CHAPTER XIV.

----Since I parted hence, I have beheld misfortune face to face; Have mark'd the ills of desolating war In all the sad details kings never see. The sun that rises on the peasant's toil In happy lands not visited by war, And gilds their waving harvests with his beams, With barren splendour glares on desert fields Depopulated by the sword.--The gale Sweeps sullen o'er them, loaded with the cries Of frantic widows and of orphan babes, That else had borne upon its gladsome wing The careless carol of the husbandman, Tilling in peace and liberty his field.

_Gonzalvo of Cordova._

Reports of the indignities to which the noble prisoners had been exposed on their journey to London failed not to reach Scotland; indignities which, galling enough in themselves, were not likely to be softened in the recounting.

Upon their arrival at Barnet, they were all, without distinction of persons, pinioned with cords. By some of the younger and more hot-headed of the noble rebels this humiliating ceremony was not submitted to without remonstrance and resistance. Lord Nithsdale simply remarked to the Earl of Wintoun, "Degrade not yourself, my friend, by bandying words with those who are appointed to execute the behests of their superiors: the disgrace is on them who exult in this unworthy triumph; not on us, who are thus triumphed over. Surely, Seaton, you would rather endure, than inflict, such insults." Presently, however, he added, while he held his hands to have the cords attached, "I grant you I should be sorry my wife should witness this. My gentle Winifred! thy shrinking, sensitive pride would never brook seeing thy husband thus manacled. For the first time I rejoice that thou art far, far away."

At Highgate the prisoners were met by a large detachment of horse grenadiers and foot-guards, and here a halter was placed around the neck of each horse, which was held by a common soldier, walking by its side.

In this mode did they make their entrance into the metropolis, accompanied by a concourse of people shouting at them and reviling them; some loading them with abuse, others singing scurrilous songs, and many beating upon warming-pans, in allusion to the popular notion concerning the birth of the Chevalier.

With these increased indignities the spirit of Lord Nithsdale was excited. As he rode on, his carriage became each moment more lofty; his dark brow assumed a more awful gloom; his eye, from beneath its shade, flashed defiance on the mob; his nostrils dilated; the curl of his contemptuous lip plainly expressed how utterly he despised the mean taunts of the senseless rabble! Thus erect, undaunted, he passed on through the crowded suburbs; but before they entered the streets, a separation took place between those whose destination was different.

General Forster and Brigadier Mackintosh were taken to Newgate, some to the Marshalsea, some to the Fleet; while Lords Nithsdale, Derwentwater, Kenmure, Widdrington, Nairne, &c. were conveyed to the Tower.

The moment of parting from their companions in misfortune, those with whom they had shared hopes and fears, with whom they had enjoyed triumph and endured defeat, was one of bitterness; a parting, too, which to all might be, and to many proved, an eternal one; one which took place under the gaze of an insulting populace, and under circumstances which admitted of no word of kindness, no last injunction, not even the pressure of the friendly hand!

At that moment all former differences of opinion were forgotten; the prudent counsel neglected, the headstrong perseverance in contrary measures, the impatient rejection of advice, the contempt of timely warnings, all faded from the mind. As the different bands receded from each other's view, they saw but the trusted companion in arms, the fellow-sufferer, endeared by similar misfortunes.

The Earl of Nithsdale and the other noblemen proceeded towards Westminster Bridge, where, according to custom, they were placed in a government barge, and were rowed down the river to the Tower. The boat shot London Bridge; it was admitted through the Traitor's Gate; and, as it darted from the open day-light under the three low and gloomy arches, each prisoner cast a lingering look behind him, and as he withdrew his eyes, met those of his companions.

There was no need of words to express the feelings of that moment; each read his neighbour's but too plainly in his own; each was aware the other felt he had taken his last look at the free bright world without the prison walls. And, alas! to more than one was it indeed but too truly his last glimpse of freedom; more than one was doomed never to pass those barriers, but to take his trial at Westminster Hall, and then to mount the scaffold upon Tower Hill.

Not a word was spoken. The plash of the waves against the stone stairs, as the sudden entrance of the barge into the narrow landing-place caused the muddy sullen water to overflow the bottom steps and as quickly to recede, the hollow echo of the oars as they were shifted, were the only sounds heard.

The barred gates were unlocked, and the prisoners, one by one, mounted the dank steps, and emerged into day-light, opposite the Bloody Tower. They heard the portals closed and barred behind them; they heard the splash of the portcullis as it was let down into the water, and each was then delivered over to the warder in whose apartments lodgings were assigned to him.

