And whatever may be thought of the extravagance or narrow-minded bigotry
of many of their tenets, it is impossible to deny the praise of devoted
courage to a few hundred peasants, who, without leaders, without money,
without magazines, without any fixed plan of action, and almost without
arms, borne out only by their innate zeal, and a detestation of the
oppression of their rulers, ventured to declare open war against an
established government, supported by a regular army and the whole force
of three kingdoms.





CHAPTER XIX.

               Why, then, say an old man can do somewhat.
                                             Henry IV. Part II.

We must now return to the tower of Tillietudlem, which the march of the
Life-Guards, on the morning of this eventful day, had left to silence and
anxiety. The assurances of Lord Evandale had not succeeded in quelling
the apprehensions of Edith. She knew him generous, and faithful to his
word; but it seemed too plain that he suspected the object of her
intercession to be a successful rival; and was it not expecting from him
an effort above human nature, to suppose that he was to watch over
Morton's safety, and rescue him from all the dangers to which his state
of imprisonment, and the suspicions which he had incurred, must
repeatedly expose him? She therefore resigned herself to the most
heart-rending apprehensions, without admitting, and indeed almost without
listening to, the multifarious grounds of consolation which Jenny
Dennison brought forward, one after another, like a skilful general who
charges with the several divisions of his troops in regular succession.

First, Jenny was morally positive that young Milnwood would come to no
harm--then, if he did, there was consolation in the reflection, that Lord
Evandale was the better and more appropriate match of the two--then,
there was every chance of a battle, in which the said Lord Evandale might
be killed, and there wad be nae mair fash about that job--then, if the
whigs gat the better, Milnwood and Cuddie might come to the Castle, and
carry off the beloved of their hearts by the strong hand.

"For I forgot to tell ye, madam," continued the damsel, putting her
handkerchief to her eyes, "that puir Cuddie's in the hands of the
Philistines as weel as young Milnwood, and he was brought here a prisoner
this morning, and I was fain to speak Tam Halliday fair, and fleech him
to let me near the puir creature; but Cuddie wasna sae thankfu' as he
needed till hae been neither," she added, and at the same time changed
her tone, and briskly withdrew the handkerchief from her face; "so I will
ne'er waste my een wi' greeting about the matter. There wad be aye enow
o' young men left, if they were to hang the tae half o' them."

The other inhabitants of the Castle were also in a state of
dissatisfaction and anxiety. Lady Margaret thought that Colonel Grahame,
in commanding an execution at the door of her house, and refusing to
grant a reprieve at her request, had fallen short of the deference due to
her rank, and had even encroached on her seignorial rights.

"The Colonel," she said, "ought to have remembered, brother, that the
barony of Tillietudlem has the baronial privilege of pit and gallows; and
therefore, if the lad was to be executed on my estate, (which I consider
as an unhandsome thing, seeing it is in the possession of females, to
whom such tragedies cannot be acceptable,) he ought, at common law, to
have been delivered up to my bailie, and justified at his sight."

"Martial law, sister," answered Major Bellenden, "supersedes every other.
But I must own I think Colonel Grahame rather deficient in attention to
you; and I am not over and above pre-eminently flattered by his granting
to young Evandale (I suppose because he is a lord, and has interest with
the privy-council) a request which he refused to so old a servant of the
king as I am. But so long as the poor young fellow's life is saved, I can
comfort myself with the fag-end of a ditty as old as myself." And
therewithal, he hummed a stanza:

'And what though winter will pinch severe Through locks of grey and a
cloak that's old? Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, For a cup of sack
shall fence the cold.'

"I must be your guest here to-day, sister. I wish to hear the issue of
this gathering on Loudon-hill, though I cannot conceive their standing a
body of horse appointed like our guests this morning.--Woe's me, the time
has been that I would have liked ill to have sate in biggit wa's waiting
for the news of a skirmish to be fought within ten miles of me! But, as
the old song goes,

               'For time will rust the brightest blade,
               And years will break the strongest bow;
               Was ever wight so starkly made,
               But time and years would overthrow?'"

"We are well pleased you will stay, brother," said Lady Margaret; "I will
take my old privilege to look after my household, whom this collation has
thrown into some disorder, although it is uncivil to leave you alone."

"O, I hate ceremony as I hate a stumbling horse," replied the Major.
"Besides, your person would be with me, and your mind with the cold meat
and reversionary pasties.--Where is Edith?"

"Gone to her room a little evil-disposed, I am informed, and laid down in
her bed for a gliff," said her grandmother; "as soon as she wakes, she
shall take some drops."

"Pooh! pooh! she's only sick of the soldiers," answered Major Bellenden.
"She's not accustomed to see one acquaintance led out to be shot, and
another marching off to actual service, with some chance of not finding
his way back again. She would soon be used to it, if the civil war were
to break out again."

"God forbid, brother!" said Lady Margaret.

"Ay, Heaven forbid, as you say--and, in the meantime, I'll take a hit at
trick-track with Harrison."

"He has ridden out, sir," said Gudyill, "to try if he can hear any
tidings of the battle."

"D--n the battle," said the Major; "it puts this family as much out of
order as if there had never been such a thing in the country before--and
yet there was such a place as Kilsythe, John."

"Ay, and as Tippermuir, your honour," replied Gudyill, "where I was his
honour my late master's rear-rank man."

