CHAPTER III.

THE OLD CLOCKCASE.

In the meanwhile The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre In the accuser's scale, ere he can know How justice shall incline it. THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY.

The entrance to the mansion was by the narrow tower already described, and which contained what is called in Scotland the Turnpike, a spiral stair, turning sharply round on its axis. The small doorway was heavily moulded, and ornamented above by a mossy coat armorial, the saltire and four roses. The door was of massive oak, covered with a profusion of iron studs, and furnished with two eyelet holes, through which visitors could be reconnoitred, or, if necessary, favoured with a dose of musketry.

"What graceless runions are you, that knock in this way, and sae near the deid hour of the nicht, too?" asked the querulous voice of old John Leekie, the gardener, while two rays of streaming light through the eylets imparted to the doorway the aspect of some gigantic visage, of which the immense risp was the nose.

"Gae wa' in peace," added the venerable butler, in a very blustering voice, "or bide to face the waur!"

"Open, rascals!" cried the sergeant, "or we will set the four corners of the house on fire."

"Doubtless, my bauld buckie," chuckled the old serving-man; "but the wa's are thick, and the winnocks weel grated, and we gaed a stronger band o' the English Puritans their kail through the reek in the year saxteen-hunderd-and-fifty." The over-night potations of the aged vassals had endued them with a courage unusual at that time, when a whole village trembled at the sight of a soldier.

"Wha are ye, sirs!" queried the butler, Mr. Drouthy; "wha are ye?"

"Those who are empowered to storm the house if its barriers are not opened forthwith!" replied the sonorous voice of Douglas; "so, up! varlets! and be doing, for the soldiers of the King cannot bide your time."

The only reply to this was a smothered exclamation of fear from various female voices within, and the clank of one or two additional heavy bolts being shot into their places; and then succeeded the clatter of various slippers and high-heeled shoes, as the household retreated up the steep turnpike in great dismay.

"Now, ye dyvour loons!" cried the old butler, from a shot-hole, "we'll gie ye a taste o' the Cromwell days, if ye dinna mak' toom the barbican in five minutes. Lads," he continued, as if speaking to men behind, although, save the old and equally intoxicated gardener, the whole household were women; "lads, tak' the plugs frae the loop-holes. John Leekie, burn a light in the north turret, and in a crack we'll hae our chields frae the grange wi' pitchfork, pike, and caliver. Awa' to the vaults and bartizan--blaw your coals, and fire cannily when I tout my old hunting horn."

These orders caused a muttering among the soldiers, who were quite unprepared to find the house garrisoned and ready for resistance. An additional puffing of gun-matches ensued, and all eyes were bent to the turrets and those parts which were battlemented; but no man appeared therein or thereon, and the thundering was renewed at the door with great energy. Suddenly the bolts were withdrawn, the door revolved slowly on its hinges, and the musqueteers who were about to rush in, hung back with mingled indecision and respect.

In the doorway stood Lady Grizel Napier, leaning on her long walking-cane; her dark-grey eyes lit up with indignation, and her forehead, though marked by the furrows of eighty years, still expressive of dignity and determination; nearly six feet in height, erect and stately as lace and brocade could make her, she was the belle ideal of an old Scottish matron. She wore on the summit of her frizzled hair a little coif of widow-hood, which she had never laid aside since her husband was slain at Inverkeithing; and the circumstance of his having died by a Puritan's hand alone made her somewhat cold in the cause of the Covenant. Her retinue of female servitors crowded fearfully behind her, and by her side appeared the silver-haired butler, armed with a huge partisan, while a battered morion covered his head, as it often had done in many a tough day's work; and behind him staggered the old gardener, armed with a watering-pan, and a steel cap with the peak behind.

"Gentlemen," said the old lady, in a tone of great asperity, while striking her long cane thrice on the doorstep, and all her frills seemed to ruffle with indignation like the feathers of a swan; "Gentlemen, what want ye at this untimeous hour? Know ye not that this is a house whilk we are entitled by Crown charter to fortify and defend, as well against domestic enemies as foreign! and methinks it is a daring act, and a graceless to boot, to march with cocked matches, and bodin in array of war on the bounds of a lone auld woman like me. By my faith, in the days of my honoured Sir Archibald, ye had gone off our barony faster than ye came, king's soldiers though ye be."

