43
In some fifteen minutes Carlton rejoined Claverhouse red and annoyed, and on the sight of him Claverhouse laughed.
“Without offence, good comrade, I take it you have not been thanked for your trouble or been promised promotion. Sworn at, I dare say, if those godly Dutchmen are allowed to rap out an oath. At any rate you have been told to attend to your own work and leave our wise generals to manage theirs, eh?”
“You are right, Graham. I wish I had bitten off my tongue rather than reported the matter. I got hold of an aide-de-camp, and I pointed out what we had seen, and he spoke to me as if I was a boy with my heart in my mouth for fear I would be shot every minute. For a set of pig-headed fools–––”
“Well, it would not have mattered much, for the news, as it happened, would have come too late. See, the attack has begun; whatever be the issue of the battle before night, it will be one way or another with us within an hour.” As he spoke Claverhouse began to put himself in order, seeing that his pistols were ready in the holsters, his sword loose in the scabbard, and the girths of his saddle tight.
“It will be a sharp piece of work for us, and some good sword play before it is done.”
44
Suddenly from the wood a line of cavalry emerged, followed by another and still another, till at least three regiments were on the side of the hill, and behind them it was evident there was a large body of troops. By this time the staff had taken alarm, and an officer had galloped up with orders that the English volunteers and Dutch cavalry should deploy to the right, and orders were also sent to the Spaniards in the rear to advance rapidly and cover the baggage. The Dutch troops in front who had entered the defile were arrested, and began to march back, and an urgent message was sent to the Imperialists to follow the Dutch in case the French should make a general attack. Before the Dutch troops had returned to the open, and long before the Imperialists could be in action, the French, crossing the hill with immense rapidity and covered by a screen of cavalry, attacked the Spanish rear-guard before it was able to take up a proper form of defence, and though the Spaniards fought with their accustomed courage, and no blame could be attached to the dispositions made in haste by Vaudemont, this division of the army was absolutely routed, and one distinguished Spanish general, the Marquis of Assentar, was killed when cheering his men to the defence. The defeat of the45Spaniards left the baggage train unprotected, and the French troops fell upon it with great zest: indeed, Claverhouse that night declared that the Highlanders themselves could not have raided more heartily or more swiftly. Nor did the Spaniards, when once they had been beaten and scattered, and fighting was no longer of any use, disdain to help themselves to the plunder. Grimond was furious as he saw his wagon in danger, and endeavored to rally some odds and ends of flying Spaniards and terrified wagon-drivers to defend his cherished possessions. But he was left to do so himself, and after beating off the two first Frenchmen who came to investigate, and being wounded in a general fight with the next lot, he was obliged to leave the possessions of the English volunteers to their fate and set off to discover how it fared with his master.
The Battle of Sineffe was to last all day, and before evening the two armies would be generally engaged; eighteen thousand men were to fall on both sides, and there were to be many hot encounters, but the sharpest took place at the centre and early in the day. The cavalry with the English volunteers were thrown forward to hinder the advance of the French cavalry who, while their infantry46were dealing with the Spanish corps, were being hurled at the centre in order to cut the army in two and confine the Dutch troops to the defile, or if they emerged from the defiles, to crush them before they could deploy on the broken country.
“Where do you take it is the point of conflict?” asked Carlton as the regiment of the guards with which they were serving went forward at a sharp trot across the level ground, on which the French cavalry should soon be appearing. “Where is his Highness himself, for I can get no sight of the rest of the Dutch cavalry?”
“To the left, I take it, where the fight has already begun. Do you not hear the firing? and I seem to catch some shouts, as if the Dutch and the French were already meeting. Mind you, Carlton, his Highness may have been too confident and laid the army open to attack, but he can tell where the heart of the situation is, and his business will be to resist the French onslaught till the infantry are in position. Just as I thought, we are to go to his aid, and in ten minutes, or my name is not Graham, we shall have as much as we want.”
In less than that space of time the regiment, now galloping, found themselves in the47immediate rear of the fighting line, and opened out and prepared to advance. In front of them three regiments of Dutch cavalry were being beaten back by a French brigade, and just when the English volunteers arrived the French received a large accession of strength, and the Dutch, broken and ridden down by weight of men and horses, were driven back. It was in vain that their colonel ordered his men to charge, for in fifty yards the mass of Dutch cavalry in front were thrown upon them and broke their line. It was now a man to man and hand to hand conflict for a few minutes, and Claverhouse, when he had disentangled himself from the hurly-burly, and forced his way through the mass, was in immediate conflict with a French officer in front of their line, whom he disarmed by a clever sword trick which he had learned from a master of arms in the French service. A French soldier missed Claverhouse’s head by a hair’s-breadth, while he, swerving, struck down another on his right. Carlton had disappeared, Hales had been wounded, but in the end escaped with his life. Collier and Claverhouse were now in the open space behind the first line of the French cavalry, and they could see more than one Dutch officer and48some of the Dutch troopers also in the same dangerous position. Graham was considering what to do when he caught sight, a short distance off on the left, of a figure he seemed to know: it was an officer riding slowly along the line as if in command, and taking no heed of the many incidents happening round him.
