of the forts with effect, pushing steadily onward, with the merchantmen
closely in the rear. At length the point of peril was reached. The boom
extended across the stream, seemingly closing all further passage. But
that remained to be seen. The Mountjoy took the lead, all its sails
spread, a fresh breeze distending the canvas, and rushed head on at the
boom.
A few minutes of exciting suspense followed, then the great barricade
was struck, strained to its utmost, and, with a rending sound, gave way.
So great was the shock that the Mountjoy rebounded and stuck in the mud.
A yell of triumph came from the Irish who crowded the banks. They rushed
to their boats, eager to board the disabled vessel; but a broadside from
the Dartmouth sent them back in disordered flight.
In a minute more the Phoenix, which had followed close, sailed through
the breach which the Mountjoy had made, and was past the boom.
Immediately afterwards the Mountjoy began to move in her bed of mud. The
tide was rising. In a few minutes she was afloat and under way again,
safely passing through the barrier of broken stakes and spars. But her
brave commander was no more. A shot from one of the batteries had struck
and killed him, when on the very verge of gaining the highest honor that
man could attain,--that of saving his native town from the horrors of
starvation or massacre.
While this was going on, the state of feeling of the lean and hungry
multitude within the town was indescribable. Night had fallen before the
ships reached the boom. The lookout could no longer see and report
their movements. Intense was the suspense. Minutes that seemed hours
passed by. Then, in the distance, the flash of guns could be seen. The
sound of artillery came from afar to the ears of the expectant citizens.
But the hope which this excited went down when the shout of triumph rose
from the besiegers as the Mountjoy grounded. It was taken up and
repeated from rank to rank to the very walls of the city, and the hearts
of the besieged sank dismally. This cry surely meant failure. The
miserable people grew livid with fear. There was unutterable anguish in
their eyes, as they gazed with despair into one another's pallid faces.
A half-hour more passed. The suspense continued. Yet the shouts of
triumph had ceased. Did it mean repulse or victory? "Victory! victory!"
for now a spectral vision of sails could be seen, drawing near the town.
They grew nearer and plainer; dark hulls showed below them; the vessels
were coming! the town was saved!
Wild was the cry of glad greeting that went up from thousands of
throats, soul-inspiring the cheers that came, softened by distance, back
from the ships. It was ten o'clock at night. The whole population had
gathered at the quay. In came the ships. Loud and fervent were the
cheers and welcoming cries. In a few minutes more the vessels had
touched the wharves, well-fed sailors and starved townsmen were
fraternizing, and the long months of misery and woe were forgotten in
the intense joy of that supreme moment of relief.
Many hands now made short work. Wasted and weak as were the townsmen,
hope gave them strength. A screen of casks filled with earth was rapidly
built up to protect the landing-place from the hostile batteries on the
other side of the river. Then the unloading began. The eyes of the
starving inhabitants distended with joy as they saw barrel after barrel
rolled ashore, until six thousand bushels of meal lay on the wharf.
Great cheeses came next, beef-casks, flitches of bacon, kegs of butter,
sacks of peas and biscuit, until the quay was piled deep with
provisions.
One may imagine with what tears of joy the soldiers and people ate their
midnight repast that night. Not many hours before the ration to each man
of the garrison had been half a pound of tallow and three-quarters of a
pound of salted hide. Now to each was served out three pounds of flour,
two pounds of beef, and a pint of peas. There was no sleep for the
remainder of the night, either within or without the walls. The bonfires
that blazed along the whole circuit of the walls told the joy within the
town. The incessant roar of guns told the rage without it. Peals of
bells from the church-towers answered the Irish cannon; shouts of
triumph from the walls silenced the cries of anger from the batteries.
It was a conflict of joy and rage.
Three days more the batteries continued to roar. But on the night of
July 31 flames were seen to issue from the Irish camp; on the morning of
August 1 a line of scorched and smoking ruins replaced the
lately-occupied huts, and along the Foyle went a long column of pikes
and standards, marking the retreat of the besieging army.
