CHAPTER XXVII

SHOWS HOW SLOWLY THE TIME PASSES WHEN THE HEART IS HEAVY

You will notice, I have no doubt, a great sameness in these interesting letters, and frequent repetitions of the sentiments and facts they contain. The reason of this, as you will readily understand, was the fear my lady had that Sir John might not receive them, so that she felt compelled to inform him of whatever interested them most in every epistle she penned. It would be easy to curtail them, giving you only extracts, and so save you the tedium of reading the same things so often; but in reproducing them as they were writ I feel that I am only doing justice to my dear lady’s memory, for by this means alone can you, her descendants, realise the weariness of her life, the flagging of her hopefulness, the constant burden that weighed on her mind during those long, monotonous weeks. Her spirits, as you will see, varied, as a woman’s are apt to do with her varying moods. Some days she would be full of cheerfulness, saying that an end to all our troubles must soon be coming, and busying herself with her affairs as if her beloved husband were returning to Alva the very next week; at other times she would be heavy and sad, moving about the house in silence, and only by a great effort making answer to those who conversed with her. The news of Sir John’s safety and freedom did indeed lift a weight from her heart, and for some days she even laughed and sang as she made herself busy in her usual way; but this lightness could not long be maintained, and the prospect of seeing her husband grew more and more uncertain.

Our fears for the good old Colonel and his son, still prisoners in the Fleet, were now allayed as nothing could be found against them, and there seemed to be every hope that after a time they would be released. Mr. Patrick Campbell, our kind and constant friend, had means of seeing them frequently, and kept my lady informed of their welfare.

The news of the escape of the brave old Brigadier Mackintosh and several of his friends from Newgate, which reached us some time in May, was hailed with triumph, not unmixed with amusement, when we learned that this sturdy veteran had knocked down his gaoler with his fists; and after disarming the sentinel, they opened the gates and let themselves out into the streets, afterwards escaping (save one or two who were unluckily recaptured) to France. Some weeks later occurred the escape of Colonel Walkinshaw of Barafield from the Castle of Stirling, which we learned enraged the Earl of Rothes very much. But these things are matters of history, you will say, and enter not into our story.

And all this time it may be asked where was Sir John and how was he faring?

Excellently well, if we may believe the hints given us in the few extracts of letters from him which I have seen, and the scraps of news about him, confided to me at the time by my lady, and entered in my little day-book.

You will see that his faithful wife believes that he is living quietly and privately, with no thought of further entangling himself in the King’s affairs; but she constantly urges him to leave the neighbourhood of his Majesty and the Earl of Mar, in order to prove to the authorities at home that he truly repents him of his misdeeds, and is therefore a fit subject for the clemency of King George. And all the time if we had but known it, Sir John was busily engaged in furthering his master’s interests by every means in his power, although I am certain he did not contemplate bringing disaster upon his wife and family.

In the beginning of April, he, accompanied by his brother-in-law, left Paris by water-coach for a town called Auxerre, which was finally reached in a covered cart. From there, as it was quite out of the way of diligences or even ordinary post-road, they hired horses to ride to Beaune, a small village in a wine-growing district from which was obtained the excellent _vin de Pomar_, or _Beaune_, which is still famed among the wines of Burgundy. In one of his letters Sir John tells my lady how he drinks her health daily, though abstemiously, in this cheap and pleasant beverage; he also gives an amusing account of Mr. Paterson’s difficulties with the French language, the latter being almost a stranger to its use.

After about three weeks in this place, Sir John, upon the King’s summoning him, repaired to Avignon where his Majesty held his meagre court, and from then onwards through the summer his time seems to have been occupied with political affairs. This, as you are aware, he kept from my lady’s knowledge, but rumours reached her from time to time through other sources, which greatly disturbed her and kept her in a state of constant anxiety.

“What,” she said to me once, “is the use of all our endeavours to obtain Sir John’s pardon, and prevent his being attainted, if he continues to mix himself up in the affairs of the poor King? I cannot see that one man’s help, or the want of it, can make much difference at the present juncture; and I am convinced that if my husband were free to confide his private affairs to his Majesty, he would be told to consider his family interests rather than continue any longer in this employment.”

