Part 1
SPANISH JOHN
[Frontispiece: "I KNELT AND KISSED HIS HAND WITH MY HEART ON MY LIPS" (See p. 54.)]
SPANISH JOHN
_Being a Memoir, now first published in complete form, of the Early Life and Adventures of Colonel John McDonell, known as "Spanish John," when a Lieutenant in the Company of St. James of the Regiment Irlandia, in the Service of the King of Spain operating in Italy_
BY WILLIAM McLENNAN
ILLUSTRATED BY F. DE MYRBACH
NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS TORONTO: THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED 1898
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-seven, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa.
TO MY FATHER
THIS RESULT OF LONG TALKS OVER OLD DAYS OLD MANNERS, AND OLD MEMORIES
PREFACE
"Spanish John" was the _nom de guerre_ of John, son of John, son of Æneas, son of Ranald McDonell of Scottos, or Scothouse, who was also head of the Glengarry family. He was born at "Crowlin," Knoidart, in 1728. He left home to study in the Scots College in Rome in 1740, but in 1744 we find him serving as Ensign in the "Regiment Irlandia" for King Carlo of Naples, and in 1746 he was on his way to Scotland carrying money and despatches for Prince Charles. After his release and the pacification of the Highlands he married and remained in Scotland until 1773, when he emigrated to America and settled in Scoharie County, in the then Province of New York. Three years later he held a commission as Captain in the King's Royal Regiment of New York, the "Royal Greens," under the command of Colonel Sir John Johnson, Bart., and served until the regiment was disbanded about 1784. He then settled in Canada, where he died at Cornwall in 1810, and was buried at St. Andrews, P.Q.
His sons, particularly John and Miles, were famous men in the days of the rival factions engaged in the struggle for the Northwest fur trade, and his name is still widely and honorably represented in Canada. At the request of his friend Bishop Strachan, then the Reverend Mr. Strachan and school-master at Cornwall, Colonel McDonell wrote a short account of his early life and adventures, which was published in _The Canadian Magazine_, Montreal, May and June, 1825, and forms the basis of the following story.
While I have amplified the old and introduced such new characters, incidents, and situations as were necessary to create a work of fiction out of material which is but a recital of those incidental and generally disconnected happenings that go to make up a man's experience, I have taken every pains to preserve what I conceive to be the character of the narrator and the essential value of his narrative.
From le père Labat and le président Debrosses I learned of the conditions of Italy; from O'Callaghan, the particulars of the Irish Brigade; from Professor Cavan, of Charlottetown, P.E.I., who was a student in the Scots College in the early forties, when the conditions were still unchanged--when the Abbé Macpherson, their Rector, could well remember Prince Charlie in his last days: "he used to visit us and say we were the only subjects he had left"--information that brought me into touch with the life there; from the Rev. Mr. McNish, of Cornwall, the Gaelic toasts; and from "Ascanius," much of the detail of the end of "The Forty-five."
WILLIAM McLENNAN. Montreal.
CONTENTS
I
How Angus McDonald of Clanranald and I set out for the Scots College in Rome; how we fell in with Mr. O'Rourke and Manuel, the Jew, and with the latter saw strange company in Leghorn; how we were presented to Captain Creach, "of the Regiment Irlandia," at the Inn of Aquapendente, and what befel thereafter
II
How, out of a school-boy's quarrel, it came that I kissed the hands of His Majesty, James III.; that I met with H.R.H. the Prince of Wales and other company, both high and low, until, from one thing to another, I took leave of my Books to follow the Drum
III
Of the soldiering Father O'Rourke and I did in the Regiment Irlandia together; how we fared at the Battle of Velletri, and until the army divided under the walls of Rome, during which time I won more than one promotion
IV
How we met old friends and an older enemy in Rome with whom I was forced to subscribe to a Truce, having passed my word to the Duke of York; how it came that I resigned from the Company of St. James
V
How Father O'Rourke and I met with the Duke of York, who charged me with a secret mission towards Prince Charles; of our voyage to Scotland, and the dismal tidings that there met us
VI
How we supped with a thief, and the outcome thereof.
