John Splendid: The Tale of a Poor Gentleman, and the Little Wars of Lorn

by Neil Munro

  CHAPTER XV.--CONFESSIONS OF A MARQUIS.

  In a few hours, as it were, the news that the enemy had left the countrywas put about the shire, and people returned to pick up the loose endsof the threads of family and affairs. Next day my lord the Marquis cameround Lochlong and Glencroe in a huge chariot with four wheels, thefirst we had ever seen in these parts, a manner of travel incumbent uponhim because of a raxed shoulder he had met with at Dunbarton. He cameback to a poor reception: the vestiges of his country's most bitterextremity were on every hand, and, what was bound to be embarrassing toany nobleman of spirit, there was that in the looks and comportment ofhis clansmen that must have given MacCailein some unpleasant thought.

  Behind his lordship came eleven hundred Lowland levies that had beenwith Baillie in England, and to command them came his cousin, Sir DuncanCampbell of Auchinbreac, luckily new over from Ireland, and in thespirit for campaigning. A fiery cross was sent round the clan, that inbetter times should easily have mustered five thousand of the prettiestlads ever trod heather, but it brought only a remnant of a thousand, andthe very best that would have been welcome under the galley flagwere too far afield for the summons to reach them in time. But everywell-affected branch of Clan Campbell sent its gentlemen to officer ourbrigade.

  A parley of war held in the castle determined on immediate pursuitof Montrose to Lochaber, keeping within easy distance, but withoutattacking till he was checked in front by troops that had gone up toflank him by way of Stirling. I was at the council, but had little to dowith its decision, though the word of M'Iver and myself (as was due tocavaliers of experience) was invited with respect.

  We were to march in two days; and as I had neither house nor ha' toshelter me, seeing the old place up the glen was even more of a ruinthan in Donald Gorm's troubles, when the very roof-tree was thrownin Dhuloch, I shared quarters with M'Iver in the castle, where everyavailable corner was occupied by his lordship's guests.

  When these other guests were bedded, and the house in all our wing ofit was still, my comrade and I sat down to a tasse of brandy in ourchamber, almost blythe, as you would say, at the prospect of coming toblows with our country's spoilers. We were in the midst of a most genialcrack when came a faint rap at the door, and in steps the goodman, assolemn as a thunder-cloud, in spite of the wan smile he fixed upon hiscountenance. He bore his arm out of his sleeve in a sling, and his hairwas un-trim, and for once a most fastidious nobleman was anything butperjink.

  "I cry pardon, gentlemen!" he said in Gaelic, "for breaking in on myguests' privacy; but I'm in no humour for sleeping, and I thought youmight have a spare glass for a friend."

  "It's your welcome, Argile," said I, putting a wand chair to the frontfor him. He sat himself down in it with a sigh of utter weariness, andnervously poking the logs on the fire with a purring-iron, looked sadlyabout the chamber.

  It was his wife's tiring-room, or closet, or something of that nature,fitted up hastily for our accommodation, and there were signs of awoman's dainty hand and occupation about it The floor was carpeted, thewall was hung with arras; a varnish 'scrutoire, some sweet-wood boxes,two little statues of marble, two raised silver candlesticks withsnuffers conform, broidery-work unfinished, and my lord's picture, ina little gilded frame hanging over a dressing-table, were among itswomanly plenishing.

  "Well, coz," said his lordship, breaking an awkward silence, "we have anenormous and dastardly deed here to avenge."

  "We have that!" said M'Iver. "It's a consolation that we are in the moodand in the position to set about paying the debt. Before the glad newscame of your return, I was half afraid that our quarry would be too fargone ere we set loose the dogs on him. Luckily he can be little fartherthan Glenurchy now. Elrigmore and I had the honour to see the visitorsmake their departure. They carried so much stolen gear, and drove so biga prize of cattle, that I would not give them more than a twenty miles'march to the day."

  "Will they hang together, do you think?" asked his lordship, fingering acrystal bottle for essence that lay on the 'scrutoire.

  "I misdoubt it," said M'Iver. "You know the stuff, MacCailein? He mayhave his Irish still; but I'll wager the MacDonalds, the Stewarts, andall the rest of that reiving crowd are off to their holds, like thebanditty they are, with their booty. A company of pikes on the rear ofhim, as like as not, would settle his business."

