CHAPTER XXI
MASTER FREAKE KNOWS AT LAST
Dinner was a success from the Prince's point of view. The Duke wascompletely won over to the idea of our going on, and even the Lord Ogilvieat one time wavered before the Prince's onslaught. The Irishmen werestrongly in favour of it, and Mr. Secretary, when thawed by wine, grewexpansive over its advantages. I incline to think that the rascal hadratted already, and was anxious to get all he could out of the Governmentby leading the Prince into a trap. Trap it would have been, as Cullodenplainly showed. Against English regular soldiers, resolutely led, theHighlanders would work no more miracles.
So for a space the chatter and laughter went on. Charles was already inSt. James's, and the ladies were already queening it in the new Court overthe renegade beauties of the old one. Even Margaret caught some of theenthusiasm, so that I whispered to her, "You beat our Kate at countingyour unhatched chickens."
Whereat she sobered all of a sudden, and whispered, "Maybe you are right,Oliver!"
"I hope for your sake they are true prophets," I said. "I should dearlylike to see you a marchioness before I go back to my farming."
"That's one of the chickens I've not counted," she said.
She looked at me very steadily, and then turned and plunged into thestream of conversation flowing around her.
Her father had steered clear of all awkward topics, taking for grantedthat we were going on. Charles got less cautious as he got surer, andmoreover, as I could not but observe, he was mellowing somewhat under thebrandy he was drinking. Princes commonly have no judgment of men, havingnever the need of noting their humours in order to mould them to theirwill. So now Charles bluntly attacked the Colonel again on the militaryaspect of the situation, which was merely butting against a stone wall.
"You must remember, Colonel," he said, "that my Highlanders have driventhe English soldiery before them like sheep. They wiped out an army ofthem at Gladsmuir in less than fifteen minutes, and only lost thirty menkilled in doing it."
"Sir," said the Colonel, "give me one thousand English soldiers for aweek and I'll pit them against any thousand Highlanders you like to bringagainst 'em."
"Then it's a good job you're on my side," said Charles.
"It is indeed, sir," said the Colonel, very quietly, "and under favour,sir, you will be well advised to have your troops exercised in the bestways of charging men who don't mean to run from them. There's no militaryscience wanted to beat men who run away from you as soon as you attack. AsI understand it, your Highlander fires his piece from a good distance,throws it away, and then rushes to the attack. If the enemy stands, hecatches the bayonet of the man in front of him in his leather shield,where it sticks, and so has him at mercy, and through you go like a knifethrough a cheese."
"That's just how it's done, Colonel," said Charles merrily.
"Well, sir, that's just how it wouldn't be done if I was in commandagainst you."
There was neither eating nor drinking going on now, except that thePrince poured out his third glass of brandy. Everybody was intent on thedialogue. Ogilvie, his hand clasping his wife's under the skirt of thenapery, looked so intently at the Colonel that his face was like a figurein a Euclid book.
"How would you stop it, sir?"
It was Mr. Secretary who spoke, for Charles was sipping at his brandy.
"We're all friends here?" said the Colonel brusquely.
"All loyal to the last drop of our blood," replied Mr. Secretary fervently.
"I dare say," was the Colonel's dry comment, "but it's much moreimportant at times to be loyal to the last wag of your tongue."
"Then I only answer, as in the presence of God, for myself," said hepiously.
"Leaving God to look after Mr. Secretary," said Charles, banging hisempty glass on the table. "I'll answer for the rest. So get on with yourplan, Colonel."
"His Royal Highness has selected the easier task," whispered Margaret inmy ear.
"Well, sir," began the Colonel, "I should say to my men: 'When theHighlanders charge, take no notice of the man who is coming straight atyou. Keep your eye on his left-hand man, who is coming at your right-handman. Don't fire at him till you can see the whites of his eyes, and if youdon't bring him down with the bullet, have at him and thrust your bayonetinto his right ribs. There's no buckler there, and his right arm will beup to strike. The man coming at you will be attended to in the same way byyour left-hand man.' After a week's practice in that little trick, sir, Ishould face any charge your Highlanders liked to make, and would bet athousand guineas to this pinch of rappee--poor stuff as it is--on stopping'em dead in their tracks."