“Perhaps the story of Sir John’s being sent to Spain is false,” said I, to comfort her.

“Oh, ’tis very like!” she answered, “people must always be talking. But it shows us, Barbara, what I have ever felt, the strong difference between men and women. Were my dear life to express the lightest wish regarding my conduct, would I not hasten to do it, no matter how cross it might be to my inclination? But not all my pleadings, I fear, will have any effect on Sir John to make him alter his present way of living.”

“Ah, madam!” I cried, eager as ever for my guardian’s justification, “’tis a hard thing to be torn by divided duties, especially when affection bears a part in each. But I do fervently believe our good Sir John will decide to give up the King, if this is the only alternative, rather than bring you and your children to misery.”

“Would to God he would hesitate no longer!” she cried. “He may make up his mind too late, and end by falling between two stools, as the saying is.”

“There is still,” she went on after a while, “the hope of help from his brother, Robin, who is very great with his master. I think ’twould be easy for him to move the Czar to ask for Sir John’s pardon; but this, as you know, would not alter the inclination of the Parliament if they were determined to have him attainted, and my fear is, that believing him still a servant of King James, they may hasten to do it. I pray God to have us all in his keeping, and order everything for our good; but my heart at times is very heavy, Barbara, and the waiting is long.”

It was about this time that the little boys fell ill with the chincough, or whooping-cough, and though at first it seemed they were both to get pretty easy off, the trouble increased, and little Hal especially was brought very low. Fortunately the weather was mild and almost summer-like, though but the beginning of May, so that there was every chance for the children in that particular, and with Phemie’s care and skill to depend on, my lady did not allow herself to be unduly agitated about them. Still she was an anxious and tender parent, and the sight of her youngest child, with white face and heavy eyes, oppressed and spent after a fit of the cough, caused her many a pang, I trow, for to have anything serious happen to her precious little sons in the absence of their father, would have well-nigh broken her heart.

Early in this month Betty was obliged to go back to Dysart, intending as she said to return very shortly, but this, as events turned out, she was unable to do. Old Lady Alva was still with us, as kind and pleasant a dame as it would be possible to find. Her cheerful, placid spirit was of the greatest benefit to her daughter at this time, and though she interfered in nothing that was being done, she was ever ready to give her help and advice when asked.

As for Barbara, she had been made happy by receiving a letter from her friend, Mr. Fleming, who was safely arrived in France, and was now staying with some good friends of his father’s in Paris. He had great hopes, he said, of getting his pardon, through his parent’s friends in the Government, and was already contemplating falling in with his father’s suggestion that he should get him employment in the service of the East India Company. As this would entail his leaving Britain and living in a distant land for the most part of his life, he thought it proper to advertise me of his prospects, and get my mind on the matter.

Glad and relieved as I was to know him safe and well, this news, as you can imagine, threw me into some agitation, for it implied the readjustment and arranging of my whole life, and my woman’s heart trembled at the notion. There is surely nothing in life so wonderful nor so beautiful, if we regard it rightly, as the simple trust displayed by a young maid in giving up herself to the sole care of the man she loves, forsaking all other to cleave to him, leaving friends and home and childhood’s scenes to accompany him to any corner of the globe, the future all unknown, alone, but for him, in the whole world. And yet I suppose that ever since Rebecca, trusting only to hearsay, came willingly to Isaac, it has been the way of women, and ordered by God; and men too often, I fear, regard it as a natural proceeding, and the faith that it implies no more than their due.

However that may be, I did not feel it would be right to attempt to dissuade Mr. Fleming from falling in with his father’s wishes; for nothing was nearer to my heart, as you may guess, than the desire to stand well in the eyes of my Anthony’s parents, so that they might find nothing of which to disapprove in their dear son’s choice. He begged my permission and that of Lady Erskine, to make them acquainted with our mutual love, so that, upon his obtaining his pardon, our betrothal might at once be made public.