As long as he remained exposed to the observations of others, the most acute physiognomist could not have perceived any alteration in the countenance of the Earl of Nithsdale. He had, as it were, set his features to an expression of calm contempt and stoical endurance, which he would allow no circumstances to alter. With a firm step, a lofty unembarrassed air, he followed his guide into the small and narrow apartment which was destined to his use. He showed no emotion when the cords were removed from his wrists, and he replied with punctilious politeness to the civilities of the warder.

At length the door was closed upon him, he was left in solitude; no eye was upon him, and he was able to relax for a moment from the imperturbable composure which he had forced himself to maintain. He hid his face in his hands, and allowed the thought of his beloved wife, the memory of his innocent children, whom he perhaps was never, never more to behold, to rush over his soul!

With what tenderness did the recollection of home over-power him!--the thousand every-day enjoyments, which are not prized till they are lost!

The current of these enervating thoughts was checked by the sounds of steps upon the stairs, and he had only time to resume the unmoved countenance he had before preserved, when the entrance of some menials and attendants again forced him to repress the emotions, which, though repressed, could not be extinguished.

The bringing in of his few necessary packages, the arrangements for his personal accommodation, the preparations for some refreshment, were all inexpressibly irksome to him; and he impatiently awaited the welcome solitude of night, when he might revel in the luxury of thinking of the happy past, the wretched present, the fearful future, without a witness.

It was at this moment of general dismay, when, as we have already mentioned, each day saw the gradual diminution of the Earl of Mar's army; when the greater proportion of the most zealous Jacobites were already in the hands of government; in the midst of increasing disaffection among his remaining partisans; that the unfortunate descendant of the house of Stuart landed in his native country, at Peterhead, on the 22d of December, in the year 1715.

He arrived almost as a fugitive. He had been obliged to traverse Normandy in disguise; his retinue consisted but of six gentlemen; and when the Earl of Mar, the Earl Marischal, and some others, to the number of thirty, went from Perth to kiss the hand of the prince for whose cause they were in arms, they found him at Fetteresso, suffering with a severe attack of ague.

Neither in body nor mind was he capable of inspiring his adherents with the ardour which could alone turn or even arrest the untoward course of events. Mutual discouragement was the feeling consequent upon this melancholy meeting. The unwelcome news which awaited the Chevalier, that, for a month previous to his landing, the resolution had been taken to evacuate Perth, did not tend to dispel the despondency natural to him; while in the speech which he made to the privy council, whom he had immediately proceeded to name, the despairing view which he took of his own situation pierced every moment through the words of hope which he thought himself bound to utter. He closed his address by saying, "That for him it would be no new thing to be unfortunate; his whole life, even from his cradle, had shown a constant series of misfortunes; and he was prepared, if it so pleased God, to suffer the extent of the threats which his enemies threw out against him."

With a spirit thus crushed by repeated disappointments, and a constitution impaired by illness, did this ill-fated prince proceed to enact the sovereign to a diminished and dispirited party of disunited followers.

The intelligence of his arrival was speedily communicated to Seaforth, Huntley, and all the other chiefs who had formerly flocked to his standard, and who had withdrawn, wearied out by his protracted delay; but they were summoned in vain, none of them heeded the notice.

Preparations were made for King James's coronation at Scone; a day of thanksgiving was appointed for his safe arrival; prayers were offered up for his majesty in all the churches; the currency of foreign coins was enjoined; and the convention of the Scottish estates was called together.

The Countess of Nithsdale experienced a momentary sensation of hope and exultation when she heard that the monarch to whom all belonging to her had been so constantly devoted had actually set foot in the realm of his ancestors; and her generous heart throbbed with indignation when she heard of the nobles who neglected to obey his summons. She thought how different would have been the conduct of her own brave lord; and she resolved to do as, if he had been at liberty, he would himself have done, and as he seemed, by what he said concerning General Forster, to expect her to do. She therefore prepared herself for journeying to Scone, there to pay the homage she conceived to be due to her lawful sovereign.

She travelled privately, not to attract the notice of the royalists; but as she passed through the country which lies between Stirling and Perth, all was one scene of desolation. By an edict of James's, the villages of Auchterarder, Blackford, and Dunning, and other hamlets, had been destroyed by fire; houses, corn, and forage had all been laid waste, lest they should afford quarters to his enemies.

Helpless women and desolate children had been deprived of their homes; the blackened walls of the buildings which had been burnt contrasted cheerlessly with the snow which covered the ground.