VII
How Father O'Rourke and I fell in with broken men and saw the end of a Lost Cause
VIII
How I fared in my attempt to recover the stolen money; and how Father O'Rourke and I came face to face with unlooked-for company in the Inn at Portree
IX
How Father O'Rourke kept the Black Pass; of the escape of the Prince and my own mischance that followed; but of how the Day of Reckoning between me and Creach came at last
ILLUSTRATIONS
"I KNELT AND KISSED HIS HAND WITH MY HEART ON MY LIPS" . . . _Frontispiece._
"IN BURST MR. O'ROURKE"
"I GAVE HIM A BOY'S PUNISHMENT"
"'TELL ME, SIR, WHAT DID YOU COME HERE FOR?' HE STORMED"
"I COULD NOT HELP STRUTTING AS WE PASSED THE FASHIONABLES"
"'THE DAY WE BEAT THE GERMANS AT CREMONA!'"
"THERE WE STOOD, WITH OUR PALE FACES"
"THERE THE GOOD MAN SATE, HOLDING ME IN HIS ARMS"
"I SAW CREACH ADVANCE TOWARDS ME"
"'GENTLEMEN! GLASSES ALL!'"
"THEN FATHER O'ROURKE SPAKE"
"'WILL NEVER RETURN TO SAY THEY SAW ME GO TO MY DEATH ALONE'"
"'FINE WORDS! BRAVE WORDS!' HE SNEERED"
"THE LAST STAND FOR PRINCE CHARLES WAS AT AN END"
"THERE! THAT IS CROWLIN"
"MANY WAS THE PLEASANT TALK HE HAD WITH MY FATHER"
"SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY"
"'GIVE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN!'"
"HE WAS FIGHTING FOR TIME"
SPANISH JOHN
I
1740
How Angus McDonald of Clanranald and I set out for the Scots College in Rome; how we fell in with Mr. O'Rourke and Manuel the Jew, and with the latter saw strange company in Leghorn; how we were presented to Captain Creach, "of the Regiment Irlandia," at the Inn of Aquapendente, and what befel thereafter.
"Hoot!" snorted my Uncle Scottos, with much contempt, "make a lad like that into a priest! Look at the stuff there is in him for a soldier!"
Without waiting for a reply, he roared: "Here, mogh Radhan dubh! (my little black darling), shew your father how you can say your Pater-noster with a single-stick!" At which he caught up a stout rod for himself, and, throwing me a lighter one, we saluted, and at it we went hammer and tongs.
I suppose my Uncle was a bit discomposed with his argument, for he was one ill to bear contradiction, even in thought, and so forgot I was but a lad, for he pushed me hard, making me fairly wince under his shrewd cuts, and ruffling me with his half-angry shouts of "Mind your guard!" each time he got in at me, until before long the punishment was so severe I was out of breath, my wrist half broken, and I was forced to cry "Pax!" Indeed, I was so ruffled I made but a poor shewing, and my father laughed heartily at my discomfiture.
"Well, well, Donald," he said, in reply to my Uncle's argument, "I'll at least promise you his schooling will not be any harder than that you would put him at."
"Perhaps not," answered my Uncle, still in some little heat, "but mine is at least the schooling of a gentleman! However, thank God, they cannot take that out of him in Rome, whatever else they may stuff into him. Man! man!" he broke out again, after a moment's pause, "but you're wasting the making of a pretty soldier!"
And he looked so gallant as he stood there before the big fireplace, full of scorn for the ignoble fate he dreaded might be in store for me, that my heart swelled with a great pity for myself, and for my father too, who should be so bent on sending me to Rome, so far away from my Uncle, who knew so many pretty turns with the sword I might learn from no other, and so many songs I might never sing now.
For I worshipped my Uncle, Donald McDonell of Scottos, but always known as "Scottos," as is our custom; he was called The Younger, not to belittle him, but because my Grandfather, old Æneas of Scottos, was still alive. He had been in France and Spain and Italy, first as a cadet and afterwards as ensign in Colonel Walter Burke's regiment of foot, one of the regiments of the Irish Brigade serving under the Duke of Berwick, and many a night have I been kept awake with his stories of their engagements at Cremona, Alicant, Barcelona, and other places--how they beat, and sometimes how they were beaten--till I knew the different Dillons and Butlers and McDonells and O'Rourkes, and other gentlemen of the regiment, not only by name, but as though I had met with them face to face. He had no great love for the Church, for he hated the sight of a priest, and was continually railing against my being sent to Rome lest they should make a "Black Petticoat" of me.