“Collier,” cried Graham, “see you who that is among the French soldiers alone and at their mercy? As I am a living man it is the Prince himself. Good God! how did he get there, and what is he going to do?”
While Graham was speaking the Prince of Orange, who was now quite close to him, but gave no sign that he recognized him, suddenly threw out an order in French to the regiment behind which he was riding, and which was hewing its way through a mass of Dutch. He called on them to halt and reform, and their officers supposing him to be one of their generals who had arrived from headquarters, set to work to extricate their men from the mêlée. The Prince passed with the utmost coolness through their line as if to see what was doing in front, while Claverhouse and Collier followed him as if they were attached. As soon as he had got to the open space in front, for what remained of the Dutch were in rapid retreat, and were scattering in all directions,49he put spurs to his horse, and shouting to Claverhouse and Collier to follow rapidly, for his trick had already been detected, he galloped forward to the place where the crowd of fugitives was thinnest, that he might as soon as possible rejoin his staff and resume command when above all times a general was needed. A French officer, however, had recognized him as he passed through the line, and now with some dozen soldiers was pursuing at full speed. The Prince’s horse had been wounded in two places and was also blown with exertion, and passing over some marshy ground had not strength to clear it, but plunged helplessly in the soft soil. In two minutes, the French would have been upon them and made the greatest capture of the war. Claverhouse, leaping off his horse, asked the Prince to mount, who, instantly and without more than a nod, sprang into the saddle and escaped when the Frenchmen were within a few yards. Claverhouse fired at the French officer and missed him, but brought down his horse, which did just as well, and Collier sent his sword through the shoulder of the French soldier who followed next. Claverhouse, seizing this minute of delay, ran with all his might for a hedge, over which dismounted stragglers were climbing in hot50haste, and made for the nearest gap. It was blocked by a tall and heavily-built Dutch dragoon, who could neither get through nor back, and was swearing fearfully.
Claverhouse fired at the French officer and missed him, but brought down his horse. Page 49.
Claverhouse fired at the French officer and missed him, but brought down his horse. Page 49.
“It’s maist awfu’ to see a Christian man misusing the Lord’s mercies like that,” and at the sound of that familiar voice Claverhouse turned to find Grimond by his side, who had been out in the hope of finding his master, and had certainly come to his aid at the right time.
“Would onybody but a blunderin’ fool of a Dutchman think of blockin’ a passage when the troops are in retreat? If we canna get through him, we had better get ower him. I’ve helped ye across a dyke afore, Maister John, and there ye go.” Claverhouse, jumping on Grimond, who made a back for him, went over the Dutchman’s shoulders. Then he seized the Dutchman by his arm, while Grimond acted as a battering-ram behind: so they pulled what remained of him, like a cork out of the mouth of a bottle, and Grimond followed his master. Collier, who had been covering the retreat, left his horse to its fate, and ran by the same convenient gap.
“To think o’ the perversity o’ that Dutchman obstructin’ a right o’ way, especially on sich a busy day, wi’ his muckle unmannerly51carcase, as if he had been a Highland cattle beast. Dod! he would make a grand Covenanter for the cursed thrawnness o’ him.”
That night when the English volunteers, who had all escaped with some slight wounds and the loss of their baggage, were going over the day’s work, an officer attached to the Prince asked if a Scots gentleman called Mr. Graham was present. When Claverhouse rose and saluted him, the officer said, with the curt brevity of his kind, “His Highness desires your presence,” and immediately turned and strode off in the direction of the headquarters, while Claverhouse, shrugging his shoulders, followed him in his usual leisurely fashion. On arriving at the farm-house where the Prince had gone after the French had retired, Graham was immediately shown into his room. The Prince, rising and returning Claverhouse’s respectful salutation, gave him one long, searching glance, and then said: “You did me a great service to-day, and saved my person from capture, perhaps my life from death. I do not forget any man who has done me good, and who is loyal to me. What you desire at my hands I do not know, and what it would be best to do for you I do not yet know. If you determine after some experience to remain in my service, and if52you show yourself the good soldier I take you to be, you will not miss promotion. That is all I will say to-night, for I know not where your ambitions may lie.” The Prince looked coldly at Graham’s love-locks and Cavalier air. “Your cause may not be my cause. I bid you good-evening, Mr. Graham. We shall meet again.”
53CHAPTER IIIA DECISIVE BLOW
“You have the devil’s luck, Graham,” said Rooke, who had taken a meal fit for two men, and now had settled down to smoke and drink for the evening. “To get the best place in the attack to-day on the town, and to escape with nothing more than a cat scratch, which will not hurt your beauty, is more than any ordinary man can expect. There will be some hot work before Grave is taken, and plenty of good men will get their marching orders,” for the Prince and his troops were now besieging Grave keenly, and the English volunteers were messing together after an assault which had captured some of the outworks.
