The morning was bright and beautiful; the clouds of the preceding day,
although they had not passed off entirely, had broken into detached
masses, soft, white, and buoyant, but low down, moving slowly across
the blue sky, and leaving large intervals for the rays of the sun to
stream through, and paint the brown moors in all the magic colouring
of autumn. A faint aerial mist was seen softening the distant parts of
the landscape, as Smeaton rode slowly over the solitary hills which
lay tumbled about in large rounded masses, marking the frontier line
of England and Scotland. The alternation of shadow and of gleam
brought forth as varied and as beautiful colours as those which paint
the dolphin at his death. The free pure air, the rich changing
prospect, the wide expanse of view, all seemed to breathe hope, if not
happiness; and that strange mysterious sensation, that elevated and
expansive feeling, to which I can give no name, but which takes
possession of the heart when first we quit the busy haunts of men to
plunge into a wide solitude, came strongly upon the young Earl as he
strained his sight along the distant hills and valleys. Not a soul was
to be seen, not a living creature but a large bird of prey floating
slowly in vast circles over his head. It was the early morning.
His servant had gone forward about half an hour before; the road which
they had both to follow had been clearly pointed out; and Smeaton
expected a ride of some twelve or thirteen miles before he could meet
the messenger on his return. He gave himself up to thought, but not to
that train of thought which perhaps might seem the most natural in his
circumstances. He entered into no vain speculations as to the reply he
should receive from the Earl of Stair. He suffered not his mind to
rest upon the state of parties in the country, or upon the
probabilities of the success or failure of the insurrection. He did
not even dwell for a moment upon the various rumours of the day
before, nor try to free himself, by reason, from any of those
impressions--not exactly new but revived--which had been produced in
him by the zeal and enthusiasm of all those by whom he had been lately
surrounded. His thoughts were of Emmeline, and Emmeline alone. That
wonderful thing, association, had called up her image almost as
strongly, as distinctly, as if her beautiful face and fair form had
been before his eyes. The brown heath, the rounded hills, the gleams
of sunshine, the floating clouds, the free elastic air, all brought
back to memory the morning of his ride to the old church at Aleton;
and Emmeline was the principal object in all that remembrance painted.
His thoughts and feelings, however, were his own, and peculiar. I do
not believe that there are any two moments in a man's life in which he
is exactly the same being, however well the general harmony of the
character may be maintained. Years make a difference; months, days,
events, circumstances, experience. The changes may be very sudden, or
they may be so gradual as to be imperceptible at the time they are
taking place; yet, fix any lengthened period, and we find them marked
and distinct in the mind as well as in the body. There is as much
difference between the sensations of forty and of twenty, as between
the face or form of the man and of the boy. Whether for better or for
worse, we change them. They are things of the day, which pass from us
and return no more.
Smeaton's love for Emmeline was intense, powerful, enthusiastic; but
it was the love of a man, not of a boy. Ten years before, his thoughts
would have been very different when turned towards her; more
agitating, perhaps, but not so deep and strong. He dwelt, as a lover
might dwell, on the beautiful memory of her look, the symmetry of her
person, the music of her voice, the wild untutored graces of her mind,
the heart-breathing spirit which pervaded everything she said and did;
and the longing to hold her to his bosom again came upon him very
strongly. He thought, too, with pain, of what must be her sensations,
what her distress of mind, to be torn from him and carried away
against her will, at the very moment when their happiness seemed
almost secure; but it was not with that impulsive rashness which, a
few years before, might have led him to fly to her in spite of
obstacles, and without taking means to remove any of the difficulties
which beset their path. He was old enough to struggle with his
impulses, and generally to overcome them when he felt them to be rash.
Thus, in mingled meditation, he rode on, with sweet and pleasant
images presented by memory, and painful reflections chequering the too
bright vision.
He had not gone more than eight miles when he saw a man rapidly
approaching down the slope of the opposite hill. He could hardly
believe that his servant had returned so soon; yet the figure was so
much the same--a diminutive man on a tall horse--that, though some
distance intervened, he recognized him. They met at the bottom of the
valley, and Smeaton asked eagerly,
"Well, what news? Have you brought me a letter?"
"I have brought your own back again, my Lord," replied Higham, holding
it out to his master, as he rode up; "and no other answer could I
get."
"No answer!" echoed Smeaton, taking the letter, and seeing that it had
been opened. "What did he say, or cause to be said to you?"
"Oh, he said very little," replied the man, "and caused nothing to be
said at all; for he seemed quite capable of speaking for himself, and
that pretty sharply. He broke open the letter, read it through from
beginning to end, and then thrust it into my hand, saying, 'You had
better ride back again.' I asked if he would not send an answer by me,
or if he would send one afterwards. But he said no answer was needed,
and called out: 'Take it back to him who sent you. That is the only
answer.'"
Smeaton's cheek burned, and his heart beat angrily.
