/■.^J^ •iJ^ i^? mt^ ^■^>09^- UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA FROM THE LIBRARY OF ^RS. S. WESTRAY BATTLE PRESENTED BY HER DAUGHTER MRS. ROBERT S. PICKENS i I .^<^W ^ ■ -^ 1 ^ i L r^i jT 9j¥ ^ ttLco' i^j^^ r /Xf d l^ Fl. ^■.-Uqv 'ftT- UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00032695815 This book must not be taken from the Library building. Form No. 471 . /^S^br c'lffemak Heroism. mJjctcvllii. Contents. Page Mrs. Jane Lane . . - . .'. . . 1 Lady Fanshawe . . . . . . . . 14 Lady Banks . . . , . . . . . , 36 Lady Morton .. .. .. .. 42 The Heart of Montrose . . . . . . . . 46 Lady Grisell Baillie .. .. .. .. 56 Winnifred, Countess of Nithsdale .. .. ..75 Flora Macdonald .. .. ., .. 87 Miss Mackay .. .. .. .. ..113 Lady Harriet Acland .. ,. .. 125 Helen Walker .. .. .. .. ..129 u 5»54M-.3 IV CONTEXTS. Page Madame la Rochejaquelin . . . . . . 136 Elizabeth Cazotte . . . . . . . , 169 Mademoiselle de Sombreuil .. .. .. 172 Gertrude Von der Wart . . . . . . . . 175 The MUler's Maid .. .. .. .. 183 A Rustic Heroine .. .. .. .. 188 The Escape of Mrs. Spencer Smith .. .. 190 Mademoiselle Ambos . . . . . . ..198 J?reCact^ In bringing together some traits of female heroism, the aim has been to shoAv the fortitude and devotion of which women are capable, rather in a feminine and domestic as- pect than a brilliant one, and to exhibit acts of courage and jiresence of mind in characters distinguished by their con- scientious fulfilment of the quiet, unobtrusive duties of every-day life. Love of adventure, constitutional indifference to danger, and a consciousness of superior powers, have led women to the successful performance of many high and daring- exploits ; but it has been wished to prove that such con- stitutional peculiarities are not required to make a heroine ; while the natural emotions of timidity and fear need be no hindrances to the development of true heroism. It only needs that the mind, trained and disciplined to obey the will, shall have force to overcome the weakness of the body ; that, clear to see its duty, the heart shall be prompt, at any sacrifice, to perform it. Not that there shall be no natural fear or shrinking, but that the occasion shall be felt great enough to overcome them. Every one who accustoms her- self, in small as well as great things, to do at once, and in a cheerful spirit, what is to be done — who takes upon her- self the duties that fall to her lot — who uses no vain delays — who does the thing she fears, and thus learns to know the joy aud the strength that every such effort brings with it VI PREFACE. — is educating herself to be a heroine. It may be that the even tenor of her hfe will never call out her full poAvers ; but, should the moment of action ever come, noble impidscs will be hers, and she Avill have strength to obey them. Her heart and hand will be equal to the emergency that claims her aid. When others are con- tending in vain against the slackness and indolence which, from long indulgence, have grown into habit, and miable to realize what the occasion requires of them, are bewildered with fear and overwhelmed and stupiiied by the present danger ; she will feel a composure marvellous to herself ; a power of guiding, directing, acting ; a serenity giving even the timid confidence, and sustaining her own spirit through all. Not till the danger is past — the long toil performed — the rescue effected — the flames extinguished — the dearly loved child saved — will she have time for fear. While called upon to act, she had thought only of what was to be done, and she had been granted strength to do it : when all is a scene to look back upon, her Avoman's nature will assert itself — her heart will sink at the thought only of what it passed through unmoved — and while others praise her courage, she will think of it only to thank — if she thinks of her own daring, it Avill be to thank the Supporting Hand which had so wonderfidly strengthened her weakness. It is hoped that the general tendency of the following- pages will be to show the importance and happy results ol such a temper of miud. CalesJ of jTemale J^eroiefm. MRS. JANE LANE. ^^^^^4^N Clarendon's account of the escape of Charles ^1^1 |Ms ^^" after the battle of Worcester, he remarks— Q^ B'^ *' ^* ^^^ a benefit, as well as an inconvenience, in .^^Is^iAi those unhappy times, that the affections of all men were almost as well known as their faces, by the dis- covery they had made of themselves, in those sad seasons, in many trials and persecutions ; so that men knew not only the minds of tlieir next neighbours, and those who in- habited near them, but, upon conference with their friends, could choose fit houses, at any distance, to repose them- selves in security, from one end of the kingdom to an- other, without trusting the hospitality of a common inn ; and men were very rarely deceived in their confidence upon such occasions : but the persons with whom they were at any time could conduct them to another house of the same affection." It was this accurate and hardly-earned experience of cha- racter that enabled the adherents of the preseiibcd king to conve}^ him from one to anotlier faithful royalist family, safe amid innumerable hazards and dangers, till he at lengtli cs- MRS. JANE LANE. caped from the hands of his eager enemies to the friendly shores of France. Amono- those instrumental in this loyal and dutiful work, many women of high and low degree have earned a lasting name ; and of these Mrs. Jane Lane, from the importance of the service she rendered, and the courage and circum- spection Avith which she carried through the enterprise her brother engaged her in, deserves the first place. After the unfortunate issue of the battle of Worcester, Charles passed from the faithful guardianship of the Pen- derels, of Boscobel, to the house of his loyal adlierent, Mr. WliitoToave, of Moseley ; but the search and suspicion to which this gentleman was subject as a Roman Cathohc, made his house too unsafe a retreat for him to remain there ; and it was soon agreed amongst his friends that he should remove to Bentley Hall, about fom- miles distant, the residence of Mr. Lane and his son. Colonel John Lane. The character of this family was well known to Mr. WhitoTcave and his friend, Father Hudlestone, who was also actively engaged with him in the king's cause. It is thus given by Clarendon : — " Lord Wilmot had, by veiy o'ood fortune, fallen into the house of an honest gentle- man, one Mr. Lane, a person of an excellent reputation for his fidelity to the king, but of so universal and general a good name, that, though he had a son who had been a colonel in the king's service during the late war, and was then upon his way, with men, to Worcester, the very day of the defeat, men of all afi'ections in the country, and of all opinions, paid the old man veiy great respect. He (Lord Wilmot) had been very civilly treated there, and the old gen- tleman had used some dihgence, and found out where the Idno' was, that he might get him to his house, where he was sm-e he could conceal him till he might contrive his full de- liverance." " The king inquired of the monk (Father Hudle- stone) of the reputation of this gentleman, who told liim that he had a fair estate, was exceedingly beloved, and the eldest justice of the peace of that county of Staflord ; and, though he was a very zealous Protestant, yet he lived with so much civility and candour towards the Catholics, that tliey woidd trust him as much as they would do any of their own profes- sion ; and that he could not think of any place of so good MRS. J AXE LANE. 6 repose and seciuitj fur his Majesty repair to." This vene- rable gentleman was the father of nine childi'en, the eldest of whom (Colonel John Lane) Mr. ^Vliitgrcave described to the king as a right honest gentleman. Clarendon speaks of him as a very plain man in his discourse and behaviour, but of a fearless courage and an integrity superior to any temptation. It was lie who suggested the plan of employing his young sister in the scheme for escape devised first for Lord Wilmot, but afterwards changed for the king himself. She is spoken of as "a daughter of the house, of a very good wit and dis- cretion, and very fit to bear a part in such a trust :" indeed, her brother could not have conceived the idea of so emplopng her, if he had not already formed the highest opinion of her courage and prudence. It fortunately happened that, at this time, Jane Lane was about to visit a friend, Mrs. Norton, of Abbotsleigh, in the neighbourhood of Bristol, who was shortly expecting her confinement ; and for this purpose a pass had been procured from an officer of the Parliamentary army for herself and her servant. It occurred to Colonel Lane that Lord Wilmot, who much desired to reach Bristol, from whence he could take ship, might easily personate his sister's servant ; and this plan was entertained tiU, on the failure of a scheme for Charles crossing the Severn for Wales, it was thought advisable that he shoidd avail himself of this means of escape instead. All this being agreed on, in the dusk of the evening Charles bade farewell to his devoted servants at Moseley, and was committed by them to the care of Colonel Lane, who, with the horses, lay in concealment near, to con- duct him to his house ; where they arrived on Monday night, the 9th of September, 1651. It seems fitting here to give some description of the young king in the guise in which he appeared before his enthusias- tically loyal subjects at Bentley. His hair, instead of flow- ing in the long and graceful curls of the period, had been cut short at the ears, and clipped away at the crown of the head even as near as the scissors would go. " He wore a very greasy old gray steeple-crowned hat, with the brims turned up, without lining or hatband ; a green jump coat, thread- bare, even to the threads being worn white ; and breeches of the same, with long knees down to the garter ; with an, old leathern doublet, a pair of vrhite flannel stockino-s, next his B^2 4 MRS. JA>-E LANE. legs, which the king said were his boot stockings, the em- broidered tops being cut off, to pi-event them being dis- covered, and upon tliem a pair of old green yarn stockings, all worn and darned at the knees, with their feet cut off ; his shoes were old, all slashed, for the case of his feet, Avhich had been sorely galled in his long marches : " he wore no gloves, and his liands had been carefully coloured witli Aval- nut-juice, as a completion of his disguise. It was thus that lie appeared before our heroine, whose feelings were, no doubt, high-wrought and excited at the thought of the honor and the danger preparing for her next day ; but the lively and daring spirit of the young king, and his cheerful endu- rance of all his hardships and humiliations, must have more than atoned, in the eyes of his faithful subjects, for the ab- sence of all outward signs of greatness ; and it is probable that Charles never so fully reigned in the hearts of his de- voted adlicrents as when he came a destitute wanderer amongst them in the garb of the meanest countryman. When, in prosperous after-years, he gave them such cause for shame and sorrow, how sadly must they have looked back to these times, when his evil fortunes were their only cause for regret, and they beheved him the worthy object of their love and dearest hopes I Having conferred with Lord Wilmot and Colonel Lane, on next day's journey, and supped ; the king retired to bed, though his rest could be but short, for at break of day liis host called him up, providing him with a suitable disguise for the new character he was to assume. He was now to personate the son of one of Colonel Lane's tenants, and to change his name from Will Jones, which he had hitherto borne, to AVilliam Jackson. To bear out this change. Colonel Lane provided him with a new suit and cloak of country grey cloth, as near as could be contrived, like the holiday suit of a farmer's son, a disguise more convenient for their present intentions than that of a servant would have been. His dress being now complete. Colonel Lane took the king by a back way to the stable, where he fitted his stirrups and gave him some instructions for better acting his part; then mounted him on a good "double horse," and dir^ted him to come to the gate of the house, which lie did, with a fitting air of humility, carrying his hat under his arm. MRS. JAXE LANE. 5 By this time it was twiliglit, and old Mrs. Lane, -wlio knew nothing of this great secret, " would needs see her heloved daughter take liorsc ;" and, as she was standing for this pur- pose, the colonel said to the young king--" Will, thou must give my sister th}' hand." But he, unacquainted with such little offices, offered his hand the contrary way — a piece of awkwardness which attracted the old lady's attention, who, laughing, asked her son — " What a goodly horseman her daughter had got, to ride hefore her I " The party thus setting out consisted, besides the king and his young protectress, of Mr. Henry Lascelles, her cousin, who was admitted into the king's secret, and Mrs. Peters, a married sister of Jane Lane's, and her husband, both of whom were in entire igno- rance of it. They were followed, in another route, by Colonel Lane and Lord Wilmot, w^ith hawk and hounds, as a disguise — the only one Lord Wilmot could ever be in- duced to assume : even the king had not been able to per- suade him to this apparently necessary precaution. " I could never," he says, " get my Lord Wilmot to put on any thsguise, he saying that he should look frightfully in it, and therefore did never put on any." Considering that this plea Avas addressed to his ro3^al master, when arrayed in the gar- ments we have described to our readers, we cannot but feel amused, as well as surprised, at its coolness. That night Lord Wilmot and Colonel Lane lodged at the house of Sir Clement Fisher, at Pockington, in Warwick- shire, " Mdiere the colonel knew they should both be as wel- come as generosity, and as secure as fidelity could make them." His name is mentioned from his after-connection with our heroine. When the royal party had gone about two hours on their journey, the king's horse cast a shoe : and he had to take it to the next forge to have it replaced. The black- smith's shop is always the head-quarters for news ; and Charles took the opportunity to learn what he could : indeed lie entered with such spirit into the strange and hazardous scenes into which he was thrown, that, in spite of the dan- ger, it is evident he derived considerable enjoyment from them. " As I was holding my horse's foot," he says, in his own account, " I asked the smith what news ? He told me that there was no news, that he knew of, since the good b3 6 MRS. JAInE lane. news of the beating of tlie rogues the Scots. I asked him whether there were none of the English taken that joined with the Scots. He answered that lie did not hear that that rogue Charles was taken, but some of the others were taken, but not Charles Stuart. I told him (probably Avith some little allusion to Leslie's conduct) that, if that rogue was taken, he deserved to be hanged more than all the rest, for bringing iu the Scots. Upon which he said I spoke like an honest man ; and so we parted." At Wooton, within two or three miles of Stratford, they caught sight of a troop of cavalry, halting to refresh their horses. Mr. Peters, who had before experienced ill treat- ment from the soldiers, declared he would not pass through them, to be beaten again ; and was resolute in turning back; the very course to excite suspicion. The king, hearing him say so, whispered softly in the ear of his companion that they might not turn back. " But all she coidd say in the world w^ould not do :" Mr. Peters resisted his sister-in-law's earnest persuasions, and turning back with his w^ife, entered Stratford another way. The king, however, by no means disconcerted, rode leisurely through the midst of them, with- out exciting notice ; and, if the heart of his young com- panion beat quicker in this peril, she betrayed ^no unworthy bigns of it. Indeed, throughout she Avell deserved the praise Mr. Whitgreave has left of her — that, in all this journey, Mrs. Lane performed the part of a most faithful and prudent servant to his Majesty, showing her observance Avhen an op- portunity Avould alloAV it, and at other times acting her part in the disguise AA-ith much discretion. At Stratford Mr. and Mrs. Peters left them, to pursue their journey to Windsor ; and the royal party, now reduced to three, rested for the night at Mr. Tonib's, of Long ]\Lir- ston, with Avliom Jane Lane Avas Avell acquainted. There Charles, as Will Jackson, A\'as ushered into the kitchen ; and a story is told that the cook, busy in preparing supper for her master's friends, desired him to Avind up the jack : lie did his best to obey her, but could not hit upon the right way of doing it, on AA-hich she exclaimed in a jia^i^iou — *' Wliat countryman are you, that you knoAV not how to Avind up a jack ?" Will Jackson ansAvered Avith ready humihty — " I am a poor tenant's son of Colonel Lane's, in Stattbrd- MRS. JANE LANE. / shire : wc seldom have roast meat, hut when wc have, avc don't make use of a jack ;" which in some measure assuaged the maid's indignation. From Mr. Tomh's the royal party proceeded, without any considerahlc accident, to Cirencester, ahout four-and- twenty miles from Long Marston, and took uj) their lodging at the Sun. There, after supper, a good hed was provided for Mr. Lascelles, and a truckle-hed for Will Jackson in the same chamher ; hut (recalling to our minds the scene in Wood- stock) the chamberlain had no sooner left them than Mr. Lascelles made his Majesty take the best hed, and himself the other, using the same observance wherever there was the op]>ortunity. The next day, being Friday, they reached their destina- tion — Mr. Norton's, of Abbotsleigh. On their passing through Bristol, a place so well known to the king, he could not forbear gazing about to sec the alterations ; and, coming near where the great fort had stood, he rode, with his mistress behind him, all round it. In the indulgence of this somewhat unseasonable curiosity, it is said he lost his way, and had to inquire for it of a passer by. bn their arrival at Abbotsleigh, after a thirty miles journey. William walked with his mistress's horse to the stable, till she could make arrangements for his retreat. For this pur- pose it had been agreed between them that they should feign he had been suffering under the ague, Avhicli would furnish an excuse for his retiring to his bed immediately, and also enable his mistress to secure a better diet for him ; an act of loyal duty which she seems to have had always at lieart. The king's paleness, from recent fatigue and want of support, very conveniently carried out the notion of his having been ill. Mrs. Jane was very Avarmly and kindly welcomed by Mrs. Norton ; but, though feeling the fullest and most deserved confidence both in her friend's and Mr. Norton's loyalty, she felt it best not to confide the important secret to them, lest their anxiety to show respect and observance might create suspicion. Therefore she took early occasion to lament to Mrs. Norton the condition of a good youth who came with her, and whom she had borrowed of his father to ride before her, who was very sick, being newly recovered of an ague ; and requested that a chamber might be provided for him and 8 MRS. JANE LANE. a good fire made ; for that he -would go early to bed, and was not fit to be below stairs. A pretty little chamber was, there- fore, presently made ready, and a fire prepared ; to which Pope, the butler, on Mrs. Lane's commending the youth to his care, introduced him. When it was supper time, there was broth at table ; and Mrs. Jane, filling a dish of it, de- sired the butler, who was waiting at table, to carry that dish of porridge to William, and to tell him he should have some meat sent him presently. The butler carried the porridge as he Avas desired into the chamber, with a napkin, and spoon, and bread, and spoke kindly to the young man, "who was willing to be eating." The next morning, having, as he says, a pretty good stomach, William rose early, and went down to the buttery to get his breakfast, Avhere he found Pope the butler, and some other men. They all fell to eating bread and butter ; the butler supplying them with ale and sack. As they were sitting, one of the men began giving an account of the battle of Worcester, where he had fought in the king's own regiment of guards. To test him, Charles asked foi- a de- scription of himself. The man answered (|uite correctly of his ch-ess and his horse ; but said the king was three fingers taller than his questioner. In spite of this inaccuracy, Charles felt it wise to make what haste he could out of the buttery ; fearing the man more when he knew him to be one of his own soldiers, than when he had supposed him a Roundliead, from his greater knowledge of his person. Pope and he retired to- gether from the buttery, and entered the hall just as Mrs. Norton passed through it ; on which Charles, sustaining his assumed character, took off his hat, and stood with it in his hand till she had passed by. During this time he Avas aware that Pope was narrowly observing him ; but, feigning to take no notice, he resumed his hat, and walked out into the fields. This man had, in fact, been a member of his house- hold as Prince of Wales, and had afterwards served in the army of Charles I. ; and his memory being probably refreshed by the conversation • in the buttery, he noAv went at once to Mrs. Lane, and expressed his strong suspicion of its being the king. She put him off as well as she could ; but informed her cousin, Mr. Lascelles, and the king of what he had said. MRS. JANE LANE. 9 Charles inquired of his character, and whether they knew him to he a very lionest man ; and, on Mr. Lascelles assuring him that he kncAv Pope to he so honest a fellow that he dare trust him with liis life, the king decided on trusting him rather than leaving him in his present suspicion, and imme- diately sent for him, and told him he was very glad to meet him there, and would trust him with his life as an old acquaint- ance. Pope, in reply, answered that he thought it very for- tunate he had recognized his majesty ; for, though his master and mistress were good jicople, yet there were at that time one or two in the house who were great rogues, and expressed his hope of being of real service. He was, in fact, found ex- tremely useful ; both in doing the king's errands to Bristol in search for a ship to carry him to Spain or France, and as a means of connnunication with Lord Wilmot, who miglij; not venture by day to Abbotsleigh, where there were many well acquainted with his person. Pope contrived, however, to bring him to the king by night, who could thus hold consultations with him, in conjunction with Jane Lane and her cousin ; for her thouglitfulness and discretion made her a valued adviser. Pope's mission to Bristol proved unsuccessful ; he could hear of no ship leaving for either of the required countries within a month, a delay too long to be thought of. The king therefore held a council what had best be done next, as it was losing time to remain longer at Abbotsleigh ; and it was suggested to him, that on the borders of Somersetshire there lived his very devoted adlierents, the Windham's of Trent, beyond Sherborne. This was considered by all a very safe as^dum ; and the circumstance of one of the ladies of the family, Christabella, wife of Knight Marshall Wyndham, having been his nurse, served to give the king additional confidence, and inclined him warmly to this counsel ; and without delay : as he says, " Frank Wyndliam being my old acquaintance and a very honest man, I resolved to go to his house." So far all Avas settled, and Lord Wihnot was sent forward to prepare Colonel Wyndham for the reception for his guest ; Avhen, the night before they had decided on starting for this journey, a cross accident threw them into much consternation. Mrs. Norton, whom Jane Lane had come so far to visit, was 10 MRS. JAKE LANE. taken extremely ill, and gave birth to a dead child ; she was, indeed, in such an alarming condition that they knew not how to devise an excuse for her friend leaving her in such a state, and yet this young lady was entirely necessary to the safety of the expedition. In this emergency the king's quickness suggested the scheme of counterfeiting a letter from her home at Bentley, informing her of her father's sudden and dangerous illness, and urging her to return immediate^ if she would see him alive. All parties were employed to carry out this stratagem. Pope, the butler, delivered the letter during supper, and Mrs. Jane, though, we may well suppose, the nature of the deceit made it very painful to her, yet performed her part so dex- terously that all were anxious to further her departure, and settled for her that she must set out on her journey early next morning, Tuesday, the 16th of September. It was arranged that the king's party shoidd rest that night at Castle Cary, about six miles from Trent, so as to arrive there for breakfast next morning. When Lord Wilmot, who travelled in advance, approached Colonel Wyndliam's house, he sent forward his servant to announce to the colonel that one Mr. Morton desired to see him, and waited for him with- out. It was dark at the time, but Colonel Wyndham at once saluted the supposed Mr. Morton by his title, to the unrea- sonable surprise of Lord Wilmot, who had no other disguise than a hawk on his list and a lure by his side. On hearing that the king would be with him next morning the loyal colonel Avas greatly transported, there having been a rumour that he had been killed at Worcester. That night he kept the secret ; but next morning found it necessary to acquaint the ladies of his family of the perilous honour await- ing them. These were — Lady WyncUiam his mother, his wife, and his niece, Juliana Coningsby, who afterwards un- dertook the service Jane Lane had hitherto rendered the king. The recorder of this scene assures us that the relation Colonel Wyndham gave these ladies did not, through the Aveakness of their sex, bring upon them any Avomanish passion ; but, sur- prised AAdtli joy, they most cheerfully resolved, Avithout the least shoAV of fear, to hazard all for the safety of the king. Charles, indeed, in the period of his adA^ersity and greatest need, had little reason to talk of the Aveakuess of the sex ; for, through- MRS. JANE LANE. 11 out his wanderings, his safety was secured and his needs supplied hy women, who faithfully kept his secret, and were far more alive to the honour than the dano-er of entertainino- such a guest. The ladies, thus intrusted, set ahout arranging how his majesty might be brought into the house without any suspicion to their household, which consisted of about twenty persons. To this end they confided the secret to two of the maids, Eleanor Withers and Joan Halsenoth, and one of the men-servants ; all of tried faith and loyalty, and able to give efficient help in this emergency. Between nine and ten in the morning Colonel W^aidham and his lady walked out in the fields in the direction whence they expected the king ; and presently they perceived the approach of a lady, riding behind a pale and meanly-dressed 3^oung man on a double horse, with Mr. Lascelles in their company. *' Frank, Frank," cried the king, *' how dost thou do?" and Colonel AVyndliam joyfully recognized his sovereign, and "perceived by this gracious pleasance that, though his majesty's habit and countenance were much changed, yet his heroic spirit was the same, and his mind immutable." Apprehensive of the observation and suspicion of neigh- bours, the colonel hurried the king and his fair companion into Mrs. Wyndham's room, which had been prepared for his reception ; where, the account says, " the passions of joy and sorrow cUd a while combat in them who beheld his sacred person." Presently the party was joined by Lord Wihnot, and the ladies withdrew Avith Mrs. Jane into the parlour ; having previously agreed amongst themselves, in order to avoid suspicion, to address her as their cousin, and to treat her with a show of intimacy and familiarity becoming that relation ; and, though strangers till now, how naturally would their feelings acknowledge and carry out this suddenly assumed friendship ; their hearts warm in one common cause, and all involved in one danger. Having thus conducted her king amongst old and faithful friends, Jane Lane had done her part ; and next day, there- fore, she humbly took her leave of him, and returned with Mr. Lascelles, by his majesty's permission, into Staffordshire, wliere, though now her active service was no lono-er needed, she could still aid him by her prayers. 12 MRS. JAXK LAXE. It is well known how Charles, in the course of the next month, effected his escape to France ; and ahont the middle of December following Colonel Lane and his sister felt it ne- cessary to take refuge there also, to avoid the consequences to which their loyalty might expose them. The manner of their flight and reception* is given in a little book, published soon after the Restoration, the particulars of which are honourable to the good feeling of the king and his family : — *' In December, 1651, arrived at Paris the gentlewoman who had been instrumental in his majesty's deliverance after the overthrow at Worcester ; of which, fearing danger, by tho discovery of some unfaithful confidants, she went on foot, in disguise, to Yarmouth, and there took ship for France. She was conducted to Paris with great honour ; the king himself, with the queen his mother, and the Dukes of York and Gloucester, going out to meet her. Upon the first sight his majesty took her by the hand, and saluted her with this obliging term : ' Welcome, my life I ' The French court also yegarded her with much respect and honour, together with her brother, Colonel Lane, who accompanied her thither." There is also a letter extant from the king, the perusal of which will give pleasm-e as proving his sense of Avhat he owed to her. It is without date, and runs as follows : — *' Mistress Lane, — ** I hope you do not believe that hearing from a person that I am so much beholding to can be in the least degree trouble- some to me, that am so sensible of the obligations I have to you ; but, on the contrary, 'tis a great satisfaction to me to hear from you ; and, for what Mr. Boswell is pleased to tell you concerning your giving me good counsel in a letter, and my making it public in my bed-chamber, is not the first lie he has made, nor Avill not be the last, for I am certain there was never anything spoken in the l)ed-chamber in ni}'^ hearing to any such purpose, nor, I an\ confident, when I was not there ; for I believe Mr. Boswell's end is to show his frequent being in my bed-chamber, which is as true as the * Boscobel Tracts. MRS. JANE LA>'E. 13 other. Your cousin will let you know that I have given orders for my picture for you ; and if in this, as in anything else, I can show the sense I have of that Avhicli I owe you, pray let me know it, and it shall be done by, *' Your most assured and constant friend, " For Mrs. Lane." " Charles R. It is supposed that our heroine remained in France till the Restoration ; shortly after which she married her brother's friend, Sir Clement Fisher, whose name has been already mentioned. A pension of £1,000 a-year was settled upon her by the king ; and this token of his gratitude was accom- panied by the gift of a gold watch, which, by his express re- quest, was to descend by succession to the eldest daughter of the house of Lane for the time being. In 1830, this relic •was in the possession of the dowager Mrs. Lucy, of Charlecot Park. There is a portrait, by Lely, still in existence, of Jane Lane, the description of which gives the idea of great beauty. It is said strongly to resemble the portraits of Anne Bullen, in its thoughtful expression, as well as in the features and colour of the hair — *' A pure transparent, pale, yet radiant face, Like to a lighted alabaster vase." 14 LADY FANSHAWE. LADY FANSHAWE. Lady Fanshawe's memoirs, written by herself, not only furnish an interesting contemporary history of the times in which she Hvecl, but also give evidence of a veiy remark- able character in the writer. Sir Richard Fanshawe's leading position in the courts of Charles L and Charles IL brought her into some of the most stirring scenes of the period, where her great prudence, courage, and presence of mind proved of inestimable service to her husband. The tender affection which existed between them was the motive and encouragement to every exertion, and made all troubles light ; and perhaps a more engaging pic- ture of conjugal happiness can scarcely be met with than is presented to us in these memoirs. Without attempting any connected history of her event- ful life, which woidd be out of place here, some of her adventures and anecdotes illustrating her position and cha- racter, shall be given ; and in her own words ; — for no other could express as well what she has recorded with so much force and S2)irit. With the advantage of so full and minute a history as hers, we cannot resist going into details which at first sight may appear irrelevant ; because, where we have the opportunity, it is desirable not only to watch a firm and courageous character in action, but to trace the causes for that habitual self-possessed tone of mind which alone produces acts of true courage and heroism. Weak characters do not commonly obey a sudden impidse which would summon them to difiiculties and dangers. The memoirs are addressed to her youngest and only living son, who was less than a year old at the time of his father's death ; thinking it good, as she tells him, to dis- LADY FANSHAWE. 15 course to him of the most rcmakablo actions and accidents of his family, as well as the more eminent ones of his father, and her own life and necessities. She was the daughter of Sir John Harrison, of Balls, in Hertfordshire — a man of a very laro;e fortune, which he spent freely in the king's service. The following very re- markable story of her mother, supported as it is by such grave testimony, ought not to be omitted : we leave it to our readers to give it what amount of credit they please : — " In that house (St. Olave's, East-street, London) I hved the winter times, till I was fifteen years old and three months, with my ever-honoured and most dear mother, who departed this hfe on the 20th day of July, 1640, and noAV hes buried in Hallowes church, in Hertford. Her funeral cost my father above a thousand pounds ; and Dr. Howlsworth preached her funeral sermon, in which, upon his own know- ledge, he told, before many hundreds people, the accident following : — That my mother, being sick to death of a fever, three months after I was born, her friends and servants thought, to all outward appearance, that she was dead, and so lay almost two days and a night ; but Dr. Winston, com- ing to comfort my father, went into my mother's room and looking earnestly on her face, said she was ' so handsome, and now looks so lovely, I cannot tliink she is dead ;' and suddenly took a lancet out of his pocket, and with it cut the sole of her foot, which bled. Upon this he immediately caused her to be laid upon the bed again, and to be rubbed, and such means as she came to life ; and, opening her eyes, saw two of her kinswomen stand by her, my Lady KnoUys and my Lady Russell, both with great wide sleeves, as the fashion then was, and said — ' Did not you promise me fifteen years, and are you come again ? ' which they not understand- ing, persuaded her to keep her spirits quiet in that great weakness wherein she then was. But, some hours after- wards, she desired my father and Dr. HoAvlsworth might be left alone with her, to wliom she said — ' I will acquaint you that, during the time of my trance, 1 was in great quiet, but in a place I coidd neither distinguish nor describe ; but the sense of leaving my girl, who is dearer to me than all my cliildren, remained a trouble upon my spirits. Suddenly I saw two by me, clothed iu long wliite garments ; and me- c2 16 LADY FANSHAWE. thouglit I fell down with my face in the dust, and they asked me why I was troubled in so great happiness. I replied — 0, let me have the same grant given to Hezekiah, that I may live fifteen years to see my daughter a woman ! To which they answered — It is done ! And then, at that in- stant, I awoke out of my trance ; and Dr. Howlsworth did there affirm that the day she died made just fifteen years from that time. My dear mother was of excellent beauty and good understanding, a loving Avife, and most tender mother ; very pious ; and charitable to that degree, that she relieved, besides the offals of the table, which she constantly gave to the poor, money Avith her own hand daily out of her purse, and dressed many wounds of miserable people when she had health, and when that failed, as it did often, she caused her servants to supply that place." " Now it is necessary to say something of my mother's education of me, which Avas Avith all the advantages that time aff'orded, both for working all sorts of fine Avorks Avith my needle, and learning French, singing, lute, the virginals, and dancing ; and, notAvithstanding I learned as Avell as most did, yet Avas I Avild to that degree, that the hours of my be- loved recreation took up too much of my time ; for I loved riding in the first place, running, and all active pastimes ; in short, I Avas that Avhich Ave graver people call a hoyting girl ; but, to be just to myself, I never did mischief to myself or people, nor one immodest Avord or action in my life, though skipping and activity Avas my delight. But, upon my mother's death, I then began to reflect, and, as an offering to her memory, I flung aAvay those childnesses that had formerly possessed me, and, by my father's command, took upon me the charge of his house and family, Avhich I so ordered, by my excellent mother's example, as found acceptance in his Until the time of the civil Avar, her family lived in unin- terrupted happiness : after this public calamity, domestic tranquillity could not bo hoped for, and the Avhole course of their life Avas changed. ** My father commanded my sister and myself to come to him to Oxford, Avhere the Court then Avas ; but avc — that had, till that hour, lived in great plenty and great order — found ourselves like fishes out of the Avater, and the scene LADY FANSHAWE. 17 SO changed that we knew not at all how to act any part but obedience ; for from as good a house as any gentleman of England had, we came to a baker's house m an obscure street, and from rooms well furnished to lie in a very bad bed in a garret ; to one dish of meat, and that not the best ordered ; no money, for we were as poor as Job ; our clothes no more than a man or two brought in their cloak-bags. Wo had the perpetual discourse of losing and gaining towns and men ; at the windows the sad spectacle of war, sometimes plague, sometimes sicknesses of other kinds, by reason of so many people being packed together, as, I believe, there never was before, of that quahty ; always in want ; yet, I must needs say that most bore it with a martyr-like cheer- fulness. For my own part, I began to think we shoidd all, hke Abraham, live in tents all the days of our lives. The king sent my father a warrant for a baronet, but he returned it with thanks, saying, he had too much honour of the knight- hood which his Majesty had honoured him with some years before for the fortune he now possessed ; but, as in a wreck, the turbulence of the waves disperses the spHnters of the rock, so it was my lot ; for, having buried my dear brother, William Harrison, in Exeter College chapel, I then married your dear father, in 1644, in Wolvercot church, two miles from Oxford, upon the 18th day of May. None was at om- wedding but my dear father, who, at my mother's desire, gave me her wedding-ring, with which I was married ; my sister Margaret, and my brother and sister Boteler, Sir Edward Hyde, afterwards Lord Chancellor, and Sir Geoffrey Palmer, the king's attorney. Before I was married my hus- band was sworn secretary of war to the prince, now our king, with a promise from Charles I. to be preferred as soon as occasion ottered it ; but his fortune, and my promised for- tune, wliich was made £10,000, were both at that time in expectation, and we might tridy be called merchant adven- turers, for the stock we set up our trading with did not amount to £20 betwixt us ; but, however, it was to us as a little piece of armour is against a bullet, which, if it be right placed, though no bigger than a shilhng, serves as well as a whole suit of armour : so our stock bought pen, ink, and paper, which was your father's trade, and by it, I assure c3 18 LADY FANSIIATVE. you, we lived better than those that were born to two thoii- sand a year, as long as he had his liberty." Lady Fanshawe was twenty and her husband thirty -five at the time of their marriage. She thus describes him : — " He was of the highest size of men, strong, and of the best proportion ; his complexion sanguine, his skin exceeding fair, his hair dark brown and very curly, but not very long, his eyes grey and penetrating, his nose high, his countenance gracious and wise, his motion good, his speech clear and distinct. He never used exercise but walking, and that generally with some book in his hand, which oftentimes was poetry, in which he spent his idle hours. Sometimes he woidd ride out to take the air ; but his most delight was to go only with me, in a coach, some miles, and there discourse on those things which then most pleased him, of what nature soever. He was very obliging to all, and forward to serve his master, his country, and his friend ; cheerful in his conversation, his discourse ever pleasant, mixed with the sayings of wise men, and their histories repeated, as occasion offered ; yet so reserved, that lie never showed the thought of his breast in its greatest sense but to myself only : and this 1 thank God, with my heart, for — that he never described his trouble to me, but went from me with perfect cheerfulness and content, nor revealed he his joys and hopes, but would say that they were doubled by putting them in my breast. * * * * He was the tenderest father imaginable — the carefullest, most generous master I ever knew ; he loved hospitality, and would often say it Avas Avholly essential for the constitution of England ; he loved and kept order with the greatest de- cency possible ; and, though he would say I managed his domestics wholly, yet I ever governed them and myself by his commands, in the management of which, I thank God, I found his approbation and content. " Now, you will expect that I should say something that may remain of us jointly, which I will do, though it makes my eyes gush out with tears, and cuts me to the soul to re- member and in part express the joys I was blessed with in him. Glory be to God ! we never had but one mind in all our lives : our souls were wrapped up in each other's, our aims and designs one, our loves and our resentments one : we so studied one the other, that we knew each other's mind LADY FAN SUA WE. 19 bj our looks : whatever was real happiness God gave it me in him. But to commend my hctter-half — which I want sufficient expression for — metliinks is to commend myself, and so may bear a censure ; but, might it be permitted, I could dwell eternally on his praise most justly ; but thus, without offence, I do : and so you may imitate him in his patience, his prudence, his chastity, his charity, his gene- rosity, his perfect resignation to God's will ; and praise God for him as long as you live here, and with him hereafter in the kingdom of heaven. Amen." Within a year after their marriage, her husband had to attend the prince to Bristol. She was not yet recovered from her confinement, so could not accompany him. " As for thaf," she says, "it was the first time we had parted a day since we married : he was extremely afflicted, even to tears, though passion was against his nature ; but the sense of leaving me with a dying child — which did die, two days after, in a garrison town, extremely weak and very poor — were such circumstances as he could not bear with, only the argument of necessity ; and, for my own part, it cost me so dear, that it was ten weeks before I could go alone." A summons from her husband to join him at Bristol, with £50 to defray the expenses of the way, were such a medicine as soon restored her strength ; and, full of spirit and hope, as thinking that now the worst of her misfortunes were past, she set out and accomplished in safety what was then a really dangerous journey. We cannot withhold from the reader the scene which fol- lowed their first happy meeting — a model of how a husband should reprove, and how a wife should take deserved reproof. ** My husband had provided very good lodgings for us, and, as soon as he could come home from the council, where he Avas on my arrival, he, with all expressions of joy, received me in his arms, and gave me a hundred pieces of gold, saying — ' I know thou, that keeps my heart so well, will keep my for- tune, which, from this time, I will ever put into thy hands, as God shall bless me with increase.' And now I thought myself a perfect queen, and my husband so glorious a crown that I more valued myself to be called by his name than to be born a princess ; for I knew him very wise and very good, and his soul doted ou me, upou which confidence I will tell 20 LADY FAXSHAWE. you what happened. My Lady Rivers, a brave woman, and one who had suffered many thousand pounds' loss for the king, and whom I had a great reverence for, and she a kind- ness for me as a kinswoman, in discourse she tacitly com- mended the knowledge of state affairs, and that some women were very happy in a good understanding thereof, as my Lady Auhigney, Lady Isabella Thynne, and divers others ; and yet none was at first more capable than I ; that in the night she knew there came a post from Paris from the queen, and that she woidd be extremely glad to hear what the queen commanded the king in order to his affairs, saying, if I Avould ask my husband privately, he would tell me what he found in the packet, and I might tell her. I, that was young and innocent, and to that day had never in m;^ mouth what news, began to think there was more in inquiring into public affairs than I thought of ; and. that, it being a fashion- able thing, would make me more beloved of my husband, if that had been possible, than I was. When my husband re- turned home from the council, after welcoming him, as his custom ever was, he went, with his hand full of papers, into his study for an hour or more. I followed him. He turned hastily, and said — ' What woiddst thou have, my life ? ' I told him I heard the prince had received a packet from the queen, and I guessed it was that in his hand ; and I desired to know, what was in it. He smilingly replied — ' My love, I will im- mediately come to thee ; pray thee go, for I am very busy.' Wlien he came out of his closet I revived my suit : he kissed me, and talked of other things. At supper I would eat nothing : he, as usual, sat by me, and drank often to me, as was liis custom, and was full of discourse to company that was at table. Going to bed, I asked again, and said I could not believe he loved me, if he refused to tell me all he knew ; but he answered nothing, but stopped my mouth with kisses : so we went to bed : I cried, and ho Avent to sleep. Next morning early, as his custom was, he called to rise, but began to discourse with me first, to which I made no reply. He rose, came on the other side of the bed and kissed me, and drew the curtain gently and went to couii. When he came home to dinner, he presently came to me, as usual ; and, when I had him by the hand, I said — ' Thou dost not care to see me troubled.' To wliich he, taking me LADY FANSHAWE. 