Nay, heed them not, fair Margaret; true, they are
Untutor'd, and in 'haviour surly, rough;
But they have hearts, nor unacquainted are
With sturdy charities and strong affections--
As oft within the prickly husk lies lapt
The sweetest kernel.
_Unpublished Poems._
The Countess of Nithsdale had intended to return for the present
to Terreagles, till she could ascertain what course would be most
pleasing to her husband, when, upon her return from Scone, she received
a letter from the Duchess of Montrose, which decided at once what was
the line of conduct it now became her duty, as well as her inclination,
to pursue. The duchess's epistle was conceived in the following terms:--
"Though the late unfortunate events have separated Christian Montrose
from her dear Lady Nithsdale, her friend and cousin must not imagine
that she has forgotten the happy days she spent at Terreagles, or that
the affection she then professed has aught abated. Trust me, dearest
cousin, I have felt for you, as I am sure you would have felt for me,
had the cause you have espoused proved successful, and had my husband
been the sufferer in that which he esteems the just one.
"At my earnest request, my lord duke has constantly made inquiries
concerning the prisoners in the Tower, and your good lord arrived
there in health and safety on the 10th. I understand he is not
inconveniently lodged, and I do not learn that he is in want of any
necessary comforts; indeed, many of your party who have been slack in
openly joining the insurrection, make peace with their consciences by
supplying the Jacobite prisoners with money and luxuries of all kinds.
I have heard say, that when in the streets it has been difficult to
procure silver for a guinea, in the various prisons change for large
sums might be procured in silver and in gold. They say also, that
among the more wild and thoughtless of the prisoners, much mirth and
revelry prevail; and, as I hear, they so confidently rely upon the
merit of their unconditional surrender at Preston, that they trouble
themselves but slightly concerning their approaching trials. It is
reported, that the Earl of Derwentwater observed to your good lord,
that many of his followers were fitter inhabitants for Bridewell than
a state prison.
"Let not my dear cousin be needlessly alarmed, when I tell her that
the lords will be impeached on the 10th of January, and that I have
reason to believe my Lord Nithsdale would not now deem it unadvisable
that she should repair to London. Indeed, I am informed that his most
earnest wish is to see her; and I have no doubt that, supposing the
result should not be so favourable as many of the more sanguine are
inclined to believe, her presence may prove of service as well as of
comfort to her lord.
"I should advise her to lodge herself privately, as, to my poor way
of thinking, any appearance of rank or splendour may not be agreeable
to those in power; and I think I am not mistaken when I say that the
riotous mode of living of many of those in confinement does not serve
to forward their cause.
"I would myself have visited the good Earl of Nithsdale, that I might
have informed you how it fared with him, had it been fitting that I
should do so openly; but my lord duke deemed such a measure would not
be advisable; and as to visiting him privately, I feared that you
and others might have suspected your noble husband of having learned
from young Bottair of Athol, that a prisoner may be a very dangerous
gallant, that--
'Stone walls do not a prison make.'
"'Mad-cap Christian,' as you called me once at Terreagles, is not so
void of discretion as to run the risk of being taken for one of the
'divine Altheas' who come 'to whisper at the grate.'
"Indeed, I am sobered since those days; and these are times which may
make the most unthinking reflect. Sad or merry, thoughtful or giddy,
my heart is still with my dear cousin, and she may count on my willing
services should the time arrive when they may be useful. She will not
fail to let me know when she reaches London; and meanwhile she will
believe me her faithful and affectionate friend
and cousin,
Christian Montrose."
This letter had followed Lady Nithsdale from Terreagles, which had
occasioned some delay in its coming to hand. It had been brought by
Walter Elliot, an old and trusty servant, who had been ever in the
confidence of his master, and on whom Lady Nithsdale had relied for
advice and protection since the absence of her husband.
Her resolution was instantly taken; with Amy Evans and Walter Elliot
she determined at all hazards to set forth upon her journey: but in
the condition of the country at that period, means of conveyance were
not easily procured; and it was highly expedient she should escape all
observation: she therefore gladly availed herself of such steeds as
Walter Elliot could procure in the exigency of the moment, and although
totally unaccustomed to horse exercise, proceeded in this manner as far
as Newcastle.
