Crockett Samuel Rutherford
Lochinvar: A Novel

CHAPTER XLVI
THE LEAGUER OF DUNKELD

The leaders of the Highland army knew not for a while whether most to rejoice in the victory which the clans had won for the king, or to grieve for the terrible price which had been paid for it. The army of General Mackay had indeed been swept out of existence. The succors from the distant clans were daily pouring in. Scarlett had arrived with four hundred more of Lochiell's claymores. Ardnamurchan and Morven sent stalwart levies. The way seemed clear to Edinburgh, from whence there came tidings of stricken dismay among the followers of Hamilton, that mighty prince, and where only the Wild Whigs of the West stood firm, patrolling the city and keeping ill-doers in such fear as they had not known since Cromwell encamped betwixt the braes of Canaan and the swamp of Little Egypt.

But Great Dundee was dead, and that balanced all.

For able as were many of the chiefs, and well exercised in their clan warfare, there was not one of them, save it might be Lochiell, who was not jealous of every other.

And Colonel Cannon of the Irish levies, who by virtue of the king's commission held the nominal command, was a man who possessed the confidence of none.

So Wat Gordon, going from clan to clan on the morning after the battle, found nothing but bickering and envies among the victors – how this one had obtained a greater share of the spoil than another, how Glengarry was threatening to cut off Lochiell for the ancient soreness betwixt them, and also because of some supposed favor of position on the day of battle.

"Tut, man," said Lochiell to his vaporing adversary, good-naturedly clapping him on the shoulder, "if you lads of the Garryside are so fighting keen, and as full of hot blood as you say, I doubt not but that a day or two will give you another opportunity of letting out a little of it against the common enemy."

Wat, eager as ever to put the great controversy to the arbitrament of battle, raged impotently, while Major Cannon wheeled and manœuvred the Irishmen through their drills, and carried on his miserable squabblings with the chiefs – whom, in spite of their mutual dislikes and clan jealousies, Dundee had held in leash with such a firm yet delicate hand.

Oftentimes, as day after day was wasted, Lochinvar felt that if only he could throw himself on the enemy, in order, if it might be to cut a way single-handed towards his love – even though he should be slain in the first hundred yards – such an end would be better than this unceasing plundering among allies and bickering between friends.

Nevertheless, the numbers of the Highland army kept up, though the ranks were in a continual state of flux. As for Scarlett, the master-at-arms was driven to distraction by the hopelessness of teaching the clansmen anything.

Things were daily passed over which, had Dundee been above-ground, would in five minutes have brought out a firing party and ended a man's days against a stone dike.

Worst of all, while these precious days, when the whole force ought to have been advancing, were thus idly slipping by, the delay gave the government time to play its strongest card. The fury and enthusiasm of the clans was now for the first time to be brought face to face with an enthusiasm fiercer, because stiller, than their own – with a courage equally great, but graver, sterner, and, best of all, disciplined by years of trial and persecution.

The Cameronians, known throughout Scotland as the "Seven Thousand," had garrisoned Edinburgh during the fierce, troublous months of the Convention. When there was no other force in the country, they had stood between the kingdom and anarchy. And now, when at last the government of William was becoming better established, twelve hundred men of the Blue Banner formed themselves into a regiment – all stern, determined, much-enduring veterans, who had brought from their Westland homes a hatred of the Highlanders sharpened by memories of the Great Raid, when for months the most barbarous and savage clans had been quartered on the West and South, till the poor folk of Galloway and Ayr were fairly eaten up, and most of their hard-won gear vanished clean away into the trackless deserts of the North.

Now, in the anxious days that succeeded Killiekrankie, eight hundred of this Cameronian regiment had been ordered to Dunkeld, which was rightly supposed to be the post of danger. The other four hundred of the regiment had been sent to garrison Badenoch and to keep the West quiet; so that the young Covenanting commander, Cleland – a youth not yet in his twenty-eighth year – had but two-thirds of his regiment with him.

But such men as they were! – none like them had been seen under arms since, the Ironsides of Cromwell went back to their farm-steadings and forges.

It was no desirable stronghold which they were set to keep. Indeed, after a small experience of Dunkeld the other regiments which had been sent under Lord Cardross to assist in driving back the enemy gladly departed for Perth. The town, they said, was completely indefensible. It was commanded on all sides by heights, even as Killiekrankie had been. The streets could readily be forced at a dozen points, and then every man would die miserably, like rats in a hole.

"Even so," said Cleland, calmly, to my Lord Cardross, "but I was bidden to hold this town and no other, and here I and those with me will bide until we die."

And, as is not the case with many a valiant commander's boast, he made his words good.