“I would lay you what you like, Rooke,” drawled Venner, “if I were not a Puritan, and didn’t disapprove of drinking and gambling and other works of Satan, that Chamilly will come to terms within fourteen days. He has no stomach for those mortars that are playing on the place, and he knows that54Orange, having got his teeth in, will never take them out. Another assault like to-day will settle the matter. Graham here used to say that his Highness was an icicle, but I judge him a good fighting man. You will get as much as you want if you follow the Prince. Ballantine that’s gone to-day always said that there was no soldier in Europe he would put before the Prince. Speaking about that, who, think you, will get the place of lieutenant-colonel in the Scots Brigade in succession to Sir William?”
“Don’t know, and don’t care,” said Collier, stretching himself and yawning. “It will go to some officer of the Scots Brigade, and though I am a born Scot, nobody remembers that, and I pass for an Englishman. And to tell the truth, I’m happier with you volunteers than among those canny Scots; they are as jealous and as bigoted as a Roundhead Conventicle, and I don’t envy the man who gets promotion among them. But it doesn’t concern any of us.”
“There I differ with you, comrade,” broke in Carlton. “You seem to have forgotten that one of our good company is not only a Scot, but has done the Prince priceless service. I make little doubt that we shall hear news in twenty-four hours. We are proud to55have Mr. Graham with us, for he is a good comrade and a good soldier, but I expect to-morrow to drink a flask of wine to his commission as lieutenant-colonel. What say you to my idea?”
“If promotion went by merit, I’m with you, Carlton; but, faith, it goes by everything else, and specially back-door influence. A man gets his step, not because he is a good soldier, but because he has got a friend at court, or he is the same religion as the general, or I have heard cases where it went by gold.”
“That such things are done, Rooke, I will not deny, but they say that promotion goes fairly where his Highness commands; he has an eye for a good soldier, and you have forgotten that he would not be in his place to-day had it not been for our comrade’s help.”
“I remember that quite well, and I wish to God other people may remember, for Graham ran a pretty good chance of closing his life that day and never seeing Scotland again, but Princes have short memories. If Charles II. of sainted character had called to his mind that my grandfather, more fool he, melted all his plate and lost all his land, to say nothing of three or four sons, for the Stuart cause, I would not be a gentleman volunteer in this56army without a spare gold piece in my pocket. Kings bless you at the time with many pretty words, and then don’t know your face next time you meet; but I wish you good luck, Graham, and I drink your health. What think you yourself?”
“What I ought to think, gentlemen, is that I am much honored to have your good opinion and your friendly wishes.” And Graham gathered them all with a smile that gave his delicate and comely features a rare fascination. “You are true comrades as well as brave gentlemen. I will not deny, though I would only say it among my friends, that I have thought of that vacancy, and have wondered whether the appointment would come my way. I received, indeed, a private word to apply for it this evening, but that I will not do. The Prince knows what I have done, though I do not make so much of saving his life as you may think. If he is pleased to give me this advance, well, gentlemen, I hope I shall not bring disgrace upon the Scots Brigade. But let us change the subject. We be a barbarous people in the North, but after all a gentleman does not love to talk about his own doings, still less of his own glory. To bed, my comrades, we may have heavy work to-morrow.”
57
The Prince gave his troops a day’s rest, and left the artillery to do their work, and Claverhouse was reading for the sixth time some letters of his mother’s, when Grimond came in with the air of a man full of news, but determined not to tell them until he was questioned, and even then to give what he had grudgingly and by way of favor.
“What news, did ye say, Mr. John? Weel, if ye mean from Scotland, ye have the last yersel’ in the letters of your honorable mither. What I am hearing from some Scot that cam oot o’ the west country is that if the council does na maister the Covenanters, the dear carles will maister them, and then Scotland will be a gey ill place to live in. It will be a fine sicht when you and me, Claverhouse, has to sign the Solemn League and Covenant, and hear Sandy Peden, that they call a prophet, preachin’ three hours on the sins o’ prelacy and dancin’. My certes!” And at the thought thereof Grimond lost the power of speech.
“Never mind Scotland, Jock, just now; the auld country will take care of herself till we go home, and then we’ll give such assistance as in the power of a good sword. Who knows, man, but we’ll be riding through the muirs of Ayrshire after something bigger58than muir-fowl before many years are over? But the camp, man, what’s going on here this morning, and what are the folk talking about, for, as ye know, I’ve been on the broad of my back after yesterday’s work?”
