CHAPTER VIII.

THE PRIVY COUNCIL.

'Tis noble pride withholds thee--thou disdain'st Wrapt in thy sacred innocence--these mad Outrageous charges to refute. SCHILLER'S MAID OF ORLEANS.

A long table, covered with scarlet cloth, extended from the throne towards the end of the room where Walter stood. Large, red-edged, and massively gilded statute books, docquets of papers, inkstands, and the silver mace (now used by the Lords of Session), lay glittering on the table, while a large silver candelabrum, with twelve tall wax lights, shed a lustre on the striking figures of those personages who composed the select committee of council.

On a low wooden side-bench lay certain fearful things, which (in his present predicament) made the heart of Walter quail; though on the field he would have faced, without flinching, the rush of a thousand charging horse; they were the instruments of torture then authorised by law; the _pilnie-winks_, the _caspie-claws_, and the _iron-boots_--all diabolical engines, such as the most refined cruelty alone could have invented. With these, both sexes, even little children were sometimes tortured until the blood spouted from the bruised and crushed limbs.

The thumbikins were small steel screws like handvices, which, by compressing the thumb-joints, produced the most acute agony; and this amiable and favourite engine (which saved all trouble of cross-examining witnesses), was first introduced by one of the council, whose stern eyes were fixed on Walter Fenton, Lieutenant-General Sir Thomas Dalyel of Binns, a cavalier baronet of great celebrity, whose name is still justly abhorred in Scotland. He had long borne a command under the Russian standard, where his humanity had not been improved by service among Tartars and Calmucks.

The boot was a strong box enclosed with iron hoops, between which and the victim's leg, the executioner, by gradual and successive blows, drove a wooden wedge with such violence, that blood, bone, and marrow were at last bruised into a hideous and pulpy mass.

Walter could scarcely repress a shudder when he surveyed those frightful engines, under the application of which, so many unfortunates had writhed; but he confronted with an undaunted air the various members of that stern tribunal, which had so long ruled Scotland by the sword, and many of whose acts and edicts might well vie with those of the Inquisition, the Star-chamber, or any other instrument of tyranny and misgovernment.

Two earls, Perth, the Lord Chancellor, and Balcarris, the High Treasurer, were present; they were both fine-looking men, in the prime of life, richly dressed, and wearing those preposterous black wigs (brought into fashion by Charles II.), the ends of which rolled in many curls over their broad collars of point lace. The Bishop of Edinburgh, the Lord Advocate, and his predecessor, the terrible Sir George Mackenzie, of Rosehaugh, "that persecutor of the saints of God;"--(he whose tomb was, till of late years, a place so full of terror to the schoolboy,) occupied one side of the council-board. Opposite sat John Grahame, of Claverhouse, colonel of the Scottish life-guards, the horror of the Covenanters, (and to this hour the accursed of the Cameronians,) but the handsomest man of his time. His face was singularly beautiful, and his black, magnificent eyes, were one moment languid and tender as those of a love-sick girl, and the next sparkling with dusky fire and animation. When excited, they actually seemed to blaze, and were quite characteristic of his superhuman daring and unmatched ferocity.

Cruel as the character of the Laird of Claverhouse has ever been held up to us, let us not forget the times in which he lived, and how much room there is for malevolent exaggeration. Even Wodrow allows that at times he showed compunction, mercy, and compassion. Mutual injuries, assassinations, and outrages heightened the hostility of spirit between the Scottish troops and the Scottish people to a frightful extent; but it is a curious fact, that the local militia and vassals of the landholders were, by far, the most severe tools of persecution. The _real_ sentiments of the troops of the line, were powerfully evinced by their joining _en masse_ the banner of the Protestant invader. In making these remarks, let it not be thought we are attempting to gloss over the atrocities of the persecution, the records of which are enough to make one's blood boil even at this distant period of time. The darkest days of our history are those of which the industrious Wodrow wrote; but glorious indeed was the ardour and constancy with which so many of Scotland's best and bravest men gave up their souls to God in the cause of the "oppressed kirk and the broken covenant."

Claverhouse was splendidly attired; his coat was of white velvet, pinked with scarlet silk and laced with gold; over his breast spread a cravat of the richest lace, and on that fell the heavy dark ringlets of his military wig. Near him sat Sir Thomas Dalyel, colonel of the Scots grey dragoons. This fierce soldier was in the eightieth year of his age; he was perfectly bald, and a lofty forehead towered above his keen grey eyes, that shone brighter than his polished gorget in the light of the candelabrum. To his stern features a noble and dignified aspect was imparted by a long white beard, that flowed over his plain buff coat, reaching to the buckle of his sword-belt. There was a very striking and antique expression in the fine face of the aged and detested 'persecutor,' that never failed to impress beholders with respect and awe.