"That 'a McDonell must be either a soldier or a priest' may be a very good saying in its way," he went on to my father, for there was no interruption in their talk, "but mark you which comes first! If all our forebears had bred but little shavelings, and no soldiers, where would the McDonell family be now, think you? 'Tis not in reason you should give up your one son for the sake of an old saw, like enough made by some priest himself. If one of mine chooses to take to it, he will not be missed out of the flock; but depend upon it, brother, God never gave you this one to waste in this way. Let me train him until he is ready to go abroad into the service, and I'll answer for it to stand him in better stead than all the tingle-fangle whimseys they'll teach him in Rome!"
But my father only smiled in his quiet way, and said in his low, soft voice, so different from my Uncle's:
"Donald, Donald, you witch the lad! You have my word that when the time comes he shall be free in his choice; but, priest or soldier, he'll be no worse the gentleman for a little of the book-learning you make so light of. Now, say good-bye to your Uncle, lad, and we'll be off."
As we rode homewards, I on the saddle before him, my father talked all the way of what my going to Rome would really mean. He told me of the Scots College there, what it looked like, where his room was--"and there, if they have not whitewashed the wall, Shonaidh, which may well be the case, you'll find written near the head of my bed:
"'Half ower, half ower to Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep; And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, With the Scots lords at his feet.'
That I wrote one afternoon at the siesta when my heart was big and I was wearying for home, as you may do, and I thought I heard my mother singing, and wrote down the old words for my comfort. Perhaps you'll find them there still," he added, slowly, as if he were back in the old days rather than talking to me.
"And, Shonaidh," he went on, after a little, "just when your heart fails you is the time to play the soldier as truly as if you had a broadsword in your hand. Homesick you'll be--I'd be sorry for you if you were not--but remember, I went through it all before you, and, though I have done nothing for it, my time in the old Scots College was the best gift my father ever gave me. If God wills it, you will be a priest, but neither I nor yet the Rector will force you. You are going under the care of one of the best of men, a nobleman and one whose slightest word you should be proud to treasure; and, remember, the first duty of a gentleman who would some day command is to learn to obey."
And so on as we rode; he told me much, much more than I had ever known, of all he had done and all he had hoped to do as a boy, but he had given up his own plans that his brother Scottos might go to serve under the Duke of Berwick in Spain; how, though he had borne himself therein as a brave and gallant gentleman, the fighting abroad had brought nothing to those at home, and, after the disappointment of 1715, how he had no longer heart for foreign service, for he was committed to the Royal Cause beyond everything, and so remained at home in spite of danger, hoping for the day when the King would come again.
He warned me that I must not make too much of my Uncle's railings against the Church, for he had seen many things in Spain that were in a measure hard to see, and, whatever were his words, he was a good son of the Church, and in his heart did not believe his own sayings--which made me wonder, I remember, why my father should so punish me for lying--and so on until we reached Crowlin, as our house was known.
It was in the month of August when I left home, I being just twelve years of age, and Angus McDonald of Clanranald, who was to be my comrade, fourteen. He was a much bigger lad than I, and at home could handle me readily enough, but from being so much with my Uncle Scottos, who was never done talking of what he had seen in foreign parts, I was in a measure travelled, and no sooner were we out of the country than Angus gave the lead to me, which I kept in all the years we were together.
My Grandfather, Æneas of Scottos, gave me his blessing and a bright new guinea and much good advice; my father kissed me fondly, and, with many a direction for the road, gave me a letter to Father Urbani, the Rector in Rome; my sister Margaret hung about my neck and refused to be comforted; but at last, with a cousin of Clanranald's and a party of their people, we started for Edinburgh.