"By gad! and so you would, sir!" said my Lord Ogilvie explosively.
"It sounds feasible," said old Sir Thomas, "but fortunately ColonelWaynflete is with us, and can teach us new tricks."
"Of course he can," said Charles. "What do you say, Master Wheatman? Youknow him."
"That old poachers make the best gamekeepers, sir," I answered.
"_Nom de chien_," cried the Colonel, twirling fiercely round on me.Margaret, who sat between us, laughingly pretended to protect me from him,and he thrust his snuff-box across at me.
The Prince rose, and, followed by Murray, left the room. We all stoodgossiping together. Ogilvie and O'Sullivan talked very earnestly about theColonel's trick. His Grace of Perth ogled Margaret off towards the windowon pretence of showing her some sight of interest in the square.
"Did they leave him in the lurch?" twittered a voice mockingly in my ear.It was my lady Ogilvie.
"It must be nice to be with a duke," said I, very glum and miserableagain all of a sudden.
"It's a great deal nicer to be with a man," she answered. "Come and helpme throw crumbs to the pretty wee birdies in the garden."
In his attempt to 'smash 'em in detail' the Prince was acute enough touse the Colonel, and condescending enough to use me, as supporters. Theunrivalled military skill which the Colonel would devote to the winning ofLondon was dwelt upon until even the Colonel, in no wise inclined tounder-estimate it, got restive, and snuffed and pshawed with great vigour.I, of course, was the early, strong-winged swallow that announced theflights of laggards behind.
There were some dozen chiefs of considerable position in the Prince'sarmy, and he tackled them one by one, and tried to argue them into his wayof thinking. Some he sent for to his lodging; others he visited in theirs--aspecial but wasted mark of distinction. On the whole they would notbudge. They were courteous and respectful, for they were gentlemen, and hewas their Prince, but their minds were made up and they would notsurrender their wills to his. Mostly, in their talk, they simply chewedover again the morning's cud.
Mr. Secretary went off as envoy to fetch the chiefs to Exeter House,where the Prince received them in his little private chamber overlookingthe gardens. He would stand, silent and moody, glowering out of thewindow, with the Colonel and me standing silent and thoughtful behind him.I felt keenly for him, for he was indeed a gracious, likeable youngfellow, born to purple poverty and a shadowy princedom, and now, as hethought, with the reality of wealth and power snatched out of his grasp.
"If we go back," said he, turning his eyes on me, so that I saw how lifeand light had quite gone out of them, "it's all over with my House."
"I hope not, sir," said I.
"I know it is," he cried bitterly, almost rudely. "All over with us--andall over with me. If we go on, I shall at the worst go to my grave strongand sweet. If we go back--"
He paused and looked moodily out of the window. I think now, as I picturehim to myself standing there, that he knew himself well enough to knowwhat was coming. For another picture of him comes to my mind, as I saw himin Rome many years later, and shuddered as I saw him.
He turned and smiled at me, as one smiles who sips sour wine.
"If we go back, friend Wheatman, I shall just rot into it."
He spoke truth. I saw him rotting.
And then, because he had more stuff in him than any other ro
yal Stuartthat ever lived, he turned round, proud and princely, as the door openedand in came Mr. Secretary with Macdonald of Glencoe, a short-horned bullof a man.
"And when was it," said he, rapping the words out like hammer-strokes onan anvil, "that the Macdonalds got feart?"
The Chief pulled up short, hit clean and hard between the eyes.
"Ye'll never see a feart Macdonald," he said, "if ye live to be as auldas Ben Nevis."
"Ye're in the wrong, Glencoe," said Charles. "I saw one this morning, andhe was frightened of the English."
"I'll gie ye the lie o' that," roared Glencoe, "if I hae to scrat my wayinto London wi' ma nails."
"I'll be glad of the lie from you on those terms," replied Charlescalmly, "and you shall ride into London at my right hand while I take mywords back."
The Prince went to a table and filled a silver-gilt tass with brandy. Hesipped it and then, handing it to the Chief, said, "We'll share the sameglass to-day, Glencoe, as a pledge that we'll share the same victoryto-morrow."
I did not like his brandy-drinking, but he did it well this time. As Ihave said, he was at his best in dealing with a single man face to face.It is only the rarest and finest spirits that can dominate a crowd.