21 in his arms, answered — ' My dearest soul, nothing upon earth can afflict mc Hkc that ; and when you asked me of my busi- ness, it was wholly out of my power to satisfy thee ; for my life and fortune shall be thine, and every thought of my heart, in which the trust I am in may not be revealed ; but my honour is my own, which I cannot preserve if I commu- nicate the prince's affairs ; and, pray thee, with this answer rest satisfied.' So great Avas his reason and goodness, that, upon consideration, it made my folly appear to me so vile, that, from that day until the day of his death, I never thought fit to ask him any business but what he communi- cated freely to me in order to his estate and family." In consequence of the plague, they quitted Bristol in July, 1645, and proceeded with the prince to Barnstaple, and thence to Launceston and Truro, in Cornwall. Here our heroine's com*age proved of good service. " We were quartered," she says, " at Truro, twenty miles beyond Launceston, in which place I had like to have been robbed. One night, having with me but seven or eight persons, my husband being then at Launceston with his master, somebody had discovered that my husband had a little trunk of the prince's in keep- ing, in which were some jewels which tempted them to us assay : but, praised be God ! I defended, with the few servants I had, the house so long that help came from the town to my rescue ; it Avas not above a flight shot from the place where I dwelt, and the next day upon my notice, my husband sent in a guard by his highness 's command." From thence they went to Pendennis Castle, and shortly afterwards followed the pnnce to the Scilly islands. They had been pillaged by the sailors on the voyage, who had been in a state of mutiny ; and when, after landing, half dead with sea-sickness, she went to bed in their wretched quarters, she was awakened by excessive cold, which she could not account for, till the daylight showed her bed nearly swimming in the sea. As an apology for this discomfort, their landlord as- sured them that this accident never happened except in spring-tides. After staying three weeks in that desolate place, the prince and his suite went to Jersey, where they were hospitably received ; and where Mrs. Fanshawe gave birth to her second child. On the f.rince (putting Jersey, in Jidy, for Paris, Mr. Fan- 22 LADY FANSHAWE. shawe's employment ceased ; and lie remained in that island a fortnight longer, when he and his wife went to Caen, to his brother, Lord Fanshawe, who was ill. From Caen, Mrs. Fanshawe was sent to England by her husband to raise money ; in which she succeeded so Avell as to obtain permis- sion for him to compound for his estates, and return to Eng- land. They lived in great seclusion till October, 1647. As she says, it was a heavy time for all the king's party ; for, by the false or rash persuasions of Sir John Berkeley and Ash- burnham, he was induced to attempt escape from Hampton Com*t, and thus fell into the hands of the army. During Charles's stay at Hampton Court, Mrs. ^Fanshawe had three interviews with him. " The last time," she says, " that ever I saw him, when I took my leave, I could not refrain weeping. Wlien he had saluted me, I prayed God to preserve his majesty with long and happy years. He stroked me on the cheek and said : ' Child, if God pleaseth it shall be so, but both you and I must submit to God's will, and you know in what hands I am in : ' then, turning to your father (Mr. Fanshawe) : ' Be sure, Dick, to tell my son all that I have said, and dehver these letters to my wife : pray God bless her I I hope I shall do well.' And, taking him in his arms, said : ' Thou hast ever been an honest man, and I hope God will bless thee, and make thee a happy servant to my son, whom I have charged in my letter to continue his love and trust to you:' adchng, ' I do promise you, that if ever I am restored to my dignity, I Avill bountifully reward you both for yom* service and sufferings.' Thus did we part from that glorious sun, that within a few months after was murdered ; to the grief of all Christians that were not forsaken by God. ' ' Before embarking for France they remained a few days at Portsmouth ; where she records the following instance of her husband's cool, constitutional courage : — " Walking by the sea side, about a mile from our lodgings, t^ro ships of the Dutch, then at war with England, shot bullets at us, so near that we heard them whiz by us, at which I called to my husband to make haste back, and began to run ; but he altered not his pace, saying, * if we must be killed, it were as good to be killed walldng as running. ' " LADY FANSHAWE. 23 For some months tlie prince's concerns and their own kept them traveUing from place to place. For six weeks they were in Paris, in the society of Henrietta Maria and her suite. Returning- from thence by Calais, she gives the fol- lowing anecdote of Sir Kenelm Dighy : — " We were all feasted at the castle of the governor, and much excellent dis- course passed ; but, as Avas in reason, most share was Sir Kenelm Digby's, who had enlarged somewhat more in extra- ordinary stories than might be averred, and all of them passed with great applause and Avonder of the French then at table ; but the concluding one was, that barnacles, a bird in Jersey, was first a shell-fish to appearance, and from that sticking upon old wood, became in time a bird. After some consi- deration the}^ unanimously burst out into laughter, believing it altogether false ; and, to say the truth, it was the only true thing he had discoursed with them : that was his in- fii*mity, though otherwise a person of most excellent parts, and a very fine-bred gentleman." The modern naturalist will probably question the truth of Sir Kenelm 's solitary fact, though vouched for by more creditable testimony than his own. Lady Fanshawo's mistake seems to arise from the cir- cumstance that the barnacle is both a shell-fish, which clings to the bottoms of vessels, and also a name given to a parti- cular kind of goose. At Calais they found it necessary again to part : Mrs. Fan- shawe to come to England, there to raise what sums she could for her own and her husband's necessities ; and he to join the young king in Holland. She, with her little daughter. Nan, wore nearly shipwrecked on their passage ; but landed safely at Deal, and some time after joined her husband in Ireland, whither the king had sent him. There they passed six months in unusual peace and comfort. " But what earthly comfort is exempt from change ? For here I heard of the death of my second son, Henry ; and, witliin a few weeks, of the landing of Cromwell, who so hotly marched over Ireland, that the fleet of Prince Rupert was forced to set sail. * * * We remained some time in Ireland, until my husband could receive his majesty's commands how to dispose of himself. During tliis time I had, by the fall of a stumbling horse, being with child, broke my left wrist ; which, because it was iU-set, put me to great and long pain, and I was in my bed 24 LADY FANS^A^VE. when Cork revolted. By chance, that day, my hnshand was gone on business to Kinsale : it was in the beginning of No- vember, 1650. At midnight I heard the great guns go off, and thereupon I called up my family to rise, which I did as well as I could in that condition. Hearing lamentable shrieks of men, women, and children, I asked at a window the cause. They told me they were all Irish, stripped and wounded, and turned out of the town ; and that Colonel Jeffries, with some others, had possessed themselves of the town for Cromwell. Upon this I immediately wrote a letter to my husband, blessing God's providence that he was not there with me ; persuading him to patience and hope that I should get safely out of the town, by God's assistance, and desired him to shift for himself, for fear of a surprise, with promise that I would secure his papers. So soon as I had finished my letter, I sent it by a faithful servant, Avho was let down the garden- wall of Red Abbey, and, sheltered by the darkness of the night, he made his escape. I immediately packed up my husband's cabinet, with all his writings, and near £1,000 in gold and silver, and all other things, both of clothes, linen, and household stuff that were portable, of value ; and then, about three o'clock in the morning, by the light of a taper, and in that pain I was in, I went into the market-place, with only a man and maid, and, passing through an unruly tumult with their swords in their hands, searched for their chief com- mander, Jeffries ; who, whilst he was loyal, had received many civilities from your father. I told him it was necessary upon that change I should remove, and I desired his pass, that would be obeyed, or else I must remajin there : I hoped he would not deny me that kindness. He instantlj^ wrote me a pass, both for myself, family, and goods ; and said he would never forget the respect he owed your father. With this, I came through thousands of naked swords to Red Abbey, and hired the next neighbour's cart, which carried all that I could remove ; and myself, sister, and little girl. Nan, with three maids and two men, set forth at five o'clock in November, having but two horses amongst us all, which we rode on by turns. In this sad condition I left Red Abbey, with as many goods as were Avortli, £100, Avhich could not be removed, and so were plundered. We went ton miles to Kin- sale, in perpetual fear of being fetched back again ; but, by LADY FANSIIAWE. 25 little and little, I thank God, we got safe to the garrison, where I found yonr father the most disconsolate man in tlie world, for fear of his family, which he liad no possibility to assist ; but his joy exceeded to see me and his darling daughter, and to hear the wonderful escape we, through the assistance of God, had made. But, when the rebels went to give an account to Cromwell of their mei-itorious act, he im- mediately asked them where Mr. Fanshawe was ? They re- plied, he was that day gone to Kinsale. Tlien he demanded where his papers and his family were ? At which they all stared at one another, hut made no reply. Their general said, ' it was as much worth to seize his papers as the town ; for I did make account to have known by them what these parts of the country are worth.' " A few days after this affair, Mr. Fanshawe received orders to go to Madrid : accident, however, hindered his departure for a time, which they spent at Limerick ; where they were nobly entertained. Their residence in Ireland was also dis- tinguished by a supernatural visitation. Lady Fanshawe certainly thought she saw a banshee. " From hence," she says, " we went to the Lady Honor O'Brien's: she Avas the youngest daughter of the Earl of Thomond. There we staid three nights ; the first of which I was surprised by being laid in a chamber, when, about one o'clock, I heard a voice that wakened me. I drew the cur- tains, and in the casement of the window I saw, by the light of the moon, a woman leaning into the window, through the case- ment, in white, with red hair, and pale and ghastly complexion. She spoke loud, and in a tone I had never heard, thrice, ' A horse !' and then, Avith a sigh, more like the wind than breath, she vanished ; and to me her body looked more like a thick cloud than substance. I was so much frightened that my hair stood on end, and my night-clothes fell off. I pulled and pinched your father, who never woke during the disorder I was in ; but, at last, was much surprised to see me in this fright, and more so when I related the story and showed him the window opened. Neither of us slept any more that night ; but he entertained me with telling me how much more these apparitions were usual in this country than in England, and we concluded the cause to be the great superstition of the Lish, and the want of that knowing faith wliicli shoidd defend D 26 LADY FANSHAWE. them from the power of the devil, which he exercises among them very much. Ahoiit five o'clock the lady of the house came to see us, saying- she had not heen in hed all night, he- cause a cousin (0 'Brian) of hers, whose ancestors had owned that house, had desired her to stay with him in his chamher, and that lie died at two o'clock ; and she said, ' I wish you to have had no disturbance, for, 'tis the custom of the place, that, when any of the family are dying, the sliape of a woman appears in the window every night till they he dead. This woman was, many ages ago, got with child by the owner of tliis place, who murdered her in his garden, and flung her into the river under the window ; hut truly I thought not of it when I lodged you here, it being the best room in the house.' We made httle reply to her speech; but disposed ourselves to be gone suddenly." Hearing that there was a Dutch ship saihng for Malaga from Galway, Mr. Fanshawe detennined to embark there : not wilhngly, for the plague had almost depopulated that city the simimer before ; but, as she says, *' he resolved to fall in the hands of God rather than man." They were lodged at a hospitable merchant's by the sea-side, and on their way tliither were led, by the stupidity of their Irish servant, through the midst of the most infected quarter of the town. However, they escaped uidiarmed ; and in the beginning of February took ship for Spain, with their family of ten per- sons, after receiving their kind host's parting benediction with these words : '' I thank God you are all gone safe abroad from my house, notwithstanding I have bm-ied nine persons out of my house witliin these six months ;'* which saying much startled them. The voyage furnishes another instance of her courage and devotion ; though we must agree with her in thinking it not a wise one. " We pursued our voyage with prosperous winds, but with a most tempestuous master, a Dutchman ; which is enough to say, but truly, I think, the greatest beast I ever saw of his kind. Wlien we had just passed the Straits, we saw coming toAvards us, with full sails, a Turkish galley, well manned ; and we believed Ave should all be carried aAvay slaves, for this man had so laden his ship AA^ith goods for Spain, that his guns were useless ; though the slxip carried sixty guns. He LADY FANSIIAWE. 27 called for brandy, and, after he had well drunken, and all his men, which were near two hundred, he called for arms, and cleared the deck as well as he could ; resolving to fight rather than lose his ship, which was worth £30,000. This was sad for us passengers ; hut my husband bid us women be sure to keep in the cabin and not appear, which would make the Turks think we were a man-of-war ; but if they saw wo- men, they would take us for merchants and board us. He went upon the deck, and took a gun and bandoliers, and sword, and, with the rest of the ship's company, stood upon the deck expecting the arrival of the Turkish man-of-Avar. This beast, the captain, had locked me up in the cabin. I knocked and called long to no pui-pose, until, at length, the cabin-boy came and opened the door. I, all in tears, desired him to give me the blue thrum cap he wore, and his tarred coat, which he did, and I gave him half-a-crown ; and, put- ting them on, and flinging away my night-clothes, I crept up softly and stood upon the deck by my husband's side, as free from sickness and fear, as, I confess, from discretion ; but it was the effect of that passion I coidd never master. By this time the two vessels were engaged in parley, and so well satisfied with speech and sight of each other's forces, that the Turldsh man-of-war tacked about, and we continued our course. But, when your father saw it convenient to retreat, looking upon me, he blessed himself, and snatched me up in his arms, saying, ' Good God, that love can make this change ! ' and, though he seemingly chid me, he would laugh at it as often as he remembered that voyage." Our heroine seems to have had a genuine love of traveUiug, and describes with feeling their journey through Spain to Madi'id, and subsequent voyage up the Loire towards Paris. After some changes she returned on her husband's business to London, and he joined the Mng in Scotland ; devoting himself there with great zeal to his service. Shortly before this he had been created a baronet ; a circumstance no other- wise alluded to by Lady Fanshawe, than where she notices his having left the patent in Scotland before the battle of Worcester. After a long, and for her most anxious, separa- tion of many months, they again met under very trying cir- ciuustances. Her own account must be given. " The second of September following was fought the battle d3 2S LADY TANSHAWE. of Worcester ; when, the king being missed, and nothing heard of your father being dead or alive, for three days it was inexpressible what affliction I was in. I neither ate nor slept ; but trembled at every motion I heard, expecting the fatal news, which at last came in their news-book, which men- tioned your father a prisoner. Then, with some hopes, I went to London, intending to leave my little girl Nan, the companion of my troubles, there, and to find out my husband wheresoever he was carried ; but, upon my coming to Lon- don, I met a messenger from him with a letter, which advised me of his condition, and told me he was very civiUy used, and said little more, but that I should be in some room at Charing Cross, where he had promise from his keeper that he should rest there in my company at dinner-time ; this was meant to him as a great favour. I expected him with im- patience, and, on the day appointed, provided a dinner and room as ordered, in which I was with my father and some more of our friends, where, about eleven of the clock, we saw hundreds of poor soldiers, both English and Scotch, march all naked, on foot, and many with your father, who was very cheerful in appearance ; who, after he Ivid spoken and saluted me and his friends there, said, ' Pray let us not lose time, for I know not how little I have to spare. This is the chance of w^ar ; nothing venture, nothing have ; so let us sit down and be merry whilst we may.' Then, taking my hand in his and kissing me, said — ' Cease weeping : no other thing upon earth can move me ; remember, we are all at God's disposal.' Then he began to tell how kind his captain was to liim, and the people as he passed offered him money, and brought him good things ; and particularly Lady Denham, at Boston House, who would have given him all the money she had in her house, but he returned her thanks, and told her he had so ill kept his own, that he would not tempt his governor with more, but if she would give him a shirt or two and some handkerchiefs, he would keep them as long as he could for her sake. She fetched him two smocks of her own and some handker- chiefs, saying slie was ashamed to give him them ; but, having none of her son's at home, she desired him to wear them. Thus we passed the time until an order came to carry him to Whitehall ; where, in a little room yet stand- ing in the Bowling-green, ho was kept prisoner, without LADY FANSIIAWE. 29 the speech of auy, so far as tliey knew, ten weeks, and in expectation of death. They then examined him, and at hist lie grew so ill in health, by the cold and hard marches he had nndergone, and being pent np in a room close and small, that the scurvy brought him almost to death's door. During the time of his imprisonment I failed not constantly to go when the clock struck four in the morning, with a dark lantern in my hand, all alone and on foot, from my lodging in Chancery- lane, at my cousin Young's, to Whitehall, in at the entry that Avent out of King-street, into the bowling-green. Then I would go under his window and softly call him ; he, after the first time excepted, never failed to put out his head at the first call. Thus we talked together, and sometimes I was so wet with the rain, that it went in at my neck and out at my heels." Through her exertions she at length obtained his release on bail. Cromwell had a personal respect for Sir Richard Fan- shawe, and woidd, she says, have brought him over to his party on any terms. To him, therefore, she made all her applications, and, at his desire, brought a certificate from a physician of her husband's ill-health. In the council chamber Sir Harry Vane was strong against his release, but if he had liberty for a time that at least he might take the engage- ment. Cromwell's answer — " I never knew that the engage- ment was a medicine for the scorbutic," proved too much what were his own wishes for them to be further (hsputed ; and Sir Richard Fanshawe was allowed to return to his family. His health had, however, been too severely tried by close imprisonment ; and Avithin ten days he Avas seized Avith a violent attack, '* so as," she says, " for many days and nights he slept no more but as he leaned on my shoidder as I Avalked." A visit to Bath, in 1652, at length restored him. Shortly after they retired Avith their family to Tankersley in Yorkshire, Avhere, for some time, they lived a harmless country life, minding only country sports and country affairs ; and lived there with great content till the death of their fa- vourite httle daughter Ann, " Avhose beauty and Avit," her fond mother says, " exceeded all that ever 1 saAv for her age. She was betAveen nine and ten years old, very tall, and the dear companion of my travels and sorroAvs. She lay sick but five days, of the small-pox, in Avhich time she expressed so d3 30 LADY FANSHAWE. many wise and devout sajungs as is a miracle for her years. We both wished to have gone into the same grave with her." This loss atiected them so deeply that they left the place where it had befallen them, and shortly after Sir Richard Fanshawe was summoned to London, with orders not to go five miles beyond it. Thus he continued bound till the death of Cromwell, *' upon which he began to hope he should get loose from the fetters which had thus held him seven years ; and, mentioning his case to the Earl of Pembroke, he ob- tained leave to go to France, under the pretence of being tutor to his son, and so made his escape ; as it seems, much to the annoyance of the ruling powers. Arrived in Paris, he instantly sent for his family to join him." Lady Fanshawe has related, with a very natural satisfaction, the ingenious artifice by which she succeeded in doing so in defiance of the council. " My husband sent me Avord of this, and bade me bring my son Richard and my eldest daughters with me to Paris, for that he intended to put them to a very good school that he had found at Paris. We went as soon as I could possibly acconmiodate myself with money and other necessaries, with my three children, one man, and one maid. I could not go without a pass, and to that purpose I went to my cousin Henry Nevill, one of the High Court of Justice, where he was then sitting at Whitehall. I told him my husband had sent for me and his son, to place him there ; and that he desired his kindness to help me to a pass. He went into the then master's and returned to me, saying, * that by a trick my husband had got his liberty ; but for me and his children upon no conditions we should not stir. ' I made no reply, but thanked my cousin Henry Nevill, and took my leave. I sat me down in the next room full sadly to consider what I shoidd do ; desiring God to help me in so just a cause as I then was in. I began and thought if I were denied a passage, then they would ever after be more severe on all occasions, and it might be very ill for us both. I was ready to go if I had a pass the next tide, and might be there before they could sus- pect I was gone. These thoughts put this invention in my head. At Wallingford House the office was kept where they gave passes ; thither I went, in as plain a way and speech as I could devise, leaving my maid at the gate, who LADY FAXSIIAWE. 31 was a much finer gentlewoman than myself. With as ill mien and tone as I could express, I told a fellow I found in the office that I desired a pass for Paris, to go to my hus- band. 'Woman, what is your husband and your name?* Sir, said I, with many courtesies, he is a young merchant, and my name is Ann Harrison (her maiden name). ' Well,* said he, ' it will cost you a crown.* Said I, that is a great sum for me ; but pray put in a man, my maid, and three children, all which he immediately did, telling me a mahgnant would give him five pounds for such a pass. I thanked him kindly, and so Avent immediately to my lodgings ; and, with my pen, I made the great H of Harrison two^^s, and the 9*rs an n, and the i an s, and the s an h, and the o an a, and the n a w, so completely that none could find out the change. With all speed I hired a barge, and that night, at six o'clock I went to Gravesend, and from thence by coach to Dover ; where, upon my arrival, the searchers came and demanded my pass, Avhich they were to keep for their discharge. When they had read it they said, ' Madam, you may go when you please ;' but, says one, ' I little thought they would give a pass to so great a malignant, especially in so troublesome a time as this.' About nine o'clock at night I went on board the packet-boat, and about eight o'clock in the morning landed safe, God be praised, at Calais. I went to Mr. Booth's, an English merchant, and a very honest man. There I rested two days ; but, upon the next day he had advice from Dover that a post was sent to stay me from Lon- don, because they had sent for me to my lodgings by a mes- senger of the court, to know why and upon what business I went to France. Then 1 discovered to him my invention of the changing of my name, at which as at their disappoint- ment we all laughed, and so did your father, and as many as knew the secret." They remained abroad till the king's return to England, and lost there their only son, by small-pox, the scourge of that age. The happy news of the Restoration reached them while at Breda, and they accompanied the royal family to the Hague, whence they were to embark for England. After so many trials and reverses we must sympathise with the royalists in this one moment of overflowing joy, even 33 LADY FANSHAWE. wliile we remember liow soon it was overcloiifled by the vices and follies of the very man for whom tliey bad sacrificed so much. They were then, however, full of hope ; and the general scene of joy, honour, and abundance amongst those who had for so many years suffered the reverse of all these, is well given in the following extract : — ■ " His highness appointed for my husband and his family a third-rate frigate, called the Speedwell ; but his majesty conmianded my husband to wait on him in his own ship. We had, by the States' order, sent on board to the king's most eminent servants, great store of provisions ; for our family, we had sent on board the Speedwell a tierce of claret, a hogs- head of Rhenish wine, six dozen of fowls, a dozen of gammons of bacon, a great basket of bread, and six sheep, two dozen of neat's tongues, and a great box of sweetmeats. Thus taking our leave of those obliging persons we had conversed with in the Hague, we went on board upon the 23rd of May, about two o'clock in the afternoon. The king embarked at four of the clock, upon which we set sail, the shore being covered with people, and shouts from all places of a good voyage, which was seconded with many volleys of shot interchanged. So favourable was the wind, that the ships' wherries went from ship to ship to visit their friends all night long. But who can sufficiently express the joy and gallantry of that voyage, to see so many great ships, the best in the world, to hear the trumpets and all other music, to see near a hundred brave ships sail before the wind with the vast cloths and streamers, the neatness and cleanness of the ships, the strength and joUity of the mariners, the gallantly of the com- manders, the vast plenty of all sorts of provisions ; but, above all, the glorious majesties of the king and his two brothers were so beyond man's expectation and expression. The sea was calm, the moon shone at full, and the sun suffered not a cloud to hinder his prospect of the best sight, by whose light and the merciful bounty of God he was set safely on shore at Dover, in Kent, upon the 25tli of May, 1660. So great were the acclamations and numbers of people, that it reached like one street from Dover to Whitehall. We lay that night at Dover, and the next day we went in Sir Arnold Brem's coach towards London ; where, on Sunday night, we came to a house in the Savoy. My niece Fanshawe, then living LADY FANSIIAWE. 33 in the Strand, wlicre I stood to see the king's entry with his brothers ; surely the most pompous show that ever was, for the hearts of all men in this kingdom moved at his will." Sir Richard Fanshawe was shortly after sent to Lisbon, charged with the king's letter and picture to the Princess Catherine of Braganza ; and soon after his return was ap- pointed ambassador to Madrid, whither he was accompanied by his family. The rest of Lady Fanshawc's memoir is principally taken up with the details of this embassy, which reach the beau ideal of Spanish state and magnificence. She seems to have been well fitted to sustain her part in such scenes, and to have entered into them, even while their excessive formality furnishes her some quiet amusement— as Avhere she receives a visit from a Spanish grandee of high rank, whose addi-ess to her she has taken the pains to record : — " That afternoon the Duke of Albuquerque came to visit my husband, and afterwards me, with his brother, Don Milche de la Cueva. As soon as the duke was seated and covered, he said — ' Madam, I am Don Juan de la Cueva, Duke of Albuquerque, Viceroy of Milan, of his Majesty's Privy Council, General of the galleys, twice Grandee, the first Gentleman of his Majesty's Bedchamber, and a near kinsman to his Catholic Majesty, whom God long preserve ! ' and then, rising up and making me a low reve- rence, with his hat oft', said — ' These, with my family and life, I lay at your excellency's feet.' Her severest trial was now at hand. Sir Richard Fan- shawe had been recalled, and his successor. Lord Sandwich, had arrived ; but, while he was preparing for his return to England, he was seized with fever, which, in a few days, ended his life. There is something very aft"ectiAig in the composure with which his widow relates all the circtimstances of her own return ; without any parade of grief, we feel that her joy in this life is over. "Never," she says, *' any ambas- sador's family came to Spain more gloriously, or Avent out more sad." The Spanish court seems to have felt very sin- cerely for her condition, and the queen gave one very extra- ordinary instance of her personal regard, actually oftering her a pension of 30,000 ducats a year, and to provide for her children, if she and they would change their religion, and become Roman Cathohcs. Her answer, in most coui-te- 34 LADY FA^'SHAWE. ous and grateful language, told the queen that she could not quit the faith in which God had been pleased to try her, for many years, in the greatest troubles our nation had ever seen, and that she did beheve and hope in the profession of her own religion." On her return to England, she was much depressed by the delay in the settlement of her husband's dues from govern- ment, and, like so many others, had to complain of injustice from the king's procrastination and forgetftdness of old ser- vice, though the king and queen expressed great sympathy for her. Her first care was to provide a suitable tomb for her husband. " Sometimes," she says, *' I thought to quit the world as a sacrifice to your father's memory, and to shut myself up in a house from all people ; but, upon the con- sideration of my childi-en, who were all young and unprovided for, being wholly left to my care and disposal, I resolved to suffer, as long as it pleased God, the storm and blows of fortune." She survived her husband thirteen years, and died January, 1679-80, in the fifty-fifth year of her age. She was buried, according to her own desire, close by her husband, in the chapel of St. Mary's, Ware. Hers was a busy as well as an eventfid life. In relating her adventures, our hmited space has not allowed room to re- cord all the domestic events which, in her own narrative, add so much to the surprise that one short life could have done and seen and suffered so much. She gave birth to fourteen livitig children — six sons and eight daughters — to whom she was a devoted mother and nurse. At times she herself suffered severely from sharp attacks of illness. She seems to have been more than ordinarily skilled in domestic manage- ment, and to have conducted her own large household with the wisest economy. At a time when so many of the Eng- lish abroad were in constant debt and embarrassment, and when the unsettled state of their own affairs might have, in some measm-e, excused their falling into a similar condition, she records, with a thankfidness, that neither she nor her husband *' ever borrowed money or owed for clothes, nor ^et, nor lodging, beyond sea, in their lives ; which was very much, considering the straits they were in many times." She was one happily formed by nature, education, LADY FANSHAWE. 35 and religious principle to fill well her part, wherever she was thrown, or whatever she was called upon to do. A heroine where heroism was required — shrinking- from no danger and deterred hy no ohstacles — Avith manners and accomplishments which enahlcd her to sustain, with all state and magnificence, her country's and her hushand's honour in foreign courts — hut always finchng her chief happiness in the quiet, every-day woman's duties of her home, in the loved society of her hus- band, and in the bosom of her family. 3d LADY BANKS. LADY BANKS. .Lady Baxks's gallant defence of Coife Castle against the rebels, gives lier a distinguished place among the heroines of the rebellion. It has been said that, had all the royalists of that day displayed the same skill and undaunted courage which distinguished the Countess of Derby at Latham, the Lady Arundel at Wardour, and Lady Banks at Corfe Castle, twenty Oliver Cromwells would have fought in vain for re- publicanism. Sir John Banks, attorney-general to Charles L, had only recently bought the castle and manor of Coi-fe from Lady Elizabeth Hatton, when his wife and family took up their residence there, on his joining the king at York in 1642. Here they continued undisturbed till May, in the following year, when the rebels, commanded by Sir Walter Erie and Sir Thomas Trenchard, having possessed themselves of all the towns on the sea-coast, resolved to make themselves masters of Corfe Castle, which they justly regarded as a place of great importance ; and, for this j)urpose, marched some troops of horse from Dorchester, to attempt its capture by a coup-de-main. They arrived there on May-day, when it was the custom of the mayor and gentry of the Isle of Purbeck (in which the castle stands) to hold a stag-hunt. The sport, however, was interrupted by the appearance of the rebel party ; some of whom, detaching themselves from the main body, at first en- deavoured to obtain an entrance on the pretence of wishing to see the castle, but when this was refused, and the gates closed against them, by order of its mistress, the whole body of soldiers surrounded the castle and summoned Lady Banks LADY BANKS. 37 to surrender. She refused, tliouo-li her garrison at this time consisted of only five men, and boldly hid them defiance. Upon this the parliamentary committee in the neighbourino; town of Poole, suspecting her of an intention to victual and man the castle, sent to demand four small pieces of cannon which were on the castle ramparts ; but, by some trifling excuse, she succeeded in evading this request for the time. A few days after, forty or fifty seamen were sent to demand them, with a warrant from the commissioners ; but Lady Banks, whose garrison still consisted of only five men and her maid servants, contrived to mount one of the disputed cannon, and discharge it upon the hostile party, who, intimi- dated by this display of resolution, returned to Poole. Lady Banks now felt it necessary to strengthen her garri- son, and, summoning help among her tenants by beat of drum, a considerable guard of friends and adherents came to her assistance, bringing with them fifty stand of arms. The ])arliamentarians were, however, equally active on their side. They intercepted a supply of gunpowder on its way to the castle, and issued a proclamation in the neighbouring towns, declaring it high treason to sell provisions for the use of Coi-fe Castle, or to hold communication with its inhabitants ; adding the threat, that if the cannon -were not given up, the houses of Lady Banks's friends and neighbours should be burnt. Strict w^atch was kept that no message shoidd be conveyed, or intelligence of any kind be suffered to pass in or out of the castle ; and, thus straitened, and unprovided with victuals for a siege, it was found necessary to come to a parley, when it was agreed to give up wdiat had been the grand objects of contention, the four cannon, the largest of wdiich was a three-pounder, on condition that Lady Banks should be left in her castle in peace and quietness. These terms were agreed to, the cannon were given up, and the party in the castle reduced to their original numbers. Lady Banks, however, little trusting the honour of her opponents, felt it wise and safe to strengthen her position as far as pos- sible. The rebels, meanwhile, feeling themselves secure, re- laxed in their vigilance ; the watches were not kept up as strietl}'^ as formerly, and means were thus found of liringing a good store of provisions, gunpoAvder, and matchlocks into the castle. 38 LADY BANKS. On the advance of the king's arn\y, under Prince Maurice, to Blandford, Lady Banks represented so earnestly her need of assistance, and the importance of the place, that Captain Lawrence was deputed to take command of the garrison ; hut, through some unfortunate oversight, he came without the necessary commission for ohtaining money and provisions ; a mistake which could not afterwards he rectified till too late to he of any service in the siege. Soon after Captain Law- rence arrived, a body of between two and three hundred horse and foot came before the castle, bringing with them two pieces of ordnance, with which they soon opened a heavy fire on the castle from the opposite hills ; they also set fire to four horses in the town, wdiich was directly imder the castle-walls, and did much other damage. They were, how- ever, valiantly withstood ; so that, after again simimoning the castle to surrender, they thought proper to retire. On the 23rd of June the attack w^as renewed ; and Sir Walter Erie, Captain Sydenham, and others, commanding a body of five or six hundred men, entered the town unobserved, under the shelter of a thick fog. They brought with them four pieces of ordnance, under the names of a demi-cannon, a cid- verine, and two sakers ; and with these, and their small arms, they played on the castle from all quarters. Besides these open attacks, they sought by secret means to corrupt Lady Banks's servants w^ithin the castle ; and, to rouse their fears, threatened to give no quarter, and even made the soldiers take an oath to spare none who offered resistance. With the view^ of sheltering themselves in their attacks, the besiegers invented two machines, one of w^hich they named the " boar," and the other the " sow," constructed of boards lined with wool, which were designed to cover their persons and deaden the shot. These erections, however, ful- filled their part very ill. When the " sow" was moved for- ward, its supporters could not conceal their legs, wdiich w^ere at once aimed at by the besieged. The " sow," therefore, was left to its fate ; some who had sought its shelter ran away, and one or two w^ere killed. The fate of its companion discouraged the " boar," which dared not advance, and played no part in the combat. The plan of attack was now altered, and the rebels con- verted the ancient massively-built church of the town into a LADY BANKS. 