It was a very considerable army which gathered about the devoted Cameronians – not less than five thousand victorious clansmen – under a leader of experience, if not of well-proven parts.

Wat was still with Lochiell, and Scarlett, in deep disgust at Keppoch's miscellaneous plunderings, drew his sword also with the same chief.

By early morning the town was completely surrounded and the attack began. But the brave band of Wild Whigs of the West stuck dourly to their outposts, and for an hour or more their little handfuls defied behind the walls of town-yards and ruinous petty enclosures, all the assaults of the clansmen. At last these inconsiderable outer defences were driven in, the whole regiment was shut up in the cathedral and in an adjoining house of many unglazed windows, which was standing roofed but unfinished close at hand.

Here the grim men of the South, doggedly saying their prayers behind their clinched teeth, met and turned every assault, taking aim at their assailants with the utmost composure and certainty.

Clan after clan charged down upon those crumbling walls. Rush after rush of plaided men melted before that deadly storm of bullets. Thrice Wat, in the thick of Lochiell's men, dashed at the defences. Thrice was he carried back by the wave of tartan which recoiled from the reeking muskets of the men of the Covenant.

Glengarry fell wounded. The McDonalds broke. Then, in the nick of time, the McLeans dashed into the thick of the fight and had almost won the wall when young Cleland, rushing across the court to meet them in person, was struck by two bullets – one through his head, the other in his side. In spite of his agony, he set his hand to his brow and staggered towards the interior of the church, crying, "Have at them, lads! all is well with me!" This he said in order to conceal his wound from his men. But he fell dead or ever he reached the door.

The lead for the muskets began to give out. But in a moment there were men on the roof of the new building stripping off the metal, while others beneath were melting it and thrusting the bullets, yet warm from the "cams," into their hotter barrels, or cutting the sheets of lead into rough slugs to fire at the enemy.

So, relentlessly, hour by hour the struggle went on. Ever, as the attacks failed, fresh clans tried their fierce courage in emulous assault, firing once, throwing away their guns, and then charging home with the claymore.

But these Cameronians were no levies roughly disciplined and driven in chains to the battlefield. Men of the moors and the moss-hags were they – good at the prayer, better at the musket, best of all with the steady eye which directed the unshaken hand, and the quiet heart within dourly certain of victory and of the righteousness of its cause.

Clan by clan, the very men who had swept Mackay's troops into the Garry fell back shattered and dismayed from the broken defences of the Hill Folk. In vain the war-pipes brayed; in vain a thousand throats cried "Claymore!" In vain Lochiell's men drove for the fourth time desperately at the wall. From within came no noise, save the clatter of the musket-shots running the circuit of the defences, or the dull thud as a man fell over in the ranks or collapsed like a shut telescope in his place – not a groan from the wounded, as men stricken to death drew themselves desperately up to get a last shot at the enemies of Christ's Cause and Covenant, that they might face God contentedly with their duty done and all their powder spent.

Left almost alone in the fierce ebb of the fourth assault, Wat had gained the top of the wall when a sudden blow on the head stunned him. He fell inward among the wounded and dying men of the defenders and there lay motionless, while outside the last charge of the baffled clansmen broke on the stubborn hodden gray of the Cameronian regiment, vainly as the water of the ninth wave breaks on the cliffs that look out to the Atlantic.

The chiefs still tried to rally their men. Cannon offered to lead them again to the assault in person. But it might not be.

"We can fight men," they said, as they fell back, sullenly, "but these are devils incarnate."

CHAPTER XLVII
THE GOLDEN HEART

When Wat Gordon opened his eyes, he looked into a face he knew right well.

"Faith, Will, is it time to get up already?" he said, thinking his cousin and he were off together on some ploy of ancient days – for a morning's fishing on the hills above Knockman, mayhap.

For his cousin Will it was indeed who stood before him, clad in the worn and smoke-begrimed uniform of the Regiment of the Covenant.

"Wat, Wat, how came you here, lad?" cried Will Gordon.

A gleam of his ancient wilfulness beaconed a moment in Wat's eye.

"Why – over the wall there," he said. "I was in somewhat of a hurry and I had not time to go round by the gate and tirl at the pin."

And with that something buzzed drowsily in his ears like a prisoned blue-bottle, and he fainted again.

Lucky it was for Wat Gordon that Sir Robert Hamilton did not command the regiment, and that the dead Cleland had instilled his humane principles into those under him. For the officers merely ordered their prisoner to be carried along with their own wounded to a convenient house in the town, and there to be warded till he should be well enough to be remitted to Edinburgh.

