See how he clears the points o’ faith.—_Burns._
_Hamlet._ Hold you the watch to-night?
_Horatio._ We do, my lord.—_Shakspeare._
Day was dawning as our travellers reached the camp of the Covenanters.
They rested for some time to partake of victuals, which their journey
rendered necessary. Isaac Rolland then judged it proper to present his
son to Montrose, and accordingly conducted him to Dunottar, where the
general then was. They were admitted to his presence.
“I expected you sooner, Rolland,” said Montrose. “What intelligence have
you gathered?”
“The enemy are preparing to take the field with a numerous and
well-appointed force, and I have gathered, from a sure source, that it
is their intention to attack our forces as soon as some needful supplies
are received from the north.”
“How do the citizens stand affected?”
“Almost to a man they have joined Aboyne. They have fortified the city
and the bridge, and are determined to hold out to the last.”
“The ungrateful truce-breaking slaves!” said Montrose. “But vengeance is
at hand. Who is this young man whom thou hast brought with thee?”
“My son,” said Isaac, “whom grace hath inclined to take part with us.”
“A youth of gallant bearing! Young man, thy father’s faithfulness is a
warrant for thine. Let thy fidelity equal thy reputed spirit, and thou
shalt not lack the encouragement due to thy deserts. You may both retire
to rest, and I will apprise you of the duties required of you.”
They saluted the general, and retired.
A foraging party returned with a report that Aboyne was already on his
march. This was found to be incorrect by some scouts who had been
dispatched that evening to gather what information they could about the
enemy’s motions. They brought the intelligence, however, that Aboyne’s
equipments were completed, and that it was the popular belief that he
would march immediately to meet the Covenanters. Preparations were
accordingly made for immediate marching. Numerous foraging parties
scoured the adjacent country for provisions, and horses for transporting
the baggage and ammunition. According to the custom of the Congregation,
when about to engage in warfare, the next day was appointed for a
general fast throughout the host.
There perhaps never was assembled any body for the purposes of religious
worship that exhibited such an appearance of romantic sublimity as the
Covenanters did on such occasions. At the present time they were
assembled under the blue canopy of heaven, in a hollow valley betwixt
two mountains, the summits of which were planted with sentinels, to give
notice to the main body of any interruption. Upon the declivity of one
of the mountains was erected a wooden pulpit, before which was assembled
the army, to the number of about 2000 men. A dead stillness prevailed
among them, while the preacher, a man richly endowed with that nervous
and fiery eloquence which was the most effectual with men in their
situation, explained to them a passage from the fifteenth chapter of
Second Samuel:—“Thus saith the Lord of hosts, I remember that which
Amalek did to Israel, how he laid wait for him in the way, when he came
up from Egypt. Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that
they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and
suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass.” This passage he applied to the
condition of the Covenanters. He described the sufferings and grievances
of the persecuted kirk, and showed that the Almighty did not disregard
these, but, in His own time, would avenge the blood of His saints. He
told them that God was now calling on all who were on His side to fight
for the good of the land, and that His soul could have no pleasure in
those who drew back from the approaching contest. “And now,” said he,
while the fire flashed from his eyes, as with prophetic ardour, which
was answered by a corresponding enthusiasm in his hearers; “and now the
men of Babylon have set up an image of gold, even a molten image, and
they say, ‘Fall down and worship the image that we have set up;’ and
they have fenced themselves with trenched cities, and they have
encompassed themselves with spears, and a multitude of horsemen and
slingers, and archers, and they say unto this help from Egypt, ‘This
shall be for a deliverance unto us.’ But fear not ye the multitude of
their strong ones, neither be dismayed at the neighing of their horses;
for the Lord of hosts is on our side, and His right hand shall work
valiantly for us. He breaketh the iron weapon, and burneth the chariot
in the fire. He laugheth at the bow of steel and the rattling of the
quiver. Walled cities are no defence against His hand, nor the place of
strength, when His thunder muttereth in the sky. Wherefore, gird up your
loins to fight the battles of the Lord. Smite the Amalekites from Dan
even unto Beersheba. Destroy the lines of their tents, and their choice
young men, that the reproach may be removed from the camp of Israel.
Turn not aside from the sacrifice like the faint-hearted Saul, but smite
them till they be utterly consumed, and their name become a hissing, and
an abomination, and a by-word upon the earth. Think on your children,
and your children’s children, from age to age, who shall hold your name
in everlasting remembrance, and look to the reward of Him who sitteth
between the cherubim, who hath said, that whosoever layeth down his life
for My sake shall find it.
