CHAPTER XXII
A BROTHER OF THE LAMP
Two days afterwards, towards six o'clock on a bitter evening, I rodewearily into Leek. I was having a hard apprenticeship in soldiering undera master who had no idea of sparing either me or himself. For the Colonelhad accepted the post of second, under Murray, in command of ourrear-guard, and had made it a condition of acceptance that I should bewith him. Some thirty Highlanders, mostly Macdonalds, picked dare-devils,had been mounted and turned into dragooners, and I, thanks to the Colonel,had been made Captain over them.
"The lad's no experience, but he's got sense," he said to my lord GeorgeMurray.
"I ken him weel aneugh," said his lordship. "He threatened to knock myhead off. D'ye ca' that sense, Kit Waynflete?"
"Since your head's still on your shoulders," said the Colonel, fumblingfor his snuff, "I do. He knocked Maclachlan's Donald into a log of timber,and, damme, I hardly saw his hand move."
"That's only a trick, sir," I protested.
"Weel, Captain Wheatman," said Murray, "keep your ugly English tricks toy'rsel. Mind ye, colonel or no colonel, I'll break ye first chance ye gieme."
Maclachan was, I must say, very obliging and complimentary over mypromotion. He gave me Donald to be my sergeant and personal servant,finding him, how I knew not, a horse strong enough to carry him easily.
"It is ferra guid," said Donald to his chief. "Er shall pe lookit to asif her were ma mither's own son."
To me, Captain Wheatman, clinking about in the corridor waiting for theColonel, comes William, suave and confidential as ever.
"Well, William," said I. "Any more coincidences?"
"Yes, sir," said he, and began his hand-washing.
"You'll die a rich man, William."
"No, sir. This particular coincidence made me the poorer by, I shouldsay," suspending his washing to calculate, "some five shillings."
"The devil it did! How was that?"
"Your honour's clothes that you left behind, sir, when you weretransmuted, as my lord would say, were stolen."
"And you value them at five shillings! I ought to crack your head for you."
"Yes, sir. Cast-offs sells very cheap, sir. But the coincidence, sir!I've not really come to that yet."
"Go on, William! You interest me deeply."
"I found them, sir, at the bottom of the garden, torn to rags, sir!"
"And sold 'em for fivepence! Eh, thrifty William?"
"Sixpence, to be exact, sir!"
The Colonel rushed me off, but I found time to give the rascal a crown,which put him sixpence in pocket. A servant ought to have his vails, and,besides, William's concern amused me a good crown's worth.
This was late on in the night after the final decision to go back, andsince then I had been scouting miles behind the main body of ourrear-guard, so as to make sure that the Duke's horse were not on ourtrack. I had slept by driblets as opportunity offered. Now, my purposeaccomplished, I was looking forward to supper and bed, having left apatrol of fresh men some six miles back to watch the southern road.
There was one thing in my mind, however, that must be attended to first.I must see Mistress Hardy of Hardiwick. My heart ached for her, for I knewhow sorely she would feel the retreat of the Prince. Moreover, theclansmen were not likely to discriminate between her and other townsfolk,and I would save her from disturbance. So, jumping off the sorrel, andgiving him in charge to one of my men, I started for the little cottage. Iwas turning the corner out of the square when some one, running lightlybehind me, placed a hand on my arm and detained me. It was Margaret.
"You've no need to trouble, Oliver," she said. "I've kept a room for youat the 'Angel.'"
"Thank you," I replied. "You are very kind, madam."
"Poof! Come along! You're so tired that you can hardly keep your eyesopen to look at me. Come along, sir!" She was merrily pulling at my arm asshe spoke. "I don't want to be obliged to return you every service, youknow, sir!"
"No, madam! Certainly not."
"No, indeed, sir! I'm not going to put you to bed, except as the verylast resource."
"Fortunately, madam, I'm a long way from needing that. In a few minutes Ishall gladly take advantage of your care for me. First, however, I mustsee to our old friend to whom the Prince gave the brooch."
"We'll go together!" said Margaret, putting her arm in mine.
The cottage was dark and silent, welcome proof that she was undisturbed.I knocked gently, and, after a short delay, the door opened, and her womanappeared, candle in hand.
"I knew you'd come, sir," she said simply. "And this is your lady! Comein!"
