CHAPTER IV.
At fairs he play'd before the spearmen, And gaily graithed in their gear then, Steel bonnets, pikes, and swords shone clear then As ony bead; Now wha sall play before sic weir men, Since Habbie's dead! Elegy on Habbie Simpson.
The cavalcade of horsemen on their road to the little borough-town werepreceded by Niel Blane, the town-piper, mounted on his white galloway,armed with his dirk and broadsword, and bearing a chanter streaming withas many ribbons as would deck out six country belles for a fair orpreaching. Niel, a clean, tight, well-timbered, long-winded fellow, hadgained the official situation of town-piper of--by his merit, with allthe emoluments thereof; namely, the Piper's Croft, as it is still called,a field of about an acre in extent, five merks, and a new livery-coat ofthe town's colours, yearly; some hopes of a dollar upon the day of theelection of magistrates, providing the provost were able and willing toafford such a gratuity; and the privilege of paying, at all therespectable houses in the neighbourhood, an annual visit at spring-time,to rejoice their hearts with his music, to comfort his own with their aleand brandy, and to beg from each a modicum of seed-corn.
In addition to these inestimable advantages, Niel's personal, orprofessional, accomplishments won the heart of a jolly widow, who thenkept the principal change-house in the borough. Her former husband havingbeen a strict presbyterian, of such note that he usually went among hissect by the name of Gaius the publican, many of the more rigid werescandalized by the profession of the successor whom his relict had chosenfor a second helpmate. As the browst (or brewing) of the Howff retained,nevertheless, its unrivalled reputation, most of the old customerscontinued to give it a preference. The character of the new landlord,indeed, was of that accommodating kind, which enabled him, by closeattention to the helm, to keep his little vessel pretty steady amid thecontending tides of faction. He was a good-humoured, shrewd, selfish sortof fellow, indifferent alike to the disputes about church and state, andonly anxious to secure the good-will of customers of every description.But his character, as well as the state of the country, will be bestunderstood by giving the reader an account of the instructions which heissued to his daughter, a girl about eighteen, whom he was initiating inthose cares which had been faithfully discharged by his wife, until aboutsix months before our story commences, when the honest woman had beencarried to the kirkyard.
"Jenny," said Niel Blane, as the girl assisted to disencumber him of hisbagpipes, "this is the first day that ye are to take the place of yourworthy mother in attending to the public; a douce woman she was, civil tothe customers, and had a good name wi' Whig and Tory, baith up the streetand down the street. It will be hard for you to fill her place,especially on sic a thrang day as this; but Heaven's will maun beobeyed.--Jenny, whatever Milnwood ca's for, be sure he maun hae't, forhe's the Captain o' the Popinjay, and auld customs maun be supported; ifhe canna pay the lawing himsell, as I ken he's keepit unco short by thehead, I'll find a way to shame it out o' his uncle.--The curate isplaying at dice wi' Cornet Grahame. Be eident and civil to thembaith--clergy and captains can gie an unco deal o' fash in thae times,where they take an ill-will.--The dragoons will be crying for ale, andthey wunna want it, and maunna want it--they are unruly chields, butthey pay ane some gate or other. I gat the humle-cow, that's the best inthe byre, frae black Frank Inglis and Sergeant Bothwell, for ten pundScots, and they drank out the price at ae downsitting."
"But, father," interrupted Jenny, "they say the twa reiving loons dravethe cow frae the gudewife o' Bell's-moor, just because she gaed to hear afield-preaching ae Sabbath afternoon."
"Whisht! ye silly tawpie," said her father, "we have naething to do howthey come by the bestial they sell--be that atween them and theirconsciences.--Aweel--Take notice, Jenny, of that dour, stour-lookingcarle that sits by the cheek o' the ingle, and turns his back on a' men.He looks like ane o' the hill-folk, for I saw him start a wee when he sawthe red-coats, and I jalouse he wad hae liked to hae ridden by, but hishorse (it's a gude gelding) was ower sair travailed; he behoved to stopwhether he wad or no. Serve him cannily, Jenny, and wi' little din, anddinna bring the sodgers on him by speering ony questions at him; but letna him hae a room to himsell, they wad say we were hiding him.--Foryoursell, Jenny, ye'll be civil to a' the folk, and take nae heed o' onynonsense and daffing the young lads may say t'ye. Folk in the hostlerline maun put up wi' muckle. Your mither, rest her saul, could pit up wi'as muckle as maist women--but aff hands is fair play; and if ony body beuncivil ye may gie me a cry--Aweel,--when the malt begins to get aboonthe meal, they'll begin to speak about government in kirk and state, andthen, Jenny, they are like to quarrel--let them be doing--anger's adrouthy passion, and the mair they dispute, the mair ale they'll drink;but ye were best serve them wi' a pint o' the sma' browst, it will heatthem less, and they'll never ken the difference."
