged our infantry with such force, that they began to reel.
It was only for a moment. The gallant Hamilton snatched the white
flag of the Covenant, and placed himself in the fore front of the
battle. Our men shouted ‘_God and our country_,’ and rallied under
the flag. They fought like heroes. Clavers fought no less bravely.
His blows were aimed at our officers. His steel fell on the helmet
of Hackstone, whose sword was entangled in the body of a fierce
dragoon, who had just wounded him. He was borne by his men into the
rear. I directed my men on Clavers. ‘Victory or death,’ was their
reply to me. Clavers received us. He struck a desperate blow at me
as he raised himself, with all his force, in the saddle. My steel
cap resisted it. The second stroke I received on my Ferrara and his
steel was shivered to pieces. We rushed headlong on each other. His
pistol missed fire--it had been soaked in blood. Mine took effect.
But the wound was not deadly. Our horses reared. We rolled on the
ground. In vain we sought to grasp each other. In the _mêlée_, men
and horse tumbled on us. We were for a few moments buried under our
men, whose eagerness to save the respective officers brought them
in multitudes down upon us. By the aid of my faithful man Gawn, I
had extricated myself from my fallen horse; and we were rushing
on the bloody Clavers, when we were again literally buried under
a mass of men; for Hamilton had by this time brought up his whole
line, and he had planted his standard where we and Clavers were
rolling on the heath. Our men gave three cheers and drove in the
troops of Clavers. Here I was borne along with the moving mass of
men; and, almost suffocated and faint with the loss of blood, I
knew nothing more till I opened my eye on my faithful attendant. He
had dragged me from the very grasp of the enemy, and had borne me
into the rear, and was bathing my temples with water. We speedily
regained our friends; and what a spectacle presented itself!--It
seemed that I beheld an immense moving mass heaped up together
in the greatest confusion.--Some shrieking, some groaning, some
shouted, horses neighed and pranced, swords rung on the steel
helmets. I placed around me a few of my hardy men, and we rushed
into the thickest of the enemy in search of Clavers, but it was
in vain. At that instant, his trumpet sounded the loud notes of
retreat; and we saw on a knoll Clavers borne away by his men.
He threw himself on a horse, and without sword, without helmet,
he fled in the first ranks of their retreating host. His troops
galloped up the hill in the utmost confusion. My little line closed
with that of Burley’s, and took a number of prisoners. Our main
body pursued the enemy two miles, and strewed the ground with men
and horses. I could see the bare-headed Clavers in front of his
men, kicking and struggling up the steep sides of Calder hill. He
halted only a moment on the top to look behind him, then plunged
his rowels into his horse, and darted forward; nor did he recover
from his panic till he found himself in the city of Glasgow.
‘And, my children,’ the Laird would say, after he had told the
adventures of this bloody day, ‘I visited the field of battle next
day; I shall never forget the sight. Men and horses lay in their
gory beds. I turned away from the horrible spectacle. I passed by
the spot where God saved my life in the single combat, and where
the unhappy Captain Arrol fell, I observed that, in the subsequent
fray, the body had been trampled on by a horse, and his bowels were
poured out. Thus, my children, the defence of our lives, and the
regaining of our liberty and religion, has subjected us to severe
trials. And how great must be the love of liberty, when it carries
men forward, under the impulse of self-defence, to witness the most
disgusting spectacles, and to encounter the most cruel hardships of
war!’
BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE.
“Heu! victa jacet pietas.”
* * * After the ranks of the patriotic Whigs were broken by
overwhelming forces, and while Dalzell and Clavers swept the south
and west of Scotland like the blast of the desert, breathing
pestilence and death--the individual wanderers betook themselves to
the caves and fastnesses of their rugged country. This was their
situation chiefly from A. D. 1680, to the Revolution. The Laird
spent his days in seclusion; but still he fearlessly attended
the weekly assemblies in the fields, for the worship of Almighty
God. What had he to fear?--His estate had been confiscated. His
wife and babes stript by the life guards of the last remnant of
earthly comfort which they could take away; and himself doomed as
an outlaw, to be executed by the military assassins when taken. He
became reckless of the world.
