Chapter 6

As a proof of the estimation in which they were held, I shall merely extract a short account of the taking of Rosas in Catalonia, before referring to the exploit which forms the subject of the following ballad. "On the 27th of May, the company of officers and other Scottish companies, were joined by two companies of Irish, to make up a battalion in order to mount the trenches; and the major part of the officers listed themselves in the company of grenadiers, under the command of the brave Major Rutherford, who, on his way to the trenches, in sight of Mareschal de Noailles and his court, marched with his company on the side of the trench, which exposed him to the fire of a bastion, where there were two culverins and several other guns planted; likewise to the fire of two curtins lined with small shot. Colonel Brown, following with the battalion, was obliged, in honour, to march the same way Major Rutherford had done; the danger whereof the Mareschal immediately perceiving, ordered one of his aides-de-camp to command Rutherford to march under cover of the trench, which he did; and if he had but delayed six minutes, the grenadiers and battalion had been cut to pieces. Rutherford, with his grenadiers, marched to a trench near the town, and the battalion to a trench on the rear and flank of the grenadiers, who fired so incessantly on the besieged, that they thought (the trench being practicable) they were going to make their attacks, immediately beat a chamade, and were willing to give up the town upon reasonable terms: but the Mareschal's demands were so exorbitant, that the Governor could not agree to them. Then firing began on both sides to be very hot; and they in the town, seeing how the grenadiers lay, killed eight of them. When the Governor surrendered the town, he inquired of the Mareschal what countrymen these grenadiers were; and assured him it was on their account he delivered up the town, because they fired so hotly, that he believed they were resolved to attack the breach. He answered, smiling, _'Ces sont mes enfants_--They are my children.' Again; 'they are the King of Great Britain's Scottish officers, who, to show their willingness to share of his miseries, have reduced themselves to the carrying of arms, and chosen to serve under my command.' The next day, when the Mareschal rode along the front of the camp, he halted at the company of the officers' piquet, and they all surrounded him. Then, with his hat in his hand, he thanked them for their good services in the trenches, and freely acknowledged it was their conduct and courage which compelled the Governor to give up the town; and assured them he would acquaint his master with the same, which he did. For when his son arrived with the news at Versailles, the King, having read the letter, immediately took coach to St. Germains; and when he had shown King James the letter, he thanked him for the services his subjects had done in taking Rosas in Catalonia; who, with concern, replied, they were the stock of his British officers, and that he was sorry he could not make better provision for them."

And a miserable provision it was! They were gradually compelled to part with every remnant of the property which they had secured from the ruins of their fortunes; so that when they arrived, after various adventures, at Scelestat, in Alsace, they were literally without the common means of subsistence. Famine and the sword had, by this time, thinned their ranks, but had not diminished their spirit, as the following narrative of their last exploit will show:--