“The days are now come when the father shall deliver up the son to
death, and the son the father; when the brother shall be divided against
the sister, and the sister against the mother. But the days of Zion’s
peace shall also come, when all the princes of the earth shall bow down
before her, and call her the fairest among women. (Canticles, sixth and
first.) The house of the Lord shall be established on the tops of the
mountains. The New Jerusalem shall appear as a bride adorned for her
husband. (Revelations, twenty-first and second.) The tabernacle of God
shall be with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His
people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God; and God
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow nor sighing, neither shall there be any more pain,
for the former things shall have passed away. Go forth, then, to the
battle. Quit yourselves like men. Be strong. Look to those ancient
worthies who, through faith, subdued kingdoms, stopped the mouths of
lions, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the alien.
Fear not their multitude nor their fury, for he that is with you is
greater than your enemies. Think on the persecuted state of Zion, and
may the God of battles be for a buckler and a defence unto you!”
A hum of approbation ran along the lines of the Covenanters at the
conclusion of this discourse, while the preacher called upon them to
join with him in praising the Almighty. The part chosen was that
eloquent passage of the eightieth psalm, where the Israelites are spoken
of under the similitude of a vine.
As the last note of this hymn ascended in solemn strains to the lofty
heaven, several of the scouts made their appearance, with jaded horses,
bringing the news that Aboyne was already on his march, and approaching
rapidly to Stonehaven. Orders were immediately given to the army of the
Covenanters to set out on their journey. These were promptly obeyed,
and, in a few hours, the armies met at Megray Hill. This was announced
to the Covenanters by their advanced guard being driven back by the
royalists. It was not, however, Aboyne’s intention to hazard a general
engagement, as his soldiers were wearied by the march. But Montrose,
dispatching a strong band of infantry, supported by a detachment of
cavalry, broke upon them suddenly both in flank and rear, involved them
in the greatest confusion, and forced them to seek Aberdeen by a rapid
flight, after leaving a considerable number dead on the field. Montrose
pursued them, with the greatest possible dispatch, to Aberdeen, where
they made a stand. The Bridge of Dee was fortified in a very strong
manner, and protected by four field-pieces and a strong guard of the
citizens. Montrose made several attempts at forcing it, but was
vigorously repulsed by the defenders, who poured in a shower of missiles
with effect on the assailants, while they themselves were so sheltered
by their breastworks that they received little injury. Montrose was
obliged, therefore, to draw off his forces, and, as it was evening, gave
up the thought of any farther attack. Having found a convenient place,
he pitched his camp about a mile from the bridge, and stationed his
sentinels on the little eminences in its neighbourhood, while those of
Aboyne were planted on both sides of the river for a considerable
distance above and below the bridge. Both armies, fatigued with the
exertions of the day, availed themselves of the repose offered by their
situation, and in a short time the busy hum of both camps was changed
into stillness.
Our hero had accompanied the army during the march, with that wonder and
admiration which youthful minds feel in such spirit-stirring scenes. The
strictness of the military duty, the contempt of danger, the degree of
subordination and regularity that prevailed (for the abilities of
Montrose prevented that ruinous confusion which the camp of the
Covenanters too often exhibited), and the promptness and patience with
which the necessary commands were executed made an impression on the
mind of Basil strongly in favour of his military life. The general, at
the commencement of the march, ordered him to be near his person, and by
means, as the Covenanters would have said, of a “soul-searching”
conversation, contrived to get a clear view of his character and worth.
The opinion that he made up was in favour of Basil, and he scrupled not
to give him more direct assurances of his favour than he had hitherto
done. The honours that had been paid him by this distinguished statesman
and general gave rise to a new train of ideas in his mind; and, as the
army was preparing for the night’s repose, he was charging the enemy at
the head of his own troops, succouring the distressed damsel, and
hurling unheard-of destruction on his foes. But the mightiest conquerors
have often found themselves conquered when they least expected it; and,
as the valiant Don Quixote felt his very soul withering when thinking on
the absence of his Dulcinea, so our hero regarded the short time that he
had been separated from his Mary to be an age. An ugly river and a
hostile army lay between him and his love. If Leander swam across the
Hellespont, surely he might cross the Dee, and trust the rest to his
prudence and good fortune.
