Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  He asked for little help. Antrim was to raise troops in Ireland and the Isles, and land them in the west of Scotland to keep Argyll occupied in his own country. A body of horse from Newcastle’s army would assist him to cut his way through the Lowlands to the Highland line. The King of Denmark might lend some German cavalry, and by hook or by crook a sufficient store of arms and ammunition must be transported to the north. Charles consented, and Antrim was dispatched to Ulster with instructions to land 2,000 troops in Argyll by April 1, 1644. Montrose was offered the commission of viceroy and captain-general of the royal forces in Scotland, but very wisely he declined; the title was bestowed on the king’s nephew, Prince Maurice, and Montrose was content to be known as his lieutenant-general. He knew something of the jealous temper of the northern forces, and he had no desire to wreck his expedition on an empty name.

  The six years of waiting were ended. The fates had cleared the stage, and the waverer had an issue of his perplexities. Words were to give place to deeds; the narrow streets of Edinburgh and the heavy air of conventions and assemblies to the clean winds and the wide spaces of the hills. He had before him a straight path of duty, and little it troubled him that it ran into dark shadows. Once more he had recaptured his boyish ardour, and there was no happier man in the world than Montrose when, on that March morning, with the ash buds black in St. John’s gardens, he rode north out of Oxford to win a kingdom.

  BOOK II — ACTION

  CHAPTER VI. THE CURTAIN RISES (March 1644 — August 1644)

  Worcester. I will unclasp a secret book,

  And to your quick-conceiving discontents

  I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous,

  As full of peril and adventurous spirit

  As to o’er-walk a current roaring loud

  On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

  Hotspur. If he fall in, good night! — or sink or swim! —

  Send danger from the east unto the west,

  So honour cross it from the north to south,

  And let them grapple.

  — First Part of King Henry IV.

  1644 March

  St. Theresa, when she set out as a child to convert the Moors, was engaged on a mission scarcely less hopeful than that which Montrose had now set himself. It seemed the wildest of gambles against impossible odds. In the true knight-errant fashion Charles had given him a sword engraved with the arms of the flower of his race, Prince Henry, but he could give him little more. Montrose was to raise Scotland for the king, but where was he to find an army? The best of the semi-professional levies were with Leven in the north of England. The soldiers of fortune from the German wars were already for the most part under Leven’s banner. He could get nothing from the towns and villages of the Lowlands, for, whatever the feeling of the people, the Kirk and the Estates had a firm control of the machinery of enlistment. As for the nobles, the most powerful were Covenanters, and even if it had been otherwise, were far too jealous and self-centred to follow a young man of no higher rank than their own in a cause which was, at the best, forlorn. Did he hope that his words of wisdom, his far-sighted political doctrines, would carry conviction to a backward peasantry, harassed by temporal want on the one side and the fear of eternal punishment on the other? Besides, he proposed to bring Antrim’s Irishry to his aid, and Antrim’s Irishry, though most of them were Scots, seemed to the Lowlands so many emissaries of the Pope and the devil. With such allies he would not attract a single doubting Presbyterian to his standard.

  As in most great adventures, there was no solid hope save in the soul of the adventurer. In a desperate case the man who risks most is usually the wisest, and Montrose staked everything on the speed and gallantry of his spirit. It seems impossible that at this period he can have intended to raise the Highlands. He relied on his kinsmen in Perth and Angus, and he had some hope of the Gordons. It was the gentry of the northern lowlands — Grahams, Drummonds, Erskines, Stirlings, and Ogilvies — in whom he trusted, if he trusted in any one besides himself, and not in the clans of the hills. Probably at the time he knew very little about the Highlands, and his experience in the Bishops’ War cannot have prepossessed him in favour of the desultory bands who accompanied Huntly’s lowland levies to battle. Had he known more he would not have been greatly encouraged. Argyll, poor soldier as he was, had worked his will with Morvern and Badenoch, Atholl and Lochaber. Nor were there any of the ordinary politics in the hills. The chiefs were royalists only in as much as they were not Covenanters. He might indeed count on the assistance, could he reach them, of all those who hated the name of Campbell — Clan Chattan, Clan Donald, the Macleans, the Stuarts, and the Camerons. But Seaforth and his Mackenzies would never fight on the same side as a Macdonald, and, if he enlisted the Gordons, he might look to find the Grants in the other camp.

