to cease only with their lives. The country was strange to them, and was
almost bare of inhabitants, so that for two days they sought in vain to
find a road which might take them to Caithness, whence they could escape
to France or Norway. During these two days they ate absolutely nothing,
and passed the cold nights under the stars. At length Kinnoull, who had
always been delicate, flung himself down on the heather, and in a few
hours died of exhaustion. There his friends were forced to leave him,
without even a grave, and wandered on, their steps and their hearts
heavier than before, till a light suddenly beamed at them out of the
dusk. It was a shepherd's cottage, where they were given some milk and
oatmeal, the first food they had eaten since the battle; but the man
dared not take them into his hut, lest he should bring on himself the
wrath of the covenant for harbouring royalists, even though he knew not
who they were.
The reward offered for Montrose sharpened men's eyes and ears, and in
two days he was discovered lying on the mountain side almost too weak to
move. It was Macleod of Assynt to whom the deadly shame of his betrayal
is said to belong, and Montrose prayed earnestly that the mercy of a
bullet in his heart might be vouchsafed him. But the man who for many
years had defied all Scotland could not be dealt with like a common
soldier, so he was put on a small Shetland pony, with his feet tied
together underneath, and led through roaring, hissing crowds, which
pressed to see him in every town through which they had to pass. The
wounds that he had received in the battle were still untouched, and he
was feverish from the pain. This was another cause of rejoicing to his
foes; but they were careful to give him food lest he should escape them
as Kinnoull had done. And at each halting-place there came a minister to
heap insults and reproaches on his head, which he seldom deigned to
answer. But though the ministers of peace and goodwill had no words bad
enough for him, one is glad to think that Leslie the general did what he
could, and allowed his friends to see him whenever they asked to do so,
and also permitted him to accept and wear the clothes of a gentleman,
which were given him by the people of Dundee. It was to Leslie also that
he probably owed a last interview with his two little boys, when he
stopped for the night at the castle of Kinnaird, from which he had been
married.
* * * * *
From Dundee the prisoner was brought by ship to Leith, and taken to the
palace of Holyrood, where he was received by the magistrates of the city
in their robes of office, with the provost (or mayor) at their head.
Here the order of the Parliament was read, and he listened 'with a
majesty and state becoming him, and kept a countenance high.' Then his
friends, who, like himself, were prisoners, were ordered to walk,
chained two together, through the streets, and behind came Montrose,
seated bareheaded on a chair in a cart driven by the hangman. The
streets of the old town were crowded by people who came to mock and
jeer, but remained dumb with shame and pity. The cart slowly went on its
way, and at seven the Tolbooth prison was reached, with the gallows
thirty feet high standing as it had stood twelve years before beside the
city cross.
* * * * *
The last days of Montrose were disturbed by the constant visits of
ministers, who tried to force from him a confession of treachery to the
covenant, but in vain.
'The covenant which I took,' he said, 'I own it and adhere to it.
Bishops I care not for. I never intended to advance their interest. But
when the king had granted you all your desires, and you were everyone
sitting under his vine and under his fig tree--that then you should have
taken a party in England by the hand and entered into a league and
covenant with them against the king was the thing I judged my duty to
oppose to the yondmost.'
These words are the explanation of Montrose's conduct in changing from
one side to another; but little he guessed that the new king, by whose
express orders he had undertaken his present hopeless mission, had only
a few days before, at the conference of Breda, consented to bid his
viceroy disband his army and to leave Scotland. This knowledge, which
would have added bitterness to his fate, was spared him; as was the
further revelation of the baseness of Charles II., who gave orders to
his messenger not to deliver the document if he found Montrose likely to
get the upper hand.
* * * * *
As an act of extraordinary generosity the Parliament, which had voted to
colonel Strachan a diamond clasp for his share in the final defeat of
Montrose, permitted the prisoner's friends to provide him with a proper
dress, so that he might appear suitably before them. Their courtesy did
not, however, extend to a barber to shave him--a favour which, as he
said, 'might have been allowed to a dog.' But he must have looked very
splendid as he stood at the bar of the House, in black cloth trimmed
with silver, and a deep lace collar, with a scarlet cloak likewise
trimmed with silver falling over his shoulders, a band of silver on his
beaver hat, and scarlet shoes and stockings.
