CHAPTER XXI

TELLS OF THE COMING OF THE KING TO PERTH, AND WHAT ENSUED THEREAFTER

It will be well for me now to give you shortly some account of the proceedings at Perth, which I learned from Mr. Fleming’s own lips some time after, though it would, I know, be easy for you to gather the facts from the history-books written about that period. And because I fear I am becoming tedious in my narrative, I will pass over many details and give you the bare outline of what took place, in order to carry on the story of my dear friends at Alva in a way that you will understand.

When Captain Anthony Fleming, upon his return to Perth, sought out the Master of Sinclair in order to deliver to him my lady’s letter, and give him news of the family, he found to his dismay that he was gone. Seaforth, as we know, had hurried north after Sheriffmuir, and, as was the custom of the Highlanders after a battle, many of them had returned home. Now my Lord of Huntly was gone to save his estates from the Earl of Sutherland, and to get back the town of Inverness, so it was said; but we know that nobleman had decided to play his cards another way, for he made a truce with my Lord Sutherland, and later sent in his submission to Argyle, asking for pardon or protection from the Government. The Master of Sinclair, shortly after he left, had followed him, saying as his excuse that “having given so much umbrage to certain people in Perth, he could be of no more use to the Cause, which now was not only desperate, but sunk.” And so he deserted the foundering ship, thinking most of his own danger and the necessity of saving his precious skin. Mr. Fleming, like all other loyal gentlemen, had his own opinion of such conduct, but though bitterly disappointed in the man who had ever been friendly to him, and to whom he felt he owed so much, he refrained from commenting upon it till long years after.

In the midst of so much that was discouraging, an express one day arrived with the joyful news that the King was at hand, for a ship had appeared in the offing about the Height of Montrose, which had made _the signals_, viz., the raising and lowering of a white flag on the topmasthead, and, being answered from the shore, had passed on northwards. At once the Earl of Mar began his preparations for going to receive his Majesty, and great joy ran through the entire community from the highest officers to the common soldiers, for all were weary of the delay, and looked forward to large reinforcements, and a speedy meeting with the enemy. A few days later a young gentleman, Lieutenant Cameron by name, who had accompanied the King from France, rode into Perth with the acceptable tidings that our long-looked for Sovereign had landed at Peterhead, and was awaiting an interview with the Earl of Mar and his companions. By great good fortune my lord commanded Mr. Fleming to ride with him in the capacity of Captain of his Guard of Horse, and the same day he, with my Lord Marischal, General Hamilton, and about thirty other gentlemen of quality, set out to go and attend him. The King, having lodged one night at Peterhead, and another at Newburgh House, had passed _incognito_ through Aberdeen, and was now at Fetteresso, the principal seat of my Lord Marischal, and thither the party from Perth hastened, full of ardour and loyalty. I will give you Mr. Fleming’s own words as to his impressions upon first beholding his Majesty.

“After having received the Earls of Mar and Marischal and the other noblemen within the castle, and conversed with them for some time, his Majesty expressed a desire to inspect the soldiers of the guard, who were drawn up in front of the house. You may imagine that, on being hurriedly prepared for this honour by General Hamilton, we sat our horses in great excitement, only restrained by discipline. For my own part my heart beat high in my bosom, and all the loyal and chivalrous sentiments that had been nurtured in my mind from childhood rose up to welcome my rightful and much injured King. When he appeared at the door, looking pale and young and very weary, there came into my throat something that caught my breath--a spasm of love and yearning that the sight of no other man on earth could possibly bring--and at the moment when I brought my sword to the salute I knew I would gladly lay down my life for King James. A few minutes after I heard the voice of my Lord Mar loudly proclaiming him at the gate of the house, and, following my impulse, I waved my sword above my head, and shouted with all my strength, ‘God save the King!’--a shout in which both my soldiers and all others present willingly joined. His Majesty bowed, and a faint smile came to his lips, but oddly enough, and quite beyond my own volition, I found myself, as I watched him, repeating some dreary words, ‘_A stranger in a strange land_!’ He did not look glad to be among us; there was no response in his eyes to the welcome we gave him. He came to his own, and though they received him joyfully, it was as though he knew them not.”

