GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 70, 21 March 1908, Page 15

GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE

By lAN MACLAREN.

BOOK HL CHAPTER 111. THE LAST BLOW. IT is said that those stories are best liked which present a hero and sing his achievements from beginning . to end. And the more faultless and brilliant the hero, the better "oes the tale, and the louder) the applause. Certainly John Graham 2= the central figure in this history, and [ so rich is the colour of the man and so ! jatense his vitality, that other persongros among whom he moves become pale and. uninteresting. They had, if one takes the long result, a larger share in gffairs, their hand stretches across tie centuries, but there was not in them ffnt f»hr*TTT) of humanity which captivates tie heart. One must study the work of William of Orange if he is to understand the history of his nation, but one would aot so round the corner to meet him. Clarerhouse, if one faces the facts and sweeps away the glamour, was O ji]t a dashing cavalry officer, j ■55-io happened to win an insig- \ uifieant battle by obvious local tac- j tics, and vet there are few men whom one vrould prefer to meet. One would make a lons journey tc catch a sight of Claverhoase riding down the street, as one to(Jav is caught by the fascination of his portrait. But the reader has alssady discovered that Graham can hardly fee called a hero by any of the ordinary tests except beauty of personal appear- ; aace. He was not an ignorant man, as certain persons have concluded from the varied and picturesque habits of his spellin?, but his friends cannot claim that he endowed with rich intellectual gifts. He had sense enough to condemn the ■srilder excesses of his colleagues in the government of the day, but he had not force enough to replace their foolishness fcv a wiser policy. Had his powers been more commanding, or indeed if he had lad any talent for constructive action, iffijx his unwavering integrity and masterful determination, he might have ousted Lauderdale and. saved Scotland for Kins James. But accomplished intriguers and trained politicians were always too much for Claverhouse, and held him as a lithe wild animal is caught in the i meshes of a net. • Wild partisans, to whom every man is either white as snow or black as pitch, have gone mad over Graham, making him out. according to their craze, either En sngel or a devil, and forgetting that most men are half and between. But it must be also said that those who hold Join Graham to have been a Jacobite saint are the more delirious in their iiinds. and hysterical in their -writing, ior they \rill not hear that he ever did aartluM-lfiSS than the best, or that the men be persecuted had any right upon their side. He is from first to last a perfect paJidin of romance whom everyone j= bound to praise. Then artists rush in and not only make fine trade of his good looks. Irat lend k> s beauty to the clansmen fought at Killiecrankie. till the enrtain iaQs upon "Bonnie Dundee" belie carried to his grave by picturesque and broksn-liearted Highlanders dressed in tie costij panoply of the Inverness Gathering, and with "faces of the style of George Mac Donald or Lord Leighton. WMttrer * Gla.vefb.ouse was, and this Eton- at least suggests that he -was brave and* honourable, he was in no sense a saiat, and would have been the last to chim this high degree. It is open to question whether he deserved to be called a good man, for he was sx:bitious of power and, perhaps for public ends, of wealth; he had no small measure of pride and jealousy in him; he was headstrong and unmanageabfe, and for his own side be was unretenirng and cruel There are things he ■5-onld. 0 not have done to advance his erase, as. for instance, tell lies, or stain his honour, but he never would have dreamed of showing mercy to his oppoEent Sor did he ever try to enter into Ms mind or understand what the other Ban was feeling. It is sometimes judged enough for a lero that he sacceed without being clever or good, but neither did Graham pass this doubtful and dangerous test. For vlen you dear away the romance which Iffoie poetry and excited prose have flnmr around him. you were an optimist if you did not see his life was one long failure as well as a disappointment and £ sorrow. He did bravely with the Prince of Orange, and yet somehow he missed promotion; he was the best officer the government had in Scotland, and yet it was only hi the last resort he became Commander-in-chief. He was the only honest man among a, gang of rascals in iie Scots council, and yet he was once dismissed from it: he wns entitled to Enhstantial rewards, and yet he had to siake degrading appeals to obtain his due. He was loyal to foolishness, yet he was represented to the Court as a Han who could not be trusted. He had only two love affairs: the first brought Sim the reputaiion of mercenary aims, Slid the second almost ririr.ed his life. He embarked on a contest which was hopeless from the beginning, and died at the dose of a futile victory. Except winningthe heart of Jean Cochrane, he failed in everything -which he a-ttempted. With tie exception of his wife he was betrayed on every hand, while a multitude hated &im with all their strength and thirsted for his blood. If Jean were not true to him there would not be one star in the toi sky of Oaverhouse's life. But this irredeemable and final disaster is surely incredible. Dundee, fooled *s le had been both by his master and Py his friends till he was alone and forsaten, was bound to put his whole trust m Ms wife. Had she not made the last sacrifices for him and through dark days stood bravely by his side? Their private ffie had not always run smoothly, for " in one way they were well mated, be•suse both were of the eagle breed, in Matter way they -were ill-suited, be«rase they were so like. John Graham «Hl Jean Cochrane both came of proud lotlses -wMcii loved to rule, and "were »ot accustomed to yield, they both had f® and determined wills they shared the ™bion s gift of a lofty temper and fiery affections. They were' set upon their own and so they had clashed many a "Mc in p l an and deed: hot words had pissed between them, and they had been &TS without speech. But below the wimut of contending wills, and behind ™c flash of fiery hearts, they were bound by the passion of their first love. wiuoh had grown and deepened, and by ™at respect which strong and honourable People have for one another. They could rage,_but each knew that the other could f°t ke: they could be mo;t unreasonable. ™t each knew that the other could never descend to dishonour, so their quarrels *J<l alw a-ys one ending, and seemed, after Z?7 were ovex, to draw them closer toand to feed their love. One could

