CHAPTER XIII.

THE CAVALIERS OF DUNDEE.

In the cause of right engaged, Wrongs injurious to redress; Honour's war we strongly waged, But the heavens denied success. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, Not a hope that dare attend; The world wide is all before us, But a world--without a friend. STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT.

The magnanimity of those unfortunate officers of the Scottish army who remained loyal to James VII., and had shared his misfortunes and exile, was equally worthy of ancient Caledonia and of the most glorious ages of Athens and of Sparta. They were about one hundred and fifty in number, all men of noble spirit, unblemished honour, and high birth; for they were the representatives of some of the first families in Scotland. Enthusiastically attached to the King, they gloried in the sufferings their principles had brought upon them.

On their first arrival in France, small pensions were assigned them by Louis XIV.; but these were shortly afterwards withdrawn, on the paltry pretext of public expedience; and the whole of those unfortunate gentlemen, who by their incorruptible loyalty and indomitable patriotism had forfeited their commissions, when they might have purchased new honours in the ranks of the invader, and many of whom had lost titles and estates by their expatriation, were thus thrown destitute in a foreign land.

It is related that, with a noble spirit of generosity, they shared their little funds for the benefit of those who were in greater destitution; and those who had raised money by the sale of their gilt corslets, jewels, laced uniforms, rings, &c., readily shared it with others who were penniless. But these occasional funds soon became exhausted; the King soon found it impossible, from the pittance allowed him, to maintain the numerous exiles and ruined dependants who made his court of St. Germain their rallying point. The poor Scottish officers finding the horrors of starvation before them, petitioned James for leave to form themselves into a company of private soldiers for the service of the French king, asking no other favour than permission to choose their own leaders: their former general, Dunbarton, to be their captain; their Serjeants to be lieutenant-colonels; and so forth. The King reluctantly consented.

Those high-spirited cavaliers were immediately furnished with the clothing and arms of French soldiers; and previously to their incorporation with the army of Mareschal Noailles, repaired to St. Germain, to be reviewed by the King, and to take a long--to many a last--adieu of him.

It was the day after Walter's arrival; and the summer morning rose beautifully on the Gothic towers of St. Germain, the crystal windings of the Seine, and on the dense dark woodlands that, interspersed with blooming vineyards and waving fields, imparted such charms to the landscape.

James VII. had become passionately fond of the chase since the loss of his kingdom; for his brave and restless spirit always sought excitement when not absorbed in the austere duties of religion, in the course of which he often subjected himself to the most severe penances. Kind, affable, and easy to all around him, religion improved the virtues of his heart, subdued the fire of his spirit, and by imparting a monk-like gentleness to his demeanour, endeared him to his enthusiastic followers. The butcheries of Kirke and Claverhouse, and the tyrannies of Jefferies and Rosehaugh, were forgotten. Though his uncompromising bigotry remained, all his arbitrary spirit had vanished; and when he laid aside his visions of worldly grandeur and kingly power, nothing could be more blameless and amiable than the life he led.

He frequently visited the poor monks of La Trappe, whom he surprised by the piety and humility of his deportment; but there were times when the sparkling eye, the flushed cheek, the forward stride, and the clanked sword, shewed how regal a spirit and bold a heart misfortune had crushed and fanaticism clouded. He was an enthusiast in the pleasures of the chase, which he enjoyed after the good old English fashion; and on the morning in question, the baying of dogs, the neighing of horses, and the merry ringing of the clear bugle-horn, awoke the echoes of the woods, the gloomy arcades, and quadrangle of St. Germain.

On each side of the archway were drawn up a guard of honour of les Gardes Françaises, in their white hoquetons laced with gold, powdered wigs, little hats looped on three sides and surmounted with plumes of feathers, and having the white banner of Bourbon displayed. The porters unclosed the heavy folding-doors, and a merry troop of huntsmen in green galloped forth, with their dogs barking and straining in the leashes, as the blasts of the shrill horns were poured to the morning wind, and roused their English blood. The heavy drawbridge clanked into its place across the grass-grown moat--the planks resounded to iron hoofs--the French guard presented arms--the oriflamme of St. Denis was lowered--the drums beat a march--and James VII., raising his plumed hat, sallied forth at the head of his train, and advanced along the spacious and magnificent terrace. The Earl of Dunbarton rode by his side; and as they caracoled along the level terrace, by the margin of the beautiful Seine, a body of soldiers in French uniform was seen in front, drawn up in steady array, with their fixed bayonets shining in the morning sun. They presented arms as the King approached, upon which he immediately reined up, and raised his hat.

"My Lord Dunbarton," said he, "what troops are these?"

