The realm from danger to secure,
To foreign aid we cry;
With papists and non-jurors join
To keep out popery.
_Whig Song._
In the mutual affection which subsisted between herself and her lord,
the Countess of Nithsdale would now have enjoyed happiness, as perfect
and as unalloyed as mortals may look for here below, had not the public
affairs of the time been to both a subject of deep interest and anxiety.
The party of the Chevalier de St. George was strong in Scotland. The
people in general were disaffected to the government in consequence
of the Union: a measure against which many signed a protest, which
was presented by the Duke of Athol; and a measure which, in the
eyes of many Scotchmen, appeared contrary to the honour, interest,
and constitution of their country, the birthright of the peers, the
privileges of the barons and boroughs, and to the claim of right,
property, and liberty of the subject.
While such feelings tended to produce discontent among all orders, the
regular troops, under the Earl of Leven, did not exceed 2500 men, many
of whom upon the landing of the Chevalier would most probably have
joined him. The castle of Edinburgh was destitute of ammunition; and if
it had surrendered, the Jacobites would have found themselves masters
of a considerable sum of money.
The King of France, with the view of making a diversion from the
Netherlands, and of occupying Queen Anne with disturbances at home,
had granted considerable assistance to the Pretender. A squadron was
assembled at Dunkirk under the Chevalier de Fourbin, and a body of land
forces was embarked under M. de Gace: James was furnished with services
of gold and silver plate, sumptuous tents, splendid liveries, and all
sorts of necessaries, even to profusion. Louis had presented him with
a sword studded with diamonds, and had repeated to him the same words
with which he had dismissed his father,--that the kindest wish he could
express towards him was, "that he might never see him again."
The Scottish nobles but awaited the moment of the Chevalier's landing
to rise simultaneously in his favour: though outwardly all was quiet,
they were on the tip-toe of expectation, when the active measures taken
by Queen Anne, the vigilance of Sir George Byng, who intercepted the
squadron before it could reach Edinburgh, and the wind, which prevented
its ever arriving at Inverness, rendered vain all their hopes and fears.
The Chevalier, after having been tost upon the seas during a month of
tempestuous weather, returned to Dunkirk; and Sir George Byng sailed up
the Leith road to Edinburgh, for the purpose of receiving the freedom
of the city which he had delivered from impending danger.
Thus ended the Chevalier de St. George's first, and almost ridiculous,
attempt to recover the throne of his ancestors.
To the Earl of Nithsdale this period had been one of no common
anxiety: he was too well aware of the dissensions which Colonel Hook's
imprudence had produced among the Chevalier's most faithful partisans,
to feel confident of the result under any circumstances; and he knew
that till the king was actually in Scotland, and was himself a rallying
point for all his adherents, nothing but mischief could accrue from
any movement among his friends. He had therefore so conducted himself
as to escape the notice of government: his disappointment was great
when he found that a moment, in many respects so favourable for the
Jacobite cause, had been allowed to escape; but far greater was his
mortification at finding the monarch to whom he had devoted himself
could be so easily persuaded to return to dependence on the court of
France; and his fears for the future affected him still more deeply
than his vexation at the failure of the present attempt.
His young wife also grieved at the dispersion of their cherished hopes;
but to her, the object of real and deep anxiety was her husband.
Sometimes, when, with folded arms, he would gaze vacantly upon the
blazing fire, his dark brows knit, his lips compressed, his mind
absorbed in sad retrospections and melancholy forebodings, the un-read
book would fall upon her knee, or the needle drop from her hand, as she
watched the expression of his face. On one occasion, when he caught
her eyes thus fixed upon him, a kind but passing smile illumined his
countenance; and addressing her with the low and mellow voice which
first made her maiden heart his own,--"My gentle Winifred," he said,
"you have exchanged a calm and peaceful home, beloved and cheerful
friends, the sister of your affections, and all the joyous carelessness
of youth, for an unsettled country, a troubled land, and a gloomy
husband--who hates himself, dearest, when he thinks his thoughtfulness
and his abstraction can cast a shade of care over that smooth and
tranquil brow----"
"Oh my dear lord!" she exclaimed, as she looked up at him, her eyes
half filled with tears.
Lord Nithsdale continued,--"Or that his moody silence can bring tears
into those dear eyes!" and seating himself beside her, he pressed her
slender hand in his.
"It is not his silence, but my beloved lord's kind words, that have
brought tears into these foolish eyes. I can scarce believe that one so
far above me in wisdom and in knowledge--one whose mind is engrossed by
subjects of such moment, can take so much thought for such an ignorant
child as I am. I often regret my convent education; for I feel, my
lord, that I can be no companion to you; and in these times especially,
when----"
"Wish not yourself other than you are, my love! It is that purity, that
heavenly innocence, that confiding simplicity, which render you in my
eyes so immeasurably superior to all the far-famed beauties of this, or
any other land. What are their charms, their wit, their talents, their
learning, their acquired attractions, to that pure blush which even now
mantles my own sweet Winifred's cheek, to hear her praises, though from
a husband's lips?"