"And Alford, John," pursued the Major, "where I commanded the horse; and
Innerlochy, where I was the Great Marquis's aid-de-camp; and Auld Earn,
and Brig o' Dee."

"And Philiphaugh, your honour," said John.

"Umph!" replied the Major; "the less, John, we say about that matter, the
better."

However, being once fairly embarked on the subject of Montrose's
campaigns, the Major and John Gudyill carried on the war so stoutly, as
for a considerable time to keep at bay the formidable enemy called Time,
with whom retired veterans, during the quiet close of a bustling life,
usually wage an unceasing hostility.

It has been frequently remarked, that the tidings of important events fly
with a celerity almost beyond the power of credibility, and that reports,
correct in the general point, though inaccurate in details, precede the
certain intelligence, as if carried by the birds of the air. Such rumours
anticipate the reality, not unlike to the "shadows of coming events,"
which occupy the imagination of the Highland Seer. Harrison, in his ride,
encountered some such report concerning the event of the battle, and
turned his horse back to Tillietudlem in great dismay. He made it his
first business to seek out the Major, and interrupted him in the midst of
a prolix account of the siege and storm of Dundee, with the ejaculation,
"Heaven send, Major, that we do not see a siege of Tillietudlem before we
are many days older!"

"How is that, Harrison?--what the devil do you mean?" exclaimed the
astonished veteran.

"Troth, sir, there is strong and increasing belief that Claver'se is
clean broken, some say killed; that the soldiers are all dispersed, and
that the rebels are hastening this way, threatening death and devastation
to a' that will not take the Covenant."

"I will never believe that," said the Major, starting on his feet--"I
will never believe that the Life-Guards would retreat before rebels;--and
yet why need I say that," he continued, checking himself, "when I have
seen such sights myself?--Send out Pike, and one or two of the servants,
for intelligence, and let all the men in the Castle and in the village
that can be trusted take up arms. This old tower may hold them play a
bit, if it were but victualled and garrisoned, and it commands the pass
between the high and low countries.--It's lucky I chanced to be
here.--Go, muster men, Harrison.--You, Gudyill, look what provisions you
have, or can get brought in, and be ready, if the news be confirmed, to
knock down as many bullocks as you have salt for.--The well never goes
dry.--There are some old-fashioned guns on the battlements; if we had
but ammunition, we should do well enough."

"The soldiers left some casks of ammunition at the Grange this morning,
to bide their return," said Harrison.

"Hasten, then," said the Major, "and bring it into the Castle, with every
pike, sword, pistol, or gun, that is within our reach; don't leave so
much as a bodkin--Lucky that I was here!--I will speak to my sister
instantly."

Lady Margaret Bellenden was astounded at intelligence so unexpected and
so alarming. It had seemed to her that the imposing force which had that
morning left her walls, was sufficient to have routed all the disaffected
in Scotland, if collected in a body; and now her first reflection was
upon the inadequacy of their own means of resistance, to an army strong
enough to have defeated Claverhouse and such select troops. "Woe's me!
woe's me!" said she; "what will all that we can do avail us, brother?--
What will resistance do but bring sure destruction on the house, and on
the bairn Edith! for, God knows, I thinkna on my ain auld life."

"Come, sister," said the Major, "you must not be cast down; the place is
strong, the rebels ignorant and ill-provided: my brother's house shall
not be made a den of thieves and rebels while old Miles Bellenden is in
it. My hand is weaker than it was, but I thank my old grey hairs that I
have some knowledge of war yet. Here comes Pike with intelligence.--What
news, Pike? Another Philiphaugh job, eh?"

"Ay, ay," said Pike, composedly; "a total scattering.--I thought this
morning little gude would come of their newfangled gate of slinging their
carabines."

"Whom did you see?--Who gave you the news?" asked the Major.

"O, mair than half-a-dozen dragoon fellows that are a' on the spur whilk
to get first to Hamilton. They'll win the race, I warrant them, win the
battle wha like."

"Continue your preparations, Harrison," said the alert veteran; "get your
ammunition in, and the cattle killed. Send down to the borough-town for
what meal you can gather. We must not lose an instant.--Had not Edith and
you, sister, better return to Charnwood, while we have the means of
sending you there?"

"No, brother," said Lady Margaret, looking very pale, but speaking with
the greatest composure; "since the auld house is to be held out, I will
take my chance in it. I have fled twice from it in my days, and I have
aye found it desolate of its bravest and its bonniest when I returned;
sae that I will e'en abide now, and end my pilgrimage in it."

"It may, on the whole, be the safest course both for Edith and you," said
the Major; "for the whigs will rise all the way between this and Glasgow,
and make your travelling there, or your dwelling at Charnwood, very
unsafe."

"So be it then," said Lady Margaret; "and, dear brother, as the nearest
blood-relation of my deceased husband, I deliver to you, by this
symbol,"--(here she gave into his hand the venerable goldheaded staff of
the deceased Earl of Torwood,)--"the keeping and government and
seneschalship of my Tower of Tillietudlem, and the appurtenances thereof,
with full power to kill, slay, and damage those who shall assail the
same, as freely as I might do myself. And I trust you will so defend it,
as becomes a house in which his most sacred majesty has not disdained"--

"Pshaw! sister," interrupted the Major, "we have no time to speak about
the king and his breakfast just now."