At a sign from the Prince the Colonel and I escorted the Chief to thedoor, bestowing on him, as was due and politic, every courtesy. He lookedlike a man who, after days of doubt, had newly found himself.
"We've got him!" cried Charles gleefully as the door closed behind him."Now, gentlemen, I crave your attendance on a progress round the town. Mr.Wheatman, bear our compliments to my Lord Elcho, and bid him call out somescore or so of our guards to escort us."
We made a gallant show as we walked the streets of Derby in the earlygrey of that December evening. Ahead of us went a dozen dismountedlife-guards to clear the causeways. Then followed Mr. Secretary with abrace or two of town notables unwillingly yoked to the task of giving anappearance of local support; then followed the Prince, between O'Sullivanand the Colonel, with young Clanranald and me at their heels; and anotherdozen life-guards in the rear. As we passed along the causeways, a scoreor so of mounted guards, with Lord Elcho at their head, kept level with usin the roadways. Volleys of slogans greeted us wherever we went, for thetown was full to bursting of the clansmen. The townsmen crowded to doorsand windows to watch us pass.
The Prince doffed to them every other yard, but he and all of us weremere curiosities to most of them.
The progress was stayed at the "White Horse" in Sadler-gate, and thePrince, with us, his immediate attendants, turned into the inn-yard, withits long uneven lines of stables and coach-houses, all packed withCamerons. At the news of the Prince's coming they trooped out, yellinglustily. Some sort of order was formed, and the Prince walked up and downamong the swaying, uncouth masses, with a cheery smile on his face, andwith now and again a phrase of their own Gaelic on his lips.
"The men are keen enough," he said to the Colonel apart. "Let us gowithin and see what mood young Lochiel is in now."
Lochiel, 'young' only by way of distinction from a Lochiel still older,wanted no digging out, for, the news having been carried to him, he ranout bareheaded and breathless. He was, in fact, a middle-aged gentleman,broody and melancholy at times, as these men of the mountains are apt tobe when they've got brains. At the Council he had been silently set ongoing back.
"Your men are in fine fettle, Lochiel," said Charles, "and as keen astheir claymores to be at it."
"They dinnae see the hoodie-craws gathering for the feast," said Lochielsombrely.
"They see the battle won and the spoils of victory, after the usual waywith the Camerons," replied the Prince.
"They havenae the gift of far-seeing," said the Chief, gloomily proud ofhis own prophetic powers.
Charles started impatiently, and there would have been a wrangle but forthe Colonel.
"Sir," said he, addressing the Prince, "you will forgive an oldcampaigner for being a stickler for the rules and procedures of militaryoperations. An inn-yard, with soldiery around and townsfolk gaping throughdoors and windows, is no place for a council of war. The gentleman ispleased to dream, of birds, as I gather. Let him back to the fireside anddream of them in peace."
Without another word the Prince turned on his heel and strode out of theyard. I attended him at first, but missed the Colonel, and turned back tohim, for Lochiel was all a Highlander, seer one minute and savage thenext. Indeed, I found him, all his moodiness gone, as mad as a hatter.
"I'll hae the heart's blood o' ye for this, prince or no prince," hebawled at the Colonel, who, precisely as I expected, was seizing thewelcome opportunity of having a pinch of snuff.
"Good lad!" said he, holding out the box, as indifferent to the crowdingCamerons as if they were sheep. "Make it pigeons next time, Mr. Lochiel.Damme, Oliver, this rappee gets unendurable."
His coolness took Lochiel off the boil, and he and I passed out withoutanother word into Sadler-gate and hurried after the Prince. We found theprogress somewhat ragged, and, as we were only a few yards from the cornerof Rotten Row, which forms the side of the square opposite Exeter House,it was, I suppose, hardly worth while to trim it into shape again. Inthose few yards, however, an incident much more to my liking occurred, forjust as we turned round the leading file of the rear of guards, we foundthat the Prince had again halted, in the light of a shop-window, and thistime it was to talk to Margaret, who was standing there with Master Freake.