  If Montrose’s venture was desperate in purpose, it was no less desperate in the lack of a base. He was to fling himself into the midst of a hostile country to improvise an army. Nothing could be looked for from the king except the royal commission. Even had Charles been that ideal monarch which certain royalists created out of their fancy, he could have done little to help his champion. As it was, he passed from blunder to blunder, enraging by his obtuseness and duplicity both friend and foe. The man who fought for a Stuart must be content to wage war without reserves. His life and his reputation alike must be in his own keeping.

  Crawford, Reay, Nithsdale, Ogilvy, and Aboyne accompanied Montrose as he rode out from Oxford, on his way to Newcastle’s camp. The two first presently turned off with a squadron of horse towards Shrewsbury. Arrived at York, Montrose found that Newcastle was at Durham, so he sent on Colonel Cochrane to acquaint him with the king’s commission and his need of men and money. The reply came that at Durham there was little of either, and the king’s lieutenant-general, on March 15th, proceeded thither to reason with the royalist commander. Already the news of his coming north had sent Argyll post-haste into Scotland, whither, Montrose wrote to Sir Robert Spottiswoode at Oxford, “we intend to make all possible dispatch to follow him at his heels, in whatever posture we can.” Newcastle, the great potentate of the north-east, now a marquis and after the Restoration to be a duke, was a man of sumptuous and scholarly tastes, a devout loyalist, and brave and scrupulous in all the relations of life. He was the idol of his second wife, but in her praise of his gentility, “which hath something in it of grandeur,” we can detect the source of his failure. He was too fine for the rough task before him — the complete dilettante, who, in Clarendon’s words, “the articles of action no sooner over, returned to his delightful company, music, and the softer pleasures.” As a soldier he was neither fortunate nor skilful, for he had no experience of war.

  On 19th January Leven, with 18,000 foot and more than 3,000 horse, had crossed Tweed. He halted for three weeks before the town of Newcastle, and then on 28th February the bulk of his army, assisted by the prayers of Mr. Robert Baillie in far-away London, forded Tyne. By 2nd March he was across the Wear, and two days later entered Sunderland. Newcastle, who had only 5,000 foot and 3,000 horse, was opportunely strengthened by the arrival of Sir Charles Lucas, made a feeble demonstration against him, and then fell back on Durham. Leven followed, but finding his commissariat difficult in that devastated country, remained in the district between Tyne and Wear, and decided to lay siege to the positions which guarded the mouth of the former river. The marquis, when Montrose arrived, was in the worst of spirits. The town of Newcastle still held out, but Leven was at its gates, and Manchester and Fairfax were closing up on him from the south. Even as against the Scots he was outnumbered, and he might soon be caught between two formidable fires. He was in no condition to spare a silver piece or a man.

  Nevertheless, as a great nobleman, he honoured the king’s commission and did his best. A hundred ill-mounted troopers and two small brass cannon were the most the perplexed commander could spare Montrose for the conquest of Scotland. He called out for him, however, the militia of Cu
mberland and Westmoreland, and sundry local gentlemen were willing to join his standard. Another disappointment was in store, for Carnwath, who happened to be in Newcastle’s camp, refused to accept from Montrose’s hand the royal commission as lieutenant of Clydesdale. It was a foretaste of the spirit of even the loyal among the Scots nobles. There was a curious wildness in the Carnwath family, conspicuous even in a wild age. At the head of a troop of horse rode a certain Mrs. Pierson, who passed as Carnwath’s daughter, and whose commission was made out in the name of Captain Francis Dalziel. Her cornet carried a black banner, which displayed on a sable field a naked man hanging from a gibbet, under the motto “I dare.”