The retreat became a rout. The men of Enniskillen charged the retreating
army of Newtown Butler, struggling through a bog to fall on double their
number, whom they drove in a panic before them. The panic spread through
the whole army. Horse and foot, they fled. Not until they had reached
Dublin, then occupied by King James, did the retreat stop, and
confidence return to the baffled besiegers of Londonderry.
Thus ended the most memorable siege in the history of the British
islands. It had lasted one hundred and five days. Of the seven thousand
men of the garrison but about three thousand were left. Of the besiegers
probably more had fallen than the whole number of the garrison.
To-day Londonderry is in large measure a monument to its great siege.
The wall has been carefully preserved, the summit of the ramparts
forming a pleasant walk, the bastions being turned into pretty little
gardens. Many of the old culverins, which threw lead-covered bricks
among the Irish ranks, have been preserved, and may still be seen among
the leaves and flowers. The cathedral is filled with relics and
trophies, and over its altar may be observed the French flag-staffs,
taken by the garrison in a desperate sally, the flags they once bore
long since reduced to dust. Two anniversaries are still kept,--that of
the day on which the gates were closed, that of the day on which the
siege was raised,--salutes, processions, banquets, addresses, sermons
signalizing these two great events in the history of a city which passed
through so frightful a baptism of war, but has ever since been the abode
of peace.
_THE HUNTING OF BRAEMAR._
In the great forest of Braemar, in the Highlands of Scotland, was
gathered a large party of hunters, chiefs, and clansmen, all dressed in
the Highland costume, and surrounded by extensive preparations for the
comfort and enjoyment of all concerned. Seldom, indeed, had so many
great lords been gathered for such an occasion. On the invitation of the
Earl of Mar, within whose domain the hunt was to take place, there had
come together the Marquises of Huntly and Tulliebardine, the Earls of
Nithsdale, Marischal, Traquair, Errol, and several others, and numerous
viscounts, lords, and chiefs of clans, many of the most important of the
nobility and clan leaders of the Highlands being present.
With these great lords were hosts of clansmen, all attired in the
picturesque dress of the Highlands, and so numerous that the convocation
had the appearance of a small army, the sport of hunting in those days
being often practised on a scale of magnificence resembling war. The red
deer of the Highlands were the principal game, and the method of hunting
usually employed could not be conducted without the aid of a large body
of men. Around the broad extent of wild forest land and mountain
wilderness, which formed the abiding-place of these animals, a circuit
of hunters many miles in extent was formed. This circuit was called the
_tinchel_. Upon a given signal, the hunters composing the circle began
to move inwards, rousing the deer from their lairs, and driving them
before them, with such other animals as the forest might contain.
Onward moved the hunters, the circle steadily growing less, and the
terrified beasts becoming more crowded together, until at length they
were driven down some narrow defile, along whose course the lords and
gentlemen had been posted, lying in wait for the coming of the deer, and
ready to show their marksmanship by shooting such of the bucks as were
in season.
The hunt with which we are at present concerned, however, had other
purposes than the killing of deer. The latter ostensible object
concealed more secret designs, and to these we may confine our
attention. It was now near the end of August, 1715. At the beginning of
that month, the Earl of Mar, in company with General Hamilton and
Colonel Hay, had embarked at Gravesend, on the Thames, all in disguise
and under assumed names. To keep their secret the better, they had taken
passage on a coal sloop, agreeing to work their way like common seamen;
and in this humble guise they continued until Newcastle was reached,
where a vessel in which they could proceed with more comfort was
engaged. From this craft they landed at the small port of Elie, on the
coast of Fife, a country then well filled with Jacobites, or adherents
to the cause of the Stuart princes. Such were the mysterious
preliminary steps towards the hunting-party in the forest of Braemar.
In truth, the hunt was little more than a pretence. While the clansmen
were out forming the tinchel, the lords were assembled in secret
convocation, in which the Earl of Mar eloquently counselled resistance
to the rule of King George, and the taking of arms in the cause of James
Francis Edward, son of the exiled James II., and, as he argued, the only
true heir to the English throne. He told them that he had been promised
abundant aid in men and money from France, and assured them that a
rising in Scotland would be followed by a general insurrection in
England against the Hanoverian dynasty. He is said to have shown letters
from the Stuart prince, the Chevalier de St. George, as he was called,
making the earl his lieutenant-general and commander-in-chief of the
armies of Scotland.
