CHAPTER XVI

TELLS OF VARIOUS MATTERS TO BE FOUND IN THE HISTORY-BOOKS, AND OF A ROMANTIC TALE WHICH IS NOT

I have often thought that our mad escapade would not have been passed over so lightly had the news we brought been less satisfactory. My lord was never, I believe, made aware of the depths of our folly, and only to my dear lady did I dare to relate our morning’s adventures, and from her received the chiding I so richly deserved. To one other was the affair confided by Betty, namely, to David Pitcairn. She told him in my presence the same afternoon, and greatly was I astonished to see him so much roused. For a moment or two he could scarcely speak, and it was some time before we were able to understand the reason of his displeasure. When at last ’twas explained, I felt that he had reason on his side, and even Betty appeared struck by his words.

He had accomplished his task on the Saturday night without hindrance, arriving in Perth early on Sunday morning, and arranging, as we knew, an interview with the Master. He now told us that, after the latter had acquainted the Earl of Mar with the good tidings, my lord expressed a desire to see for himself the bearer of them, and the Master of Sinclair had followed Mr. Pitcairn about the town until he could set his lordship’s wishes before him. At first our friend David demurred, saying he could tell my lord no more than he had already divulged, but finally he consented, and was borne to the Earl’s presence; but beyond the fact that my lord had received him graciously, and asked him a number of questions as to the size of the ship and the quantity of arms on board, we got little out of him on that point.

“He asked me,” said David, “if it were possible to ride from Perth to Burntisland avoiding towns and villages, and when I told him yes, ‘Then,’ said he, ‘will you act as guide to the convoy?’ But upon my informing him that the Master of Sinclair and Mr. Malcome knew the country every whit as well as I, he said, ‘Very well, perhaps there was no need of a guide.’”

David left Perth at ten o’clock, and having rested for some hours at the house of a friend about half-way home, was able to join the expedition when it was within three miles of its goal. He was full of praise for the Master and for one or two of the gentlemen who accompanied him, among whom it pleased me to hear him mention Mr. Fleming, but the rabble they commanded were, he said, some of the worst that could be imagined. Sentries were placed about the town, but no sooner were the officer’s backs turned, than these undisciplined Highlanders left their posts and scampered off to the taverns and wine-shops, and there had ensued such rioting and confusion as had made of the town a perfect pandemonium. How we had escaped much worse injury and insult than we suffered he could not imagine, “except,” as he said, with a look at Betty both angry and tender, “it was true that a special Providence guarded daft folk and bairns.”

Indeed I shuddered at some of the things he told us, among them the fact that the drunken men, upon being called to order by their officers, the latter narrowly escaped being shot by these wretches, many of whom could not understand a word of any language but the Gaelic.

“I thank my stars,” said David, “that I have nothing to do with such a crew, and since they left the town in the morning we have heard sad tales of their raiding the country-side, and plundering the poor folk on their way back to Perth.”

I cannot but say that our spirits were much dashed by this intelligence, and our triumph did not seem quite so brilliant as it had appeared that morning. For some hours after it left me sad, and Betty very thoughtful.

But events were hurrying forward, and in the next few days much was accomplished for the Cause. We heard with delight that the Master of Sinclair had been sent into Fife with a body of horse, both to seize any arms that could be found, and also to set up the King’s Standard in the small towns round the coast. This he accomplished with ease, beginning at Cupar, and going from St. Andrews to Kirkcaldy, he took possession of each town in the name of the King, thus making our party masters of the whole of the north coast of the Firth of Forth. To the grief and chagrin of Betty, her brother did not present himself at home for more than a passing call of a few minutes, so that she was not able to hear nor to give any news. But to our great joy, Sir John, who was riding in the Master’s Command, decided to return to Dysart instead of proceeding at once to Perth, and surprised us by appearing one evening about supper-time, well and hearty and with news to tell.

It was from him that we learned of the designed project of sending a large body of men across the Frith to the Lothians, so that they might march south, and eventually join the rising in Northumberland.