To this, my lady, after consulting with Mr. Erskine (who was again at Alva), gave her consent, but added that in the event of Mr. Fleming’s going to the Indies, she must beg, for the sake of my youth, that he should not insist upon my accompanying him. In three or four years’ time, she said, I would be of age, and being older, more fit to hold my own against the extremities of the Eastern climate; Mr. Fleming also would be accustomed to the country, and more fit to make me comfortable in my new life when I went out to him.

I cannot say that Barbara, young, impulsive and not too patient, at once agreed to her kind friend’s proposals. Indeed it took some days of consideration and counsel to bring her to reason, and some nights of sleepless anxiety and not a few tears, before she could bring herself to face the prospect with equanimity. The sorrow of parting, the long absence from each other, the distance that would separate us, and the dangers and risks of the long voyage--all these combined to make a burden that was not easy to carry. But of this I said very little in my reply to my lover, knowing that his own heart would understand it too well. I only stipulated very strongly that I should see him once more, and talk over everything with himself, before his departure from Britain.

And so with hopes and fears the days were intermingled, and the summer was at hand, and the trees were growing green, but there was no word yet of Sir John’s coming home.

LETTER X

I think it very hard I can never hear my Dearest Life has got any of my letters, tho’ this is the seventh I have writ, and in every one desired you to draw a bill for 100 pounds. Your not doeing it makes me conclude you have never got one, and since you left Paris I have never heard from you at all. I must own my hearing from you so seldom is a great uneasiness and occasions me many fears, tho’ I must own I should trust to the kind providence of God who has hitherto wonderfully preserved you. All things as to the settling the affairs of this unhappy country are still undetermined, and our own countrymen cannot agree about it, which is our misfortune. What will be the issue God knows, but we are not without fears of hard usage, nor altogether without hop that in time they may relent and use us more Christianly.

I hear of our friends att London frequently. I am hopful they are in no danger as to their lives, and it’s generally talkt there will not be much more blood taken. In the meantime I am living very easyily at home managing as formerly, but have enough to do to keep all right, and have great difficulty in getting up the rents, tho’ care must be taken to pay the annual rents and prevent diligencies being done. I am very lucky in two friends which take much of the burden off me, and all is done that can be in the present circumstances. I am easy in everything in comparison to the anxious care and concern I have about your person, and the different thoughts you will have upon not hearing what state I am in.

Your boys has had the chincoch but are better. The season here has been extraordinary, for since the breaking of the storm there has not been an ill day; the fields are much frequented by me, and how to manage my ground to the best advantage is much my study. I shall not fail to observe as much as possible all you have done in both places....

Some of your friends are so unjust (as) to blame me for your going out, and the reason they give for it is I should have acquainted the Government with your design. But since I am innocent and never did anything but what was my duty with regard to you, I must let them be saying and bear that with other things. I cannot frame a notion to myself what state we will be in, but in the general I have no fears of want, and I am sure nobody will lose by you. These things I have good ground to believe, let things come to the worst; but the longer things are of being settled the longer I shall be deprived of the happyness of seeing you, for my being here is absolutely necessare till we see the utmost and procure something by help of friends for me and my children if they do go to the Height of Rigour.

I have no other work in hand without doors but plowing, this two months past, for some impertinent folks was like to be uneasy, and P. C. is at London who has several schemes in vein; whether any will succeed at this present juncture I cannot guess, but Providence will preserve you and all your concerns, I hop, in spite of all your enemies. All your friends here are well, some blaming you and others pitying you, but all your near relations will do for you what lyes in their power. Your sister Ca. has a son call’d after her father; I am going to see her this week. I am very impatient to hear from you. The three letters you writ before you left Paris came safe to my hand, but I have had none since. My health is pretty good considering how many difficult things I have to disturb me, but if you be preserved I hop to get over all other difficulties in time.

As to the clans they are all coming in and giving up their arms. There is none of your neighbourhood given up themselves.

Betty salutes you, and I am Dear, Soul, in all sincerity, May 1st.

Yours.