39 battery, using it with wanton irreverence. The historian of the siege records that they made shirts of the surphce, broke up the organ, and used the pipes as cases for powder and shot ; while the lead of the roof was rolled into shot, and fired against the castle. All this profanation, however, did them no service. The shot took little effect on the walls of the castle, and made no impression on Lady Banks, who was as determined as ever to hold out. Sir Walter Erie got little fame by his ungallant efforts ; he was charged with pressing on his soldiers, indeed, with great earnestness, but with being very sparing of his own person ; and is said, on one occasion, from fear of the musket-shot of the besieged (for they had no other), to have wrapped himself in a bear-skin, and crept up the hill on all- fours. The besieged, on the contrary, showed great courage, and made several successful sallies ; carrying off, on one occasion, thirteen head of cattle — a provision much needed in the castle. The Earl of Wai*wiek, who seems to have been annoyed at Sir Walter Erie's slow progress, now sent him a reinforce- ment of 150 seamen, wdth a very formidable supply of petards, grenades, &c., for an assault, which was immediately to be made. A reward of £20 -was, offered to the first man who should scale the walls, and smaller sums in gradation to those who should follow him. But as this temptation failed to rouse their courage to the necessary height, the men were plentifully supplied w^ith spirits. *' Sir Walter," it Avas said, " for fear he should be valiant against his will, was the only man who came sober to the assault." *' Thus armed with drink," the assailants stormed the castle on all sides, and applied the scaling ladders. In the meanwhile the party in the castle were busily preparing to receive them. Captain LaAvrence commanded the lower ward, and had with him the principal part of the brave little garrison ; which had never amounted to forty men in any of its sieges. Thes6 repelled every onset with unflinching courage and gallantry. It was in vain that the assailants mounted the ladders ; they were aU either vspeared or shot. The upper ward was, '* to her eternal honour," defended by Lady Banks herself ; assisted by her daughters, her female servants, and her own five men. The men under her E ij 40 LADY BANKS. direction kept up a constant lire of small arms, and Avlien the enemy attempted on their side to scale the "walls, having -wild- iire in their hands ready to throw down into the castle, she and her women repidsed their fierce assailants by pouring- down stones and hot embers upon them, which had been pre- pared in sufficient quantities for this purpose. The attack against both wards completely failed ; and soon after, Sir Wal- ter received news that the king's forces Avere advancing, and near at hand. On this he retired in great haste to London, leaving to Captain Sydenham the task of bringing off the am- munition and the rest of the soldiers, who retired into the church, intending to march from the town in the night. But, as supper was set on table, an alarm was given that the king's forces were near. On this a panic seized the captain : he left his supper, artillery, and ammunition, and took boat instantly to Poole, leaving a hundred horses on the shore a prize to the besieged. The assailants had lost more than a hundred men, killed and wounded, in the siege and assault ; wliik the noble lady of the castle lost but tAvo of her sup- porters. Thus, after six weeks' stout siege, Corfe Castle, considered the key of that county, was, by a woman's courage, preseiTed for the king. Lady Banks long survived her husband, and remained un- molested during the commonwealth. She lived to see the restoration of Charles IL The inscription on her tombstone, In the south aisle of Ftislipp church, contains all that is further known of her. It is therefore given here : — *' TO THE MEMORY OF '* The lady Mary Bankes, the only daughter of Kafe Hawtry*, of Rislipp, in the county of Middlesex, Esquire, the wife and widow of the Honourable Sir John Bankes, Knight, late Lord Chief Justice of his late Majesty's Court of Common Pleas, and of the Privy Council to his late Majesty King Charles the First, of blessed memory ; who, having had the honour to have borne, with a constancy and courage above her sex, a noble pro]iortion of the late calamities, and the happi- ness to have outlived them so far as to have seen the restitu- * From whom the present Hawtry family are lineally descended. LADY BANKS. 41 tlon of tho government, with great peace of mind laid down her most desired life, the 19th day of April, 1661. Sir Ralphe Bankes, her sonne and heir, hath dedicated this. She left fom- sonnes— 1st., Sir Ralphe ; 2nd., Jerome ; ord., Charles ; 4th., Wilham (since dead without issue) — and six daughters. ' ' k 3 42 LADY MOIvION. LADY MORTON. After Queen Hemietta Maria's last parting* from lier liufD- bancl, previous to tlie disastrous battle of Newbury, she retired to Exeter, tbere to await lier approacliiug- confine- ment, wliicb took place at Bedford House, in that city, June 16, 1644. In less than a fortnight after, the Earl of Essex advanced to besiege Exeter, and, on the queen's asking permission to retire to Bath, for the completion of her recovery, he re- turned for answer, *' that it was his intention to escort her Majesty to London, where her presence was required to answer to Parliament for having levied war against Eng- land." On receiving this answer, the uiifortunate queen re- solved to hazard every danger rather than fall into his hands; and, rising from her bed of languor and suffering, she es- caped in disguise from Exeter, accompanied by only three persons. Her flight was attended by such circumstances of peril and fatigue, as made it wonderful that her delicate frame did not sink under them ; but at length she reached Pen- dennis Castle in safety, having been joined on the road by the rest of her laches and attendants. She had, however, been forced to leave lier new-born in- fant behind, for the hardship of such a journey could hardly but prove fatal to its young life ; and this precious charge she committed to the care of Lady Morton, who well redeemed her trust. Shortly after the queen's escape, Exeter was entered by the royal army ; for Charles, on hearing of his beloved -wife's danger, had made incredible efforts to join her, and, fighting his way through every obstacle, entered that city in triumph, LADY MOllTOX. 43 within a fortnight of her sudden flight. His queen had, however, ah-eady found safe shelter in France ; but here his infant daughter was presented to him by Lady Morton, and, for the fii'st and the last time, he bestowed a paternal em- brace on his child. Before this final separation, he caused it to be baptized imder the name of Henrietta Anne. Then, having relieved Exeter, and made some provision for the sup- port of the young princess, he left it under the care of her governess, Lady Morton. This young lady was daughter of Sir Edward Villiers, and wife of Robert Douglas, Earl of Morton. She is spoken of by contemporary writers as one of the most admired beauties of the age, while the graces of her mind were not inferior to those of her person. She enjoyed the friendship of Clarendon, whose letters to her are expressive of strong esteem and regard, and was high in the queen's favour — a distinction she Avell deserved, by the fidelity of her attendance on her at Exeter, her subsequent care of her infant charge, and, above all, by the extraordinary courage and ingenuity with which she efi'ected the escape of the little princess from the hands of the Parliament. After remaining with her charge some time at Exeter, she had removed her to Oatlands, in Surrey, which had always been used as a nursery palace for the royal children. The year after this change, all royal expenses were cash- iered by the Parliament ; and it was proposed to remove the Princess Henrietta from Lady Morton's protection, and place her, with her brothers and sisters, under the care of the Countess of Northumberland. Lady Morton had, however, received her charge from the hands of the queen, and to her alone woidd she surrender her trust. She resolved, there- fore, to escape with the princess to France — a scheme of no small difliculty, as the expedients she resorted to amply prove. She first disguised herself as the wife of a poor French servant, little better than a beggar ; but the air and mien of *' one of the beautiful race of ViUiers" could not be hidden under the homeliest attire. To conceal, therefore, the grace- ful proportions of her tall and elegant figure, she made up a hump for her shoulders with a bundle of linen ; then, dres- sing the royal infant, now about two years old, iu rags as a 44 LADY MORTON. beggar-boy, she took her upon lier back, and set out on foot towards the coast. She gave tbe poor disguised child the name of Pierre, in case any one should ask its name, as being the sound most like the broken accents by -which it called itself " Princess;" and walked thus nearly all the way to Dover, carrying her precious charge on her back, who she gave out to be her own little boy. Though adding to her alarm and danger, she could not help feehng amused at the indigna- tion of the royal infant at her rags and miserable appearance, and the child's resolute endeavours to tell every one they met that she was not Pierre the beggar-boy, but the little princess. Happily for her, none understood her broken and imperfect utterance but her affectionate guarchan. Lady Morton had arranged everything so well, that she crossed from Dover to Calais without exciting any suspicion ; and, when once on the coast of France,, she could release her little charge from the humiliation she had felt so deeply, and restore her to all her honours — no longer Pierre, but a princess once more. She carried her to Paris, and there was repaid for all her late perils, by witnessing the mother's joy at receiving her child once more to her arms, whom she had parted from two years before, a helpless infant. " Oh, the joy of that meeting !" says an eye-witness; "oh, the consolation to the heart of the mother, when her little one, who was lost, was found again ! Hoav many times we saw her clasp her round the neck, kiss her, and kiss her again !" Lady Morton got no little fame amongst her friends assem- bled in Paris for this bold and successful adventure ; and the poet Waller, who had before written in praise of her beauty, now celebrated her heroism in a poem, addressed to her, and presented to the queen at the Louvre on New Year's-day, 1647, from which we extract a passage of some elegance : — " But thus to style you fair, your sex's praise, Gives you but myrtle who may challenge bays : From armed foes to bring a royal prize Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes. If Judith, marching with the general's head, Can give xis passion when her story's read, What may the living do, which brought away Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey — Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand, Snatched her fair charge, the princess, like a brand ?— • LADY MORTON. A brand preserved to warm some prince's heart, And make whole kingdoms take her brother's part. * * * * This gallant act may cancel all our rage— Begin a better and absolve this age. Dark shades become the portrait of our time — Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime. Let him that draws it hide the rest in night ; This portion only may endure the light, Where the kind nymph, changing her faultless shape, Becomes unhandsome, handsomely to 'scape — Where through the guards, the river, and the sea, Faith, Beauty, Wit, and Courage made their way. As the brave eagle does with sorrow see The forest wasted, and that lofty tree Which holds her nest about to be o'er thrown, Before the feathers of her young are grown ; She will not leave them, nor she cannot stay, But bears them boldly on her wings away : So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore Her princely burden to the Gallic shore." 45 46 THE HEART OF MONTROSE. THE HEART OF MONTROSE. ^ HE marvellous heroism with which Montrose fought the b attles of loyalty in Scotland, filled his party with enthu- siastic admiration, and inspired his personal friends with a depth of affectionate devotion which in itself speaks vohuues for the object of such feelings. Love such as theirs must have been the tribute to very noble qualities ; and the many examples of it which occur in his life are one great charm in his chivalrous and romantic history. One remarkable action gives the Lady Ehzabeth Erskine a distinguished j^lace among these devoted friends. From the beginning of his brilliant career her young husband, Lord Napier, nephew to Montrose, had been his ardent fol- lower ; and she has given good proof of fully sympathizing with him in the " preposterous love for his uncle " with which he was reproached by his covenanting kinsman. In addition to the anxieties and terrors inevitable in such times, she, in common with Montrose's other near female re- lations, had, in revenge for his victories, been subjected by the party in power to very close and severe imprisonment ; the horrors of which were heightened at one period by the appre- hension of the plague which then raged in Edinburgh, and had penetrated within the walls of their prison. Released from these dangers by Montrose's successes, she had afterwards seen the bright hopes they raised fade away, till, after the death of Charles I, and the failure of every promised support, Montrose found no other course left but to escape to the continent. Lord Napier followed his uncle to Paris, while his wife remained in Scotland, in the ho2)e of saving a remnant of his estates for their children — a THE HEART OF MONTROSE. 47 separation peculiarly hard to botli ; for they were tenderly attached, and his extant letters to her from France prove how hig'hly he esteemed her sense and judgment. There she remained, and was in Edinburgh during Mon- trose's second short and disastrous campaign for the cause of the young king, which terminated by his being led thither a prisoner to receive his barbarous sentence. What must have been the thouo-hts of his friends, who had so lono' loved and admired "• that presence graceful, courtly, and so winning upon the beholder, that it seemed to claim reverence without serving for it, ' ' when they saw him led through the streets with every circumstance of contempt and mockery which the low malice of his enemies could devise, to the prison which he must soon leave for a cruel death ? Some particulars of the execution, and the scenes wliich preceded it, seem almost necessary, to enable the reader to sympathize as he ought in the liigh-wrought feelings which prompted Montrose's kinswoman, powerless as she had been, to help or soothe his last moments, to brave the fury of his triumphant ^persecutors, and risk her life, for the rescuing of his noble heart, when it had ceased to beat, from the dis- honoured grave to which they had consigned it. After falling into the ambuscade at Corbie Side, where the greater portion of his little band were slaughtered or made prisoners, and liimself covered with wounds, Montrose had wandered alone amongst the hills, suffering great extremities, till delivered into his enemies' hands by the treachery of an adherent. In this state he was led in triumph to the caj^ital, treated throughout the way with every indignity, and tried too, in the course of it, by the additional pang of bidding a last farewell to his children. His biographer, at this stage, calls on us to remember that his hero was plunged into this abyss of misfortunes from a state of the greatest consideration and the highest hopes, flattered and caressed by crowned heads, and honoured with the most particular marks of confidence by his own sovereign. He had been wounded desperately in the fight, so that some had doubted whether his wounds could ever have been cured ; and had been nearly famished during the few days that ho had wandered in disguise ; and at length was dragged to the scene of liis last sufferings without the presence of a 48 THE HEART OF MONTROSE. single relative or friend to sustain liim. Yet he displayed a mind perfectly calm and collected ; and the indignities which were intended to degrade him in the eyes of the people, he endured with a cheerful suhmission, that attracted the kindly sympathies even of those who had heen tutored hy the clergy to scoff and ahuse him. It was determined by the covenant- ing parliament not even to allow him the mockery of a trial, hut to pass sentence on him, on the pretext of a forfeiture and excommunication pronounced against him many years before. The act runs thus: — "Friday, 17th May. Act ordaining James Graham to be brought from the Watergate on a cart, bare-headed, the hangman in his livery, covered, riding on the horse that draws the cart, the prisoner to be bound to the cart with a rope, to the Tolbooth of EtUnburgh, with his book and declaration tied in a rope round his neck, and there to hang for the space of three hours mitil he be dead, and thereafter to be cut down by the hangman ; his head, hands, and legs to be cut off, and distributed as follows, namely, his head to be affixed on an iron pin, and set on the pinnacle of the west gavel of the new prison of Edinburgh ; one hand to be set on the post of Perth, the other on the post of Stirling ; one leg and foot on the post of Aberdeen, the other on the post of Glasgow : if at his death penitent, and relaxed from excommunication, then the trunk of his body to be interred by pioneers in the Greyfriars ; other- wise, to be interred in the Boroughmuir, by the hangman's man, under the gallows." *' Upon Saturday the 18th (continues his biographer), about four in the afternoon, the illustrious object of this in- human doom was brought to Edinburgh. Inside the Water- gate there stood, read}^ to receive him, the magisti-ates, the town guard, and the hangman, with the appointed vehicle. When he entered, the magistrates handed to him a copy of the sentence ; which, having read with the utmost compo- sure, he at once, and in a firm tone of voice, expressed his readiness to submit to his fate, though he regretted that through him the sovereign whom he repi-esented in Scotland should be thus dishonoured. Tlie cart, for his more com- plete exposure, was constructed with a high chair in the centre, into which he immediately ascended without betraying ♦he slightest emotion, and was I'ustened tlirreto with ropes, THE HEART OF MONTROSE. 49 tlrawn through holes in the hack of the seat. The reason of his heing tied to the cart was in hope that the people would have stoned him, and that he might not hy his hands he ahle to save his face. His hat was then pulled off hy the hangman, who himself continued covered, and, mounting his liorse, the melancholy procession slowly commenced its pro- gress through the most puhlic streets, everywhere crowded with spectators, to the Tolhooth. ' In all the way there appeai'ed in him such majest3% courage, modesty, and even somewhat more than natural, that those common women Avho had lost their husbands and children in his wars, and who were hired to stone him, were, upon the sight of him, so asto- nished and moved, that their intended curses turned into tears and prayers, so that next day all the ministers preached against them for not stoning and reviling him.' ' The cart being stopped when it came before the lodging where the chancellor, Argyle, and Warriston sat, that they might have time to insult, he, suspecting the business, turned his face towards them, whereupon they presently crept in at the win- dows ; which being perceived by an Enghshman, he cried up, it was no wonder they started aside at his look, for they durst not look him in the face these seven years bygone. * It was past seven o'clock at night ere they reached the Tol- hooth ; where, being untied, Montrose gave a piece of gold to the hangman, saying — ' Fellow, there is drink-money for driving the cart.' In liis cell he was harassed by deputations from the par- liament and the general assembly. " Thus was the wearied and wounded nobleman, who already knew the barbarous de- tails of the sentence that awaited him, haunted in his dun- geon ; where, moreover, a guard was continually in Avaiting, who treated him with rudest disrespect." Yet he appears not to have lost his composure or presence of mind for a moment. He told the deputation on Saturday night that all he desired was a little rest; *'for," said he, "the comjiliment you put upon me this day was a little tedious." And on Sunday, during the Avhole of Avhich he Avas subjected to the insolence of his fanatical persecutors, he told them they were mistaken if they thought to have affronted liiin with the ex- hibition of the preceding day ; for he considered it the most honourable and triumphant progress he had ever made, and F 50 THE HEART OP MONTROSE. that the Ahnighty had vouchsafed to him a comforting assur- ance throughout the whole of it. On Monday he had to en- dure another long questioning, and answered to all the charges hrought against him with the most thoughtful deli- beration. The whole scene is recorded in his life. The same day, between ten and twelve, he was called to the bar, and there again heard his sentence, and again defended him- self in a most admirable speech. Either then or on his return to the prison he said, in allusion to the mode of his execution, '* It becomes them rather to be hangmen than me to be hanged." He had expected to be beheaded. After his return to the prison he had to sustain another interview with the ministers, who came to invade him with fresh assaults, aggravating the terror of the sentence in order to aifright him ; to which he answered, *' that lie was be- holden to the parliament for the honour put upon him. For, " said he, " I think it a greater honour to have my head standing on the post of this town, for this quarrel, than to have my picture in the king's bedchamber. I am beholden to you that, lest my loyalty should be forgotten, ye have ap- pointed five of your most eminent towns to bear Avitness of it to posterity." We must hasten over the interesting details of his last hours, in which he sustained the same Cliristian firmness. On Tuesday morning he was led out to execution. It was his pleasure on this occasion to be dressed with great care and splendour, that nothing in himself might be wanting to bear out his persuasion of being about to enter on the most honourable event of his life : and he chose to regard that as a day of high state and ceremony on which he was called upon in the face of a whole nation to seal a long career of devoted loyalty by the last great sacrifice of his life. It is clear that the Lady Napier and his other female friends in Edinburgh — for such there Avere — furnished him with the means for this display, and prepared the fine linen and exquisite lace which adorned their hero on this glorious yet fearful day. At two o'clock in the afternoon he came forth, stepping with that graceful firmness which made the spectators exclaim : *' There goes the finest gal- lant of the realm." An eye-Avitness describes him thus: *' In his downgoing from the Tolbooth to the place of execu- THE HEART OF MONTROSE. 51 tion he was very riclily clad in fine scarlet, laid over Avitli rich silver lace, his hat in his hand, his hand and cnfts ex- ceeding rich, his dcHcate white gloves on his hands, his stock- ings of incarnate silk, and his shoes with their ribbons, on his feet ; and sarks provided for him, with pearHng above ten pund the elne. All these were provided for him by his friends, and a pretty cassock put on him upon the scaf- fold, wherein he was hanged. To be short, nothing was here deficient to honour his poor carcase, more becoming a bridegroom nor a criminal going to be hanged." An ample stage had been erected in the centre of the Grass- market, from which the gallows had been raised, with a cor- responding ladder, the enormous height of thirty feet. Thither Montrose had to walk from his prison, no friend or relative being permitted to accompany him. He sustained his spirits, however, throughout this trial with unfaiUng magnanimity ; to all men's eyes, changing this scene, in- tended for his disgrace, into one of highest triumph. He was not permitted to addi-ess the people, but he made an admirable speech to those around him, which has been pre- served to us, breathing such thoughts and feelings and hopes, as are fitted for the lips of a dying man. When this was over, as a witness relates, " with a most undaunted courage he went up to the top of that prodigious gibbet, where, having freely pardoned the executioner, he gave him three or four pieces of gold, and inquired how long he should hang there, who said three hours ; then commanding him at the uphfting of his hands to tumble liim over, he was accord- ingly thrust off by the weeping executioner. The whole people gave a general groan ; and it was very observable that even those who at his first appearance had inveighed against him, could not now abstain from tears." After having remained the appointed time, the last barbarous points of his sentence were carried out ; and, as he was not relaxed from the Kirk's censure, the mutilated trunk was taken into the Boroughmuir, and there thrown into a hole. Very near this place stood the house of Lady Napier, and it was now she put in eff"ect her bold resolve of frustrating the last malignant revenge of his enemies. It was a hazard- ous enterprise, and might have proved fatal to those con- cerned had they been discovered ; but she was so fortunate F 2 52 THE HEART OF MOXTROSE. as to procure the aid " of some adventurous spirits," who, acting upon her instructions, went forth that night, and, suc- ceeding in breaking open the unhallowed tomb, carefully ex- tracted the heart of the hero from the mutilated trunk, and brought it to her, wrapped in a sheet or square of fine linen, which possibly she had herself made for the occasion of his execution. It is still preserved as a relic by the Napier family, and is described as " a piece of the finest linen, about three feet square, tasselled at the corners hke a pall, and trimmed all round with a border of antique lace." Marks of blood are still to be traced where it wrapped round the pre- cious heart. Having at such a risk rescued at least this portion of his remains from the indignities designed for them, Lady Napier consigned the heart for which she had run such risks to a skilful surgeon in Edinburgh, by whom it was embalmed in the costliest manner. She then en- closed it in a steel box, made of the blade of Montrose's sword, and placed this in a gold filagree box, which was highly valued in the family as having been given to John Napier, inventor of logarithms, by a doge of Venice. Tliis, again, was deposited in a silver urn, Avhicli had been pre- sented by Montrose, some years before, to her husband. For some time Lady Napier kept this treasure on a little table near her bed, and her portrait is still in existence with this urn by her side. After a time, however, she sent it to Montrose's eldest son, as the second marquis, who, after his father's death, had taken refuge in Flanders, with her hus- band Lord Napier. The history of this precious rehc is connected with female heroism. For many years it was lost sight of, till discovered in a collection of curiosities in Holland by a friend of the then Lord Napier. This gentleman procured its immediate resto- ration to the rightful owner ; who, at his death, left it as his only certain possession to his daughter, and a witness, in the fallen fortunes of their family, that she was descended from persons who were distinguished in the history of Scotland for their piety, their science, and their patriotism. This lady inherited in full measure the feelings and courage of her race, and proved herself a worthy guardian of the relic committed to her. Her son, Sir Alexander Johnson, iu writing for his THE HEART OF MONTROSE. 53 daughters all that is further known of its history, gives the following account : — " After my mother's marriage, and when I was five years old, she, my father, and myself were on the way to IncUa in the fleet commanded by Commodore Johnston, when it w^as attacked off the Cape de Verd islands, by the French squad- ron under Suffrein. One of the French frigates engaged the Indiaman in wliich we were ; and my father, by our captain's permission, took command of four of the quarter-deck guns. My mother refused to go below, but remained on the quarter- deck with me at her side ; declaring that no wife ought to quit her husband in a moment of such peril, and that we should both share my father's fate. A shot from the frigate struck one of these guns, killed two of the men, and, with the sphnters which it tore oif the deck, knocked my father down, wounded my mother severely in the arm, and bruised the muscles of my right hand so severely that, as you know, it is even now difficidt for me at times to write or even to hold a pen. My mother held me during the action with one hand, and with the other she held a large thick velvet reti- cide ; in which she, conceiving that if the frigate captured the Indiaman the French crew would plunder the ship, had placed some of the things which she valued most, including the pictures of her father and mother, and the gold filagree case containing the heart of Montrose. It was supposed that the sphnter must have first struck the reticule, which hung loose in her hand ; for, to her great distress, the gold filagree box, which was in it, was shattered to pieces, but the steel case had resisted the blow. The frigate that attacked us was called oft\ and next day Commodore Johnston and Sir John M'Pherson, w^ho w^as with him in the flag ship, came on board of the Indiaman, and comphmented my father and mother in the highest terms for the encouragement they had given the crew of their ship. When in India, at Madura, my mother found a celebrated native goldsmith, who, partly from the fragments she had saved, and partly from her de- scription, made as beautiful a gold filagree box as the one that had been destroyed. She caused him also to make for her a silver urn, like that in the pictm-e, and to engrave on the outside of it in Tamil and Telugoo, the two languages most generally miderstood throughout the southern peninsida F 3 54 THE HEART OF MONTROSE. of India, a short account of the most remarkable events of Montrose's hfe, and of the ch-cmnstances of his death. * * * My mother's anxiety about it (the urn) gave rise to a report among the natives of the country that it was a talisman, and that whoever possessed it could never be wounded in battle or taken prisoner. Owing to this report it was stolen from her, and for some time it was not known what had become of it. My father was in the habit of sending me every year, during the hunting and shooting season, to stay with some of the native chiefs who lived in the neighbourhood of Madura, for four months at a time, in order to acquire the various lan- guages, and to practise the native gymnastic exercises. One day, while I was hunting with the chief who was said to have purchased the urn, my horse was attacked by a Avild hog which we were pursuing ; but I succeeded in wounchng it so se- verely with my hunting-pike, that the chief soon after over- took and killed it. He was pleased with my conduct upon this occasion, and asked, before all his attendants, in what manner I would wish him to show his respect and regard for me. I said, if the report was really true that he had bought the silver urn that belonged to my mother, he would do me a great favour by restoring it ; and, to induce him to do so, I explained to him all the circumstances connected with it. He rephed that it was quite true he had purchased it for a large sum, without knowing that it had been stolen from my mother ; and he immediately added, that one brave man should always attend to the wishes of another brave man, whatever his relio-ion or his nation mioht be ; that he tliere- fore considered it his duty to fulfil the wishes of the brave man whose heart was in the urn, and whose wish it was that his heart should be kept by his descendants, and for that reason he would willingly restore it to my mother. Next day, after presenting me with six of his finest dogs and two of his best matchlocks, he dismissed me with the urn in my possession, and with a present from himself to my mother of a gold dress and some shawls, accompanied by a letter ex- pressing his great regret that he had innocently been the cause of her distress by purchasing the urn, which, he assured her, he would not have done had he known it had been stolea from her. This was the native chief so celebrated through- out the southern peninsula of India who, thirty or forty years THE IIEAKT OF MOXTROSE. 55 ago, rebelled against the authority of his supposed sovereign, the Nabob of Arcot ; and who, after behaving with the most undaunted courage, was conquered by a detachment of Enghsh troops, and executed with many members of his family. When, in 1807, I visited the site of this chief's former capital and the scenes of my early sports, there Avere still two of his old servants ahve, who used to have charge of his hunting-dogs when I was with him. When they heard who I was, they came to me as I was travelling through the Avoods of their former master, and gave me a very detailed account of his last adventures, and of the fortitude with which he met his death ; telling me, among other anecdotes of him, that when he heard he was to be executed innnediatcly, he alluded to the story of the urn, and expressed a hope to some of his attendants that those who admired his conduct would preserve his heart in the same manner as the European warrior's heart had been preserved in the silver urn. My father and mother returned to Europe in 1792, and being in France when the revolutionary government required all persons to give up their plate, and gold and silver ornaments, my mother entrusted the silver urn with Montrose's heart to an Englishwoman of the name of Knowles, at Boulogne, who promised to secrete it until it coidd be sent safely to England. This person having died shortly afterwards, neither my mother or father in their hfetime, nor myself since their death, have ever been able to trace the urn, although every exertion has been made by me for that purpose. * * * To the last hour of her life my mother deeply regretted this loss, and,, in Jidy, 1819, a few days before her death, expressed to me her wishes with regard to the urn if it shoidd ever be re- covered by me." 56 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. The following account of Lady Grisell Baillle is taken from an unpublisliecl volume, in which are preserved the memoirs of the Right Hon. George Baihie, of Jarviswood, and the Lady Grisell Bailhe, by their daughter, Lady Murray, of Stanhope, written by her about the middle of the last century. The beautiful character she has left us of her mother, delightfid. as a picture of all domestic graces and affections, at the same time shows us w^hence arises the truest courage, and what are the proper elements of the heroic character, the secret of which seem comprised in these words : — *' She never knew what it was to find her- self indisposed to do anything she thought proper to be done." Lady Grisell Home was the daughter of Sir Patrick Home, afterwards Earl of Marchmont, and the eldest living of his eighteen children. Her father was on the Whig or Liberal side in the Scotch troubles in Charles the Second's time, and was one of the principal sufferers from the harsh and rigorous measures of the government. Thus his daughter's life b^gan in domestic troubles and anxieties. From her infancy she seems to have shown a remarkable character, and was the darhng and comfort of her parents, who had early occasion to place confidence in her. There had always subsisted a close intimacy between Sir Patrick Home and Mr. Bailhe, of Jarviswood (father of the Mr. Baillie Lady Grisell afterwards married) : their politics w^ere the same, and they were alike sharers in the troubles of the times, though with a different issue, for Mr. Bailhe w^as eventually eiecutcd, wliile his more successful friend sui'vived LADY CaUSELL BAILLIE. 57 to see his party triumphant, and himself a leading member of the government. When Mr. Baillie "vvas first imprisoned. Lady Grisell, though only twelve years of age, was sent by her father from their country-house to Edinburgh, "along jomuiey," to visit him in prison, in the hope that her tender age might exempt her from suspicion, so that she might be admitted to him, and slip a letter of advice and information into his hand, bringing back what information she could in return. In this embassy she succeeded so well as to be ever after employed on such missions, showing a judgment and activity far beyond her years. Soon after this her own father was imprisoned on sus- picion, without any definite charge, for fifteen months ; at the end of which time he was set at liberty, without any in- timation of the reason of his confinement. And from this time his daughter was the acting person in the family, doing everything under her mother's direction, who herself was kept at home by her own sorrow and anxiety, and the charge of her very numerous family. Besides that Lady Grisell's youth rendered her movements less suspected than her mother's would have been, and so made her a far safer messenger in all the journeys which had now to be undertaken. The calm which followed Mr. Baillie 's release was only temporary : he "was again thrown into prison ; and such just apprehensions were excited for his eventual fate, that it was thought necessary for his friend, Sir Patrick Home, who was equally obnoxious to the government, to observe a strict concealment as his only chance of safety. This precaution was taken only just in time ; for soon after, emissaries of government were continually sent to his house in search of him, to the great terror of his household — though more from the alarm such visitants must always cause than from any apprehension for their master's safety, whom they sup- posed to have gone far from the reach of danger. His hiding-place was, however, much nearer than they imagined, but known to none but his Avife and daughter and one man, a carpenter, not a member of their household, on whose fidelity they could depend. The frequent examinations and oaths put to servants, in order to make discoveries through them, were so strict that, however faithful they might be, it was felt unsafe to trust 58 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. them with any secret of importance. Sir Patrick Home, in fact, lay concealed not more than a mile from them, in a vault under Polworth Chmx'h. This dismal dweUing was Hghted only by an open sHt at one end, fortunately so situ- ated that no one could see through it what was within. With the assistance of the carpenter, they had succeeded in conveying, by night, a bed and bedding into this vault ; but, after this dangerous service. Lady Grisell was her father's only visitor. She went every night by herself, at midnight, to carry him food and diink, and stayed with him as long as she could, to be home before daybreak. Until this time she had felt all the superstitious terrors of a church-yard which the tales of her nursery had made so natural for her age ; but, when once engaged in this duty, she lost all fear, and used to stumble alone, in the dark nights, among the grave-stones of Polworth Church-yai'd, with but one source of alarm, lest any unguarded noise should arouse the soldiers, of whom the country was full, and who were constantly on the alert, to find her father's hiding-place. Sir Patrick Home, throughout this long, and what to many would have seemed agonizing suspense, showed a constant cheerfulness which his daughter inherited from him, and which she now called forth to sustain both his spirit and her own ; and often, in this doleful habitation, they laughed heartily at the dilferent accidents which occurred, and which she detailed for his amusement. On the first visit she paid her father she was alarmed by the barking of the minister's dogs, whose house stood near the church. The owner of the house, however, fortunately proved to be of a very persuadable and yielding nature ; for, on Lady Home's sending for him next day, and expressing a great alarm about mad dogs, he agreed to hang all his dogs, and this source of apprehension was at once set at rest. The chief difficulty was to convey provisions to the prisoner, without their being missed by the servants, and thus some sus- picion excited ; and the only safe expedient seemed to be for Lady Grisell to watch her opportunity during dinner, and steal the contents of the dishes oft" the table into her lap. She used, in after-days, to amuse herself by relating her feats of dexterity in this service to her children ; and, at the time, they often procured her father a hearty laugh, to whom LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. 59 she was glad to tell any ludicrous incident that might divert him. She knew his partiality for the national dish of sheep's-head ; and one day, while the family were partaking of it, and the children eating the broth, mindful of her father's liking, she contrived, unobserved by all, to convey most of the head into her lap. When her brother Sandy (afterwards Lord Marchmont) had done, he looked up with astonishment, and said — "Mother, will ye look at Grisell ? while we have been eating our broth, she has eat up the whole sheep's head." This occasioned so much mirth among them, that her father, at night, was greatly entertained, and desired that poor Sandy shoidd have his share of the next head. During his retreat, what afforded Sir Patrick his chief employment and consolation, was the committing to memory Buchanan's Latin version of the Psalms, in which he made himself so perfect that he could repeat them from beginning to end, impressing them so indelibly on his mind that he retained them in his memory till his dying day ; for, shortly before his death, at a good old age, he desired his daughter to try if he had forgot his Psalms, and, by casting her eye over the book, though she did not herself understand it, she found he could repeat perfectly every one she asked for ; while he declared they had been the great comfort of his life, by day and night, on all occasions. As his present habitation was too miserable to be endured, except from extreme necessity, his wife and daughter set about contriving a more comfortable place of safety, and con- ceived the plan of bringing him back to his own house, and of concealing a box, large enough for him to lie in, under the boards of a room on the ground-floor, in which he might take refuge in case of surprise. For this purpose it was neces- sary, after raising the boards, which was done with the aid of the carpenter, to dig out the earth which lay beneath ; and, fearful of making a noise by using any implement, he and his young mistress scraped away the earth with their hands, which was then put into a sheet and conveyed by him out of the window. Tliis process seems to tell more of devotedness than ingenuity ; and in the course of it she actually wore away the nails of both her hands, a pain and disfigurement of which she no doubt tliought little in such a service. 