’Twould take too long were I to tell you of the exciting days that followed, while boats were chartered in all the small fishing villages, and secretly brought to Crail from whence the crossing was to start. Mr. Harry Crawford it was that had the bringing of the boats together, and as there were upwards of two thousand men to be conveyed, you can imagine that the task was no light one. Now as there were several ships of war lying at Leith, and the custom-house smacks were constantly moving about in the Frith, my Lord of Mar ordered that a small number of men should march to Burntisland and make a feint of embarking there, to attract the attention of the Government boats. Meanwhile, protected by a screen of Cavalry under the command of Sir John Erskine and Sir James Sharp, the main body got off under cover of night, from Crail and Elie and Pittenweem. As a certain number were obliged to wait till the next night, however, the design was made known by spies to the Government ships, which immediately set sail to intercept them. Fortunately a contrary wind detained them, so that only one of our boats was taken, but several were forced to return to the coast of Fife. One company of three hundred men under command of my Lord Strathmore, with the Laird of Barafield as his Lieutenant, was obliged to land on the Isle of May, where they were detained for several days. When threatened by the ships of war, they made a most determined stand, and the young earl, himself scarce more than a schoolboy, behaved in a heroic manner. Not only did he hold his men in check when some of them were for surrendering, but he exhibited the greatest courage and self-denial during their detention; and when the opportunity came at length of getting off in boats to return to Crail, he was the last to leave the island. How our hearts kindled when we heard of his brave conduct from the Master, who had for this young nobleman an unbounded admiration.

The success of this project, and the landing of our men on the coast of Haddington, threw the good people of Edinburgh into such a state of panic that the Lord Provost at once ordered out the City Guards, the Trained Bands, and the new Levies of Volunteers for the defence of the city and the prevention of any disturbance therein. He also took the precaution to send an express to the Duke of Argyle at Stirling, who without delay marched post-haste to the Capital accompanied by three hundred chosen dragoons. As the Highlanders, under the brave Brigadier Mackintosh, had marched to Leith and entrenched themselves in the old citadel there, his Grace, who had left his cannons, gunners, mortars and bombardiers all behind at Stirling, could do little to dislodge them, save calling upon them as rebels to lay down their arms and surrender, upon pain of High Treason. This they very resolutely refused to do, and the Duke not being able to make a better of it, retired to Edinburgh to begin preparations.

Mackintosh, however, having managed to send off two letters to my Lord Mar, by the cunning expedient of pretending to fire upon the boats that bore them, as though he mistook them for the enemy, that nobleman ordered a body of horse under command of my Lord of Drummond to march from Perth upon Stirling, so as to draw, if possible, the Duke of Argyle from pursuit of the Highlanders in the Lothians. As the Master of Sinclair was one of that party, we heard later of how the matter was carried out, how they rode in heavy rain and bitter cold to Dunblane, did nothing there, and marched back to Perth on hearing of the arrival of Argyle at Stirling. I have no doubt, knowing my lady’s brother so well, that he did his best to set them right in no very agreeable way; howbeit I have heard since then some trenchant remarks on the supine behaviour of the Earl of Mar on this occasion, so I am aware that the Master was not angry altogether without cause. A General with more self-confidence, it was said, would have occupied Stirling ere the Duke had time to reach it. As for Mackintosh of Borlum, he entrenched himself first at Seton House, where he remained some days; but shortly afterwards, having received answers to his letters from my Lord Mar, he pushed on towards Kelso, and later as you know, crossed over into England. An incident took place on his march south which, coming to the ears of my Lady Erskine, greatly grieved her. This was the plundering of Hermiston House, the seat of her uncle, Dr. Sinclair, who had incurred the resentment of the Jacobite party very early in the rising. The fierce old Brigadier would even have set fire to the place, but being dissuaded from this extreme measure by some of the gentler spirits, he gave permission to the Highlanders to sack the house, who readily plundered it of every valuable thing that could be carried away. Such strange and vexatious doings take place in a country when it is divided against itself.

The events which I have mentioned took place rapidly one after another, but did not in any way affect our lives at Dysart, save that from early morn till late night we existed in a turmoil of excitement, never knowing what should transpire, and expecting all manner of wonderful things to happen, from the arrival at our door of King James himself, to the willing abdication of King George in London.