  1644 March-April

  Montrose’s coming stirred the Marquis of Newcastle to action. Leven, at the mouth of the Tyne, was cut off from his base and his heavy guns at Sunderland. Here was a chance for a bold stroke, so on 23rd March he advanced to Chester-le-street, and next day took up position at Hilton north of the Wear, a few miles from Sunderland, with Leven on a hill to the east. But even Montrose’s influence could not put speed into Newcastle’s languid soul. There was an artillery duel and some fighting between advanced troops, but on the 25th Newcastle suddenly drew off towards Durham, and Leven was enabled to inflict considerable damage on his rear. Presently the news of Fairfax’s approach caused the marquis to hasten south to York.

  1644 April

  With Newcastle’s campaign Montrose had no concern, for his business lay north of the Border. He marched towards Carlisle with 200 horse, mostly gentlemen who had served in the foreign wars; Crawford of the fierce counsels, Nithsdale, Ogilvy, and Aboyne were with him, and Captain Francis Dalziel with her grisly banner. The Cumberland and Westmoreland men, 800 foot and three troops of horse, joined him on the road, and on 13th April he led a force of some 1,300 men across the Border. But he had not forded Annan before trouble began. Most of the English militia, worked upon by the emissaries of Sir Richard Graham, deserted, and the loss was not atoned for by the accession of Lord Herries with a small following. With his little force of a few hundreds Montrose reached Dumfries, and occupied the town without opposition. The provost, one John Corsane, welcomed him gladly, and in consequence had five years’ trouble with the Estates and the Kirk.

  It was at once apparent that nothing could be done in the southern Lowlands. The Maxwell and Johnstones of the Dumfries neighbourhood were in no mood to rise, and their heads — Nithsdale and Hartfell — were jealous of the new commander. Annandale, Morton, Roxburgh, and Traquair, though nominally royalists, refused, like Carnwath, the king’s commissions of lieutenancy, by means of which Montrose had hoped to organize a formidable opposition. Farther east Lothian was hot for the Parliament, and the “bauld Buccleuch,” a young man of eighteen, was commanding — with no particular credit to himself — a regiment under Leven. The peasantry of Dumfries were under the thumb of the ministers and of fickle noblemen like Glencairn. Montrose issued a declaration, headed by the device which appears on the cover of this volume, explaining that he was now in arms for the king on the same principle as he had once been in arms for the Covenant—”for the defence and maintenance of the true Protestant religion, his Majesty’s just and sacred authority, the fundamental laws and privileges of Parliament, the peace and freedom of the oppressed and enthralled subject.” “Knew I not perfectly,” he added, “his Majesty’s intentions to be such, and so real as is already expressed, I should never have embarked myself at all in his service. Nor, did I but see the least appearance of his Majesty’s change from these resolutions or any of them, I should never continue longer my faithful endeavour in it.” His case was unanswerable; he stood in the direct tradition of the National Covenant and of the spirit of the Glasgow Assembly. But he was speaking a tongue which the burghers of Dumfries, and for that matter the Scottish people, did not understand. “It was not,” in Mr. Gardiner’s words, “for the restoration of a dead past that he drew the sword. He stood up for that which was, in some sort, the hope of the future.” And the language of the future is always strange to contemporary ears.

  Montrose lingered on, waiting for news of Antrim’s men, from which it would appear that Galloway, as well as Argyll, was their objective. But no news came and his hopes sank, for Antrim had always been uncertain as the wind. He received, however, a message of another kind — from his niece, Lady Stirling of Keir — inviting him, on behalf of the commander, Lord Sinclair, to take possession of the castle of Stirling and the town of Perth. Sinclair and his second in command, Sir James Turner, were probably sincere in their offer, but it was fortunate for Montrose that he did not attempt to accept it. For the Covenant had got wind of the intention of the pair, and, while Montrose was reading his niece’s letter, Callander, with Sinclair and Turner in tow, was marching south. Callander, who had once been Almond and a party to the Cumbernauld Bond, presently occupied Dumfries, while Montrose and his handful recrossed the Esk. They barely escaped, and had to leave some of their guns in Annandale. Meanwhile two events had befallen the royalist leader. He had received his patent of marquis from the king, and had been excommunicated by the Kirk in Edinburgh. The latter honour was also conferred at the same time upon Huntly, who had just been conducting an aimless and confused rising in the north, and was now hiding from Argyll in Strathnaver.