Candle in hand, she paced ahead of us to the door of the room, and thenstood aside, erect and solemn, to let us pass in. I looked at her closely.The worried, anxious look on her comely face had gone, and she wassubdued, calm, and happy.
"Thank God!" she whispered. "She's at peace!"
I stepped ahead of Margaret into the fine old room, with its pleasantmemorials of ancientry. There they were, just as I had seen them--scutcheon,portrait, glove, and pounce-box. There was no change in them;they were the abiding elements on which a strong soul had kept itselfstrong. But change there was. At the _prie-Dieu_, kneeling in arapture before the Virgin Mother, was a solemn, black-robed priest. Anarrow white bed was in the room. Two large candles burned steadily at itshead, two at the foot; and on the bed, the linen turned down to reveal thethin, frail hands crossed below the Prince's brooch, lay the still, whiteform of our lady of the square. God had taken her to Himself. Death hadcaught her with a welcoming smile on her face, and, in pity and ruth, hadleft it there.
The Hardys of Hardiwick had given their last gift to the cause.
Tears were streaming down Margaret's cheeks. With shaking hands sheremoved her hat and, kneeling down at the bedside, clasped her hands inprayer.
"She talked no end about you, sir," whispered the serving-woman, "andabout the beautiful lady with you. That standing in the cold square to seethe Prince was the death of her. She would have her bed put down here,sir. She wanted to die here, with the old shield in her eyes, for she wasproud of her blood, as well she might be."
"Yes," I whispered back. "She was the last of a great race."
"Aye, sir. She was that. She was a bit moithered in her mind, dear heart,just afore she went. The last words she said were a prayer for his soul,--hersweetheart you know, sir, that she lost sixty years ago,--just asI'd heard her pray thousands of times. But, poor thing, she got his namewrong. She called him 'John.'"
Choking, I threw myself on my knees beside Margaret, and prayed andfought, and fought and prayed again. Here, before me, I saw Death in theonly shape in which it can give no sorrow--sinless age that had gentlyglided into immortality; and, with equal vision, I saw the blackpassage ... and the still twisted thing lying there in a patch ofgloom ... my friend, gone in the pride of his youth ... his life spilt outin anger and agony ... and by me. Then the innocent hand of her for whom,though all unwittingly, I had done this thing, crept on to my shoulder,and I turned to look at her.
"Thank God we came, Oliver!" she whispered.
Before we could rise, the black-robed priest lifted his tall, gaunt frameslowly from the _prie-Dieu_. Standing on the opposite side of the bedhe raised his hands in blessing.
"Our sister is with God," he said, his deep voice vibrant with emotion."My children, you are, as I think, those who were much in her prayers atthe last. I know not who you are, but, in her memory and in God's name, Igive you in this life His Peace, and in the life to come the assurance ofHis Everlasting Blessedness. Amen."
He ceased. Gravely, and in a solemn silence, he knelt again at the_prie-Dieu_. We rose. First Margaret, and then I, kissed the Prince'sbrooch and the folded hands, and then stole out of the room. We were tooawe-stricken to speak, or even to look at each other, but, as we went, sheplaced her hand in mine.
Weary days, full of hard riding and scouting, passed before I sawMargaret again. I was always in the rear, genera
lly far in the rear, whileshe and the other ladies were, very properly, kept well ahead. She nowrode in the calash with Lady Ogilvie,--the two being inseparable,--andMaclachlan was with them. My work was hard and anxious but it kept me fromthinking overmuch. I put all my soul into it so that it should.
"The lad does very well, as I told you he would," said the Colonel toMurray one night when I rode in to make my report.
"I see no signs of my chance of breaking him," said his lordship grimly,but he would have me sup with him that night, and was very unbending andhelpful.
There is nothing I need say about this stage of the retreat. It was wellmanaged, and is, I am told, a very creditable piece of soldiership. Itdoes not belong to my story but to history, to which I leave it.
Things did happen, however, that do concern me. The first was laughablethough vexatious. This was the manner of it.
While the Prince was making the stage from Macclesfield to Manchester,and Murray and the Colonel were in force a few miles in his rear, I had tokeep the country behind them well observed. I had one patrol within sightof Macclesfield, and others stretching out along an edge of upland countryrunning westward to the next main road. I spent the night in a littlewayside ale-house, and was having my breakfast next morning when I wasdisturbed by a succession of yells from without.