"Excuse us, madam," replied Douglas, lowering his rapier, and bowing with a peculiar grace which then was only to be acquired by service in France: "we have a warrant from the Lords of his Majesty's Privy Council, to arrest the persons of a certain Captain Napier, of a Scots Dutch regiment, and the Reverend Mr. Ichabod Bummel, who are accused of being treasonable emissaries of the States-General--intercommuned traitors, and now concealed in your mansion. Your Ladyship must be aware that implicit obedience is the soldier's first duty: surrender unto us these guilty men, otherwise your house must be ransacked by my soldiers,--a severe humiliation, which I would willingly spare the baronial mansion of a dame of honour, more especially when I remember the rank and loyal service of her husband."

"Gude keep us, Laird of Finland," replied the old lady, trembling violently and leaning on her cane. "O what dool is this that hath come upon us at last? My dream--my dream--it forewarned me of this: as the rhyme saith--

"A Friday nicht's grue On the Saturday tauld, Is sure to come true, Be it never sae auld."

"On my honour--nae such persons--I protest to you----"

"Enough, Lady Grizel," replied Douglas, with a little hauteur; "positively we must spare you the trouble, if not the shame, of making those unavailing but humiliating assertions, which the laws of humanity and hospitality require. The sooner this affair is over the better--we crave your pardon, madam, but the king's service is paramount. Serjeant Wemyss, guard the door--follow me, Walter--forward, soldiers, and I will unearth this clerical fox!"

Rushing past Lady Grizel, while the startled household fled before them, the musqueteers pressed forward into the chamber-of-dais; but the Reverend Mr. Bummel had vanished, and no trace remained of him, save his ample blue bonnet, with its red cherry or tuft, and Walter Fenton was certainly not the last to perceive that the young lady had disappeared also.

"Search the whole house, from roof-tree to foundations," exclaimed Douglas; "cut down all who make the least resistance; but on your lives beware of plunder or destruction--away!"

A violent and unscrupulous search was made forthwith; every curtain, every bed and pannel were pierced by swords and daggers; every press, bunker, and girnel--the turrets and all the innumerable nooks and corners of the old house were searched. Every lockfast place was blown open by musket-balls, and thirty stentorian voices summoned the miserable preacher "to come forth;" but he was nowhere to be found. Pale and trembling between terror and indignation, propped on her long cane, the old lady stood under her baronial canopy on the dais of the dining-hall, listening to the uproar that rang through all the stone-vaults, wainscotted chambers, and long corridors of her mansion, and regarding Richard Douglas and his friend the young volunteer, with glances of pride and hostility.

Walter Fenton coloured deeply, and appeared both agitated and confused; but Douglas coolly and collectedly leaned against the buffet, toying with the knot of his rapier, and drinking a cup of wine to Lady Bruntisfield's health, helping himself from the buffet uninvited.

"Lady Grizel," said he, "by surrendering up these foolish and guilty men, whom, contrary to law, you have harboured and resetted within your barony, you may considerably avert the wrath of the already incensed Council."

"Never, Sir! never will I be guilty of such a breach of hospitality and honour. Bethink ye, Sirs, the Captain Napier is my sister's son, and it would ill become a Scottish dame to prove false to her ain blude. The minister, though but a gomeral body, is his friend--one of those whom the people deem exiled and persecuted for Christ's sake--ye may hew me to pieces with your partisans, but never would I yield a fugitive to the tortures and executioners of that bluidy and infamous Council." And to give additional force to her words, Lady Grizel as usual struck the floor thrice with her cane.

"Lady Bruntisfield," said Walter Fenton, gently, "beware lest our soldiers, or that dog the macer overhear you."

"Glorious canary this!" muttered the Lieutenant, apostrophizing the silver mug--"hum--I believe your ladyship is a Presbyterian."