"But, father," said Jenny, "if they come to lounder ilk ither, as theydid last time, suldna I cry on you?"
"At no hand, Jenny; the redder gets aye the warst lick in the fray. Ifthe sodgers draw their swords, ye'll cry on the corporal and the guard.If the country folk tak the tangs and poker, ye'll cry on the bailie andtown-officers. But in nae event cry on me, for I am wearied wi' doudlingthe bag o' wind a' day, and I am gaun to eat my dinner quietly in thespence.--And, now I think on't, the Laird of Lickitup (that's him thatwas the laird) was speering for sma' drink and a saut herring--gie him apu' be the sleeve, and round into his lug I wad be blithe o' his companyto dine wi' me; he was a gude customer anes in a day, and wants naethingbut means to be a gude ane again--he likes drink as weel as e'er he did.And if ye ken ony puir body o' our acquaintance that's blate for want o'siller, and has far to gang hame, ye needna stick to gie them a waught o'drink and a bannock--we'll ne'er miss't, and it looks creditable in ahouse like ours. And now, hinny, gang awa', and serve the folk, but firstbring me my dinner, and twa chappins o' yill and the mutchkin stoup o'brandy."
Having thus devolved his whole cares on Jenny as prime minister, NielBlane and the ci-devant laird, once his patron, but now glad to be histrencher-companion, sate down to enjoy themselves for the remainder ofthe evening, remote from the bustle of the public room.
All in Jenny's department was in full activity. The knights of thepopinjay received and requited the hospitable entertainment of theircaptain, who, though he spared the cup himself, took care it should goround with due celerity among the rest, who might not have otherwisedeemed themselves handsomely treated. Their numbers melted away bydegrees, and were at length diminished to four or five, who began to talkof breaking up their party. At another table, at some distance, sat twoof the dragoons, whom Niel Blane had mentioned, a sergeant and a privatein the celebrated John Grahame of Claverhouse's regiment of Life-Guards.Even the non-commissioned officers and privates in these corps were notconsidered as ordinary mercenaries, but rather approached to the rank ofthe French mousquetaires, being regarded in the light of cadets, whoperformed the duties of rank-and-file with the prospect of obtainingcommissions in case of distinguishing themselves.
Many young men of good families were to be found in the ranks, acircumstance which added to the pride and self-consequence of thesetroops. A remarkable instance of this occurred in the person of thenon-commissioned officer in question. His real name was Francis Stewart,but he was universally known by the appellation of Bothwell, beinglineally descended from the last earl of that name; not the infamouslover of the unfortunate Queen Mary, but Francis Stewart, Earl ofBothwell, whose turbulence and repeated conspiracies embarrassed theearly part of James Sixth's reign, and who at length died in exile ingreat poverty. The son of this Earl had sued to Charles I. for therestitution of part of his father's forfeited estates, but the grasp ofthe nobles to whom they had been allotted was too tenacious to beunclenched. The breaking out of the civil wars utterly ruined him, byintercepting a small pension which Charles I. had allowed him, and hedied in the utmost indi
gence. His son, after having served as a soldierabroad and in Britain, and passed through several vicissitudes offortune, was fain to content himself with the situation of anon-commissioned officer in the Life-Guards, although lineally descendedfrom the royal family, the father of the forfeited Earl of Bothwellhaving been a natural son of James VI.
[Note: Sergeant Bothwell. The history of the restless and ambitious Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, makes a considerable figure in the reign of James VI. of Scotland, and First of England. After being repeatedly pardoned for acts of treason, he was at length obliged to retire abroad, where he died in great misery. Great part of his forfeited estate was bestowed on Walter Scott, first Lord of Buccleuch, and on the first Earl of Roxburghe.
