Chapter 9

Take away that star and garter-- Hide them from my aching sight: Neither king nor prince shall tempt me From my lonely room this night; Fitting for the throneless exile Is the atmosphere of pall, And the gusty winds that shiver 'Neath the tapestry on the wall. When the taper faintly dwindles Like the pulse within the vein, That to gay and merry measure Ne'er may hope to bound again, Let the shadows gather round me While I sit in silence here, Broken-hearted, as an orphan Watching by his father's bier. Let me hold my still communion Far from every earthly sound-- Day of penance--day of passion-- Ever, as the year comes round; Fatal day, whereon the latest Die was cast for me and mine-- Cruel day, that quelled the fortunes Of the hapless Stuart line! Phantom-like, as in a mirror, Rise the griesly scenes of death-- There before me, in its wildness, Stretches bare Culloden's heath: There the broken clans are scattered, Gaunt as wolves, and famine-eyed, Hunger gnawing at their vitals, Hope abandoned, all but pride-- Pride, and that supreme devotion Which the Southron never knew, And the hatred, deeply rankling, 'Gainst the Hanoverian crew. Oh, my God! are these the remnants, These the wrecks of the array That around the royal standard Gathered on the glorious day, When, in deep Glenfinnan's valley; Thousands, on their bended knees, Saw once more that stately ensign Waving in the northern breeze, When the noble Tullibardine Stood beneath its weltering fold, With the Ruddy Lion ramping In the field of tressured gold, When the mighty heart of Scotland, All too big to slumber more, Burst in wrath and exultation, Like a huge volcano's roar? There they stand, the battered columns, Underneath the murky sky, In the hush of desperation, Not to conquer, but to die. Hark! the bagpipe's fitful wailing: Not the pibroch loud and shrill, That, with hope of bloody banquet, Lured the ravens from the hill, But a dirge both low and solemn, Fit for ears of dying men, Marshalled for their latest battle, Never more to fight again. Madness--madness! Why this shrinking? Were we less inured to war When our reapers swept the harvest From the field of red Dunbar? Bring my horse, and blow the trumpet! Call the riders of Fitz-James: Let Lord Lewis head the column! Valiant chiefs of mighty names-- Trusty Keppoch, stout Glengarry, Gallant Gordon, wise Locheill-- Bid the clansmen hold together, Fast, and fell, and firm as steel. Elcho, never look so gloomy-- What avails a saddened brow? Heart, man, heart! we need it sorely, Never half so much, as now. Had we but a thousand troopers, Had we but a thousand more! Noble Perth, I hear them coming!-- Hark! the English cannons' roar. God! how awful sounds that volley, Bellowing through the mist and rain! Was not that the Highland slogan? Let me hear that shout again! Oh, for prophet eyes to witness How the desperate battle goes! Cumberland! I would not fear thee, Could my Camerons see their foes. Sound, I say, the charge at venture-- 'Tis not naked steel we fear; Better perish in the mêlée Than be shot like driven deer; Hold! the mist begins to scatter! There in front 'tis rent asunder, And the cloudy bastion crumbles Underneath the deafening thunder; There I see the scarlet gleaming! Now, Macdonald--now or never!-- Woe is me, the clans are broken! Father, thou art lost for ever! Chief and vassal, lord and yeoman, There they lie in heaps together, Smitten by the deadly volley, Rolled in blood upon the heather; And the Hanoverian horsemen, Fiercely riding to and fro, Deal their murderous strokes at random.