“If ye mean by news, laird, what wasna expected, and that, I’m judging, is a correct definition o’ news, there’s naethin’ worth mentionin’. A dozen more Scots have come to get their livin’ or their death, as Providence wills, in a foreign army, instead of working their bit o’ land on a brae-side in bonnie Scotland. But that’s no news, for it has been goin’ on for centuries, and I’m expectin’ will last as long as thae foreign bodies need buirdly men and Scotland has a cold climate.
“They are saying, I may mention, that Chamilly is getting sick o’ these mortars, and didna particularly like the attack yesterday, and the story is going about that he will soon ask for terms, and that if he gets the honors of war the Prince may have the town. It will be another feather in his cap, and, to my thinkin’, he has got ower many for his deservin’––an underhand and evil-hearted loon.” And Grimond spoke with such vehemence and a keen dislike that Claverhouse suspected he had heard something more important than he had told.
59
“‘Is that all?’ ye ask, Claverhouse, and I reply no; but I wish to gudeness that it was. If news be what has happened, even though some of us expected it, then I have got some, although I would rather that my tongue was blistered than tell it. It cam into my mind that the Prince micht be appointin’ the new colonel to the Scots Brigade this mornin’, and so I just happened to give a cry on an Angus man who is gettin’ his bit livin’ as a servant to one of the aides-de-camp. He is called a Dutchman, but has honest Scots blood in his veins. We havered about this and about that, and then I threipit (insisted) that he would never hear onything that was goin’ on, and, for example, that he wouldna know who was the new colonel. ‘Div I no?’ said Patrick Harris. ‘Maybe I do, but maybe I wouldna be anxious to tell ye, Jock Grimond, for ye michtna be pleased.’ ‘Pleased or no pleased,’ I said, ‘let me hear his name.’ ‘Well,’ he answered, ‘if ye maun have it, it’s no your maister that folk thought would get it.’ ‘Then,’ said I, ‘Patrick, I jalouse who it is; it’s MacKay of Scourie.’ ‘It is,’ said Patrick. ‘I heard it when I was standin’ close to the door, and I canna say that I’m pleased.’ Naither was I, ye may depend upon it, Claverhouse, but I wouldna give onybody60the satisfaction of knowing what I thocht. So I just contented mysel’ wi’ sayin’, ‘Damn them baith, the are for an ungrateful scoundrel, and the other for a plottin’, schemin’ hypocritical Presbyterian. I cam to tell ye, but no word would have passed my lips if ye hadna chanced to ask me.”
“Jock, you’ve been a faithful man to the house of Graham for many years,” said Claverhouse, after a silence of some minutes, during which Grimond busied himself polishing his master’s arms, “and I will say to you what I am not going to tell the camp, that you might have brought better news. Whether I was right or wrong, man, I had set my heart upon succeeding Ballantine, and I was imagining that maybe this very afternoon I could write home to my mother and tell her that her son was a lieutenant-colonel in the good Scots Brigade. But it’s all in the chances of war, and we must just take things as they come. Do ye know, Jock, I often think I was born like the Marquis, under an unlucky star, and that all my life things will go ill with me, and with my cause. I dinna think that I’ll ever see old age, and I doubt whether I’ll leave an heir to succeed me. I dreamed one nicht that the wraith of our house stood beside my bed and said, ‘Ye’ll be cursed in love and cursed61in war, and die a bloody death at the hand of traitors whom ye trusted.’”
“For God’s sake, Maister John, dinna speak like that.” And Grimond’s voice, hard man though he was, was nigh the breaking. “It’s no chancy, what ye say micht come to pass if ye believe it. Whatever the evil spirit said in the veesions o’ the nicht––oh! my laddie, for laddie ye have been to me since I learned ye to ride your pony and fire your first shot, ye mauna give heed or meddle wi’ Providence. Ye have been awfu’ favored wi’ the bonniest face ever I saw on a man, so that there’s no a lass looks on ye but she loves ye, and the hardiest body ever I kenned. Ye have the best blood of Scotland in your veins, and I never saw ye fearful o’ onything; ye have covered yersel’ wi’ glory in this war, and I prophesy there will be a great place waiting you in the North country. There’s no a noble lady in Scotland that wouldna be willing to marry you, and I’m expectin’ afore I die to see you famous as the great Marquis himsel’, wi’ sons and daughters standin’ round ye. I ken aboot the wraith o’ the house o’ Graham, a maleecious and lying jade. If she ever comes to ye again by nicht or day, bid her begone to the evil place in the name o’ the Lord wha redeemed us.”
62
“You’re a trusty friend, Grimond, for both my mother and myself count you more friend than servant, and you’ve spoken good words; but I take it this day’s happenings are an omen of what is coming. Maybe I am ower young to take black views o’ hidden days, but ye’ll mind afterwards, Jock Grimond, when ye wrap me in a bloody coat for burial, for there will be no shroud for me, that I said the shadow began to fall at the siege of Grave. But there’s no use complaining, man; our cup is mixed, and we must drink it, bitter or sweet. Aye, the Grahams are a doomed house, and we maun dree oor weird (suffer our destiny).”