And, hastily leaving the room, he hurried, with all the alertness of a
young man of twenty-five, to examine the state of his garrison, and
superintend the measures which were necessary for defending the place.

The Tower of Tillietudlem, having very thick walls, and very narrow
windows, having also a very strong court-yard wall, with flanking turrets
on the only accessible side, and rising on the other from the very verge
of a precipice, was fully capable of defence against any thing but a
train of heavy artillery.

Famine or escalade was what the garrison had chiefly to fear. For
artillery, the top of the Tower was mounted with some antiquated
wall-pieces, and small cannons, which bore the old-fashioned names of
culverins, sakers, demi-sakers, falcons, and falconets. These, the Major,
with the assistance of John Gudyill, caused to be scaled and loaded, and
pointed them so as to command the road over the brow of the opposite hill
by which the rebels must advance, causing, at the same time, two or three
trees to be cut down, which would have impeded the effect of the
artillery when it should be necessary to use it. With the trunks of these
trees, and other materials, he directed barricades to be constructed upon
the winding avenue which rose to the Tower along the high-road, taking
care that each should command the other. The large gate of the court-yard
he barricadoed yet more strongly, leaving only a wicket open for the
convenience of passage. What he had most to apprehend, was the
slenderness of his garrison; for all the efforts of the steward were
unable to get more than nine men under arms, himself and Gudyill
included, so much more popular was the cause of the insurgents than that
of the government Major Bellenden, and his trusty servant Pike, made the
garrison eleven in number, of whom one-half were old men. The round dozen
might indeed have been made up, would Lady Margaret have consented that
Goose Gibbie should again take up arms. But she recoiled from the
proposal, when moved by Gudyill, with such abhorrent recollection of the
former achievements of that luckless cavalier, that she declared she
would rather the Castle were lost than that he were to be enrolled in the
defence of it. With eleven men, however, himself included, Major
Bellenden determined to hold out the place to the uttermost.

The arrangements for defence were not made without the degree of fracas
incidental to such occasions. Women shrieked, cattle bellowed, dogs
howled, men ran to and fro, cursing and swearing without intermission,
the lumbering of the old guns backwards and forwards shook the
battlements, the court resounded with the hasty gallop of messengers who
went and returned upon errands of importance, and the din of warlike
preparation was mingled with the sound of female laments.

Such a Babel of discord might have awakened the slumbers of the very
dead, and, therefore, was not long ere it dispelled the abstracted
reveries of Edith Bellenden. She sent out Jenny to bring her the cause of
the tumult which shook the castle to its very basis; but Jenny, once
engaged in the bustling tide, found so much to ask and to hear, that she
forgot the state of anxious uncertainty in which she had left her young
mistress. Having no pigeon to dismiss in pursuit of information when her
raven messenger had failed to return with it, Edith was compelled to
venture in quest of it out of the ark of her own chamber into the deluge
of confusion which overflowed the rest of the Castle. Six voices speaking
at once, informed her, in reply to her first enquiry, that Claver'se and
all his men were killed, and that ten thousand whigs were marching to
besiege the castle, headed by John Balfour of Burley, young Milnwood, and
Cuddie Headrigg. This strange association of persons seemed to infer the
falsehood of the whole story, and yet the general bustle in the Castle
intimated that danger was certainly apprehended.

"Where is Lady Margaret?" was Edith's second question.

"In her oratory," was the reply: a cell adjoining to the chapel, in which
the good old lady was wont to spend the greater part of the days destined
by the rules of the Episcopal Church to devotional observances, as also
the anniversaries of those on which she had lost her husband and her
children, and, finally, those hours, in which a deeper and more solemn
address to Heaven was called for, by national or domestic calamity.

"Where, then," said Edith, much alarmed, "is Major Bellenden?"

"On the battlements of the Tower, madam, pointing the cannon," was the
reply.

To the battlements, therefore, she made her way, impeded by a thousand
obstacles, and found the old gentleman in the midst of his natural
military element, commanding, rebuking, encouraging, instructing, and
exercising all the numerous duties of a good governor.

"In the name of God, what is the matter, uncle?" exclaimed Edith.

"The matter, my love?" answered the Major coolly, as, with spectacles on
his nose, he examined the position of a gun--"The matter? Why,--raise her
breech a thought more, John Gudyill--the matter? Why, Claver'se is
routed, my dear, and the whigs are coming down upon us in force, that's
all the matter."

"Gracious powers!" said Edith, whose eye at that instant caught a glance
of the road which ran up the river, "and yonder they come!"

"Yonder? where?" said the veteran; and, his eyes taking the same
direction, he beheld a large body of horsemen coming down the path.
"Stand to your guns, my lads!" was the first exclamation; "we'll make
them pay toll as they pass the heugh.--But stay, stay, these are
certainly the Life-Guards."

"O no, uncle, no," replied Edith; "see how disorderly they ride, and how
ill they keep their ranks; these cannot be the fine soldiers who left us
this morning."

"Ah, my dear girl!" answered the Major, "you do not know the difference
between men before a battle and after a defeat; but the Life-Guards it
is, for I see the red and blue and the King's colours. I am glad they
have brought them off, however."

His opinion was confirmed as the troopers approached nearer, and finally
halted on the road beneath the Tower; while their commanding officer,
leaving them to breathe and refresh their horses, hastily rode up the
hill.