A long list of his crimes was read to him, and these one by one he
denied. 'For the league,' he said, 'I thank God I never was in it, and
so could not break it. Never was any man's blood spilt save in battle,
and even then, many thousand lives have I preserved. As for my coming at
this time, it was by his majesty's just commands'--the commands of the
king who a week earlier had abandoned him! But of what use are words and
denial when the doom is already fixed? The chancellor's reply was merely
a series of insults, and then the prisoner was ordered to kneel and hear
the sentence read by Warriston, by whose side he had stood on the
scaffold in 1638 when the first covenant was read, and old Lord Rothes
had made his dark prophecy.
He had known beforehand what it would be--hanging, drawing, and
quartering, with a copy of his last declaration and the history of his
wars tied round his neck, and no burial for his body unless he confessed
his guilt at the last. This did not trouble him. 'I will carry honour
and fidelity with me to the grave' he had said eight years before, and
that no grave was to be allowed him mattered little.
The ceremony over, he was led back to the Tolbooth, where his gaoler
kept him free from the ministers who would fain have thrust their
sermons and reproaches on the dying man.
* * * * *
Soldiers were early under arms on the morning of May 21, for even now
the Parliament greatly dreaded a rescue. With the 'unaltered
countenance' he had borne ever since his capture Montrose heard the
beating of drums and trumpets, and answered calmly the taunt of
Warriston as to his vanity in dressing his hair.
'My head is yet my own,' said Montrose, 'and I will arrange it to my
taste. To-night, when it will be yours, treat it as you please.'
Every roof and window in the High Street and within sight of the city
cross was filled with people as Montrose, clad in scarlet and black,
walked calmly down at three that afternoon. 'Many of his enemies did
acknowledge him to be the bravest subject in the world,' writes one who
beheld him, and he walked up the steps as quietly as if he were taking
his place to see some interesting sight.
They feared him too much to allow him to speak to the crowd, as was the
custom, but he addressed himself to the magistrates and the ministers
who were standing on the platform. Once more he confessed his faith and
his loyalty, and when, in accordance with the sentence, the hangman
suspended the two books round his neck, he said, 'they have given me a
decoration more brilliant than the garter.' Then he mounted the ladder,
and the hangman burst into tears as he gave the last touch.
* * * * *
So died Montrose, and eleven years later the king who had disowned him
bethought him of his fate. In January 1661 the Parliament, which had
been summoned by the restored monarch, Charles II., 'thought fit to
honour Montrose his carcase with a glorious second burial, to compensate
the dishonour of the first.' His limbs, which had been placed over the
gates of the cities made memorable by his victories, remained in state
at Holyrood for four months, and May 11 was fixed to lay them where they
now rest, in the church of St. Giles. Heralds in their many-coloured
robes arranged the procession, and the train-bands occupied the street
to keep off the dense crowds. The magistrates, headed by the provost,
walked two and two in deep mourning--had any of them taken part in that
brutal scene eleven years ago?--and behind them came the barons and the
burgesses. Next followed the dead man's kinsmen bearing his armour, the
order of the garter, and his field-marshal's baton, and behind the
coffin came his two sons and most of his kindred. Middleton, as lord
high commissioner and representative of the king, occupied the place of
honour, and brought up the rear in a coach drawn by six horses, with six
bareheaded gentlemen riding on each hand.
Thus was Montrose lowered into his grave to the sound of the guns that
he loved, which thundered from the castle. He has a beautiful tomb in
the old church of St. Giles, adorned with the coats-of-arms of the
Grahams and Napiers and his other brothers-in-arms.
A CHILD'S HERO
On a dark January day in the year 1858 a little girl was running quickly
downstairs for her play-hour with her elders. Just as she reached the
foot of the staircase the drawing-room door opened, and her brother came
out with a grave face. 'Havelock is dead!' said he, and at the news the
little girl laid her head against the wall and burst into tears.