“Weird,” broke out Grimond, with a revulsion from pathos to anger. “Ye speak as if it were the will o’ the Almichty, but I am thinkin’ the thing was worked from another quarter. Providence had very little hand in it, unless ye call Captain Hugh MacKay Providence, and in that case it’ll be true what some folks say, that the devil rules the world. From all I can gather, and I keep my ears open when you are concerned, laird, I am as sure as you are Laird of Claverhouse that Scourie, confoond his smooth face, has been plottin’ aginst ye ever since ye sat that nicht afore the Battle of Sineffe roond the63camp-fire. I saw how he looked, and I said to mysel’, ‘You’re up to some mischief.’ His party hangit the noble Marquis and plagued him wi’ their prayers on the scaffold, and it is as natural for a Covenanter to hate a Graham as to eat his breakfast. MacKay saw we were dangerous, and ye’ll be more dangerous yet, Claverhouse, to the black crew. He has been up the back stairs tellin’ lies aboot ye, and sayin’ that though many trust ye, for a’ that ye are an enemy to Presbytery. Ye’ll have your chance yet, laird, and avenge the murder o’ the Marquis, but there’ll be no place for ye here so long as MacKay is pourin’ the poison o’ asps, as auld David has it, into the Prince’s ear.”
“Na, na, Mr. John,” concluded Grimond when his master had remonstrated with him for speaking against the Prince and an officer of the army, and warned him to be careful of his tongue, “ye needna be feart that a word o’ this will be heard ootside. I mind the word in the Good Book, ‘Speak not against the King, lest a bird of the air carry the matter.’ There’s plenty o’ birds in this camp that would be glad enough to work us wrang. Gin onybody speaks to me aboot Captain MacKay being made a colonel, I’ll give him to understand that my master was offered the64post and declined to take it for special reasons o’ his own; maybe because ye wanted to stay wi’ the gentlemen volunteers, and maybe because there was a grand position waitin’ for ye in Scotland. Let me alone, laird, for makin’ the most o’ the situation: but dinna forget MacKay.”
Claverhouse was of another breed from Grimond, and had the chivalrous instincts of his house, but as the time wore on and Graham went with the Prince’s guards after the surrender of Grave to The Hague, where Colonel MacKay and the Scots Brigade were also stationed, the constant spray of insinuations of MacKay’s cunning and the Prince’s prejudice began to tell upon his mind. He was conscious of a growing dislike towards MacKay, beyond that coolness which must always exist between men of such different religious and political creeds. It was a tradition among the Scots Royalists from the days of Montrose that the Whig Highlanders, such as the Campbells, were cunning and treacherous, and then it was right to admit that MacKay might think himself justified in warning the Prince of Orange, who was surrounded by Presbyterians, and already coming under the masterful influence of Carstairs, the minister of the Presbyterian Church, and afterwards65William’s most trusted councillor, that Graham belonged to a thoroughgoing and dangerous Cavalier house, and that it would not be wise to show him too much favor. Although they were fellow-soldiers, and had met in camp life from time to time, they had never been anything more than distant acquaintances. Now it seemed to Claverhouse that MacKay looked at him more coldly than ever, and that he had caught a triumphant expression in his eye. MacKay was getting upon his nerves, and he had come to hate the sight of him. As a matter of fact, and as Claverhouse granted to himself afterwards, while MacKay was not his friend and could not be, he had never said a word against him to the Prince, and if he had used no influence for him, had never tried to hinder his promotion. The day was coming when Claverhouse would acknowledge that though MacKay was on the wrong side, he had conducted himself as became a man of blood and a brave soldier. In those days at The Hague, disappointed about promotion, and with evil news from Scotland, to say nothing of Grimond ever at his elbow goading and inflaming him through his very loyalty, Claverhouse allowed himself to fall into an unworthy and inflammatory temper. When one is in this morbid state of66mind, he may at any moment lose self-control, and it was unfortunate that, after a long tirade one morning from Grimond, who professed to have new evidence of MacKay’s underhand dealing, Claverhouse should have met his supposed enemy in the precincts of the Prince’s house. MacKay was going to wait upon the Prince, and was passing hurriedly with a formal salutation, when Claverhouse, who in this very haste found ground of offence, stood in the way.
“May I have the honor, if you be called not immediately to the Prince’s presence, to wish you good-morning, Colonel MacKay, and to say, for it is better to give to a man’s face what one is thinking behind his back, that, although I have not the satisfaction of speaking much with you, I hear you are busy enough speaking about me.”
“If we do not meet much, Claverhouse,” replied MacKay, with a look of surprise on his calm and composed face, “this is not my blame, and doubtless it may be counted my loss. It is only that our duties lie apart and we keep different company. I know not what you mean by your charge against me, which, I take it, comes to this, that I have said evil of you to some one, I know not whom, and in some place I know not where.67Is that why you have been avoiding me, and even looking at me as if I were your enemy? My time is short, but this misunderstanding between gentlemen can surely be quickly cleared. I pray you of your courtesy, explain yourself and give your evidence.”