My Uncle Scottos rode with us as far as Inchlaggan, and when we said good-bye he commanded me, sternly, "Don't let them make a little priest of you, Shonaidh, or I'll baste you with a wooden sword when you come home!" Then he swore somewhat in Spanish and kissed me on both cheeks, and rode off with his head down, waving his hand at the top of the hill, though he never looked back.
Our stay in Edinburgh with Bishop Hay, and our journey to Boulogne and thence to Father Innes, of the Scots College in Paris, with whom we lodged for three weeks, produced nothing of interest; indeed, we did not fall in with much I can now recall until we drove into Marseilles and were there lodged in the house of the Benedictins.
Here we saw much to wonder at--soldiers in uniforms, sailors in petticoats, galley-slaves in chains, Jews in gabardines, and others dressed in such outlandish habits we could not help staring at them, though had we worn our own Highland clothes I do not believe any would have remarked on us; and we heard, I doubt not, every language on earth save the Gaelic, which is but little spread beyond the Highlands.
A more lively people than the Marseilles would be hard to meet. On the quay one evening we marked a fellow carrying something like a long, narrow drum, which he tapped with his fingers as he strolled. Presently he stopped at a clear space, and, drawing a little pipe from under his arm, began to play both instruments at once cleverly enough. Hardly had he begun before the crowd gathered round, and on some lusty fellow setting up a shout and leaping into the middle of the space and holding forth his hand, it was caught by one, who in turn invited another, and then another, while from the tavern opposite rushed men and women fairly tumbling over one another in their haste, laughing and shouting as they came, till all were at it, footing it merrily as they swung in and out and twisted and turned in a long tail. Round the posts, jumping over the ropes that held the vessels fast, then across the street and into the tavern by one door and out at another into the street again, with such mad laughing and singing and holding forth of hands that Angus and I could stand it no longer, and so caught hold; and, though we could speak no word of their language, we could laugh as hard in English and give as wild skreighs in Gaelic and foot it as lightly as any of them. It was a grand ploy, and only ended when we were all out of breath.
Provided with money sufficient to carry us to Rome, we took passage for Leghorn, or Livorno, as they call it, in a fair-sized barque, but the dirt and the evil smells on board disgusted us beyond measure, and we almost longed for the bone-breaking coaches again. However, we were not long aboard before we fell in with a tall, decent man, a Mr. O'Rourke by name, who was an Irishman, on his way to finish his studies as a priest at the Propaganda in Rome, but the merriest and best-natured man I had ever seen. He was bigger and broader and had a greater hand and foot than any one else on board.
He laughed at our touchiness at what he called "a few smells."
"A few smells, sir?" said I--"it seems to me they are fairly crowding one another so close there's but little room for any more."
"Oh, isn't there? It strikes me you have never put your nose inside a Roman osteria on a wet day in July! Until then, my lad, you are not qualified to speak of smells in the plural. And let me tell both of you," he went on, after he had finished laughing, "you had best get your noses into training at once, for if they are going to cock up at every stink that comes under them you'll be blowing them over the backs of your heads before long, unless you do like the elephant and carry them in your trunk." Which we took to be an excellent jest, the more so as we found by evening he had two hammocks swung for us on deck near the round-house. The weather was so mild and the cabins so unbearable that most of the passengers followed our example, and even in the bow was one solitary old man, who now and then had to put up with a douse of salt water when the barque clipped deeper than ordinary.
The next day we made a closer acquaintance with our fellow-passengers, most of whom were but fearful sailors with but little stomach for anything off an even keel. In the cabin with us and Mr. O'Rourke were an Italian Count and his lady, some priests, and a Spaniard named Don Diego, with whom we soon made friends, though he was ignorant of both English and French, and had no Gaelic; but we could get in a Latin word or two, and we laughed much and made signs for the rest. Mr. O'Rourke we found to be of the same family as the gallant Major O'Rourke who was killed at Alcoy, in Spain, under the Count O'Mahony, which I knew of through my Uncle Scottos, who was an ensign there at the time; this made us fast friends, and I told him much of the Regiment Irlandia and the Irish Brigade of which he was ignorant.