It was a large shop with two well-stocked bow-windows. The doorwaybetween them, and half the inwards of the shop, were filled with the shopmaster, his apprentices, and customers, crowding and craning to get asight of the Prince. Over the door was a shield-shaped sign, bearing theDerby ram for cognizance, and the legend, "Martin Moyle, Grocer andItalian Warehouseman." I noted it then, because the word 'Italian' carriedme back to Margaret's tirra-lirring, and I note it down now because,having looked at it, my eyes ranged over the heads of the gapers in thedoorway to where Maclachlan, on the fringe of the group, was dodging aboutto find a place where he could see Margaret without being seen by thePrince.
Master Freake was talking with the Prince as composedly as if they hadbeen friends of old standing. We had missed the beginning of their talk,but it was plain that Charles had expected a recruit and was disappointed.
"And why do you stand aside from us both?" he asked.
"Sir," said the sedate merchant, "I am not interested in making kings."
"What then?"
"Kingdoms, sir."
"Kingdoms!" cried the Prince.
"Kingdoms!" reiterated Master Freake, with pride and emphasis. "But forme, and men like me, this country would be a waste not worth fighting for."
The Prince looked with astonishment at the calm, solid man who made thisstrange announcement. After a minute's reflection, he said, "Mr. Freake, Iwould talk with you in private, if you will."
"With pleasure, sir," replied Master Freake.
"And, naturally, Mistress Waynflete will not be cruel," continued thePrince, offering his arm.
Margaret took it, and the procession moved on again. Master Freake linkedhis arm in mine, and we walked on together.
"You've had adventures, I hear, since we parted, Oliver."
"I fell into the claws of poetic justice," I answered, "and, havingfailed as a real highwayman, nearly hanged as an imaginary one."
He laughed. "Well, keep out of the sergeant's claws. He's only five milesoff with a brace of his dragoons, but little Dot is watching him. The timeto deal with him is not yet. Wait till his lordship of Brocton joins him.What do you think of the Prince?"
"I would not have believed a prince could be so likeable, sir."
"I am, and shall remain, a mere observer," he said, "a mere tracker-downof ten per cent on good security, but I don't mind admitting that, princefor prince, I prefer this young gentleman to the fat, snuffy, waddling,little drill-sergeant he's trying to displace."
"You know the King, sir!"
&n
bsp; "Well, and I know his weak spot, too, which is more important for ourpurposes. If His Gracious Majesty went to bed to-night with as manyguineas in his pocket as that"--he jingled his loose coin vigorously--"he'dsleep in his breeches."
On the way to Exeter House the Prince recovered his high spirits, andeven kept us waiting in the hall while he continued some lightsomeargument Margaret had led him into. At last he broke it off, laughing.
"Mr. Freake will think me an idle princeling for this, madam," he said."For your offence in thus hindering our matters of state we commit you toward, and straightly charge our loyal subject, Master Wheatman, to holdyou safe in keeping till after supper, when we will undertake to show youthat our Highland reel can be as graceful as your Italian fandango."
So, in great good humour, he went off with the Colonel and Master Freake.
"Your aide-de-camp's commission runs so far, I trust," said Margaretdemurely, "as to permit me to choose my own cell."
"I think that might be allowed, madam," I replied, with answerablegravity, "but of course I must sit outside the door and keep strict watchover you."
"You would, I suppose, feel surer of me if you sat inside the door?"
"Naturally, madam."
"Then come along! I must know all that's knowable about that ghost. 'Inever said any such thing,' quoth he! You're the cleverest man with yourtongue I ever met, Oliver. And with what a pretty heat he said it! Justas, beyond a doubt, he did it with that pretty way he has."
If words were tones, and smiles, and eye-flashes, and lip-curlings, Icould tell you not only what Margaret said but how she said it, and how,in saying it, she made mad sweet music ring within me.
We were out in the square again now, threading our way among people Ihardly saw for being so wrapt up in her.
"Was she a pretty ghost?"
"Very," said I decidedly.
"How old was she?"
"Eighteen, or thereabouts."
"Eighteen! Oh, dear! I never dreamed it was as bad as that. I thinkkiss-giving and kissable ghosts over thirteen ought not to be allowed.Eighteen! It's a clear incitement to suicide!"