‘I have lived,’ said he in anguish, ‘to see a Prince, twice of his
own choice, take the oath of the covenants to support religion,
and the fundamental laws of the land. I have lived to see that
Prince turn traitor to his country, and, with unblushing impiety
order these covenants to be burned by the hands of the executioner.
I have seen him subvert the liberty of my country, both civil
and religious.--I have seen him erect a bloody inquisition. The
priest imposed on us by tyranny, instead of wooing us over by the
loveliness of religion, have thrown off the bowels of mercy. They
occupy seats in the bloody Council. They stimulate the cruelties
of Lauderdale, M’Kenzie and York. Their hands are dipt in blood to
the wrests. This Council will not permit us to live in peace. Our
property they confiscate. Our houses, they convert into barracks.
They drag free men into chains. They bring no witnesses of our
guilt.--They invent new tortures to convert us. They employ the
thumb-screws and bootkins. If we are silent they condemn us. If we
confess our Christian creed, they doom us to the gibbet. Not only
our sentence, but the manner of our execution is fixed before our
trial. Clavers is our judge; his dragoons are our executioners;
and these savages do still continue to employ even the sagacity
of blood hounds to hunt us down.--My soul turns away from these
loathsome spectacles.’
At this moment his brother John entered, with looks which betrayed
unusual anxiety. ‘My brother,’ said he, ‘a trooper advances at
full speed, and he is followed by a dark column. We have not even
time to fly.’--The mind of the laird like those of the rest of the
wanderers, always brightened up at the approach of danger. ‘Let us
reconnoiter,’ said he, ‘what do I see, but one trooper. And that
motely crowd is but a rabble--not a troop. That trooper is not of
Clavers’ band; nor does he belong to Douglas--nor to Ingles--nor
to Strachan’s dragoons. He waves a small flag. I can discover the
scarlet and blue colour of the Covenanters flag. Ha! welcome you,
John Howie of Lochgoin.--But what news?--Lives our country? Lives
the good old cause?’--‘Glorious news,’ exclaimed Howie, ‘Scotland
for ever! She is free. The tyrant James has abdicated. The Stuarts
are banished by an indignant nation, Orange triumphs, our wounds
are binding up.--Huzza! Scotland, and King William and the Covenant
for ever!’
The Laird made no reply. He laid his steel cap on the ground, and
threw himself on his knees; he uttered a brief prayer, in which
this was the close: ‘My bleeding country, and thy wailing kirk,
and my brethren in the furnace, have come in remembrance before
thee. For ever lauded be thy name.’--‘Hasten to the meeting at
Lesmahagow. Our friends behind me, you see, have already set out,’
said Howie. And he set out with enthusiastic ardour to spread the
news.
‘These news,’ said the Laird, after a long pause while his eyes
followed the courser over the plains of Aven--‘these news are to
me as life from the dead. I have a mind to meet my old friends at
Lesmahagow. And then, when serious business is despatched, we can
take Bothwell field in our return. It will yield me at least a
melancholy pleasure to visit the spot where we fought, I trust, our
last battle against the enemies of our country, and of the good old
cause.’
Serious matters of church and state having been discussed at the
public meeting, the brothers found themselves, on the fourth day,
on the battle ground of Bothwell.
‘On that moor,’ said the Laird, after a long silence--and without
being conscious of it, he had, by a kind of instinct, natural
enough to a soldier, drawn his sword, and was pointing with it--‘On
that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the
right, Clavers led on the life-guards, breathing fury, and resolute
to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalzell formed
his men on that knoll. Lord Livingstone led the van of the foemen.
We had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a
barricade, and our little battery of cannon was planted on the spot
below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it. The
foemen’s blood streamed there. Again and again the troops of the
tyrant marched on, and our cannon annihilated their columns. Sir
Robert Hamilton was our Commander-in-Chief.--The gallant general
Hackston stood on that spot with his brave men. Along the river,
and above the bridge, Burley’s foot and Captain Nisbet’s dragoons
were stationed. For one hour we kept the enemy in check; they were
defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde. Livingstone sent
another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall never forget
the effect of one fire from our battery, where my men stood. We
saw the line of the foe advance in all the military glory of
brave and beautiful men, the horses pranced--the armour gleamed.