"This is insult," he muttered. "This is insult as well as injury. Some
day I may call him to account for it."
"I must say for him, my Lord," added the man, "that it was not a lucky
moment to fall upon; for he was at the head of the men drawn up on the
little green, and just ready to march."
"That is no excuse," said Smeaton. "The same number of words, the same
amount of breath, the same space of time, would have conveyed an
honourable as a dishonourable reply. He might have said that he would
write when he was at leisure, that he would see me if I would follow
him, and that I might do so in safety. It would have cost no more
time." Then, turning round his horse, with his heart all on fire, he
asked himself: "Shall I stoop to be a beggar for simple justice? No,
no. The case is very clear. They have made up their mind to drive
every one they doubt into insurrection. They say, Those who are not
for us are against us: They have chosen their part with regard to me.
It is time that I should choose mine with regard to them."
He had ridden slowly as he went; but he returned at a gallop, though
the rapid motion did not tend to calm his feelings. The farm-house
where he had slept was vacant of its guests. Richard Newark, his
servant, and all the Keanton men were gone; but they had left word
that, if Smeaton returned and sought them, he would find them at a
place called the Waterfalls. The Earl ordered the baggage-horse to be
prepared directly, and, in the mean time, applied to the farmer for
directions on the way after his party.
"I'll guide you, sir," replied the man. "There is something going on
that I have an itching to have a hand in, and I think I'll pay some of
the Newcastle keel-men for throwing me into the Tyne, in one of their
brute frolics."
Smeaton gladly accepted his guidance, and, in about half an hour, they
set out; the Earl riding a little in advance, and alone, while the
stout farmer jogged on, conversing with the servant, Higham. They took
their way through a more cultivated part of the country than that
which Smeaton had passed in the morning; but they soon turned toward
the hills again, and the farmer pointed out a piece of ground on the
right, saying:
"That is Plainfield, my Lord."
Smeaton, however, was busy with his own thoughts, and made no inquiry,
not knowing anything which should make Plainfield remarkable.[1] A few
minutes afterwards, they began to ascend a somewhat steep hill, riding
over the green turf; and, as they wound round it to lessen the
sharpness of the ascent, the young nobleman caught sight of a small
party of horse gathered together at the distance of about a mile.
"There are our friends, I think," he said.
"Ay, my lord, I dare say they are," replied the farmer.
The words seemed insignificant enough; but they were spoken in a
significant tone, and the servant, Tom Higham, gave a low laugh.
A rise in the ground, in another moment, hid the party they had seen;
and, spurring quickly on, Smeaton soon came to the top of the height,
whence a view of the country could be commanded for several miles. The
prospect was very picturesque. The brown hill-side descended somewhat
abruptly towards the more even country below, and was channelled by a
sort of glen or ravine, through which leaped and tumbled a small
mountain stream, fringed here and there with low trees and shrubs, but
ever and anon glancing out under the eye, and catching the sunlight on
its foam and spray.
Half way between the top of the hill and the head of this ravine was
gathered together a party of men on horseback; not more than, if so
many as, very frequently assembled on the most innocent occasions. In
ordinary times, one would naturally have supposed that the little
meeting consisted of a hunting party, or perhaps two or three dozen of
gentlemen assembled to run their greyhounds. Besides those in this
central situation, two or three small groups of horsemen were seen
coming up from below at different degrees of speed, according to the
steepness of the ascent; but still the whole number together might
very well have formed a sporting party, only no dogs were to be seen.
In the midst of the principal group, Smeaton's eye instantly picked
out Richard Newark, who was mounted on a tall and remarkable white
horse; and, riding quickly down towards him, he was soon by his side.
The Keanton farmers, who were there assembled, greeted the approach of
their young lord with a sort of half cheer, and one of them exclaimed
aloud--"God bless your lordship! I thought you would not abandon us in
time of need."
"What news from Lord Stair?" asked Richard, in a whisper.
"None," replied Smeaton, bitterly. "He sent back my letter, opened,
but without reply."
"Then I must have been mistaken," said Richard Newark. "I thought that
other hands must have been stirring your pottage for you, noble
friend. Now, the case is clear enough. Old Hanover won't have you for
the giving."
"I never intended to give myself to _him_," replied Smeaton. "Nothing
should ever induce me to draw my sword _against_ a prince who has been
pushed from the succession to the throne on a false and ridiculous
pretence. But, if they will force me to draw the sword _in his
favour_, I cannot help it. They must be gratified. Who are all these?"
And, as he spoke, he ran his eye over the rest of the persons present,
who, gathered together in various knots, were regarding him with
inquiring looks.
"Oh, you shall soon know them," returned Richard. "Common cause makes
quick acquaintance. General Forster, here is my friend, the Earl of
Eskdale--Lord Derwentwater, the Earl of Eskdale--Lord Widrington, the
Earl of Eskdale."