-- Ah, my God! where am I now? Will that baleful vision never Vanish from my aching sight? Must those scenes and sounds of terror Haunt me still by day and night? Yea, the earth hath no oblivion For the noblest chance it gave, None, save in its latest refuge-- Seek it only in the grave! Love may die, and hatred slumber, And their memory will decay, As the watered garden recks not Of the drought of yesterday; But the dream of power once broken, What shall give repose again? What shall charm the serpent-furies Coiled around the maddening brain? What kind draught can nature offer Strong enough to lull their sting? Better to be born a peasant Than to live an exiled king! Oh, these years of bitter anguish!-- What is life to such as me, With my very heart as palsied As a wasted cripple's knee! Suppliant-like for alms depending On a false and foreign court, Jostled by the flouting nobles, Half their pity, half their sport. Forced to hold a place in pageant, Like a royal prize of war, Walking with dejected features Close behind his victor's car, Styled an equal--deemed a servant-- Fed with hopes of future gain-- Worse by far is fancied freedom Than the captive's clanking chain! Could I change this gilded bondage Even for the dusky tower, Whence King James beheld his lady Sitting in the castle bower; Birds around her sweetly singing, Fluttering on the kindling spray, And the comely garden glowing In the light of rosy May. Love descended to the window-- Love removed the bolt and bar-- Love was warder to the lovers From the dawn to even-star. Wherefore, Love, didst thou betray me? Where is now the tender glance? Where the meaning looks once lavished By the dark-eyed Maid of France? Where the words of hope she whispered, When around my neck she threw That same scarf of broidered tissue, Bade me wear it and be true-- Bade me send it as a token When my banner waved once more On the castled Keep of London, Where my fathers' waved before? And I went and did not conquer-- But I brought it back again-- Brought it back from storm and battle-- Brought it back without a stain; And once more I knelt before her, And I laid it at her feet, Saying, "Wilt thou own it, Princess? There at least is no defeat!" Scornfully she looked upon me With a measured eye and cold-- Scornfully she viewed the token, Though her fingers wrought the gold; And she answered, faintly flushing, "Hast thou kept it, then, so long? Worthy matter for a minstrel To be told in knightly song! Worthy of a bold Provençal, Pacing through the peaceful plain, Singing of his lady's favour, Boasting of her silken chain, Yet scarce worthy of a warrior Sent to wrestle for a crown. Is this all that thou hast brought me From thy fields of high renown? Is this all the trophy carried From the lands where thou hast been? It was broidered by a Princess, Canst thou give it to a Queen?" Woman's love is writ in water! Woman's faith is traced in sand! Backwards--backwards let me wander To the noble northern land: Let me feel the breezes blowing Fresh along the mountain-side; Let me see the purple heather, Let me hear the thundering tide, Be it hoarse as Corrievreckan Spouting when the storm is high-- Give me but one hour of Scotland-- Let me see it ere I die! Oh, my heart is sick and heavy-- Southern gales are not for me; Though the glens are white with winter, Place me there, and set me free; Give me back my trusty comrades-- Give me back my Highland maid-- Nowhere beats the heart so kindly As beneath the tartan plaid! Flora! when thou wert beside me, In the wilds of far Kintail-- When the cavern gave us shelter From the blinding sleet and hail-- When we lurked within the thicket, And, beneath the waning moon, Saw the sentry's bayonet glimmer, Heard him chant his listless tune-- When the howling storm o'ertook us, Drifting down the island's lee, And our crazy bark was whirling Like a nutshell on the sea-- When the nights were dark and dreary, And amidst the fern we lay, Faint and foodless, sore with travel, Waiting for the streaks of day; When thou wert an angel to me, Watching my exhausted sleep-- Never didst thou hear me murmur-- Couldst thou see how now I weep! Bitter tears and sobs of anguish, Unavailing though they be: Oh, the brave--the brave and noble-- That have died in vain for me!

