Part 8

‘These news,’ said the Laird, after a long pause while his eyes followed the courser over the plains of Aven--‘these news are to me as life from the dead. I have a mind to meet my old friends at Lesmahagow. And then, when serious business is despatched, we can take Bothwell field in our return. It will yield me at least a melancholy pleasure to visit the spot where we fought, I trust, our last battle against the enemies of our country, and of the good old cause.’

Serious matters of church and state having been discussed at the public meeting, the brothers found themselves, on the fourth day, on the battle ground of Bothwell.

‘On that moor,’ said the Laird, after a long silence--and without being conscious of it, he had, by a kind of instinct, natural enough to a soldier, drawn his sword, and was pointing with it--‘On that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the right, Clavers led on the life-guards, breathing fury, and resolute to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalzell formed his men on that knoll. Lord Livingstone led the van of the foemen. We had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade, and our little battery of cannon was planted on the spot below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it. The foemen’s blood streamed there. Again and again the troops of the tyrant marched on, and our cannon annihilated their columns. Sir Robert Hamilton was our Commander-in-Chief.--The gallant general Hackston stood on that spot with his brave men. Along the river, and above the bridge, Burley’s foot and Captain Nisbet’s dragoons were stationed. For one hour we kept the enemy in check; they were defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde. Livingstone sent another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall never forget the effect of one fire from our battery, where my men stood. We saw the line of the foe advance in all the military glory of brave and beautiful men, the horses pranced--the armour gleamed. In one moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality. Human limbs, and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled in one huge heap, or blown to a great distance. Another column attempted to cross above the bridge. Some threw themselves into the current. One well-directed fire from Burley’s troops threw them into disorder, and drove them back. Meantime, while we were thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to bring down the different divisions of our main body into action; but in vain he called on Colonel Cleland’s troop--in vain he ordered Henderson’s to fall in--in vain he called on Colonel Fleming’s. Hackstone flew from troop to troop--all was confusion; in vain he besought, he intreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided zeal, my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day. The Whig turned his arm in fierce heat that day against his own vitals. Our Chaplains, Cargil and King, and Kid, and Douglas, interposed again and again, Cargil mounted the pulpit; he preached concord; he called aloud for mutual forbearance. ‘Behold the banners of the enemy,’ cried he, ‘hear ye not the fire of the foe, and of our brethren? Our brothers and fathers are fallen beneath their sword. Hasten to their aid. See the flag of the Covenant. See the motto in letters of gold--“Christ’s Crown and the Covenant.” Hear the wailings of the bleeding Kirk. Banish discord. And let us, as a band of brothers present a bold front to the foeman--Follow me all ye who love your country and the Covenant. I go to die in the fore-front of the battle.’ All the ministers and officers followed him, amidst a flourish of trumpets; but the great body remained to listen to the harangues of the factious.--We sent again and again for ammunition. My men were at the last round. Treachery, or a fatal error, had sent a barrel of raisins instead of powder. My heart sunk within me while I beheld the despair on the faces of my brave fellows, as I struck out the head of the vessel. Hackstone called his officers to him. We threw ourselves around him.--‘What must be done?’ said he in an agony of despair. ‘Conquer or die,’ we said, as if with one voice. ‘We have our swords yet. Lead back the men to their places and let the ensign bear down the blue and scarlet colours. Our God and our country be the word.’ Hackstone rushed forward. We ran to our respective corps--we cheered our men but they were languid and disspirited. Their ammunition was nearly expended, and they seemed anxious to husband what remained. They fought only with their carabines. The cannons could no more be loaded. The enemy soon perceived this. We saw a troop of horse approach the bridge. It was that of the life-guards. I recognised the plume of Clavers. They approached in rapid march. A solid column of infantry followed. I sent a request to Captain Nesbit to join his troop to mine. He was in an instant with me.--We charged the life-guards. Our swords rung on their steel caps.--Many of our brave lads fell on all sides of me. But we hewed down the foe. They began to reel.--The whole column was kept stationary on the bridge. Clavers’ dreadful voice was heard--more like the yell of a savage, than the commanding voice of a soldier. He pushed forward his men, and again we hewed them down. A third mass was pushed up. Our exhausted dragoon fled.--Unsupported, I found myself by the brave Nesbit, and Paton, and Hackstone. We looked for a moment’s space in silence on each other. We galloped in front of our retreating men. We rallied them. We pointed to the General almost alone. We pointed to the white and to the scarlet colours floating near him. We cried, ‘God and our Country.’ They faced about. We charged Clavers once more.--‘Torfoot,’ cried Nesbit, ‘I dare you to the fore-front of the battle.’ We rushed up at full gallop. Our men seeing this followed also at full speed.--We broke down the enemy’s line, bearing down those files which we encountered. We cut our way through their ranks. But they had now lengthened their front. Superior numbers drove us in. They had gained entire possession of the bridge. Livingstone and Dalzell were actually taking us on the flank.--A band had got between us and Burley’s infantry. ‘My friends,’ said Hackstone to his officers, ‘we are last on the field. We can do no more.--We must retreat.--Let us attempt, at least, to bring aid to the deluded men behind us. They have brought ruin on themselves and on us. Not Monmouth, but our own divisions have scattered us.’