  The Marquis, besides his dishevelment, was looking very lean and pale. Iam wrong if I had not before me a man who had not slept a sound night'ssleep in his naked bed since the point of war beat under his castlewindow.

  "Your arm, my lord "--I said in a pause of his conversation with Mlver,"is it a fashious injury? You look off your ordinary."

  "I do," he said. "I daresay I do, and I wish to God it was only thisraxed arm that was the worst of my ailment."

  His face burned up red in the candle-light, his nostrils swelled, andhe rose in his chair. A small table was between us. He put his uninjuredhand on it to steady himself, and leaned over to me to make his wordsmore weighty for my ear.

  "Do you know," he added, "I'm Archibald, Marquis of Argile, and underthe cope and canopy of heaven this January night there's not a creatureof God's making more down in the heart and degraded than I? If thehumblest servant in my house pointed a scornful finger at me and cried'Coward,' I would bow my head. Ay, ay! it's good of you, sir, to shakea dissenting head; but I'm a chief discredited. I know it, man. I seeit in the faces about me. I saw it at Rosneath, when my very gardenerfumbled, and refused to touch his bonnet when I left. I saw it to-nightat my own table, when the company talked of what they should do, andwhat my men should do, and said never a word of what was to be expectedof MacCailein Mor."

  "I think, my lord," I cried "that you're exaggerating a very smallaffair."

  "Small affair!" he said (and he wetted his lips with his tongue beforethe words came). "Small affair! Hell's flame! is there anything smallerthan the self-esteem of a man who by some infernal quirk of his natureturns his back on his most manifest duty--leaves the blood of hisblood and the skin of his skin to perish for want of his guidance andencouragement, and wakens at morning to find it no black nightmare butthe horrible fact? Answer me that, Elrigmore!"

  "Tut, tut," said M'Iver, pouring his cousin a glass; "you're in thevapours, and need a good night's sleep. There's no one in Argile darequestion your spirit, whatever they may think of your policy."

  Argile relapsed into his chair, and looked with a pitiful eye at hiskinsman.

  "My good Iain," he said, "do you ken the old Lochow wife's story of thetwo daws? 'Thou didst well,' said the one, 'though thy wings _are_ cut;thou didst well to do as I told thee.' I'm not blaming you; you are abrave man of your own hands, and a middling honest man too, as honestygoes among mercenaries; but your tongue's plausible, plausible, and youare the devil's counsellor to any other man who slackens his will by somuch as a finger-length."

  M'Iver took on a set stern jaw, and looked his chief very dourly in theface.

  "My Lord of Argile," he said, "you're my cousin-ger-man, and you're in adespondent key, and small blame to you with your lands smoking aboutyou from Cruachan to Kilmartin; but if you were King Tearlach himself,I would take no insult from you. Do you charge me with any of yourmisfortunes?"

  "I charge you with nothing, John," said Argile, wearily. "I'm onlysaying that at a time of stress, when there's a conflict in a man's mindbetween ease and exertion, you're not the best of consciences. Are wetwo going to quarrel about a phrase while our clansmen's blood is cryingfrom the sod? Sit down, sir; sit down, if it please you," he said moresternly, the scowl that gave him the _gruamach_ reputation coming on hisface; "sit down, if it please you, and instead of ruffling up like thebubbly-jock over words, tell me, if you can, how to save a reputationfrom the gutter. If it was not that I know I have your love, do youthink I should be laying my heart bare here and now? You have known mesome time now, M'Iver--did you ever find me without some reserve in mymost intimate speech? Did you ever hear me say two words tha
t I had nota third in the background to bring forward if the policy of the momentcalled for it?"

  M'Iver laughed slyly, and hesitated to make any answer.

  "It's a simple question," said the Marquis; "am I to think it needs toostraightforward an answer for John Splendid to give it?"

  "I'm as frank as my neighbours," said M'Iver.

  "Well, sir, do not check the current of my candour by any picking andchoosing of words. I ask if you have ever found me with the babbling andunbridled tongue of a fool in my mouth, giving my bottom-most thought tothe wind and the street?"