"It is Claverhouse, sure enough," said the Major; "I am glad he has
escaped, but he has lost his famous black horse. Let Lady Margaret know,
John Gudyill; order some refreshments; get oats for the soldiers' horses;
and let us to the hall, Edith, to meet him. I surmise we shall hear but
indifferent news."





CHAPTER XX.

                    With careless gesture, mind unmoved,
                    On rade he north the plain,
                    His seem in thrang of fiercest strife,
                    When winner aye the same.
                                             Hardyknute.

Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse met the family, assembled in the hall of
the Tower, with the same serenity and the same courtesy which had graced
his manners in the morning. He had even had the composure to rectify in
part the derangement of his dress, to wash the signs of battle from his
face and hands, and did not appear more disordered in his exterior than
if returned from a morning ride.

"I am grieved, Colonel Grahame," said the reverend old lady, the tears
trickling down her face, "deeply grieved."

"And I am grieved, my dear Lady Margaret," replied Claverhouse, "that
this misfortune may render your remaining at Tillietudlem dangerous for
you, especially considering your recent hospitality to the King's troops,
and your well-known loyalty. And I came here chiefly to request Miss
Bellenden and you to accept my escort (if you will not scorn that of a
poor runaway) to Glasgow, from whence I will see you safely sent either
to Edinburgh or to Dunbarton Castle, as you shall think best."

"I am much obliged to you, Colonel Grahame," replied Lady Margaret; "but
my brother, Major Bellenden, has taken on him the responsibility of
holding out this house against the rebels; and, please God, they shall
never drive Margaret Bellenden from her ain hearth-stane while there's a
brave man that says he can defend it."

"And will Major Bellenden undertake this?" said Claverhouse hastily, a
joyful light glancing from his dark eye as he turned it on the
veteran,--"Yet why should I question it? it is of a piece with the rest
of his life.--But have you the means, Major?"

"All, but men and provisions, with which we are ill supplied," answered
the Major.

"As for men," said Claverhouse, "I will leave you a dozen or twenty
fellows who will make good a breach against the devil. It will be of the
utmost service, if you can defend the place but a week, and by that time
you must surely be relieved."

"I will make it good for that space, Colonel," replied the Major, "with
twenty-five good men and store of ammunition, if we should gnaw the soles
of our shoes for hunger; but I trust we shall get in provisions from the
country."

"And, Colonel Grahame, if I might presume a request," said Lady Margaret,
"I would entreat that Sergeant Francis Stewart might command the
auxiliaries whom you are so good as to add to the garrison of our people;
it may serve to legitimate his promotion, and I have a prejudice in
favour of his noble birth."

"The sergeant's wars are ended, madam," said Grahame, in an unaltered
tone, "and he now needs no promotion that an earthly master can give."

"Pardon me," said Major Bellenden, taking Claverhouse by the arm, and
turning him away from the ladies, "but I am anxious for my friends; I
fear you have other and more important loss. I observe another officer
carries your nephew's standard."

"You are right, Major Bellenden," answered Claverhouse firmly; "my nephew
is no more. He has died in his duty, as became him."

"Great God!" exclaimed the Major, "how unhappy!--the handsome, gallant,
high-spirited youth!"

"He was indeed all you say," answered Claverhouse; "poor Richard was to
me as an eldest son, the apple of my eye, and my destined heir; but he
died in his duty, and I--I--Major Bellenden"--(he wrung the Major's hand
hard as he spoke)--"I live to avenge him."

"Colonel Grahame," said the affectionate veteran, his eyes filling with
tears, "I am glad to see you bear this misfortune with such fortitude."

"I am not a selfish man," replied Claverhouse, "though the world will
tell you otherwise; I am not selfish either in my hopes or fears, my joys
or sorrows. I have not been severe for myself, or grasping for myself, or
ambitious for myself. The service of my master and the good of the
country are what I have tried to aim at. I may, perhaps, have driven
severity into cruelty, but I acted for the best; and now I will not yield
to my own feelings a deeper sympathy than I have given to those of
others."

"I am astonished at your fortitude under all the unpleasant circumstances
of this affair," pursued the Major.

"Yes," replied Claverhouse, "my enemies in the council will lay this
misfortune to my charge--I despise their accusations. They will
calumniate me to my sovereign--I can repel their charge. The public enemy
will exult in my flight--I shall find a time to show them that they exult
too early. This youth that has fallen stood betwixt a grasping kinsman
and my inheritance, for you know that my marriage-bed is barren; yet,
peace be with him! the country can better spare him than your friend Lord
Evandale, who, after behaving very gallantly, has, I fear, also fallen."

"What a fatal day!" ejaculated the Major. "I heard a report of this, but
it was again contradicted; it was added, that the poor young nobleman's
impetuosity had occasioned the loss of this unhappy field."

"Not so, Major," said Grahame; "let the living officers bear the blame,
if there be any; and let the laurels flourish untarnished on the grave of
the fallen. I do not, however, speak of Lord Evandale's death as certain;
but killed, or prisoner, I fear he must be. Yet he was extricated from
the tumult the last time we spoke together. We were then on the point of
leaving the field with a rear-guard of scarce twenty men; the rest of the
regiment were almost dispersed."

"They have rallied again soon," said the Major, looking from the window
on the dragoons, who were feeding their horses and refreshing themselves
beside the brook.

