----Since I parted hence,
I have beheld misfortune face to face;
Have mark'd the ills of desolating war
In all the sad details kings never see.
The sun that rises on the peasant's toil
In happy lands not visited by war,
And gilds their waving harvests with his beams,
With barren splendour glares on desert fields
Depopulated by the sword.--The gale
Sweeps sullen o'er them, loaded with the cries
Of frantic widows and of orphan babes,
That else had borne upon its gladsome wing
The careless carol of the husbandman,
Tilling in peace and liberty his field.
_Gonzalvo of Cordova._
Reports of the indignities to which the noble prisoners had been
exposed on their journey to London failed not to reach Scotland;
indignities which, galling enough in themselves, were not likely to be
softened in the recounting.
Upon their arrival at Barnet, they were all, without distinction
of persons, pinioned with cords. By some of the younger and more
hot-headed of the noble rebels this humiliating ceremony was not
submitted to without remonstrance and resistance. Lord Nithsdale simply
remarked to the Earl of Wintoun, "Degrade not yourself, my friend, by
bandying words with those who are appointed to execute the behests of
their superiors: the disgrace is on them who exult in this unworthy
triumph; not on us, who are thus triumphed over. Surely, Seaton, you
would rather endure, than inflict, such insults." Presently, however,
he added, while he held his hands to have the cords attached, "I grant
you I should be sorry my wife should witness this. My gentle Winifred!
thy shrinking, sensitive pride would never brook seeing thy husband
thus manacled. For the first time I rejoice that thou art far, far
away."
At Highgate the prisoners were met by a large detachment of horse
grenadiers and foot-guards, and here a halter was placed around the
neck of each horse, which was held by a common soldier, walking by its
side.
In this mode did they make their entrance into the metropolis,
accompanied by a concourse of people shouting at them and reviling
them; some loading them with abuse, others singing scurrilous songs,
and many beating upon warming-pans, in allusion to the popular notion
concerning the birth of the Chevalier.
With these increased indignities the spirit of Lord Nithsdale was
excited. As he rode on, his carriage became each moment more lofty;
his dark brow assumed a more awful gloom; his eye, from beneath its
shade, flashed defiance on the mob; his nostrils dilated; the curl of
his contemptuous lip plainly expressed how utterly he despised the
mean taunts of the senseless rabble! Thus erect, undaunted, he passed
on through the crowded suburbs; but before they entered the streets, a
separation took place between those whose destination was different.
General Forster and Brigadier Mackintosh were taken to Newgate, some to
the Marshalsea, some to the Fleet; while Lords Nithsdale, Derwentwater,
Kenmure, Widdrington, Nairne, &c. were conveyed to the Tower.
The moment of parting from their companions in misfortune, those with
whom they had shared hopes and fears, with whom they had enjoyed
triumph and endured defeat, was one of bitterness; a parting,
too, which to all might be, and to many proved, an eternal one;
one which took place under the gaze of an insulting populace, and
under circumstances which admitted of no word of kindness, no last
injunction, not even the pressure of the friendly hand!
At that moment all former differences of opinion were forgotten; the
prudent counsel neglected, the headstrong perseverance in contrary
measures, the impatient rejection of advice, the contempt of timely
warnings, all faded from the mind. As the different bands receded from
each other's view, they saw but the trusted companion in arms, the
fellow-sufferer, endeared by similar misfortunes.
The Earl of Nithsdale and the other noblemen proceeded towards
Westminster Bridge, where, according to custom, they were placed in a
government barge, and were rowed down the river to the Tower. The boat
shot London Bridge; it was admitted through the Traitor's Gate; and,
as it darted from the open day-light under the three low and gloomy
arches, each prisoner cast a lingering look behind him, and as he
withdrew his eyes, met those of his companions.
There was no need of words to express the feelings of that moment; each
read his neighbour's but too plainly in his own; each was aware the
other felt he had taken his last look at the free bright world without
the prison walls. And, alas! to more than one was it indeed but too
truly his last glimpse of freedom; more than one was doomed never to
pass those barriers, but to take his trial at Westminster Hall, and
then to mount the scaffold upon Tower Hill.
Not a word was spoken. The plash of the waves against the stone stairs,
as the sudden entrance of the barge into the narrow landing-place
caused the muddy sullen water to overflow the bottom steps and as
quickly to recede, the hollow echo of the oars as they were shifted,
were the only sounds heard.
The barred gates were unlocked, and the prisoners, one by one, mounted
the dank steps, and emerged into day-light, opposite the Bloody Tower.
They heard the portals closed and barred behind them; they heard the
splash of the portcullis as it was let down into the water, and each
was then delivered over to the warder in whose apartments lodgings were
assigned to him.