  "You were no Gael if you did, my lord. That's the sin of the shallowwit. I aye kept a bit thought of my own in the corner of my vest."

  MacCailein sighed, and the stem of the beaker he was fingering broke inhis nervous fingers. He threw the fragments with an impatient cry intothe fireplace.

  "It's the only weakness of our religion (God pardon the sin of hintingat any want in that same!) that we have no chance of laying the heartbare to mortal man. Many a time I could wish for the salving influenceof the confessional, even without the absolution to follow."

  "I think," said John Splendid, "it would be a strange day whenMacCailein Mor, Marquis of Argile, would ask or need shriving fromanything or any one. There was never a priest or vicar in the shire youcouldn't twist the head off!"

  The Marquis turned to me with a vexed toss of his shoulder. "It's ahopeless task to look for a pagan's backbone," said he. "Come, I'llconfess. I dare not hint at my truant thought to Auchinbreac or beforeany of these fiery officers of mine, who fear perhaps more than theylove me. At the black tale of my weakness they would make no allowancefor my courage as the same was shown before."

  "Your courage, sir," said I, "has been proved; it is the inheritance ofyour race. But I dare not strain my conscience, my lord, much as Ilove and honour your house, to say I could comprehend or concur in theextraordinary retirement you made from these parts when our need foryour presence was the sorest."

  "I thank you for that, Elrigmore," said his lordship, cordially. "Yousay no more now than you showed by your face (and perhaps said too)on the night the beacon flamed on Dunchuach. To show that I value yourfrankness--that my kinsman here seems to fancy a flaw ol character--I'llbe explicit on the cause of my curious behaviour in this crisis. WhenI was a boy I was brought up loyally to our savage Highland tradition,that feuds were to carry on, and enemies to confound, and that no logicunder heaven should keep the claymore in its sheath while an old grudgewas to wipe out in blood or a wrong to right."

  "A most sensible and laudable doctrine!" cried M'Iver. "With that andno more of a principle in life--except paying your way among friends--agood man of his hands could make a very snug and reputable progressthrough the world."

  "Some men might," said Argile, calmly; "I do not know whether to envyor pity their kind. But they are not my kind. I think I bore myselfnot ungracefully in the Cabinet, in the field too, so long as I took myfather's logic without question. But I have read, I have pondered----"

  "Just so," whispered M'Iver, not a bit abashed that a sneer was in hisinterjection and his master could behold it.

  "--And I have my doubts about the righteousness of much of our warfare,either before my day or now. I have brought the matter to my closet Ihave prayed----"

  "Pshaw!" exclaimed M'Iver, but at once he asked pardon.

  "--I am a man come--or wellnigh come--to the conclusion that his lifewas never designed by the Creator to be spent in the turmoil of factionand field. There is, I allow, a kind of man whom strife sets off, amiddling good man in his way, perhaps, with a call to the sword whosejustice he has never questioned. I have studied the philosophies; I havereflected on life--this unfathomable problem--and 'fore God I begin todoubt my very right to wear a breastplate against the poignard of fate.Dubiety plays on me like a flute."

  To all this I listened soberly, at the time comprehending that this wasa gentleman suffering from the disease of being unable to make up hismind. I would have let him go on in that key while he pleasured it, forit's a vein there's no remedy for at the time being; but M'Iver was notof such tolerant stuff as I. He sat with an amazed face till his passionsimmered over into a torrent of words.

  "MacCailein!" said he, "I'll never call you coward, but I'll call youmad, book mad, closet mad! Was this strong fabric your house of Argile(John M'Iver the humblest of its members) built up on doubt and whim andshillyshally hither and yond? Was't that made notable the name of yourancestor Cailein Mor na Sringe, now in the clods of Kilchrenan, orCailein Iongataich who cooled his iron hide in Linne-na-luraich; or yourfather himself (peace with him!), who did so gallantly at Glenlivet?"

  "----And taught me a little of the trade of slaughter at the WesternIsles thirty years ago come Candlemas," said the Marquis. "How a manages! Then--then I had a heart like the bird of spring."