At this moment one of the life-guards aimed a blow at Hackstone.--My sword received it--and a stroke from Nesbit laid the foeman’s hand and sword in the dust. He fainted and tumbled from the saddle. We reined our horses, and galloped to our main body. But what a scene presented itself here! These misguided men had their eyes now fully opened on their fatal errors. The enemy were bringing up their whole force against them. I was not long a near spectator of it; for a ball grazed my courser. He plunged and reared--then shot off like an arrow. Several of our officers drew to the same place. On the knoll we faced about--the battle raged below us. We beheld our commander doing every thing that a brave soldier could do with factious men against an overpowering foe. Burley and his troops were in close conflict with Clavers’ dragoons. We saw him dismount three troopers with his own hand. He could not turn the tide of battle, but he was covering the retreat of these misguided men. Before we could rejoin him, a party threw themselves in our way. Kennoway, one of Clavers’ officers led them on. ‘Would to God that this was Grahame himself,’ some of my comrades ejaculated aloud. ‘He falls to my share,’ said I, ‘whoever the officer be.’--I advanced--he met me, I parried several thrusts, he received a cut on the left arm; and the sword by the same stroke, shore off one of his horse’s ears; it plunged and reared. We closed again. I received a stroke on the left shoulder. My blow fell on his sword arm. He reined his horse around, retreated a few paces, then returned at full gallop. My courser reared instinctively as he approached; I received his stroke on the back of my ferrara, and by a back stroke, I gave him a deep cut on the cheek. And before he could recover a position of defence, my sword fell with a terrible blow on his steel cap. Stunned by the blow, he bent himself forward--and, grasping the mane, he tumbled from his saddle, and his steed galloped over the field. I did not repeat the blow. His left hand presented his sword; his right arm was disabled; his life was given to him. My companions having disposed of their antagonists, (and some of them had two a-piece,) we paused to see the fate of the battle. Dalzell and Livingstone were riding over the field like furies, cutting down all in their way. Monmouth was galloping from rank to rank, and calling on his men to give quarter. Clavers, to wipe off the disgrace of Drumclog, was committing dreadful havoc. ‘Can we not find Clavers,’ said Halhead, ‘no,’ said Captain Paton, ‘the gallant Colonel takes care to have a solid guard of his rogues about him. I have sought him over the field; but I found him, as I now perceive him, with a mass of his guards about him.’ At this instant we saw our General, at some distance, disentangling himself from the men who had tumbled over him in the _mêlée_. His face, his hands, and clothes, were covered with gore. He had been dismounted, and was fighting on foot. We rushed to the spot, and cheered him. Our party drove back the scattered bands of Dalzell. ‘My friends’ said Sir Robert, as we mounted him on a stray horse, ‘the day is lost! But--you Paton; you Brownlee of Torfoot, and you Halhead; let not that flag fall into the hands of these incarnate devils. We have lost the battle, but by the grace of God, neither Dalzell, nor Clavers shall say that he took our colours. My ensign has done his duty. He is down. This sword has saved it twice. I leave it to your care. You see its perilous situation.’ He pointed with his sword to the spot.--We collected some of our scattered troops, and flew to the place. The standard bearer was down, but he was borne upright by the mass of men who had thrown themselves in fierce contest around it. Its well known blue and scarlet colours, and its motto, ‘CHRIST’S CROWN AND COVENANT,’ in brilliant gold letters, inspired us with a sacred enthusiasm. We gave a loud cheer to the wounded ensign, and rushed into the combat. The redemption of that flag cost the foe many a gallant man. They fell beneath our broad swords; and, with horrible execrations dying on their lips, they gave up their souls to their Judge.

Here I met in front that ferocious dragoon of Clavers, named Tam Halliday, who had more than once, in his raids, plundered my halls; and had snatched the bread from my weeping babes. He had just seized the white staff of the flag. But his tremenduous oath of exultation, (we of the covenant never swear)--his oath had scarcely passed its polluted threshold, when this Andrew Ferrara fell on the guard of his steel and shivered it to pieces. ‘Recreant loon!’ said I, ‘thou shalt this day remember thy evil deeds.’ Another blow on his helmet laid him at his huge length, and made him bite the dust. In the _mêlée_ that followed, I lost sight of him. We fought like lions--but with the hearts of Christians. While my gallant companions stemmed the tide of battle, the standard, rent to tatters, fell across my breast. I tore it from the staff, and wrapt it round my body. We cut our way through the enemy, and carried our General off the field.