"Though unused to be catechised by soldiers," replied the dame, drawing herself up with great dignity, "I acknowledge what all my neighbours know. I am Presbyterian, thank God, and so are all my household, who never miss a sabbath at kirk or meeting; and our minister is one, who having complied with the government regulations, hath an indulgence to preach."

"This applies not to the spy of that rogue William of Orange--this pious Ichabod, whom we must hale forth by the lugs at every risk."

"Never before was I suspected of disloyalty to the Scottish Crown," said Lady Grizel, sobbing, "and now in my auld and donnart days, with ane foot in the grave, it's hard to thole, Sirs--it's hard to thole. How often hae these hands, wrinkled now, and withered though they be, laced steel cap, greave and corslet, on my buirdly husband and his three fair sons. Ehwhow, Sirs! how often hae my very heart pulses died away with the clang o' their horses' hoofs in yonder avenue. Ane fell at Dumbar--another in his stirrups at the sack of Dundee, and my fair-haired Archy, my youngest and my best beloved, the apple o' my e'e, was shot deid by the side of his dying father, on the field of Inverkeithing. Save my sister's grandchild, all I loved have gone before me to God--but though my heart be seared, and my bower desolate, O Laird of Finland, this disgrace is harder to thole than a' I hae tholed in my time."

Touched with her sorrow, Walter Fenton and Finland approached her; but ere they could speak, a dismal voice, that seemed to ascend from the profundity of some vast tun, was heard to sing, "I like an owle in desert am," &c., and the verse was scarcely concluded when the officer burst into a violent fit of laughter.

"O, ye fule man!" exclaimed the old lady, shaking her cane wrathfully: "ye have ruined yoursel' and the House of Bruntisfield too!"

"Where the devil is he?" said Douglas. "Ah, there must be some pannel here," he added, knocking on the wainscot with the pommel of his sword.

"He is not very far off, your honour," said the macer approaching, pushing his bonnet on one side, and scratching his head with an air of vulgar drollery and perplexity. "I'll wager ye a score o' broad pieces, Finland, that I howk out the tod in a moment."

"Then do so," said Douglas, haughtily, "but first, you irreverend knave, doff your bonnet in the Lady Bruntisfield's presence."

"There is something queer about this braw Flanders wag-at-the-wa'," said the macer, approaching a clock, the case of which formed part of the wainscotting. It was violently shaken, and emitted a hollow groan. The macer opened the narrow pannel, and revealed the poor preacher coiled up within, in great spiritual and bodily tribulation, and half stifled by want of air. His face was almost black, his eyes bloodshot, and his features sharpened by an expression of delirious terror bordering on the ludicrous.

"Dolt and fool!" exclaimed Walter, "what fiend tempted ye to rant thus within earshot of us?"

"Gadso, I think the varlet's mad," said Douglas, laughing. "Dost think we will eat thee, fellow?"

"Mad!--I hope so, for the sake of this noble lady."

"And the marrow in his bones, Fenton."

"Come awa, my man," said the macer, making him a mock bow; "use your shanks while the ungodly Philistines will let you. Ye'll no walk just sae weel after you have tried on the braw buits my Lord Chancellor keeps for such pious gentlemen as you."

"From these sons of blood and Belial, good Lord deliver me!" ejaculated the poor man, turning up his hollow eyes, as he was dragged forth; "ye devouring wolves, I demand your warrant for what ye do?"

"Macer--your warrant?" said Douglas.

Unfolding the slip of paper, the worthy official now reverentially took off his bonnet, and in a sing-song voice drawled forth--

"I, Michael Maclutchy, macer to the Privy Council of Scotland, by virtue _of_, and conform _to_, the principal letters raised at ye instance of Maister Roderick Mackenzie, Advocat-Depute to Sir David Dalrymple, His Majesty's Advocat, summon, warn, and charge _you_, the said Reverend Mr. Hugh--otherwise Ichabod Bummel--is that richt, friend?"

"Yea--I was so named by my parents Hugh, a heathenish name, whilk in a better hour I changit to Ichabod, signifying in the Hebrew tongue--'where is glory?'"