LETTER XI

It is but three day since I wrote to my Dearest Life, but haveing had the pleasure of one from you last night of 15 of Ap., new stile, by another hand, I am resolved to lett no opportunity slip, hoping that some one of my letters may come to your hand. This is the eighth I have writ, and tho’ by your last you tell me you had not heard from me, I am hopful they are not all mis-carryed, but by your leaving Paris they are longer a-coming to your hand. It is no small satisfaction to me that you are well and at freedom, and the thoughts of it support me under every other difficulty. Tho’ I must own the common misfortune has been so greivous that I cannot express it, and then every particular person that I ever knew or heard of makes deep impression upon me, so that I was not capable of having a right thought. But after some time I found I could not live after that way, and made myself incapable to serve you. I resolv’d to imploy myself in doing in your affairs what was fit in the present juncture, and as the old saying is, indeavour to make the best of an ill bargain. But I have been many days without speaking, except when business obligt me to it.

I told you in my last our friends att London are well, and we are not afraid of their lives being in danger. What will come of all the misfortunate people God knows, but many have foolishily given up themselves and Glengary among the rest, who is now at Perth. It’s talkt they are all to be tryed. I am still at home managing after the old manner but with many difficultys, being perfectly a stranger to your debts, and every frikish body arresting the rents, and one difficulty no sooner off but another occurs; but I doubt not to get over all these, and in time, which it’s probable I will have now, if the Parlyment rise soon as it’s expected, without any more bills of attainder, to get this year’s rent. Your farms are plowed and the last of the Barley sow’d this day. I may ask you when you was so soon done. There has been no other work without doors for two months past, because upon many reasons it was inconvenient. I have planted trees here, and if things go tolerably easy I intend to plant both here and in the other place in the latter season. I tell you all this that you may not think I despair of your having peaceable possession of your own, tho’ I cannot yet see by what means. We hear of an interview of many crown’d heads, and some people think your pardon may be easily obtained by your Brother, the Dr., and his master’s means, but if ever you obtain it that way, your abode must be in another place. Ch. has some thoughts of going over to see his Brother, and wold appoint you to meet him if ye could do it with safety. I must own if it be practicable for your friends to obtain a pardon, you should accept of it, however cross it may be to your own inclination. Consider your children and me, and prevent the utter ruin of your family. And I daresay neither Kid nor Mill will think it wrong for you, since you cannot serve them in your present circumstances, to doe what is so material for your interest.

Your boys have been very ill of the chincoch but are better. I hope they will get over it very soon.... I expect to see Ch. soon here. P. C. is at London, and your sister, Nell, is gone to the Bath. All your friends are well. The uncertainty of my letters coming to your hand makes me say less than I incline. Pray draw for money when you please, but it seems you are in no want, for you never mention it. Wishing you, my Life, all manner of happyness, I am in all sincerity

_May 4th._ Yours.

LETTER XII.

I received one from my Dearest Life of the 17 Ap. which was most acceptable. I am sorry you should be in such pain and uneasyness by your not hearing from me, and I should never forgive myself if I had occasioned it by my neglect, but I assure myself you will not think me capable of omitting anything than can contribute to your quiet. This is the tenth letter I have writ and all different hands, in hops some wold be so lucky (as) to come your length. I have had the pleasure of getting all yours, which I reckon no small mercy. I have told you in all my letters to be easy about me and your children; wee have what is necessare for us, and I have good ground to think will always have; let things come to the worst we will have enough and what we ought to be content with, in so general a calamity. My greatest suffering is being absent from you; but when I think upon the danger and imprisonment of many others, some of (them) my good friends, I dare not complain. I must own your being at freedom and out of the hands of your enemies, has supported me under the many difficultys, and if you are well and easy in your mind, I shall endeavour to submit chearfully to whatever God in his providence shall order; and very often the fears of what may happen is greater than the suffering itself, as I doubt not is the case with the most part of the distrest people at this time. The delay and the uncertainty occasions the most dreadful apprehensions their fancy can suggest. Tho’ at other times I was too ready to put the dark side of the cloud to my view, yet I think it’s impossible things can long continue in so violent a way. I doe very much regret the suffering of Kid and your freind, and of all the rest in generall; but God in his wise providence has ordered it, and his visible hand in disappointing all our hops should make us wait his time with patience, and indeavour to make the best use of so great afflictions, which is most justly sent us as a punishment for our many faults and abuses of many mercys; and if this thought would make us live better lives, it’s very probable our time of suffering might be shortened.