There are but two others to describe, and these are of some importance to our history.

Swinton, of Mersington, a law lord, who was never known to have been perfectly sober since the Restoration, and whose meagre body, nutcracker jaws, bleared eyes, and fantastic visage, contrasted so strongly with the upright and square form of the venerable cavalier on his right, and the dignified Randal, Lord Clermistonlee, who sat on his left.

A renegade Covenanter, a profligate, and debauched roué, steeped to the lips in cruelty, tyranny, and vice, the latter, after having squandered away a noble patrimony and the dowry of his unfortunate wife, still maintained his career of excess by gifts from the fines, extortions, and confiscations, made by the Council on every pretence, or without pretence at all. He was forty years of age, possessing a noble form, and a face still eminently handsome, though marked by dissipation; it was slightly disfigured by a sword cut, and, notwithstanding its beauty of contour, when clouded by chagrin and ferocity, and flushed by wine, it seemed that of a very ruffian, and now was no way improved by his ample wig and cravat being quite awry. His dark vindictive eyes were sternly fixed on Walter, who, from that moment, knew him to be his enemy. Clermistonlee, who was not a man to have his purposes crossed by any mortal consideration, had long marked out fair Lilian Napier as a new victim to be run-down and captured. Her beauty had inflamed his senses, her ample possessions his cupidity--it was enough; his wrath, and perhaps his jealousy, were kindled against the young man by whose agency she had found concealment, after he thought all was _en train_ by his accusing the Baroness of Bruntisfield to the Council, and procuring a warrant of search and arrest for inter-communed persons at her Manor of the Wrytes-house. His brows were contracted until they formed one dark arch across his forehead; one hand was clenched upon the table, and the other on the embossed hilt of his long rapier, which rested against his left shoulder, and there was no mistaking the glance of hostility and scrutiny he bent upon the prisoner. The other members of the Council were all highly excited by the revelations recently extracted from Mr. Ichabod Bummel (by dint of hammer and screw), concerning the intrigues of the whigs with the Prince of Orange. The letters of the exiled Baron of Polwarth, and of Mynheer Fagel, the Great Pensionary of Holland, were lying before the Lord Chancellor, who played thoughtfully with the tassels of his rapier, while his secretaries wrote furiously in certain closely-written folios. Several clerks, macers, and other underlings who loitered in the background, were now ordered to withdraw.

"Approach, Walter Fenton," said the Earl of Perth.

"Fenton," muttered General Dalyel, "'tis a name that smacks o' the auld covenant; I hanged a cottar loon that bore it, for skirling a psalm at the foot o' the Campsie Hills, no twa months ago."

"And of true valor, if we remember the old Fentons of that ilk, and the brave Sir John de Fenton of the Bruce's days," continued the chancellor. "Young man, you of course know for what you this night compear before us?"

"My Lord, for permitting the escape of prisoners placed under my charge."

"Prisoners charged with treason and leaguing with intercommuned enemies of the state!" added Clermistonlee, in a voice of thunder.

"And you plead guilty to this?"

"I cannot deny it, my Lords."

"Good--you save the trouble of examining witnesses."

"A bonnie piece o' wark, young Springald!" said General Dalyel scornfully; "a braw beginning for a soldier--but ken ye the price o't?"

"My life, perhaps, Sir Thomas," replied Walter, gently; "yet may it please you and their Lordships to pardon this, my first offence, in consideration of my three years' faithful and, as yet, unrequited service. Heaven be my witness, noble sirs, I could not help it!"

"By all the devils! Help what, thou fause loon!"

"Permitting the escape of Lady Bruntisfield and her kinswoman, the young lady."

"Aha! the young lady!" laughed Claverhouse and Balcarris.

"I was overcome by their terror and entreaties. Oh, my Lords, I seek not to extenuate my offence."

"Plague choke thee!" said Dalyel, with a grim look; "a braw birkie ye are, and a bonnie to wear a steel doublet--a fine chield to march to battle and leaguer, if ye canna hear a haveral woman greet, but your heart maun melt like snaw in the sunshine. By the head of the king, ye shall smart for this! Sic kittle times thole nae trifling."

"I doubt not the young fellow was well paid for his untimely gallantry," said Clermistonlee, with a provoking sneer.