"In December 1697, General Stirk, who commanded for the Germans, appeared with 16,000 men on the other side of the Rhine, which obliged the Marquis de Sell to draw out all the garrisons in Alsace, who made up about 4000 men; and he encamped on the other side of the Rhine, over against General Stirk, to prevent his passing the Rhine and carrying a bridge over into an island in the middle of it, which the French foresaw would be of great prejudice to them. For the enemy's guns, placed on that island, would extremely gall their camp, which they could not hinder for the deepness of the water and their wanting of boats--for which the Marquis quickly sent; but arriving too late, the Germans had carried a bridge over into the island, where they had posted above five hundred men, who, by order of their engineers, intrenched themselves: which the company of officers perceiving, who always grasped after honour, and scorned all thoughts of danger, resolved to wade the river, and attack the Germans in the island; and for that effect, desired Captain John Foster, who then commanded them, to beg of the Marquis that they might have liberty to attack the Germans in the island; who told Captain Foster, when the boats came up, they should be the first that attacked. Foster courteously thanked the Marquis, and told him they would wade into the island, who shrunk up his shoulders, prayed God to bless them, and desired them to do what they pleased." Whereupon the officers, with the other two Scottish companies, made themselves ready; and having secured their arms round their necks, waded into the river hand-in-hand, "according to the Highland fashion," with the water as high as their breasts; and having crossed the heavy stream, fell upon the Germans in their intrenchment. These were presently thrown into confusion, and retreated, breaking down their own bridges, whilst many of them were drowned. This movement, having been made in the dusk of the evening, partook of the character of a surprise; but it appears to me a very remarkable one, as having been effected under such circumstances, in the dead of winter, and in the face of an enemy who possessed the advantages both of position and of numerical superiority. The author of the narrative adds:--"When the Marquis de Sell heard the firing, and understood that the Germans were beat out of the island, he made the sign of the cross on his face and breast, and declared publicly, that it was the bravest action that ever he saw, and that his army had no honour by it. As soon as the boats came, the Marquis sent into the island to acquaint the officers that he would send them both troops and provisions, who thanked his Excellency, and desired he should be informed that they wanted no troops, and could not spare time to make use of provisions, and only desired spades, shovels, and pickaxes, wherewith they might intrench themselves--which were immediately sent to them. The next morning, the Marquis came into the island, and kindly embraced every officer, and thanked them for the good service they had done his master, assuring them he would write a true account of their honour and bravery to the Court of France, which, at the reading his letters, immediately went to St. Germains, and thanked King James for the services his subjects had done on the Rhine."

The company kept possession of the island for nearly six weeks, notwithstanding repeated attempts on the part of the Germans to surprise and dislodge them; but all these having been defeated by the extreme watchfulness of the Scots, General Stirk at length drew off his army and retreated. "In consequence of this action," says the chronicler, "that island is called at present Isle d'Ecosse, and will in likelihood bear that name until the general conflagration."

Two years afterwards, a treaty of peace was concluded; and this gallant company of soldiers, worthy of a better fate, was broken up and dispersed. At the time when the narrative, from which I have quoted so freely, was compiled, not more than sixteen of Dundee's veterans were alive. The author concludes thus,--"And thus was dissolved one of the best companies that ever marched under command! Gentlemen, who, in the midst of all their pressures and obscurity, never forgot they were gentlemen; and whom the sweets of a brave, a just, and honourable conscience, rendered perhaps more happy under those sufferings, than the most prosperous and triumphant in iniquity, since our minds stamp our happiness."

Some years ago, while visiting the ancient Scottish convent at Ratisbon, my attention was drawn to the monumental inscriptions on the walls of the dormitory, many of which bear reference to gentlemen of family and distinction, whose political principles had involved them in the troubles of 1688, 1715, and 1745. Whether the cloister which now holds their dust had afforded them a shelter in the later years of their misfortunes, I know not; but for one that is so commemorated, hundreds of the exiles must have passed away in obscurity, buried in the field on which they fell, or carried from the damp vaults of the military hospital to the trench, without any token of remembrance, or any other wish beyond that which the minstrels have ascribed to one of the greatest of our olden heroes--

"Oh bury me by the bracken bush, Beneath the blooming brier: Let never living mortal ken That a kindly Scot lies here!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: _An account of Dundee's Officers after they went to France_. By an Officer of the Army. London, 1714.]

THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS

I.

The Rhine is running deep and red, The island lies before-- "Now is there one of all the host Will dare to venture o'er? For not alone the river's sweep Might make a brave man quail: The foe are on the further side, Their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle We may not hope to win! Now, is there any of the host Will dare to venture in?"

II.

"The ford is deep, the banks are steep, The island-shore lies wide: Nor man nor horse could stem its force, Or reach the further side. See there! amidst the willow boughs The serried bayonets gleam; They've flung their bridge--they've won the isle; The foe have crossed the stream! Their volley flashes sharp and strong-- By all the Saints, I trow, There never yet was soldier born Could force that passage now!"