I am still at home managing after the old manner, have labour’d both your farms, and getting in rents, tho’ with great difficulty. There is nothing omitted that can be done for your interest, and I am very lucky in two freinds who do all for me that’s in their power.

You are not yet attainted, and I hop will not be this session of Parlyment; but I am afraid if you continue in that place where you are now it will make them more violent, and tho’ your being in another place will not be so agreeable to you, yet I persuade myself you will cross your own inclination since you can do your friends no service, and may ruin your family. I doe not let anybody know where you are because I have some hop, with the help of Dr. Robin, your brother, and his master, to get your pardon, that you may be allowed to come home and live quietly. I believe the first thoughts of this kind will be very disagreeable to you; but consider mee and your children and every particular circumstance, and then I am sure you must be of my mind. This is the opinion of those friends that did not condemn your going out, and have your interest as much at heart as their own. I wold not wish you to doe a mean or dishonorable thing, and I am sure were it fit to be free with Kid and Mill in every particular they wold desire you to accept, if ever that pardon could be obtained by your freinds. Pray, write freely to me your opinion in this particular, for I have greater fears you will not accept than that itt will not be obtain’d, and if you are positive against itt I will never attempt itt. I heard from London you was gone a message to Spain, but they must always be talking.

I am doeing no work without doors just now. All our plowing is over some weeks agoe, and our work is all laid aside except such as is in and about the House. I have planted trees this season, and design to plant them in the latter season.

Your children are just such as you wold wish them, very good-humor’d. I am getting one to teach them. They have both the chincoch, but I hop the worst is over. My friend, Bess, has left me. Your mother is here just now; she is very concern’d about you, but has no such fears for the family as I have seen her have for a trifle.

I cannot yet have any vein how or what way I am to doe; but if once things were settled, if you doe not get home, I will certainly come to you and bring my young folks with me, which will not doe so well as that I mention in the other side. In the meantime, hope the best, take good care of yourself, and let me hear frequently from you.

I writ in all my letters to make your factor draw for money on his correspondent at Edinr. for your use. I hop I shall have to supply you what you have use for. As to your servants, they have all been here since you left the country, and Andrew came safe, so you need not be uneasy. As to your debts of all kinds, due care is taken that no body lose by you, and nobody can lose a grott. I wish everybody had the same mitigations of their sufferings that I have; but the hearing of the necessities of others, and not being in a condition to help them, touches me very sensibly, which makes me wish I could be far from hearing itt. Wishing you all manner of happyness, I am, my Dearest, in all sincerity, Yours.

May 14.

LETTER XIII

I received yours of the 26th of Ap., which my Dearest Life may imagine was most acceptable to know you had once got some of my letters, and that you was easy in your mind upon that score, which you have all the reason in the world to be. You was much to blame that (you) did not mention money in any of your former letters, because if I had known the maner of sending money, you had got it long ere now. Having some money att London, I have ordered your Bill of 50 pounds that you have drawn to be pay’d there, and shall write to my freind there to remitt the other 50 after the best and cheapest manner. For all the money I could raise here out of your estate, and otherways by the help of friends, will not satisfy uneasy Debtors for annual rents and principal sums to prevent diligences being done, and itt is done in such maner that the money laid out that way will stand good upon the worst event that can happen. But if you will please to let me know what sum you incline to have soon, it shall be had as far as either your freinds or my credit can goe. In a little time we hop to have your affairs put in a clear way, which, so soon as it is done, you shall know, and shall be dispos’d of by your order, or as you think most proper. Ch. A(reskine) is here just now, and is thinking and laying out himself on every way that seems most for your interest; and it’s his opinion, and it seems to him the only way to make your affairs easy, to abstract yourself from your freinds for some time, by which means you may scape the fury and rage of the folks in present power; for you’ll not doubt but they have good intelligence who are with, or makes their abode with----. Nor is it impossible in a little time you may be at more freedom, with less harm to your family, not being yet attainted, which gives us a Breathing to put things in a better way. Your remaining at a certain place will no doubt hasten a sentence which will put us out of all capacity of medling with anything that belongs to you, but by indirect and not so successful methods. So as you regard your own interest and my quiet I expect your complyance in this matter; and if it were not absolute necessity, you may be assured I wold not ask you to cross your own inclination in anything, and much less in taking you from company that must be agreeable to you in a strange country.