I ran into the yard and there was Donald, the rough head of one of mydragoons in each hand, banging them together, varying his bangs with kicksat any accessible spot, and shrieking at them in Gaelic, while theyshrieked back and wriggled to escape. He stopped when he saw me, but stillheld them by the pow.
"What's it all about, Donald?" I asked.
"The loons! It's Glencoe 'erself sail hang 'em," he said breathlessly.
"What for? Out with it, Donald!"
"Yes, you gomeril"--shoving one of the men sprawling into the stable--"ootwi' it! Bring your tarn rogues wark 'ere!"
The man came sheepishly out with my saddle, cut and ripped and guttedtill it wasn't worth a sou.
Strict and stern inquiry threw little light on the matter. I had my ownsuspicions, namely, of two licorous raffatags in the so-called Manchesterregiment, whom I had handsomely kicked out of a roadside cottage wherethey were for behaving after their kind. They had been seen prowling aboutthe curtilage of the ale-house the night before.
I went back to my breakfast. For a few hours I had to make shift with thesaddle of one of my dragoons, but, after a short halt later on, Donaldbrought out the sorrel with a fine, and nearly new, saddle.
"Tat's petter," said he. "'Er sail ride foine now."
"This cost you a twa-three bawbees, I'll be bound," I remarked.
Donald grinned intelligently and I made no closer inquiry. The goodfellow made me uncomfortable, for he would have slit the throat of thegreatest squire along the road to get me a shoe-lace.
Early next morning his lordship sent me ahead into Manchester with adispatch for the Prince, who had spent the night there. It was a welcometask, for it would, I hoped, give me at least a sight of Margaret. Insteadof this sweet meat, however, I got sour sauce.
When I got there our army was beginning its onward march, and there werethousands of people about to watch the clansmen fall in, and littledisguise they made of their feelings. As it happened, when I rode into thesquare, Ogilvie's large regiment was lining up, and he left it in chargeof his major to come and talk to me.
"I'm wishing you'd come half an hour ago," he began. "Ishbel would ha'given much to see you, and so wad some one else, I'm thinking."
"Have the ladies started already?" I asked, with painful carelessness.
"Losh, man, Maclachlan has 'em up and away the morn in fine style. He'sgetting a very attentive chiel is Maclachlan, and I wonder ma Ishbel disnalike him better than she does. There's too damn few of us to be spittingand sparring among ourselves."
"This is so, my lord," I said.
"I'm just plain Davie to ma friends," he said simply. "I'm no exactly aman after God's ain heart, like my Bible namesake, but I hae no speeritualpride where a guid man's concernit, and it ill becomes men who are in thesame boat, and that only a cockle-shell thing, to be swapping off courtterms wi' ane anither. They're aff, an' we mun step it out. An' I'm noreally a lord."
"I want the Prince's lodging, Davie," I explained, as we walked on thecauseway level with the head of his column.
"We march past it, an' I'll drop ye there. The young man takes it verraill. The heart's clean melted oot of him. An' sma' wonder! See the sour,mum bodies in this town! When we came down there were bonfires an'bell-ringings, an' cheerings, an' mostly every windie wi' a lit candle,maybe twa-three, in it. The leddies, an' they're nae bad-lookin' lassieseither, had bunches o' plaid ribbons in their bosoms an'--this I hae fromMaclachlan--plaid gairters to their stockings."
In such talk we spent the way to the Prince's lodging, where I chargedhim to carry my greetings to the ladies. He wrung my hand in parting and,his major having halted the regiment, stepped proudly to the head of hismen. I stood on the edge of the causeway, drew my sword, and stood at thesalute, according to the courtesy of the wars. He returned the honour inlike soldierly fashion, rapped out a command, and so passed on into thehungry North. It was the last I was to see of Davie, commonly called theLord Ogilvie.
To my astonishment the Prince was not yet risen, and it was some timebefore he came to me in his day-room, where I was awaiting him. I rose andbowed as he entered, and gave him the dispatch.
"Curse your foul English weather, Captain Wheatman. It's getting into mybones."
This was, I fancy, only his way of excusing to me the nip of brandy hewas pouring out.
"That's better!" he said, putting down the empty glass. "I have somethingto thank France for after all." He laughed at his own poor joke, but therewas no ring of merriment in his laughter, and added, "Now for what myrunaway general has to say."