One morning, however, a despatch was brought to my lady, which proved to be from Sir John in Perth, in which he recommended her to leave her father’s house and return to Alva, where, he said, were many things requiring her care. This my lady, at all times ready to obey her lord, was very willing to do, and although it grieved us all to leave our kind friends at Dysart, we knew that our visit, already lengthy, could not last for ever. By order of the Earl of Mar, as Sir John writ in his letter, an officer from the garrison at Burntisland Castle, with a small company, was to escort my lady’s carriage all the way to Alva, in order to prevent, as he said, any surprise or discourtesy from the Dragoons of Argyle who constantly patrolled the roads; and although the precaution turned out to be wholly unnecessary, my lady was flattered by the attention, and pleased at the kindness of the thought.

The officer told off for this honorary duty was, to my great relief, our friend, Mr. Anthony Fleming.

“What should I have felt,” I murmured to Betty, on his arrival at the door of the Hermitage, “had it been Mr. Wallace?”

“Less confidence in the security of your journey than you do now, I suppose,” was her shrewd reply. “But I am grieved that our good friend should be soaked to the skin, while the other is warm and dry in barracks.”

The season had indeed set in very wet, and our chief difficulty in returning to Alva lay in the badness of the roads which made our progress extremely slow. The rain poured down without ceasing, and several times our heavy coach stuck fast in the clogging mud; and our escort, instead of keeping the enemy at bay with swords and pistols, were obliged to dismount, and by dint of their united strength extricate us from the ruts. At such times we inside the coach could hear Mr. Fleming’s firm, pleasant voice as he directed and encouraged his men, and once he rode up to the carriage window to apologise to my lady for the delay.

This civility struck her as so unnecessary that she laughed very heartily as she replied, “Nay, my dear Mr. Fleming, I feel rather that it is my place to apologise to you for obliging you to employ your soldiers in so trivial a manner. Confess that you would rather they should encounter half a hundred dragoons, and rout them at the point of the sword!”

“Oh, madam,” he answered, with his kind eyes smiling at us both, “a soldier learns very early in his career to call nothing in the way of duty _trivial_. The rain is unavoidable, the roads are bad; let us trust the weather is too inclement to allow of Argyle’s scouts delaying us any further.”

“That,” said my lady, as he turned away, “is a young man who will go far, if God spares his life through these turmoils. My lord speaks well of him, my dear husband regards him with affection, and even my brother, the Master, has nothing spiteful to say of him.”

How my heart warmed at his praise perhaps it would be foolish to mention, for, as you will see, the young gentleman was at this time scarce even to be called an acquaintance. But ’tis true that some are our friends from the first look and word, and no thought but of kindness and sympathy ever enters our minds concerning them. Because of his timely help to me that morning in Burntisland, I looked upon Mr. Fleming with a peculiar feeling of respect and gratitude, with which was mingled an almost unconscious trust in his goodness and truth. That our instincts in these matters occasionally mislead us, many poor women have had bitter proof, but to you who know what my life has been, I do not require to say that in Barbara’s case no such mistake was made.

“Mr. Fleming,” said I, “is kinsman to the Earl of Wigton, is he not, madam?”

“Ay,” she answered, “he is, and but for an untoward accident would one day be in the Earl’s place.”

“Indeed, madam,” cried I, more for the pleasure of hearing my friend spoke of, than from any great curiosity about his family. “What accident was that, pray?”

“’Tis a romantic tale,” said my lady, “and sorrowful too, as romance is apt to be, but I will tell it you to beguile the tedium of this weary road, seeing we cannot fall asleep like Phemie and my little sons.” And she eyed the sleeping children fondly.