How many red deer were killed on this occasion no one can say. The noble
guests of Mar had other things to think of than singling out fat bucks.
None of them opposed the earl in his arguments, and in the end it was
agreed that all should return home, raise what forces they could by the
3d of September, and meet again on that day at Aboyne, in Aberdeenshire,
where it would be settled how they were to take the field.
Thus ended that celebrated hunt of Braemar, which was destined to bring
tears and blood to many a household in Scotland, through loyal devotion
to a prince who was not worth the sacrifice, and at the bidding of an
earl who was considered by many as too versatile in disposition to be
fully trusted. An anecdote is given in evidence of this opinion. The
castle of Braemar was, as a result of the hunt, so overflowing with
guests, that many of the gentlemen of secondary importance could not be
accommodated with beds, but were forced to spend the night around the
kitchen fire,--a necessity then considered no serious matter by the
hardy Scotch. But such was not the opinion of all present. An English
footman, a domestic of the earl, came pushing among the gentlemen,
complaining bitterly at having to sit up all night, and saying that
rather than put up with much of this he would go back to his own country
and turn Whig. As to his Toryism, however, he comforted himself with the
idea that he served a lord who was especially skilful in escaping
danger.
"Let my lord alone," he said; "if he finds it necessary, he can turn
cat-in-pan with any man in England."
While these doings were in progress in the Highlands, the Jacobites were
no less active in the Lowlands, and an event took place in the
metropolis of Scotland which showed that the spirit of disaffection had
penetrated within its walls. This was an attempt to take the castle of
Edinburgh by surprise,--an exploit parallel in its risky and daring
character with those told of the Douglas and other bold lords at an
earlier period.
The design of scaling this almost inaccessible stronghold was made by a
Mr. Arthur, who had been an ensign in the Scots' Guards and quartered in
the castle, and was, therefore, familiar with its interior arrangement.
He found means to gain over, by cash and promises, a sergeant and two
privates, who agreed that, when on duty as sentinels on the walls over
the precipice to the north, they would draw up rope-ladders, and fasten
them by grappling-irons at their top to the battlements of the castle.
This done, it would be easy for an armed party to scale the walls and
make themselves masters of the stronghold. Arthur's plan did not end
with the mere capture of the fortress. He had arranged a set of signals
with the Earl of Mar, consisting of a beacon displayed at a fixed point
on the castle walls, three rounds of artillery, and a succession of
fires flashing the news from hill-top to hill-top. The earl, thus
apprised of the success of the adventurers, was to hasten south with all
the force he could bring, and take possession of Edinburgh.
The scheme was well devised, and might have succeeded but for one of
those unlucky chances which have defeated so many well-laid plans.
Agents in the enterprise could be had in abundance. Fifty Highlanders
were selected, picked men from Lord Drummond's estates in Perthshire. To
these were added fifty others chosen from the Jacobites of Edinburgh.
Drummond, otherwise known as MacGregor, of Bahaldie, was given the
command. The scheme was one of great moment. Its success would give the
Earl of Mar a large supply of money, arms, and ammunition, deposited in
the fortress, and control of the greater part of Scotland, while
affording a ready means of communication with the English malcontents.
Unluckily for the conspirators, they had more courage than prudence.
Eighteen of the younger men were, on the night fixed, amusing themselves
with drinking in a public-house, and talked with such freedom that the
hostess discovered their secret. She told a friend that the party
consisted of some young gentlemen who were having their hair powdered in
order to go to an attack on the castle. Arthur, the originator of the
enterprise, also made what proved to be a dangerous revelation. He
engaged his brother, a doctor, in the scheme. The brother grew so
nervous and low-spirited that his wife, seeing that something was amiss
with him, gave him no rest until he had revealed the secret. She,
perhaps to save her husband, perhaps from Whig proclivities, instantly
sent an anonymous letter to Sir Adam Cockburn, lord justice-clerk of
Edinburgh, apprising him of the plot. He at once sent the intelligence
to the castle. His messenger reached there at a late hour, and had much
difficulty in gaining admittance. When he did so, the deputy-governor
saw fit to doubt the improbable tidings sent him. The only precaution he
took was to direct that the rounds and patrols should be made with
great care. With this provision for the safety of the castle, he went
to bed, doubtless with the comfortable feeling that he had done all that
could be expected of a reasonable man in so improbable a case.