not think of them as timid and gentle creatures billing and cooing their affection: one rather imagined the lion and! his lioness, whose very love was fierce I and perilous. So power from without could separate these >rwo nor make them quail. Alone and laiited Dundee and his wife co-old stand undismayed and selfsufficient, with all Scotland "against them. Nothing could ever break their bond except dishonour. But if one should charge the other with that foulest crime, then the end had come., beside which death would be welcome. Where life is a comedy one writes with gaiety not untouched by contempt: where' life is a tragedy one writes with tears not unredeemed by pride. But one shrinks when the tragedy deepens into black night, and is terrified when strong passions, falling on an evil day, work their hot wills, ivitL io restraints or favour- I able fate. There are people whose life is | a primrose path along which they dance and prattle, whose emotions area pose, whose thoughts are an echo, whose trials I are a graceful luxury: there are others I whose way lies through dark ravines and I beside raging torrents, over whose head i the black clouds are ever lowering, and j whom any moment the lightning may j strike. This was their destiny. Upon i their marriage day one saw the way that thi.se two would have to go . and it was inevitable that they should drink their cup to the dregs. The blame of what happened must be laid at Graham's door, and in his last hours he took it altogether to himself; j but since it has to be written about, and j be showed so badly, let us make from | the first the best excuse we can for | him, and try to appreciate his state of mind. It was a brave event and a taking scene when he set up the standard of King James above Dundee,, and he left to raise the North Country with a flush of hope. It soon passed away and settled down into dreary determination, as he made his ! toilsome journey with a handful of fol- I lowers by Ahoyne and Huntly, till he ' landed in Inverness. The Gordons had j sent him a reinforcement, and certain of | the chiefs had promised their support, | but the only aid the Highlanders had j given was of dubious value and very i disappointing issue. The Mac Donalds had j hastened to Inverness by way of meeting Dundee, and then had seized the opportunity to plunder their old enemies, the Mackintoshes, and to extract a comfortable ransom out of Inverness. This was. not his idea of war, and Dundee scolded Keppoch, who commanded the MacDonalds. most vigorously. Keppoch immediately returned homeward to his fastnesses with the accumulated spoil, partly because his fine, sensitive Highland j nature was hurt by Dundee's plain speech and partly because, whatever happened, it was wise to secure what they had got. It is no reflection on Dundee's manhood that he was cast down during those days at Inverness, for a ten times more buoyant man would have lost heart. His life was a romantic drama, and it seemed as if the Fates had constructed it for the stage, for now, after the lapse of years, Mac-Kay, his old rival in Holland, reappears, and they resume the duel, which this time is to be until death. While Dundee was struggling in Edinburgh to ! save the throne for James, ilacKay was | on his way with regiments of the Scots ! Brigade to make sure of Scotland for William. A few days after Dundee left i Edinburgh MacKay arrived, and now, as Dundee rode northward in hot haste, MacKay was on his track. Both vere eager for a meeting, but the bitterness of it for Dundee was that he dared not run the risk. With all his appeals and all his riding, he had only a handful of mounted men, and the clans had not risen. It seemed as if his enterprise were futile, and that Scotland would not lift a hand for King James. He might be a commander-in-chief. but he was a commander of nobody; he might raise a standard, but it was only a vain. show. It did not matter where he went or what he did: he was not a general, but a fugitive, a man to be neglected, and his following a handful of bandits. The rising was a thing to laugh at, and the report was current in the capital that he had absconded with one or two servants. This pretty description of his campaign had not reached his ears, but the humiliation of his Eituation burned into his proud heart. Much as he would have liked to meet MacKay. there remained ' for him no alternative but flight. Flight was the only word which could describe his journey, and a≤ he planned his course on the morrow, how he would ride to j Invergarry, and then return on his ■ course, and then make his way to Cluny,! he started to his ieet and paced the room! in a fury of anger. What better was ' he than a hare with the hounds after , him. running for his life, and doubling in j I his track, fleeing here and dodging there, | a cowering, timid, panting animal of the | chase ? "Damnation!" and Dundee flung > : himself out of the room, and paced up and down the side of the river. There was a dim light upon the running water, and his thoughts turned to | the West Country, to the streams he | had often crossed and along whose bed j he had sometimes ridden, as he hunted j for his Covenanting prey. The Fates j were just, for now the Whigs were the ' hunters and he was the hunted. He began to understand what it was to be ever on the alert for the approach of the j enemy, to escape at the first sign of j danger, to cross hills in full flight, and : to be listening for the sound of the pursuer. As yet he had not to hide, but j before many days were over he also may j be skulking in moss-hags, and concealing! himself in caves, and disguising himself i in peasant's garments, he, John Graham! of Claverhouse. and my Viscount of I Dundee. The tables had turned with a vengeance, and the day of the godly had come. The hillinen would laugh j when they heard of it, and the Conven-1 tides would rejoice together. MacKay i would be sitting in his quarters at Elgin that night making his plans also, but J not for flight, and hardly for fighting. J vv h f»Ti officers surest a "" outla.w, it is not i called a battle any more than when I hounds run a fox to his lair. Macks.y j would be arranging how to trap him, I anticipating his ways of escape, and j stopping all the earths, so that say, tomorrow, he might be quietly taken. It would not be a surrender; it would be ; a capture, and he would be sent to Edin- j burgh in charge of half a d. ?en Eag-1 lish dragoons, and tried at Edinburgu, and condemned for treason agr.inst King William—King William. Iht-v would I execute him without n.erey. and be omy 1 doing to him what he had done to the Whigs, and just a= he had kept guard at Pollock's execution, that new Camcronian ' P.egiment, of which there w.ns much talk.! would keep guard at his. There would be little cause for preeautioE; no one need fear a rescue,. for the hillmen would be there in thousands | i