"Yes," answered Claverhouse, "my blackguards had little temptation either
to desert, or to straggle farther than they were driven by their first
panic. There is small friendship and scant courtesy between them and the
boors of this country; every village they pass is likely to rise on them,
and so the scoundrels are driven back to their colours by a wholesome
terror of spits, pike-staves, hay-forks, and broomsticks.--But now let us
talk about your plans and wants, and the means of corresponding with you.
To tell you the truth, I doubt being able to make a long stand at
Glasgow, even when I have joined my Lord Ross; for this transient and
accidental success of the fanatics will raise the devil through all the
western counties."

They then discussed Major Bellenden's means of defence, and settled a
plan of correspondence, in case a general insurrection took place, as was
to be expected. Claverhouse renewed his offer to escort the ladies to a
place of safety; but, all things considered, Major Bellenden thought they
would be in equal safety at Tillietudlem.

The Colonel then took a polite leave of Lady Margaret and Miss Bellenden,
assuring them, that, though he was reluctantly obliged to leave them for
the present in dangerous circumstances, yet his earliest means should be
turned to the redemption of his character as a good knight and true, and
that they might speedily rely on hearing from or seeing him.

Full of doubt and apprehension, Lady Margaret was little able to reply to
a speech so much in unison with her usual expressions and feelings, but
contented herself with bidding Claverhouse farewell, and thanking him for
the succours which he had promised to leave them. Edith longed to enquire
the fate of Henry Morton, but could find no pretext for doing so, and
could only hope that it had made a subject of some part of the long
private communication which her uncle had held with Claverhouse. On this
subject, however, she was disappointed; for the old cavalier was so
deeply immersed in the duties of his own office, that he had scarce said
a single word to Claverhouse, excepting upon military matters, and most
probably would have been equally forgetful, had the fate of his own son,
instead of his friend's, lain in the balance.

Claverhouse now descended the bank on which the castle is founded, in
order to put his troops again in motion, and Major Bellenden accompanied
him to receive the detachment who were to be left in the tower.

"I shall leave Inglis with you," said Claverhouse, "for, as I am
situated, I cannot spare an officer of rank; it is all we can do, by our
joint efforts, to keep the men together. But should any of our missing
officers make their appearance, I authorize you to detain them; for my
fellows can with difficulty be subjected to any other authority."

His troops being now drawn up, he picked out sixteen men by name, and
committed them to the command of Corporal Inglis, whom he promoted to the
rank of sergeant on the spot.

"And hark ye, gentlemen," was his concluding harangue, "I leave you to
defend the house of a lady, and under the command of her brother, Major
Bellenden, a faithful servant to the king. You are to behave bravely,
soberly, regularly, and obediently, and each of you shall be handsomely
rewarded on my return to relieve the garrison. In case of mutiny,
cowardice, neglect of duty, or the slightest excess in the family, the
provost-marshal and cord--you know I keep my word for good and evil."

He touched his hat as he bade them farewell, and shook hands cordially
with Major Bellenden.

"Adieu," he said, "my stout-hearted old friend! Good luck be with you,
and better times to us both."

The horsemen whom he commanded had been once more reduced to tolerable
order by the exertions of Major Allan; and, though shorn of their
splendour, and with their gilding all besmirched, made a much more
regular and military appearance on leaving, for the second time, the
tower of Tillietudlem, than when they returned to it after their rout.

Major Bellenden, now left to his own resources sent out several videttes,
both to obtain supplies of provisions, and especially of meal, and to get
knowledge of the motions of the enemy. All the news he could collect on
the second subject tended to prove that the insurgents meant to remain on
the field of battle for that night. But they, also, had abroad their
detachments and advanced guards to collect supplies, and great was the
doubt and distress of those who received contrary orders, in the name of
the King and in that of the Kirk; the one commanding them to send
provisions to victual the Castle of Tillietudlem, and the other enjoining
them to forward supplies to the camp of the godly professors of true
religion, now in arms for the cause of covenanted reformation, presently
pitched at Drumclog, nigh to Loudon-hill. Each summons closed with a
denunciation of fire and sword if it was neglected; for neither party
could confide so far in the loyalty or zeal of those whom they addressed,
as to hope they would part with their property upon other terms. So that
the poor people knew not what hand to turn themselves to; and, to say
truth, there were some who turned themselves to more than one.

"Thir kittle times will drive the wisest o' us daft," said Niel Blane,
the prudent host of the Howff; "but I'se aye keep a calm sough.--Jenny,
what meal is in the girnel?"

"Four bows o' aitmeal, twa bows o' bear, and twa bows o' pease," was
Jenny's reply.

"Aweel, hinny," continued Niel Blane, sighing deeply, "let Bauldy drive
the pease and bear meal to the camp at Drumclog--he's a whig, and was the
auld gudewife's pleughman--the mashlum bannocks will suit their muirland
stamachs weel. He maun say it's the last unce o' meal in the house, or,
if he scruples to tell a lie, (as it's no likely he will when it's for
the gude o' the house,) he may wait till Duncan Glen, the auld drucken
trooper, drives up the aitmeal to Tillietudlem, wi' my dutifu' service to
my Leddy and the Major, and I haena as muckle left as will mak my
parritch; and if Duncan manage right, I'll gie him a tass o' whisky shall
mak the blue low come out at his mouth."