She there parted with the horses, and took the stage, thinking she
should thus travel more expeditiously; and trusting that, when quite
beyond the boundaries of Scotland, she was not so likely to be
recognised. Such had been the tumult of her feelings, she had scarcely
had time to be conscious of fatigue or cold, or to be aware of the
strange and unusual companions with whom she was occasionally brought
in contact. When, however, she found herself enveloped in her cloak,
her hood brought low over her face, and ensconced in a corner of the
heavy and lumbering vehicle, she found leisure to think, to feel, and
to suffer.
The capacious coach contained several other passengers, but Lady
Nithsdale heeded them not: their discourse turned chiefly on the
comparative merits of different breeds of cattle and sheep, on Scottish
Kyloes and Cheviot mutton, and she knew not what words they uttered,
till her attention was suddenly arrested by one of them remarking, "The
last time I journeyed along this road was some six months back; I had
been as far as Hawick to buy some of those famous north-country sheep,
and, to be sure, all those parts were in a fine disturbed state. I was
obliged to come back without the sheep. Some thought their property
was safer in sheep than in money, for whichsoever side got the upper
hand, butchers' meat would still be wanted; others thought they should
be sure of a good price when there were two armies, as it were, in the
neighbourhood, and they asked twice their worth for the sheep. As for
me, I would not give much hard money for the creatures, which might
be taken from me, and killed, and then what should I do? There's no
telling in troublous times what's justly the value of any thing, so
I had my journey for my pains! and as I came back, those rebel lords
were going about proclaiming their mock king, and a pretty penalty they
are likely to pay for their folly. Why could not they be quiet, and
enjoy themselves at their own great houses, where they say the Earl of
Derwentwater lived like a prince, and was beloved by great and small:
and why could not they let us enjoy ourselves too? Farming went well
while good Queen Anne lived; crops were pretty fair, and prices held
steady, and I don't know what folks would have more, not I!"
"Well, it all bids fair to be quiet enough now," replied a
rough-looking farmer who sat opposite; "they'll settle old scores with
them all. They have made away with a pretty many of them at once at
Preston; and I know for certain that the king means to have off the
heads of every one of those he has got up at London now, so they will
make no more disturbance!"
Amy turned an uneasy glance upon her lady, whose bosom she could
perceive heaved rapidly beneath the folds of her cloak; but her face
was towards the window, and the black hood concealed it from all within
the coach. She feared to draw attention upon her, and she remained
tranquil.
"Nay, I can't think the king will have all their heads off either,"
rejoined the first spokesman. "Why, there are as many as twenty lords,
to say nothing of knights, and gentlemen, and members of parliament,
and such."
"I have been informed that such are his most gracious majesty's
intentions," answered the yeoman, with the importance of a
privy-councillor.
"For God's sake, what is your authority?" exclaimed the Countess of
Nithsdale, unable any longer to control her feelings.
"Young mistress, I do not consider myself called upon to give up those
who tell me a bit of news."
"Well, neighbour, you need not be so touchy about your news; who knows
but the young woman may have a friend among some of the rebels, and
she need not be the more of a rebel herself! Brothers and sisters,
fathers and sons, have taken different sides, but they are not the less
relations for that. Ah! that's one of the misfortunes of these civil
wars! They're not like a good war with the French, or the Dutch, or
the Spanish; when you know for certain that every _parlez-vous_, and
every mynheer, and every Don, is your enemy. But when people of one
country take to fighting, why, if you chance to be in a battle, you
don't know who you may be killing; and if you chance to tell a bit of
news promiscuously, you don't know whose feelings you may be hurting.
Folks should not be over free of their speech in these times; and, I
ask your pardon, neighbour, but you should not be so positive about
what such as you and I can't know. Don't you look so sad, mistress. How
should we, any of us, know what the king's thoughts are?"
"But we may know those who do know what the king's thoughts are:
not that I wish to hurt the gentlewoman's feelings." And the farmer
relapsed into silence, somewhat offended at the doubt with which his
annunciation of the sovereign's private sentiments had been received.
"Are you from Scotland, madam?" resumed the good-natured yeoman, whose
curiosity was somewhat awakened by Lady Nithsdale's evident emotion.
"Yes, sir," answered Amy quickly. "My friend and I come from Scotland
last, but we are natives of Wales;" which, although strictly true,
would, she imagined, lead their new acquaintances from suspecting who
they really were.
"And are ye for London now, my pretty lass?"
"Yes, sir; our friends live in London now."