As long as he remained exposed to the observations of others, the
most acute physiognomist could not have perceived any alteration in
the countenance of the Earl of Nithsdale. He had, as it were, set his
features to an expression of calm contempt and stoical endurance, which
he would allow no circumstances to alter. With a firm step, a lofty
unembarrassed air, he followed his guide into the small and narrow
apartment which was destined to his use. He showed no emotion when the
cords were removed from his wrists, and he replied with punctilious
politeness to the civilities of the warder.
At length the door was closed upon him, he was left in solitude;
no eye was upon him, and he was able to relax for a moment from the
imperturbable composure which he had forced himself to maintain. He hid
his face in his hands, and allowed the thought of his beloved wife, the
memory of his innocent children, whom he perhaps was never, never more
to behold, to rush over his soul!
With what tenderness did the recollection of home over-power him!--the
thousand every-day enjoyments, which are not prized till they are lost!
The current of these enervating thoughts was checked by the sounds
of steps upon the stairs, and he had only time to resume the unmoved
countenance he had before preserved, when the entrance of some menials
and attendants again forced him to repress the emotions, which, though
repressed, could not be extinguished.
The bringing in of his few necessary packages, the arrangements for his
personal accommodation, the preparations for some refreshment, were all
inexpressibly irksome to him; and he impatiently awaited the welcome
solitude of night, when he might revel in the luxury of thinking of the
happy past, the wretched present, the fearful future, without a witness.
It was at this moment of general dismay, when, as we have already
mentioned, each day saw the gradual diminution of the Earl of Mar's
army; when the greater proportion of the most zealous Jacobites
were already in the hands of government; in the midst of increasing
disaffection among his remaining partisans; that the unfortunate
descendant of the house of Stuart landed in his native country, at
Peterhead, on the 22d of December, in the year 1715.
He arrived almost as a fugitive. He had been obliged to traverse
Normandy in disguise; his retinue consisted but of six gentlemen; and
when the Earl of Mar, the Earl Marischal, and some others, to the
number of thirty, went from Perth to kiss the hand of the prince for
whose cause they were in arms, they found him at Fetteresso, suffering
with a severe attack of ague.
Neither in body nor mind was he capable of inspiring his adherents with
the ardour which could alone turn or even arrest the untoward course
of events. Mutual discouragement was the feeling consequent upon this
melancholy meeting. The unwelcome news which awaited the Chevalier,
that, for a month previous to his landing, the resolution had been
taken to evacuate Perth, did not tend to dispel the despondency natural
to him; while in the speech which he made to the privy council, whom he
had immediately proceeded to name, the despairing view which he took of
his own situation pierced every moment through the words of hope which
he thought himself bound to utter. He closed his address by saying,
"That for him it would be no new thing to be unfortunate; his whole
life, even from his cradle, had shown a constant series of misfortunes;
and he was prepared, if it so pleased God, to suffer the extent of the
threats which his enemies threw out against him."
With a spirit thus crushed by repeated disappointments, and a
constitution impaired by illness, did this ill-fated prince proceed to
enact the sovereign to a diminished and dispirited party of disunited
followers.
The intelligence of his arrival was speedily communicated to Seaforth,
Huntley, and all the other chiefs who had formerly flocked to his
standard, and who had withdrawn, wearied out by his protracted delay;
but they were summoned in vain, none of them heeded the notice.
Preparations were made for King James's coronation at Scone; a day of
thanksgiving was appointed for his safe arrival; prayers were offered
up for his majesty in all the churches; the currency of foreign coins
was enjoined; and the convention of the Scottish estates was called
together.
The Countess of Nithsdale experienced a momentary sensation of hope and
exultation when she heard that the monarch to whom all belonging to her
had been so constantly devoted had actually set foot in the realm of
his ancestors; and her generous heart throbbed with indignation when
she heard of the nobles who neglected to obey his summons. She thought
how different would have been the conduct of her own brave lord; and
she resolved to do as, if he had been at liberty, he would himself have
done, and as he seemed, by what he said concerning General Forster,
to expect her to do. She therefore prepared herself for journeying to
Scone, there to pay the homage she conceived to be due to her lawful
sovereign.
She travelled privately, not to attract the notice of the royalists;
but as she passed through the country which lies between Stirling and
Perth, all was one scene of desolation. By an edict of James's, the
villages of Auchterarder, Blackford, and Dunning, and other hamlets,
had been destroyed by fire; houses, corn, and forage had all been laid
waste, lest they should afford quarters to his enemies.
Helpless women and desolate children had been deprived of their homes;
the blackened walls of the buildings which had been burnt contrasted
cheerlessly with the snow which covered the ground.