His father was engaged with the general; so out he wandered, and, by his
correct local knowledge, succeeded in passing the various sentinels, and
getting to the banks of the river, a little below the rocks called the
Craig-lug, where he had the fortune to find a small fishing-boat (for,
so far back as the year 1290, Aberdeen is celebrated in history for its
salmon-fishings). He easily rowed himself across the river, and,
fastening the boat on the northern bank, stole along the water’s edge,
and entered that part of the town which, as fronting the harbour, was
not walled. He directed his course to the Broadgate, and, as there were
still several stragglers in the street, ensconced himself behind a
projecting shop till all should be quiet.
When he left the camp, the night was calm and serene. The breeze that
floated by was unable to curl the surface of the river, and the
moonbeams were dancing in silvery circles on the placid waters as they
gurgled by. But this was not of long continuance. The atmosphere became
quickly loaded with clouds, the moon was obscured, the rain fell in
torrents, and the sullen howling of the east wind, with the hollow
muttering of the thunder, indicated one of those storms which not
unfrequently disturb the beauty of summer. Basil wrapped his cloak the
closer around him, and hastened to the provost’s house. All in it was
dark and still. He knocked; but no one returned an answer. Astonished at
this, he endeavoured to open the door, but it resisted his efforts.
Being acquainted with all the intricacies of the provost’s domicile, he
gained admission by a window, but found the house deserted of its
inhabitants and stripped of its furniture. Mary Leslie’s apartment was
then the object of his search. It was also desolate. Her lute, her
books, and her landscapes were all removed. In groping through the room,
his hand fell on a small picture, which the next flash of lightning
discovered to be her miniature. He pressed it to his lips and hid it in
his bosom, regarding it, as the holy man did the prophetic mantle, as
the last unexpected memorial of a lost friend. It would be vain to
attempt to describe his amazement at these appearances. He trembled for
his friends, when he knew the deeds of violence that were daily
practised in these perilous times. He determined to arouse the
neighbourhood—to search for, pursue, and destroy in one breath, all who
had been any way concerned in this outrage. Reason, however, came to his
aid, and he saw the utter uselessness of _his_ attempting such a thing,
except by the assistance that he could obtain from the Covenanters. He
therefore turned sorrowfully to retrace his steps, which, from the
darkness of the night and the violence of the storm, was not an easy
matter. Having rowed himself across the river by the little boat, he was
making a circuit to reach the camp, when he saw a light at a small
distance from the landing-place. It proceeded from a hut that was built
at the foot of the rock for the accommodation of the fishermen. Curious
to know who were in it at this untimely hour, he pressed forward, and
listened to the following dialogue:—
“Ay! an’ will ye tell me that the possession of Joash, the Abiezrite,
wasna in Ophrah? But it’s just like a’ your fouk; ye ken naething about
the Scriptures, but daze yourselves wi’ that ill-mumbled mass, the
prayer-beuk. But your yill’s very gude, and far better than what we
have.”
“I doubtna, my lad,” said another voice; “your fouk are sae stocked, I
daresay Montrose is gaun to mak you a’ Nazarenes, for he gies you
neither wine nor strong drink.”
“Dinna speak lightly o’ the Scriptures, Sawnie Hackit; ye’re just a
blaspheming Shemei, or a time-serving Balaam.”
“Hout,” said Hackit, “gie’s nane o’ your foul-mou’d misca’ings. I wunner
what the deil garred you turn a Covenanter, Tammas Granehard, for ye
usedna to be that fond o’ covenants, unless it was ane for a fou pint
stoup at Jamie Jinks’ hostelry.”
“I wasna aye i’ the right way, Sandie, muckle to my shame; but better
late mend than never do weel; an’ I’m thinking it would be better for
you if ye would come wi’ us, for your fouk can never stand ours, and,
instead o’ getting share o’ the spuilzie, ye’ll maybe get but a
weel-clawed crown.”
“I doubtna but ye’re very right, Tammas; but what would come o’ my ten
achisons ilka day, forby the jibble o’ drink, an’ my place at Provost
Leslie’s?”
“I’m doubtin’ your place there’ll no’ be worth muckle, if we tak the
town. The provost isna a man to be passed over, wha can sae weel afford
to pay for’s idolatry.”
“Did ye ever hear,” said Hackit, “o him ever losing ony thing when the
whigs had the town one day and the royalists the next?”
“Weel, Sandie,” said the other, “I canna just charge my memory wi’ ony
thing o’ the kind; and gif it wasna, it was that God-fearing man, Samuel
Fairtext, that saved him.”