III

So spoke the bold French Mareschal With him who led the van, Whilst rough and red before their view The turbid river ran. Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross The wild and swollen Rhine, And thundering on the other bank Far stretched the German line. Hard by there stood a swarthy man Was leaning on his sword, And a saddened smile lit up his face As he heard the Captain's word. "I've seen a wilder stream ere now Than that which rushes there; I've stemmed a heavier torrent yet And never thought to dare. If German steel be sharp and keen, Is ours not strong and true? There may be danger in the deed, But there is honour too."

IV.

The old lord in his saddle turned, And hastily he said-- "Hath bold Dugueselin's fiery heart Awakened from the dead? Thou art the leader of the Scots-- Now well and sure I know, That gentle blood in dangerous hour Ne'er yet ran cold nor slow, And I have seen ye in the fight Do all that mortal may: If honour is the boon ye seek It may be won this day. The prize is in the middle isle, There lies the venturous way; And armies twain are on the plain, The daring deed to see-- Now ask thy gallant company If they will follow thee!"

V.

Right gladsome looked the Captain then, And nothing did he say, But he turned him to his little band-- Oh few, I ween, were they! The relics of the bravest force That ever fought in fray. No one of all that company But bore a gentle name, Not one whose fathers had not stood In Scotland's fields of fame. All they had marched with great Dundee To where he fought and fell, And in the deadly battle-strife Had venged their leader well; And they had bent the knee to earth When every eye was dim, As o'er their hero's buried corpse They sang the funeral hymn; And they had trod the Pass once more, And stooped on either side To pluck the heather from the spot Where he had dropped and died; And they had bound it next their hearts, And ta'en a last farewell Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, Where Scotland's glory fell. Then went they forth to foreign lands Like bent and broken men, Who leave their dearest hope behind, And may not turn again!

VI.

"The stream," he said, "is broad and deep, And stubborn is the foe-- Yon island-strength is guarded well-- Say, brothers, will ye go? From home and kin for many a year Our steps have wandered wide, And never may our bones be laid Our fathers' graves beside. No sisters have we to lament, No wives to wail our fall; The traitor's and the spoiler's hand Have reft our hearths of all. But we have hearts, and we have arms As strong to will and dare As when our ancient banners flew Within the northern air. Come, brothers; let me name a spell Shall rouse your souls again, And send the old blood bounding free Through pulse, and heart, and vein! Call back the days of bygone years-- Be young and strong once more; Think yonder stream, so stark and red, Is one we've crossed before. Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! Rise up on either hand-- Again upon the Garry's banks, On Scottish soil we stand! Again I see the tartans wave, Again the trumpets ring; Again I hear our leader's call-- 'Upon them, for the King!' Stayed we behind that glorious day For roaring flood or linn? The soul of Græme is with us still-- Now, brothers! will ye in?"

VII.

No stay--no pause. With one accord They grasped each others' hand, And plunged into the angry flood, That bold and dauntless band. High flew the spray above their heads, Yet onward still they bore, Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, And shot and cannon roar. "Now by the Holy Cross! I swear, Since earth and sea began Was never such a daring deed Essayed by mortal man!"

VIII.

Thick blew the smoke across the stream, And faster flashed the flame: The water plashed in hissing jets As ball and bullet came. Yet onwards pushed the Cavaliers All stern and undismayed, With thousand armèd foes before, And none behind to aid. Once, as they neared the middle stream, So strong the torrent swept, That scarce that long and living wall, Their dangerous footing kept. Then rose a warning cry behind, A joyous shout before: "The current's strong--the way is long-- They'll never reach the shore! See, see! They stagger in the midst, They waver in their line! Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, And whelm them in the Rhine!"

IX.

Have you seen the tall trees swaying When the blast is piping shrill, And the whirlwind reels in fury Down the gorges of the hill? How they toss their mighty branches, Striving with the tempest's shock; How they keep their place of vantage, Cleaving firmly to the rock? Even so the Scottish warriors Held their own against the river; Though the water flashed around them, Not an eye was seen to quiver; Though the shot flew sharp and deadly, Not a man relaxed his hold: For their hearts were big and thrilling With the mighty thoughts of old. One word was spoke among them, And through the ranks it spread-- "Remember our dead Claverhouse!" Was all the Captain said. Then, sternly bending forward, They struggled on awhile, Until they cleared the heavy stream, Then rushed towards the isle.