"And what are we to eat oursells then, father," asked Jenny, "when we hae
sent awa the haill meal in the ark and the girnel?"

"We maun gar wheat-flour serve us for a blink," said Niel, in a tone of
resignation; "it's no that ill food, though far frae being sae hearty or
kindly to a Scotchman's stamach as the curney aitmeal is; the Englishers
live amaist upon't; but, to be sure, the pock-puddings ken nae better."

While the prudent and peaceful endeavoured, like Niel Blane, to make fair
weather with both parties, those who had more public (or party) spirit
began to take arms on all sides. The royalists in the country were not
numerous, but were respectable from their fortune and influence, being
chiefly landed proprietors of ancient descent, who, with their brothers,
cousins, and dependents to the ninth generation, as well as their
domestic servants, formed a sort of militia, capable of defending their
own peel-houses against detached bodies of the insurgents, of resisting
their demand of supplies, and intercepting those which were sent to the
presbyterian camp by others. The news that the Tower of Tillietudlem was
to be defended against the insurgents, afforded great courage and support
to these feudal volunteers, who considered it as a stronghold to which
they might retreat, in case it should become impossible for them to
maintain the desultory war they were now about to wage.

On the other hand, the towns, the villages, the farm-houses, the
properties of small heritors, sent forth numerous recruits to the
presbyterian interest. These men had been the principal sufferers during
the oppression of the time. Their minds were fretted, soured, and driven
to desperation, by the various exactions and cruelties to which they had
been subjected; and, although by no means united among themselves, either
concerning the purpose of this formidable insurrection, or the means by
which that purpose was to be obtained, most of them considered it as a
door opened by Providence to obtain the liberty of conscience of which
they had been long deprived, and to shake themselves free of a tyranny,
directed both against body and soul. Numbers of these men, therefore,
took up arms; and, in the phrase of their time and party, prepared to
cast in their lot with the victors of Loudon-hill.





CHAPTER XXI.

          Ananias. I do not like the man: He is a heathen,
          And speaks the language of Canaan truly.

          Tribulation. You must await his calling, and the coming
          Of the good spirit. You did ill to upbraid him.
                                             The Alchemist.

We return to Henry Morton, whom we left on the field of battle. He was
eating, by one of the watch-fires, his portion of the provisions which
had been distributed to the army, and musing deeply on the path which he
was next to pursue, when Burley suddenly came up to him, accompanied by
the young minister, whose exhortation after the victory had produced such
a powerful effect.

"Henry Morton," said Balfour abruptly, "the council of the army of the
Covenant, confiding that the son of Silas Morton can never prove a
lukewarm Laodicean, or an indifferent Gallio, in this great day, have
nominated you to be a captain of their host, with the right of a vote in
their council, and all authority fitting for an officer who is to command
Christian men."

"Mr Balfour," replied Morton, without hesitation, "I feel this mark of
confidence, and it is not surprising that a natural sense of the injuries
of my country, not to mention those I have sustained in my own person,
should make me sufficiently willing to draw my sword for liberty and
freedom of conscience. But I will own to you, that I must be better
satisfied concerning the principles on which you bottom your cause ere I
can agree to take a command amongst you."

"And can you doubt of our principles," answered Burley, "since we have
stated them to be the reformation both of church and state, the
rebuilding of the decayed sanctuary, the gathering of the dispersed
saints, and the destruction of the man of sin?"

"I will own frankly, Mr Balfour," replied Morton, "much of this sort of
language, which, I observe, is so powerful with others, is entirely lost
on me. It is proper you should be aware of this before we commune further
together." (The young clergyman here groaned deeply.) "I distress you,
sir," said Morton; "but, perhaps, it is because you will not hear me out.
I revere the Scriptures as deeply as you or any Christian can do. I look
into them with humble hope of extracting a rule of conduct and a law of
salvation. But I expect to find this by an examination of their general
tenor, and of the spirit which they uniformly breathe, and not by
wresting particular passages from their context, or by the application of
Scriptural phrases to circumstances and events with which they have often
very slender relation."

The young divine seemed shocked and thunderstruck with this declaration,
and was about to remonstrate.

"Hush, Ephraim!" said Burley, "remember he is but as a babe in swaddling
clothes.--Listen to me, Morton. I will speak to thee in the worldly
language of that carnal reason, which is, for the present, thy blind and
imperfect guide. What is the object for which thou art content to draw
thy sword? Is it not that the church and state should be reformed by the
free voice of a free parliament, with such laws as shall hereafter
prevent the executive government from spilling the blood, torturing and
imprisoning the persons, exhausting the estates, and trampling upon the
consciences of men, at their own wicked pleasure?"

"Most certainly," said Morton; "such I esteem legitimate causes of
warfare, and for such I will fight while I can wield a sword."

"Nay, but," said Macbriar, "ye handle this matter too tenderly; nor will
my conscience permit me to fard or daub over the causes of divine wrath."

"Peace, Ephraim Macbriar!" again interrupted Burley.

"I will not peace," said the young man. "Is it not the cause of my Master
who hath sent me? Is it not a profane and Erastian destroying of his
authority, usurpation of his power, denial of his name, to place either
King or Parliament in his place as the master and governor of his
household, the adulterous husband of his spouse?"