“No doubt you have little time, and no doubt you will soon be busy with the same work. You were born of a good house, though it has taken an evil road in these days; you know the rules by which a man of blood should guide his life, and the things it were a shame for him to do, even to the man he may have to meet on the battle ground. Is it fitting, Scourie, to slander a fellow-officer to his commander, and so to pollute his fountain of influence that he shall not receive his just place? You have asked what I have against you; now I tell you, and I am ashamed to bring so foul an accusation against a Scots gentleman.”
“Is that the cause of your black looks and secret ill-will?” And MacKay was as cold as ever, and gave no sign that he had been stirred by this sudden attack. “In that case I can remove your suspicion, and prevent any breach between two Scots officers who may not be on the same side in their own country, but who serve the same Prince in this land.68Never have I once, save in some careless and passing reference, spoken about you with the Prince, and never have I, and I say it on the honor of a Highland gentleman, said one word against you as a man or as a soldier. You spoke of evidence. What is your evidence? Who has told you this thing, which is not true? Who has tried to set you on fire against me?”
“It is not necessary, Colonel MacKay, to produce any witness or to quote any saying of yours. The facts are known to all the army; they have seen how it has fared with you and with me. I will not say whether I had not some claim to succeed Ballantine as lieutenant-colonel in the Scots Brigade, and I will not argue whether you or I had done most for his Highness. I have not heard that you saved his life, or that he promised to show his gratitude. I will not touch further on that point, but how is it, I ask you, that since that day, though I had my share of fighting at the siege of Grave and elsewhere as ye know, there is no word of advance for me? If you can read this riddle to me and keep yourself out of it, why then I shall be willing to take your hand and count you, Presbyterian though you be, an honest man.”
“Why ask those questions of me, especially69as ye seem to doubt my word, Captain Graham?” And for the first time MacKay seemed stung by the insinuation of dishonorable conduct. “If you will pardon my advice, would it not be better that you go yourself to the Prince and ask him if any man has injured you with him, and how it is you have not received what you consider your just reward?”
“That is cheap counsel, Hugh MacKay, and mayhap you gave it because you knew it would not be taken. Never will I humble myself before that wooden image, never will I ask as a favor what should be given as my right. It were fine telling in Scotland that John Graham of Claverhouse was waiting like a beggar upon a Dutch Prince. I would rather that the liars and the plotters whom he makes his friends should have the will of me.”
MacKay’s face flushes for an instant to a fiery red, and then turns ghastly pale, and without a word he is going on his way, but Claverhouse will not let him.
“Will nothing rouse your blood and touch your honor? Must I do this also?” And lifting his cane he struck MacKay lightly upon the breast. “That, I take it, will give a reason for settling things between us. Mr.70Collier will, I make no doubt, receive any officer you are pleased to send within an hour, and I will give you the satisfaction one gentleman desires of another before the sun sets.”
“You have done me bitter wrong, Captain Graham.” And MacKay was trembling with passion, and putting the severest restraint upon his temper, which had now been fairly roused. “But I shall not do wrong against my own conscience. When I took up the honorable service of arms, I made a vow unto myself and sealed it in covenant with God that I would accept no challenge nor fight any duel. It is enough that the blood of our enemies be on our souls. I will not have the guilt of a fellow-officer’s death, or risk my own life in a private quarrel. I pray you let me pass.”
“It is your own life you are concerned about, Colonel MacKay,” answered Claverhouse, with an evil smile full of contempt, and in the quietest of accents, for he had resumed his characteristic composure, “your own precious life, which you desire to keep in safeguard.” Then, turning with a graceful gesture to some officers who had been passing and been arrested by the altercation, Claverhouse said with an air of careless languor: “May I have the strange privilege71never given me before, and perhaps never to be mine again, of introducing you, by his leave or without it, to a Scot whom no one can deny is by birth a gentleman, and whom no one can deny now is also a coward––Lieutenant-Colonel MacKay, of the Prince’s Scots Brigade.”