To this hospital Will Gordon came to see him often, and give him what heartening he might; but it was not till the seventh day, when Wat showed some promise of early recovery, that Will, with a mighty serious face, showed him a trinket in the palm of his hand.

"Ken ye that?" he asked.

"'Tis Kate's token that she was to send me if she needed me. Where got ye it, Will?"

And even as he spoke these words Wat was half out of bed in his eagerness; but Will took him in his arms with gentle firmness and pressed him back upon the pillow.

"Bide a wee," he said; "ye will do no good that way. Ye are far too weak to travel, and there is a strong guard at the door. Listen! I got the gold heart from Kate herself, and she bade me tell you that if ye could not come to her by the tenth day of September, ye would never need to come at all."

"What means that message, Will? Tell me truly," said Wat, white to the lips, yet sitting up calmly in spite of his deadly weakness and the curious singing drone in his ears.

"They have worked upon her to weariness, I think," said Will, a little sadly; "worked upon her with tales of your unfaithfulness, which, to do her justice, she would scorn to believe – told her that her father's very life depends upon the marriage, because of the old friendship and succor he had from Claverhouse; wearied her out, till the lass knows not which way to turn. And so she has consented to be wedded to my Lord Barra on the tenth of September. But, as Maisie judges, our Kate will die rather than marry any man she hates."

Wat leaped out of bed and began to dress himself.

"Let me go, Will – let me alone! Hands off! Do not touch me, or I will strike you on the face. Only ten days – and so far to go! But I will fight my way through. I am strong and well, I tell you – "

And with that Will Gordon laid him back again upon the bed like a child.

"Wat," he said, "I am with you in this, since Kate loves you and Maisie bids me. (You have never asked of her welfare, but no matter.) I have gotten Jack Scarlett here by me in the town. We will arrange your escape and get you horses. But you must be a deal stronger than you are ere you are ready to travel, and at least you must abide here yet three days."

"Three days, Will; 'tis plainly impossible! I should die stark raving mad of the waiting and anxiety. Better let me go, Will, this very night."

And almost for very weariness and the sense of powerlessness in the grip of fate, Wat could have wept; but a thought and a resolve steadied him.

From that moment he began, as it were obediently, to talk of indifferent things; and Will humored him, well pleased that it should be so. Ere he departed, Will said, "I will bring Scarlett to your window to-night. Do you speak with him for a moment and let him go."

Wat smilingly promised, and went on to tell of his winter adventures among the clans, as if they were all he thought about.

"Good-night, and a sweet sleep to you, Wat, lad!" said Will Gordon. "In three days, I promise you, you shall ride forth, well mounted and equipped."

And so, smiling once more on his cousin, he went down the stair.

Then Wat Gordon laid his head on the pillow as obediently as a child.

But he only kept it there till his cousin was out of the room and he heard his footsteps die down the street. In a trice he was out of bed and trying all the fastenings of the windows of his room. He was alone in his dormitory, but on either side of him were rooms containing wounded men of the Cameronians, to whom night nurses came and went, so that it behooved him to be wary.

One of the windows was barred with iron outside, while the sash of the other was fixed and would not open at all.

Wat threw open the barred window as far as he could and shook the iron lattice. It held firm against his feeble strength, but upon a more minute examination the stanchions seemed only to be set in plaster.

"That's better; but I wish Jack Scarlett would come!" murmured Wat, as he staggered back to his bed. He kissed his hand towards the South with something of his old air of gallant recklessness.

"On the tenth I shall be with you, dear love, to redeem my pledge, or else – "

But before his lips could frame the alternative he had fainted on the floor.

Scarlett came to Lochinvar's window when the night was darkest, a little before midnight.

"Wat," he cried, softly; "Wat Gordon!"

Wat was already at the lattice and promptly reached his hand out to his ancient comrade.

"Jack," he whispered, hoarsely, "for God's sake get me out of this hole! They would shut me up here for three days, till she is married to the devil Barra. And she has sent me the token – the heart of gold. I have it here. You mind it was to be the fiery cross betwixt us two? She is needing me and I must go. Break down the window bars, good Jack, and let me out."

"But your cousin says that you are not fit to travel, that you will never reach Galloway unless you have some rest before you go. Besides, it will take some time to purchase horses for the long journey – "

"I cannot wait, Jack," interrupted Wat, fiercely; "I shall die here in three days if I stay. How can I wait with the greedy talons of the monster drawing nearer to my lass? See, Jack, I have thirty guineas in my belt. I will leave twenty of them in any horse's stall in the stables. And, God knows! it is not the officers of the Cameronian regiment who have horses worth half so much. Try the bars, good Jack, and let me out."

Scarlett endeavored to reason with him, to dissuade him from the venture for that night at least.