He read the letter impatiently and sneeringly. "I suppose Mr. Secretarymust write something back," was his comment. "It doesn't matter much what,since we're running away as fast as our legs can carry us. Any fool, orrogue, or Murray can run away."
He paced up and down the room with long angry strides, muttering words Idid not understand. Suddenly he stopped, and turned on me with thesmiling, princely face of the greater Charles I knew and liked.
"Curse me for an ingrate! I am heartily obliged to you, Captain Wheatman,for your pains. My lord speaks of you in high terms of praise. And I mustnot keep you. Murray must have his answer. Come with me, and Mr. Secretaryshall take it down while I have my breakfast."
I followed him out and along a passage with doors on either side, outsideone of which stood a servant or sentry, who had eyed me furtively on mycoming inward. When he saw the Prince, he opened the door and thrust inhis head, to announce our visit. He was clumsy, too, and, keeping his headround the edge of the door too long, bumped into the Prince, who rappedout an oath and flung him aside. As I followed Charles in, I caught aglimpse of the back of a man in a heavy mulberry wrap-rascal, guarded withtarnished silver braid at the cuffs and pockets, who was hastily leavingthe Secretary's room by an inner door.
"Ha!" said Charles sneeringly. "More plots and politics! If I could beschemed into a crown, you'd be the man to do it."
"I must be acquent wi' what gaes on in the toun, your Royal Highness, an'ma man yonder's a rare ferret, but I didna think him worthy to be in thepresence, sae I just bundled him oot."
"All your plotting and contrivings will not do you as much good as aglass of brandy. The climate's getting at you."
Indeed Mr. Secretary was all of a shake, and looked in a scared mannerfrom the Prince to me and back again.
"It's naething but a little queasiness, such as we elder, bookish men areapt to get by ower-much application. Your Royal Highness is gracious tonote my little ailments," said he smoothly. He had recovered already.
"Try brandy!" said Charles. "It settles the stomach fine. Well, come andtake down a reply to this while I have some breakfast!"<
br />
The queasiness seemed to return, for Mr. Secretary was slow, captious,and argumentative, though the matter of the dispatch was only as to wherethe army should halt for a day's rest. At last Preston was decided on, andthe dispatch written accordingly. I bowed myself out, jumped on thesorrel, and started for the Stockport road.
Our rear was closer up than usual this morning. Manchester, being aconsiderable town, was not to be cleared of our main of troops until thefirst column of the rear was in the southern skirts of the town. Outsidethe Prince's lodging, his escort of life-guards was now drawn up. As Irode along the edge of the market-square the Camerons were massing, andthe streets adjacent were seething with clansmen.
I put the sorrel to it and was soon out in the low open country. Aftercantering a mile or so, I caught sight of two horsemen, well ahead of me,riding south at a round gallop. One of them wore a big mulberrywrap-rascal. It is no uncommon garment to see along a turnpike on a bitingDecember day, but, ten minutes later, after they dropped to a walk to easetheir horses up a slope, I saw the silver guarding round the pockets.
If this were the man I had seen hurrying out of Mr. Secretary's room, alook at him would be worth while, so I spurred after them. The clatter Imade had the desired effect. At the top of the slope, wrap-rascal turnedround. It was Weir, the Government spy. He squealed to his companion, wholooked back in turn. My heart leaped fiercely at the sight of his seamedleathery face and dab-of-putty nose. It was the sergeant of dragoons.
Down the slope they raced, with me after them full tilt, proud as apeacock to be driving two men headlong before me, and one of them an oldcampaigner. It was my undoing. The road was lined with straggling hedges,and a long pistol shot ahead, a cross-track cut it. The sergeant wasgiving orders to the spy as they rode, and at the crossway the sergeant,shouting, "Shoot low!" turned sharp to the left while the spy made for theright.
It was a pretty trick, for it put me between two fires. I was on thespy's pistol hand as he turned, and he let fly at me, not out ofcalculated bravery, as his face plainly showed, but in a flurry ofdespair. The motive behind a shot, however, does not matter. It's thebullet that counts, and his got me just above the left elbow. I was up inmy stirrups, aiming at the sergeant, who was pulling his horse round to beat me. I saw splinters fly from a bough to his right.