I was laughing at her whimsical sally when one particular item in thecrowd demanded attention, for it obtrusively barred our way. It wasMaclachlan, once again hot and red with haste, waving a small package hehad in his hand.
"Ye left me, Mistress Margaret," he said. "I've been searching high andlow for ye."
"And I'm glad you've found me, for I see you've got me the olives. Youare indeed kind, Mr. Maclachlan."
"Ye left me!" he repeated passionately.
"That's true," she said lightly. "I forgot all about you till I saw ahand with an obvious bottle of olives dangling from it."
Now this was not Margaret, or at least it was another strange side ofher. With me she had been almost absurdly grateful for such littleservices as I had rendered. I had got her eggs, as he had got her olives,but I and my eggs had not been received like this. I looked from one tothe other curiously. She was cool and smiling, as befitted some smallsocial occasion. He was just as clearly throbbing with passion. He, theMaclachlan, had been neglected, and neglected for me! I wondered whyMargaret did not tell him that the Prince had commanded her company. Thatshould have satisfied even him; but no, she left him in his error, andmerely took the olives out of his hand, saying, "I hope they'll be fresh,though it's hardly to be expected in a little town in the middle ofEngland."
Maclachlan had paid not the slightest attention to me and, while readyenough to deal with him, I paid none to him, and began to think himsomewhat of an ass to be standing in the market-place of Derby airing hispassions. Fortunately, perhaps, Lord George Murray, striding by towardsExeter House, caught sight of us and stopped abruptly.
"Ha' ye made a' right at the bridge yonder, Maclachlan?"
The young Chief's face supplied the answer.
"Ye havenae!" stormed Murray. "By gad, sir," lugging out his watch, "ifyou don't, in two hours from now, report all arrangements made, I'll haeye shot by a squad of the Manchester ragabushes. Aff wi' ye, ye jawtheringyoung fule!"
Maclachlan went off without so much as a bow to Margaret.
"Have you taken out your commission, sir?" said Murray to me, snappingthe words out as though he would have them shear my head off.
"I have, my lord," I answered, forestalling the words with a correctmilitary salute.
"Then what the blazes are you doing here?"
"My lord," I answered firmly, "by the direct commission of His RoyalHighness, given to me personally, I am escorting this lady to jail."
"Then I'll forgive ye!" he retorted, and his strong face lost all itsanger and found the wraith of a smile. "Dinnae be too hard on the lassie!She's ane of the right sort."
He returned my salute, bowed courteously to Margaret, and strode on
"Good lad!" said Margaret, happily mimicking her father. "You shall havesome of the olives in a minute or two."
"Olives seem to me precisely the right thing for us," said I.
"And why, sir?"
It was very curious to me to see how, in her speech to me, she whippedabout from the familiar "Oliver" to the stately "Sir." There was always areason for it, and I would have given much to know it.
"Your olives come from Italy, and I have been thinking of your Italiancount."
"So have I," she said very soberly, and never said another word till wewere safe and quiet in her day-room at the "Bald-Faced Stag."
For over two hours I had Margaret to myself, and we were as happy andcompanionable as we had been in Dick Doley's cottage. And at this Imarvelled. Our Kate was the only woman I had to judge by, and when ourKate got into her very best Sunday gown she got into her tantrums alongwith it, and poor Jack, what with awe of her finery and anxiety lest heshould anger the minx, commonly had a thorny time of it. With Margaret itwas just the opposite. When we got in, she excused herself and went off toher own room, coming back, after a weary time, in such a glory of silksand satins that I blinked my eyes before her dazzlements. What made itworse was that there was a comb--as she called it, though I should in myignorance have thought it some rich and rare work in filigree belonging toan empress--which, owing to the smallness of her mirror and the poorlight, she could not get to sit perfectly in its golden cushion, and I wasbidden to put it where and as it ought to be. I was a long time over thetask, in part because I was really clumsy, but mainly because I was in nohurry. I got it right at last, and even ventured, very craftily andlightly, to kiss it as it lay there.
"It's quite right now," said I.
"At last! I'm afraid it's been a trouble to you. Now, Oliver, open thebottle of olives, and, while we eat them, tell me all about the ghost."
Many a time in the hard days that came to me later, I refreshed my soulby thinking those happy hours over again. They are part of me, but no partof my story, and I make no record of them here. We had long talks, withlong silences between them, as can only happen with very real friends whoare company for one another without a clatter of words.