And Winifred was happy; for she found that in truth her unobtrusive
affection, her gentle cares, could alone dispel the gloom which hung
over that beloved husband.
Time, however, changed the nature of his regrets. Lord Nithsdale's
clear understanding could not fail to perceive that his country was
quiet, prosperous, and glorious under the rule of its present monarch;
and the doubt would cross him whether it were the act of a true patriot
to favour the pretensions of one who must necessarily overturn much of
what tended to promote that prosperity.
Still, was he not by birth a Jacobite? a Catholic? and therefore bound
from motives of religion to support a Catholic claimant to the throne?
Moreover, had he not, in his romantic interview with the Pretender,
pledged himself personally to his service? It was too late to retract!
If any attempt were renewed in his favour, he could not but join in
it. Yet the consciousness of being bound in honour to a cause of which
his reason could not thoroughly approve, oppressed him with a sense of
care--almost of guilt.
He was a man who wished strictly to act as honour and as duty might
dictate, and he was not carried away by eager hopefulness, or by
ambition, or by passion. He saw and balanced so nicely the reasons
and arguments on both sides, that he was apt to be dissatisfied with
himself; sometimes to think he was guilty of a dereliction of duty
towards his lawful sovereign, when his clear judgment forced upon him
the thriving condition of his country; at others, to feel that he
was perhaps ready to sacrifice the real good of thousands to his own
private notions of personal honour.
The Lady Nithsdale, with never-failing gentleness, soothed these
wayward feelings, if wayward they may be called, which were so natural
to a conscientious man in times such as those we treat of. She would
chase away his gloom by light and playful converse; she would gather
around him their friends and neighbours, and lure him to forget his
careful thoughts in the pleasing duties of hospitality; or she would
draw his attention to the gambols of their children, the young Lord
Maxwell and the little Lady Anne, and lead him to join in their sports,
and thus lose the sense of the conflicting duties which pressed so
heavily upon his mind. He was always, and at all times, the object
of her thoughts; and the earl in return hung on her as his stay, his
support, his consolation.
The bond of their mutual affection thus became more firmly knit than
if their lives had passed in an uninterrupted flow of happiness. The
affection which is wearied by sadness, or falls off in sorrow, is one
which has taken but shallow root in the heart.
It is perhaps to the credit of human nature, that misfortune is not
the trial under which mutual attachment so frequently gives way as
under that of unbroken prosperity. When there is any groundwork of
tenderness, the sight of the object of that tenderness in sorrow, in
sickness, or in suffering, endears it more and more. The attention is
fixed; the thoughts are occupied: affection is called into action;
it is not allowed to drop into a slumber, which sometimes ends in
lethargy. The enduring love of wives to wayward husbands, the exceeding
fondness of some husbands for capricious wives, may thus be accounted
for. How natural was it, then, that an anxious and thoughtful temper,
produced by conscientious scruples, devoted loyalty, romantic honour,
and disinterested patriotism, should concentrate upon her husband every
feeling of a soul which, like the Countess of Nithsdale's, was made up
of duty and of tenderness!
The imprudent boldness with which many Jacobites professed their
principles and their attachment to the Pretender was to Lord Nithsdale
a source of much vexation. The Duchess of Gordon sent the faculty of
advocates a silver medal, representing on one side the Chevalier de
St. George, and on the reverse the British islands, with the motto
"Reddite." The duchess was thanked for having presented them with a
medal of "their sovereign lord the king;" and a confident hope was
expressed that her grace would soon have an opportunity of offering
them a second medal, struck upon the "restoration of the king and royal
family, and the destruction of usurping tyranny and whiggery."
This whole proceeding was afterwards disowned by the faculty, and
by a solemn act they declared their attachment to the queen and the
Protestant succession. But such uncalled-for boldness, such weak
retracting of daring imprudence, in the opinion of Lord Nithsdale,
augured ill for the cause to which he was bound. Such conduct could in
no wise forward the hopes of his master, and it only served to keep the
country in an unquiet and disturbed state.
He disapproved of the measures of his party; and consequently he kept
himself somewhat retired at Terreagles, associating more with his
immediate neighbours than courting political connexions. With the
Earl of Derwentwater alone he kept up a constant and confidential
intercourse. They together deplored the infatuation of some of their
friends: in loyalty and patriotism each found in the other a spirit
congenial to his own.
Lord Nithsdale's visits to London, or to Edinburgh, were rare; and
no change occurred to mark the lapse of years, unless we may note
that which took place in the bearing of Amy Evans. She was still,
as before, high in her lady's favour, who regarded her more in the
light of a confidential, though humble friend, than merely as a
waiting-woman. Indeed, Amy in her childhood had been admitted as
play-fellow and associate to the daughter of an old cavalier who
resided in the neighbourhood of Poole Castle, and from her youthful
intercourse with Mrs. Mellicent Hilton, she had acquired a tone of
feeling somewhat superior to those in her station of life.