60 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. The carpenter made the hox at his own house, and intro- duced it into the apartment at night ; and, after disposing it under the boards, with the bed and hed-clothes comfortably . ari-anged for the future occupant, he bored a sufficient num- ber of holes through the flooring, to secure a free passage of air. When all these arrangements — which took a long time — were finished, the happy daughter rejoiced in the contrivance, and felt herself perfec+ly secure : the great fear was, that the water (for the situation was damp and low) Svould ooze into this strange receptable ; but, after trying it for a month, in which it was daily examined, and every caution used, it was pronounced safe, and she could bring her father home once more from his vault. Here he continued a week or two, and the bed, which seems" to have been only thought of as a last resource, was examined daily ; when one day, on the Lady Grisell lifting the boards for the usual inspection, the bed bounced to the toj), the box being full of water. " In her life she was never so struck, and had near dropped down ;" for here their only refuge, the produce of so much thought and labour, had failed her. Her father, finding himself Avithout a hiding-place, at once decided that he must no longer re- main at his home, and told his Avife and daughter that it was fit and necessary he should leave them — a conviction which gained force Avhen the Edinburgh carrier that day brought the news that Mr. Baillie, of Jar\dswood, had already suffered death at the cross in that city. This was a blow for which they were not prepared, as in- tercourse by letter was too dangerous to have been ventured on, and they were entirely ignorant of public afl'airs. It was needful, therefore, to begin preparing at once for his depar- ture ; and his daughter worked night and day, making such alterations in his dress as were necessary for the disguise he meant to assume. At the last moment, they communicated Sir Patrick's situ- ation to one John Allen, the grieve or bailiff of the family, whom it would be necessary to trust, as his assistance would be wanted to carry out their plan. The poor man nearly fainted when he was told that his master was in the house, and that he must set out with liim on horseback before day ; but, soon recovering liiraself, he was able to perform his task. LADY OrjSELL BATLLIE. Gl Thouo-h a sorrowful parting, yet it was a relief to botli Lady Home and her daughter when the ohject of such long- sohcitude left them, and seemed on the way to greater safety than all their watchfulness and care could secure for him under his own roof. His journey was a successful one, though he had a most narrow escape, on first setting out, from a l)arty of sol- diers, on their way to his house to arrest him ; hut, after this, hy avoiding the highway, and passing for a surgeon wherever he came — a character he could the hetter sustain as he was ahle to let hlood — he reached London in safety. From London he went to France, and travelled from Bor- deaux to Holland on foot ; from Avhence he wrote to smnmon his wife and children to join him. Having thus escaped from the hands of government, the only punishment now in their power was inflicted on him : his estates were forfeited, and given to Lord Seaforth. In this tUstress, Lady Home, with her daughter, went hy sea to London, to solicit some allowance from government for her- self and her ten children. They were long kept in suspense, and, though assisted hy many good and influential friends, could, in the end, only ohtain ahout £150 a year. On this they returned to Scotland, where the rest of the children had heen left, to prepare at once for their voyage to Holland. They found that, during their ahsence, Julian, one of the 3'^ounger girls, had fallen ill, and was mifit for the journej^ It was necessary, therefore, to leave her behind ; and, as Grisell's managing powers coidd not he spared in the busi- ness of transporting so large and hapless a Jiarty across the sea, it was decided that she should go with them to Holland, and return for her sister when she was somewhat recovered. Lady Murray, unfortunately, is too sparing of dates in her narrative ; hut Lady Grisell could hardly have heen more than twenty when she was called to such unusual exertions. Having seen her family settled in Holland, she returned alone, according to agreement, for her sister, as well as to negotiate some necessary business, and to try to collect some money that was owing to her father. Julian was still very weak after her illness, and needed every attention. Lady Grisell, therefore, engaged the cabin-bed for her use in the vessel which was to take them over, and also provided them- G 62 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. selves amply with pro^^sions and other necessaries. Dutch captains, in those days, had small reputation for civihty ; and the master of their present vessel was no exception to his class ; for, having let the same bed at a profit to several other gentlewomen, also his passengers, he finally took pos- session of it for his own use, at the same time devouring our prudent heroine's store of provisions, with " a gluttony incredible." A violent storm, however, coming on, they were rid of this monster for the rest of the voyage, as his presence was absolutely needed on deck. The two sisters landed at BriU, from whence, in the same night, they had to set out on foot for Rotterdam, attended by a gentleman, who had been of service to them on the voyage, himself a refugee to Holland. It was a cold, wet night ; the roads were bad ; and Juhan, the poor invalid, hardly yet able to walk, soon lost her shoes in the mire ; on which the incomparable Lady Grisell, who certainly, in all emergencies, found herself ecjually possessed of the will and the power to do what was needful, took her sister upon her back, and carried her the rest of the way to Rotterdam, the gentleman, their companion, taking charge of their little luggage. At Rotterdam they found their father and eldest brother awaiting their arrival, to conduct them to Utrecht, where the rest of the family were established ; and in the joyful meeting which followed, all recent trials were forgotten in the contentment and happiness of the present hour. They lived three years and a half in Holland, and in that time Lady Grisell had to make another voyage to Scotland. Her father went under the assumed name of Dr. Wallace, and did not stir out for fear of being discovered, though his real name was no secret to his own party. Their principal expense at this time was a good house, which became a kind of rendezvous for all of their own way of thinking. For this they had to pay a fom*th of their income, and, in conse- quence of this expenditure, could aiford to keep no other servant than a little girl, to perform the most menial offices ; all the rest devolved on the Lady Grisell. There was not a week in which she did not sit up two whole nights, to do all the business that was necessary. She went to market herself, and, after the example of all good managers in that country, LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. 63 went to the mill to sec tlieir com ground ; slie dressed the linen, cleaned the house, got ready the dinner, mended the children's stockings and other clothes, made Avhat she could for them, and in short did everything. Her sister. Christian, who was a year or two younger than herself, seems to have had the different office of amusing the family. She was a good musician, and out of their small income they bought a harpsicord. Besides her musical talents, Christian had a great deal of life and humour, hut no turn for business : this all devolved on Lady Grisell, who, having the same quahfications as her sister, and entering with as much pleasure into her pursuits, was "forced to drudge," and many jokes used to pass between the sisters about their different occupations. Every morning, before six, Lady Grisell hghted her father's fire in his study, and then waked him — for he was a good sleeper, a blessing she inherited from him — and then got him his usual morning draught — a glass of warm small-beer with bitters in it — which he continued his whole life, and of which his grandchildren preserved the recipe. Then she woke up and dressed the children, and took them to his room,^ where he instructed them in everything fit for their age ; their mother, too, taking a share in this duty. Sometmies, when she had leisure, the Lady Grisell took a lesson with the rest in French and Dutch, and practised a httle music. Her daughter pre- served her MS. music-books of this period, with songs half "v\Titten, and sentences broken off in the middle — records of poetical taste, as well as of her constant interruptions. "She had no less a turn," says her daughter, " for mirth and society than any of her family, when she could come at it without neglecting what she thought more necessary." One pretty song, of her own composition, has been pre- served, the burden of which — "Were na my heart light I wad die !" — is characteristic of her own temper, and of the circumstances under which it was probably written : the song itself has no personal allusions to justify its insertion here. In the midst of these overwhelming duties and engage- ments she had other occupation for her thoughts, other cares, other interests and anxieties. Among those who were for- feited and exiled like her father was Mr. BaiUie of Jarvis- wood, the son of Sir Patrick Home's early friend. He and a2 64" - LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. Lady Grisell had met first in his father's prison shortly hefore his execution, and from that time their hearts had heen en- gaged. But a union in exile was so ho^^eless, from their abso- lute -want of means, *' neither of them having a shilling," that they thought it best to keep silent on their mutual attachment, nor to let it be known to either of her parents, who could not but think such an engagement ruinous to both ; especially when in the midst of their distress they received offers for her from two 2:entlemen in their neighbourhood at home, of fortune and character, with whom, even in prosperous times, they would have thought it happy to settle their daughter. Lady Grisell earnestly rejected both, though without as- signing her reason, which she knew would be an unwelcome one. Her parents, however, could not but suspect the cause ; and it was the only thing she ever chspleased or disobe^^ed them in. These gentlemen kept up a sincere friendship with Lady Grisell and her husband to the day of their death, and often admitted to them that she had made a much better choice in him. In spite of their disapprobation of his sus- pected suit. Lady Grisell's parents had the greatest regard for her lover ; he was generally preferred to any other, and trusted to go out Avith Lady Grisell to take care of her when she had any business to do. Their only objection Avas his circumstances ; a point which had no weight with Lady Grisell, who had a hopeful spirit, and always trusted they would turn out as at last they did, and if they did not, was resolved never to niarr}^ at all. Her eldest and most beloved brother, Patrick, was her lover's most intimate friend. Together they entered the Prince of Orange's guards, and here matm-ed a friendship which ended only with their hves. It was his sister's greatest piide that her brother's dress and appearance should not disgrace his rank. For this end she Avould many a night sit up, devoting herself to his point cravats and cuffs, that they might be in as good order and beauty as any of his comrades. In the midst of her family's difficulties and distresses they yet practised a wide hospitality ; and on looking back in more prosperous times to this period, Lady Grisell could only regard their manner of living then as a kind of miracle, pro- duced probably by her own good management of their scanty means. She remembered it as the happiest time of hoi' life, LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. 65 for though they were not without abundance of small distresses, their cheerful spirits, with which tlie whole family seemed especially gifted, taught them rather to regard them as sub- jects for mirth than real grievances at the time, and furnished them with a store of amusing reminiscences for after days. The professors and learned men of the university of Utrecht came often to visit her father, whose means would not allow him to regale them with costly fare ; he coidd only entertain them with alahast (a superior kind of beer). On occasion of one of these visits, as our heroine used to tell, Sir Patrick sent his sou Andrew, afterwards Lord Kimmerghame, to draw some for them in the cellar. He brought it up with great dihgence ; but in the other hand the spigot of the barrel. His father exclaimed — " Andrew, what have you got there ?" When the boy saw what his hand held, he ran back to the cellar to repair his mistake, but it had all run out before he got there. This occasioned much mirth ; though perhaps they did not well know where to get more. It was the custom then to gather money for the poor from house to house with a bell, to warn people of the approach of the collectors. On one night the bell sounded, and no money was then in the house but an orkey or doit, the smallest of all coins. Every one was so ashamed that no one could summon courage to give it, and kept passing it from one to another. At length Sir Patrick said — ''Well, then ; I'll go with it. We can do no more than give all we have." They were often reduced to this by the delay of their remittances, and had then to put their smaU quantity of plate into pawn till the ships came in ; and that jolate they brought back to Scotland with them, lea\dng no debt behind. But the time was now come for their party to triumph. The Prince of Orange, after some disasters, was estabHshed in England ; but any joy that our heroine might have felt at this event was changed to grief — so that it was no more to her than any occurrence in which she had no concern — by the loss of her sister Christian, who died of sore throat at the very time that they heard of the prince's safe landing. At no time, however, could any pohtical event excite her much, beyond the concern her own friends had in it. Hers was a purely domestic mind ; nor is there any intimation of her having cared for or entered into pohtical questions except as they g3 66 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. affected the prospects of lier family. The whig cause was not one to excite enthusiasm in a woman's breast ; and her daughter had often heard Lady Grisell say that she had no notion of an}"- other cause of sorrow but the death or affliction of those she loved. She had tried many hardships without being depressed by them ; on the contrary, her spirits and activity increased the more she had occasion for it ; but the death of her friends was always a load too heavy for her. When all was settled in England, the younger members of the family were sent to Scotland, while Lady Marchmont and her eldest daughter came over in the princess's suite. The Lady Grisell was offered an appointment as one of the new queen's maids of honour, for which Lady Stanhope says she was very well qualified. " Her actions show what her mind was, and her outward appearance was no less singular. She was middle-sized, well made, clever in her person, very hand- some, and with a life and sweetness in her eyes very uncom- mon, and great delicacy in all her features ; her hair was chesnut, and to her last had the finest complexion, with the clearest red on her cheeks and lips that could be seen in one of fifteen, which, added to her natural constitution, might be owing to the great moderation she had in her diet throughout her life. Pottage and milk was her greatest feast, and by choice preferred them to everything ; though nothing came wrong to her that others could eat. Water she preferred to any liquor ; though often obliged to take a glass of wine, she always did it unwiUingly, thinking it hurt her, and did not like it." For tastes and habits so simple, a court would have few attractions ; she therefore dechned the honour proposed to her, preferring rather to grace her home in prosperity as she had sustained it in trouble, and returned to Scotland with the rest of her family. In due time Mr. Baillie's forfeited estate was restored to him. There was now no reason for keeping their engage- ment in the back ground ; it was openly declared, and they were married about two years after the Revolution. From this time Mr. BaiUic's career was a distinguished one ; he held office under William, Queen Anne, and George L, and was most regular in attending to his parliamentary duties, both in Scotland and after the union, when he and his family spent much of their time in London. LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. 67 Some 5'ears after their marriage died her mother, Lady Marchmoiit ; of whose excellence in the trials both of adver- sity and prosjierity her daughter, Lady Murray, has preserved a beautiful record in her husband's character of her, written in the family bible. She had her judgment to the last ; her children being all around her, Lady Grisell Baillie was in such agonies of grief that she had hid herself behind the curtains of the bed, so that her mother, on looking round to them all, did not see her, and said — " Where is Grisell?" upon which she came near her, and her mother, taking her by the hand, said — " My dear Grisell, blessed be you above all ; for a helpful child have you been to me" — a blessing which ever remained a joy and consolation to her daughter's heart. Her devoted love and duty to her parents were rewarded in her own case by a corresponding aifection in her children. Lady Murray says — '* I cannot help taking notice that Pro- vidence particularly rewarded her for remarkable and dutiful behaviour to her parents, by giving her children who had the like affectionate regard for her ; though, thank God, they had not occasion to show it in like circumstances ; and well did she deserve it from them, for their happiness was the only thing her heart was set upon with eagerness." The few particidars of her after-life that are preserved are referred to in the following compendium of her character, written by her daughter's loving hand : — '* I should never have done if I related or could remember all the particulars I have heard my mother tell of those times, a subject she never tired of ; but must now come to what immediately con- cerns herself, though most incapable am I of giving but very imperfect hints. She deserved so much, and from me in pai-ticidar, I never can say enough ; and yet certain I am no one that knew her well will be satisfied with anything I can say. I shall mention facts as they daily appeared to me, as I was never in my life from her above two months at a time ; and that very seldom and always unwilhngly_ ; she^ having from our infancy treated my sister and me like friends as well as children, and with an indulgence that we never had a wish to make, she could prevent ; always used us with an openness and confidence that begat the same in us, that there never was any reserve amongst us, nor any secret from one an- 68 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. other, to which she had used us from our early years. When we were more advanced, my mother was pleased to hear whatever we could inform her of, and to whatever company or diversion we went, never thought ourselves so hap^^y as in the relating it all to her ; on which she would either approve or tell us how to do otherwise another time. Nor did we think anything right to he done, to the smallest trifle, on which we had not her advice and approbation ; and she always condescended to ask ours, though none coidd better than herself know what was most proper to be done upon any occasion, of which my father was so convinced, that I have good reason to believe he never did anything of consequence throughout his whole life without asking her advice. She had a quickness of apprehension and sagacity that gene- rally hit upon the fittest thing to be done. Though she had a quick and ready wit, yet she spoke httle in company ; but where she was quite free and intimate she used often to wonder at a talent she met with in many that coidd entertain their company with numberless words, and yet say nothing. She greatly disliked either bestowing or receiving flattery. I have often seen her out of countenance at speeches made to her, and had not a word to seij. Her integrity of heart made her silent on such occasions, and she coidd not use fair words, even where she thought they were de- served ; the want of which is generally a great abridgment of conversation. And this was joined with a modesty which was singular. To her last she had the bashful- ness of a girl, and was as easily put out of countenance. Though she had the greatest reason from the deference that was always paid to her judgment, she was void of the least self-conceit, and often gave up her own opinion to that of others ; not that it proved better, but that they were more positive and self-sufiicient. If it was to those she loved, she did it from a desire of preferring their pleasure to her own ; and, of any I ever knew, was the most entirely void of the smallest ingredient of selfishness ; at all times ever considered herself in the last place, or rather never thought of herself at all, but lioAV she might please and make everything easy and agreeable to those about her, even by often doing what could not otherwise be pleasing to herself but that others liked it, often to the straitening of herself, and obliging her LADY OFxISELL BAILLIE. 69 to the strictest and best management in her affairs. No mortal was so easily contented and satisfied in everything for herself. Her moderation was not greater in diet than in other things. Her expenses were for the credit or pleasure of her family or friends ; and great trouble she took for their wishes, though it never appeared to be any to her. After fatiguing many hours in a day for weeks together, in business and accounts, she always came out to her family as easy and cheerful as if she had been only diverting herself, and was ready to enter into anything they proposed to amuse her, or because she thought it would please them. In nothing did the capacity of her mind appear more than in this, that what- ever she did she could apply herself so strongly and tho- roughly to it, that a by-stander would imagine that to be her particular attachment. And yet the things of greatest moment did not make her forget trifles that were fit to be thought of, which she often warned us of, and, if neglected, would prove things of moment. She had a power of passing from great thino-s to small ones with a readiness that was surprising. Whatever she did, whether it was playing a game at backgammon, or an aftair of moment to her family, there was the same character appearing in it — sprightliness, attention, and good humour. She possessed herself so tho- roughly that I have often heard her say she never knew what it was to find herself indisposed to do anything she thought proper to be done. She was blessed with a good and healthy constitution : though she sometimes had fevers, and violent and dangerous illnesses, she soon threw them off", and had no notion of those depressions that most people labour under. She was an early riser, and often recommended it to us as the best time to perform our duty either to God or man. Though it was her own constant practice, she often said she never in her hfe got up wilhngiy ; that none could have a greater temptation for lying in bed ; yet she did it not, though it was sometimes necessary for her health and to recruit her strength. But had she not taken that time to do her business wliile my father lived, it could not have been done at all ; for he would scarce ever have her out of his sight, especially the latter part of his life. Often have I wondered how she found the way tp compass so much business, since she was called from it every moment and got to it but 70 LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. by starts ; but she was indefatigable at all times, and even at a great age able to set everything in a clear light, for the ease of them that was to come after her. In her family, her attention and economy reached to the smallest things ; and though this was her practice from her youth, there never appeared in her the least air of narrowness ; and so far was she from avarice, the common vice of age, that often has my father said to her — ' I never saw the hke of you, goodwife ; the older you grow, you grow the more extravagant ; but do as you 23lease, provided I be in no debt.' Nor did he ever ask her another question about the whole management of his private affairs ; but, ' if his debt was paid, ' She had a cheerful and open cordiahty, that made every one easy and happy about her. Her reigning principle appeared here very much. She took all that pains, that she might have more and better things to please other people with. For her own part, upon her own account, she often said, she had known so well what it was to Hve upon Httle, that what by many would be esteemed poverty, she could be highly contented with, and think affluence. She had the art of conferring obligations in a high degree. In this she followed the great precept — ' Give, hoping for nothing. ' I have been often witness to her being uneasy even at being thanked for very great services. She was far from assuming over people on that account : the more any one was obhged to her, the more easy they might be with her ; and the closer her affec- tion was tied to do still further service. " She was unwearied and indefatigable in business, imder- stood it well, and had the whole load of her own affairs, as well as that of many of her friends, for whom she diligently watched every opportunity that might be of use to them, and had more pleasure when she was so than can be ex- pressed. From her tender years she had been a constant help and support to her father's family." Many instances of this follow, which would occupy too much space here ; but we are tempted to record her second visit to Utrecht, which she passed through with her family when she accompanied her invalid son-in-law. Lord Binning, 1 Naples, some thirty years after her marriage. " When we came to Holland not one of the company could speak or understand Dutch, nor had she occasion to hear or LADY GRISELL BAILLIE. 71 speak it since slie left that country at the Revohition ; yet she immediately recovered and recollected it when she heard it spoke, and made herself understood so as to do all the business necessary, and seemed delighted with the remembrance of things long past, and pleased with everything and every place she went to. When she came to Utrecht, the place of her former abode, she had the greatest pleasure in showing us every corner of the town, which seemed fresh in her memory ; particularly the house she had lived in, which she had a great desire to see ; but, Avhen she came there, they would not let her in, by no arguments either of words or money, for no reason but for fear of dirtying it. She offered to put off her shoes, but nothing coidd prevail ; and she went away much mortified at her disappointment. At Naples she showed what woidd have been a singular quickness of capacity and apprehension at any age, much more at hers. She knew not one word of Italian, and had servants of the country that as httle miderstood one word she said, so that at first she was forced to call me to interpret betwixt them ; but, in a very little while, with only the help of a grammar and dic- tionary, she did the whole business of her family with her Itahan servants, went to shops, bought everything she had occasion for, and did it so well that our acquaintances, who had Hved many years there, begged the favour of her to buy for them when she provided herself ; thinking and often say- ing she did it to much better purpose than they them- selves. " To her grandsons she coidd not deny anything, and was fain they should appear in the world with distinction, and omitted nothing she could de\'ise to further them this way ; but yet, whenever she spoke about them, the great thing she expressed herself with most concern about was, that they might become virtuous and rehgious men. She herself was much devoted to piety and the service of God : her rehgion improved her in charity, and patience for other people's fail- ings, and forgiveness of injuries, and, no doubt, was one great source of that constant cheerfulness she was so remarkable for. She often said her natural temper was warm and pas- sionate ; but, from the time I could observe her, there ap- peared nothing but meekness, cahuness, and resignation ; and she often reproved us for the contrary. Oiu* saying * we 72 I^ADY GRISELL BAILLIE. could not help it' was no satisfying answer to her, who told us she had been the same, and had conquered it. Her duty and affection as a wife was unparalleled. I have it by me writ in a book with her own hand, amongst many other thino'S' — •' The best of husbands, and delight of my life for forty-eight years, without one jar betwixt us, died at Oxford (where we went for the education of his grandsons), the 6th of Auf>-ust, 1738, and was sent home to his burying-place at Mellerstain. ' I have often heard her declare that they never had a shadow of a quarrel or misunderstanding — no, not for a moment — and that, to the last of his life, she felt the same ardent and tender love and affection for him, and the same desire to please him on the smallest trifle, that she had at their first acquaintance : indeed, her principal and sole dehght was to watch and attend to everything that could give him pleasure or make him easy. He never went abroad but she Avent to the window to look after him ; and so she did that very day he fell ill, the last time he was abroad, never taking her eyes from him as long as he was in sight. Wlien she lost him her affliction was so great, that it threw her into a dano-erous fit of illness, which, with joy, she woidd have allowed herself to sink under, had she not thought her life was still necessary for the happiness of her family. *' She survived her husband seven years, during Avhich the interests of her family induced her to submit to many changes of residence. She still exerted herself for them with the same activity, sense, and judgment ; but her heart was with her husband, and she looked foiT^'ard with joy to the moment of rejoining him, come when it would ; for when her daughter feared for her health, in the last journey from Scotland to London, she begged her not to trouble herself about that, since it was the same thing to her wherever she died, if it should be upon the road, which she said might possibly hap- pen, as long as she was doing what she thouglit right and reasonable for the whole, and only desired they would send her home to be bm-ied by her husband. Yet cheerfully did she set out, to hide from us her uneasiness at going from a place where she thought she was settled for the remains of her life, and as happy as anything then could make her. We had had rainy weather, whicli made it a fatiguing, disagree- able journey ; but she never complained, was up first, and LADY ORTSELT. BAILLIE. (o ordered everything for the wliok^ eompany, "with an alertness and ^i)ii-it l)eyond us all ; and so she did wlien she came to London, that nobody else had any trouble to the smallest trifles. " The Rebellion of 1745 troubled lier last years, and af- fected her very deeply. She exerted herself as her husband had done in 1715, to relieve the sufi^erings of the unfortunate prisoners who sometimes applied to her for help ; and the week before her death sent her servant with assistance to a gentle- man in Newgate, Avliose name alone she was acquainted with. The disturbances in Scotland made her income so uncertain, that she was sometimes reduced to great difficulties. " When the situation of things made it impossible to get any money from Scotland, and what she had was at an end, she sent for her butcher, baker, brewer, &c., whom she regularly paid every month, told them she could not do so then, and perhaps never might be able to pay them at all, of which she thought it just to give them warning, that they might choose whether they would continue to seiwe her. They all desired she would l)o in no pain, but take from them whatever she had occasion for ; because they were sure if ever she was able to pay them she would, and if she was not she was very welcome, which was the least they owed for such long punctual payment as they had got from her." In this distress one of her grandsons, who had a horse he was very fond of, unknovrn to any body sold it, and brought the money to his grandmother ; though it was only £18, it was very acceptable to the famity, all of whom got some share of it for their present necessities. But such things discomposed her little, though the general distress lay near her heart. She went little abroad ; but old friends flocked round her, thinking no time better spent than in her com- pany. Her last illness was a short one : she caught an epidemic cold, and was confined to her bed for a week ; retaining lier senses to the last. Two days before her death she desired the last chapter of Proverbs to be read to her, in allusion to the wish for her grandson's happy marriage, which to the last lay near her heart ; but, while she thought of others, those wjio stood around her could not but reflect hov/ strong a picture they heard given of herself. The next day she gave H 74 LAT>Y GRISELL BATLLIE. many calm, minute, tlioughtful directions to lier daugliter about her funeral : and, when this "was over, she said — " I have now no more to say or do, ' ' and, cmbi-aeing her daughter Tenderly, laid her head down upon the pilloAv and spoke little after. All the care that reverential aifection could bestow was paid to her remains by her weeping children ; and on the 2oth of December, her birthday, she was buried according to her w^ish by the side of her husband at Mellerstain, having iust completed her eighty-first year. ^vl^•:;lFllED, counters of kithsdale. /o WINNIFRED, COUNTESS OF NITHSDALE. WiNNiFRED, Countess of Nitlisdale, was youngest daughter of the Marquis of Powis — created Duke of Powis hy the exiled king in reward for his loyalty. It is said that she was con- tracted to Lord Nitlisdale by her mother, in accordance to the royal wish, before she had even seen him ; but, if so, the sweetness and ready obedience Avith which she submitted to this disposal of herself was rewarded by so warm a mutual aifection in their union as made the happiness of many tran- quil years, and in the end, when trial and sorrow came, prompted her to an act of courage and daring, such as love alone could have sustained her through. Following up the principles in which he had been educated, and which he had ever maintained. Lord Nitlisdale felt him- self called upon to join the unfortunate rising of 1745, though never sanguine as to the result. It is unnecessary to detail here the progress of this ill-advised enterprize, which ended in general defeat and the capture of those principally concerned. Lord Derwentwater, Lord Nitlisdale, and other noblemen were immediately brought to trial, and condemned, without hope of mercy, to suffer the death of traitors. Lady Nithsdale, when the first terrible news of her hus- band's apprehension reached her, was at Terreagles, their seat, near Traquliair in Peebleshire : and hearing that he much desired the consolation of seeing her, she resolved at once to set out for London. It was winter, and at that period the roads during this season were often almost impas- sable. She succeeded, however, through great difficulties, in reaching Newcastle, and from thence went to York by the 11 'i / b WINXIlTiED, fstagc ; out llicre the increased severity ol' the weatlier and the depth of the snow would not admit of the stage proceed- ing further, even the mail could not he forwarded ; but Lady Nithsdale was on an errand from which no risks might deter her. She therefore pursued her way, though the snow was generally above the horse's girths ; and, in the end, reached London in safety, and supported both in health and spirits by firm resolution, she sustained no ill consequences from her perilous journey. Arrived there hoAvever, she learnt, to her dismay, that she was not to be allowed to see her husband, unless she would consent to be imprisoned with him in the Tower : a plan she could not consent to, as it would prevent her acting in his behalf by soliciting the assistance and intercession of friends, and, above all, incapacitate her from carrying out the plan of escape she had already formed should the worst she apprehended come true. She therefore refused to submit to such conditions ; assigning as her reason the certainty of her health not en- during the close confinement. In spite of this refusal of the government, by bribing the guard she obtained frequent in- terviews with her husband up to the day on which the pri- soners were condemned ; after which, for the last week, their famihes were allowed free admittance to take a last leave of them. From the first moment of her arrival in Loudon she labom'ed in her husband's cause, making application to all persons in authority, wherever there was the most dis- tant chance of assistance ; but from those in power she only received assurances that her cause was hopeless, and that for certain reasons her husband was especially reserved for ven- geance. Lord Nithsdale, for her sake more than his own, was anxious that a petition should be presented to the king in his behalf ; trusting, by this means, to excite for her his sympathy and indulgence. It was well known that the king was espe- cially incensed against Lord Nithsdale, so that he is said to have forbidden that any petition should be presented for him, or personal address made to him ; but the countess, in obedience to her lord's wish, resolved to make the attempt, and accord- ingly repaired to court. In the narrative she wrote to her sistur of her husband's escape, she has given the following COUNTESS OF NITIISDALE, 77 account of the interview — very little creditable to the feeliii'>-s of George 1., either as a king- or a gentleman : — " So the first clay that I heard the king was to go to the drawing-room, I dressed myself in black, as if I had been in mourning, and sent for Mrs. Morgan (the same who accom- panied me to the Tower) ; because, as I did not know his majesty personally, I might have mistaken some other person for him. She stayed by me, and told me when he was coming. I had another lady with me (Lady Nairn), and avc remained in a room between the king's apartments and the drawing-room, so that he was obliged to go through it ; and, as there were three windows in it, we sat in the middle one, that I might have time enough to meet him before he could pass. I threw myself at his feet, and told him, in French, that I was the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale, that he might not pretend to be ignorant of my person. But, per- ceiving that he wanted to go off without receiving my petition, I caught hold of the skirt of his coat, that he might stop and hear me. He endeavoured to escape out of my hands ; but I kept such strong hold, that he dragged me on my knees from the middle of the room to the very door of the di-awing- room. At last one of the blue ribbons wdio attended his ma- jesty, took me round the waist, while another wrested the coat out of my hands. The petition, wdiich I had endea- voured to thrust into his pocket, fell down in the scuffle, and I ahnost fainted away through grief and disappointment. One of the gentlemen in waiting picked up the petition ; and, as I knew that it ought to have been given to the lord of the bedchamber, who was then in waiting, I wrote to him, and entreated him to do me the favour to read the petition w^iieli I had had the honour to present to his majesty. For- tunately for me it happened to be my Lord Dorset, with whom Mrs. Morgan was very intimate. Accorchngly she Avent into the drawing-room and dehvered him the letter, which he received very graciously. He could not read it then, as he w as at cards with the Prince ; but as soon as ever the game was over he read it, and behaved (as I afterwards learned) with the warmest zeal for my interest, and was seconded by the Duke of Montrose, who had seen me in the ante-chamber, and Avanted to speak to me. But I made him a sign not to come near me, lest his acquaintance might H 3 78 WINXIFRED, tiiwart my designs. Tlicy read over the petition several times, but without any success ; but it became the topic of their conversation the rest of the evening, and the harshness with w^hich I had been treated soon spread abroad, not much to the honour of the king." This painful scene happened on Monday the 13th of Fe- bruary, and seems to have produced no result, unless it may be supposed to have hastened the fate of the prisoners ; for, on the following Friday, it was decided in council that the sentence against them should be carried into effect. In the meanwdiile Lady Derwentwater, and other ladies of high rank were strenuous in their efforts to avert the execu- tion of the sentence. They succeeded in obtaining an inter- view with the Idng, though without any favourable issue. They also attended at both houses of Parhament to present petitions to the members as they went in. These exertions had a decided influence on the feelings of both houses. In the Commons a motion to petition the king in favour of the delinquents was lost by only seven votes ; and among the Lords a still stronger personal feeling and interest was ex- cited, but aU proved unavailing ; and Lady Nithsdale, after joining with the other ladies in this ineflcctual attendance, at length found that all her hope and depcndance must rest on her long -formed scheme of bringing about her husband's escape. She had less than twenty-four hours for arranging it in all its details, and for persuading the accomplices Avho would be necessary to her, to enter into so hazardous a pro- ject. In these she seems to have been peculiarly fortunate ; but the history of this remarkable escape can only be given in her oAvn words, taken from the interesting and spirited narrative she wrote of it : — " As the motion had passed generally (that the petitions should be read in the Lords, which had only been carried after a warm debate), I thought I would draw some advantage in favour of my design. Accordingly I innnediately left the House of Lords and hastened to the Tower ; where, aifecting an air of joy and satisfaction, I told all the guards I passed that I came to bring joyful tidings to the prisoner. I desired them to lay aside their fears, for the petition had passed the house in their favour. I then gave them some money to drhik to the lords and his majesty, tliough it was but trifling ; COUXTESS OF NITIISDALE. 79 lor 1 thuuglit that if I were too liberal on the occa!