Francis Stewart, son of the forfeited Earl, obtained from the favour of Charles I. a decreet-arbitral, appointing the two noblemen, grantees of his father's estate, to restore the same, or make some compensation for retaining it. The barony of Crichton, with its beautiful castle, was surrendered by the curators of Francis, Earl of Buccleuch, but he retained the far more extensive property in Liddesdale. James Stewart also, as appears from writings in the author's possession, made an advantageous composition with the Earl of Roxburghe. "But," says the satirical Scotstarvet, "male parta pejus dilabuntur;" for he never brooked them, (enjoyed them,) nor was any thing the richer, since they accrued to his creditors, and are now in the possession of Dr Seaton. His eldest son Francis became a trooper in the late war; as for the other brother John, who was Abbot of Coldingham, he also disposed all that estate, and now has nothing, but lives on the charity of his friends. "The Staggering State of the Scots Statesmen for One Hundred Years," by Sir John Scot of Scotstarvet. Edinburgh, 1754. P. 154.
Francis Stewart, who had been a trooper during the great Civil War, seems to have received no preferment, after the Restoration, suited to his high birth, though, in fact, third cousin to Charles II. Captain Crichton, the friend of Dean Swift, who published his Memoirs, found him a private gentleman in the King's Life-Guards. At the same time this was no degrading condition; for Fountainhall records a duel fought between a Life-Guardsman and an officer in the militia, because the latter had taken upon him to assume superior rank as an officer, to a gentleman private in the Life-Guards. The Life-Guards man was killed in the rencontre, and his antagonist was executed for murder.
The character of Bothwell, except in relation to the name, is entirely ideal.]
Great personal strength, and dexterity in the use of his arms, as well asthe remarkable circumstances of his descent, had recommended this man tothe attention of his officers. But he partook in a great degree of thelicentiousness and oppressive disposition, which the habit of acting asagents for government in levying fines, exacting free quarters, andotherwise oppressing the Presbyterian recusants, had rendered too generalamong these soldiers. They were so much accustomed to such missions, thatthey conceived themselves at liberty to commit all manner of license withimpunity, as if totally exempted from all law and authority, exceptingthe command of their officers. On such occasions Bothwell was usually themost forward.
It is probable that Bothwell and his companions would not so long haveremained quiet, but for respect to the presence of their Cornet, whocommanded the small party quartered in the borough, and who was engagedin a game at dice with the curate of the place. But both of these beingsuddenly called from their amusement to speak with the chief magistrateupon some urgent business, Bothwell was not long of evincing his contemptfor the rest of the company.
"Is it not a strange thing, Halliday," he said to his comrade, "to see aset of bumpkins sit carousing here this whole evening, without havingdrank the king's health?"
"They have drank the king's health," said Halliday. "I heard that greenkail-worm of a lad name his majesty's health."
"Did he?" said Bothwell. "Then, Tom, we'll have them drink the Archbishopof St Andrew's health, and do it on their knees too."
"So we will, by G--," said Halliday; "and he that refuses it, we'll havehim to the guard-house, and teach him to ride the colt foaled of anacorn, with a brace of carabines at each foot to keep him steady."
"Right, Tom," continued Bothwell; "and, to do all things in order, I'llbegin with that sulky blue-bonnet in the ingle-nook."
He rose accordingly, and taking his sheathed broadsword under his arm tosupport the insolence which he meditated, placed himself in front of thestranger noticed by Niel Blane, in his admonitions to his daughter, asbeing, in all probability, one of the hill-folk, or refractorypresbyterians.
"I make so bold as to request of your precision, beloved," said thetrooper, in a tone of affected solemnity, and assuming the snuffle of acountry preacher, "that you will arise from your seat, beloved, and,having bent your hams until your knees do rest upon the floor, beloved,that you will turn over this measure (called by the profane a gill) ofthe comfortable creature, which the carnal denominate brandy, to thehealth and glorification of his Grace the Archbishop of St Andrews, theworthy primate of all Scotland."
All waited for the stranger's answer.--His features, austere even toferocity, with a cast of eye, which, without being actually oblique,approached nearly to a squint, and which gave a very sinister expressionto his countenance, joined to a frame, square, strong, and muscular,though something under the middle size, seemed to announce a man unlikelyto understand rude jesting, or to receive insults with impunity.
"And what is the consequence," said he, "if I should not be disposed tocomply with your uncivil request?"
"The consequence thereof, beloved," said Bothwell, in the same tone ofraillery, "will be, firstly, that I will tweak thy proboscis or nose.Secondly, beloved, that I will administer my fist to thy distorted visualoptics; and will conclude, beloved, with a practical application of theflat of my sword to the shoulders of the recusant."
"Is it even so?" said the stranger; "then give me the cup;" and, takingit in his hand, he said, with a peculiar expression of voice and manner,"The Archbishop of St Andrews, and the place he now worthily holds;--mayeach prelate in Scotland soon be as the Right Reverend James Sharpe!"