“You must know,” she went on, “that the present Earl’s grandfather had seven sons, of whom five died unmarried. William, the fifth son, succeeded his eldest brother John, whose only child was a daughter, Lady Jean, married to Lord Panmure. But the fourth brother, Tom, who died nearly fifty years ago, left a son who is the father of our friend here, Mr. Anthony. This Thomas, I have heard my lord say, was one of those pleasing but irresponsible persons who are said to be no one’s enemy but their own. He was handsome, gay, and clever, but selfish, thoughtless, and wanting in ballast. It seems he made the acquaintance of a young lady, the daughter of a respectable merchant in London, and either by false representations, or specious promises, induced her to run away with him, intending, as he solemnly averred afterwards, to make her his lawful wife at his earliest convenience. He left her after a few months in a small village in Hampshire, while he returned to London, and entered again into all his social pleasures; but letters passed constantly between them, and the forsaken girl seems to have believed thoroughly in his integrity, for she made no complaint to her family, being satisfied to trust and be patient. At last, however, she knew it would be fatal to delay further, and for the sake of her unborn child she wrote to her lover a passionate appeal desiring him to return at once and right her in the eyes of the world. There must have been something in this letter that touched the heart of Thomas Fleming, for directly upon receipt of it, he set off post-haste for Hampshire. But alas! within twenty miles of London his chaise was overturned, and he himself so badly injured that he was unable to pursue his journey. Being carried into a friendly house upon the road, he learned from the surgeon that he had not many hours to live. His grief and sorrow were great, not so much, as he said, for his own sake, though life was sweet to him, as for the sake of the woman who had trusted him, and the child that he would never see. Whatever there was of good and noble in the poor man, came out in these last hours of his life. He implored those round him to send swift messengers first to his brother William, who fortunately at that time was living in London, and also to the father of the poor girl he had wronged. They obeyed the summons without delay, and were lucky enough to reach the house in time to hear his full confession, and to promise their help and protection to her who was in the sight of Heaven his wife. The poor father who was bowed down with grief ever since the loss of his daughter, was so touched with the genuine remorse and repentance of the dying man that he accorded him his forgiveness in a very Christian spirit, which allowed the other at least to die in peace.”

“And what of the poor lady?” I asked, much moved by this tale of love and wrong. “Did she also forgive the wretch?”

“Alas! my dear, she loved him,” said my lady.

“But one is almost thankful to know that she did not live long to suffer the consequences of his perfidy. The shock of his death was too much for her, and three days after the birth of her little son she passed quietly away. She had the comfort, however, of knowing that her child was safe in the care of his grandfather and uncle. The old Earl also, who was still alive, acknowledged the boy, and sanctioned his bearing the name, though to be sure the bar sinister prevents him ever inheriting the title. He carries on the business of his maternal grandfather in London, and is now a man of wealth and standing. He married the only daughter of a Suffolk baronet--a beauty and a fortune--and Anthony Fleming is their son.”

The close of this interesting tale brought us to Tillicoultry, the little village nearest to Alva on the eastern side, and soon afterwards we found ourselves at home.

We were received at the door by Mr. Peck, John Harley and Mr. Rose, all very glad and thankful to see my lady returned, for many untoward events were happening, and they had been sore perplexed how to conduct themselves in her absence. The country-side was in a sad state it seemed, for the Government soldiers made free with the property of the inhabitants, no matter on which side their sympathies might be. Mr. Rose had already lost some considerable quantity of fodder, as well as numerous hens and ducks; also sheep and cattle not being safe in the fields, he had been obliged to drive them all within the enclosures near the house, and had men set to guard them night and day.

“And indeed, my lady,” said Mr. Peck, “the enemy are so cautious and their plans so well-laid that the whole neighbourhood can do little against them, for they place their sentries so skilfully that not once have they been discovered nor surprised in their depredations.”

This was not a cheerful aspect of things to be presented to us on our return home, and no doubt my lady’s heart sank as she realized what was before her. It was not however her way to sit down and bemoan her troubles, and she busied herself in giving orders for the comfort of our rain-drenched escort, who were to rest for some hours at Alva before taking the road back to Burntisland. Indeed, as the rain had somewhat abated and it promised to be a clear moonlight night, Mr. Fleming remarked that, with her ladyship’s permission, the later they were of starting the better. With this my lady agreed, and on her telling the young gentleman that she would be glad of his company at supper, we dispersed to our various occupations and duties.