Lady Nithsdale's journey was one of sorrow and dismay. She thought upon
the days of her youthful enthusiasm, and she looked into her heart in
vain to find it there. She remembered how in her Flemish convent her
girlish heart had beat when she imagined her king actually on British
land, and herself a witness of the joyous restoration; and her childish
dream was fulfilled, the king was
Hame, hame, hame--
Hame to his ain countree:
but misfortune, disappointment, time, had worked their effect; and with
her husband a prisoner, her children banished, her country laid waste,
she could not work up her feelings to the pitch of loyalty which she
deemed it her duty to have experienced.
At length the fair town of Perth rose to her view, and the broad Tay
swept gracefully around it. She saw the ancient palace of Scone, the
spot where all the Scottish kings had been crowned, and she tried to
feel assured that "the king would enjoy his own again."
That night she took up her lodgings in Perth; and the following day she
repaired to the royal palace of Scone, there to kiss the hand of her
monarch.
She felt an universal trepidation; not so much from the awe which
majesty inspires, as from the fear of seeing her king in a condition
so unbecoming his dignity. A noble mind shrinks from seeing nobility
degraded; and she felt more abashed at the poor attendance around the
king, and at the want of state in his appointments, than others do at
all the pomp and ceremony of the most gorgeous and splendid court.
The Chevalier received the Countess of Nithsdale with what he meant to
be marked attention; but his manner was subdued, his bearing dejected;
partly through his late illness, and partly from that consciousness of
being marked out for misfortune, which pervaded his every look, his
every action. There was a melancholy majesty in his thin person, and
his handsome but pale features, which (although united with a certain
stiffness and reserve, little calculated to find favour in the sight
of the adventurous and the desperate who alone adhered to his cause,)
interested Lady Nithsdale, while it saddened her.
The Earl of Mar presented her to the Chevalier, whom, upon her
entrance, she found engaged in conversation with the Earl Marischal in
one of the windows that overlooked the flat country between the palace
and the Tay. She dropped upon both her knees, overcome with emotion
at finding herself in the actual presence of her king, and with grief
at the desolate appearance of all around him, of all without and all
within his residence.
He quickly raised her, and imprinting on her marble forehead a royal
kiss, he professed his satisfaction at becoming personally acquainted
with one, whose family had ever been faithful servants to his own.
The measured expressions chilled her; she had never before looked upon
the sacrifices made either by the Herberts or the Maxwells but as the
performance of a bounden duty, in which they had not failed; but when
these sacrifices seemed to be considered in the same light by him for
whom they had been made, their magnitude and their extent increased in
her eyes. The Chevalier then inquired whether she had received news
lately from the earl her husband.
Her eyes filled with tears; the inquiry was made in so cold, so formal
a tone: "But once, sire, since he has been a prisoner;" and had she at
that moment attempted a longer sentence, her voice would have failed
her altogether.
"We hope that the worthy lord's health continued unimpaired by
confinement?"
She struggled with her feelings, and replied, "My lord complained not
of any personal privation or hardship. His thoughts were all, as they
have ever been, for his king, his country, and his faith!"
"It is now many years since we once had an interview with the Earl of
Nithsdale in Flanders; and if our memory does not fail, we were then
suffering from this same agueish complaint which discomposes us at
present. Methinks our health is always least fitted for exertion and
fatigue when circumstances call most imperiously for both! But so it
has ever been with us!" He sighed, and his eyes instinctively sought
the ground. Then turning again to the countess, "Is your ladyship's
seat situated far from hence?" he inquired, for, a stranger to
Scotland, he knew not the topographical details of the country.
"Please your majesty, I journeyed from my husband's castle of
Terreagles near Dumfries."
"We hope your journey was prosperous and agreeable, although we fear in
this weather it must have been somewhat tedious. Dumfries is some days'
journey hence, I fancy."
Lady Nithsdale thought upon the villages in ashes, the desolated
fields, and could not find words for her reply, but contented herself
with bowing assent. When, turning to the Earl of Mar, the Chevalier
remarked, that if the present severe weather continued, the Tay would
soon be completely frozen over. "In that case," he continued, "the
river will no longer be serviceable as a protection and defence."
"Neither will it be any impediment to the design I have been explaining
to your majesty," replied the earl in a low voice.
Lady Nithsdale soon after retired from the royal interview, discouraged
and dissatisfied. She had never found the desired opportunity of
speaking her husband's sentiments concerning General Forster; and she
now felt intimately convinced how wild and hopeless an enterprise it
must ever have been, to replace on the throne one who was so little
calculated to conquer or to win it.