But we came near to falling out at the very beginning of our friendship, which happened in this way. Being that day with Angus up in the bow of the barque to mark the play of the waves, I was trying some little French on the old man, who was still crouched there miserable enough, when up comes Mr. O'Rourke and, without preface or apology, breaks in upon us, taking no more notice of the poor old man than if he had been a dog.
"Do you know who you are talking to?" says he, in a loud, hectoring style of voice, and raps out before I can answer: "This man's a Jew! A Jew!" he says, and spits on the deck as if he had a bad smell by him.
"I don't care if he's a camel!" says I, much nettled at his tone.
"No more would I," says he, "for then he'd be where he deserves, wandering about in the Desert."
"Mr. O'Rourke, when I get to Rome I'll be under a master, but until then I am answerable to no one save myself, and I'll thank you to leave me in peace to such company as I may choose," I returned, making a mighty strong inflection on my words. He moved away, laughing.
I was only a foolish boy, so his laughing hurt me more than his anger, and had he taken no notice I dare say I would have thought little more of the Jew than of any other on board; but now, part from curiosity--perhaps, too, part from mulishness, of which I had my share when a boy--but afterwards from a personal feeling, I was kept nearer the old man than would otherwise have happened.
True, my Uncle Scottos had no great softness for the Jews while in Spain--no more had he for the priests, for that matter--but this was the first I had ever fallen in with, and the old man was so uncomplaining and gentle I felt I was taking his side, and that ended it. His name was Manuel, and he was a Portugal by nation, but lived in Leghorn, about which he told me much. As to his business, I cared but little--as he could not be a gentleman in the nature of things, his occupation was a matter of indifference to me. So, in spite of the laughter of many, and Mr. O'Rourke's gibes about my visits to the "Ghetto," as he called the bow of the barque where the poor old man was, I never missed a day without a visit to him, and learned much that was useful to me afterwards.
We now met with some heavy weather, and were so knocked about on the third day that, as these coasters are not very venturesome, our captain thought it prudent to put back into Toulon, where we anchored in the midst of the fleet of the King of France there lying. The next day we were eager to get on shore, though it was blowing hard, but were dissuaded by Mr. O'Rourke. However, the Jew and a Cordelier friar resolved to risk it with a crew of six sailors, who ballasted the ship's boat with some spare guns; but hardly had they got up sail before the boat was overset and all were thrown into the water.
The first to lay hold of the boat was the Cordelier, who scrambled up on the keel, followed by the sailors, who pulled their fellows up one after another. All this time I was in an agony of fear for the Jew, who, though he laid hold of the boat, was so old and feeble he could not draw himself up, and no one so much as stretched out a hand to his aid. Worse than this, the ship's company and crew screamed with laughter at each new struggle he made, as if it were the merriest game in the world. Meantime the unfortunates were fast drifting into the offing, and would infallibly have been borne out to sea had not a Spanish zebec made sail and succeeded in overhauling and picking them up.
Then, though I was shaking with fright, I turned to and thrashed Angus McDonald for his laughing with the others until he cried mercy.
"A pretty Christian you are to be going to Rome and laughing at a man as old as my grandfather!" I admonished him, when I had finished.
"Pough!" snorted he, still angry. "Mr. O'Rourke says Jews have no souls!"
"Indeed?" said I. "Mr. O'Rourke had better be looking after his own, and make certain of it, before he is so sure about other people." And off I stalked, mighty indignant and mighty hot against Mr. O'Rourke, who but laughed merrily at my saying.
However, the next day we made it all up again on his asking me and Angus to accompany him and Don Diego on shore at his expense; and the Jew now being out of sight, I could not hold my anger long, while Mr. O'Rourke mended my pride by telling me I had surprised him in the handsome outcome of my attack on Angus. Of course Angus and I needed no making up whatever, for he could generally thrash me twice to my once.
So, with Mr. O'Rourke and Don Diego, we went on shore and rambled about merrily enough. In the afternoon we were strolling about in the Place d'Armes waiting for Mr. O'Rourke and Don Diego off on some affairs of their own, when a gentleman passed having on the greatest wig imaginable, most generously powdered. He carried his hat under his arm and minced in his walk like any madam, holding his long cane as gingerly as a dancing-master.