At last this golden time came to an end, for in walked the Colonel andMaster Freake to supper.
"I am thankful," said the Colonel to Margaret. "Murray told me you'd beentaken to jail."
"You heard the news with great content, I suppose," said Margaret.
"I did, because--" He stopped to frown into the snuff-box.
"Because of what? Pray observe, gentlemen, what an affectionate father Ihave!"
"Because he also told me the name of your jailer!"
"You don't deserve to have a daughter," declared Margaret, with such apretence of vehemence that her cheeks, between and beneath her coils ofyellow hair, blazed like two poppies in a wheat-shook.
"I've made up for it by deserving something even better, and that's agood supper. Pull the bell, Oliver!"
* * * * *
Arrived in the great chamber at Exeter House, we found Charles making hislast stand. Feeling ran riot; there was little
regard for the regentshipof the Prince; true to itself to the end, the Stuart cause was dying in ababel of broken counsels.
The ladies of the party were collected, uncertain and disquieted, on thehearth, where Margaret joined them, while the Colonel and I made our wayand stood behind the Prince.
"His Grace of Perth desires to go on," said Charles. "So does Glencoe. Sodo my faithful Irish friends. Your men, as you well know, expect to go on.To get them to go back, you must start in the dead of night and lie tothem, telling them they are going on. Only you, their chiefs and fathers,want to go back."
"To hell with the Irish!" cried one from the background. "They're no'worth the dad of a bonnet."
"It's no matter to them," said another man by him. "They've neither haidnor maid to lose."
This fetched O'Sullivan to his feet in a tearing rage. "We've got livesto lose," he cried, "and, by G--, we're not afraid to lose 'em!"
At this the yelling must have been heard in the square, and thegesticulating and grimacing would have been amusing on a less seriousoccasion. At last, in a lull in the gale, the Colonel, addressing thePrince, curtly demanded, "Who is the chief military commander of yourarmy, sir?"
"My Lord George Murray," answered Charles bitterly.
"Then it's time your commander commanded. This spells disaster whether wego on or go back."
"It's the plain truth you're telling, Colonel Waynflete," said LordOgilvie loudly. In an undertone I heard him say, "Oot wi' it, Geordie!"
When Murray arose, everybody knew the finishing touch was to be put tothe business, and a strained silence fell on the assembly.
"I have advised ye to go back, sir," he said, "because, in the completeabsence of the support we were led to expect, it is foolish to go on. YourRoyal Highness wants to go on, and there's not a man here who does nothonour you for your courage. Now, sir, I will go on, and so shall everyman here I can command or influence, if those who hae tell't ye behind myback that they think we ought to go on will put their opinion down inwriting and subscribe their names to it, here and now. One condition more,sir. That writing, so subscribed, shall be sent by a sure hand direct fromthis town to His Majesty in Rome, so that he may judge each man justly."
"I agree," said Charles eagerly. "Pen and paper, Mr. Secretary!"
It at once became clear, however, that Murray had taken the measure ofthe men he had to deal with.
"Why make flesh of one and fish of another?" asked O'Sullivan, and oldSir Thomas nodded approval of the question.
"The decision should be the decision of the Council," said the Duke ofPerth.
"Will ye write your names to it, or will ye not?" demanded Murray.
No one spoke.
"That settles it, sir," said Murray. "But I desire you, Mr. Secretary, tomake a note of my offer and its reception."
"Have your way!" said Charles, in sullen anger. "But it settles anotherthing for ye. I call no more councils."
He turned and strode out of the room. The Stuart cause was in its coffin,and it only remained for us to give it a fair burial.
When the door closed behind the Prince, the Colonel whispered in my ear,"Slip off and tell Freake!"
I did the journey at a run, and found Master Freake sitting, quietlymeditative, but booted and spurred for his journey.
"Well, Oliver?"
"We go back to-night."
In five minutes I was standing in the Ironmarket at his grey mare's head.
"I'm not deserting you, lad," said he, gripping my hand heartily.
"Of course not, sir. Good-bye, and good luck!"
"My love to Margaret. Look out for the sergeant. Good-bye!"