“Ay,” said Hackit; “and, when the royalists were here, it was the jolly
old cavalier that saved Fairtext. Troth, it’s the only wiselike
partnership that I ken o’ at present; for, if they had been baith whigs
or baith royalists, they would have been ruined out o’ house and ha’ ere
this time. But, ye see, when the royalists were in the town, Fairtext
kept himself quiet, and they wadna meddle wi’ him on Provost Leslie’s
account. And now a’ the gudes are removed, an’ put under Fairtext’s
care; sae that the Covenanters wudna tak the value of a shoe-tie frae
him, for he can pray and grane as weel as ony o’ them. The provost and
his dochter have left their ain house, and are to dwell wi’ Fairtext
till the danger be ower.”
By the latter part of this conversation, Basil felt as if the imaginary
weight of sorrow were removed from his bosom; but, instead of it, his
arms were pinioned on a sudden, by a strong physical force, so firmly,
that he was unable to move himself round to discover the occasion of
this unceremonious embrace.
“Come here, ye dotterels!” said a strong voice; “ye sit there, gabbin’
an’ drinkin’ awa, nae caring wha may be hearing you. An’ you, my birkie,
will better be as quiet ’s you can, or, deil tak me,—an’ I’m no used to
swear,—but I’ll scour my durk atween the ribs o’ ye.”
A couple of men now came out of the hut and assisted in dragging Basil
into it. As soon as they had forced him in, the person who had first
seized him quitted his hold, exclaiming, “Eh, sirs! is that you?” Hackit
also let him go, and Basil was able to look around him. There was
neither chair nor table in the booth, but turf seats around the walls,
plentifully littered with straw. A candle, fixed in the neck of an empty
bottle, illuminated the place, and revealed a goodly quantity of
bottles, with two or three horn drinking-cups on the floor, by which it
appeared that the party had been engaged in a debauch.
Thomas Granehard still kept his hold, and, in a stern voice, demanded
what he was?
“What the deil’s your business wi’ that?” said Hackit. “I ken him, an’
that’s eneuch.”
“But I am strong in spirit,” muttered the Covenanter.
“The toom bottles testify that, to a certainty, Tammas,” said the other.
“But, never mind; get anither stoup, Geordie, an’ sit down, Master
Basil.”
“Blithely,” said Geordie; “and troth, Master Rolland, I didna ken it was
you, or I wudna hae handled you sae roughly. But sit down, for it’s a
coarse night.”
“I may not,” said Basil. “I must to the camp. But why do I find you
here?”
“Ou,” said Hackit, “ye see Geordie and me belangs to Aboyne, for the
provost sent a’ his servants to him. We’re upon the watch the night, ye
maun ken. But wha, i’ the name of the seventy disciples, could stand
thereout in a night like this? Sae we made up to the Covenanters’
warders, and met in wi’ Tammas there, an auld acquaintance; and we
thought it best to come here and keep ourselves warm wi’ sic liquor as
we could get, and let the camps watch themselves.”
“Do you know that you all expose yourselves to death for this frolic?”
“There gang twa words to that bargain. We’ve done a’ that could be
reasonably expected,—we watched till the storm came.”
“Well, you are not accountable to me; I must depart.”
“Weel, a gude evening to you. But stop!—now that I mind—ye maun gie me
the pass-word.”
“The pass-word!” said Basil, in a tone of surprise.
“Ay, the pass-word! Ye see, Sergeant Clinker says to me, ‘Now, Saunders,
if ony ane comes to you that canna say _Balgownie_, ye’re to keep him
and bring him to me.’ Sae, for as weel’s I like you, Master Basil, ye
canna pass without it.”
“Balgownie, then,” said Basil laughing.
Hackit turned on his heel, saying it was “vera satisfactory,” when
Granehard remembered that he had got a similar injunction; wherefore,
making shift to steady himself a little by leaning on his arquebuss, he
delivered himself thus:—
“Beloved brethren,—I mean young man,—I, even I, have also received a
commandment from ancient Snuffgrace, saying, ‘Thou shalt abstain from
wine and strong drink; and whosoever cometh unto thee that cannot give
the pass, _Tiglathpeleser_, thou shalt by no means allow him to escape,
otherwise thou shalt be hanged on a tree, as was the bloody Haman, the
son of Hammedatha, the Agagite.’ Wherefore, now, repeat unto me the
word—the light of the moon is darkened—another cup, Sandie—woe to the
Man of Sin—a fearsome barking—dumb dogs—Malachi——” And he sank down in a
state of complete and helpless intoxication.
Basil earnestly advised Hackit and his companions to return immediately
to their posts, and retraced his steps to the camp, as the reader may
judge, not excessively gratified with the issue of the night’s
adventure.