"You speak well," said Burley, dragging him aside, "but not wisely; your
own ears have heard this night in council how this scattered remnant are
broken and divided, and would ye now make a veil of separation between
them? Would ye build a wall with unslaked mortar?--if a fox go up, it
will breach it."

"I know," said the young clergyman, in reply, "that thou art faithful,
honest, and zealous, even unto slaying; but, believe me, this worldly
craft, this temporizing with sin and with infirmity, is in itself a
falling away; and I fear me Heaven will not honour us to do much more for
His glory, when we seek to carnal cunning and to a fleshly arm. The
sanctified end must be wrought by sanctified means."

"I tell thee," answered Balfour, "thy zeal is too rigid in this matter;
we cannot yet do without the help of the Laodiceans and the Erastians; we
must endure for a space the indulged in the midst of the council--the
sons of Zeruiah are yet too strong for us."

"I tell thee I like it not," said Macbriar; "God can work deliverance by
a few as well as by a multitude. The host of the faithful that was broken
upon Pentland-hills, paid but the fitting penalty of acknowledging the
carnal interest of that tyrant and oppressor, Charles Stewart."

"Well, then," said Balfour, "thou knowest the healing resolution that the
council have adopted,--to make a comprehending declaration, that may suit
the tender consciences of all who groan under the yoke of our present
oppressors. Return to the council if thou wilt, and get them to recall
it, and send forth one upon narrower grounds. But abide not here to
hinder my gaining over this youth, whom my soul travails for; his name
alone will call forth hundreds to our banners."

"Do as thou wilt, then," said Macbriar; "but I will not assist to mislead
the youth, nor bring him into jeopardy of life, unless upon such grounds
as will ensure his eternal reward."

The more artful Balfour then dismissed the impatient preacher, and
returned to his proselyte.

That we may be enabled to dispense with detailing at length the arguments
by which he urged Morton to join the insurgents, we shall take this
opportunity to give a brief sketch of the person by whom they were used,
and the motives which he had for interesting himself so deeply in the
conversion of young Morton to his cause.

John Balfour of Kinloch, or Burley, for he is designated both ways in the
histories and proclamations of that melancholy period, was a gentleman of
some fortune, and of good family, in the county of Fife, and had been a
soldier from his youth upwards. In the younger part of his life he had
been wild and licentious, but had early laid aside open profligacy, and
embraced the strictest tenets of Calvinism. Unfortunately, habits of
excess and intemperance were more easily rooted out of his dark,
saturnine, and enterprising spirit, than the vices of revenge and
ambition, which continued, notwithstanding his religious professions, to
exercise no small sway over his mind. Daring in design, precipitate and
violent in execution, and going to the very extremity of the most rigid
recusancy, it was his ambition to place himself at the head of the
presbyterian interest.

To attain this eminence among the whigs, he had been active in attending
their conventicles, and more than once had commanded them when they
appeared in arms, and beaten off the forces sent to disperse them. At
length, the gratification of his own fierce enthusiasm, joined, as some
say, with motives of private revenge, placed him at the head of that
party who assassinated the Primate of Scotland, as the author of the
sufferings of the presbyterians. The violent measures adopted by
government to revenge this deed, not on the perpetrators only, but on the
whole professors of the religion to which they belonged, together with
long previous sufferings, without any prospect of deliverance, except by
force of arms, occasioned the insurrection, which, as we have already
seen, commenced by the defeat of Claverhouse in the bloody skirmish of
Loudon-hill.

But Burley, notwithstanding the share he had in the victory, was far from
finding himself at the summit which his ambition aimed at. This was
partly owing to the various opinions entertained among the insurgents
concerning the murder of Archbishop Sharpe. The more violent among them
did, indeed, approve of this act as a deed of justice, executed upon a
persecutor of God's church through the immediate inspiration of the
Deity; but the greater part of the presbyterians disowned the deed as a
crime highly culpable, although they admitted, that the Archbishop's
punishment had by no means exceeded his deserts. The insurgents differed
in another main point, which has been already touched upon. The more warm
and extravagant fanatics condemned, as guilty of a pusillanimous
abandonment of the rights of the church, those preachers and
congregations who were contented, in any manner, to exercise their
religion through the permission of the ruling government. This, they
said, was absolute Erastianism, or subjection of the church of God to the
regulations of an earthly government, and therefore but one degree better
than prelacy or popery.--Again, the more moderate party were content to
allow the king's title to the throne, and in secular affairs to
acknowledge his authority, so long as it was exercised with due regard to
the liberties of the subject, and in conformity to the laws of the realm.
But the tenets of the wilder sect, called, from their leader Richard
Cameron, by the name of Cameronians, went the length of disowning the
reigning monarch, and every one of his successors, who should not
acknowledge the Solemn League and Covenant. The seeds of disunion were,
therefore, thickly sown in this ill-fated party; and Balfour, however
enthusiastic, and however much attached to the most violent of those
tenets which we have noticed, saw nothing but ruin to the general cause,
if they were insisted on during this crisis, when unity was of so much
consequence. Hence he disapproved, as we have seen, of the honest,
downright, and ardent zeal of Macbriar, and was extremely desirous to
receive the assistance of the moderate party of presbyterians in the
immediate overthrow of the government, with the hope of being hereafter
able to dictate to them what should be substituted in its place.