"He has taken the test," said Halliday, exultingly.
"But with a qualification," said Bothwell; "I don't understand what thedevil the crop-eared whig means."
"Come, gentlemen," said Morton, who became impatient of their insolence,"we are here met as good subjects, and on a merry occasion; and we have aright to expect we shall not be troubled with this sort of discussion."
Bothwell was about to make a surly answer, but Halliday reminded him in awhisper, that there were strict injunctions that the soldiers should giveno offence to the men who were sent out to the musters agreeably to thecouncil's orders. So, after honouring Morton with a broad and fiercestare, he said, "Well, Mr Popinjay, I shall not disturb your reign; Ireckon it will be out by twelve at night.--Is it not an odd thing,Halliday," he continued, addressing his companion, "that they should makesuch a fuss about cracking off their birding-pieces at a mark which anywoman or boy could hit at a day's practice? If Captain Popinjay now, orany of his troop, would try a bout, either with the broadsword,backsword, single rapier, or rapier and dagger, for a gold noble, thefirst-drawn blood, there would be some soul in it,--or, zounds, would thebumpkins but wrestle, or pitch the bar, or putt the stone, or throw theaxle-tree, if (touching the end of Morton's sword scornfully with histoe) they carry things about them that they are afraid to draw."
Morton's patience and prudence now gave way entirely, and he was about tomake a very angry answer to Bothwell's insolent observations, when thestranger stepped forward.
"This is my quarrel," he said, "and in the name of the good cause, I willsee it out myself.--Hark thee, friend," (to Bothwell,) "wilt thou wrestlea fall with me?"
"With my whole spirit, beloved," answered Bothwell; "yea I will strivewith thee, to the downfall of
one or both."
"Then, as my trust is in Him that can help," retorted his antagonist, "Iwill forthwith make thee an example to all such railing Rabshakehs!"
With that he dropped his coarse grey horseman's coat from his shoulders,and, extending his strong brawny arms with a look of determinedresolution, he offered himself to the contest. The soldier was nothingabashed by the muscular frame, broad chest, square shoulders, and hardylook of his antagonist, but, whistling with great composure, unbuckledhis belt, and laid aside his military coat. The company stood round them,anxious for the event.
In the first struggle the trooper seemed to have some advantage, and alsoin the second, though neither could be considered as decisive. But it wasplain he had put his whole strength too suddenly forth, against anantagonist possessed of great endurance, skill, vigour, and length ofwind. In the third close, the countryman lifted his opponent fairly fromthe floor, and hurled him to the ground with such violence, that he layfor an instant stunned and motionless. His comrade Halliday immediatelydrew his sword; "You have killed my sergeant," he exclaimed to thevictorious wrestler, "and by all that is sacred you shall answer it!"
"Stand back!" cried Morton and his companions, "it was all fair play;your comrade sought a fall, and he has got it."
"That is true enough," said Bothwell, as he slowly rose; "put up yourbilbo, Tom. I did not think there was a crop-ear of them all could havelaid the best cap and feather in the King's Life-Guards on the floor of arascally change-house.--Hark ye, friend, give me your hand." The strangerheld out his hand. "I promise you," said Bothwell, squeezing his handvery hard, "that the time will come when we shall meet again, and trythis game over in a more earnest manner."
"And I'll promise you," said the stranger, returning the grasp with equalfirmness, "that when we next meet, I will lay your head as low as it layeven now, when you shall lack the power to lift it up again."
"Well, beloved," answered Bothwell, "if thou be'st a whig, thou art astout and a brave one, and so good even to thee--Hadst best take thy nagbefore the Cornet makes the round; for, I promise thee, he has stay'dless suspicious-looking persons."
The stranger seemed to think that the hint was not to be neglected; heflung down his reckoning, and going into the stable, saddled and broughtout a powerful black horse, now recruited by rest and forage, and turningto Morton, observed, "I ride towards Milnwood, which I hear is your home;will you give me the advantage and protection of your company?"
"Certainly," said Morton; although there was something of gloomy andrelentless severity in the man's manner from which his mind recoiled. Hiscompanions, after a courteous good-night, broke up and went off indifferent directions, some keeping them company for about a mile, untilthey dropped off one by one, and the travellers were left alone.