>ioii, they might suspect my ilesi^'iis, and that giving them something would gain their good humour and .services for the next day, M'hich was the eve of the execution. The next morning I could not go to the Tower, having so many things on my liauds to put in readiness ; hut in the evening, when all was ready, I sent for Mrs. Mills, with whom I lodged, and ac- (juainted her with my design of attempting my lord's escajje, as there Mas no prospect of his being pardoned ; and this was the last night before the execution. I told her that I had everything in readiness, and that I trusted she would not refuse to accompany me, that my lord might pass for her. I pressed her to come immediately, as we had no time to l(3se. At the same time I sent for Mrs. Morgan, then usually known hy the name of Hilton, to whose acquaintance my dear Evans (lier maid) had introduced me ; Avliich I looked upon as a very singular happiness. I immechately commu- nicated my resolution to her. She was of a very tall and slender make ; so I begged her to put under her own riding hood one that I had prepared for Mrs. Mills, as she was to lend hers to my lord, that in coming out he might he taken for her. Mrs. j\Iills was then with child ; so that she was not only of the same height, but nearly the same size as my lord. When we were in the coach I never ceased talking, that they might have no leisure to reflect. Their surprise and astonishment when I first opened my design to them had made them consent, Avithout ever thinking of the conse- quences. " On our arrival at the Tower, the first I introduced was Mrs. Morgan ; for I was only allowed to take in one at a time. She brought in the clothes that were to serve Mrs. Mills, when she left her OAvn hehind her. When Mrs. Morgan had taken oif what she had brought for my purpose, I conducted her hack to the staircase ; and, in going, I begged her to send me in my maid to dress me : that I Mas afraid of being too late to present my last petition that night, if she did not come immediately. I dispatched her safe, and -went partly doAvn stairs to meet Mrs. j\Iills, who had the precaution to hold her handkerchief to her face, as Avas very natural for a woman to do when she Avas going to hid her last farewell to a friend on the eve of his execution, I had, indeed, desired 80 WLNNIFRED, her to do it, that my lord might go uut in the same nuuincr. Her eye-brows Mere rather iiichued to be sandy, and my lord's were dark and very thick ; however, I had prepared some paint of the colonr of hers to disgnise his with. I also bought an artificial head-dress of the same coloured hair as hers ; and I painted his face with white, and his cheeks with rouge, to hide his long beard, which he had not had time to shave. All this provision I had before left in the Tower. " The poor guards, whom my liberahty the day before had endeared me to, let me go quietly with my company, and were not so strictly on the watch as they usually had been ; and the more so, as they were persuaded from Avhat I had told them the day before, that the prisoners would obtain their pardon. I made Mrs. Mills take oif her own hood, and put on that which I had brought for her. I then took her by the hand, and led her out of my lord's chamber ; and, in passing through the next room, in which there were several people, with all the concern imaginable, I said — ' My dear Mrs. Catherine, go in all haste, and send me my waiting- maid ; she certainly cannot reflect how late it is : she forgets that I am to present a petition to-night, and if I let slip this opportunity I am undone ; for to-morrow will be too late. Hasten her as much as possible ; for I shaU be on thorns till she comes.' Everybody in the room, who were chiefly the guards' wives and daughters, seemed to compassionate me exceedingly ; and the sentinel ofiiciously opened the door. " When I had seen her out, I returned back to my lord, and finished dressing him. I had taken care that Mrs. Mills did not go out crying, as she came in, that my lord might the better pass for the lady who came in crying and afllicted ; and the more so, because he had the same dress she Avore. When I had almost finished dressing my lord in all my petti- coats excepting one, I perceived that it was growing dark, and was afraid that the light of the candles might betray us, so I resolved to set ofl". I went out, leading him by the hand ; and he held his handkerchief to his eyes. I spoke to him in the most piteous and afflicted tone of voice, bewailing bitterly the negligence of Evans, who had ruined me by her delay. Then said I — ' My dear Mrs. Betty, for the love of God run quickly and bring her with you. You know my C0L-NTE3S OF NITIISPALE. 81 lodoino-, and, if ever you made dispatch in your life, do it at i)re°cnt. I am distracted with this disapponitment. ihe niiards (.i)en.Hl the doors, and I went down stan-s with hnn, ?till conjurino- to make all possible dispatch. As soon as he had cleared the door, I made him walk heforc me, tor tear the sentinel should take notice of his walk ; hut I still con- tinued to press him to make all the dispatch he possibly could. At the bottom of the stairs I met my dear Lvans, into whose hands I confided him*. ^ - I had before engaged Mr. Mills to be in readiness before the Tower to conduct him to some place of safety, ni c^ase he succeeded. He looked upon the atlair as so very improbable to succeed, that his astonishment, when he saw us, threw him into such consternation that he was almost out ot hmi- self; which Evans perceiving, with the greatest presence ot mind, without telling him (Lord Nithsdale) anything lest he should mistrust them, conducted him to some of her own friends, on whom she could rely, and so secured him ; with- out which we should have been undone. When she had conducted him, and left him with them, she returned to hnd Mr Mills, who by this time had recovered himself trom his astonishment. They went home together,^ and having found a place of security, they conducted him to it.. - In the meanVhile, as I had pretended to have sent the youno- lady on a message, I was obhged to return up stairs and go bal-k to my lord's room in the same feigned anxiety of being too late ; so that everybody seemed sincerely to sympathize with my distress. When I was in the room, I talked to hini as if he had been really present ; and answered my_ own questions in my lord's voice, as nearly as I could mutate it. 1 waUved np and down as if we were conversmg together, till I thought they had time enough thoroughly to clear them- selves of the guards. I then thought proper to make ott also. I opened the door, and stood half in it, that those in '^- Thus one more person left Lord Nithsdale's prison than had en- tered it. Three had gone in, and four came out. But so long as women only passed, and these two at a time, the guards probably were not par- ticularly watchful. This inevitable difficulty in the plan of the escape makes Lady Isithsdale's admirable self-possession of manner m conduct- ing it the' more conspicuous. Any failure on her part would have awakened the suspicions of the bystanders. 8^ WINNIITvED, the outward cliauibor might hear what I said ; l)ut hehl it so close that they coukl not look in. I hid my lord a formal farewell for that night ; and added, that something more than usual must have happened to make Evans negligent on this important occasion, Avho had always heen so pmictual in the smallest trifle ; that I saw no other remedy than to go in person ; that if the Tower were still open when I finished my husiness I would return that night ; hut that he might he assured that I would be with him as early in the morning as I eoidd gain admittance to the Tower ; and I flattered myself I should bring favourable news. Then, before I shut the door, I pulled the string through the latch, so that it coidd only be opened on the inside. I then shut it with some degree of force, that I might be sure of its being well shut. I said to the servant as I passed by, who was ignorant of the Avhole transaction, that he need not carry candles in to his master till my lord sent for him, as he desired to finish some prayers first. I went down stairs and called a coach, as there were several on the stand. I drove home to my lodg- ings ; where poor Mr. Mackenzie had been waiting to carry the petition, in case my attempt failed. I told him there was no need of any petition, as my lord was safe out of the Tower, and out of the hands of his enemies ; but that I did not know where he Avas. " I discharged the coach, and sent for a sedan-chair, and went to the Duchess of Buccleugh, who expected me about that time, as I had begged of her to present the petition for me, having taken my precautions against all events. I asked if she were at home, and they answered that she ex- pected me, and had another duchess with her. I refused to go upstairs, as she had comj^any with her, and I was not in a condition to see any other company. I begged to be shown into a chamber below stairs, and that they would have the goodness to send her grace's maid to me, having something to say to her. I had discharged the chair, lest I should be pursued and watched. When the maid came in, I desired her to i»resent my most humble respects to her grace, who, they told me, had company Avith her, and to acquaint her that this was my only reason for not coming up stairs. I also charged her with my sincerest tlianks for her kind off'er to accompany me when I went to ]»rosent my petition. I added COUNTESS OF XITIISDALE. 83 that slie miglit spare herself any further trouble, as it was now judged more advisable to ]>resent one general petition in the nanie of all : however, that I should never be unmindful of my particular obligations to her grace, which I would re- turn ver}-^ soon to acknowledge in i)erson. " I then desired one of the servants to call a chair, and I went to the Duchess of Montrose, who had always borne a part in my distresses. When I arrived, she left her com- pany to deny herself, not being able to see me under the af- fliction which she judged me to be in. By mistake, however, I was admitted ; so there was no remedy. She came to me, and, as my heart was in an ecstacy of joy, I expressed it in my countenance as she entered the room. I ran up to her, in the transport of my joy. She appeared to be exceedingly shocked and frighted," and has since confessed to me that she apprehended my trouble had thrown me out of myself, till I communicated my happiness to her. She then advised me to retire to some place of security, for that the king was highly displeased, and even enraged, at the petition I had presented to him, and had complained of it severely. I sent for another chair ; for I always discharged them immediately, lest I might be pursued. Her grace said she Avould go to court, and see how the news of my lord's escape was received. When the news was brought to the king, he flew into an ex- cess of passion, and said he was betrayed, for it could not have been done without some confederacy. He instantly de- spatched two persons to the Tower, to see that the other prisoners were secure, lest they should follow the example. Some threw the blame upon one, some upon another. The duchess was the only one at court who knew it. *' Wlien I left the duchess, I went to a house which Evans had found out for me, and where she promised to acquaint me where my lord was. She got thither some few minutes after me, and told me that, when she had seen him secure, she went in search of Mr. Mills, who by this time had recovered himself from his astonishment; that he returned to her house, Avhere she had found him, and that he had removed my lord from the flrst place where she had desired him to Avait, to the house of a poor woman, directly opposite to the guard-house. She had but one small room, up one pair of stairs, and a very small bed in it. We threw ourselves upon the bed, that wo 84 WTXNIFRED, mio-lit not be lieard walking up and down. She left us a bottle of wine and some bread, and Mrs. Mills brought us some more in her pocket next day. We subsisted on this provision from Thursday till Saturday night, when Mrs. Mills came and conducted my lord to the Venetian ambassa- dor's. We did not commimicate the affair to his excellency, but one of his servants concealed him in his own room till Wednesday, on wliich day the ambassador's coach-and-six was to go down to Dover to meet his brother. My loi-d put on a livery, and went down in the retinue, without the least suspicion, to Dover, where M. Michel (which was the name of the ambassador's servant) hired a small vessel, and imme- diately set sail for Calais. The passage was so remarkably short, that the captain threw out this reflection, that the wind could not have served better if his passengers had been flying for their lives, little thinking it to l)e really the case. " For my part," continues Lady Nithsdale, " I absconded to the house of a very honest man in Drury-lane, where I re- mained till I was assured of my lord's safe arrival on the conti- nent. I then wrote to the Duchess of Buccleugh (everybody thought, till then, that I was gone oft' with my lord), to tell her that I understood I was suspected of having contrived my lord's escape, as was very natural to suppose ; that, if I could have been happy enough to have done it, I should be flattered to have the merit of it attributed to me ; but that a bare suspicion, without proof, could never be a suflficient ground for my being punished for a supposed oftence, though it might be motive enough for me to provide a place of security; so I entreated her to pi-ocure leave for me to go with safety about my business. So far from granting my request, they were resolved to secure me, if possible. After several debates, Mr. Solicitor-General (Mr. Fortescue Aland), who was an utter stranger to me, had the humanity to say that, since I showed so much i-espect for government as not to appear in public, it would be cruel to make any search after me ; upon which it was decided that, if I remained concealed, no fur- ther search should be made ; but that if I appeared, either in England or Scotland, I should be secured." Slie felt, however, that move was yet to be done, and that the poor indulgence that had been granted to her was not COUNTESS or NITHSDALE. 85 sufficient, unless she would submit to expose her children to beggary. On first hearing of her husband's apprehension, she had thouglit it prudent to conceal many impoi-tant family papers and other valuables, and having no person at hand with whom they could be safely enti'usted, had hid them under-ground, in a place known oidy to the gardener, in Avhom she could en- tirely confide. It had proved a happy precaution, for, after her departure, the house had been searched, and, as she ex- pressed it, *' God only knows what might have transpired from those papers." In addition to the danger of their being discovered, there was the imminent risk of their being de- stroyed by damp, so that no time must be lost in regaining them before too late. She therefore determined on another journey to the north, and, for greater secresy, on horseback, though this mode of travelling, which was new to her, was extremely fatiguing. She, however, with her maid, Airs. Evans, and a servant that could be depended on, set out from London, and reached Traquhair in safety, and without any one being aware of her intentions. Here she ventured to rest two days, in the society of her sister-in-law and Lord Traquhair, feeling security in the conviction that, as the lord lieutenant of the county was an old friend of her husband's, he would not allow any search to be made after her without first giving her warning to abscond. From thence she pro- ceeded to Terreagles, whither it was supposed she came with the permission of govermnent, and, to keep up that opinion, she invited her neighbours to visit her. That same night she dug up the papers from their hiding-place, where happil}' they liad sustained no injury, and sent them at once, by safe hands, to Traquhair. This was accomplished just in time, for the magistrates of Dumfries began to entertain suspicions of her right to be there, and desired to see her leave from government. On hearing this, "I expressed," she says, *' my surprise that they had been so backward in paying their respects; *but,' said I, 'better late than never : be sure to tell them that they shall be welcome whenever they choose to come.' This was after dinner ; but I lost no time to put everything in readiness, but with all possible secresy ; and the next morning, before daybreak, I set off again for London, with the same attendants, and, as before, I 86 WTNNIFRED, COUNTESS OF NITHSDALE. I put up at the smallest iuus, and arrived safe once more." George I. could not forgive Lady Nitlisdale for the heroic part she had acted : he refused, in her case, tlie allowance or dower which was granted to the wives of the other lords. "A lady informed me," she says, "that the king was ex- tremely incensed at the news — that he had issued orders to have me arrested, adcUng that I did whatever I pleased, de- spite of all his designs — and that I had given him more trouble than any woman in all Europe. For which reason I kept myself as closely concealed as possible, till the heat of these rumours had abated. In the meanwhile, I took the opinion of a very famous lawyer, who was a man of the strictest probity : he advised me to go off as soon as they had ceased searching for me. I followed his advice, and, about a fortnight after, I escaped, without any accident what- ever. ' ' She met her husband and children at Paris, whither they had come from Bruges to meet her. They soon afterwards joined the Pretender's court at Avignon ; but, finding the mode of life there httle to their taste, shortly after returned to Italy, where they lived in great privacy. Lord Nithsdale lived, after his escape, nearly thirty years, and died at Rome in 1744. His wife survived him five years : she had the comfort of having provided a competency for her son by her hazardous journey to Terreagles, though his title and principal estates had been confiscated by his father's attainder. He married Lady Catlierine Stewart, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Traquhair. Her daughter, the Lady Anne Maxwell, became the wife of Lord Bellew. FLOKA MACDONALD. 87 FLORA MACDONALD. The part acted by Flora Macdonald in the escape of tlie un- fortunate Prince Charles Edward is interesting, not only for the courage she displayed, and the romantic incidents that at- tended it, hut also as illustrating that high and devoted loyalty which it yet stirs our hearts to read of, but which has passed away from amongst us in the march of politics and the changes of govermnents, — changes which, without being insensible to the advantages that may have followed from them, have necessarily impaired a sentiment which could only exist under the belief that kings reign by a divine right ; not by the election of ParHaments, or the triumphs of a faction. After the disastrous defeat at Cidloden, Prince Charles had taken refuge in the Western Islands of Scotland, whence he hoped to make his escape to France. The whole force of government was in pursuit of him, and a reward of ,£30,000 was offered for his betrayal. As he was known to be hiding amongst a poor and destitute population, it was not supposed possible but that the prospect of boundless wealth should in- fluence some to communicate the place of his retreat ; buj^ in this expectation, the simple loyalty of the Highland clans, and their sense of the duties of hospitality, had not been sufficiently considered ; and for days and weeks the liapless prince wandered amongst these devoted people, enduring ex- tremities of hardship, but in greater security, probably, than any other spot in the kingdom of his fathers could have afforded him. It is not, however, in place here to detail more of the prince's adventures than were shared with him by our heroine. The battle of Culloden was fought on the 15th of I 2 88 FLORA MACDONALD. April, and having made liis escape at once from the main- land, he -wandered for two months about the hills and moors of Bcnbeeular, South Uist, and the smaller neigh- bouring isles, accompanied by a feAv Highland gentlemen, who shared all his trials and dangers. It was on learning that a body of five hundred men were landed in South Uist, and w^ere within a mile and a half of him, that the separa- tion and immediate flight of the party were agreed upon as absolutely necessary. The prince, at that time, Avas one eminently qualified to attach his adherents : his youth and noble bearing, his courage in danger, his patience and cheerfulness under every difiicidty, his consideration for those around him, and the freedom of intercourse which he encouraged, all combined with the hardships they shared in common to endear him to them. Afterwards, in describing this necessary separation, one who had long been his companion, *' greeted sair*," say- ing — " It was a woful parting, indeed !" When his friends had left him, the prince, accompanied only by his faithful attendants, Ca2)tain O'Neil and Neil Mackechan, ascended a high hill in the Isle of South Uist, from whence he could connnand a view of the party sent out in search of him ; and, having remained there till nightfall, set out with his two companions on a toilsome march towards Benbecula, which w^as now thought a safer refuge. It was at this critical point ox his wanderings that the prince re- ceived the assistance of Flora Macdonald, under circum- stances that never have been fully explained. Some ac- counts represent her meeting with Captain O'Neil as purely accidental, and herself as at first unwilling to undertake the Ijazardous enterprise he pressed upon her ; and others re- gard the seemingly accidental meeting as an appointment, and that she was secretly sent thither by her step-father, who, while professing to be in the cause of the reigning king, privately gave his consent to his step-daughter's under- taking — probably persuaded by Lady Margaret Macdonald, a lady w^ho had already been of the utmost service to the prince. Under whatever circumstances she may have under- taken this enterprise, nothing could exceed the courage, dis- cretion, and devotion with which she executed it. * He wept sore. FLORA MACDONALD. 89 Flora Macdonald, ^vllo at tlii.s time is described as a vouiio- and beautiful girl, was the daughter of Mr. Mac- donald, of Milton, in South Uist. On liis death, her mother had married again Hugh Macdonald, of Armadale, in the Isle of Skye, with whom Flora generally resided, but at this time she was on a visit, with her brother, in South Uist, and was on terms of intimacy with those ladies of the island who had already shown such zeal in Charles's service—Lady Clanronald, of Ormaclade, four miles from her brother's, and the Lady Margaret Macdonald. O'Neil, Charles's present companion, was previously well acquainted with Flora Macdonald, and was her warm though hopeless admirer ; and, whatever the circumstances may have been which led to her being concerned in this adventure, lie very wilhngly undertook Charles's mission to seek an inter- view with her, and engage her assistance, either to accompany the prince in his hazardous flight, or at least to concert with them the best means for his escape. Chambers's Memoirs of the Rebellion contains Captain 'Neil's own history of his first interview with Miss Mac- donald. ''At midnight," he says, "we came to a hut, where, by good fortune, Ave met with Miss Flora Macdonald, whom I formerly knew. I quitted the prince, at some dis-^ tance from the hut, and went with a design to inform myself if the independent companies were to pass that way next day. The young lady answered me no, and said they were not to pass till the day after. Then I told her I had brought a friend to see her, and she, with some emotion, asked me if it was the prince. I answered her it was, and instantly brought him in. We then considted on the imminent danger the prince was in, and could think of no more proper and safe expedient than to propose to Miss Flora to convey him to the Isle of Skye, where her mother lived. This seemed the more feasible, as the young lady's step-father, being captain of an independent company, would accord her a pass for herself and a servant, to go and visit her mother. The prince as- sented, and immediately proposed it to the young Ifidy, to which she answered with the greatest respect and loyalty ,^ but declined it, saying. Sir Alexander Macdonald (husband of Lady Margaret) was too much her friend for her to be the instrument of his ruin. I endeavoured to obviate this by I 3 90 FLORA MACDOXALD. assuring lier Sir Alexander was not in the country, and that ahe could, with the greatest facility, convey the prince to her mother's, as she lived close by the Avater-side. I then de- monstrated to her the honour and immortality that Avould re- dound to her by such a glorious action, and she at length acquiesced, after the prince had told her the sense he would always retain of so conspicuous a service. She promised to acquaint us next day Avhen things were ripe for execution, and we parted for the mountains of Coradale," having pre- viously agreed to send Xeil Mackechau to aiTange with her the details of the prince's flight. The best road to Skye from South Uist was through the island of Benbecula — at low-water, connected with South Uist by a line of sand, but at other times communicated with by a ford or ferry, over which Miss Macdonald and Neil Mac- kechau had to pass separately to their place of rendezvous. On approaching Benbecula, Neil Mackechan found himself, to his great dismay, in the midst of a body of Skye militia, who were keeping strict guard over the ford. From this it was evident that the unfortunate prince had been traced to South Uist. Strict orders had been given that no one should pass the ford without being first carried to the guard- house, to be examined there by the commanding officer. Pursuant to this regidation, Meckechan was taken to the guard-house, where, to his surprise, he found Miss Mac- donald and her maid, who, being unprovided with passports, had also been detained in custody. After her interview with the prince, this Voung lady had at once set about arranging the plan of his escape, and had succeeded in conmumicating, by a trustworthy mes^ senger, with Lady Clanronald, of Ormaclade, with whom she had already concerted the plan, and provided that a small boat should be in readiness to convey him from Benbecula to Skye ; and it was further arranged that he should assume a female dress, and under the name of Betty Burke, pass for Miss Macdonald's nu\id. She was nmv ou lier way to Lady Clanronald's house, to ])re})are Avith her the articles necessary for the prince's disguise, when she was thus taken prisoner by the militia. Her first inquiry, on her de- tention, was for the name of the commandant, who proved, to her great satisfaction, to be her own step-father, Mac- FLOKA MACDONALD. 91 doiiald of Armadale. She was informed that he was absent at present, but would return the following* morning. To this unfortunate hindrance she resigned herself Avitli apparent com]>osure, and passed the night in the guard-house. The next morning her step-father came, and, to make up for the delay she had had to endure at so critical a time, she noAv obtained from him a passport for Neil Mackechan and Betty Burke, her maid ; in whose favour he also provided her with the following letter to his wife, her mother : — - " I have sent your daughter from this country, lest she should be any way frightened with the troops lying here. She has got one Betty Burke, an Irish girl, who, as she tells me, is a good spinster. If her spinning please you, you may keep her till she spins all you want ; or, if you have any wool to spin, you may employ her. I have sent Neil Mackechan also with your daughter and Betty Burke, to take care of them. *' I am, your dutiful husband, Hugh Macdonald." Having succeeded thus far, Flora Macdonald despatched Neil Mackechan in haste to conduct the prmce without delay to Rossinish, where she would join them as soon as possible Avith the disguise, and the necessary provision for their ex- pedition. Neil made the best of his way back to the prince, whom he found still concealed in his wretched hiding-place among the rocks. The presence of the militia made it im- possible to attempt passing the ford to Benbecula ; it was, therefore, necessary to make their way thither from another point by sea. They knew not, however, where to procure a boat, when happily a small fishing yawl passed near, the crew of which were easily prevailed upon to land them on the opposite coast. Rossinish, the place of rendezvous, was still far off, and to reach it they had to pass through a bleak, desolate moor. Throughout the prince's wanderings, his troubles seem to have been much augmented by the wetness of the season ; and now the rain fell in torrents, a cold and piercing wind blew di- rectly in their teeth, and, to add to the wretchedness of their situation, there seemed no possibility of procuring a mouthful 92 TLOEA ilACDONALD. of food. About the middle of tlie day, Charles, who had not tasted aiivthing since the previous evening, was so worn out by hunger and fatigue as scarcely to be able to walk. At this point of his miseries they happily came to a small hut, where the inmates received them with great kindness : on being- told that their gniests had fought at Cidloden, and were now hiding from pursuit, they entertained them with the best their poor means aiforded. Thus refreshed, the travellers set out again for Rossinish, and towards evening came as near to it as was safe to venture by daylight ; and here Charles, shivering with cold and wet, lay down among the high heather, his only shelter from the storm. When night was fairly set in, they resumed their Aveary journey, the wind and rain still beating violently in their faces, and the darkness so complete that they could hardly see a step before them. To add to the difficulties of the Avay, the mire was so deep, from the heavy rains, that the prince, fatigued as he was, shpped and fell at almost every step, and was continually losing his shoes in the mud, which liis companion, groping in the dark, could hardly find for him again. At length they approached the hovel which had been fixed on as the place of meeting, and where they hoped to find Flora Macdonald arrived before them. Mackechau went forward, as a precaution, to see if the coast was clear ; but, instead of finding the lady on whom their hopes depended, he learnt, to his consternation, that a body of vSkye militia had landed near, the day before, and had now actually pitched their tents within a quarter of a mile of the ap- pointed rendezvous. Without any intelligence of Flora Macdonald, Neil returned to the prince with his ill news, by which he seemed more cast down than he often al- lowed himself to appear, whatever perils surrounded him. He ventured, in spite of the near neighbourhood of his pur- suers, to take shelter in the hovel for two or three hours of the night ; but he was forced to leave it by daybreak, as the soldiers visited it every morning to procure milk ; and all the day he had to lie concealed in a small cave by the sea- shore. "It is almost inexpressible," says the account, which has been attributed to Neil Mackechau, " what tor- ment the prince suftered under that unhappy rock, which had neither height nor breadth to cover him from the rain, FLORA MACDONALD. 93 wliicli |)OUicd doAVJi upon him so thick as if all the windows of heaven had broke open ; and, to complete liis tortures, there lay such a swarm of mitclies upon his face and hands as would have made any other hut himself fall into despair, which, notwithstanding his incomparahlc patience, made him utter such hideous cries and complaints as Avould have rent the rocks with compassion. " Neil, who stood all this time beside him, could be of no more service to him than to let run to the ground the rain Avhich stagnated in the rucks of the plaid wherein he lay Avrapped. In this miserable condition he continued for about three hours, till their faithful scout came for the last time, and told them that they might return to the house, for that the militia was gone. Neil helped him to his feet, anxl they Avalked away to the house, where the good dairymaid took care to make a rousing lire for their coming." This dairymaid was the same as the faithful scout he has just spoken of. She seems to have been aware of the prince's secret, but the splendid bribe for his betrayal was no temptation to her; she visited him in his concealment as often as she could, to bring him food or to carry him ncAvs of his enemies. Thus Charles passed two wretched days and nights, almost within sound of the voices of his pursuers. In the mean- Avhile Flora ^ilacdonald, for whom they looked so anxiously, was unavoidably detained by the difficulty of procuring the things necessary for their plan, till the prince, not able longer to eirdure the suspense, and wishing at least to know the worst, despatched O'Neil in search of her, who, it is said, " was mighty well pleased to be entrusted with that embassy — not so much to forward the prince's affairs as to be in company Avith Miss Flora, for whom he professed a great deal of kindness at that time." On the third day after his arrival at Fiossinish, the ])rince's anxiety was reheved by the inteUigence that Flora Macdonald, accompanied by Lady Clanronald, was approach- hig by sea. At this joyful news the prince forgot his dan- ger, and, with natural gallantry, hastened to the beach, where, after handing the ladies from the boat, he offered his hand to Lady Clanronald, O'Neil performing the same ser- vice to our heroine, and conducted them to the hovel. This 04 FLORA MACDONALD. was not Charles's first meetiuo- with Lady Clanronakl : she had before visited him, with her husband, under circumstances of equal wretchedness, and had been zealous to furnish him ^v\ill everything within her power to relieve his Avants. In the present instance he did his best to entertain his bene- factress : he himself assisted in cooking a very homely chnner, which had been provided for him, and, when all was ready, the party sat down to the table, Flora Macdonald on the right of the prince and Lady Clanronakl on his left ; and, though no doubt all were fidly ahve to the strangeness of their situation, "they dined very heartily. " Wlien one of the company expressed their sorrow at the prince's altered fortunes and his present miserable condition, he said, "w-itli a smile — " It would be well for all kings if they could pass through the same ordeal of hardships and privations which it has been my lot to undergo. " They were yet seated at the table, when Lady Clanronald's servant came to break up the pleasant party with the alarm- ing intelligence that General Campbell had landed in the neighbourhood with a large force ; and soon after came the news that the notorious Captain Fergusson, with an advanced party, was within two miles of them, on his way to Lady Clanronald's house at Ormaclade. Under these circmnstances it was necessary for that lady to hasten home, where she had afterwards to undergo a strict examination from Captain Fergusson, Avho, however, could elicit nothing from her. Some time after. Lady Clanronakl and her husband were arrested for the part they had acted in the prince's escape, and carried to London, where they remained a year in custody. When Lady Clanronald was gone, it was thought advisable for the prince to assume his disguise at once. It consisted of a flowered linen gown, a hght-coloured quilted petticoat, a white apron, and a mantle of dun camlet, made after the Irish fashion, with a hood. His disguise was completed, " not without some mirth and raillery passing amidst all their distress and perplexity, and a mixture of tears and smiles." On setting out, Charles bade farewell to his faithful com- panion. Captain O'Neil, who woidd glady have accompanied them farther ; but Miss Macdonald would not hear of this. FLORA MACDOXALD. 95 Witli Mackechan, therefore, for their guide, they proceeded some way along the coast to the place where the boat was waiting for them, which they reached extremely wet and fatigued. As it would be unsafe to embark before nightfall, they lighted a fire among the rocks, but could not long enjoy its warmth, as the approach of some wherries towards the shore obliged them to extinguish it. Happily, however, the Avherries did not land, and soon sailed ])ast, Avithin gunshot of the party, who laid anxiously concealed among the heather. It was the 28th of June, at eight o'clock in the evening, that our fugitives embarked on board the small boat which had been provided. The weather at first was favourable, but towards night a storm arose, and for some time they were in great danger : not only Flora betrayed some alarm at her perilous situation, the boatmen even showed uneasi- ness ; but the prince's spirits did not flag, and, to encou- rage and cheer his companions, he told them cheerful stories, and sang some gay ballads. At length, towards morning, the storm died away, and by daybreak they reached ^Yaternish, on the western coast of the Isle of Skye, which, being usually a deserted place, was thought a safe point for landing. To their dismay, however, they found it now in the possession of the militia, wlio had three boats drawn up on the beach, happily without oars. Our party lost no time in pulling away with all their strength from the shore, though the soldiers shouted to them, pointing their muskets, and threatening to fire unless they landed at once. In no crisis of the prince's wandering had his situation been more critical ; for not only wei-e they threatened from the shore, but several royal cruisers were within sight, so as to make escape seem ahnost impossible. The boat, however, contained bold and brave hearts ; the bullets whistled over their heads, but the boatmen strained every nerve, urged on by Charles's exhortations " not to fear the villains." They assured him that they had no fear for themselves, only for him, to which he replied, with great cheerfulness — " Oh, no fear for me." He then urged Floi-a to lie down at the bottom of the boat, as the safest shelter from tlie shot ; but, sustained by the cause which she was engaged in, she showed no fear, and entreated him, whose 96 FLORA MACDONALD. life was of so much more importance, to take the place of greatest security. He still urged her ; but she refused, unless he would follow her example, which, with some unwil- lingness, he was prevailed on to do. They were presently out of sight of their enemies, and proceeded on their voyage in a calm sea. Exhausted hy excitement and fatigue. Flora Macdonald fell asleep at the bottom of the boat. Charles, who throughout seems to have felt the most tender and grateful interest in his 3'oung pre- server, now devoted himself to jDrotect her slumbeis, and, fearing that the boatmen might accidentally disturb or hurt her, sat by her side, watchful, lest even an unguarded noise should awaken her. After rowing twelve miles farther, the party landed at Kil- bride, nearMugstat, the seat of the prince's enemy. Sir x\lex- ander Macdonald, who, after warmly espousing his cause, had since deserted him. He was fortunately now absent on duty at Port Augustus. Flora, as agreed upon, left Charles on the beach while she proceeded to the Lady Margaret Macdonald, the loyal wife of the recreant chieftain, to inform her of the prince's landing, for which she was quite unprepared. On arriving at the house, Flora found that Lieutenant Mac- leod, commandant of the militia quartered near, was actuall}' on a visit there — a circumstance likely extremely to discon- cert her ; but, with admirable presence of mind, she entered into conversation with him, and answered with the utmost composure the various questions he put to her, keeping up the same unembarrassed depoitment during dinner, and con- versing with him in the most amicable manner. Another guest at table was Alexander Macdonald, of Kingsburgh, a noble-minded and devoted old man, and a warm adherent of the exiled family. Flora well knew him to be such, and, finding some difficulty in communicating with the lady of the house, she was glad of an opportunity of telling him her im- portant secret, asking him to inform Lady Margaret as soon as possible of the prince's situation. It might be some thought of her husband's different views which caused the poor lady so much alarm on first hearing this news ; for, on Kingsbm-gh informing her where Charles was, she could not eonunand herself, but screamed with tei-i-or, and exclaimed, she and her family were ruined for ever. Yet tlicse were not FLORA MACDONALD. 97 unreasonable fears, for the indiscriminate cruelties exercised l)y the successful party since the battle of Culloden, had been such as to strike terror into the boldest heart ; and Lady Margaret might Avell dread the vengeance of the conquei'or on so daring an act as that of yielding protection to the pro- 'icribed prince. Kingsburgh, hoAvever, succeeded in calming her. "For his part," he said, "he was an old man, and was quite wiUing to take the hunted prince to his own house : he had but one hfe to lose, and it mattered little to him whether he died with a halter round his neck, or whether he awaited a natural death, which, in the common course of nature could not be far distant." After a long conference between Lady Margaret, Kings- burgh, and another warm adherent of the prince, Donald Roy, who had been summoned to assist in the council, it was agreed to be best for Charles to follow Kingsburgh 's first proposal, arid take shelter in his house on his way to Portree ; from whence he could cross to the Isle of Raasay. This important discussion was carried on in the garden while Flora Mac- donald entertained the heutenant in the house, maintaining her composure, though internally fretted by Lady Margaret's restlessness in continually passing in and out of the room. Neil Mackechan was sent to inform the prince of what had Ijeen determined on, and of Kingsburgh 's approach ; who, providing himself with a bottle of wine and some biscuits, set out in search of the prince, whom he had never yet seen. He had some difficidty in finding him, but the sudden flight of a flock of sheep, as if they had been scared by the sight of some human being, guided him to the spot where he found the royal fugitive in his disguise, and grasping a great stick, his weapon, in case of surprise. Having satisfied himself of the friendly intention of his visitant, Charles expressed himself ready to set out immediately on the route proposed for him ; but first sat down to the welcome refreshment Kingsburgh had brought, and entered into familiar conversation with his new friend, in the course of wliich Kingsburgh happened to say that he had visited Mugstat that day by mere chance, and that he did not know his reason for doing so. "I will tell you the cause," said the prince ; " Providence sent you there to take care of me." Throughout his wander- ings Charles frequently thus expressed his sense of being K 98 FLORA MACDONALD. under divine protection, and to tliis cause attributed his many wonderful escapes. Those wlio attended him through his wearying and harassing adventures have recorded, that he was alwa3\s regular and serious in his devotions under the most adverse circumstances. How sad that later years of degrading self-indidgence should have obscured so fair a promise ! As soon as Flora Macdonald could resume her journey without exciting suspicion, she rose from table and took a formal leave of her hostess ; who, in her turn, affected to be extremely averse to part with her guest. " When you were last here," said Lady Margaret reproachfully, ''you promised next time you came to pay me a long visit." Miss Mac- donald, however, desired to be excused at that time, because she wanted to see her mother, and be at home in these troublesome times. After many civilities of this kind had passed, in which both ladies said " what they thought fit," Lady Margaret consented to her going ; only assuring her she would not allow her to pay so short a visit next time. The prince being already on his road with Kingsburgh, Miss Macdonald, ^vith Neil Mackechan, Mrs. Macdonald of Kirbihost, and her two servants, set out on horseback on the same route, and presently overtook the disguised fugitive and his friend. The prince seems to have failed entirely in assuming any approach to a feminine manner with his female attire. Flora, in order to avert the suspicion which she feared must be raised by his strange appearance, urged her party to a brisk trot as they passed him ; but even then he did not escape the penetration of her maid. " I think," she said, " I never saw such an impudent-looking woman as Kingsburgh is walking with. I dare say she is either an Irish- Avomau or a man in woman's clothes ; see what long strides the jade takes, and how awkwardly she manages her petti- coats." Miss Macdonald readily replied that she knew her to be an Irishwoman, for she had seen her before. The party passed, and Charles went striding on, exciting the alarm of his guide by his awkwardness : at one time, in fording a brook which crossed the road, he hfted his petti- coats so high as to oblige Kingsburgh to expostulate, and in avoiding this extreme at the next foi-d he sutfered all his garments to float upon the Avatcr. Alarmed for the conse- FLORA MACDONALD. 