with the other Whigs, to feast their eyes upon his shame, and cheer his death. He could not complain, for it would happen to him as it had to many of them, and what he had sown that ■would he reap. Would MacKay be laughing that night at Elgin, "with his officers, and crying in his Puritanic cant, "Aha, aha. how is the enemy fallen and the mighty cast down! Where now is the boasting of his pride, where now is the persecutor of the saints?" No, far worse, MacKay would give orders in his cold, immovable manner, and treat the matter as of no account, as one who had never expected anything else from the beginning, and was only amazed at his opponent's madness. That was the inner bitterness of it all: they had taken their sides 15 years ago: McKay had chosen wisely, and he had chosen foolishly, as the world would say. The conflict had been inevitable, and it was auite as inevitable that his would be the'losing side. William saw what was coming afar off. so did MacKay; and it has all come to pass, year by year, act by act, and now MacKay was to give the last stroke. They had won, and they had been sure all the time they were going to win, and they would -win with hardly an effort. He did not repent of his loyalty, and he would not have done otherwise if he had had the choice over again. But their foresight, and their patience, and their capacity, and their thoroughness, and the madness of his own people, and their feebleness, and their cowardice, and their helplessness, infuriated him. "Curse MacKay and his master, and the whole crew of cold-blooded Whigs! But it is I and mine which are cursed."

'"Amen to the malediction ou the Usurper and all his servants; :< "s wed deserved, and may it sune be fulfilled, fjll measure and rinnin' over, but for ony sake dinna curse yersel', my lord, for it's blessings ye've earned as a faithful servant o' your king."' And Dundee turned round to find his"faithful servant had arrived.from homeland had sought him out on the riverside.