Lady Nithsdale could not but remark that the laughing eyes which once
sparkled with merriment were now dull and spiritless, and that the
ruddy cheek had lost its bloom. When she sought the chamber where her
maidens were employed at their needle, she no longer heard the clear
voice of Amy, who used to enliven the light labours of her companions
with the ditties she had learned in her childhood. Her gay laugh no
longer pealed cheerily on the ear. Lady Nithsdale attributed the change
which had gradually stolen over the demeanour of her dear Amy Evans to
her separation from her lover.
"You are sad, dear Amy," she one day remarked to her; "but I think
I have news that will call up the bloom on those pale cheeks, and I
shall hear your old Welsh songs carolled with fresh glee. The farm
of Hetherstone is vacant now, and my lord proposes that David should
become his tenant;--and then I suppose I must make Jeannie Scott my
'tirewoman!"
"Alas! my gracious mistress, not unless your ladyship is weary of the
services of poor Amy Evans. I trust that I can still diligently ply my
needle, and that I can arrange your ladyship's head-gear with as neat a
hand as Jean Scott at the least."
"Nay, you have been a diligent and careful servant to me, Amy, and I
shall love to see you as careful and diligent a wife; and when I visit
you in your home, I shall once more see your merry eyes sparkle as they
used to do."
"No, madam, those days are gone by for me. You shall ever find me a
true and faithful servant, but I shall never be a wife."
"And what will David do without a housewife to see to his dairy, to
bake his bread and his bannocks, and to trim his hearth, and keep all
neat and seemly around him?"
"He needs not me for a housewife, madam: he has found one, more to his
taste, these six months back. He was married, madam, last Lammas-tide;"
and, though her hands trembled, she still proceeded in the composition
of the spiced comfits which her lady had come to overlook.
"Oh! my poor Amy! And is this true? Can men really be so false?"
"Indeed can they, madam. And I am not the first girl who has been
slighted: they all tell me so! But I always held myself high; and it is
no comfort to hear how, when his wedding morning came, Donald M'Rae was
nowhere to be found; or how Jockie Smith deserted Kate Armstrong, after
he had broken a gold piece with her; or how Mary Morrison pined herself
to death for the loss of Jamie Elliot. But I am not one to pine myself
to death! David's wife shall never hear that Amy Evans had so mean a
spirit; no, she shall hear of me cheerful, and contented, madam. And
why should I not be so, when I have such a good, kind lady, whom I love
better--ay, better than I once did David himself!" And now the tears
rained fast from her eyes, which Nature seemed to have intended should
only express sprightliness and warm affection. "But, I beseech you,
madam, speak not to Jean Scott or to Annie Bell of my griefs. They have
never yet seen me weep, and I would not have them know that David's
falsehood had wrung tears from me. I shall not feel it so much after a
while, my lady! And when all is said and done, where could I ever be
so happy as with my kind, my honoured mistress? So you will never say
anything more, my lady, of making Jean Scott your 'tirewoman?"
"Oh no! dear Amy; I should never, never like any one about me so well
as you!"
"I thought so, my lady; and I told Jean Scott I was sure you would
never turn me off, though she prides herself so upon her taste, and the
nimbleness of her fingers, and is always throwing out that the time
will come when she will have my place!" And Amy was half consoled for
the loss of David, when she had ascertained that she retained the same
hold on her mistress's affections. Since the blight which had fallen on
her first and early love, she valued the favour of her lady above all
other earthly goods, and watched over it with the jealous tenderness of
a lover.
Her secluded education, and her own early marriage to so honourable a
man, had prevented the Countess of Nithsdale's having ever witnessed,
much more having ever experienced, the caprice and infidelities of the
other sex. She had heard and read of them, as of matters undoubtedly
true, but as never likely to come under her own immediate cognizance;
and she was astonished at Amy's treating a lover's desertion of his
mistress as an event of common occurrence. She wondered still more that
pride should, in a low-born country maiden's heart, almost overbalance
the more instinctive feeling of love. That a noble damsel should resent
any slight was indispensable to her birth and breeding; and the proud
blood of the Herberts mantled in her cheeks at the mere imagining such
a case. But she thought, had she been lowly born, pride could never
have sustained her under so cruel a blow. She forgot that, in all ranks
alike, each feels the eyes of his equals upon him,--that the lowest,
as well as the highest, have their world, before whom to blush is
degradation.
It was not that the gentle Lady Nithsdale was haughty in her nature;
the affection which subsisted between herself and Amy sufficiently
proved the contrary; but as she was imbued with the divine indefeasible
right of kings, so was she with the innate inherent nobility of an
ancient family.