A little before the time for that meal, having arranged the things in my chamber, and assisted Phemie in getting the children’s affairs in order, I came downstairs and entered the dining-hall, expecting to find my lady already there. The table was set, but the room was lit only by the flames from the coal-fire, which threw long shadows across the wall and ceiling. On entering the room I thought it had been empty, but as I turned to leave it, a tall form rose from the seat at the corner of the hearth, and Mr. Fleming’s voice spoke my name. I came forward again slowly.

“Will you not give me the pleasure of your company, Mistress Barbara,” he said, “for the few minutes before supper. Although this is the third time we have met, I do not think you have ever done me the honour to address me.”

“Then, indeed, sir,” said I, forgetting my shyness, “you may well wonder at my manners. But it has been my great desire ever since our first troubled meeting, to offer you my heartfelt thanks for your kind assistance that morning.”

He stood looking down at me very kindly, and yet his face bore an expression which I did not understand.

“Were it not that it gave me the pleasure of an introduction to you, madam,” he said, “I could heartily wish that you had never needed it.”

“Truly,” said I, “’twas not a pleasant experience, but I must own I brought it upon myself. ’Twas a madcap adventure at best, and since we have known more fully the risks we ran, both Mistress Betty and I have had the grace to be ashamed of our temerity.”

“Indeed, the risks were much greater than you thought,” he answered gravely. “I can only be thankful that I arrived upon the scene when I did.”

“I had never in my life been really frightened before,” said I, “but when I felt that man’s hot breath on my cheek as he fell, clutching my plaid with his hands, I thought I should have died of terror.”

“Faugh!” exclaimed Mr. Fleming, “I cannot bear to think of it!”

“And when I lifted my eyes and saw you,” I continued, but steps now sounded without, and a servant entered the room, bearing candles which he placed upon the board. I moved a little further from the fireplace, but Mr. Fleming made a step forward and stopped me.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, “when you saw me--what then?”

“I knew I need fear no longer,” said I simply.

He took my hand and kissed it gravely.

“That, madam, is a speech that any man may be proud to hear from a woman. I thank you, and I shall never forget it.”

Among those bidden to supper by my lady on this first night came Mr. James Hamilton, and as at this moment he entered the room his eyes lighted immediately on me, and he came smiling up to greet me.

“Welcome back to Alva, Mistress Barbara Stewart!” he cried, bowing before me. “The winter is approaching, ’tis true, but you bring the light and warmth of summer in your train.”

Now a few months back this fulsome speech would doubtless have pleased me well, and set me trying to answer the gentleman in the same vein, but to-night it seemed mere empty compliment--too blatant to be in good taste--and it vexed me that Mr. Fleming, who was standing near, should hear it. I tried to answer coldly, but Mr. Hamilton was at once too good-humoured and too conceited to believe himself snubbed; he therefore took my scorn for coquetry, and redoubled his attentions. Mr. Fleming, after waiting for some minutes, as if wishing to continue our conversation, evidently considered himself dismissed and strolled off to the other side of the room. As he was placed on my lady’s right hand at supper, and I sat at the other end of the table, I had no further opportunity of speaking to him, and was obliged to conceal my chagrin as best I might. Mr. Hamilton plied me with friendly questions, to which I made random answers, and before the end of the meal I fell so silent that my lady, believing me worn out, withdrew as soon as possible, taking me with her from the room. In the hall outside she kissed me kindly and bade me go at once to bed.

Half-an-hour later, while I still lingered over my disrobing, I heard below the sounds of our escort departing. Softly I opened my casement, and having extinguished the taper, I leaned out. The moon was hidden and I could see but little. I heard the trampling of the horses, the gruff tones of the men, the jingling of the bridles, and an occasional laugh. Next came the voice of Mr. Fleming bidding my lady adieu, and his quick spurs ringing on the stones of the court-yard. Then I heard the order to mount, the heavy swing of the men into their saddles, the horses’ hoofs striking the stones as the troop moved off into the night. The moon sailed out from behind the clouds, and just then their Captain turned and looked back at the house. In an agony of startled modesty I shrank away from the window, and crouched upon the floor until the sound of their going had died away. As I knelt to say my prayers, I remember wondering if I should ever see Mr. Anthony Fleming again--I believe I prayed that God would bless him whether I did or no.