Was this, I have often wondered, the reason of it all--of the disappointment, the disillusion, the tragedy of his coming? My heart aches still to think of it. He was worn out with hardships and anxiety (those who knew what his life had been for the last three months know that), the weather was bitterly cold, his country--our country--lay in the inhospitable grasp of winter, and he had a price set upon his head. He felt ill in body, for on the next day he was taken with an aguish distemper which kept him from moving for several days, and uneasy in mind, for already he had doubts of the wisdom of his undertaking. We know that he was not born “under a dancing star” as Mr. Shakespeare’s “Beatrice” hath it, and for that reason much is to be forgiven him; but oh! we in Scotland need to be melted by a merry smile, or a kindly word, or a genial manner, or we may be taken by storm by something more forcible than these; but let our coldness be met by coldness, our shyness by a greater shyness, or our enthusiasm by indifference, then the icy crust that covers our fire grows harder and harder, and the dour pride that oft makes the Scot a trouble to himself, as well as to others, forbids the breaking down of the barrier for ever. He lacked something, our poor King, that vital something which his uncle, King Charles II., and, as I understand, his son Prince Charles Edward (neither of them so just or so virtuous as himself), possessed to the full--the power to draw all hearts to him, to persuade the reluctant, to confirm the wavering, to inspire the doubtful with confidence--the personal human charm, without which no leader of men can achieve great things.

Upon the recovery of his Majesty, he and his attendants came south by slow degrees to Brechin, to Kinnaird, to Glamis, and then to Dundee. At this place he was received with great enthusiasm by the populace, and sat for about an hour on horseback in the market-place, while the eager people flocked to kiss his hand. From Dundee he went to Fingask, the seat of Sir David Threipland, where he lay that Saturday night, and next day being Sunday he arrived at Scone, within two miles of Perth.

Now, if the joy had been great at the news of the safe arrival of the King, with whom you must remember it was supposed were thousands of troops and much treasure, the disappointment and chagrin on learning that he came almost alone were great in proportion. And when it was discovered that neither he nor the Earl of Mar were moving actively in the matter of defending the town, or taking steps to meet the enemy, much discontent arose, and the whole place was in a state of dissatisfaction. My Lord Mar attempted to pacify them by spreading a fresh report of help coming from France; the presence of the young Lord Tinmouth, the Duke of Berwick’s son, was pointed to as a proof that the Regent was now inclined to the Cause; General Hamilton was again in Paris urging our necessity, and the Duke of Argyle’s men were wavering and deserting, it was said, day by day. The weather and the state of the roads were also given as a reason for inaction, and there was much talk of the coming Coronation at Scone. But all this availed little, and when it transpired on the arrival of one of our spies from Stirling, that Argyle was reconnoitring the roads, and making preparations for having them cleared of the snow, with a view to laying siege to Perth, the excitement rose to fever-heat while the dissatisfaction gave place to joy. Was it conceivable that they should remain, they said, to be slaughtered like badgers in their holes without making a fight for it? No, it was impossible; they could remain no longer inactive, and at once preparations were begun for defending the town, planting guns, digging trenches, throwing up breast-works and the like, which gave the impatient people something to occupy their thoughts, though, as you know, the work was quite ineffectual, for the town would have been very easily taken had the Government troops advanced upon it.

And now comes one of the saddest incidents in all this sad history; an instance of the cruelty of war upon the innocent, who must often suffer, though guiltless of either crime or provocation. I know not in whose brain the unhappy thought first had birth, and indeed, as Sir Anthony now tells me, the idea itself, from a strategic point of view, was not altogether a mistake. But to us it came as a shock so grievous that for a long time we could scarce bear to talk of it, and in that way, perhaps, we did both the thought and the action injustice.

Upon a second attempt of the Duke of Argyle to view the roads from Dunblane to Auchterarder, which he made accompanied by General Cadogan, who we heard had been sent down from London for the very purpose of hastening the Duke’s movements, the leaders at Perth became so alarmed, having thought themselves secure while the severe weather lasted, that an order was given out, signed alas! by the King, for the burning of the villages of Auchterarder, Crieff, Blackford, Dunning and Muthill, with all corn and forage which could not be carried off, so as to lay waste the country between Stirling and Perth, in order to embarrass the Government troops.