NOTES TO

"CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES"

_Could I change this gilded bondage Even for the dusky tower Whence King James beheld his lady Sitting in the castle bower_.--p. 168.

James I. of Scotland, one of the most accomplished kings that ever sate upon a throne, is the person here indicated. His history is a very strange and romantic one. He was son of Robert III., and immediate younger brother of that unhappy Duke of Rothesay who was murdered at Falkland. His father, apprehensive of the designs and treachery of Albany, had determined to remove him, when a mere boy, for a season from Scotland; and as France was then considered the best school for the education of one so important from his high position, it was resolved to send him thither, under the care of the Earl of Orkney, and Fleming of Cumbernauld. He accordingly embarked at North Berwick, with little escort--as there was a truce for the time between England and Scotland; and they were under no apprehension of meeting with any vessels, save those of the former nation. Notwithstanding this, the ship which carried the Prince was captured by an armed merchantman, and carried to London, where Henry IV., the usurping Bolingbroke, utterly regardless of treaties, committed him and his attendants to the Tower.

"In vain," says Mr. Tytler, "did the guardians of the young Prince remonstrate against this cruelty, or present to Henry a letter from the King his father, which, with much simplicity, recommended him to the kindness of the English monarch, should he find it necessary to land in his dominions. In vain did they represent that the mission to France was perfectly pacific, and its only object the education of the prince at the French court. Henry merely answered by a poor witticism, declaring that he himself knew the French language indifferently well, and that his father could not have sent him to a better master. So flagrant a breach of the law of nations, as the seizure and imprisonment of the heir-apparent, during the time of truce, would have called for the most violent remonstrances from any government, except that of Albany. But to this usurper of the supreme power, the capture of the Prince was the most grateful event which could have happened; and to detain him in captivity became, from this moment, one of the principal objects of his future life; we are not to wonder, then, that the conduct of Henry not only drew forth no indignation from the governor, but was not even followed by any request that the prince should be set at liberty.

"The aged King, already worn out by infirmity, and now broken by disappointment and sorrow, did not long survive the captivity of his son. It is said the melancholy news were brought him as he was sitting down to supper in his palace of Rothesay in Bute, and that the effect was such upon his affectionate but feeble spirit, that he drooped from that day forward, refused all sustenance, and died soon after of a broken heart."

James was finally incarcerated in Windsor Castle, where he endured an imprisonment of nineteen years. Henry, though he had not hesitated to commit a heinous breach of faith, was not so cruel as to neglect the education of his captive. The young King was supplied with the best masters; and gradually became an adept in all the accomplishments of the age. He is a singular exception from the rule which maintains that monarchs are indifferent authors. As a poet, he is entitled to a very high rank indeed, being, I think, in point of sweetness and melody of verse, not much inferior to Chaucer. From the window of his chamber in the Tower, he had often seen a young lady, of great beauty and grace, walking in the garden; and the admiration which at once possessed him soon ripened into love. This was Lady Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset and niece of Henry IV., and who afterwards became his queen. How he loved and how he wooed her is told in his own beautiful poem of "The King's Quhair," of which the following are a few stanzas:--

"Now there was made, fast by the towris wall, A garden fair; and in the corners set An arbour green, with wandis long and small Railed about, and so with trees set Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, That lyf was none walking there forbye, That might within scarce any wight espy.

"So thick the boughis and the leavis greene Beshaded all the alleys that there were, And mids of every arbour might be seen The sharpe, greene, sweete juniper, Growing so fair, with branches here and there, That, as it seemed to a lyf without, The boughis spread the arbour all about.

"And on the smalle greene twistis sat The little sweet nightingale, and sung So loud and clear the hymnis consecrat Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among, That all the gardens and the wallis rung Right of their song.

"And therewith cast I down mine eyes again, Where as I saw, walking under the tower, Full secretly, now comen here to plain, The fairest or the freshest younge flower That e'er I saw, methought, before that hour: For which sudden abate, anon astart The blood of all my body to my heart.

"And though I stood abasit for a lite, No wonder was; for why? my wittis all Were so o'ercome with pleasance and delight-- Only through letting of my eyen fall-- That suddenly my heart became her thrall For ever of free will, for of menace There was no token in her sweete face."

_Wherefore, Love, didst thou betray me? Where is now the tender glance? Where the meaning looks once lavished By the dark-eyed Maid of France?_--p. 168.