* * * * *
Who was this Havelock, that a strange child should care so much about
him? Well, he was a man who worked hard and fought hard all the days of
his life, never shirking his duty or envious of the good luck of others.
Again and again those who had shared the burden and heat of the day with
Havelock got rewards to which it might seem that he had an equal claim;
still, whatever his disappointment he showed no sign, but greeted his
fortunate friends cheerfully, and when it was required of him served
under them with all his might. Just at the end the chance came to him
also, and gloriously he profited by it.
But if you want to know how that came about you must begin at the
beginning.
* * * * *
Henry Havelock was born at Bishop's Wearmouth, close to Sunderland, on
April 5, 1795. His grandfather was a shipbuilder in the flourishing
seaport town, and his son, Henry's father, became a partner in the
business. The Havelocks soon made a name in the trade, and were given a
commission to build the _Lord Duncan_, christened after the famous
admiral, the largest ship ever launched from the port.
Money flowed in rapidly, and when Henry was about three years old his
father determined to leave the north and to go and settle at Ingress
Hall, near Dartford, in Kent, which became the birthplace of his two
youngest sons, Thomas and Charles.
There was no school nearer than three miles, which was too far for them
to walk, so to the great delight of Henry and his elder brother William
ponies were given them, and even if they had disliked their lessons
instead of being fond of books, the pleasure of the ride through the
lanes would have made up for everything. As it was, they were always
hanging about the front door long before it was time to start, and the
moment the coachman brought out the ponies from the stable they would
spring into their saddles in a great bustle, and clatter away over the
grass, pretending that they were very late and would get bad marks if
they did not hurry.
All through Havelock's childhood the continent of Europe was under the
foot of Napoleon, and was forced to submit to his rule. England only had
stood aloof and refused his advances; yet she waited, with the dread
that accompanies the expectation whose fulfilment is delayed, for an
invasion of her own coasts. No story was too bad to be believed of
'Boney,' and women are said to have frightened their naughty children
into good behaviour by threatening to send for 'Boney' to carry them
away. No doubt Havelock heard a great deal from his parents and
schoolfellows of the desperate wickedness of 'Boney,' but, in spite of
the terrible pictures that were drawn, the boy devoured eagerly all the
newspapers wrote of the ogre's campaigns and his battles, and never
joined in the outcry against him.
Before Henry had passed his tenth birthday he was sent, with his brother
William, to the Charterhouse School in the City of London, where he
stayed for seven years. He was always bold and daring, so the other boys
respected him, even though he did not care much for games, and, what was
still worse in their eyes, was fond of Greek and Latin and always did
his work. Still, though it was, they said, very silly for a boy to do
more than he could possibly help, it must be admitted that Havelock
never minded risking his neck when he was dared to do so, would climb
trees or chimneys while others looked on awe-stricken, and would endure
any punishment sooner than betray 'a fellow' who was caught.
During these years of school Havelock had many battles of Napoleon's to
study, and we may be sure that each one in its turn was thoroughly
discussed with the friends who afterwards became celebrated in many
ways--the historians, Grote and Thirlwall, Eastlake the painter, Yates
the actor, and Macnaghten, afterwards murdered at Cabul, while Havelock
was with the force on the way to relieve him. As they grew older they
used to talk over the future together, and not one of them doubted that
he would be in the front rank of whatever profession he might choose.
'My mother wants me to be a lawyer, and she is sure that one day I shall
be lord chancellor,' said Havelock, and no doubt every other mother was
equally convinced of her son's genius. But before his school-days were
over Mrs. Havelock died, to Henry's great grief, and then came the news
that their father had lost a great deal of money, and they must leave
Ingress Hall and move to a smaller house at Clifton.
* * * * *
It was in 1813--the year of the battle of Leipzig, Henry Havelock would
have told you--that the young man took the first step towards becoming
'lord chancellor,' and was entered at the Middle Temple. He set to work
with his usual energy, and when he was too tired to understand any more
of what the law books taught him, he would take down a volume of poetry
and read till he was soothed by the music of the words. But at the end
of a year a change came into his life. His father, whose temper seems to
have been ruined by the loss of his money, quarrelled with him about
some trifling matter. Henry's allowance was withdrawn, and as he could
not live in the Temple upon nothing he was forced to bid good-bye to the
dream of the chancellorship.