The company had not long left the Howff, as Blane's public-house wascalled, when the trumpets and kettle-drums sounded. The troopers gotunder arms in the market-place at this unexpected summons, while, withfaces of anxiety and earnestness, Cornet Grahame, a kinsman ofClaverhouse, and the Provost of the borough, followed by half-a-dozensoldiers, and town-officers with halberts, entered the apartment of NielBlane.
"Guard the doors!" were the first words which the Cornet spoke; "let noman leave the house.--So, Bothwell, how comes this? Did you not hear themsound boot and saddle?"
"He was just going to quarters, sir," said his comrade; "he has had a badfall."
"In a fray, I suppose?" said Grahame. "If you neglect duty in this way,your royal blood will hardly protect you."
"How have I neglected duty?" said Bothwell, sulkily.
"You should have been at quarters, Sergeant Bothwell," replied theofficer; "you have lost a golden opportunity. Here are news come that theArchbishop of St Andrews has been strangely and foully assassinated by abody of the rebel whigs, who pursued and stopped his carriage onMagus-Muir, near the town of St Andrews, dragged him out, and dispatchedhim with their swords and daggers." [Note: The general account of thisact of assassination is to be found in all histories of the period. Amore particular narrative may be found in the words of one of the actors,James Russell, in the Appendix to Kirkton's History of the Church ofScotland, published by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esquire. 4to,Edinburgh, 1817.]
All stood aghast at the intelligence.
"Here are their descriptions," continued the Cornet, pulling out aproclamation, "the reward of a thousand merks is on each of their heads."
"The test, the test, and the qualification!" said Bothwell to Halliday;"I know the meaning now--Zounds, that we should not have stopt him! Gosaddle our horses, Halliday.--Was there one of the men, Cornet, verystout and square-made, double-chested, thin in the flanks, hawk-nosed?"
"Stay, stay," said Cornet Grahame, "let me look at the paper.--Hackstonof Rathillet, tall, thin, black-haired."
"That is not my man," said Bothwell.
"John Balfour, called Burley, aquiline nose, red-haired, five feeteight inches in height"--"It is he--it is the very man!" saidBothwell,--"skellies fearfully with one eye?"
"Right," continued Grahame, "rode a strong black horse, taken from theprimate at the time of the murder."
"The very man," exclaimed Bothwell, "and the very horse! he was in thisroom not a quarter of an hour since."
A few hasty enquiries tended still more to confirm the opinion, that thereserved and stern stranger was Balfour of Burley, the actual commanderof the band of assassins, who, in the fury of misguided zeal, hadmurdered the primate, whom they accidentally met, as they were searchingfor another person against whom they bore enmity. [Note: One Carmichael,sheriff-depute in Fife, who had been active in enforcing the penalmeasures against non-conformists. He was on the moors hunting, butreceiving accidental information that a party was out in quest of him, hereturned home, and escaped the fate designed for him, which befell hispatron the Archbishop.] In their excited imagination the casualrencounter had the appearance of a providential interference, and theyput to death the archbishop, with circumstances of great and cold-bloodedcruelty, under the belief, that the Lord, as they expressed it, haddelivered him into their hands.
[Note: Murderers of Archbishop Sharpe. The leader of this party was David Hackston, of Rathillet, a gentleman of ancient birth and good estate. He had been profligate in his younger days, but having been led from curiosity to attend the conventicles of the nonconforming clergy, he adopted their principles in the fullest extent. It appears, that Hackston had some personal quarrel with Archbishop Sharpe, which induced him to decline the command of the party when the slaughter was determined upon, fearing his acceptance might be ascribed to motives of personal enmity. He felt himself free in conscience, however, to be present; and when the archbishop, dragged from his carriage, crawled towards him on his knees for protection, he replied coldly, "Sir, I will never lay a finger on you." It is remarkable that Hackston, as well as a shepherd who was also present, but passive, on the occasion, were the only two of the party of assassins who suffered death by the hands of the executioner.
On Hackston refusing the command, it was by universal suffrage conferred on John Balfour of Kinloch, called Burley, who was Hackston's brother-in-law. He is described "as a little man, squint-eyed, and of a very fierce aspect."--"He was," adds the same author, "by some reckoned none of the most religious; yet he was always reckoned zealous and honest-hearted, courageous in every enterprise, and a brave soldier, seldom any escaping that came into his hands. He was the principal actor in killing that arch-traitor to the Lord and his church, James Sharpe." See Scottish Worthies. 8vo. Leith, 1816. Page 522.]
"Horse, horse, and pursue, my lads!" exclaimed Cornet Grahame; "themurdering dog's head is worth its weight in gold."