Now to my mind, and to many others at the time, this cruel order was resultant of nothing but misery to those who had no right to suffer, for although it gave to Argyle’s men the inconvenience and discomfort of camping for two nights on the bare ground, it neither detained them in their progress, nor disordered their arrangements, seeing that on so short a march ’twas possible to carry both forage and vivers with them. We know that the King was most reluctant to sign the order, and that two days after he writ a letter to the Duke, begging him to employ a certain sum of money to be paid out of his own scant treasury, for compensating the unfortunate people so harshly deprived of their homes. The letter was, I am told, suppressed, but of the King’s regret and of his kind intentions I have never entertained the slightest doubt. Indeed, the Earl of Mar let it be widely known that his Majesty wished it given out, that if any of the poor folk pleased to come to Perth, they should be maintained and all care taken of them. Howbeit the deed was done, and many a long day would pass ere the memory of it should die away.

And now in Perth the Council sat all night deliberating what should be done, and messengers were posting constantly between that place and Scone, for the great men could not come to an agreement. On one side was the military party, who, knowing the minds of the soldiers on the matter, were all for fighting and that at once. On the other side were the Earl of Mar and some of his friends, who said they were not willing thus to risk the safety of the King. It was suggested to the latter that the King’s presence was not necessary in a battle, and that if he were placed in security, his faithful adherents would prove their loyalty by fighting for him to the death. They were ready, they said, to die for him; but not to turn their backs like scoundrels and poltroons without striking a blow for him who had come so far to trust his person and his fortunes in their hands. Words ran high, and some of the Highlanders _ruffled_ the great men in the open streets, and told them in plain terms that they were betraying the King rather than helping him. One who was thus accosted, a friend of my Lord Mar’s, stopped to answer them, and Mr. Fleming heard this conversation pass between them.

“Why, what would you have us do?” said the gentleman. “Do!” says the other. “What did you call us to arms for? Was it to run away? What did the King come hither for? Was it to see his people butchered by the hangman, and not strike a stroke for their lives? Let us die like men and not like dogs!” “What can we do?” cries the nobleman to these brave words. “Let us,” says the Highlander, “have a council of war, and let all the General Officers speak their minds freely, the King himself being present, and if it be agreed there not to fight, we must submit.”

Some went further than this, for one bold chief threatened them, that the loyal clans would take the King from them, and then if he were willing to die like a Prince he should find that there were ten thousand gentlemen in Scotland who were not afraid to die with him.

As some said one thing and some another, the tumult and disorder increased, till at last some of the wiser among the officers quieted the soldiers by assuring them there would be a council held that night, that the King begged them as his good friends to abide by what was then decided, as he was resolved himself to do: either to put it to the hazard and take his fate with them, or if otherwise advised to abide by that.

Accordingly, the Grand Council met, and much was said on this side and much on that, but from what I was told by Mr. Fleming, it seemed that all the talk was only for show, for the meeting was adjourned without any decision having been come to. Next morning, however, a select number having been called together, the Earl of Mar confided to them in secret, that owing to many circumstances which he considered it inconvenient to divulge, he found it advisable not only to beat a retreat from Perth, but to put an end to their design for the time being. ’Twas whispered, he said, that there were traitors in the camp, men of high standing, who were already conspiring to seize upon the person of the King and deliver him up to the Duke of Argyle. It was almost incredible, said the Earl, that such a thing could be; but with a free pardon and £100,000, even an honest Scotsman might be tempted. Finally, as the Duke was now within a few miles of Perth, it was absolutely necessary that we should evacuate the town.

After this, said my informant, there was nothing more left but to acquiesce in the decision, though by many it was done with a very bad grace. That the King himself was sorely grieved, I make no doubt, and it was with a heavy heart, I trow, that he consented to leave Scone, and to follow his army across the Tay. That river being frozen hard they were able, horse and foot, to pass over as if upon dry land, and quickly as they had acted they were but just in time, for, expresses having carried the news of the retreat to the enemy, a body of dragoons entered the town the very next day. To the majority of our officers no further instructions had been issued than that the army was to retire upon Aberdeen, so that what followed after came upon them as a cruel surprise, and by many of them, I feel sure, ’twas never either understood or forgiven.

And now, if you please, I must leave Head-quarters, and return to Alva to let you know how things were going there.