He was, on this account, particularly anxious to secure the accession of
Henry Morton to the cause of the insurgents. The memory of his father was
generally esteemed among the presbyterians; and as few persons of any
decent quality had joined the insurgents, this young man's family and
prospects were such as almost ensured his being chosen a leader. Through
Morton's means, as being the son of his ancient comrade, Burley conceived
he might exercise some influence over the more liberal part of the army,
and ultimately, perhaps, ingratiate himself so far with them, as to be
chosen commander-in-chief, which was the mark at which his ambition
aimed. He had, therefore, without waiting till any other person took up
the subject, exalted to the council the talents and disposition of
Morton, and easily obtained his elevation to the painful rank of a leader
in this disunited and undisciplined army.

The arguments by which Balfour pressed Morton to accept of this dangerous
promotion, as soon as he had gotten rid of his less wary and
uncompromising companion, Macbriar, were sufficiently artful and urgent.
He did not affect either to deny or to disguise that the sentiments which
he himself entertained concerning church government, went as far as those
of the preacher who had just left them; but he argued, that when the
affairs of the nation were at such a desperate crisis, minute difference
of opinion should not prevent those who, in general, wished well to their
oppressed country, from drawing their swords in its behalf. Many of the
subjects of division, as, for example, that concerning the Indulgence
itself, arose, he observed, out of circumstances which would cease to
exist, provided their attempt to free the country should be successful,
seeing that the presbytery, being in that case triumphant, would need to
make no such compromise with the government, and, consequently, with the
abolition of the Indulgence all discussion of its legality would be at
once ended. He insisted much and strongly upon the necessity of taking
advantage of this favourable crisis, upon the certainty of their being
joined by the force of the whole western shires, and upon the gross guilt
which those would incur, who, seeing the distress of the country, and the
increasing tyranny with which it was governed, should, from fear or
indifference, withhold their active aid from the good cause.

Morton wanted not these arguments to induce him to join in any
insurrection, which might appear to have a feasible prospect of freedom
to the country. He doubted, indeed, greatly, whether the present attempt
was likely to be supported by the strength sufficient to ensure success,
or by the wisdom and liberality of spirit necessary to make a good use of
the advantages that might be gained. Upon the whole, however, considering
the wrongs he had personally endured, and those which he had seen daily
inflicted on his fellow-subjects; meditating also upon the precarious and
dangerous situation in which he already stood with relation to the
government, he conceived himself, in every point of view, called upon to
join the body of presbyterians already in arms.

But while he expressed to Burley his acquiescence in the vote which had
named him a leader among the insurgents, and a member of their council of
war, it was not without a qualification.

"I am willing," he said, "to contribute every thing within my limited
power to effect the emancipation of my country. But do not mistake me. I
disapprove, in the utmost degree, of the action in which this rising
seems to have originated; and no arguments should induce me to join it,
if it is to be carried on by such measures as that with which it has
commenced."

Burley's blood rushed to his face, giving a ruddy and dark glow to his
swarthy brow.

"You mean," he said, in a voice which he designed should not betray any
emotion--"You mean the death of James Sharpe?"

"Frankly," answered Morton, "such is my meaning."

"You imagine, then," said Burley, "that the Almighty, in times of
difficulty, does not raise up instruments to deliver his church from her
oppressors? You are of opinion that the justice of an execution consists,
not in the extent of the sufferer's crime, or in his having merited
punishment, or in the wholesome and salutary effect which that example is
likely to produce upon other evil-doers, but hold that it rests solely in
the robe of the judge, the height of the bench, and the voice of the
doomster? Is not just punishment justly inflicted, whether on the
scaffold or the moor? And where constituted judges, from cowardice, or
from having cast in their lot with transgressors, suffer them not only to
pass at liberty through the land, but to sit in the high places, and dye
their garments in the blood of the saints, is it not well done in any
brave spirits who shall draw their private swords in the public cause?"

"I have no wish to judge this individual action," replied Morton,
"further than is necessary to make you fully aware of my principles. I
therefore repeat, that the case you have supposed does not satisfy my
judgment. That the Almighty, in his mysterious providence, may bring a
bloody man to an end deservedly bloody, does not vindicate those who,
without authority of any kind, take upon themselves to be the instruments
of execution, and presume to call them the executors of divine
vengeance."

"And were we not so?" said Burley, in a tone of fierce enthusiasm. "Were
not we--was not every one who owned the interest of the Covenanted Church
of Scotland, bound by that covenant to cut off the Judas who had sold the
cause of God for fifty thousand merks a-year? Had we met him by the way
as he came down from London, and there smitten him with the edge of the
sword, we had done but the duty of men faithful to our cause, and to our
oaths recorded in heaven. Was not the execution itself a proof of our
warrant? Did not the Lord deliver him into our hands, when we looked out
but for one of his inferior tools of persecution? Did we not pray to be
resolved how we should act, and was it not borne in on our hearts as if
it had been written on them with the point of a diamond, 'Ye shall surely
take him and slay him?'--Was not the tragedy full half an hour in acting
ere the sacrifice was completed, and that in an open heath, and within
the patrols of their garrisons--and yet who interrupted the great work?--
What dog so much as bayed us during the pursuit, the taking, the slaying,
and the dispersing? Then, who will say--who dare say, that a mightier arm
than ours was not herein revealed?"