If you have got the rest of my letters you will know that Mr. Nabit does not imploy old W. or any of his profession at present, because it was likely to prove uneasy.... It is yet impossible to tell what money Mr. Nabit will be worth; his reputation among the common sort is so high that nobody credits it.... Your youngest boy is brought very low with the chincoch which fears me, but I hope with tender care ... he will get the better of it, for ye know I am easily alarm’d. Nothing shall be wanting, and I hope in God the children shall be preserved while they are under my care, and will give us all a happy meeting which is the thing in the world I most earnestly wish.... Your mother is here. She writ you some time agoe, and till she knows that is come to your hand she will not write again. I am pretty much imploy’d, which keeps me from thinking so much as my temper and present state does incline me ... I heard from London last Post. There can be no evidence got against our two friends that is in the Fleet, which is no small mercy. Bess is at home, but will return here. Be sure to write freely your mind as it comes in your head of anything you would have done, and you will always find those two friends I formerly mentioned and myself devoted to serve you in every respect. I am, Dr. Life, in all sincerity Yours.

May 20.

LETTER XIV

It is three weeks now since I heard from my Dearest Life and I begin to be very impatient. I expect to hear from you every fortnight, and when I doe not I am apt to fancy you are either gone some message, or are not well, for all your friends in the Government has had you gone to Sweden; and if I had not heard from your self I should have been too ready to believe it. Your friend P. C. writ to me from London. He was not a little uneasy he had not heard from you, by which I reckon he has writ to you. I writ three posts ago to desire him to remit the other 50 pound I mentioned in my last, and did incline to send more, but as I told you at this term all had enough to doe. But I doubt not in a little time to have more money at London for the effects are gone from this, and it will be cheaper to send it from thence; and P. C. being to stay there for a long time, when you think fit write to him and he will be sure to answer you, for I doubt not he has let you know how to direct him.

I have hitherto been pretty lucky in my little affairs, and in a little time we will give you a good account of them, if they let me alone from Bills of Attainder. I wold be glad to know your opinion whether it’s proper for your Brother R. to cause his master interpose with the present powers now when they are to have an interview, or in what manner he should doe it; whether to ask a gift of your Life-Rent, and a little article put in to secure all to yourself, tho’ you did not come home for some time, for I fear you wold not incline; but whether you do or not you will live the better (if) your estate be secured. I am sure so far you will be of my mind, and if this Act of Parlyment pass and you be attainted, no body can be sure of anything; and it excluded the payment of all debts since the 24 of June last, so that both for your own sake and others, if so fair an opportunity offer it should not be neglected, and if it be agreeable to you, and you signify your opinion to Charles, he will go over to Holland on purpose. This I have often heard him say. I have writ to you on this subject before, so, as soon as you can, let me have your opinion.

Your nephew, James Haldane, is to be resident at that court where your Brother R. is so great. Your mother is still here, and tho’ we are of very different sentiments, we live in good friendship and easy. Your boys are now perfectly recovered, which is no small mercy to me, and if my Dearest is well and easy in his mind, I have more than I deserve. Our friends are still in the Fleet, and there can be no evidence got against them.

I must confess when I walk abroad and remember all your different projects, and how pleased I have been to find you in some of these walks, I cannot help being uneasy till I think you are at liberty and well, and luckyer as to other circumstances than the most part of people, then I blame myself for unthankfulness. Your old freind Barafeild made his escape out of the Castle of Stirlin last week, which enrag’d the new Governor very much. I shall be obligt to see my father this week; but I cannot persuade myself to visit these great folks, tho’ it certainly is fit for me to keep in with all, and they profess great friendship for me and regret for your family, tho’ none for yourself. I can at some times be a politician, so at present I think interest will prevail with me to keep in with all.... Be so kind to write frequently, for it’s impossible to express my anxiety about you. Dearest Life, I am ever

June 4. 1716. Yours.

I am healthyer than you or anybody could expect.