While this was going on, the storming-party had collected at the
church-yard of the West Kirk, and from there proceeded to the chosen
place at the foot of the castle walls. There had been a serious failure,
however, in their preparations. They had with them a part of the
rope-ladders on which their success depended, but he who was to have
been there with the remainder--Charles Forbes, an Edinburgh merchant,
who had attended to their making--was not present, and they awaited him
in vain.
Without him nothing could be done; but, impatient at the delay, the
party made their way with difficulty up the steep cliff, and at length
reached the foot of the castle wall. Here they found on duty one of the
sentinels whom they had bribed; but he warned them to make haste, saying
that he was to be relieved at twelve o'clock, and after that hour he
could give them no aid.
The affair was growing critical. The midnight hour was fast approaching,
and Forbes was still absent. Drummond, the leader, had the sentinel to
draw up the ladder they had with them and fasten it to the battlements,
to see if it were long enough for their purpose. He did so; but it
proved to be more than a fathom short.
[Illustration: EDINBURGH CASTLE.]
And now happened an event fatal to their enterprise. The information
sent the deputy-governor, and his direction that the patrols should be
alert, had the effect of having them make the rounds earlier than usual.
They came at half-past eleven instead of at twelve. The sentinel,
hearing their approaching steps, had but one thing to do for his own
safety. He cried out to the party below, with an oath,--
"Here come the rounds I have been telling you of this half-hour; you
have ruined both yourselves and me; I can serve you no longer."
With these words, he loosened the grappling-irons and flung down the
ladders, and, with the natural impulse to cover his guilty knowledge of
the affair, fired his musket, with a loud cry of "Enemies!"
This alarm cry forced the storming-party to fly with all speed. The
patrol saw them from the wall and fired on them as they scrambled
hastily down the rocks. One of them, an old man, Captain McLean, rolled
down the cliff and was much hurt. He was taken prisoner by a party of
the burgher guard, whom the justice-clerk had sent to patrol the outside
of the walls. They took also three young men, who protested that they
were there by accident, and had nothing to do with the attempt. The rest
of the party escaped. In their retreat they met Charles Forbes, coming
tardily up with the ladders which, a quarter of an hour earlier, might
have made them masters of the castle, but which were now simply an
aggravation.
It does not seem that any one was punished for this attempt, beyond the
treacherous sergeant, who was tried, found guilty, and hanged, and the
deputy-governor, who was deprived of his office and imprisoned for some
time. No proof could be obtained against any one else.
As for the conspirators, indeed, it is probable that the most of them
found their way to the army of the Earl of Mar, who was soon afterwards
in the field at the head of some twelve thousand armed men, pronouncing
himself the general of His Majesty James III.,--known to history as the
"Old Pretender."
What followed this outbreak it is not our purpose to describe. It will
suffice to say that Mar was more skilful as a conspirator than as a
general, that his army was defeated by Argyle at Sheriffmuir, and that,
when Prince James landed in December, it was to find his adherents
fugitives and his cause in a desperate state. Perceiving that success
was past hope, he made his way back to France in the following month,
the Earl of Mar going with him, and thus, as his English footman had
predicted, escaping the fate which was dealt out freely to those whom he
had been instrumental in drawing into the outbreak. Many of these paid
with their lives for their participation in the rebellion, but Mar lived
to continue his plotting for a number of years afterwards, though it
cannot be said that his later plots were more notable for success than
the one we have described.