  1644 May-June

  There was no course open to Montrose except to wait for Scottish news on English soil, while he kept Callander and his 7,000 levies busy on the western Marches, and to strike a blow, if occasion offered, on behalf of the hard-pressed Marquis of Newcastle. He had no illusions about either that general or the royalist troops in the north of England. He had seen the quality of the Cumberland and Westmoreland militia, most of the gentry were watching the omens, and the Percy’s spur was cold in Northumbria. The centre of the war was shifting into Yorkshire, but Montrose’s duty was to keep close to Scotland, and his task was only desultory Border fighting. It was sufficient, however, to inspire acute anxiety in the breast of Mr. Robert Baillie and the Covenant leaders.

  1644 June-July

  If Newcastle was to be retained and the position of its marquis improved at York, a blow must be struck forthwith in the north. The town of Morpeth was strongly held by a Covenanting garrison under Somerville of Drum (afterwards the tenth Lord Somerville), and on 10th May Montrose marched against it, assisted by Colonel Clavering, and with Crawford as his intractable colleague. He attempted to carry the place by assault, was repulsed, and then, after bringing up six guns from Newcastle, breached its defence and entered it on 29th May. The air was full of wild rumours, and to a certain Captain John MacCulloch, who parleyed with him, Montrose gave a romantic account of a great disaster to Leven at York, and of the success of the royalists in Scotland. The garrison was disarmed and dismissed, and after the surrender Montrose entertained the governor to dinner. He then recaptured the fort at South Shields which Leven had taken on 20th March, and attacked Sunderland, where he was checked by the energy of its seamen and the cavalry sent by Leven from York. The Covenanting general was in difficulties, for so long as he had the Marquis of Newcastle to deal with he could do little against Montrose. His only hope was Callander, who was making his leisurely way from the western Border. Montrose was collecting provisions from the Alnwick neighbourhood and succeeding in getting them into the beleaguered Newcastle, when at the end of June he received a peremptory summons to join Prince Rupert, who was marching through Lancashire to the relief of York.

  Rupert did not wait for Montrose. He relieved York indeed, but before he and Montrose met the king’s arms had suffered their first crushing disaster. On 2nd July, about five in the afternoon, he engaged the Parliament forces at Marston Moor, and discovered that new thing in England — the shock of Cromwell’s horse. The Huntingdonshire grazier, turned parliamentarian, had made himself also a great soldier, and had hammered into being an army to suit his purpose. On that fierce day David Leslie also wrought famously, and disputes as to the true architect of victo
ry did not improve relations between Scots and English. The king’s army was scattered, Newcastle fled overseas, and Rupert, lamenting the loss in action of his white dog which Puritans believed to be his familiar spirit, rode with some 6,000 troops into the western hills. Two days after the battle Montrose found him in an inn at Richmond. “Give me a thousand of your horse,” he said, “and I will cut my way into the heart of Scotland.” But Rupert had nothing to give; on the contrary, he stood much in need of Montrose’s scanty recruits. So with a sad heart the new marquis rode by Brough and Appleby to Carlisle to indite his report to the king. The western Marches were now safer for him, since Callander had gone east to Newcastle.

  1644 July-Aug.

  Four months had passed and nothing had been done. Ogilvy and Sir William Rollo had journeyed secretly into Scotland, and had returned with ill news. The land lay quiet under the Covenant, and Antrim’s levies seemed to have vanished into the mist. The nobles, headed by Traquair, were tumbling over each other in their anxiety to swear fealty to Argyll. There seemed nothing to be done except to surrender the royal commission, and to wait abroad for a happier time. So his friends advised, and Montrose made a pretence of acquiescing. He set out for Oxford with the rest, having taken Ogilvy (and later Aboyne) into his confidence. A little way from Carlisle he slipped behind, but as his servants and baggage went on it was presumed that he was following. Had he continued, he would have shared in the capture of the whole party by Fairfax at Ribble bridge.