At this time in his life he was perplexed and unhappy, though he never
gave up the strong religious faith which he had inherited from his
mother. It was necessary that he should earn his living in some way, but
he could not see what he was to do, and things were so uncomfortable at
home that he wished to leave it as soon as possible.
Happily he had not long to wait, for William, who had joined the 43rd
Regiment and fought at Busaco and Salamanca and Waterloo, came home on
leave, and solved the puzzle.
* * * * *
In the great battle which finally broke the power of Napoleon, William
Havelock had been acting as aide-de-camp to baron von Alten, who had
succeeded to the command of general Craufurd's division. We are told
that William 'had done the baron a service' during the engagement, and
that the general was anxious to prove his gratitude. The special
'service' the young soldier had rendered is not mentioned, but we may
take it for granted that William Havelock had in some way saved his
life. However, in answer to the general's offer of reward, William said
that he had all he could possibly wish for, and so the matter ended for
the moment. But when he came home, and found Henry with all his plans
changed, and not knowing how to set about making a career for himself,
the baron von Alten's words flashed into his mind.
'You were always fond of soldiering,' he said to Henry one day, 'and I
believe you could describe the battles I have fought in almost as well
as I could. If the baron can give me a commission for you, will you take
it? I am sure you would make a splendid soldier.'
Henry's eyes beamed. Somehow he had never thought of that. At the
Charterhouse he had been laughed at for his love of books, and called
the 'Phlos.'--short for 'Philosopher'--by the boys. He had always, too,
been very religious, and after his mother's death (which occurred when
he was about fourteen) had gathered four of his special friends round
him once or twice a week in the big dormitory where they all slept, in
order that they might read the Bible together. Yet there was in Havelock
much of the spirit of the old crusader and of his enemy, the follower of
Mahomet the prophet, and though, unlike them, he did not deal out death
as the punishment of a rejected faith, still he positively delighted in
fighting, and indeed looked on it as a sacred duty.
So the commission was obtained, and Henry, now second lieutenant in the
Rifle Brigade, then called the 95th, was sent to Shorncliffe, and
captain Harry Smith was his senior officer. The Boer war has made us
very well acquainted with the name of this gentleman, for in after years
it was given to the town of Harrismith in South Africa, while his wife's
has become immortal in 'Ladysmith.'
* * * * *
Young Havelock, who was still under twenty-one, made fast friends with
his captain, and listened eagerly to all he could tell of the Punjaub,
where Smith had seen much of service. How he longed to take part in such
deeds! But his turn was slow in coming, and for eight years he remained
inactive in England, while the nation was recovering as best it could
from the strain of the Peninsular War. Most of his messmates grumbled
and fretted at having 'nothing to do,' but this was never Havelock's
way, for if he could not 'do' what he wanted, he did something else. The
young man, only five feet six inches in height, with the long face and
eyes which looked as if they saw things that were hidden from other
people, spent his spare time in studying all that belonged to his
profession. For hours he would pore over books on fortification and
tactics, and try to find for himself why this or that plan, which seemed
so good, turned out when tried a hopeless failure. He had always a pile
of memoirs of celebrated soldiers round him, and often bored his
brother-officers by persisting in talking of the campaigns of
Marlborough or Frederick the Great, instead of discussing the balls or
races that filled their minds. Still, though he made the best of the
circumstances in which he found himself, he looked forward to the
prospect of going to India, where William and Charles already were.
* * * * *
But to get to India it was needful to exchange into another regiment,
and Henry was gazetted to the 13th Light Infantry. The process took some
time, but as usual he found some work for himself, and prepared for his
future life by taking lessons in Persian and Hindostanee.