72CHAPTER IVA CHANGE OF MASTERS
When his first fierce heat cooled, and Claverhouse had time for reflection, he was by no means so well satisfied with himself as he had imagined he would be in the foresight of such a scene. For one thing he had shown the soreness of his heart in not getting promotion, and had betrayed a watchful suspiciousness, which was hardly included in a chivalrous character. He had gone out of his way to insult a fellow-Scot, and a fellow-officer who had never pretended to be his friend, and who was in no way bound to advance his interest, because, to put it the worst, MacKay had secured his own promotion and not that of Claverhouse. As regards MacKay’s courage, it had been proved on many occasions, and to call him a coward was only a childish offence, as if one flung mud upon a passer-by. When Claverhouse reviewed his conduct, and no man was more candid in self-judgment, he confessed to himself that73he had played an undignified part, and was bitterly chagrined. The encounter, of course, buzzed through the camp, and every man gave his judgment, many justifying Captain Graham, and declaring that he had shown himself a man of mettle––they were the younger and cruder minds––many censuring him for his insolent ambition and speaking of him as a brawling bravo––they were some of the staid and stronger minds. His friends, he noticed, avoided the subject and left him to open it if he pleased, but he gathered beforehand that he would not receive much sympathy from that figure of common-sense Carlton, nor that matter-of-fact soldier Rooke, and that the ex-Puritan Venner would only make the incident a subject of satirical moralizing. With another disposition than that which Providence had been pleased to give John Graham, the condemnation of his better judgment, confirmed by the judgment of sound men, would have led him to the manly step of an apology which would have been humiliating to his pride, but certainly was deserved at his hands. Under the domination of his masterful pride, which was both the strength and the weakness of Graham’s character, making him capable of the most absolute loyalty, and capable of the74most inexcusable deeds, a pride no friend could guide, and no adversity could break, Claverhouse fell into a fit of silent anger with himself, with MacKay, with his absent critics, with the Prince. It was also in keeping with his nature to be that afternoon gayer than usual––recalling the humorous events of early days with Grimond, who could hardly conceal the satisfaction he dared not express, treating every man he met with the most gracious courtesy, smiling approval of the poorest jest, and proposing healths and drinking national toasts that evening with his friends as if nothing had happened, and no care heavier than thistledown lay upon his mind. But Claverhouse knew that the incident was not closed, and he was not surprised when an officer attached to the Prince’s person called at his lodging and commanded his presence at the Prince’s house next morning. He was aware that in striking MacKay and challenging him to a duel he had infringed a strict law, which forbade such deeds within the Royal grounds.
William of Orange was a younger man than when England knew him, and he came as king to reign over what was ever to him a foreign people, as he was to them an unattractive monarch. He was a man of slight75and frail body; of calm and passionless nature, capable as few men have been of silence and reserve. His mind worked, as it were, in vacuo, secluded from the atmosphere of tradition, prejudice, emotions, jealousies. It was free from moods and changes, clear, penetrating, determined, masterful. Against no man did he bear a personal grudge, for that would have only deflected his judgment and embarrassed his action. For only two or three men had he any personal affection; that also might have affected the balance of his judgment and the freedom of his action. His courage was undeniable, his spirit of endurance magnificent, his military talents and his gift of statesmanship brilliant. Perhaps, on the whole, his most valuable characteristic qualities were self-control and a spirit of moderation, which enabled him to warm his hands at other men’s fires and to avoid the perils of extremes. His weakness was the gravity of his character, which did not attract the eye or inspire devotion in the ordinary man, and an inevitable want of imagination, which prevented him entering into the feelings of men of a different caste. It would, indeed, have been difficult to find a more vivid contrast between the two men who faced each other in the Prince’s room,76and who represented those two schools of thought which have ever been in conflict in religion––reason and authority, and those two types of character which have ever collided in life––the phlegmatic and the empassioned.
“What, I pray you, is the reason of your conduct yesterday in the precincts?” asked the Prince at once after formally acknowledging Claverhouse’s reverence. “I am informed upon good evidence that you wantonly insulted Lieutenant-Colonel MacKay of the Scots Brigade, and that you invited him to a duel, and that when he, as became an officer of judgment and piety, as well as of high courage, declined to join with you in a foolish and illegal act, that you called him a coward. Have I been rightly informed?
“Then that point is settled as I expected, and in order that you may not make any mistake on this matter I will add, though I am not obliged to do so, that Colonel MacKay did not condescend to inform against you. The scandal was public enough to come from various quarters, and now to my chief question, have you anything to say in your defence?”
“Nothing, sir,” replied Claverhouse. “I judged that Colonel MacKay had done me a77personal injury for which I desired satisfaction in the way that gentlemen give. He has a prudent dislike to risk his life, although I endeavored to quicken his spirit. And so I allowed him to know what I thought of him, and some officers who overheard our conversation seemed to have been so much pleased with my judgment that they carried it round the army. In this way I presume it came to your Highness’s ears. That is all,” concluded Graham with much sweetness of manner, “that I have to say.”
“It is what you ought to be ashamed to say, Mr. Graham,” said William severely. “Neither of us are old men, but I take it you are older than I am–––”
“I am twenty-six years of age, may it please your Highness,” interpolated Claverhouse, “and have served in two armies.”