In one moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality.
Human limbs, and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled
in one huge heap, or blown to a great distance. Another column
attempted to cross above the bridge. Some threw themselves into
the current. One well-directed fire from Burley’s troops threw
them into disorder, and drove them back. Meantime, while we were
thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to bring down the
different divisions of our main body into action; but in vain he
called on Colonel Cleland’s troop--in vain he ordered Henderson’s
to fall in--in vain he called on Colonel Fleming’s. Hackstone flew
from troop to troop--all was confusion; in vain he besought, he
intreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided zeal,
my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day. The Whig
turned his arm in fierce heat that day against his own vitals.
Our Chaplains, Cargil and King, and Kid, and Douglas, interposed
again and again, Cargil mounted the pulpit; he preached concord;
he called aloud for mutual forbearance. ‘Behold the banners of
the enemy,’ cried he, ‘hear ye not the fire of the foe, and of
our brethren? Our brothers and fathers are fallen beneath their
sword. Hasten to their aid. See the flag of the Covenant. See the
motto in letters of gold--“Christ’s Crown and the Covenant.” Hear
the wailings of the bleeding Kirk. Banish discord. And let us, as
a band of brothers present a bold front to the foeman--Follow me
all ye who love your country and the Covenant. I go to die in the
fore-front of the battle.’ All the ministers and officers followed
him, amidst a flourish of trumpets; but the great body remained to
listen to the harangues of the factious.--We sent again and again
for ammunition. My men were at the last round. Treachery, or a
fatal error, had sent a barrel of raisins instead of powder. My
heart sunk within me while I beheld the despair on the faces of my
brave fellows, as I struck out the head of the vessel. Hackstone
called his officers to him. We threw ourselves around him.--‘What
must be done?’ said he in an agony of despair. ‘Conquer or die,’
we said, as if with one voice. ‘We have our swords yet. Lead back
the men to their places and let the ensign bear down the blue and
scarlet colours. Our God and our country be the word.’ Hackstone
rushed forward. We ran to our respective corps--we cheered our
men but they were languid and disspirited. Their ammunition was
nearly expended, and they seemed anxious to husband what remained.
They fought only with their carabines. The cannons could no more
be loaded. The enemy soon perceived this. We saw a troop of horse
approach the bridge. It was that of the life-guards. I recognised
the plume of Clavers. They approached in rapid march. A solid
column of infantry followed. I sent a request to Captain Nesbit to
join his troop to mine. He was in an instant with me.--We charged
the life-guards. Our swords rung on their steel caps.--Many of our
brave lads fell on all sides of me. But we hewed down the foe. They
began to reel.--The whole column was kept stationary on the bridge.
Clavers’ dreadful voice was heard--more like the yell of a savage,
than the commanding voice of a soldier. He pushed forward his men,
and again we hewed them down. A third mass was pushed up. Our
exhausted dragoon fled.--Unsupported, I found myself by the brave
Nesbit, and Paton, and Hackstone. We looked for a moment’s space
in silence on each other. We galloped in front of our retreating
men. We rallied them. We pointed to the General almost alone. We
pointed to the white and to the scarlet colours floating near him.
We cried, ‘God and our Country.’ They faced about. We charged
Clavers once more.--‘Torfoot,’ cried Nesbit, ‘I dare you to the
fore-front of the battle.’ We rushed up at full gallop. Our men
seeing this followed also at full speed.--We broke down the enemy’s
line, bearing down those files which we encountered. We cut our
way through their ranks. But they had now lengthened their front.
Superior numbers drove us in. They had gained entire possession
of the bridge. Livingstone and Dalzell were actually taking us
on the flank.--A band had got between us and Burley’s infantry.
‘My friends,’ said Hackstone to his officers, ‘we are last on the
field. We can do no more.--We must retreat.--Let us attempt, at
least, to bring aid to the deluded men behind us. They have brought
ruin on themselves and on us. Not Monmouth, but our own divisions
have scattered us.’