Now there is no better way of learning a language than to teach it to
somebody else, and on the voyage out to Calcutta, which then took four
months, some of the officers on board ship begged him to form a class in
these two languages. Havelock had passed in London the examination
necessary for the degree of a qualified Moonshee, or native tutor, and
his Persian was so good that regularly throughout his life, when his
superior officers wished to mark their appreciation of his services,
they recommended him for an interpretership! Therefore during those
tedious four months, when land was seldom seen, and the ship sailed on
from St. Helena, whose great captive had not been two years dead, to the
Cape of Good Hope and the island of Ceylon, the little band of students
met and struggled with the strange letters of the two tongues, and by
the time the ship _General Kyd_ arrived at Calcutta in May 1823,
Havelock's pupils could all talk a little, and read tolerably.
* * * * *
At first it seemed as if life in India was going to be as quiet as life
in England, but in 1824 the king of Ava, a Burmese city, demanded that
Eastern Bengal should be given up to him, or war would be instantly
declared. The answer sent to the 'Lord of the Great White Elephant' was
a declaration of war on the part of our viceroy in India. Sir Archibald
Campbell was given the command of the invading force, and he appointed
Havelock to be his deputy-assistant adjutant-general.
It was the young man's first taste of warfare, and a very bitter one it
proved to be. The experiences of Marlborough and Frederick on the
battlefields of Europe were of little use in the jungle, where the
Burmese knew a thousand hiding-places undreamed of by the English, who
had the unhealthy climate to fight against as well. At last Havelock
fell ill like the rest, and was sent to his brother, then stationed at
Poonah, not far from Bombay, to recover his health.
Havelock went very unwillingly; he was doing his work to the
satisfaction of the general, and he knew it; besides, he could not help
thinking that before he got better the war might have ended, or someone
else might be filling his place. However, there was no help for it, and
as soon as he was on board ship he began to feel for the first time how
ill he had really been. Once at Poonah he soon recovered, and in June
was able to return to the camp in Burmah.
For a long while it had been Havelock's habit to hold a sort of Bible
class for any of the men whom he could persuade to come to it; and not
only did he give them religious teaching, but he made them understand
that he expected them to 'live soberly, righteously, and godly,' as the
Catechism says. They were not to quarrel, or to drink too much, or to do
as little work as possible. They were to tell the truth, even if it got
them into trouble, and they were to bear the hardships that fall to the
lot of every soldier--hunger and thirst, heat and cold--without
grumbling. And the men accepted his teaching, and tried to act up to it,
because they saw that Havelock asked nothing of them that he did not
practise himself.
'Havelock's Saints' was their nickname among the rest of the camp, but
sometimes even their enemies were forced to admit that 'Havelock's
Saints' had their uses. One night sir Archibald Campbell ordered a
sudden attack to be made on the Burmese by a certain corps. The
messenger or orderly who was sent with the order returned saying that
the men were too drunk to be fit for duty.
'Then call out Havelock's Saints,' said the commander-in-chief; '_they_
are always sober and to be depended upon, and Havelock himself is always
ready.'
So the night attack was made by the 'Saints,' and the position carried.
* * * * *
At the end of the Burmese war Havelock returned to his regiment, then
commanded by colonel Sale, who became his lifelong friend. All he had
gained in Burmah, except experience, was the rank of a Burmese noble,
conferred on him by the 'Golden King' on account of his services in
making the treaty of peace. This cost the 'Lord of the White Elephant'
nothing, and did no good to Havelock; and six months after the troops
left Burmah he was glad to accept the adjutancy of a regiment in a
pleasant part of India, near some friends. Here he became engaged to be
married to Miss Marshman, daughter of a missionary, and the wedding-day
was soon fixed. Early that morning the bridegroom received a message
that he must go up at once to Calcutta in order to attend a
court-martial to be held at twelve o'clock. Calcutta was a long way from
Chinsurah, and as he was bound to be present at the military trial most
men would have put off the marriage till the following day. But Havelock
was different from other people. He sent one messenger to order the
fastest boat on the river to be in waiting, and another to inform the
bride and her father that they must get ready as quickly as possible.
The ceremony was performed without delay, and as soon as it was over
Havelock ran down to his boat. For several hours he sat in the stifling
court, hearing witnesses and asking them questions as coolly as if there
had been no marriage and no bride, and when the proceedings were ended,
and the sentence passed, he stepped on board the boat again, and arrived
at Chinsurah in time for the wedding dinner.
* * * * *