"They are your Majesty's most faithful subjects and devoted followers," replied Dunbarton in a faltering voice. "Yesterday they were Scottish gentlemen of coat-armour and bearers of your Majesty's commission--to-day they are but poor privates in the army of Louis of France."

"My God!" said the King; "and, in the levity of the chase, am I so oblivious of the misfortunes of those unhappy gentlemen?"

Instantly leaping from his horse with a heart that swelled by its emotions, he approached them and raised his hat.

Every heart was full in that silent line before him, and every eye glistened. Walter Fenton, who now for the first time beheld that King for whom he had suffered so much, felt his bosom glow with the most intense loyalty and ardour,--a gush of sentiment that would have enabled him to hail with joy the terrors of a scaffold or the dangers of a battle-field.

"Gentlemen," said the King, "bitter though my own misfortunes be, yours lie nearer my heart, which is grieved, beyond what language can express, to behold so many men of valour and worth, from being the officers of my Scottish army, reduced by their loyalty to the station of private soldiers. Nothing but this more than Spartan devotion on the part of the few, but gallant and leal, makes my life worth preserving. Deeply, deeply indeed is my heart impressed with the sense of all you have undergone for my sake; and if it should ever please the blessed God"--(removing his hat)--"to restore me to the throne of my fathers, your sufferings, your services, and your devotion shall not be forgotten--never, oh, never! The prince my son, he shares your northern blood. Oh, may he likewise inherit your spirit of bravery and truth!

"At your own desire, gentlemen, you are now going on a long and perilous march, far distant from me, to encounter privation, danger, and death. To the utmost of my small means, I have provided you with money, shoes, and stockings. Heaven knoweth how great are my own necessities. I can no more.....

"Fear God--love one another, and you will ever find me your parent, if I cannot be your King."

The eyes of James VII. were full of tears, and a long pause ensued.

"There is a gentleman here who arrived only yesterday," said Lord Dunbarton, who had also dismounted. "He is the bearer of two relics to your Majesty: the first is the despatch of the expiring Dundee; the second will bear witness of his own zeal and courage in your cause at the victory of Killycrankie."

"Let him approach," said the king, covering his face to hide his emotion.

"Mr. Fenton," said the Earl, "His Majesty would speak with you," and Walter, whose heart trembled from the depth of his emotions, grounded his musquet, and, kneeling before James, placed in his hands the long-treasured despatch of Dundee, and the Dutch standard of Mackay's regiment.

"My brave Dundee!" exclaimed James, in a low voice, as he kissed and perused the brief letter which had been hurriedly penned amid the agonies of death; "'tis stained with his loyal and noble blood! Oh! never had a king a subject more devoted, more loyal, or more true! Accept my thanks, young gentleman, for the services you have performed, the valour you have displayed, and the fidelity you evince; accept my thanks, for misfortune has left me nothing else wherewith to reward the faithful and the brave, who have followed me to exile and obscurity. This standard I will retain; one day, perhaps, in Holyrood or Windsor, I may replace it in your hands with such rewards as a king alone can give."

Walter strove to speak, but his voice failed him, on which Lord Dunbarton said,--

"Like his brothers in misfortune, my young friend seeks no other reward than the honour of serving your Majesty, and the satisfaction of doing that which is right."

The King drew his sword.

"What is your name, Sir!" he asked.

"Fenton--Walter Fenton, of Dunbarton's Foot."

"No kinsman, I hope, of Fenton of that ilk, who is so active in his treason against us?"

"Alas, no!" replied Walter, colouring in painful humility; "may it please your Majesty I am but a poor protegée of the noble Dunbarton. I know not my family, my name, or my origin."

"It matters not--I shall render honour to all who deserve it; arise _Sir_ Walter Fenton, Knight Banneret--of this power, at least, my son William cannot deprive me."

Startled by the suddenness of the action, Walter, whose heart leaped within him at the words of the King, could only kiss his hand and resume his place in the ranks of his cavalier comrades, who with difficulty repressed a shout of applause. Walter felt giddy and confused; the King still seemed to be addressing him.

The temporary excitement which had led James through this painful interview, now passed away, and his features became overclouded with a sad and bitter expression, as he went slowly along the line asking each officer his name, inserting it in his note book, and returning him personal thanks. Meanwhile the troop of huntsmen, equerries, and whippers-in, with their packs of panting-hounds, were grouped about the terrace, and quite forgotten in the excitement of this sorrowful review.

"Your name, Sir--yesterday you were at my levée in a garb more suitable to your rank," said James, to a tall and very handsome man, whose fashionably curled wig consorted ill with the coarse looped hat and plain blue coat of a French musqueteer; "your name, Sir, if you please?"