_THE FLIGHT OF PRINCE CHARLES._
It was early morning on the Hebrides, that crowded group of rocky
islands on the west coast of Scotland where fish and anglers much do
congregate. From one of these, South Uist by name, a fishing-boat had
put out at an early hour, and was now, with a fresh breeze in its sail,
making its way swiftly over the ruffled waters of the Irish Channel. Its
occupants, in addition to the two watermen who managed it, were three
persons,--two women and a man. To all outward appearance only one of
these was of any importance. This was a young lady of bright and
attractive face, dressed in a plain and serviceable travelling-costume,
but evidently of good birth and training. Her companions were a man and
a maid-servant, the latter of unusual height for a woman, and with an
embrowned and roughened face that indicated exposure to severe hardships
of life and climate. The man was a thorough Highlander, red-bearded,
shock-haired, and of weather-beaten aspect.
The boat had already made a considerable distance from the shore when
its occupants found themselves in near vicinity to another small craft,
which was moving lazily in a line parallel to the island coast. At a
distance to right and left other boats were visible. The island waters
seemed to be patrolled. As the fishing-boat came near, the craft just
mentioned shifted its course and sailed towards it. It was sufficiently
near to show that it contained armed men, one of them in uniform. A hail
now came across the waters.
"What boat is that? Whom have you on board?"
"A lady; on her way to Skye," answered the boatman.
"Up helm, and lay yourself alongside of us. We must see who you are."
The fishermen obeyed. They had reason to know that, just then, there was
no other course to pursue. In a few minutes the two boats were riding
side by side, lifting and falling lazily on the long Atlantic swell. The
lady looked up at the uniformed personage, who seemed an officer.
"My name is Flora McDonald," she said. "These persons are my servants.
My father is in command of the McDonalds on South Uist. I have been
visiting at Clanranald, and am now on my way home."
"Forgive me, Miss McDonald," said the officer, courteously; "but our
orders are precise; no one can leave the island without a pass."
"I know it," she replied, with dignity, "and have provided myself. Here
is my passport, signed by my father."
The officer took and ran his eye over it quickly: "Flora McDonald; with
two servants, Betty Bruce and Malcolm Rae," he read. His gaze moved
rapidly over the occupants of the boat, resting for a moment on the
bright and intelligent face of the young lady.
"This seems all right, Miss McDonald," he said, respectfully, returning
her the paper. "You can pass. Good-by, and a pleasant journey."
"Many thanks," she answered. "You should be successful in catching the
bird that is seeking to fly from that island. Your net is spread wide
enough."
"I hardly think our bird will get through the meshes," he answered,
laughingly.
In a few minutes more they were wide asunder. A peculiar smile rested on
the face of the lady, which seemed reflected from the countenances of
her attendants, but not a word was said on the subject of the recent
incident.
Their reticence continued until the rocky shores of the Isle of Skye
were reached, and the boat was put into one of the many inlets that
break its irregular contour. Silence, indeed, was maintained until they
had landed on a rocky shelf, and the boat had pushed off on its return
journey. Then Flora McDonald spoke.
"So far we are safe," she said. "But I confess I was frightfully scared
when that patrol-boat stopped us."
"You did not look so," said Betty Bruce, in a voice of masculine depth.
"I did not dare to," she answered. "If I had looked what I felt, we
would never have passed. But let us continue our journey. We have no
time to spare."
It was a rocky and desolate spot on which they stood, the rugged
rock-shelves which came to the water's edge gradually rising to high
hills in the distance. But as they advanced inland the appearance of the
island improved, and signs of human habitation appeared. They had not
gone far before the huts of fishermen and others became visible, planted
in little clearings among the rocks, whose inmates looked with eyes of
curiosity on the strangers. This was particularly the case when they
passed through a small village, at no great distance inland. Of the
three persons, it was the maid-servant, Betty Bruce, that attracted most
attention, her appearance giving rise to some degree of amusement. Nor
was this without reason. The woman was so ungainly in appearance, and
walked with so awkward a stride, that the skirts which clung round her
heels seemed a decided incumbrance to her progress. Her face, too,
presented a roughness that gave hint of possibilities of a beard. She
kept unobtrusively behind her mistress, her peculiar gait set the
goodwives of the village whispering and laughing as they pointed her
out.