99 queiices of sustaining his character so ill, Kingsburgh thought it best to leave the public road, and pursue their journey to his house across the hills. The rain came on, and they were drenched to the skin. Wlien they reached it at twelve o'clock at night, Flora Macdonald, who had parted with her com- panions and man-servant on the road, had arrived some short time before. Kingsburgh led his illustrious guest into the hall, and then sent up a seiTant to his wife to inform her that he had arrived with a party of guests, wdio much needed refresh- ment. Lady Kingsburgh had retired to rest, and not think- ing it necessai-y to disturb herself, sent a message to her husband and his guests, hoping they woidd make themselves welcome with whatever they coidd find in the house. As she spoke, her httle girl, of seven years old, who strangely enough seems to have been still up, ran into her room to tell her, in great alarm, that her father had brought home the most odd, muckle, ill-shaped wife she had ever seen, and had taken her into the hall, too. Kingsburgh, on receiving his wife's message, himself came up, and in a mysterious manner m-ged her to rise without delay and attend to the necessities of their guests. Without her suspicions reaching the truth. Lady Kings- bm-gh at once guessed that her husband had brought with him some person of distinction implicated in the late troubles* She therefore hastened to obey his wishes, and, while she dressed, sent her little girl down to the hall for her keys ; but the child ran back more alarmed than ever, saying, she could not go for the keys, for the muckle woman was walkin up and down in the hall, and she was afraid of her. Her mother was therefore obhged to fetch them herself, and went into the hall. The prince was seated at the end of the room when she entered ; but, on seeing her he rose, and, probably supposing that she kneAv his secret, saluted her. Her sur- prise was completed on feehng a man's rough beard brush her cheek. Neither spoke, however ; and she hastened to her husband to tell him she felt convinced this pretended woman was some unliap2)y gentleman escaped from Culloden, and inquired whether he had brought any tidings of tlie prince. Her husband took both her hands in his and answered : " My dear, it is the prince himself.'' " The prince," she cried in k2 » 100 FLORA MACDOXALD. great terror ; '' then we are all ruined ! We shall all be hanged noAv!" Her husband reassured her with the argu- ment -which he had found to answer with Lady Margaret. *' Never mind," he said, " we can die but once ; and if we are hanged for this we shall die in a good cause, in performing an act of humanity and charity. " He then bid her get ready a supper of eggs, butter, and cheese, or whatever else was in the house. " Eggs, butter, and cheese," she answered ; *' and what a supper is that for a prince !" *' Wife," he rephed, " you httle knoAv how he Jias fared lately. Our supper will be a feast to him ; besides, if we were to make it a formal meal it would rouse the suspicions of the servants, and you must therefore make haste with what you can get, and come to supper yourself." " Me come to supper ! " the poor lady exclaimed. " I ken naething how to behave before majesty." " You must come, " her husband, replied ; "for the prince would not eat a bit without you ; and he is so obliging and easy in conversation that you will find it no difficult matter to behave before him." Thus m-ged, she comphed ; and had the pleasure of sitting on one side of the prince, while Flora Macdonald was on the other, and of seeing him do full justice to the plentiful though homely meal she was able at the moment to provide for him ;' after which he retired to rest. To use his oavu words, he had almost forgotten what a bed was, and in the enjoyment of so unusual a luxury, the more delightful from the extra- orchnary fatigues he had undergone, he slept longer than seemed safe to Miss Macdonald, who was anxious to be on their way. Having waited impatiently till ten in the morn- ing, she urged her host to go and rouse him ; but when Kingsburgh entered his room he found his guest in so sound a sleep that he had not heart to waken him, and would not sutler him to be disturbed till one o'clock in the day. Though Charles's female dress had been worn with too little skill to be a safe disguise, and it had been decided to give it up ; yet, to avoid the suspicions of the servants, it was thought necessary that he should resume it for a short time. He therefore dressed himself as on the previous day, and sum- moned Lady Kingsburgh and Miss Macdonald to put the finishing touches to his attire, and to *' dress his head." Lady Kingsburgh, who had forgotten her first fears, FLORA MACDONALD. 101 entered with spirit and feeling into the scene. She afterwards, in speaking of it, told her friends that the prince langhed heartily dnring the process, with the same glee as if he had been putting on woman's clothes merely for a frohc. '' Oh, miss," he said to Flora Macdonald, " you have forgotten my apron ; give me an apron, for it is a prin- cipal part of my dress." When Miss Macdonald was about to put on his cap, Lady Kingsburgh spoke to her in Gaelic to ask the prince for a lock of his hair ; but she dechned doing so, as if shrinking from what might seem too bold a request. Charles, however, inquired what they were talking of, and she then told him what Lady Kingsburgh had asked her to do. He immediately laid his head in her lap, and told her to cut off as much as she pleased. She then cut off a lock, which she divided between Lady Kingsburgh and herself. Here the prince changed his worn-out shoes for a pair of new ones. The old ones, the more precious from the hard ser- vice they had undergone, were long preserved as a relic by Kingsburgh ; and after liis death were cut up into small pieces and given to his Jacobite friends. One of his descend- ants remembered seeing the Jacobite ladies cari-y away the pieces they got in their bosom. After taking a grateful leave of Lady Kingsburgh, the prince set forward on his journey to Portree, under the giiidance of Flora Macdonald and liis host, expecting to find a boat there to take him to Raasay. As soon as he was gone. Lady Kingsburgh hastened to the room liQ had occupied, and taking the sheets he had lain in from the bed, she folded them carefidly up, and declared they should never again be used or washed dnring her life, but should serve her as her winding-sheet after she was dead. She afterwards, at Flora Macdonald's request, gave one of them to her ; who laid it by for the same purpose. ^Vhen it was safe to do so, Charles changed his disguise for a Highland dress, and then took an affectionate leave of his host ; both shedding tears at their parting. The prince, accompanied by Neil Mackechan, and with a boy for their guide, proceeded through by-ways to Portree ; while Flora Macdonald went thither on horseback by another Avay, the better to gain intelligence, and at the same time to prevent a discovery. 102 FLORA MACDOXALD. The clothes the prince had worn were hid in a bush, and afterwards removed by King^burgh to his own house ; but, in fear of a search, it was thought the safest to burn what might prove dangerous evidence. He therefore committed everything to the flames except the gown, which his daughter begged might be spared, both as being of a pretty pattern and as a record of the prince. Thus rescued, " a Jacobite manufacturer afterwards got a pattern made from it, and sold an immense quantity of cloth precisely similar in appear- ance to the loyal ladies of Scotland." Kingsburgh had afterwards to sufter severely for the pro- tection he afforded the prince : he was arrested, and sent to Fort Augustus, where he was thrown into a dungeon, loaded with heavy irons. During his examination he Avas reproached with having lost so *' noble an opportunity of making his own fortune, and that of his family for ever," in allusion to the reward he might have gained. His reply was — " Had I gold and silver piled heaps upon heaps to the bulk of yon huge mountain, that mass could not afford me half the satis- faction I And in my own breast from doing what I have done. " From Port Augustus Kingsburgh Avas carried to Edinburgh Castle, where he remained till July, 1747, when he was re- leased by the Act of Grace. He died 1772, in his eighty- fourth year. In the meanwhile, by their difterent roads, the prince and Flora Macdonald approached Portree. Great ex- ertions had been made by his adherents to have a suit- able boat there in readiness, to carry him over to Raasay. Wlien all was waiting, with zealous friends and able boatmen in attendance, Donald Roy repaired alone to the only public- house in Portree, to receive any intelhgence that might be brought him of the prince. Here Flora Macdonald joined him, to acquaint him that Charles was approaching ; and within half an hour he appeared, perfectly wet through, and in a miserable plight. These annoyances, however, did not make him forget the consideration due to the lady who had thus devoted herself to his service : he thought of her, while his faithful friends thought only of his own com- fort. At length, however, he was prevailed upon to make himself more dry and comfortable : but, when Donald Roy expressed his regret that he should have had such adverse FLORA MACDONALD. 103 weather, lie replied — " I am more sorry tjiat our lady'' (for so he ahvays designated his fair protectress) " should have been exposed to such an evening-." Having thus conducted the prince to Portree, Flora Mac- donald had completed her task, and done Charles all the ser- vice it was in her power to render him. Next morning, therefore, they took a final leave of each other. He was al- ways punctual in setthng all pecuniary reckonings, and, re- membering now a small debt, reminded her that he owed her a crown that he had borrowed from her. She told him it was but half-a-crown, which he restored her with thanks. He then bade her an affectionate farewell, and, saluting her, said- — " For all that has happened, I hope, madam, we shall meet in St. James's yet." Her visit to London, however, was to be made under different auspices. Here, too, Charles took leave of his faithful attendant, Neil Mackechan, who was to return with Miss Macdonald to her mother's house at Armadale. He afterwards escaped safely to France, where he rejoined the prince. All Avho have given any account of Charles Edward, speak of a certain nobility in his air and carriage which no disguise could conceal. In all the wretchedness of his present dress, he excited the curiosity of the landlord at Portree, who questioned Donald Roy as to who the stranger might be. Donald succeeded, however, in quieting the man's suspi- cions, who, in conclusion, remarked that he had at first had a strong opinion that it was the prince, for he had some- thing about him that looked very noble. Chambers gives us another anecdote to the same effect from Captain MacLeod's narrative : "As they were coming near Strath, Mackinon's country, he suggested to the prince that, now he was coming to a country Avhere he would be known, some shift behoved to be fallen upon, to disguise him more and more still. The prince proposed blacking his face with some one thing or another ; but the captain was against that proposal, as what would serve rather to discover him all at once than to conceal him. The prince then, pulhng off the periwig and putting it into his pocket, took out a dirty white napkin, and desired the cap- tain to tie that about his head, and to bring it down upon his eyes and nose. He put the bonnet on above the napkin, and said — • I think I will now pass well enough for your ser- 104 FLORA MACLONALD. vant, and that I aii^ sick, for the much fatigue I have under- gone. Look at me, Mac Leod, and tell me what you think : how will it do V Mac Leod told him this would not do yet, for that those who had ever seen him hefore would still dis- cover his face for all the disgiiise he was in. The prince said — ' This is an odd, remarkahle face I have got, that no- thino- can disQ-use it.' I heard Mr. Mac Leod declare, more than once, that the prince coidd do anything, or turn himself into any shape hut that of dissemhhng his air — that he could never cUsguise, with all the arts he could use. There is not a person," said he, "that knows what the air of a nohle or great man is, hut, upon seeing the prince in any disgiiise he coidd put on, woidd see something ahout him that was not ordinary— something of the stately and the grand." We must not, however, further pursue the history of his extraordinary wanderings, hut, with an apology for the digres- sion we have already fallen into, return at once to our heroine, who had soon to incur the penalty of thus successfully baffling the designs of government. Far over yon hills of the heather so green, And down by the corrie that sings by the sea, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane, The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e. She looked at a boat, with the breezes that swung Away on the wave, like a bird of the main ; And aye as it le&sened she sighed as she sung — Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again ! Farewell to my hero the gallant and young ! Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again. After Flora had thus, with " the tear in her e'e," watched the prince out of sight, she returned to her mother's house at Armadale, in the Isle of Skye, a fatiguing journey of many miles. With very remarkahle caution, she kept her late proceedings a profound secret, even from her mother. It was the best precaution for the safety of herseh' and those connected with her ; hut it was unavaihng. Her share in the prince's escape transpired through some other means, and she soon lieard that Kingsburgh's house had been searched for her, and that the authorities were even ac- quainted with the particidars of the prince's female disguise. Captain Ferguson, conspicuous for Iiis brutality, even in those FLORA MACDONALD. 105 days of heartless cruelty, was sent, Avitli a party of troops, to Kiiiffsburffli, and executed his commission with much inso- lence. Lady Kingsburgh, however, answered his inquiries with spirit, and made no dangerous admissions. About eight days after Flora's return home, she received a message from one of her own name, Donald Macdonald, of Castleton, about four miles from Armadale, to come to his house. He had been desired to do this by the com- mander of a body of troops stationed near. The message excited some suspicion in Miss Macdonald, and she thought it necessary to consult her friends as to what she ought to do. They were unanimous that she should not go — at least, not till next day — but, probably thinking a refusal might preju- dice her and create suspicion, she resolved to obey the summons. On the road she met an officer, with a party of soldiers, who were coming to her mother's house in pursuit of her, and by them she was taken into custody. On her sub- sequent examination, she admitted, as previously agreed on with her friends, having given a passage in her boat to a great brawny woman, who represented herself as a soldier's wife, and whom she allowed to cross over with her to Skye — that this woman had left her, thanking her for the favour — but denied any knowledge of what had become of her. These answers were not thought satisfactory, and she was sent at once, a prisoner, on board ship, without being allowed to return home to take leave of her friends, or to procure a change of apparel. To her dismay, she found Captain Fer- guson was commander of the vessel, "The Furnace," in which she was to be confined ; but happily she was spared the fate of being in his power ; and then and always, at a time when others were suffering from the unsparing and un- scrupulous vengeance of the victorious party, she was treated with consideration and lenity. General Campbell, a gentle- man of kindness and feehng, happened to be on board at the time, and he procured that she should be treated Avith respectful consideration. One of the lieutenant's cabins was given up for the use of herself and her maid ; and three weeks afterwards, " The Furnace" happening to be cruising in the neighbourhood of Armadale, she was allowed to go on shore, in charge of two officers and a party of soldiers, to take leave of her friends, though with the double injunction 106 FLORA MACDONALD. neither to speak in Gaelic nor out of hearing of the officers with whom she was in custody. She therefore stayed but two houi's, and then retm-ned to the ship. She was soon after removed from The Furnace to The Eltham, commanded by Connnodore Smith, who showed the utmost respect and regard for his prisoner. In this vessel she met again the companion of her recent adventure, her rejected suitor, Captain O'Neil. She immediately went up to him, and slapping him playfidly on the cheek, "To that black face," she said, " I owe all my misfortunes." He encouraged her, however, with the assm-ance that she need not be ashamed or afraid of the part she had acted. In- deed, there was something too certain of exciting general sympathy and admiration in a young and beautiful lady having thus devoted herself to the adventm-er's cause, for those in power, however harsh in their general deahng, to venture on any strong act of severity towards her ; nor does it seem to have been apprehended for her. The officers of the ship in which she was confined showed themselves anxious to prove their private estimation of her conduct by allowing her every indulgence in their power. Of the five months she was detained on ship-board, three were passed in Leith Roads, in the immediate vicinity of Edin- burgh. Here she was an object of interest and curiosity to persons of all principles and opinions, and the well wishers to the cause of the Stuarts were zealous in proving to her how entirely they appreciated her heroism ; while the ladies of that party vied with each other in loading her with presents suited to her present wants, or which might lessen the evils of her confinement. The officers courteously allowed her to receive many visits from her friends and admirers, whose hearts used to warm under her descriptions of the prince, and the recital of the adventures she had shared with him. She used to tell that in their passage to the Isle of Skye, a heavy rain feU on them, which, with former fatigue, dis- tressed her much. To divert her the prince sang several pretty songs. She afterwards fell asleep ; and, to keep her so, the prince still continued to sing. Happening to awake with some little bustle in the boat, she found the prince leaning over her with his hands spread about her head. She asked what was the matter. The prince told her that one FLORA MACDONALD. 107 of tlie rowers, being' obliged to do somewbat about tbe sail, beboved to step over ber body (tbe boat was so small) ; and, lest be sliould bave done ber liurt, eitber by stumblino- or framj^ling on bei- in tbe dark, be bad been doing bis best, io preserve bis guardian from barm. Wlien Miss Macdonald was telling tbis particidar part of tbe adventure to some ladies wbo were paying tbeir respects to ber, some of tbem witb rapture cried out — " 0, miss ; wbat a bappy creature are you, wbo bad tbat dear prince to lull you asleep and to take care of you, witb liis bands spread about your bead wben you were sleeping ! You are surely tbe bappiest woman in tbe world !" "I could," said one (Miss Mary Clark), ** wipe your sboes witb pleasure, and tbink it an bonour to do so, wben I reflect tbat you bad tbe bonour to bave tbe prince for youi: bandmaid : we all envy you greatly." Mucb about tbe same time a lady of rank and dignity (Lady Mary Cocbrane), being on board witb Miss Macdonald, a brisk gale began to blow, and made tbe sea rougb and not so easy for a small boat to row asbore to Leitb. Tbe lady wbispered to Miss Macdonald tbat sbewoidd witb pleasure stay on board all nigbt, tbat sbe migbt bave it to say tbat sbe bad bad tbe bonour of lying in tbe same bed with tbat person wbo bad been so bappy as to be guardian to ber prince : accordingly tbey did sleep in one bed tbat nigbt." About tbis time a rumour readied Flora Macdonald tbat tbe prince bad been taken. It affected ber very deeply. Finding an opportunity of talking privately with some one wbo bad come to visit ber, sbe said, with tears in ber eyes — ■ " Alas ! now I am afraid that all is in vain that I bave done — tbe prince at last is in the hands of bis enemies." They tried to cheer ber witb the hope tbat it was a false report, but sbe coidd not be comforted till it was positively ascer- tained to be so. " Wben sbe was in Leitb Roads (the account goes on to say), sbe never was allowed to set her foot on shore, though in other respects the officers were extremely civil and complaisant to her, and took it exceedingly well, wben any persons came to visit her. Sometimes they were so obliging as to come on shore for good company to attend ber, and obligingly declared that, if tbey knew any person to come on board for cmiosity only, not out of respect to Miss 108 FLORA MACDONALD. Maedonald, that person should not have access to her. This genteel behaviour makes it presumed that their orders were so exceedingly strict, that they could not dare to bring her ashore. Commander Smith, conunander of '* TheEltham," behaved like a father to her, and tendered her msmj good ad- vices as to her behaviour in her ticklish situation ; and Cap- tain Knowles, of "The Bridgewater, " used her with the utmost decency and politeness. When company came to her, she was indulged the privilege by both these humane and well-bred gentlemen to call for anything on board, as if she had been at her own fire-side ; and the servants of the cabin were obliged to give her all manner of attendance, and she had the hberty to invite any of her friends to dine with her when she pleased. Her behaviom' in company was so easy, modest, and well-adjusted, that every visitant was much surprised ; for she had never been out of the islands of Soutli Uist and Skye till about a year before the prince's arrival, that she had been in the family of Maedonald of Largoe, in Argyleshire, for the space of ten or eleven months. " Some that went on board to pay their respects to her, used to take a dance in the cabin, and to press her much to share with them in the diversion ; but, with all their importunity, they could not prevail on her to take a trip. She told them at present her dancing days were done, and she would not readily entertain a thought of that diversion till she could be assured of her prince's safety ; and perhaps not till she could be blessed with the happiness of seeing him again. Although she was easy and cheerful, yet she had a certain mixture of gravity in all her behaviour, which became her situation ex- ceedingly well, and set her oif to great advantage. *' She is of a low stature, fair complexion, and well enough shaped. One would not discern by her conversation that she had spent all her former days in the Highlands ; for she talks English, or rather Scotch, easily, and not at all in the Erse tone. She has a sweet voice and sings well ; and no lady, Echnburg-li-bred, can acquit herself better at the tea- table than she did in Leith Roads. Her wise conduct in one of the most perplexing scenes that can happen in life, her fortitude and good sense, are memorable instances of the strength of the female mind, even in those years that are tender and inexperienced." FLORA MACDOXALD. 109 In November, 174G, Miss Macclonald was taken in tlio ** Bridgewater" to London, tliere to be placed at tlie dis- posal of tbe British government. Amid the general severi- ties of that period, she, however, had never any reason to complain of harshness. Her confinement was of the most easy nature ; and, though under surveillance, she was allowed to live in tlie house of a private family, who paid every atten- tion to her comfort. This leniency has been attributed to the intercession of the Prince of Wales, who had the generosity to admire an act of heroism, though pei-formed against his private interest. When the Princess of Wales expressed herself in strong- terms against the indulgence of government towards Flora Macdonald, he gave her a kind, and yet a severe, rebuke — *' Madam, under similar circumstances woidd not you have done the same ? I hope, I am sure, you woidd." WHien liberated from her confinement. Flora was enter- tained with great distinction by the dowager Lady Primrose of Dunniplace, Essex-street, Strand — the same zealous lady who afterwards received the prince on his first secret visit to London. Here our heroine met with such universal and flattering attention as would have turned a less steady brain. But her natural simphcity and modesty preserved her in this new form of danger ; and in the midst of so much to excite vanity and love of display, her first wish seems to have been to return to her quiet Highland home. She was visited by persons of the highest rank ; and before she left London was presented with the sum of nearly fifteen hundred pounds by the Jacobite ladies of the metropohs. She returned to Skye, and three years after was married, in 1750, to Alexander Macdonald, the younger, of Kings- burgh, who had himself suffered in the troubles of the period ; and thus she became closely connected with those with whom she had shared the peril and the honour of protecting their prince in his greatest need. They i-emained many years at Kingsburgh, and had several children. It was in 1773 that Flora Macdonald entertained Dr. Johnson and Mr. Boswell, in their tour to the Highlands, as the latter has recorded in his journal. " I was highly pleased," he sa3's, "to see Dr. Johnson safely arrived at Kingsburgh, and received by the hospitable Mr. Macdonald, 110 FLORA MACDONALD. wlio, "svltli a most resj^ectfiil attention, supported lum into the house. There was a comfortahle parlour, with a good fire ; and a dram went round. By and hy, supper was served, at which there appeared the lady of the house, the celehrated Miss Flora Macdonald. She is a little woman, of a genteel appearance, and unusually mild and well-hred. To see Dr. Samuel Johnson, the great champion of the English Tories, salute Miss Macdonald, in the Isle of Skye, was a striking sight ; for, although somewhat congenial in their notions, it was very improhahle they should meet here. Miss Flora Macdonald (for so I shall caU her) told me she heard, upon the mainland, as she was returning home about a fort- night before, that Mr. Boswell was coming to Skye, and one Mr. Johnson, a young English Buck, with him. He was highly entertained with this fancy." " I slept," he continued, " in the same room with Dr. Johnson. Each had a neat bed, with tartan curtains, in an upper chamber. The room ^vherc we lay was a celebrated one. Dr. Johnson's bed was the very bed in which the grandson of the unfortunate King James the Second lay, on one of the nights after the failure of his rash attempt in 1745-G, while he was eluding the pursuit of government, which had oifered £30,000 as a re- ward for apprehending him. To see Dr. Samuel Johnson lying in that bed, in the Isle of Skye, in the house of Miss Flora Macdonald, struck me with such a group of ideas, as it is not easy for words to describe as they passed through the mind. He smiled, and said — ' I have had no ambitious thoughts in it.' At breakfast he said he would have given a good deal rather than not have lain in that bed. I o^v^^ed he was the lucky man, and observed that, without doubt, it had been contrived between Miss Macdonald and him. He seemed to acquiesce, adding — " You knoAv young hucTcs are always favourites of the ladies." He spoke of Prince Charles being here, and asked Miss Macdonald who was with him. * We were told, madam, in England, that one Miss Flora Macdonald was with him. ' She said they were very right, and, perceiving Dr. Johnson's curiosity, though he had delicacy enough not to question her, very obligingly entertained him with a recital of the particulars which she herself knew of that escape which does so nmch honour to the humanity, fidelity, and generositv of the Ilighlaudcrs. Dr. Johnson FLORA MACDOXALD. HI listened with placid attention, and said — "All this should be written doAvn." In his letters to his friends, Dr. Johnson speaks of this meeting* : " We were entertained with unusual hospitality by Mr. Maedouald and his lady. Flora Macdonald — a name that will be mentioned in history, and, if courage and -fidelity be virtues, mentioned with honour. She is a woman of middle stature, soft features, gentle manners, and elegant presence." And again, in a letter to Mrs. Thrale — " There I had the honour of saluting the far-famed Miss Flora Macdonald. She must then have been a very young lady ; she is now not old ; of a pleasing person, and elegant behaviour. She told me that she thought herself honoured by my visit ; and I am sm-e that whatever regard she be- stowed on me was liberally repaid. ' If thou hkest her opi- nions, thou wilt praise her virtue.' " "At Kingsburgh we were liberally feasted, and I slept in the same bed in which the prince reposed in his distress. The sheets which he used were never put to any meaner offices, but Avere wrapped up by the lady of the house, and at last, according to her desire, were laid round her in her grave. These were not Whigs !" Soon after Dr. Johnson's visit, some domestic difficulties induced Kingsburgh and his wife to emigrate to America, Avhere they purchased an estate in South Carolina. On the breaking out of the war of independence, Kingsburgh sided with the royalists, and suiFered imprisonment in consequence. On his release he took up arms against the republicans ; and when they gained the day, he determined to return with his family to Scotland. On their passage, hoAvever, they Avere attacked by a French ship. Before the action began, all tlio Avomen Avere ordered beloAv ; but Flora Macdonald, retaining her old spirit, insisted on remaining on deck, and by her Avords and her example animated the courage of the sailors during a sharp engagement, which terminated in their favour ; but, un- fortunately, our heroine was throAvn down, in the confusion, and broke her arm. Her lot, she observed (not, probably, in a very serious spirit), Avas a hard one, for she had risked her life both for the Stuarts and the house of BrunsAA'ick, and had been rcAvarded by neither. She and her family settled again in Skyc, Avhere she died, in the scAx^ntieth year of her age, the 4th of March, 1790, and was wrapped, according to her last desii'e, in that sheet l2 112 FLOKA MACDOXALD. which her mother-in-law had given her, the memorial of the prince's trouhled visit to their house. She was the mother of five sons, who all held commissions under the reigning sovereigns, and of two daughters, one of whom hved to a great age, inheriting her mother's features and principles.* * See "Memoirs of the Pretender and his Adherents," to which frequent reference has been made. MISS MACKAY. IV, MISS MACKAY. The following' story is gatlierecl from an interesting narra- tive published by Miss Porter many years ago. The in- cidents, to which we have confined ourselves, were told her by a lady of rank, who assured her that every circumstance was strictly true, and well known to a member of her own family. The scene of this remarkable adventure was a castle in Argyleshire, now in ruins, but at that time (the year 1744-5) inhabited b}^ a Scotch laird and his sister. This gentleman, on the death of his elder brother, had recently retired from foreign service, and returned to Scotland, bringing with him his young sister, who had been educated in France. For some months their time passed pleasantly in scenes and habits of life new to both of them ; but after this the young lady observed with concern that her brother's spirits became depressed, and that his natural cheerfulness was changing into an exj^ression of habitual gloom and melancholy. Her- self of a remarkably timid, gentle character, she had no power to contend agaisj^ his growing depression, and her spirits sank with his, till at length, to relieve her own troubled and anxious fears, as well as in the hope that another might have more skill to chase away her brother's gloom than she had found herself to possess, she persuaded him with some difficulty to allow her to invite a friend to pass some months with her. This young lady, somewhat older than herself, and free to act according to her own wishes, in pity for her poor friend's loneliness and evident anxiety of mind, consented to comply with her entreaties, and shortly after arrived on her promised visit. There was L 3 114 MISS MACKAY. a great contrast in the character of the two friends : Miss Mackay, which is the name of our heroine, possessing in a remarkable degree the courage, energy, and strong under- standing, which her young hostess Avanted ; but the want of which, in her case, was atoned for by great kindness of heart, and a most sweet and atfectionate temper. She was not long in confiding to her friend the change in her brother which had caused her so much uneasiness ; and Miss Mackay 's keen observation very soon led her to suspect that his evident depression was owing to some painful or dangerous secret which weighed heavily on his mind. Acting on this conviction, she endeavoured, by every kind and unobtrusive attention, to win his esteem and confidence : the only means by which she could hope to be of real service. During her stay at the castle, many accidental circumstances occurred to bring out her extraordinary quahties. On one occasion especially, when the house where they happened to be visiting took fire, the laird could not but be struck by her corn-age and extraordinary presence of mind. This led him voluntarily to seek her society, instead of giving way to the habits of lonely musing which had lately grown upon him ; so that his sister, rejoicing in this change, and attri- buting it only to one cause, began to form high hopes that the friend she loved best in the world might one day become her sister. Miss Mackay, however, understood his manner better, and being very sure that admiration, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, had no part in his feehng towards herself, she was at liberty to pursue her plan of kindness to- wards him. His sister's timidity and delicate health did not allow her to venture on horseback ; but Miss Mackay was glad to be able to explore, under his escort, the neighbouiing country, and thus she had fresh opportunities for observing his de - portment. Among the possible causes for his depression, she began to suppose him the victim of second-sight (a belief still prevalent in Scotland), an o])inion which was one day "much strengthened, when, on reaching a height which com- manded a view of the sea, she heard him exclaim to himself — *' I see, I see the bloody issue !" At these words, Miss Mackay boldly stepped forward, and, allowing the nature of her suspicions to transpire, entreated MISS MACKAY. 115 liim, if he dared to trust in her kindness and regard, and she could in any way reUeve or assist him, to say what it was that weighed so heavily on his mind ; adding, that though she could not claim a sister's right, yet, in his case, a sister's very anxiety and attection might prevent her heing an equally safe confidant. Thus urged, he owned that he had a secret, though not of the nature she had hinted at ; nor his alone ; that it was one fraught with difficulty and danger, yet in which she might be of the greatest service, if, as he believed, she had courage for the jmrt that might be assigned to her, and was willing to incur the risk to which she would render herself liable. He then asked if she was wilhng to hear this secret, under the solemn i)romise never to reveal it to any one. She answered — " If your secret contains nothing against the conmiandment of God, and the well-being of my country, I am here ready to hear it, keep it, swear to it." He assured her that there was nothing in it which, as a religious ScotcliAvoman, she might not lend her hand and heart to, but that he must not tell it then ; adding, with so- lemnity, that there was but one place and one hour in which he should feel it safe to reveal it — that hour was twelve o'clock of the same night, and the place of meeting the smaller door of the last quadrangle of the castle, whence he would conduct her to the spot Avhere the secret was to be told. Having full reason to trust his assurances, she promised to obey these directions ; though not without some apprehen- sions as the time ap])ointed drew near. She succeeded, however, in concealing those feelings from her young friend. The day passed as usual ; and, as the clock struck ten, they separated for the night. Resolving not to alarm herself un- necessarily by dwelhng on the singular interview Avhich was before her, Miss Mackay sat down to read till it was time to leave her room. Then, wrapping herself in her plaid, she knelt down for a few moments to ask a blessing on her en- terprise. As the clock struck twelve she opened her door, and lightly descending the stairs, and threading the mazes of a long and intricate passage, she let herself out by a back door into one of the open courts. From thence she made her way through other deserted passages and roofless por- 116 MISS MACK AY. tions of tlie building, till slie entered the most distant qua- drangle, wliere stood the great toAver. By the light of a small lantern, which she kept carefully turned in an opposite direction from the inhabited part of the castle, she saw the lau'd was waiting for her at the appointed spot. In silence he bowed his head as she came up to him ; and, leading the way, proceeded to a door at the foot of the tower. This he opened with a small key, and having entered at the bottom of a spiral staircase, locked the door ; and, turning to her, asked, in a low voice, if, in spite of such almost awful precau- tions, she still adhered to her first resolution — entreating her, if she felt any fear, to return at once. The hour, and the strange mystery, for a moment daunted lier spirits ; but, smiimoning her courage, she answered boldly, that she woidd go through with wdiat she had undertaken. From the first landing-place they turned into a long suite of apartments, which occupied the whole of that side of the building. They were large and deserted. In some the win- dows were entirely shaken out ; in others they were loose and shaking. In the last chamber, wdiich was smaller than the preceding ones, and the windows of which were better secured, the laird stopped, locked the door, and warning his companion to remember aU he did, pressed his foot upon the spring of a trap-door, which immediately started up. He then guided her down a steep flight of stone steps into a vault, evidently running far under the castle. Here he paused, and, pointing to a large iron chest, begged his com- panion to rest upon it, while he woidd explain all she had seen, and try to secure her aid in a good cause. He then told her of the projected invasion of Scotland by him whom she had been taught to consider the son of her rightfid king, and that he was shortly expected to head, in person, such an army as his friends might privately collect. The laird had been presenttjd to the prince abroad, and had there entered into his cause with enthusiasm. He had come to Scotland full of hope ; but, in the progress of his negotia- tions with the different noblemen and gentlemen who were to take part in the enterprifie, he had found so much luke- warmness, rashness, and folly, in those concerned, that all his bright expectations faded, and he was full of despair for the issue. It was this that had so clouded his spirits ; his MISS MACK AY. 117 faculties liad become bewildeied, as lie looked forward to the future ; lie foresaw a fatal eud to the enterpiise ere it began; and, conscious that his castle contained documents of vital importance to many, he was tormented with apprehensions for others, which he disregarded for himself. In the iron chest on which Miss Mackay sat were deposited many deeds and bonds from the great exile to different noblemen and gentlemen, acknowledging loans of money, and pledging himself to reward present services by future grants. These documents, if dis- covered, together with a correct list of all the persons contri- buting to the cause, either by gold or men, might prove the ruin of some of the best and bravest men in Scotland. The laird knew that, either just before or immediately upon his royal master's landing, he would be summoned to report certain needful details ; and he feared leaving the high trusts committed to him behind in the castle, within the very grasp of Argyle, without also leaving some one em- powered to destroy them in his absence, should any misfor- tune render such a measure necessary. As Miss Mackay 's character had opened upon him, he had been struck with the thought, that Providence had in her provided him with the very person he needed. Time and further observation only strengthened this opinion ; when, just at this point, and while still in doubt, a summons had arrived, commanchng him to repair to another staunch friend of the Stuarts, where Charles Edward's most confidential agent Avas expected from France. It was at this eventful moment that Miss Mackay had opened the way to confidence, and he Avas now in conse- quence disclosing to her all that had weighed so long on his mind, and asking her co-operation. His auditor listened to all he had to tell with the deepest interest ; for she had ever been taught to consider Charles EdAvard her rightful prince, and the thought of being in any Avay able to devote herself to his service brought the fire to her eye, and the Avarm blood into her cheek. When the laird, in conclusion, asked, AA^hether she AA'ould take upon her the charge of AA^hat he must leave behind, or, refusing that, simply give him her oath never to divulge Avhat she knoAV, she readily promised to do all he had asked, and, knechng doAvn, took an oath to this effect on the little pocket bible the laird had brought Avith him. lie then 