"Weel--weel, mind na the Hebrew--charge you to surrender peaceably--and sae forth; it's a' there in black and white: subscribitur _Perth_."

"Fie upon ye!" exclaimed Ichabod, "ye abjurers of the Lord, and persecutors of his covenanted kirk."

"Away with him!" said Fenton to the soldiers.

"Truly ye are properly clad in scarlet, for it is the garb----"

"Silence, Sir; you make bad worse."

"Of your Babylonian mother."

"Peace!" cried Douglas.

"I liken ye even unto broken reeds----"

"On with the gyves, and away wi' him!" said the serjeant, and the poor crack-brained enthusiast was unceremoniously handcuffed and dragged away, pouring a torrent of hard scriptural epithets and invectives on his captors, and chanting suitable verses from Andro Hart's book of the _Psalmes_.

Lady Bruntisfield started as he was taken away, and was about to bestow on him some address of comfort and farewell; but the young volunteer interposed, saying with great gentleness,

"Pardon me, Lady Grizel--by addressing him you will only compromise your own safety and honour. O madam, I deeply regret your involvement in this matter! The Privy Council is not to be trifled with."

"Madam," observed Douglas, "I believe I have the honour of being not unknown to you?"

"You are the young Laird of Finland, who wounded my nephew Quentin----"

"In a duel in Flanders--O yes--ha! ha! we quarrelled about little Babette of the Hans-in-Kelder, or some folly of that kind. I acquaint you, madam, with regret, that in consequence of this trumpeter of rebellion being found resetted here--your whole family----"

"Alake, Laird, I have only my little grand-niece."

"Your whole household must be considered prisoners until the pleasure of the Council is known. In the interim," he added in a low voice, "I hope your kinsman will escape; though he has been no friend of mine since that time we fought with sword and dagger on the ramparts of Tournay, I would wish him another fate than a felon's, for a braver fellow never marched under baton. Meanwhile, Lady Bruntisfield, I am your servant--adieu;" and bowing until his plume touched the floor, he withdrew.

Leaving his veteran serjeant, and Walter the volunteer, with twenty men to keep ward, he returned to the city with his prisoner, who was immediately consigned to the Iron Room of the Tolbooth.

For a few minutes after his departure Lady Grizel seemed quite stunned by the dilemma in which she so suddenly found herself. She had now been joined by Lilian, who hung upon her shoulder weeping; for the Privy Council of Scotland was a court of religious and political inquisition, whose name and satellites bore terror throughout the land.

Sergeant Wemyss posted seven of his musketeers within the barbican, with orders "to keep all in who were within, and all out who were so;" after which he withdrew with the remainder to the spacious and vaulted kitchen, where, as occupying free quarters, they made themselves quite at home, and crowded round the great wood-fire that was roaring in the vast archway which spanned one side of the apartment, joked and toyed with the half-pleased and half-frightened maids, and compelled the indignant housekeeper (who, with Lady Grizel's cast coifs and fardingales assumed many of her airs) to provide them with a substantial supper, the least items of which were a huge side of beef, a string of good fat capons, and an unmeasured quantity of ale and usquebaugh for the soldiers; while his honour the halberdier insisted on wine dashed with brandy, swearing "by the devil's horns," and other cavalier oaths, "he would drink nothing but the best Rhenish." There was an immense consumption of viands, and as the revellers became merrier, they made the whole house ring to their famous camp-song,

"Dunbarton's drums beat bonnie, O,"

to the great envy of those luckless wights in the barbican, who heard only the bleak March wind sighing among the leafless woods, and witnessed through the windows all this hilarity and good cheer from which they were for a time debarred.

Mr. Drouthy the butler, and other old servitors, who had seen something of free quarters under the Duke of Hamilton in England, entered heartily into the spirit of entertaining their noisy visitors, to whom they detailed the fields of Inverkeithing, Dunbar, and Kerbeister, with great vociferation, and ever and anon voted the Reverend Mr. Bummel a most unqualified bore, and declared that "the house of Bruntisfield was weel rid of his grunting and skirling about owls and sparrows in the desert."