There appears to be no doubt that Prince Charles was deeply attached to one of the princesses of the royal family of France. In the interesting collection called "Jacobite Memoirs," compiled by Mr. Chambers from the voluminous MSS. of Bishop Forbes, we find the following passage from the narrative of Donald Macleod, who acted as a guide to the wanderer whilst traversing the Hebrides:--"When Donald was asked, if ever the Prince used to give any particular toast, when they were taking a cup of cold water, or the like; he said that the Prince very often drank to the Black Eye--by which, said Donald, he meant the second daughter of France, and I never heard him name any particular health but that alone. When he spoke of that lady--which he did frequently--he appeared to be more than ordinarily well pleased."

THE OLD SCOTTISH CAVALIER

The "gentle Locheill" may he considered as the pattern of a Highland Chief. Others who headed the insurrection may have been actuated by motives of personal ambition, and by a desire for aggrandisement; but no such charge can be made against the generous and devoted Cameron. He was, as we have already seen, the first who attempted to dissuade the Prince from embarking in an enterprise which he conscientiously believed to be desperate; but, having failed in doing so, he nobly stood firm to the cause which his conscience vindicated as just, and cheerfully imperilled his life, and sacrificed his fortune, at the bidding of his master. There was no one, even among those who espoused the other side, in Scotland, who did not commiserate the misfortunes of this truly excellent man, whose humanity was not less conspicuous than his valour throughout the civil war, and who died in exile of a broken heart.

Perhaps the best type of the Lowland Cavalier of that period, may be found in the person of Alexander Forbes, Lord Pitsligo, a nobleman whose conscientious views impelled him to take a different side from that adopted by the greater part of his house and name. Lord Forbes, the head of this very ancient and honourable family, was one of the first Scottish noblemen who declared for King William. Lord Pitsligo, on the contrary, having been educated abroad, and early introduced to the circle at Saint Germains, conceived a deep personal attachment to the members of the exiled line. He was anything but an enthusiast, as his philosophical and religious writings, well worthy of a perusal, will show. He was the intimate friend of Fénélon, and throughout his whole life was remarkable rather for his piety and virtue, than for keenness in political dispute.

After his return from France, Lord Pitsligo took his seat in the Scottish Parliament, and his parliamentary career has thus been characterised by a former writer.[3] "Here it is no discredit either to his head or heart to say, that, obliged to become a member of one of the contending factions of the time, he adopted that which had for its object the independence of Scotland, and restoration of the ancient race of monarchs. The advantages which were in future to arise from the great measure of a national union were so hidden by the mist of prejudice, that it cannot be wondered at if Lord Pitsligo, like many a high-spirited man, saw nothing but disgrace in a measure forced on by such corrupt means, and calling in its commencement for such mortifying national sacrifices. The English nation, indeed, with a narrow, yet not unnatural, view of their own interest, took such pains to encumber and restrict the Scottish commercial privileges that it was not till the best part of a century after the event that the inestimable fruits of the treaty began to be felt and known. This distant period Lord Pitsligo could not foresee. He beheld his countrymen, like the Israelites of yore, led into the desert; but his merely human eye could not foresee that, after the extinction of a whole race--after a longer pilgrimage than that of the followers of Moses--the Scottish people should at length arrive at that promised land, of which the favourers of the Union held forth so gay a prospect.

"Looking upon the Act of Settlement of the Crown, and the Act of Abjuration, as unlawful, Lord Pitsligo retired to his house in the country, and threw up attendance on Parliament. Upon the death of Queen Anne he joined himself in arms with a general insurrection of the Highlanders and Jacobites, headed by his friend and relative the Earl of Mar.

"Mar, a versatile statesman and an able intriguer, had consulted his ambition rather than his talents when he assumed the command of such an enterprise. He sunk beneath the far superior genius of the Duke of Argyle; and after the undecisive battle of Sheriffmuir, the confederacy which he had formed, but was unable to direct, dissolved like a snow-ball, and the nobles concerned in it were fain to fly abroad. This exile was Lord Pitsligo's fate for five or six years. Part of the time he spent at the Court, if it can be called so, of the old Chevalier de Saint George, where existed all the petty feuds, chicanery, and crooked intrigues which subsist in a real scene of the same character, although the objects of the ambition which prompts such arts had no existence. Men seemed to play at being courtiers in that illusory court, as children play at being soldiers."