"John Ogilvie, of the house of Airly--late a captain in your Majesty's Life Guard."

"Sir, I thank you--the day may come when you shall command that Life Guard," replied James, writing down his name; "and yours, Sir?" he asked of the next.

"Grant of Dunlugais--a captain of Mar's Fusiliers."

"Then you have lost an estate in my service?"

"I have lost nothing that I can regret in such a cause."

"May I live to requite it! 'Tis an ancient house, and one of unblemished honour. Are you Catholic?"

"No, I am a Presbyterian."

"Then the greater honour is due to you for disinterested loyalty. And yours, Sir?"

"Douglas of Finland--a lieutenant under the Lord Dunbarton."

"Another forfeiture!" exclaimed James, striking his breast; "and yours, Sir?"

"Drumquhasel--first major to the same noble earl," replied the tali cavalier, on whose breast sparkled the cross of St. Louis.

"Another, and another! Oh, gentlemen, your sufferings and your losses, your loyalty and your truth--God may requite them adequately, but I never can!" exclaimed James, in a troubled voice, and when he had inserted the names of the whole hundred and fifty in his note book, he moved again to the front, and taking off his hat, bowed profoundly with an air in which thankfulness and respect were exquisitely blended with dignity and majesty. He then retired pensively towards the palace; but painfully aware of the misery of those who suffered for him, and still unwilling to leave them, with sensations too deep for utterance, the unhappy King returned once more, and bowing to them again and again, covered his face with his handkerchief, and burst into tears. Animated by one sympathetic impulse, the whole line sank at once upon their knees and bowed their heads; the spirit of many a brave man was subdued; several wept, and there was not an unmoistened eye among them. The King, in particular, was deeply affected; his sobs were audible; and again removing his hat, he raised his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, in the words of the last chapter of Lamentations,--

"Remember, O Lord, what is come upon us! Consider and behold our reproach! _Our inheritance is returned to strangers--our houses to aliens!_"

He repeatedly smote himself upon the breast in an energetic fashion he had acquired among the Jesuits, who had been too much about him for his own fortune; and a long pause succeeded, until Lord Dunbarton gave for the last time the word of command. The Scottish officers resumed their aspect of steadiness and order, and marched past the King, whom nearly all of them were fated to behold no more; for death on the field, disease in the camp, poverty and despair, did their work surely and rapidly, and few of that brave but forlorn band ever returned from the frontiers of Spain.

From Versailles this company of unfortunate cavaliers received an order to join the army of Mareschal Noailles; and, next day, they set out from St. Germain, on their long and weary march of nine hundred miles, which they performed on foot, heavily accoutred, bearing their own camp-kettles and equipages, and accompanied by miseries and mortifications that baffle all description; but which, by the indomitable spirit and ardour that animated them, they seldom failed to surmount.

Louis of France was now plunged in a war, into which his mistaken policy had hurried him. In a long persecution of the unhappy Protestants, he had weakened his kingdom by the expatriation of thousands of his best and most industrious subjects, who wandered as refugees throughout other countries, and justly inflamed all Europe against him. To crush him, there had been formed at Augsburg a powerful league, to which the whole empire of Germany, Spain, Holland, Savoy, Sweden, and Denmark were parties; but, in no way daunted, he anticipated this great confederation by invading the empire and laying siege to Philipsburg. The recent revolution in England had given a new turn to this religious war, and Ireland became the theatre of a contest which ended on the banks of the Boyne, where William triumphed over his unfortunate father-in-law.

It may be that the great expenses of the war in which he was now involved prevented Louis XIV. from remunerating adequately to their merit the officers of Dundee's army; but when they joined the standard of Noailles on the Spanish frontier, they were in a state of lamentable destitution and misery. The coarse uniform in which they had marched from St. Germain was worn to rags; they were shoeless, shirtless, and emaciated by hardships, privations, and want of the most common necessaries of life; for by the selfishness and duplicity of individuals to whom their little commissariat was entrusted, they were cheated of their poor supplies, the few presents the generous had sent them, and even of a small pittance (a few pence daily) which James, amid all his own necessities, endeavoured to pay them; yet they were never known to utter a complaint, for the misfortunes of their sovereign pressed heavier on their hearts than their own.

Wherever they marched they were beheld with pity and remembered with sorrow. The kind ladies of Perpignan presented them with a purse containing 200 pistoles, and bought all their rings as relics of _les officiers Ecossais_. "Wherever they passed they were received with tears by the women and admiration by the men. They were the foremost in the battle, and the last in retreat, and of all the troops in the service of France they were most obedient to orders."