''You took mc by surprise. Jock, and startled mc, for I knew not that any man was near. I thought that you of all men were at Dudhope, where" I left you to protect Lady Dundee and the young lord. Is aught wrong." cried Dundee anxiousiy, "my wife and child, are they botk well? Speak quickly." For even then Dundee saw that 'Grimond was hesitating, and looked like a man who had to speak carefully. "Do not tell mc that MacKay has ordered the castle to be seized, and that the dragoons have insulted my family; this were an outrage on the laws of war. If they have done this thing I will avenge it before many days pass. Is thai, the news you bring?" And Dundee gripped his servant's shoulder and shook him with such violence that Grimond, a strongly built fellow, was almost thrown from his feet.

"Be quiet, Maister John, for I canna help callin' ye that, and dinna work yoursel' into a frenzy, for this is no like your am sel\ -Na. na. Dudhope is safe, and no a single dragoon, leastways a soldier, has been near it since ye left; whatever other mischief he may do. Colonel Livingstone, him that commands the cavalry ye ken. at Dundee, will no see ony harm come to my Lady Dundee. Have.-uo fear on that concern, mv lord."

"You havena come for nought, Grimond, and I'm not expectiag that ye have much good to tell. Good tidings do not come my way in these days. Is thi lad well?" said Dundee anxiously, "fur in him is all my hope."

"It's-a gude hope then, my lord, for the bairn is juist bye-ordinary. 1 could see him growing every day, and never a complaint from his mouth except when he wants his food. God be thankit there's nothing wrong wi' him, and it does my heart good to see that he is a rael Graham, a. branch o' the old tree; long may it stand in Scotland, and wide may its branches spread. If it be the will of Providence I would like to live till my auld een saw Lord Graham of Claverhouse, for that I'm supposing is his title, riding on the right hand of the Viscount of Dundee. And I would be a' the better pleased if it was over the necks of the Whigs. My lord, ye will never be ashamed of your son."

Ie have said nothing of Lady Dundee's health, surely she isna ill or anything befallen her. It was hard, Jock, for a man to leave his wife but a few weeks after his son was born. Yet she recovered quickly as beeometh a strong and healthy woman, and when I left her she was in good heart and was content that I should go. There is nothing wrong with Lady Dundee, Jock?" "Ye may set yir mind at rest aboot her ladyship, Maister John. She's stronger than I've ever seen her, and 1 can say no more than that, nor have I ever marked her more active, baith by nicht and day. and in spite o' her lord being so far awa and in sic peril, ye would never think she had an anxious thought. It's aniazin' an' .. . very encouragin' to see her ladyship sac content an , .. . occupied. Ye need have na.e concern aboot her bodily condeetion. an' of course that's a great matter."

Dundee was so relieved to hear that his wife and child were well, and that Dudhope was safe, he did not for the moment catch with the dubious tone of G?imond's references to Lady Dundee, and indeed it struck no unaccustomed note. Grimond had all the virtues of a family retainer—utter forgetfulness of self, and absolute devotion to his master's house, as well as a passionate, doglike affection for Dundee. But he had the defects of his qualities. It seems j the inevitable disability of this faithfulness, that this kind of servant is jealous of any newcomer into the family, suspicious of the stranger's ways, over-sen-sitive to the family interests, and ready at any moment to fight for the family's cause. Grimond had done his best to : prevent his master's marriage with Jean Cochrane, and had never concealed his i conviction that it was an act of madness; he had never been more than decently civil to his mistress, and there never had been any leve lost between them. If she had been a smaller woman, Jean would have had him dismissed from her husband's side, but being what she was herself, proud and thoroughgoing, she respected bun for his very prejudices, and his dislike of her she counted unto him for righteousness. Jean had made no effort to conciliate Orimor.d. for ho NY2.S not the kind of watchdog to be won from his allegiance by a tempting morsel. She laughed with her husban.l over his watchfulness, and often said. "Ye may trust mc anywhere, John, if ye leave Grimond in charge. If I wanted to do wrong. I should no', be able." j "Ye would be wl=e. Jean," Graham would reply, "to keep your eye on Grimond if ye are minded to play a prank, for his i-ke is as quick as his bark." ' They ■ laughed together over this jest, ior they j trusted each other utterly, as they had : good reason to do. but the day was at j hand when that laughter was to be bitter I in the mouth. "Ye .ire like d, cross-grained tyke I whisli snarls at its master's best friend: through faithfulness to him. Ye never liked your mistress from the beginning, because ye thought » 1 «» Svould not. be j

loyal, but, man, ye know better now," j said Dundee kindly, "and it's time ye I were giving her a share o' the love ye've always given mc." ;

""Never !*"' cried Grimond hotly. "And I canna bear that ye should treat this ruaitter as a jest. Many a faithful dog has been scolded —aye, and maybe struck, by his maister ■when he had quicker ears than the foolish man, and "was giving "warning of danger.