118 MISS MACKAY. opened the Iron eliest, and disj)layed its contents. There were, besides the itarchments he had mentioned, several leathern bags which he told her contained money and jewels, contribnted by faithful Scotchmen to the canse. He then begged her to listen carefully to the instrnctions he would give her. He was going instantly to join the prince's party iu Inverness ; and, when gold was needed, would send a messenger she might entirely trust, to whom she mnst deliver it under the shadow of niglit. The arrival of such a mes- senger Avould be notified to her by the figure of a cross being- cut on the trunk of a great ash tree which grew opposite her chamber- window ; and a certain number of very small crosses cut under the large one would notify the number of bags she should give him. If, instead of money, the messenger should have to announce defeat and disaster, a figure of an axe should be marked on the tree instead of a cross ; in which case her business would be to destroy every written paper or parchment in the chest. After that, he bid her use her own discretion whether to remain in the castle or depart ; he him- self by that time Avould probably be lying a corpse on the field of battle. In conclusion, he assured her that he did not believe himself to be bringing lier into real danger by the commission he now gave her ; adding further directions, that on seeing the given sign on the tree she was to repair at night to the same spot where he had met her, go down to the vault, bring up the bags, and, before opening the door into the quadrangle (of which the messenger would have no key), one was to give the pass-word, " Bruce;" to which the other would answer, *' Charles Edward." She then might open the door and deliver the bags into his hands ; the mes- senger would give a voucher in return, wliich she must go back to deposit in the iron chest, and her duty would be over. If, however, the secret announcement Avere disaster, she might burn tlie documents, one by one, at the candle in her lantern. *' Mark," he said, in conclusion, *' mark, I pray you, all the peculiarities of tlie places you will have to ])ass tlirough, so that nothing may embarrass you, should accident extinguish your light. Above all things'^ remember to leave tlie trap-door well settled on its supports, as it opens only from tlie outside. For heaven's sake be careful to observe this ! " MTSS MACK AT. 119 After some furtlier discourse as to what course would be best for liis sister in case of his death, tliey found it time to return. Miss Mackay most carefully noted all his move- ments, learnt the secret of the spring wliich opened the trap- door, and passing- Avith her guide througli the solitary chambers, found herself again in the court of the quadrangle. Here slie received from him the key of the tower-door, and the more important one belonging to the chest ; and they then took a solemn farewell of each other, as he was to leave early next day. More than a fortnight passed before Miss Mackay was called upon to execute any part of her commission. At length, one morning, on going to lier window, whicli she now always did on first rising, slie observed a cross marked on the ash tree, and two smaller ones cut below it. She could not help feeling some apprehension as she thought of the task that lay before her. The remembrance of tlie large de- serted chambers and the gloomy vault, to be descended at mid- night, now and then appalled her ; but she concealed all appearance of anxiety, and passed the day as cheerfully as usual. Half an hour before midnight, when every one was asleep, she lighted her lantern, and wrapping herself from head to foot in her plaid, issued from the dwelhng-house into the first court. The moon shone briglitly, and ever3^tliing was so calm, that her confidence returned. Encouraging herself by thoughts of prayer, she reached the door of the tower, and there a faint sound made her turn towards the place whence it proceeded. A gentleman in a highland dress instantly stepped forward into the moonlight, from the archway where lie had been standing, and, with an inclination of respect, whispered the word " Bruce." In the same tone she an- swered, *' Charles Edward ;" and, hurrying into the tower, locked herself within it. She had remembered every direction, so that she found no difiiculty in reaching the vault. The bags were so heavy that she found it necessary to carry each separately to the foot of the tower stairs. Slie then opened the door, and, without either uttering a Avord, the bags of gold Avei-e ex- changed for the receipt ; and once again locking herself in, she went back to the vaidt, and from thence, when her task 120 MI>iS MACK AY. was done, returned to lier own room. The whole liad been aceomphshed so easily, that after this she felt no alarm or anxiety on her own account for any future errand of the same kind with which she might he entrusted. The laird's absence, meanwliile, crept on from week to week ; neitlier t)y public report nor private information did any news of Charles Edward's landing reach her ; and her zeal for his cause kept her in constant nervous watchfulness. Winter was now far advanced : her young friend, anxious about her brother, whose absence was unaccountable to her, and alarmed, too, at hving without his protection in that lonely place, at such a season, claimed more and more of her care. Some kind friends from a distance would every now and then leave their homes, and spend a day or two with their timid young friend ; but these meetings often more than failed in their object, from the ill-chosen nature of their topics for conversation. With long fire-side evenings came stories of murder and witchcraft, of ghosts and apparitions ; all of Tv^hich had a peculiar fascination for the poor young lady at the time, though they left her less fit than ever to sustain eheerfidness under adverse circumstances. Even Miss Mackay's stronger mind was not proof against the effect of these gloomy liistories ; and, after an evening thus spent, she did not feel her nerves in the fittest state for executing the commission she had received that morning, by the given sign on the ash tree. She remembered, too, that the de- serted chambers she had to pass through Avere reported to be haunted. She would not, however, suffer such imaginations to hinder her in the performance of her duty, and at the appointed hour she set out on her errand. Instead of the friendly moonlight which had cheered her before, a fearful tempest noAv raged without. The roar of the distant sea was heard in the intervals of the still louder wind, which pealed like thunder through the moimtain chasms. The crash of trees, and the fall of fragments from the ruined walls of the castle, added to the noise and danger. Not a star was visible : everything was wrapped in thick darkness. Some fear she could not but feel as she hurried through the tottering trees and groaning ruins ; and, added to this, she fancied she heard footsteps behind her, as it were pursuing her. MISS MACKAY. 121 It was a relief when she reached the tower-door, and coidd lock herself within. Lighted hy the dim flame of her lan- tern, she passed along the suite of rooms, the wind howling- through them, and ratthng against tlie loose and broken casements. Her hand shook a little, as she settled the rests of the trap-door ; hut by degrees she regained her compo- sure, and, counting out the bags of gold which had been sent for, she carried them down, one by one, as before ; delivered them with the given signal to the messenger without ; locked the door again, and returned once more to the vault with the voucher, in order to deposit it in the iron chest. Just as she was replacing it there, she Avas startled by a loud crash, fol- lowed l3y a thundering clap. After a moment's pause, she flcAV up the steps to see what was the cause. She had not yet realized her misfortune : the trap-door had fallen, blown down by a sudden gust of wind, which had forced in the window just above it. In a moment she understood the full misery of her situa- tion. Her first effort was to push against the door, hoping it was not firmly fixed in its place, but it resisted her wildest efforts of strength, and she remembered that the Laird had said it could only be opened from without. Again and again she repeated her ineifectual efforts, and in despair called aloud for help. The wind alone answered her cry, pealing in the distance above her. There was but one person who could help her — the owner of the castle — Avho was far away ; and, as she paused from the wild energy of her first despair, she began to doubt how far it would be right, even if it were possible, to call for other aid, if she could only procure it by revealing a secret in which the lives and fortunes of so many were involved. She sunk upon the steps in a confusion of dreadful feelings ; the dews of death seemed to spread over her as she faced the full horrors of her situation. She saw she must either risk the discovery of this awful secret, or be content to re- main where she was, and perish by slow degrees. How light and easy would death on the scaffold have appeared to her, contrasted with this solitary lingering fate of horror I Thoughts hke these for a time rendered her passive ; then she would revive her hopeless exertions for releasing herself, till exhausted by fatigue, she coiild do no more. At length, M 122 MISS MACK AY. wearied and hopeless, she left the steps, and returned into the vault, and throwing herself on the damp floor, from which her plaid was her only jn'oteetion, she tried to compose her- self, and seek for patience and submission in prayer. She lay listening to the dreary sounds which reached her from without, to the progress of the storm, and to the heavy rain which succeeded it, and which she could liear poiir down through the rafts in the roof upon the trap-door of her dun- geon. From this sound, dreary as it was, she gathered that there was some chance of her cries being heard, should she detemiine on its being right to use such efforts for her re- lease. The storm had subsided, so that she coidd hear the clock strike five : her lantern had long burnt out, and she re- mained in total darkness, as hour by hour passed by : at leug*th noon struck, though no ray of light reached her to tell her of the cheerful day. Sounds of life from a distance came upon her ear, only making her own state more terrildc ; she became bewildered by wild thronging thoughts ; and al- most unconscious, for a few moments she called piercingly for help. She thought how heavily her death would weigh on his mind who had unwittingly led her into such a grave. In alternations of distraction and resignation the day wore away. She grew weak from want of food, and a sickening feehng of exhaustion came upon her, which she knew to be the precursor of sharper and fiercer pangs of hunger. Her head became giddy, and she feared her senses were leaving her ; but, with a strong eftbrt of will, she overcame the temptation to wander, and fixing her mind on the thoughts best suited for such an hour, gave herself up to the will of her heavenly Father, and resigned herself wholly into His hands. Every moment she felt herself grow weaker. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth : she could utter no audible sound ; her head grew more dizzy ; her limbs were benumbed ; by degrees sense and recollection failed her, and she sank lifeless on the steps of the vault. It seemed as if death had come to her relief. But there was lielp at hand for her. By a wonderfid chance, as it would be called, but more justly by a merciful providence, it so fell, that twenty- four hours after tlie Laird had despatched his friend to the castle for the gold they were in need of, he found lie had ini- MISS MACKAY. 123 mediate occasion for one of the papers In tlic Iron chest ; and, as the hest and shortest means of ohtaining It, he set out himself. Having the master-key of all the doors, he had no occasion to go into the house, hut proceeded at once, it being nightfall, to the tower-door. It Avas his intention to leave a line on the chest, informing Miss Mackay of what he had done, for he did not deem it prudent to venture Into the house, or see his sister. He walked calmly through the desolate apartments, observed the damage done by the wind, aiul at length he lifted the trap-door, and was descending, when his light fell upon the bright colours of Miss Mackay 's plaid. In alarm and astonishment he gazed on the motion- less form, pale as death, that lay extended before him, and at once comprehending what had happened, sprang down the remaining steps and flew to her assistance ; If, Indeed, help did not come too late. Happily he carried a flask of spirits with him, and succeeded In pouring some drops Into her lips. By slow degrees she revived ; and within an hour after sink- ing Into imconsclousness she opened her eyes on him who had been sent to her rescue. Before asking her any questions he made her swallow a feAv morsels of the oaten cake he happened to have with him. Under this refreshment she soon revived ; and her deliverer could now give utterance to his thankfidness at having thus come in time for her relief, pledging himself never more to require of her a similar eftbrt of friendship and loyalty. She was too lost In thoughts of gratitude to heaven for her ■wondeifid deliverance to hear what he said, or listen to the plans he was forming to entrust his friend the messenger henceforward with the entire accomplishment of his hazardous errand. At length she roused herself to arrange with him the best mode of accounting for her absence without exciting dangerous suspicions ; then, refreshing herself with another small portion of his traveUIng fare, she left her prison, and, supported by his arm, reached the last court before the house, where she took leave of her conductor ; who, much as he longed to see his poor sister, dared not venture to show him- self. Her absence could only have been observed since breakfast time ; and, as she Avas In the habit of taking early morning Avallvs, It might Avell be supposed that, tempted by a gleam of M 2 124: MISS MACKAY, fine weather after tlie night's storm, she had ventured out, and that the subsequent hea^-y rain had detained her in the shelter of some distant cavern or sheihng till its violence had abated. Weak and exhausted she entered the house, and was received with the utmost delight by her friend, who had been iu the greatest alarm on her account. Miss Mackay, who was evi- dently too weak for much conversation, spoke of having been seized with a fainting fit, of her inabihty to send word where she was to the castle ; and her friend, occupied in attending upon her obvious wants, readily credited the few words which implied rather than told what it was desirable she should be- lieve, and, in anxiety for her health and comfort, all fur- ther questions were forgotten. Here Miss Mackay 's share in the perils of the rebeUion ended. The Laird soon after fell, according to what had seemed his presentiment, at the battle of Culloden. Subse- quently Miss Mackay became the wife of the Highland gentle- man, who, as messenger to the castle, had shared with her the secret of the tower. He had been struck by her courage in undertaking so arduous a commission ; her manner and appearance during the very few opportunities he had of seeing her in their mysterious communications had strengthened this impression ; and his had been the footsteps which she had heard in the fearful night of the storm, as he followed her iu the hope of j)rotecting her from the dangers of her road. They were married abroad, where their poor young friend remained with them till Scotland Avas quiet enough to admit of her returning thither, and taking up her abode once more in her brother's castle, among her own people. There she was often visited by her faithful friends and their children ; and there the heroine of this history herself re- peated the singular adventure that had happened to her within its walls. LADY IIAIUUET ACLA^•D. LADY HARRIET ACLAND. The followmg naiTatlve, taken from General Burgoyne's account of tlie Expedition into Canada, in the years 1776 and 1777, is all that can he learnt of Lady Harriet Acland's extraordinary sufferings and adventures in that campaign. " It would cxhihit, " says tlie General, *' a well-delineated and interesting pictm-e of the spirit, the entei-prise, and the distress of romance, realized and regidated upon the chaste and sober jirinciples of rational love and connuhial duty." -*' Lady Harriet Acland had accompanied her husband to Canada in the beginning of the year 1776. In the course of that campaign she had traversed a vast space of country, in different extremities of seasons, and with difficulties that an European traveller will not easily conceive, to attend her Inisband, in a poor hut at Chamblee, upon his sick bed. In the opening of the campaign of 1777, she was restrained from offering herself to a share of the hazard expected before Ticonderoga by the positive injunction of her husband. The day after the conquest of that place he was badly -wounded, and she crossed the lake Champlain to join him. " As soon as he recovered, Lady Harriet proceeded to follow his fortunes through the campaign ; and at Fort Edward, or at the next camp, she acquired a two-wheel tumbril, which had been constructed by the artillery, similar to the carriage used for the mail upon the great roads of England. Major Acland commanded the British grenadiers, which were at- tached to General Eraser's corps, and consequently were the most advanced post of the army ; their situations were often so alert that no persons slept out of their clothes. In one of these situations a tent, ia >yhich the major and Lady Harriet m3 126 LADY HARRIET AC LAND. were asleep, suddenly took fire. An orderly serjeant of grenadiers, with great hazard of suffocation, dragged out the first person he caught hold of ; it proved to he the major. It happened that in the same instant she had, unknowing Avhat she did, and perhaps not perfectly awake, providentially made her escape hy creeping under the walls of the hack part of the tent. The first ohject she saw upon the recovery of her senses, was the major on the other side, and in the same instant again in the fire, in search of her. The serjeant again saved him, but not without the major being very severely burned in the face and different parts of the body. Everything they had with them in the tent was consumed. *' This accident happened a Httle time before the army had passed the Hudson's river. It neither altered the resolution nor the cheerfulness of Lady Harriet, and she continued her progress, a partaker of the fatigues of the advanced corps. The next call upon her fortitude was of a different nature, and more distressed, as of longer suspense. On the march of the 19th, the grenadiers being liable to action at every step, she had been directed by the major to follow the route of the artillery and baggage, which was not exposed. At the time the action began she found herself near a small unin- habited hut, where she alighted. When it was found the action was becoming general and bloody, the surgeons of the hospital took possession of the same place, as the most convenient for the first care of the wounded ; thus was this lady in hearing of one continued fire of cannon and musketry for some hours together, with the presumption, from the post of her husband at the head of the grenadiers, that he was in the most ex- posed part of the action. She had three female companions, the Baroness of Reidesel, and the wives of two British officers Major Harnage and Lieutenant Reynall ; but in the event their presence served but little for comfort. Major Harnage was soon brought to the surgeons, very badly wounded ; and a little while after came intelligence that Lieutenant Rcynall was shot dead. Imagination will want no help to figure the state of the whole group. " From the date of that action to the 7th of October, Lady Harriet, with her usual serenity, stood prepared for new trials ; and it was her lot that their severity increased with their numbers. She was again exposed to the hearing of LADY HARRIET ACLAND. 127 the wliolc action, and at last received the shock of her indi- vidual misfortune, mixed with the intelligence of the general calamity ; the troops were defeated, and Major Acland, des- perately Avounded, was a prisoner. " The day of the 8th was passed by Lady Harriet and her companions in common anxiety ; not a tent, not a shed being standing except what belonged to the hospital ; their refuge was among the wounded and the dying. " I soon received a message from Lady Harriet, submitting to my decision a proposal (and expressing an earnest solici- tude to execute it, if not interfering with my designs) of passing to the camp of the enemy, and requesting General Gates's permission to attend her husband. " Though I was ready to believe (for I had experienced) that patience and fortitude in a supreme degree were to be found, as well as every virtue, under the most tender forms, I was astonished at this proposal, after so long an agitation of the spirits ; exhausted not only for Avant of rest, but absolutely want of food ; drenched in rains for twelve hours together ; that a woman should be capable of such an undertaking as delivering herself to the enemy, probably in the night, and uncertain of what hands she might fall into, appeared an effort above human nature. The assistance I Avas enabled to give Avas small indeed ; I had not even a cup of Avine to offer her ; but I was told she had found, from some kind and for- tunate hand, a little rum and dirty Avater. All I coidd furnish to her Avas an open boat, and a foAV lines Avritten upon dirty and Avet paper, to General Gates, recommending her to his protection. " Mr. Brudenell, the chaplain to the artillery, (the same gentleman aa'Iio had officiated so signally at General Frasar's funeral), readily undertook to accompany her ; and Avitli one female servant, and the major's valet-de-chambre (avIio had a ball, which he had received in the late action, then in his shoidder) she roAved doAvn the river to meet the enemy ; but her distresses Avere not yet to end. The night Avas advanced before the boat reached the enemy's outposts, and the senti- nel Avoidd not let it pass, nor even come on shore. In vain Mr. Brudenell off'erod the flag of truce, and represented the state of the extraordinary passenger. The guard, appre- hensive of treachery, and punctilious to their orders, threatened 128 LADY HARRIET ACLAND. to fire into the boat if tliey stirred before daylight. Her anxiety and snfferings were thus protracted through seven or eight dark and cold hours ; and her reflections upon that first reception could not give her very encouraging ideas of the treatment she was afterwards to expect. But it is due to justice at the close of this adventure to say, that she Avas re- ceived and accommodated by General Gates with all the hu- manity and respect that her rank, her merits, and her fortune deserved. *' Let such as are affected by these hardships and dangers recollect that the subject of them was a woman of the most tender and delicate frame ; of the gentlest manners habituated to all the soft elegancies and refined enjoyment that attend liigh birth and fortune ; and far advanced in a state in which the tender cares, always due to the sex, become indispensably necessary. Her mind alone was formed for such trials." HELEN V7ALKER. 129 HELEN WALKER. It is to be regretted that no fuller caccount has been pre- served of the act of high-minded, persevering courage by which Helen Walker, a simple Scotch maiden, saved her sister from a shameful and unmerited death ; voluntarily en- countering untold difficulties and dangers rather than speak the one word of untruth, by which she might so easily have gained the same end. An outhne, all that could then be learnt of her adventm*es, came many years after to the knowledge of a lady, who had the penetration at once to perceive hoAv well fitted was such a history for the powers of the greatest novelist of this or any age. She wrote to the author of Waverley, at first anony- mously, recounting the story, and the circumstances through which she had learnt it. Subsequently her name was made known to him as Mrs. Goldie, of Craigmuire, near Dumfries.* He entered as warmly as she expected into the beauty and the merits of her history, and not long after the world Avas at once benefited and delighted by perhaps the most interesting of his romances, " The Heart of Mid Lothian," of which this incident forms the groundwork. Helen Walker herself sug- gested the beautiful character of Jeanie Deans. Subsequent inquiries 'have added little that can be de- pended on to the original account ; but we have gratefully to acknowledge the kind and wilHng exertions of a lady, whose near connection with Mrs. Goldie best qualifies her for tha task, to furnish us with any fresh circumstances which time might have brought to hght, correcting at the same time the * Wife of Thomas Goldie, Esq., Commissary of Dumfries. 130 HELEN WALKER. misstatements wliicli others have fallen Into from tlic wisli to amplif}'^ and enlarge on insufficient data. Helen Walker -vvas the daughter of a small farmer of Dalwhairn, in the parish of Irongray, in the county of Dum- fries, where, after the death of her father, she continued to reside, supporting her widowed mother hy her own unre- mitting lahour and privations. On the death of her remaining parent she was left with, the charge of her sister Isabella, much younger than herself, and whom she educated and maintained hy her own exertions. Attached to her hy so many ties, it is not easy to conceive her feehngs when she found this sister must he ti'icd hy the laws of her country for child-murder, and that she herself was called upon to give evidence against her. In this moment of shame and anguish she was told hy the counsel for the prisoner that if she could declare that her sister had made any preparations, however slight, or had given her any intimation on the subject, that such a statement would save her sister's life, as she was the principal Avitness against her. Helen's answer was : "It is impossible for me to swear to a falsehood, Avhatever may be the consequence ; I wiU give my oath according to my conscience." The trial came on, and Isabella Walker was found guilty and condemned. In removing her from the bar she was heard to say to her sister : "0 Nelly, ye have been the cause of my death :" when Helen replied — " Ye ken I bade speak the truth. " In Scotland six weeks must elapse between the sentence and the execution ; and of this precious interval Helen knew how to avail herself. Whether her scheme had been long and carefully considered, or was the in- spiration of a bold and vigorous mind in the moment of its greatest anguish at her sister's reproach, we cannot tell ; but the very day of the condemnation she found strength for exertion and for thought. Her first step was to get a petition drawn up, stating the peculiar circumstances of her sister's case ; she then borrowed a sum of money necessary for her expenses, and that same night set out on her journey, barefooted and alone, and in due time reached London in safety, having peifonned the whole distance from Dumfries on foot. Arrived in London, she made her way at once to John, Duke of Argyle. Without introduction or rccom- HELEN WALKER. 131 menclatlon of any kind, wrapped in lier tartan plaid, and car- rying lier petition in her hand, she succeeded in gaining an audience, and presented herself hefore him. She was heard afterwards to say, that hy the Almighty's strength she had heen enahled to meet the Duke at a most critical moment, which, if lost, would have taken away the only chance for her sister's life. There must have heen a most convincing air of truth and sincerity ahout her, for the Duke interested himself at once in her cause, and immediately procured the pardon she petitioned for, with which Helen returned to Dumfries on foot just in time to save her sister's life. Isahella, or Sihby Walker, thus saved from the fate which imjjended over her, was eventually married hy Waugli, the man who had wronged her, and lived happily for great part . of a century, in or near Whitehaven, uniformly acknow- ledging the extraordinary affection to which she owed her preservation. It may have heen previous to her marriage tliat the following incident happened : — A gentleman who chanced to he travelling in the north of England, on coming to a small imi, was shown into the parlour hy a female ser- vant, who, after cautiously shutting the door, said : *' Sir, I am Nelly Walker's sister ;" thus showing her hope that the fame of her sister's heroism had reached further than her own celebrity of a far different nature ; or perhaps removed as she was from the home and the scenes of her youth, the sight of a face once familiar to her may have impelled her to seek the consolation of naming her sister to one probably acquainted with the circumstances of her history, and of that sister's share in them. The manner in which Sir Walter Scott became acquainted with Helen Walker's history has been already alluded to. In the notes to the Abbotsford edition of his novels he ac- knowledges his obligation on this point to Mrs. Goldie, *' an amiable and ingenious lady, whose wit and power of remarking and judging character still survive in the memory of her friends." Her communication to him was in these words : — " I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the old abbey of Lincluden. It had formerly been inhabited by a lady who had pleasure in embellishing cottages, which she found perhaps homely and poor enough ; mine, therefore, poss<)ssed many marks of taste and elegance, unusual in 132 HELEN WALKER. tliis Species of liabitation in Scotland, where a cottage is literally what its name declares. From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old ahbey before mentioned ; some of the highest arches were seen over and some through the trees scattered along a lane which led down to the ruin, and the strange fantastic shapes of almost all those old ashes accorded wonderfully well with the building they at once shaded and ornamented. The abbey itself from my door was almost on a level with the cottage ; but on coming to the end of the lane it was discovered to be situated on a high perpen- diculap bank, at the foot of which ran the clear waters of the Cluden, when they hasten to join the sweeping nith, * Whose distant roaring swells and fa's.' As my kitchen and parlour were not very far distant, I one day went in to purchase some cliickens from a person I heard offering them for sale. It was a httle, rather stout-looking woman, who seemed to be between seventy and eighty years of age ; she was almost covered \dih a tartan plaid, and her cap had over it a black silk hood tied under the chin, a piece of dress still much in use among elderly women of that rank of life in Scotland ; her eyes were dark, and remarkably lively and intelligent. I entered into conversation with her, and began by asking how she maintained herself, (fee. She said that in winter she footed stockings ; that is, knit feet to country people's stockings, which bears about the same rela- tion to stocking-knitting that cobbling does to shoe-making, and is, of course, both less profitable and less dignified ; she likewise taught a few children to read ; and in summer she * wliiles reared a wlieen cliickens.' *' I said I could venture to guess from her face she had never married. She laughed heartily at this, and said : ' I maum hae the queerest face that ever was seen, that ye could guess that. Now do tell me, madam, how ye came to think sae?' I told her it was from her cheerfid, disengaged countenance. She said : ' Mem, have ye na far mair reason to be happy than me, wi' agude husband and a fine family o' bairns, and plenty o' everytliing ? For me, I am the puircst of a' puir bodies, and can hardly contrive to keep myself alive in a' the wee bit o' ways I hae tell't ye.' After some jnore conversation, diu'ing wlxicli I was more and more pleased HELEN WALKER. 133 with tlie okl woman's sensible conversation, and tlie naivete of lier remarks, she rose to go away, wlien I asked her name. Her countenance suddenly clouded, and she said gravely, rather colouring, * My name is Helen AValker ; hut your luishand kens weel about me. ' *■' In the evening I related how much I had been pleased, and inquired w^hat was extraordinary in the history of the poor woman. Mr. said, ' There were perhaps few more remarkable people than Helen Walker ;' and he gave the history which has already been related here." The writer conthiues. " I was so strongly interested by tliis narrative that I determined immediately to prosecute my acquaintance with Helen Walker ; but as I was to leave the country next day, I was obliged to defer it until my return in spring, when the first walk I took was to Helen Walker's cottage. She had died a short time before. My regret was extreme, and I endeavoured to obtain some account of Helen from an old woman who inhabited the other end of her cot- tage. I inquired if Helen ever spoke of her past history, her journey to London, &c. * Na,' the old woman said, * Helen was a wiley body, and whene'er any o' the neebors asked anything about it, she aye turned the conversation. ' In short, every answer I received only tended to increase my regret, and raise my opinion of Helen Walker, who could unite so much prudence with so much heroic virtue." This account was enclosed in the following letter to the author of Waverley, without date or signature : — *' Sir, — The occurrence just related happened to me twenty-six years ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the churchyard of Irongray, about six miles from Dumfries. I once purposed that a small monument should have been erected to commemorate so remarkable a character ; but I now prefer leaving it to you to perpetuate her memory in a more durable manner." Mrs. Goldie endeavoured to collect further particulars of Helen Walker, particularly concerning her journey to Lon- don; but this she found impossible, as the natural dignity of her character, and a high sense of family respectabihty, had made her so indissolubly connect her sister's disgrace with her own exertions, that none of her neighbours durst ever questiou her upon the subject. Cue old woman, a distant 134 HELEN WALKER. relation of Helen's, and wlio ^Yas living in 1820, says she worked in harvest with her, hnt that she never ventured to ask her ahout her sister's trial, or her journey to London. *' Helen," she said, "was a lofty hody, and used a high style o' language." The same old woman says, " that every year Helen received a cheese from her sister, who lived at Wliite- haven, and that she always sent a liheral portion' of it to herself or to her father's family." The old person here spoken of must have heen a mere child to our heroine, who died in the year 1791, at the age of 81 or 82 ; and this dif- ference of age may well account for any reserve in speaking on such a subject, making it appear natural and proper, and not the result of any undue "loftiness" of character. All recollections of her are connected Avith her constant and devout reading of the bible. A small table, with a large open bible, invariably occupied one corner of her room ; and she was constantly observed stealing a glance, reading a text or a chapter, as her avocations permitted her time ; and it was her habit when it thundered, for her to take her work and her bible to the front of the cottage, alleging that the Almighty coidd smite in the city as well as the field. An extract from a recent letter says on the subject of our heroine — "I think 1 neglected to specify to you that Helen Walker lived in one of those cottages at the Chedar mills which you and yom' sisters so much admired ; and the Mr. Walker who, as he said himself, ' laid her head in the grave,' lived in that larger two-storied house standing high on the opposite bank. He is since dead, or I might have got the paiiicidars from him that we wanted : he was a respectable farmer. ' ' The memorial which Mrs. Goldie wished to be raised over her grave has since been erected at the expense of Sir Walter Scott. The inscription is as follows : — ■ This stone was erected by the Author of Waverly to the memory of HELEN WALKER, who died in the year of God mdccxci. This humble individual practised in real life the virtues with which fiction has invested HELEN WALKER. 135 the imaginary character of Jeanie Deans. refusing the sHghtest departure from veracity, even to save the life of her sister : she nevertheless showed her kindness and fortitude in rescuing her from the severity of the law, at the expense of personal exertions which the time rendered as difficult as the motive was laudable. Respect the grave of poverty, when combined with the love of truth and dear affection. Jeanie Deans Is recompensed by lier biograplier for the trials tlirougli wliicli lie leads lier, with a full measure of earthly comfort ; for few novelists dare venture to make virtue its own reward ; yet the following reflection shows him to have felt how little the ordinary course of Providence is in accord- ance with man's natural wishes, and his expectations of a splendid temporal reward of goodness : — *' That a character so distinguished for her undaunted love of virtue hved and died in poverty, if not want, serves only to show us how in- significant in the sight of Heaven are our principal objects of ambition upon earth." 136 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELLV. MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. The history of Madame La Rochejaquelin's trials and suffer- ings is found in lier " Memoirs of the Wars of La Vendee," and is given with such simpheity and naivete as ahnost to mislead the reader in his appreciation of her conduct in them. Her heroism makes small impression on her own mind : she dwells rather on scenes themselves than on her part in them, and has no disguise or reserve in describing her early terrors, and the transports of fear which affected her in her first introduction to those dangers, with which time afterwards rendered her so familiar. In the ordinary tenor of a lady's life, she woidd probably have shown no more than average courage. She might then have had her share of unreasonable terrors and nervous ap- prehensions, and often must have rest contented under the charge of feminine cowardice ; but this insight into her na- tural temperament ought only to lead us to a warmer respect and admiration for that heroism of soul, which, overcoming the timichty of her sex, sustained her through scenes of un- exampled horror, which gave her strength to cling to her noble husband in his greatest danger, to support him in every daring scheme, to be his help and best ally in each emergency, and to be ready to sacrifice with him fortune and every private good for the great cause of religion and loyalty. Her husband, M. de L'Escure, was, indeed, so much part of herself, so entirely the mainspring of her thoughts and actions, that it will not be possible to separate them in any account of her, however slight and disconnected. Nor can we regret the necessity of introducing some features and anecdotes of a character ^vhich, formed as it was in a corrupt MADAME LA llOCHEJAQUELIN. 137 age — one especuilly of "weakness, scli-interest, and irrcllgion, is at once a pattern of the true Avanior and tlie devont Christian. As a soldier, lie is described as the cahn, the magnanimous De L'Escure ; but the ])easants of La Vendee gave him the title of " the saint of Poiton." Sir Walter Scott, in speaking of M. de la Rochejaquelin's memoirs, says, " they are remarkable for the virtues of the heart, as well as the talents Avhich are displayed by their noble author. Without affectation, Avithout vanity, ■without violence or impotent repining, she has described the san- guinary and irregidar -warfare in which she and those dearest to her -were engaged for so long and stirring a period ; and we arise from the perusal sadder and wiser by having learnt what the brave can dare, and what the gentle can endure Avith patience." Victorine, Marchioness de L'Escure — better known as Mde. de la Rochejaquelin — was the only daughter of the Marquis de Donnessan, Gentilhomnie d'Honneurof Monsieur, and subsequently a distinguished leader in the Vendean war. Her mother, too, had an office at court, and enjoyed the friendship of the royal family. The king and the Princess Victoire were sponsors for the Httle Victorine. She was born in 1772, and was educated in the palace of Versailles till her eighteenth year ; when she quitted it with the princesses, to follow the unfortunate Louis XVI. when he was dragged from thence a prisoner to Paris. After this, she retired to the country with her father and mother ; and shortly after, married M. de L'Escure, for whom she had been destined from her infancy. He was at this time five- and-twenty, and she just nineteen. His character is thus given by his wife — *' Among the young people of his own age, none were better informed, more virtuous in every re- spect, more perfect in short : he was, at the same time, so modest, that he seemed ashamed of his OAvn merit, and his endeavour was to conceal it. He was timid and awkward ; and although of a good height and figure, his manners might not be prepossessing at first. He was born with strong pas- sions ; yet, notwithstanding the general examjile, and par- ticularly his father's, whose habits were irregidar, he con- ducted himself with the most perfect correctness. His great piety preserved him from the contagion, and insulated him N 3 138 MADAME LA ROCHE JAQUELIX. in the midst of tlie court and tlie world. He took the sacra- ment every fortnight. The constant habit of resisting his inchnations and all external seductions had rendered him rather unsocial and reseiTed : his opinions were strongly fixed on his mind, and sometimeg* he showed himself per- tinaciously attached to them. At the same time, he had the most perfect gentleness ; and being entirely free from anger, or even impatience, his temper was always equal, and his calmness unalterable. He passed his time in study and meditation." A character thus formed and disciplined was well prepared for the career which the times had in store for him. Indeed, from the first outbreak of the revolution, he had no other thought than how to devote himself to the royal cause with the best chance of being of real service. So early as 1791, he was engaged in a confederacy formed in Poitou, where his grandfather's estates lay ; but this failing and coming to nothing on the king's flight and arrest, he then uuAvillingly determined to emigrate, in conjunction with the majority of the French nobihty, and join the king's brothers abroad. The Royahst party were induced to this step by the hope of gaining the assistance of the Idng's foreign allies, and re- turning with a force sufiicient to defeat the Revolutionist party, and to eff'ect his rescue. With this view, M, and Mde. de L'Escure came to Paris for necessary preparations ; but an interview with the queen changed their resolution. *' And you, Victorine, what do you intend to do ?" she asked: *' I suspect you are come here for the purpose of emigrating." Mde. de L'Escure rephed that that was her husband's intention ; but that he would remain in Paris if he could be useful to her majesty. The queen reflected for some time, and then said, in a serious tone — " He is a good subject ; he has no ambition : let him remain." Mde. de L'Escure rephed that her orders Avere laws. In another interview the queen said warmly, and pressing her hand — " Victorine, I hope you will stay with us?" A wish thus expressed must be obeyed, and M. and Mde. de L'Escure decided to remain in Paris. This change of plan caused some discontent among the emigrants ; and two days after, an order being issued by the party in power confiscating the property of emigrants, Mde, MADAME LA IIOCIIEJAQUELLV. 