"Any man who would insinuate so much, I deem a liar and coward!" said Walter, fearlessly: the eyes of the Privy Councillor shot fire; he started, but restrained himself, and the young man continued. "No, my Lord Clermistonlee! though poor, I have a soul above bribery, and would not for the most splendid coronet in Scotland change sides, as _some_ among us have done, and may do again."

"Silence!" replied Clermistonlee, in a voice of rage, for he writhed under this pointed remark, having once been a staunch covenanter; "silence, rascal, and remember that on yonder bench there lieth a bodkin of steel, for boring the tongue that wags too freely."

"Enough of this," said the Chancellor, striking the table impatiently with his hand; "Mr. Secretary, attend, and note answers. Walter Fenton, you are doubtless well aware of where the ladies of Bruntisfield are concealed, and can enlighten us thereon."

"I swear to you, most noble Earl, that I know not!"

"Ridiculous!" said his tormenter, Clermistonlee, who was under the influence of wine. "Say instantly, or by all the devils, if there is any marrow in your bones, we shall see it shortly:" with his gold-headed cane he significantly touched the iron boots that lay near.

"Hath he been searched according to the act of council, whilk ordains,--sae forth," said Mersington; "for some of Madam Napier's perfumed carolusses may be found in his pouch."

"Nothing was found on him, my Lord," replied Maclutchy, "save a sang or twa, a wheen gun matches, twa dice, a wine bill o' Hughie Blair's--the Council's orders to the Forces--and--and--"

"And what, Sir?"

"A few white shillings, my Lord."

"Whilk ye keepit, I suppose."

The macer scratched his head and bowed.

"Whence got ye that ring, sirrah?" asked the imperious Clermistonlee, suddenly feeling a new qualm of jealousy.

"Ring, my Lord, ring!" stammered Walter, colouring deeply.

"Yea knave, it flashed even now, and by this light seems a diamond of the purest water. A common pikeman seldom owns a trinket such as that."

"I cry-ye-mercy," said Dalyel; "had your Lordship seen my brigade of Red Cossacks retreating after the sack of Trebizond and Natolia, ye would have seen the humblest spearman with his boots and holsters crammed to the flaps with the richest jewels of Asiatic Turkey. I mysel borrowed a string of pearls from an auld Khanum, worth deil kens how mony thousand roubles. Gad! some pretty trinkets fall in a soldier's way at times."

"Sir Thomas," said Claverhouse, "I would we had a few troops of your Cossacks, to send among the wrest-land whigs for six months or so."

"S'death!" said the General, through his massy beard, "your guardsmen think themselves fine rufflers, and so they are, Clavers'e, but I doubt muckle if in a charge they would have come within o' spear's length of my Red Brigade. Puir chields! lang since hae they stuffed the craps of the wolves and vultures that hovered oure the bluidy plains of Smolensk."

"Well, my Lords, about this ring," observed Clermistonlee, with ill-disguised impatience, while endeavouring to waken His Majesty's advocate, who, oblivious of "His Majesty's interest," had fallen fast asleep. "We all know that the Lady Bruntisfield has a god-daughter, grand-niece, or something of that kind--a fair damsel, however; and 'tis very unlikely this young cock would run his neck under the gallows (whereon I doubt not his father dangled) for nothing. Fenton--harkee, sirrah, surrender the jewel forthwith, and say whence ye had it, or the thumbscrews may prove an awkward exchange for it."

"Do with me as you please, my Lords, but ah! spare me the ring. It is the secret of my life--it is all that I possess in the world--all that I can deem my own:" pausing with sudden emotion the young man covered his eyes. "It was found on the hand of my mother--my poor mother, when she lay dead among the graves of the Grey Friars."

"When, knave?"

"In the year of Bothwell."

A cloud came over the face of Clermistonlee.

"In the year of Bothwell, my Lords," continued Walter, in a thick voice; "that year of misery to so many. I have been told my father died in defence of the bridge; and my mother--she--spare to me, my Lords, what even the poor soldiers who found me respected! It was preserved and restored to me by the good and noble Countess of Dunbarton when, three years ago, I marched against James of Monmouth."

"The true pup of the crop-eared breed!" said Clermistonlee, scornfully; "false in blood as in name. Macer, hand up the ring! His mother (some trooper's trull) never owned a Jewell like that."

The macer advanced, but hesitated.

"Approach, wretch, and, by the God that beholds us, I will destroy thee!" cried Fenton, inflamed with sudden passion; and so resolute was his aspect, that Maclutchy retreated, and now Mersington and the king's advocate, who had been snoring melodiously, woke suddenly up.