There is nothing in the history of ancient or modern times to equal their admirable bearing, heroic ardour, and devoted loyalty. They endured the most severe humiliation and privations without uttering a murmur, and performed actions of heroism outdoing the deeds of romance; for to their inborn daring was united a spirit of desperation, and a longing to be honorably rid of a life that was without a charm and without a ray of hope.

The French were touched by their misfortunes and sufferings; a universal shout rent the camp of Noailles on their marching into it, and with that generosity which is so characteristic of soldiers, the chevaliers and officers immediately subscribed for them, each furnishing shirts, clothing, and money, and none was more liberal with his purse than the noble Mareschal himself; but even of these presents the unhappy Scots officers were cheated by the villany of one to whom they were entrusted, and thus the kind efforts to alleviate their miseries failed.

On the route to Catalonia, near Montpelier, when fording a mountain torrent swollen by the recent rains, Walter Fenton and three other cavaliers were swept away. Catching hold of some alders that overhung the bank, they kept themselves above the current, and called on the peasantry to save them. It is related, that though hundreds were there looking on, they never offered the least assistance, but mocked and jibed them in barbarous Catalonian French, while waiting coolly until they were drowned, that they might possess their money, clothes, and arms. But after great toil and danger they were rescued by their comrades.

They were never seen on the field but with their faces to the enemy. On every desperate duty and forlorn hope they led the way, and often too where others dared not _follow_. Death and disease rapidly thinned their ranks, but their ardour never failed, and had the invisible spirit of the fierce Dundee led them as of old, they could not have surpassed the deeds they achieved and the glory they acquired. On Rosas surrendering,

"_Senor Mariscal_," said the Spanish governor, "what soldiers were those who assailed the breach so valiantly?"

"_Ces sont mes enfans_," replied Noailles, smiling; "they are my children--the King of Britain's Scottish officers, who share his obscurity and exile, and do me the honor to serve under my command."

"By St. James! _they alone_ have compelled me to surrender," replied the noble Spaniard.

They marched from Rosas to Piscador, and, of an army of 26,000 men, 16,000 perished by the way-side of privation. Twice only the Scottish officers were known to disobey orders. The first occasion was at the siege of Rosas, an ancient and well fortified city, situated upon a gulf about twelve miles from Girona. The air was intensely hot, and the water muddy and unwholesome; the only rations of the Scots officers were horse-beans, garlic, and sardinas; they were utterly penniless, and could procure no better food, consequently deadly fevers and fluxes rapidly thinned their ranks, upon which Mareschal Noailles ordered them to leave the camp for the purpose of cantoning in a more healthy locality; but they delayed to obey, and sent Sir Walter Fenton to acquaint him that they "considered his order as an affront put upon them as soldiers of fortune and gentlemen of honour."

The second instance was when a strong body of German troops had made a lodgement on an island in the Rhine, from which it was necessary to force them; the Marquis de Selle ordered a number of boats to be prepared, under an impression that the river was too deep and rapid to be fordable, and the Scottish officers were to lead the way, but were not to move until orders were given to embark. Finding it impossible to restrain their ardour till the arrival of the boats, they slung their musquets and prepared to cross.

"Come on, Walter!" exclaimed the brave Douglas as he led the way, "and we will shew these gay chevaliers of France that we, who have forded the rapid Spey and rocky Forth, need not shrink on the margin of the Rhine. Join hands, gentlemen Scots; forward! and I will lead you to the dance. Hurrah!"

Hand in hand, in the Highland fashion, with their musquets slung, they threw themselves into the rapid and impetuous stream, where between jagged rocks it urged its foamy way over a slippery and stony bed; and thus breaking its force they stemmed the current, and, though under a fierce cannonade and storm of musquet balls poured on them from the rocks of the islet, they forced the dangerous passage in the view of both armies; the Laird of Drumquhasel and Captain Ogilvie* were shot dead; but, led on by Finland, the Scottish officers scaled the rocks, and assailing ten times their number of Germans with screwed bayonets and clubbed musquets, drove them from their intrenchments into the Rhine on the other side of the island, and reared the French standard on its summit.

* Captain Ogilvie was author of a song, which is preserved in Hogg's Jacobite reliques,--"_Adieu for evermore._"

"By St. Denis!" exclaimed the Marquis de Selle, "His the bravest action soldiers ever performed!"

"_Vive les officiers Ecossais!_" cried the French soldiers. "_Le gentilhomme est toujours gentilhomme_;" and to this day, in memory of the Scottish valour, the place is named

L'ISLE D'ECOSSE.