I had not looked to the spy. Now a shot rang out down the lane on hisside. It was followed by a piercing shriek, and this by another shot. Inbetween the shots, the serjeant wheeled round, and raced off down the lanefor dear life, spurring and flogging like a maniac. It was useless tofollow. My rein hand had lost its grip, my arm felt aflame, and blood wasalready dripping fast from my helpless fingers.
Looking down the lane, I saw Weir lying in the road, and a strangehorseman climbing down from his saddle. I rode up to him.
"How d'ye do?" he said affably. "Sorry I could not get the other chap foryou, but I meant having Turnditch. The dirty rascal has sent his last ladto the gallows. Faugh! I could spit on his carrion."
A glance to the road showed that he was right. The spy's blank, yellowface was turned upwards; his eyes, with the horror of hell still in them,stared wide-open at the sky. Just above his right eyebrow there was a holeI could have put my finger in.
"Damn my silly eyes!" cried the stranger. "You're winged, sir, and badly.It must be seen to at once."
He helped me down, took off my coat and waistcoat, and turned up myshirt-sleeve, doing all this deftly and almost womanly.
"Hurrah! Missed the bone and gone clear through! Put you right in notime! Plug down your finger there, sir, while I cut a stick. That'sexcellent. You won't mind if I keep you while I reload my barkers? Thesafe side, you know!"
With his handkerchief and my own, and a length of hazel for a tourniquet,he bound up the wound, and with much skill, for he at once reduced theflow of blood to a mere trickle. While he was busy over me, I took stockof him.
He was a man of about my own age and height, but slimmer and wirier. Hisfeatures were rather irregular, but an intelligent, humorous look atonedfor this defect, and his bright grey eyes were the quickest I have everseen. Though an utter stranger, there was a puzzling familiarity abouthim, and I tried hard to recall which of my acquaintance featured him. Hishorse, now cropping at the roadside, was a splendid brown blood mare, thebest horse, barring Sultan, I had seen for many a day. The last thing Inoted was that the man was singularly well dressed.
"That's patched you up till you can get to a regular doctor. There's afirst-class man at Stockport, opposite the west door of the church,Bamford by name. You can't miss his place, and he'll pocket his fee like awise man ind ask no questions."
"You've done very well, sir," said I. "The blood has almost ceased toflow. I'm greatly beholden to you."
"Say no more!" he cried earnestly. "It's a boon you've conferred on me,if you only knew it. _Nemo repente turpissimus_, as we say."
"_Video proboque_, as we also say," I countered, smiling.
"Oddones! A brother of the lamp!" he cried, laughing shortly, andsuddenly sobering. "I must be on. Sorry to leave you, sir, but I thinkyou're all right. Take care, however. I was touched myself t'other day,and the damned hole in my ribs still bleeds if I exert myself too much."
"You should surely be in bed, if there's a hole in your ribs."
"In bed!" he sniffed. "I took to bed, egad, and nearly got pinched. NowI've no need for exertion. In this gap between the Highlanders, I'm assnug as a flea in a blanket."
After helping me into my clothes and on to my horse, he strolled up tothe dead man.
"Well, Turnditch," he said, "you know everything now, or nothing." Then,dropping lightly on his knee, he turned gaily to me, and said, "Alwaysplunder the Egyptian, dead or alive."
He rifled the spy's pockets with the easy indifference of an expert,singing as he turned them out:
"The priest calls the lawyer a cheat; The lawyer beknaves the divine; And the statesman because he's so great, Thinks his trade is as honest as mine."
He stopped his singing and, tossing a well-stuffed leather bag up anddown in his hand, said, "There's really no objection to virtue when thejade is not her own reward. Chunk! chunk! There's alchemy for you! Half anounce of lead into half a pound of gold!"
He stowed the bag in his pocket, jumped on his mare, and together wewalked our horses to the turnpike, where we halted side by side, ourhorses' heads to their respective destinations.
"Sir," said I, holding out my hand, "I am greatly in your debt. My nameis Oliver Wheatman, of the Hanyards, Staffordshire. May I have thepleasure of learning yours?"
He took my hand, looked at me intently, with his grey eyes verythoughtful and steady, and then said quietly, "Samuel Nixon, Bachelor ofArts, sometime Demy of Magdalen College, Oxford."
"Commonly called 'Swift Nicks,'" I added, smiling.
"Right first time," he cried gleefully, and shot off like an arrowtowards Manchester.
So Nance Lousely had not got her pinnerfull of guineas after all.
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