"If this snow goes on falling at such a rate, why, I think we shall
never get to York; and as for you, you will never get to London. I'll
be bound the stage will be stopped to-morrow. I declare there's no
making out the hedge from the ditch, the snow has drifted so in some
places. I don't know that I ever remember such a hard winter as this
has been. My poor ewes!" he continued, shaking his head, "I fear I
shall have bad luck with them! However, 'tis as the Lord pleases! I
dare say 'tis all for the best. If we have quiet times, and we have
nothing to fight against but the seasons, as God sends them to us, we
shall do well enough. As long as we are in the Lord's hands, and have
only the troubles He sees fit to try us with, and none of those man
makes for himself, it will all be right! Is not that true, young woman?"
"Indeed, sir, I am no judge of public matters," replied Lady Nithsdale
in a faltering voice, for she felt that it had been the Jacobites who
had disturbed the public tranquillity; and true and reasonable as was
the sentiment expressed by the yeoman, she could not echo it without
throwing blame on those she most loved and honoured, or without belying
the opinions and the feelings of her whole life.
"Humph!" replied the yeoman: "I do not call those public matters. I
think I have said nothing but what every good Christian should say
amen to. I don't see how anybody can help saying 'tis better to be in
the hands of the Lord than of men, not I."
"Nor I, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Nithsdale with fervour. "O Lord, take
us into thy hands, and deal with us according to thy mercy!"
"Well, that's much what I said, only not in such a way. Verily, if I
don't believe she is one of the new Dissenters that have sprung up of
late!"
Amy Evans, anxious to withdraw observation from her lady, asked him
some question concerning his flock; and, affecting great interest in
such matters, she was enabled, from her youthful Welsh education, to
converse with sufficient knowledge of the subject to lead the honest
unsuspicious farmer into a detail of his own plans and systems, in
which he readily forgot what had at first excited his surprise in the
bearing of the silent and serious young gentlewoman.
By the time they reached York, his prediction concerning the weather
was fully verified: the wheels of the heavy vehicle could scarcely cut
through the deep snow; and so slow was their progress, that it had long
been dark before the stage arrived at its destination in one of the
most dismal streets of the ancient city of York.
The snow continued to fall during the whole of the night, and the next
morning the roads were found to be so totally impassable, that not only
were all stage-coaches and carriages of every description arrested in
their progress, but the post itself was stopped.
Lady Nithsdale's disappointment amounted almost to despair. Every hour
was precious. The letter which announced her husband's wish to see her
had already been somewhat delayed on the road, and the duchess said
that on her exertions might depend the mode in which his case might be
looked upon. She thought, too, on his desolate, his forlorn condition;
she judged from her own feelings how intensely he must desire her
presence; and she deemed any hardship, any suffering, preferable to
the mental anxiety of being shut up in York, unable to hear of him, to
communicate with him, to exert herself for him.
The long period of suspense and of forced inactivity which she had
passed at Terreagles had been almost insupportably irksome; and now,
when her lord had expressed a wish for her company, when possibly she
might be of real service to him, to be imprisoned in a dismal room in
an inn at York:--it was an infliction not to be endured.
She again employed Walter Elliot to procure three saddle-horses; and,
in spite of his dutiful remonstrances, and all unused as she had
ever been to brave the inclemencies of the weather, or to encounter
any bodily fatigue, she set off on horseback, through roads in which
the snow often came up to the girths of the saddle. To Amy, who had
been a mountain-bred lass--who had often wandered about her native
hills on the rough Welsh ponies--the undertaking was not one of such
difficulty; though she feared the strength of her delicately nurtured
lady would never stand such hardships; but the soul which animated that
apparently fragile form was such as to communicate to the frame some
of its own power and elasticity. As they rode out of the town, the sun
shone forth in dazzling splendour upon the brilliant whiteness of the
scene. The roof of each house was clothed with a thick soft covering of
newly-fallen snow, which the smoke of the town had not yet tarnished,
though the power of the sun had already melted it in some degree, so
that each gable was ornamented with a fringe of long pendent icicles.
As they quitted the town and waded through the obstructed road, still
the same dazzling whiteness presented itself to their view: the load
which bent down the branches of the trees was not yet dissolved; and
when the small birds, twittering in the welcome sunshine, lighted on a
feathered spray, they shook from it a shower of bright snow-flakes.
To a mind at ease the scene was beautiful and cheerful; and Lady
Nithsdale in the midst of her sorrows felt grateful for the cheering
light and for the clear pure atmosphere.