''Te think mc, my lord, a silly and cankered auld haveril, and that my head is full of prejudices and fancies. Would to God that I ivere wrong. If I were, I would go down on my knees to her ladyship and ask her pardon and serve her like a dog all the days of my life; but, waes mc. I'm ower richt. When my lady is loyn.l to you I'll be loyal to her, but no an hour sooner, say ye as ye like, laugh ye as ye will. But my lady is false, and ys tre deceived in your ov.n home."

'"Do you know what you are saying, Grimond. and to whom you are speaking? We have carried this jest too far, and it is my blame, but ye may not again speak this way of your mistress in my presence. I know you mean nothing by it, and it is all your love of mc and dislike of Covenanters that makes you jealous: but never ajiain. Grimond, remember, or else, old servant though you be, you leave mc that hour. It's a madness with you: ye must learn to control it." said Dundee sternly.

''It's nao madness, my lord." answered Grimond dopgcdly. "and has naethin , to do with my lady being a Cochrane. Maybe I would rathpr she had been a Graham or a Carnegie, but that was nao business o' mine. Even if I didna like h<?r. it's no for a serving-man to complain o' his mistress. I ken vchen to speak and when to hold my tongue, but these are things I canna see and forbear. My lord, it's time you were at Dudhope, for the sake o' your honour."

<; Grimond." paid Dundee, and his word 3 were as morsels of ice, "if it were any other man who spoke of my wife and dishonour in the same breath I would kill him where he stood; but ye are the oldest and faithfullest follower of <>ur house. For the work ye have done and the risks ye have run I pardon you so far as to hear any excuse ye have to make for yourself; but make it plain and make it quick, for ye know I am not a man to be trifled with."

C 'T will speak plainly, my lord, though they be the hardest words I have ever had to say. I ken the risk. It is not the first time I have taken my life in my hand for the Grahams and their good name. My suspicions were aroused by that little besom Kirsty. when I saw her ane day comin' oot from the quarters of Colonel Livingstone, wha commands the dragoons at Dundee. I kent she could be doing nae good there, for she's as full o' mischief as an egg is full o'meat. So I wheeped up by the near road and met her coming up to the castle. When she saw mc she hid a letter in her breast, and. question her as I like, I could get nothing from her but impudence. But it was plain to mc that communication was passing between someone in Dudhope and the commander o , William's soldie'3." " Go on." said Dundee, quietly. " Putting two and two together, my lord, I wattlW in the orchard below the castle that nicbt and the next, and on the next, when it was dark, a man muffled in a cloak came up the road from the town and waited below the apple trees, near where I was lying in the hollow among the grass. After a -while a woman in a plaid so that ye couldna see her face came down from the direction of the' castle. They drew away among the trees, so that I could only see that they were there, but couldna hear what they were saying. After a while, colloguing together, they parted, and I jaloused who I the two were, but that nicht I could not be certain." "Go on.' , said Dundee. " till you have [ finished." " Three nichts later they met again. j and I crept a little nearer, and the moon coming out for a minute I saw their faces. It was her ladyship and Colonel Livingstone. She was pleading vri' him, and he was half yielding, half consenting. Her voice was so low I couldiia catch her words, but I heard him say, ' God knowa ye have my heart: but my honour, my honour.' ' I will be content wi' your heart.' I heard her answer. ' When will you be ready? For if Dundee hear of it he will ride south night and day, tho' the whole English army be in his road! ' "' For eight days,' said Livingstone, ' I am engaged on duty and can do nothing, on the ninth I am at your service for ever.' Then I saw him kiss her hand, and they parted. Within an hour I was riding north. Ye may shoot mc if you please, but I have cleared my conscience." Dundep's face was as white as death, and his eyes glittered as when the light shines on steel. Twice he laid his hand upon his pistol, and twice withdrew it. "If an angel from heaven told mc that Lady Dundee was untrue I would not believe him, and you, you I take to be rather a devil from hell. Said Livingstone eight days? And two are passed. I was proposing to go south for other ends, and now I shall not fail to be there before that appointment. B»* it may be, Grimond, I shall have to kill you." (To be CDntinued next Wednesday.)