"By my faith, we have more lords than soldiers," said the latter
nobleman, with a laugh, "and more stout hearts and strong arms than
weapons of war. It is to be hoped that supplies will flow in upon us
somewhat rapidly."
"Come, come, my lord," said Forster, "you ought not to be the first to
cry out, seeing that you have brought us the fewest men and the
scantiest supply."
"Why, I only heard of the business last night," replied Lord
Widrington, "and thought this was but a preliminary meeting.
Doubtless, we shall have men enough, and weapons enough, too, when
once it is known we are in arms."
"Doubtless, doubtless," said the Earl of Derwentwater, a young and
handsome man, with a peculiarly prepossessing expression of
countenance. "I am glad to see your lordship here," he continued,
addressing Smeaton. "Your family have suffered much in the cause we
all advocate, and I hope, by the success of our enterprise, you will
recover what it lost--a success which, from the news we have just
received, seems to be beyond doubt."
"Indeed!" said Smeaton. "May I ask what news that is?"
Derwentwater replied by detailing, in somewhat glowing language, and
with a slight colouring from his own enthusiasm, all the first partial
successes of the insurgents in Scotland. The greater part of the
intelligence was merely confirmatory of the rumours which had reached
Smeaton during the preceding day, that the Earl of Mar had taken
Perth, that arms and ammunition had been seized at Burntisland, that
the army of King James III. was daily increasing in numbers, that
money was flowing in rapidly, and that, while the troops of the House
of Hanover were in a very critical position at Stirling, Mar was
preparing to force the passage of the Forth, and that the Western
clans were menacing the rear of King George's army. It was added, that
a great number of towns and districts of much importance had openly
declared for the House of Stuart, and that King James had been
proclaimed at Aberdeen, at Dunkeld, at Castle Gordon, at Brechin, at
Montrose, at Dundee, and at Inverness, while the whole of Galloway and
Dumfrieshire was stated to be flaming in insurrection.
Broad general facts, without the small circumstances which modify
them, and sometimes affect their whole bearings, are very apt to
produce the most erroneous conclusions; and, as Lord Derwentwater
stated not, and, probably, knew not, the multitude of counterbalancing
disadvantages under which the insurrectionary leaders lay, Smeaton
naturally was led to look with a much more hopeful eye on the cause he
had now determined to espouse.
His new acquaintance mentioned one important fact; namely, that the
Duke of Argyle had taken command of the troops at Stirling. "But,"
added he, "with all his skill, he will have no easy task to prevent
defeat, and, probably, surrender." He was not mistaken; for, had Mar
possessed ordinary military knowledge and experience, there can be
little doubt that the gallant nobleman opposed to him would have been
forced to retreat, if retreat had been possible; but neither
Derwentwater nor Lord Eskdale were at all personally aware that Mar
was not a soldier, and the inconceivable folly of appointing a man
totally destitute of military science to command an ill-disciplined
army, in circumstances of the greatest delicacy and danger, did not
once enter their imaginations. Nevertheless, the well-known skill,
courage, and determination of Argyle, and the strong resolution he had
shown in taking command in person of the small force at Stirling, led
Smeaton to suspect that he either knew of circumstances, or calculated
upon events, of which the Jacobite party in England were not at all
aware.
It was too late now, however, he thought, to hesitate, even if his
decision had depended upon the probabilities of success; and he joined
the rest of the party in a hasty consultation, in which, from his want
of all knowledge of the country round, he could give very little
advice, except in regard to military matters, where he possessed more
experience than any one present. Glad to have amongst them an officer
of some skill, the noblemen and gentlemen present proceeded to an
inspection of their little force, amounting, in all, at this time, to
only sixty or seventy horse. Arms they literally had none, except the
ordinary riding-swords used at that period in England (which were of
little if any use in the field), and here and there a brace of pistols
at the saddle-bow. It was evidently an insurrection hurried forward
without thought or preparation.
Every man, however, knew of some place where people would come in, in
numbers great, to the standard of King James; but Smeaton pointed out
that the most pressing necessity was to arm those who were already
collected. The first blow, he said, should be struck at any place
where their local knowledge showed them that a store of the necessary
weapons was to be procured; but no one knew where any such supply
existed, except at Newcastle, which they were manifestly too feeble to
attack. It was judged, therefore, needful to recruit their numbers
even before they sought for arms; and those who were best acquainted
with the district proposed that they should proceed to Rothbury and
Warkworth, as the line in which recruits were most likely to come in.
Smeaton had nothing to object; and, forming into something like
regular array, they rode from the place of meeting after a discussion
which, though hurried and desultory, occupied several hours. The
Northumbrian noblemen and gentlemen were full of hope and enthusiasm;
but the young Earl, who had so unwillingly joined them, viewed the
matter with less sanguine anticipations, and, from the expressions of
his new companions, derived no very favourable idea of their
capability of conducting a great enterprise to a successful
conclusion.