It would appear that Lord Pitsligo was not attainted for his share in Mar's rebellion. He returned to Scotland in 1720, and resided at his castle in Aberdeenshire, not mingling in public affairs, but gaining, through his charity, kindness, and benevolence, the respect and affection of all around him. He was sixty-seven years of age when Charles Edward landed in Scotland. The district in which the estates of Lord Pitsligo lay was essentially Jacobite, and the young cavaliers only waited for a fitting leader to take up arms in the cause. According to Mr. Home, his example was decisive of the movement of his neighbours: "So when he who was so wise and prudent declared his purpose of joining Charles, most of the gentlemen in that part of the country who favoured the Pretender's cause, put themselves under his command, thinking they could not follow a better or safer guide than Lord Pitsligo." His Lordship's own account of the motives which urged him on is peculiar:--"I was grown a little old, and the fear of ridicule stuck to me pretty much. I have mentioned the weightier considerations of a family, which would make the censure still the greater, and set the more tongues agoing. But we are pushed on, I know not how,--I thought--I weighed--and I weighed again. If there was any enthusiasm in it, it was of the coldest kind; and there was as little remorse when the affair miscarried, as there was eagerness at the beginning."

The writer whom I have already quoted goes on to say--"To those friends who recalled his misfortunes of 1715, he replied gaily, 'Did you ever know me absent at the second day of a wedding?' meaning, I suppose, that having once contracted an engagement, he did not feel entitled to quit it while the contest subsisted. Being invited by the gentlemen of the district to put himself at their head, and having surmounted his own desires, he had made a farewell visit at a neighbour's house, where a little boy, a child of the family, brought out a stool to assist the old nobleman in remounting his horse. 'My little fellow.' said Lord Pitsligo, 'this is the severest rebuke I have yet received, for presuming to go on such an expedition.'

"The die was however cast, and Lord Pitsligo went to meet his friends at the rendezvous they had appointed in Aberdeen. They formed a body of well-armed cavalry, gentlemen and their servants, to the number of a hundred men. When they were drawn up in readiness to commence the expedition, the venerable nobleman, their leader, moved to their front, lifted his hat, and, looking up to heaven, pronounced, with a solemn voice, the awful appeal,--'O Lord, thou knowest that our cause is just!' then added the signal for departure--'March, gentlemen!'

"Lord Pitsligo, with his followers, found Charles at Edinburgh, on 8th October 1745, a few days after the Highlanders' victory at Preston. Their arrival was hailed with enthusiasm, not only on account of the timely reinforcement, but more especially from the high character of their leader. Hamilton of Bangour, in an animated and eloquent eulogium upon Pitsligo, states that nothing could have fallen out more fortunately for the Prince than his joining them did--for it seemed as if religion, virtue, and justice were entering his camp, under the appearance of this venerable old man; and what would have given sanction to a cause of the most dubious right, could not fail to render sacred the very best."

Although so far advanced in years, he remained in arms during the whole campaign, and was treated with almost filial tenderness by the Prince. After Culloden, he became, like many more, a fugitive and an outlaw, but succeeded, like the Baron of Bradwardine, in finding a shelter upon the skirts of his own estate. Disguised as a mendicant, his secret was faithfully kept by the tenantry; and although it was more than surmised by the soldiers that he was lurking somewhere in the neighbourhood, they never were able to detect him. On one occasion he actually guided a party to a cave on the sea-shore, amidst the rough rocks of Buchan, where it was rumoured that he was lying in concealment; and on another, when overtaken by his asthma, and utterly unable to escape from an approaching patrol of soldiers, he sat down by the wayside, and acted his assumed character so well, that a good-natured fellow not only gave him alms, but condoled with him on the violence of his complaint.