“We are, at any rate, old enough not to play the fool or carry ourselves like headstrong boys. As regards your quarrel, I am given to understand that the cause lies not so much with your fellow-officer as with your general. You are one of that large company who can be found in all armies, who are disappointed because, in their judgment, promotion has not corresponded with their merits. Be good enough to say if I do you an78injustice? You are silent, then I am right. And so, because another officer was promoted before you, you choose to take offence and try to put shame upon a gallant gentleman. Is this”––the Prince inquired with a flavor of contempt––“how well-born Scots carry themselves in their own country?”
“Your Highness’s reasoning,” replied Graham with elaborate deliberation, “has convinced me of my error, but I should like to make this plea, that if I had not been carried by a gust of passion in the park yester-morning, I had not disputed with Colonel MacKay. It still seems to me that he has been treated with over much kindness in this matter of promotion, in which––it may be their foolishness––soldiers are apt to be jealous, and I have been in some degree neglected. But I most frankly confess that I have been in the wrong in doing what I did, since it was more your Highness’s business than mine to have resented this quarrel.”
“What mean you by this word, for it has an evil sound?” But there was not a flush on William’s pale, immovable face, and it was marvellous to see so young a Prince carry himself so quietly under the polite scorn of Claverhouse’s manner and the rising insolence of his speech.
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“As your Highness insists, it is my pleasure to make my poor meaning plain in your Highness’s ears. If I know what happened, Colonel MacKay, reaching the highest quarter by the back stair, persuaded your Highness to give him the colonelcy, although it in honor belonged to another officer, and I submit to your Highness’s judgment that it was you who should have flicked him with your cane. Colonel MacKay has done John Graham of Claverhouse less injury in disappointing him of his regiment, though it has been a grievous dash, than in inducing your Highness to break your promise.” And Claverhouse, whose last word had fallen in smoothness like honey from the comb, and in venom like the poison of a serpent, looked the Prince straight in the face and then bowed most lowly.
“You are, I judge, Captain Graham, recalling a certain happening at the Battle of Sineffe, when you rendered important service to me, and it may be saved my life. If you conclude that this has been forgotten, or that a Prince has no gratitude, because you did not obtain the place you coveted, then understand that you are wrong, and that with all your twenty-six years and your service in two armies, you are ignorant of the80principle on which an army should be regulated. Upon your way of it, if any young officer, more raw in character than in years, and not yet able to rule his own spirit, or to keep himself from quarrelling like a common soldier, should happen to be of use in a strait––I acknowledge the strait––to a king, his foolishness should be placed in command of veteran officers and men. It were right to recompense him at the cost of the Prince, mayhap, but not at the cost of gallant soldiers whom he was unfit to govern, because he could not govern himself.”
Whether William was angry at Claverhouse’s impertinence, or was no more touched than the cliff by the spray from a wave, only his intimates could have told, but in this conflict between the two temperaments, the Prince was in the end an easy victor. If William had no boiling point, Claverhouse, though as composed in manner as he was afterwards to be cruel in action, had limits to his self-restraint. As the Prince suggested that, though two years older than himself, he was a shallow-pated and self-conceited boy, who was ever looking after his own ends, and when he was disappointed, kicked and struggled like a child fighting with its nurse; that, in fact, in spite of thinking81himself a fine gentleman, he ought to know that he had neither sense nor manners, and was as yet unfit for any high place, Claverhouse’s temper gave way, and he struck with cutting words at the Prince.
“What I intended to have said, but my blundering speech may not have reached your Highness’s mind, is that if a Prince makes a promise of reward to another man who has saved his life at the risk of his own, that Prince is bound to keep his word or to make some reparation. And there is a debt due by your Highness to a certain Scots officer which has not been paid. Is a Prince alone privileged to break his word?”
“You desire reparation,” answered the Prince more swiftly than usual, and with a certain haughty gesture, “and you shall have it before you leave my presence. For brawling and striking within our grounds, you are in danger of losing your right arm, and other men have been so punished for more excusable doings. You have been complaining in a public place that you have not obtained a regiment, as if it were your due, and you have charged your general with the worst of military sins after cowardice, of being a favorer. I bestow upon you what will be more valuable to you than a regiment which82you have not the capacity to command. I give you back your right arm, and I release you from the service of my army.”
“May I ask your Highness to accept my most humble and profound gratitude for sparing my arm, which has fought for your Highness, and if it be possible, yet deeper gratitude for releasing me from the service of a Prince who does not know how to keep his word. Have I your Highness’s permission to leave your presence, and to make arrangements for my departure from The Hague?”
Claverhouse spoke with an exaggerated accent of respect, but the words were so stinging that William’s eyes, for an instant only, flashed fire, and the aide-de-camp in the room made a step forward as if to arrest the Scots officer. There was a pause, say, of fifteen seconds, which seemed an hour, and then the Prince ordered his aide-de-camp to leave the chamber, and William and Claverhouse stood alone.
“You are a bold man, Mr. Graham,” said the Prince icily, “and I should not judge you to be a wise one. It is not likely that you will ever be as prudent as you are daring, and I foresee a troubled career, whether it be long or short, for you.