X.

The German heart is stout and true, The German arm is strong; The German foot goes seldom back Where armèd foemen throng. But never had they faced in field So stern a charge before, And never had they felt the sweep Of Scotland's broad claymore. Not fiercer pours the avalanche Adown the steep incline, That rises o'er the parent springs Of rough and rapid Rhine-- Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven Than came the Scottish band, Right up against the guarded trench, And o'er it, sword in hand. In vain their leaders forward press-- They meet the deadly brand! O lonely island of the Rhine, Where seed was never sown, What harvest lay upon thy sands, By those strong reapers thrown? What saw the winter moon that night, As, struggling through the rain, She poured a wan and fitful light On marsh, and stream, and plain? A dreary spot with corpses strewn, And bayonets glistening round; A broken bridge, a stranded boat, A bare and battered mound; And one huge watch-fire's kindled pile, That sent its quivering glare To tell the leaders of the host The conquering Scots were there!

XI.

And did they twine the laurel-wreath For those who fought so well? And did they honour those who lived, And weep for those who fell? What meed of thanks was given to them Let aged annals tell. Why should they twine the laurel-wreath-- Why crown the cup with wine? It was not Frenchman's blood that flowed So freely on the Rhine-- A stranger band of beggared men Had done the venturous deed: The glory was to France alone, The danger was their meed. And what cared they for idle thanks From foreign prince and peer? What virtue had such honeyed words The exiles' hearts to cheer? What mattered it that men should vaunt, And loud and fondly swear, That higher feat of chivalry Was never wrought elsewhere? They bore within their breasts the grief That fame can never heal-- The deep, unutterable woe Which none save exiles feel. Their hearts were yearning for the land They ne'er might see again-- For Scotland's high and heathered hills, For mountain, loch, and glen-- For those who haply lay at rest Beyond the distant sea, Beneath the green and daisied turf Where they would gladly be!

XII.

Long years went by. The lonely isle In Rhine's impetuous flood Has ta'en another name from those Who bought it with their blood: And though the legend does not live, For legends lightly die, The peasant, as he sees the stream In winter rolling by, And foaming o'er its channel-bed Between him and the spot Won by the warriors of the sword, Still calls that deep and dangerous ford The Passage of the Scot.

CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES

Though the sceptre had departed from the House of Stuart, it was reserved for one of its last descendants to prove to the world, by his personal gallantry and noble spirit of enterprise, that he at least had not degenerated from his royal line of ancestors. The daring effort of Charles Edward to recover the crown of these kingdoms for his father, is to us the most remarkable incident of the last century. It was honourable alike to the Prince and to those who espoused his cause; and, even in a political point of view, the outbreak ought not to be deplored, since its failure put an end for ever to the dynastical struggle which, for more than half a century, had agitated the whole of Britain, established the rule of law and of social order throughout the mountainous districts of Scotland, and blended Celt and Saxon into one prosperous and united people. It was better that the antiquated system of clanship should have expired in a blaze of glory, than gradually dwindled into contempt; better that the patriarchal rule should at once have been extinguished by the dire catastrophe of Culloden, than that it should have lingered on, the shadow of an old tradition. There is nothing now to prevent us from dwelling with pride and admiration on the matchless devotion displayed by the Highlanders, in 1745, in behalf of the heir of him whom they acknowledged as their lawful king. No feeling can arise to repress the interest and the sympathy which is excited by the perusal of the tale narrating the sufferings of the princely wanderer. That un-bought loyalty and allegiance of the heart, which would not depart from its constancy until the tomb of the Vatican had closed upon the last of the Stuart line, has long since been transferred to the constitutional sovereign of these realms; and the enthusiastic welcome which has so often greeted the return of Queen Victoria to her Highland home, owes its origin to a deeper feeling than that dull respect which modern liberalism asserts to be the only tribute due to the first magistrate of the land.