"To-morrow, Lochinvar; only one night – we shall wait but to see what to-morrow brings."

"Scarlett, look you here," Wat said, earnestly, his face gleaming ghastly through the lattice in the steely glint of stars. "You know whether or not I am a man of my word. I have a dagger here – hid in the leather of my boot. Now if you do not help me to escape to-night, 'fore the Lord, Jack, I will let out my soul or the morning – and my blood will be on your head."

He leaned out till his agony-wet brow touched the bars. His fingers clutched and shook them in his desperation.

"Well," said Scarlett, half to himself, "I will e'en do it, since it must be so. But it will prove a sorry job for us all. 'Tis but taking the poor laddie's life in another way."

So, vanishing for a tale of minutes, which seemed hours to the pale, wounded, half-frenzied figure at the window, he returned with a "geleck" or iron crow-bar, with which he promptly started work on the lime and plaster of the stanchions. It was not long before he loosened one and then another. Once or twice he had to cower down in order to escape the lanterns of the patrol – for, unlike the clans, the Cameronians kept excellent watch; but in half an hour his task was completed.

"The Lord forgie me, laddie, for this!" he said, as he helped Wat out, and felt the palms of his hands burning hot, while his body was shaking with feverish cold.

"Now help me to get a horse!" said Wat, as soon as they stood in safety under the ruined walls of the cathedral. "There are the stables of the officers' horses. Come, let us go over yonder."

"It's a rope's end at ony rate," said Scarlett; "old Jack has been at mony ploys, but he never was a horse-thief before!"

"How did we get away from the city of Amersfort, tell me, Jack?" said Wat, with a touch of his ancient humor, being pleased at getting his will.

"Ah, but then a woman did the stealing for love, as you do now. It is different with me, that have no love to steal for – or to die for, either," he added, sadly.

Wat put his hand affectionately on the shoulder of the old free-lance.

"Even so do you steal, old bear," he said, gently patting him; "you do it for love of me."

"I declare," quoth Scarlett, with relief in his voice, "I believe I do. Guid kens what there is aboot ye, laddie, that makes both lassies and auld grizzle-pates run their heads into holes and their necks into tow-ropes for the love o' ye!"

The stables had been left completely unguarded, for it was the officers' boast that they desired not any greater safety than their men. Cleland, indeed, had once ordered all the officers' horses to be brought out and shot, just because some of the soldiers complained that the officers had a greater chance of escape than they.

Since that time the horses had been permitted to remain in the not too zealous care of the grooms, who fulfilled their duty by sleeping in the town at a distance from their charges.

Even the very stable door was unlocked, and as they opened it the horses were heard restlessly moving within.

"Any of Keppoch's gay lads might make a haul very easily this nicht," said Scarlett, as they entered.

"I saw Keppoch and many another pretty fighter get his bellyful over there by the walls the other day," said Wat, grimly, as he proceeded coolly to make his selection by the sense of touch alone.

When he had done this, Scarlett and he saddled the chosen beast and led him out, having previously tied stable rags over his iron-shod feet to keep them from clanking on the pavement. Making a detour, they soon gained the river, which they skirted cautiously till they were a mile from the town. Then Wat mounted without the assistance of his companion.

"God help ye, laddie; ye will never win near your lass, I fear me. But ye can try. And that is aye the best o't in this world. That it is for us mortals to do the trying, and for God to finish ilka job to His ain liking."

With which sage reflection he gave Wat his sword, his pistols and ammunition, together with some bread for the journey – looking at which last, Wat felt that he could as soon eat his horse's tail.

"Hae!" said the master-at-arms, "ye will be the better o' that or ye come to the end o' the Lang Wood. I have plenty more by me."

Wat laughed.

"You cannot deceive a desperate man," he said, "nor yet lie to him. Well do I know that this is every bite you have in the world."

"Listen, Wat," said the free-lance. "I have found me a decent woman that has ta'en a liking to me, and she has ta'en me in. I'm weel provided for. Tak' them, laddie, tak' them. Ye will need them mair nor me."

Saying which Scarlett started promptly on the back track to the town, crying as he went: "God speed ye, laddie; I'll never set een on ye mair!"

So with a sob in his throat and a feeling as if he were riding on empty air, Wat Gordon turned the head of the officer's charger (by a strange and fitting chance it was his cousin Will's), and set his chest to the current of the river, at the place where the tracks on the shoaling gravel and the chuckling of the shallow river over its pebbles indicated a ford.

So our true hero, ill, fevered, desperate, in the stark grip with death, started on his almost impossible quest – without an idea or a plan save that he must ride into the blank midnight to save his love, or die for her.