"My Lords, you trifle," said the Earl of Perth.

"Halt, sirs!" added Claverhouse, who admired Walter's indomitable spirit; "I cannot permit this; let the lad retain his ring, but say, without parley, where those fugitives are concealed."

"On the honour of a soldier, I solemnly declare to you, Colonel Grahame, that I know not."

"It is enough," responded Claverhouse, whose deep dark eyes had gazed full upon Walter's with a searching expression which few men could endure. "Never saw I mortal man who could look me openly in the face, when affirming a falsehood."

"This is just havers," said Mersington; "jow the bell for Pate Pincer to gie him one touch of the boot."

"My Lords, you may tear me piecemeal, but I cannot tell ye; and, were it otherwise, I would rather die than betray them!"

"Hush!" whispered Claverhouse, who admired his spirited bearing; but Clermistonlee exclaimed in triumph,

"Heard ye that, my Lords, heard ye that? Gadso! a half acknowledgment that he can enlighten us anent the retreat of these traitresses, and I demand that he be put to the question!"

Now ensued a scene of confusion.

"Aye, the boot!" said Rosehaugh, Mersington, and one or two others. "Let him be remanded to the Water Hole--the caspie claws."

"My Lords, I protest--" said Claverhouse, starting up abruptly.

"Hoity toity!" said Mersington; "here's the Laird of Claverse' turned philanthropist! Since when did this miracle take place?"

"Since the cold-blooded atrocities this chamber has witnessed--" began Claverhouse, turning his eyes of fire on the law lord; but the entrance of Pincer and his two subaltern torturers, whom that little viper, Mersington, had summoned, cut short the observation. Walter's blood grew cold--his first thought was resistance--his second, scorn and despair.

"Had the noble Earl of Dunbarton, or all our blades, the old Royals, been in Edinburgh instead of being among the westland whigs, ye had not dared to degrade me thus!" he exclaimed, with fierce indignation. "I disclaim your authority, and appeal to a council of war--to a court of commissioned officers!"

"Uds daggers!" said Dalyel, "I love thee, lad. Thou art a brave fellow, and the first man that ever bearded this council board."

"But we will teach thee, braggart," said Sir George of Rosehaugh sternly, "that from this chamber there is no appeal, either to courts of peace or councils of war. There can be no appeal----"

"Save to his majesty," added the Chancellor, who, to please James VII., had recently embraced the Catholic faith.

"And of what value is the appeal, noble Earl, after one's bones have been ground to powder by your accursed irons?'

"We do not sit here to bandy words in this wise," replied the Chancellor; "Macer, lead the prisoner to the ante-room, while his sentence is deliberated on."

After a delay of some minutes, which to Walter seemed like so many ages, so great was his anxiety, he was again summoned before the haughty conclave. The first whose malignant glance he again encountered was Clermistonlee, whose voice he had often heard in loud declamation against him, and he felt a storm of wrath and hatred gathering in his breast against that vindictive peer. The monotonous voice of the clerk reading his sentence with a careless off-hand air now fell on his ear.

"Walter Fenton, private gentleman in the regiment of Dunbarton, commonly called the Royal Scots Musqueteers of Foot, for default and negligence of duty----"

"Anent whilk it is needless to expone," interposed Mersington.

"--And for your contumacy in presence of the Right Honourable the Lords of His Majesty's Privy Council, you are to be confined in the lowest dungeon of the common prison-house of Edinburgh, for the space of six calendar months from the date hereof, to have your tongue bored by the Doomster at the Tron-beam, to teach it the respect which is due to superiors; and thereafter to be sent as a felon, with ane collar of steel rivetted round your neck, to the coal heughs of the right worshipful the Laird of Craigha' for such a period as the Lords of the said Privy Council shall deem fitting--subscribitur Perth."

"Such mercy may ye all meet in the day of award!" muttered Walter.

"Withdraw!" said Lord Clermistonlee, with a bitter smile of undisguised ferocity and malice. "Begone, and remember to thank Sir Thomas of Binns and the Laird of Claverhouse, that your tongue is not bored this instant, and thereafter given to feed the crows."

Walter bowed, and was led out by the macer, while the council proceeded to "worry" and terrify the remaining prisoners, Lady Bruntisfield's household, and, after nearly scaring them out of their senses, dismissed them all, (save two stout ploughmen, who were given to Sir Thomas Dalyel as troopers,) with warning to take care of themselves in all time coming, and with a promise of a thousand marks if they gave intimation of their lady's retreat.