Lady Nithsdale's journey was one of sorrow and dismay. She thought upon the days of her youthful enthusiasm, and she looked into her heart in vain to find it there. She remembered how in her Flemish convent her girlish heart had beat when she imagined her king actually on British land, and herself a witness of the joyous restoration; and her childish dream was fulfilled, the king was

Hame, hame, hame-- Hame to his ain countree:

but misfortune, disappointment, time, had worked their effect; and with her husband a prisoner, her children banished, her country laid waste, she could not work up her feelings to the pitch of loyalty which she deemed it her duty to have experienced.

At length the fair town of Perth rose to her view, and the broad Tay swept gracefully around it. She saw the ancient palace of Scone, the spot where all the Scottish kings had been crowned, and she tried to feel assured that "the king would enjoy his own again."

That night she took up her lodgings in Perth; and the following day she repaired to the royal palace of Scone, there to kiss the hand of her monarch.

She felt an universal trepidation; not so much from the awe which majesty inspires, as from the fear of seeing her king in a condition so unbecoming his dignity. A noble mind shrinks from seeing nobility degraded; and she felt more abashed at the poor attendance around the king, and at the want of state in his appointments, than others do at all the pomp and ceremony of the most gorgeous and splendid court.

The Chevalier received the Countess of Nithsdale with what he meant to be marked attention; but his manner was subdued, his bearing dejected; partly through his late illness, and partly from that consciousness of being marked out for misfortune, which pervaded his every look, his every action. There was a melancholy majesty in his thin person, and his handsome but pale features, which (although united with a certain stiffness and reserve, little calculated to find favour in the sight of the adventurous and the desperate who alone adhered to his cause,) interested Lady Nithsdale, while it saddened her.

The Earl of Mar presented her to the Chevalier, whom, upon her entrance, she found engaged in conversation with the Earl Marischal in one of the windows that overlooked the flat country between the palace and the Tay. She dropped upon both her knees, overcome with emotion at finding herself in the actual presence of her king, and with grief at the desolate appearance of all around him, of all without and all within his residence.

He quickly raised her, and imprinting on her marble forehead a royal kiss, he professed his satisfaction at becoming personally acquainted with one, whose family had ever been faithful servants to his own.

The measured expressions chilled her; she had never before looked upon the sacrifices made either by the Herberts or the Maxwells but as the performance of a bounden duty, in which they had not failed; but when these sacrifices seemed to be considered in the same light by him for whom they had been made, their magnitude and their extent increased in her eyes. The Chevalier then inquired whether she had received news lately from the earl her husband.

Her eyes filled with tears; the inquiry was made in so cold, so formal a tone: "But once, sire, since he has been a prisoner;" and had she at that moment attempted a longer sentence, her voice would have failed her altogether.

"We hope that the worthy lord's health continued unimpaired by confinement?"

She struggled with her feelings, and replied, "My lord complained not of any personal privation or hardship. His thoughts were all, as they have ever been, for his king, his country, and his faith!"

"It is now many years since we once had an interview with the Earl of Nithsdale in Flanders; and if our memory does not fail, we were then suffering from this same agueish complaint which discomposes us at present. Methinks our health is always least fitted for exertion and fatigue when circumstances call most imperiously for both! But so it has ever been with us!" He sighed, and his eyes instinctively sought the ground. Then turning again to the countess, "Is your ladyship's seat situated far from hence?" he inquired, for, a stranger to Scotland, he knew not the topographical details of the country.

"Please your majesty, I journeyed from my husband's castle of Terreagles near Dumfries."

"We hope your journey was prosperous and agreeable, although we fear in this weather it must have been somewhat tedious. Dumfries is some days' journey hence, I fancy."

Lady Nithsdale thought upon the villages in ashes, the desolated fields, and could not find words for her reply, but contented herself with bowing assent. When, turning to the Earl of Mar, the Chevalier remarked, that if the present severe weather continued, the Tay would soon be completely frozen over. "In that case," he continued, "the river will no longer be serviceable as a protection and defence."

"Neither will it be any impediment to the design I have been explaining to your majesty," replied the earl in a low voice.

Lady Nithsdale soon after retired from the royal interview, discouraged and dissatisfied. She had never found the desired opportunity of speaking her husband's sentiments concerning General Forster; and she now felt intimately convinced how wild and hopeless an enterprise it must ever have been, to replace on the throne one who was so little calculated to conquer or to win it.