  "He could have taught you worse! I'm your cousin, and I'll say itto your beard, sir! Your glens and howes are ruined, your cattle arehoughed and herried, your clan's name is a bye-word this wae day inall Albainn, and you sit there like a chemist weighing the wind on yourstomach."

  "You see no farther than your nose, John," said the Marquis, petulantly,the candle-light turning his eyes blood-red.

  "Thank God for that same!" said Mlver, "if it gives me the wit to keepan enemy from striking the same. If the nose was Argile's, it might betwisted off his face while he debated upon his right to guard it."

  "You're in some ways a lucky man," said the Marquis, still in the mostsad and tolerant humour. "Did you never have a second's doubt about theright of your side in battle?"

  "Here's to the doubt, sir!" said M'Iver. "I'm like yourself and everyother man in a quandary of that kind, that thinking on it rarely broughtme a better answer to the guess than I got from my instinct to startwith."

  Argile put his fingers through his hair, clearing the temples, andshutting wearied eyes on a perplexing world.

  "I have a good deal of sympathy with John's philosophy," I said,modestly. "I hold with my father that the sword is as much God's schemeas the cassock. What are we in this expedition about to start but theinstruments of Heaven's vengeance on murtherers and unbelievers?"

  "I could scarcely put it more to the point myself," cried M'Iver. "Asoldier's singular and essential duty is to do the task set him withsuch art and accomplishment as he can--in approach, siege, trench, orstronghold."

  "Ay, ay! here we are into our dialectics again," said his lordship,laughing, with no particular surrender in his merriment. "You gentlemenmake no allowance for the likelihood that James Grahame, too, may beswearing himself Heaven's chosen weapon. 'Who gave Jacob to the spoiland Israel to the robbers--did not I, the Lord?' Oh, it's a confusingworld!"

  "Even so, MacCailein; I'm a plain man," said M'Iver, "though of a goodfamily, brought up roughly among men, with more regard to my strengthand skill of arm than to book-learning; but I think I can say that hereand in this crisis I am a man more fit, express, and appropriate thanyourself. In the common passions of life, in hate, in love, it is thesimple and confident act that quicker achieves its purpose than thecunning ingenuity. A man in a swither is a man half absent, as poor afighter as he is indifferent a lover; the enemy and the girl will escapehim ere he has throttled the doubt at his heart There's one test to mymind for all the enterprises of man--are they well contrived and carriedto a good conclusion? There may be some unco quirks to be performed, andsome sore hearts to confer at the doing of them, but Heaven itself, forall its puissance, must shorten the pigeon's wing that the gled of thewood may have food to live on."

  "Upon my word, M'Iver," said Argile, "you beat me at my own trade ofdebate, and--have you ever heard of a fellow Machiavelli?"

  "I kent a man of that name in a corps we forgathered with at Mentz--a'provient schriever,' as they called him. A rogue, with a hand in thesporran of every soldier he helped pay wage to."

  "This was a different person; but no matter. Let us back to thebeginning of our argu
ment--why did you favour my leaving for Dunbartonwhen Montrose came down the Glen?"

  The blood swept to M'Iver's face, and his eye quailed.

  "I favoured no such impolitic act," said he, slowly. "I saw you werebent on going, and I but backed you up, to leave you some rags ofillusion to cover your naked sin."

  "I thought no less," said Argile, sadly, "and yet, do you know, Iain,you did me a bad turn yonder. You made mention of my family's safety,and it was the last straw that broke the back of my resolution. One wordof honest duty from you at that time had kept me in Inner-aora thoughAbijah's array and Jeroboam's horse and foot were coming down theglens."

  For a little M'Iver gave no answer, but sat in a chair of torture.

  "I am sorry for it," he said at last, in a voice that was scarce hisown; "I'm in an agony for it now; and your horse was not round Stronebefore I could have bit out the tongue that flattered your folly."

  MacCailein smiled with a solemn pity that sat oddly on the sinister facethat was a mask to a complex and pliable soul.

  "I have no doubt," said he, "and that's why I said you were a devil'scounsellor. Man, cousin! have we not played together as boys on theshore, and looked at each other on many a night across a candid bowl? Iknow you like the open book; you and your kind are the weak, strong menof our Highland race. The soft tongue and the dour heart; the good manat most things but at your word!"