Having gained a small knoll, we beheld once more the dreadful spectacle below. Thick volumes of smoke and dust rolled in a hazy cloud over the dark bands mingled in deadly fray. It was no longer a battle, but a massacre. In the struggle of my feelings I turned my eyes on the General and Paton. I saw, in the face of the latter, an indiscribable conflict of passions. His long and shaggy eye-brows were drawn over his eyes. His hand grasped his sword. ‘I cannot yet leave the field’ said the undaunted Paton--‘With the General’s permission, I shall try to save some of our wretched men beset by those hell-hounds. Who will go?’--At Kilsyth I saw service. When deserted by my troops, I cut my way through Montrose’s men, and reached the spot where Colonels Halket and Strachan were. We left the field together. Fifteen dragoons attacked us. We cut down thirteen, and two fled. Thirteen next assailed us. We left ten on the field, and three fled. Eleven Highlanders next met us. We paused and cheered each other: ‘Now, Johnny,’ cried Halket to me, ‘put forth your metal, else we are gone,’ nine others we sent after their comrades, and two fled--‘Now, who will join this raid!’[A] ‘I will be your leader,’ said Sir Robert, as we fell into the ranks.

We marched on the enemy’s flank. ‘Yonder is Clavers,’ said Paton, while he directed his courser on him. The bloody man was, at that moment, nearly alone, hacking to pieces some poor fellows already on their knees disarmed, and imploring him by the common feelings of humanity to spare their lives. He had just finished his usual oath against their ‘feelings of humanity,’ when Paton presented himself. He instantly let go his prey and slunk back into the midst of his troopers. Having formed them, he advanced.--We formed, and made a furious onset. At our first charge his troop reeled. Clavers was dismounted.--But at that moment Dalzell assailed us on the flank and rear.--Our men fell around us like grass before the mower. The buglemen sounded a retreat. Once more in the _mêlée_ I fell in with the General and Paton, we were covered with wounds. We directed our flight in the rear of our broken troops. By the direction of the General I had unfurled the standard. It was borne off the field flying at the sword’s point. But that honour cost me much. I was assailed by three fierce dragoons; five followed close in the rear. I called to Paton,--in a moment he was by my side. I threw the standard to the General, and we rushed on the foe. They fell beneath our swords; but my faithful steed, which had carried me through all my dangers was mortally wounded. He fell. I was thrown in among the fallen enemy. I fainted. I opened my eyes on misery. I found myself in the presence of Monmouth--a prisoner--with other wretched creatures, awaiting, in awful suspense, their ultimate destiny. * * * *

W. C. B.

LONG CREDIT.

Soon after the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming through the south of Mid-Lothian, entered the farm-house of Swanston, near the Pentland Hills, where they found no one at home but an old woman. They immediately proceeded to search the house, and soon finding a web of coarse home-spun cloth, made no scruple to unroll and cut off as much as they thought would make a coat to each. The woman was exceedingly incenced at their rapacity, roared and cried, and even had the hardihood to invoke divine vengeance upon their heads. “Ye villains!” she cried, “ye’ll ha’e to account for this yet!”--“And when will we pe account for’t?” asked one of the Highlanders.--“At the last day, ye blackguards!” exclaimed the woman. “Ta last tay!” replied the Highlander: “Tat pe cood long credit--we’ll e’en pe tak a waistcoat too!” at the same time cutting off a few additional yards of the cloth.

DEATH OF A WATCH.

After the battle of Falkirk, in 1746, a Highlandman was observed extracting a gold watch from the fob of an English officer who had been killed. His comrade viewed him with a greedy eye; which the man taking notice of, said to him “Tamn you gapin’ creedy bitch, gang an’ shoot a shentleman for hersel’, an no envie me o’ my pit watch.” Next morning finding his watch motionless, and meeting his comrade, says to him, “Och! she no be care muckle about a watch, an’ you be like mine what will you gie me for her?” The other replied, “I be venture a kinny.”--“Weel then,” said the other, “Shust tak her, an’ welcome, for she be die yester night.”

CAPTAIN SILK.

In a party of ladies, on it being reported that a Captain Silk had arrived in town, they exclaimed, with one exception, ‘What a name for a soldier!’ ‘The fittest name in the world,’ replied a witty female, ‘for Silk never can be Worsted!’

FOOTNOTE:

[A] This chivalrous defence is recorded, I find, in the life of Captain Paton, in the ‘Scots Worthies,’ Edin. edit. of A. D. 1812. This celebrated Officer was trained up to warfare in the army of Charles Gustavus, King of Sweden. This is a specimen of these heroic Whigs, who brought about the Revolution of A. D. 1688.

AN ELEGY

IN MEMORY

OF THAT VALIANT CHAMPION,

SIR R. GRIERSON,

LATE LAIRD OF LAG,

Who died Dec. 23d, 1733.

WHEREIN

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS

Commends many of his best friends, who were

THE CHIEF MANAGERS,

of the late Persecution.

GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.

AN

ELEGY

IN MEMORY OF

SIR ROBERT GRIERSON,

_OF LAG_.