130 clc L'Escurc feared that lior husband's reputation might suffer ; and the queen was again consulted. Her answer was — •" I have nothing more to say to M. dc L'Escure : it is for him to consult his conscience, his honour, and his duty ; but he ought to remember that the defenders of a throne are always in their proper places near the king." When this reply — so just an appeal both to the heart and judgment — was reported to M. de L'Escure, he answered — *' I should be contemptible in my own eyes if I could balance a moment between my reputation and my duty. ' ' And he never again entertained the thought of quitting his country. All the summer they continued in Paris, which might almost be considered in the hands of the mob. M. de L'Escure was always in the Tuilleries, or disguised among the mob, to inform himself of the state of the pubhc mind. His wife lived in strict retirement, only occasionally seeing the Princess de Lamballe, who was now preparing her mind for the 'fate which awaited her. Li Mde. de L'Escure's last interview with her, she spoke these words — " As the danger augments I feel more strength : I am ready to die : I fear nothing." At this time, Mde. de L'Escure was joined by her father and mother, who had fled from Medoc, in the neighbom-hood of Bordeaux, where frightful atrocities were being acted, only to witness worse horrors in Paris, and to be involved in greater danger. Any detailed history either of the course of events at Paris, or the subsequent nse and progress of the war in La Vendee woidd be out of place here, and is, besides, within the reach of all readers. We must be content simply to give such scenes from our heroine's connected narrative as bring out her character and her share in the events she describes. Her first actual contact with the Parisian mob shows more her natural disposition than any inborn insensibihty to danger ; of which, indeed, no part of her career gives any example. At the time of the massacre of the Swiss guards, being obhged to change their quarters, " We agreed," she says, **to repair secretly and in disguise to the house of an old female servant, -who lived in the street De L'Universite Faubourg St. Germaiu, My father and mother went out 1-iO MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. together, and arrived there without meeting any accident. . I went with M. de L'Escure, and begged that he would leave liis pistols, as I found they woidd make him known as a " knight of the dagger ;" (this was the name the people had given to the secret defenders of the king.) He yielded from compassion of my situation : I was then enceinte. We went by the Alley de Marigny, and from thence we entered Les Champs Elysees. They Avere deserted, and all was obscurity and silence, except the firing at the TuiUeries, heard in the distance. Suddenly we distinguished the voice of a woman, coming towards us and entreating protection. She was pursued by a man, who threatened to kill her. She darted towards M. de L'Escure, and seized his arm, crying — ' Defend me, sir ! ' He was extremely embarrassed : un- armed, and held by two women, who clung to him, and were almost in a swoon. He endeavoured in vain to disengage himself to go to the man, who, levelling liis gun at us, said — ' I have kiUed several aristocrats to-day, and this will be some more.' He was comjiletely drunk. M. de L'Escure asked him what he Avanted with the woman. ' I asked her the way to the TuiUeries, to go and kill the Swiss.' Li reahty, he had not at first intended to do her any harm ; but having been frightened, and taken flight without answering, he had pursued her. M. de L'Escure, with his usual pre- sence of mind, said to him — * You are right : I am going there also.' The man then began to converse with him ; but from time to time he raised his musket, saying that he suspected we were aristocrats, and that he must at least kill that woman. M. de L'Escure wished to tUsarm him ; but the woman and I clung to his arm more and more, without knowing what we did. At last he persuaded the man wo were going to the TuiUeries. He then wished to accompany us ; but M. de L'Escure said to him — ' I have my wife here, who is near her tune. I am taking her to her sister's, and then I shall join you.' They agreed upon a place of meeting before they parted. I desired to leave the walks for the high road which divides the Champs Elysees. Never shall I forget the spectacle that presented itself to my eyes. On the right and left were the Champs Elysees, in wdiich more than a thousand persons had been massacred during the day. The most profound silence and obscmity now MADAME LA ]10CIIEJAQI'EIJX. 141 reigned around. In front we saw the barracks of the Tuilleries in flames, and heard the firing and cries of the populace. Behind us, the buildings of the barrier were also on fire. We wished to get into the walks on the right, to gain the bridge of Louis XV. ; but the swearing and shout- ing heard that way deterred us. Terror seized me, and I drew away M. de L'Escuro to the left side, along the gardens of the Faubourg St. Ilonore. We arrived at the place Louis XV., and were going to cross it, when wc saw a mob coming out of the Tuilleries by the di-aw-bridge, and firing muskets. We took, then, to the Rue Royale, and thus to tlie Rue St. Honore. We passed through a crowd of men, armed with piles, hooting ferociously. The most part were drunk. I lost my senses so completely, that I went on, crying — ' Vivent les sans culottes ! Illwninez ! Cassez les vitres V and repeated mechanically the vocifera- tions I heard. M. de L'Escure could not cahn me, nor pre- vent my cries. At last we arrived at the Louvre, which Avas dark and solitary, passed the Pont-neuf, and reached the quay. The most profound silence reigned on this side the Seine ; whilst we saw on the other bank the flames of the Tuilleries, which threw a gioAving fight on every object, and heard the noise of the cannon, the discharge of the musketry, and the hallooings of the midtitude. It was a striking contrast. The river seemed to divide tAVO difterent regions. I Avas ex- hausted Avith fatigue, and unable to reach the place to which iny mother had retired. I slept in an obscure street of the Faubourg St. Germain, at the house of an old house-keeper of M. de L'Escure. I found there tAvo servants, Avho had come to conceal some diamonds and other things of value, which they had saved at the risk of their lives ; for the populace massacred all those wliom they supposed had carried off* anytliing. I learned from them that my mother Avas safe, and begged them to tell her of my safety. They could not, however, return to her, and she passed the night in anguish ; Avhilst my father Avandered about the toAvn, to discover, if possible, Avhat had become of me ; Avhich they did not learn till the next morning. " We found, by tAvo or three Avomen aa^Iio had remained at the Hotel Diesbach, that the mob had been employed the whole night in massacring the SavIss in our street. Agatha, 142 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. my maid, had a man killed at her side, when she herself was carrying to one of the Swiss guards clothes for dis- guising himself. Next day the carnage continued. M. de L'Escure, notwithstanding my entreaties, went to obtain news of our friends ; and saw two men murdered. We re- mained eight days in our asylimi ; but my mother and I visited each other, disguised as common people. One day, returning from her, M. de L'Escure with me, and passing before a guard-house, a volunteer, seated before the door, said to his companions — ' There are many knights of the dagger about : they are disguised ; but they will soon be known.' I concealed my emotion ; but, on entering the house, I fell lifeless." Shortly after these alarms, M. and Mde. de L'Escm-e, with her father and mother, escaped, through great risks and dangers, from Paris, where affairs were hopeless ; and M. de L'Escure proceeded, in advance of the rest, to Poitou, where lay his estates, to ascertain the state of things there. He was shortly after rejoined by them at his family chateau of Chsson, situated in that part of Poitou, called then Le Pays du Bocage, from the wooded and intricate character of the scenery ; but since known more generally by the glorious name of La Vendee. There had already been an insurrection of peasants, ter- minating in their defeat before our party reached Clisson ; but the parish of Boisme, in which it was situated, had not joined the insm-gents : and the cm-ate and vicar having taken the required oaths — ^>vith a protest, however, against anything in them contrary to the Catholic religion — it was in greater quiet and apparent security than neighbouring districts. At this time, the nuns throughout Prance were turned out of their convents ; and at Chsson they were able to offer what seemed a tolerably secure asylmn to the venerable abbess of St. Auxonne, aunt of Mde. de Donnessan. She came and continued with them till her melancholy death. Very shortly after their arrival, the news reached them of the death of the Princess de Lamballe, which so affected Mde. de Donnessan that she fell lifeless, and for three weeks remained in a very dangerous state. Li the universal alarm which now began to prevail, the Chateau of Chsson became a general asylum ; the weak MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIN. 143 and licli)Iess ; women and old men came there for refuge, trusting to the well-known kindness and humanity of its owner, besides many personal friends of M. de L'Escure ; and here they M'erc soon joined by his cousin, the noble Henri de La Roehojaquehn, who, at the age of twenty, was destined to be a leader and principal hero of the Vendean war. In the midst of this excitement, Madame de L'Escure gave birth to her first child, a daughter. " At any other time," she says, " I should have wished to nurse her ; but I foresaAv that, soon or late, the Revolu- tion would reach us, and I wished to be at liberty to follow my husband Avherever he might go, should it be to a prison, if he were taken, or to the war ; in which, if it should break out, he had resolved to join. I therefore hired a nurse for my child." The news of the murder of the king at this time threw all into the deepest gloom. M. de L'Escure and La Roche- jaquelin had charged some friends in Paris to give them timely notice if any measures were taken to save him ; but nothing was attempted. The peasantry of La Vendee, driven to desperation by the measure taken by the repub- licans against themselves and their clergy, at length took up arms, finding generals ready to their hands, both from their own class and also amongst the neighbouring gentiy. Rumours of this rising reached Clisson ; but in that whole district the roads were so bad, and the difiicidty of carrying intelhgence so great, that it was some time before they could trust any reports. In the meanwhile, to prepare Madame de L'Escure for the hfe now too evidently before her, her husband thought it necessary that she should learn to ride on horseback. *' But I was so frightened," she saj^s, *' that even when a servant held the bridle of the horse, and M. de L'Escure and Henri were walking at each side of me, I wept from fear." But my husband said that, at such a time, it was necessary to be inured to dangers. She did not, however, readily overcome even this first step towards necessary hardihood. It was not till stronger fears over- came personal ones that she rode fearlessly. Some time after (and anticipating the order of events), being anxious to see her child, which was concealed in a distant fanu-housc, she set out on horseback ; but so much 144 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. afraid, that her guide led the horse the whole way. "When arrived at her destination, a messenger followed her to tell her that her hushand was wonnded. Dreadfully alarmed, she called for the first horse that could be found ; and, not suffering the stirmps even to be altered to suit her smaller size, she galloped off, urging the horse to his utmost speed, tiU, in three quarters of an hour, she had ridden three leagues of bad road. *' Since then," she says, '' I have never been afraid to ride on horseback." The time was now come for M. de L'Escure to declare himself ; for a summons came from the Revolutionary au- thorities in the neighbouring town of Bressaire, commanding the national guard of that district of wliicli he was com- mandant, to take up arms against the peasants. M. de L'Escure was commandant of this body. He would wilHngly have joined the insurgents immediately, but was ignorant in what part of the country they were ; and could neither escape with his family to them, nor leave them behind. The whole family assembled to decide what was to be done in this emergency. " Henri, as the youngest, spoke first. He said he would rather perish than take up arms against the peasants. M. de L'Escure spoke with equal ardour. Evei-y one agreed ; and in that moment none had any idea of pro- posing a timid consent. My mother then said — ' Gentlemen, you are all of the same opinion — rather to die than to suffer dishonour.' She pronounced these words with firmness, and seating herself in an arm-chair, said — ■' Well, we must die.'" Having come to this conclusion, the gentlemen prepared to resist any party sent against them ; and insisted on the ladies leaving the chateau. *' I sent," she says, " my little daughter to the village, with her nurse ; and my mother, my aunt, the abbess, and myself, went to conceal ourselves at the farm. The gentlemen continued at the chateau, prepared for everything. We continued during four hours in this farm, upon our knees in prayer, and dissolved in tears." At length they received news that nothing was resolved against them, and that hitherto there liad been only threats. In the meanwhile their situation at Chsson became every day more perilous. Henri de la Rochejaquehn Avas drawn for the militia, and must take some immediate step. At this MADAME LA ROriTEJAQUELIX. 145 moment a young* peasant arrived at tlio cliateau from lii.s aunt. Mademoiselle de la Rocliejaquelin, inviting him to join the Royalist army, the messenger assuring him that all the peasants drawn for the militia woidd resist, and rise in a body, and now called upon him to he their leader. Henri consented, and set out at once. M. de L'Escure earnestly wished to join ; hut the persuasions of his family induced him to wait till he could do so with greater security to them. The danger of remaining proved to he as great as the most open declaration of his opinions would have been. A very few days after, a party of gens cl 'anms, sent by the Repub- lican party now riding in Bressuire, rode into the couit-yard of the chateau, and arrested M. and Mde. de L'Escure, with other suspected persons. They could only submit ; and Madame de Donnessan, not deterred by the extreme danger of such a step, insisted on accompanying her daughter to prison. They were not, however, treated as harshly as they had reason to expect ; and instead of being lodged in the town prison, were confined in the house of one of their tradespeople, in one of the principal streets of the place. Through the favour of the gens d ^armes, who had acted their part most unwiUingly, and also of their host, who lu-ged upon them never to show themselves at the windows, they escaped the imminent peril which now threatened them. Here, as the insurgents or republican parties met with alternate success, they were kept in cruel suspense. They could hear the Marsellaise hymn — the precursor of so many horrors — sung under their windows, and unfortunate peasants led, on the shghtest suspicion, to execution. These men received death on their knees, crying — " Vive U roi /" Our prisoners daily expected a similar death : but the Repubhcan soldiers were ignorant of their retreat ; and the people of the place, though " patriots," would not betray them. In the mean- while, Henri de la Rochejaquelin, the most distinguished hero of these wars, had begun his course of success ; and on the 1st of May, 1793, the alarm of his approach toward Bressuire caused such a panic, that when he was still three leagues from the place, the Republican soldiers evacuated the toAvn, and made a tumultuous retreat. At this moment the anxiety of our prisoners was most intense. They ex- pected either to be massacred or carried away by the soldiers. o 146 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIX. Every time a compan}^ halted before their door, they sup- posed they were going to be seized ; but by degrees the town became deserted. No one had thought of them in the hasty retreat ; and they at length found themselves free. At eleven o'clock in the day the town was completely aban- doned, and they coidd safely leave their place of confinement. They traversed the streets, where women in tears were alone to be seen ; and hastening through the gates of the town, followed by her father and mother at a more sober pace, M. and Mde. de L'Escure hurried on through the shortest by- paths, and presently found themselves once more free in their own house, hardly yet able to reahze their dehverance. Here news soon reached them that the Royahst army, which had done them, unconsciously, such good service, had changed their com'se, and were not coming to the town of Bressuire at all. The chateau was now filled with patriot refugees, who, confiding in M. de L'Escm'e's well-known hu- manity, had fled thither from the dreaded retribution of the Royalist army. On regaining his Uberty, M. de L'Escure immediately re- solved to summon all the neighbouring parishes to a place of rendezvous, and ofi'er himself as their leader, proposing im- mediately to occupy the deserted town of Bressuire. There is sometliing touching in the picture here presented to us, of young people, with light-hearted, youthful spirit, taking their first dehberate step in the career which was to lead them through such a course of sufi'ering and endurance ; in the case of three of the party, to end in an early and violent death. '* We began," says Madame de L'Escure, *' in prospect of this step, to make all preparations. My husband had not communicated his design, except to M. de Marigny, the chevaher Dedesserts, and to me. My parents had the same sentiments, but not the same youthful ardour. We concealed ourselves from them, fearing their objections and remonstrances. We four, shut ourselves up in an apart- ment ; and though the chateau was full of patriot refugees, the gentlemen practised the exercises, and I made white cockades. At four o'clock, ]\L de L'Escure went to tell my mother that preparations were ready for escorting the women to Chatillon. " But if the patriots return to Bressuire," she said, *' what will become of us?'* " By dawu to-morrow," MADAME LA ROCHE JAQUELIN. 147 replied M. de L'Eseiire, *' I shall bo master of Brcssiiirc. Forty parishes revolt this night, by my orders." '* Ah !'* cried my mother, sinking back: "we are lost!" M. de L'Escure could not listen to the fears and representations which followed : the time for action was come, and he must, at all risks, take his line boldly. Madame de L'Escure's own part at this time required much sense and judgment, for she had to mediate between the tAvo contending parties who occupied the chateau— the indignant Royalists and the terri- fied patriots ; and also watch that these last shoidd not, by any display of their opinions, bring suspicion from his own party upon her husband, who, till the moment of declaring himself by the pubhc act he now contemplated, had been cautious not to commit himself. Before, however, there was time for him to take possession of Bressuire, the Royalists sent 20,000 men to occupy it. She gives the following account of her visit to the town on this occasion of rejoicing : — " We went in a carriage, es- corted by armed servants ; and as we drew near the town, perceived the Vendeans. They knew who we were, and began to call out — ^Vive le roiV We repeated it with them, shedding tears of joy. I perceived about fifty on their knees, at the foot of a crucifix. Nothing interrupted their devotion. The town was occupied by about 20,000 men, but of whom not more than 6,000 bore arms. The rest carried scythes fixed on handles — a frightful-looking weapon — blades of knives, sickles fixed on sticks, spits, or great massy clubs of knotted wood. The streets were full, the bells rang, and they had made a bonfire in the square, with the tree of liberty and the papers of the admmistration. The gentlemen went to seek the generals, and I walked about the town yAi\\ my maids. The peasants asked me if I had been at Bressuire before. I told them of my having been a prisoner there, and how they had dehvered me. They were happy to have saved a lady. They desired to show me * Marie-Jeanne,' (a cannon they had lately captui*ed, of his- torical celebrity). This was supposed to possess some mira- culous power, and looked upon as a sure pledge of \'ictory. I found it adorned with flowers and ribbons. The peasants embraced it, and requested me to do the same ; with which I most readily complied." Tliis may be considered as Uer 14:8 MADAME LA KOCIIEJAQUELIX. introduction to the peasants. There are many traits through- out her history, which show the admiration and respect with which they were afterwards led to regard her. The influence she possessed over them was so acknowledged, that on one occasion of great emergency, her hushand sent her to recruit amongst them. This esteem and regard was mutual : her memoirs are full of testimonies to their good and noble qualities — their humanity, piety, honesty, and forbearance. There is, indeed, throughout, in her tone of speaking of these heroic peasants, a most pleasant freedom from that ex- clusiveness and distance with which it is too common for persons of her class to regard their inferiors in birth and station, even while they entertain kind feelings towards them. With her there is no affectation of liberalism ; but in all simplicity she seems to forget outward differences in the one great cause in which all were engaged ; and wliich, by its overpowering influence and importance, levelled for the time the distinctions of rank. Not that Mde. de L'Escure forgot her station, nor the noble peasants theirs, for some curious instances to the contrary are given ; but while the Republicans were raving of equality, it was alone in the Vendean army that a true idea of it could be found — an acknowledgment of one high common interest, in which all the every-day distinctions of life were at once granted and forgotten. We cannot follow the progress of the war, which was now carried on with great spirit, and of which our heroine has given an excellent histor3^ Her husband was one of its most distinguished generals ; and she dwells with tenderness on the admirable example he presented of the calm courage of a Christian soldier. *' His bravery never betrayed him out of his habitual coolness ; and even Avhen he shoAved temerity, he never ceased to be calm and collected. In liis humanity there was something angelic and wonderful. In a war in which the generals were soldiers, and fought frequently man to man, no one ever received death from his hands : never did he allow, when in his poAver to prevent it, a prisoner to perish, or be ill-treated, even when the horrible massacres of the Republicans tempted the wildest of our ofiicers to re- taliate. A man once fired close to his breast. Putting aside the gun, he said — " Take away this prisoner !" but MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIN. 149 the enraged peasants killed liim on the spot. He had never been seen so angry on any occasion, nor had an oath ever escaped from him before. The nimiber of lives he saved was astonishing ; and his memory is cherished and venerated throughout La Vendee." During the progress of the army, Mde. de L'Eseure could not be with her husband, though keeping as near to him as he thought safe. She and her mother were seldom separated ; though private business, or such public affairs as she could be made useful in, sometimes called her away for a time. She flew to her husband, as we have said, on the occasion of his first wound, and remained by his side till he was recovered ; returning afterwards to Chs- son, where he sent her news of his proceedings. On one occasion he sent a messenger to inform her of a failure in taking a town they had designs on. The man seems to have misunderstood his own message. He galloped to Clisson, almost frantic with fear ; and when he reached the chateau, knocked at her door, caUing out — " Madame, I come from M. de L'Eseure, who bids you make your escape. We have been beaten at Parthenay. Flly!" On tliis, she says, a panic seized her. She rushed, half di-essed, into the court-yard, where were a party of mowers setting out for their work, and told them it was no time for working : they must go and fight. Her fears, however, were soon calmed by fresh accounts ; and shortly after, she set out on horse- back to rejoin her mother, from whom she had been separated some little time. Passing tkrough Chatillon, she was re- ceived Avith acclamations by the people. "Here she is I here she is!" they cried. It had been expected that she and her husband were taken prisoners. She told them all she knew ; and went forward to Mde. de Donnessan, who was in extreme anxiety from the same report. This devoted mother had fully made up her mind, if it proved true, to follow her daughter to prison, and perish Avitli her on the scaffold, which would have been her inevitable fate ; when her most unexpected appearance changed all into joy. Mde. de L'Eseure had seen her home for the last time. It had been fomid necessary for the Vendean army to retire from that part of the country, which they had not force enough to defend ; and as they retreated, the Re- o 3 150 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIX. publican army, under the command of General Wcstermann, advanced, and here began their frightful s^^stem of burn- ings, making Clisson ahnost the iirst object of their ven- geance. " As the chateau of M. de L'Escure, it was expected to be found in a state of defence ; and the general, imagining he must encounter there a numerous garrison, and experience an obstinate resistance, advanced with all his men, and not without great precautions, to attack this chateau of the chief of the brigands (for this was the name given by the Re- pubhcans to the Royahst army). He arrived there about nine o'clock at night. Some peasants, concealed, fired a few shots from the wood and garden, which frightened the Re- publicans very much ; but they seized some women, and learned there Avas nobody at Chsson, Avhich, besides, was incapable of being defended. Westermann then entered, and wrote from thence to the convention a trimnphant letter, which was published in the newspapers, sending the will and the picture of M. de L'Escure, and relating that after having crossed many ravines, ditches, and covered ways, he had at last reached the de:\ of that monster, vomited from liell, and was going to set fire to it. In fact, he had straw and faggots brought into the rooms, the garrets, the stables, and the fann, and took all his measures that nothing should escape the fire. The furniture Avas consumed; immense quantities of corn and hay Avere not spared : it v/as the same everywhere. M. de L'Escure, in anticipation of Avhat must come, had given orders long before to take out the furniture ; but learning the terror that this news had spread in the neigh- bourhood, the inhabitants abandoning their farms, &c., he gave counter orders." *' I was gone," she says, " to dine at ChatiUon Avith the gentlemen the day they Avere informed of the burning of Chsson. It did not make much impression on us — Ave had long expected this event ; but the course of Westermann Avas important." The system of burning caused great con- sternation amongst the poor peasants, AA^ho " Avanted, before they fought, to place their avians, their children, and their cattle, in safety." The geijerals Averc in great embarrass- ment. They began to Avrite requisitions, and to send couriers in all directions to cari-y them. In the Avant of men and horses, M. do L'Eacurc employed liis Avifc to dchvcr orders MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIN. 151 to several parishes. " I galloped off," she says, " and on my arrival I had the tocsin sounded ; delivered the requisi- tion to the parish council, and harangued the peasants the hest I coidd, going from thence to Mallievre to do the same, and sent expresses to the neighbouring parishes. I then returned to my mother at La Boulaye." Before all these measures could take effect, the Royalists were forced to a battle, and driven back by the Republicans. She gives the confession of her own feelings with great can- dour. " During this battle, all the women were, according to their custom, on their knees in prayer, Avhile waiting for the event. We listened attentively to the noise of the can- non ; and its distance made us judge of the position of the army. Very soon I heard it both louder and nearer. A panic seized me. I fled, without waiting for anything, crossed the Sevre at Mallievre ; then, entering a cottage, I dressed myself like a country woman from head to foot, choosing in preference the worst tattered clothes. Then I went to meet my mother and the inhabitants of La Boulaye, who followed me less precipitately, and whom I found again at Mallievre. We took the road to Herbiers. In the way, M. de Le Concise came to beg us to stop at his sister' s-in-law, at the chateau de Concise ; M. de Talmont and my father were there from Nantes. Mde. de Concise was not yet ac- customed to the Vendean manners : we found her wearing- rouge, and trying to be nervous. But she received us very well. The next day we went to Herbiers, where I was per- suaded to leave oft' my disguise. My mother was very ill after all was over. She had a great deal of self-command ; and in the moment of danger she kept her presence of mind, but suffered the more aftenvards for the violent efforts she made ; while I, who yielded to the first emotion, forgot the danger as soon as it was past." In the moment, however, of her greatest fears, she never seems to have lost her powers of observation, and a certain humour, and gaiety of heart Avhich must have given her society a wonderful charm to all who came within the sphere of her influence, especially at a time when the only hirnian alleviation and relaxation from the most anxious cares and prospects was a bright, cheerfid sympathy in one another's feelings and ad- ventures. 152 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. As a companion to the lady witli the rouge, we must give her account of a M. , who joined the army at a time when officers and men had all, from convenience and necessity, as- sumed the rough, simple dress which gained for them the epithet of brigands . "This gentleman," she says, "in order to give himself a distinguished appearance, had put on a hlue velvet coat emhroidered with spangles, wore a hag, a chapeaii-de-hras, and a sword hy his side. It was his first appearance in the camp. He said that, ha\ing heen informed that the chiefs were not present, he had thought himself ohliged to come to Amaillou, to oifer his services. M. de L'Escure thanked him very much, and begged him, his officers being very much fatigued, to take charge of the camp, and to give orders for the bivouac. He was kept all night in the rain, and far from the fire, and appeared no more at the camp." From this time Madame de L'Escure seems to have been constantly vrith her liusband, and at hand for many essential services ; at one time mediating between the peasants and their officers — then employed by the council to write de- spatches, in her small, legible hand, which were to be en- closed in a pocket-pistol — and, again, embroidering a fair white standard for her husband's army. This standard had a short and eventful career. In the first battle in wliich it was unfurled, the Vendeans, for a moment, gave way, and a flight was begun. M. de L'Escure sprang from his horse, and cried out — " Are there four hundi-ed men brave enough to die with me?" The people of Echaubroignes shouted back — "Yes, marquis, we will follow wherever you lead ! " The battle was saved, and ended in a complete victory. For several days they had a course of briUiant success — the soldiers returned in triumph to their houses — and the Te Deum was sung in all the parishes ; in one clim-ch it was performed with pecidiar solemnity and 2)om2). M. dc L'Escure, whose corn-age had been most conspicuous in the last battle, and whom the whole country hailed as its deliverer, concealing himself behind a pillar of the church, to avoid observation, returned thanks to God, upon his knees. Sooii, however, there came a reverse : the Royalists had to retreat farther into the country : they were attacked by a superior force, and lost the day, in spite of the heroic cxer- MADAME LA R0CI1EJAQUEL1>'. 153 tious of M. dc L'Escure and his cousin. The peasaut who liad carried the standard brought it to Madame de L'Escure the day after the battle ; the pole alone Avas left, all jagged with sabre-cuts. He had fought singly with a republican soldier who had wished to secure it, and had successfully de- fended himself by using it as a lance. Shortly after, the Vcndeans gained another victory, but accompanied with great loss and many terrible circumstances : it was M. de L'Escure's last battle. Two days after, as he was again leading his men to the attack, being some way before the troop, a ball struck him above the left eye, and he fell lifeless. The alarm of his loss caused a complete rout amongst his men : they behoved him dead, and Avere in despair. His servant, hoAvever, found him on the field — bathed in blood, indeed, but still breathing. He Avas placed on a horse, supported by tAvo soldiers, AAdio Avonderfidly suc- ceeded, in the midst of the flight, in carrying him aAvay safely from the enemy into comparative safety. While this Avas passing, his wife says, *' on the morning of the 16th (the day after this happened), I Avent to church, Avliere I found a number of Avomen kneeling in prayer, hav- ing heard the sound of cannon from Chollet. Some of the fugitive troops arrived : I saAv M. de Perault, Avho approach- ed, took me by the hand, and Avept, but, pereeiA'ing by my countenance that I kncAv nothing, said it Avas for the loss of the battle. I asked Avhere M. de L'Escure Avas, and he re- plied at Beaupreau. He did not knoAv that he Avas alive, but had not courage to tell me of liis death. He advised me to retm-n to Beaupreau, as the hussars might every instant be expected at Trementine. No oxen could be found for the carriage to convey my poor old aunt ; but, terrified to death, I coidd not Avait. Taking my daughter in my arms, I set out on horseback, accompanied by my mother." They had to stoj) on the road, and Avere soon overtaken by her aunt. They proceeded in great terror through bad and thfiicult roads, believing themselves almost in the midst of the enemy, and arrived at night, not at Beaupreau, Avhere they Avished to be, but at the village of Bose, a feAv miles from the Loire. " We threAv ourselves," she says, "on a bed, in a room full of soldiers, avIio were on their Avay to join the army of M. de Bonchamp. At three, on the morning 15-1 MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIX. of the 17tli of October, wc were awaked by tbc noise of cannon. It was heard at once from the quarter of St. Flo- rent and from Mont Jean along the Loire. Every one rose to attend the high mass, which was to be celebrated by the curate dming the night, that the peasants might proceed early in the morning for the army. We accompanied them, and found the church fidl. The curate, who was a good old man, of venerable appearance, exliorted the soldiers in the most affecting manner — he conjured them to defend their God, their king, and their wives and their cliildren. The roar of cannon was heard at intervals during this discourse. The scene around, and the uncertainty in which we were, as to the fate of the araiy and of those most dear to us, height- ened by the obscurity of night, made a profound and awful impression. The cm-ate finished by giving absolution to those who were going to battle. After mass I wished to confess. They had told the curate that M. de L'Escure was dead, and, not knowing how to communicate this dreadful misfortune, entreated him to prepare me for it. This old man spoke to me with extreme kindness, carefidly avoiding to overwhelm me with a sudden blow. He praised the vir- tues and piety of M. de L'Escure, and said I should feel deep gratitude to God for having bestowed upon me such a husband ; but that higher duties were imposed upon me in consequence — that M. de L'Escure might be called to his God — and that, if Providence, in its infinite wisdom, should try me with severe afflictions, I ought to be resigned to Heaven, and think only of the recompence that awaited me. His tone and voice, rising by degrees, seemed prophetic. Frozen with terror, I looked on him, not knowing what to think. During this time the noise of cannon redoubled, and the jicals, seeming to approach nearer and nearer, obhged us to leave the church ; and, while I was almost senseless, they put me on horseback, and we fled without knowing where to find shelter. At a league from Bose, M. Jagault met some people, who told him M. de L'Escure was at Chaudron, and was wounded. I then learned what they had believed and concealed from me. We were not far from Chaudron, and I flew there, where I found M. de L'Escure in a dreadful state. His head was all shattered, and his face so terribly swelled, that he could hardly speak. My arrival rehevcd him from MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELTX. 155 the most terrible apprehensions, for lie had sent three different messengers, who neither met nor could gain any intelligence of me, and he imagined I had fallen into the hands of the Republicans." At the time of this sad meeting, another battle, disastrous for the Yendeans, was being fought. After an obstinate conflict, they were repidsed, and their army finally routed. Dm-ing that day and the following night, bodies of retreating or flying soldiers arrived at St. Florent, on the banks of the Loire. The Bretans, on the opposite banks, now brought boats, and invited the routed army to cross over, saying — " Come, friends, come to our country ; you shall want for nothing; we will help you; we are all aristocrats." The Yendeans, seized with a panic, precipitated themselves in crowds into the boats ; and when, on the morning of the 18th, the oflicers arrived, the celebrated passage of the Loire, so fatal to their cause, was begun. *' Dm-ing the night, M. de L'Escure had been removed from Chauch'on, carried on a bed, which had been covered and made as easy as was possible ; but he suffered dreadfully. His wife travelled by liis side, herself in circumstances to need care and rest, if they could have been obtained for any one in that disastrous moment. 'We arrived,' she says, * early at St. Florent, and then I saw the greatest and the saddest sight which can be imagined. The heights of St. Florent form a kind of semi-circular boundary to a vast level strand reaching to the Loire, which is very wide at this place. Eighty thousand people were crowded together in this valley — soldiers, women, children, the aged and the Avounded — flying from immediate destruction. Behind them they per- ceived the smoke rising from the villages the Republicans were burning. Nothing was heard but loud sobs, groans, and cries. In this confused crowd every one sought his relations, his friends, his protectors. They knew not what fate they shoidd meet on the other shore, yet hastened to it, as if beyond the stream they were to find an end to all their misfortunes. Twenty bad boats carried successively the fugitives who crowded into them ; others tried to cross on horses ; all spread out their arms towards the opposite side, supplicating to be taken there. At a distance, on the oppo- site side, another midtitude was seen, and heard fainter. In 156 MADAME LA ROCTTEJAQUELIX. tlie middle was a small island, covered with people. Many of us compared this disorder — this despair — this terrible uncer- tainty of the future — this immense spectacle — this bewildered crowd — this valley — this stream which must be crossed — to the ideas of the last judgment.' " When the officers saw this eagerness to quit the left bank of the river, and the disorder Avhich had seized the whole army, they gave themselves up to despair. Henri de la Rochejaquelin was di-iven frantic by the thought of being thus forced to cross the river, and thus giving u]) every hope of retrieving the battle. He woidd not listen to the argu- ments that now it was inevitable ; and he, accompanied by a crowd of officers, went to M. de L'Escure, who lay in a house near at hand, to tell, with tears of anger, what had happened. Thus roused and excited, M. de L'Escure declared that he too would die in La Vendee ; nor was it till after every argument and persuasion had been used that he would permit himself to be carried over. It was these long consultations, these constant appeals to his judgment, and the harassing subjects of such conferences, joined to the pain and fatigue he was subjected to when repose was most needed, which at length rendered his woimd fatal. Under happier auspices, it seems certain that he might have recovered. When the question of cros- sing the river was decided, he had to protest, when liis voice was almost too weak to be heard, against what many deemed a necessary act of reprisal — the execution of a large number of prisoners : they were eventually set at liberty. At length, wrapped up in his bed-clothes, and supported in an arm-chair, he was carried down to the shore. A httle boat was given up to him and his family. "We could not find my mother," says the narrative; *' she was on horseback, and had forded the river to the little island, which was not far from the left bank. She ran very great risks, and caused us great uneasiness for a long time, for we did not see her again till we reached Vaudes." Few incidents enable us better to realize the unparalleled change which a few months had wrought in the habits of persons bred in the lap of luxury and the sternest of all systems of etiquette, than this of a marchioness of tlie cincien regime — a lady-in-waiting and a duke's daughter — of her own^free will, and alone, fording a broad river on horseback, MADAME LA ROCTIEJAQUELIN. 157 in the midst of a retreating army. But Madame de Donnes- san was also a heroine, and possessed a good measure of that spirit and elasticity of mind which so often distingmsh her countrywomen under reverses of fortune. Before the party from the hoat could reach any shelter, they were in danger of heing attacked by a detachment of hlues, as the Republicans were called. *' I had never," says Madame de L'Escure, *'been so near a battle before ; and what a moment to be attacked in !" Her husband was carried in his chair by the sokhers, while she and her maid supported his feet. She stopped, quite terrified, as the drums and musketry began ; but the firing reanimated M. de L'Escure, who was almost insensible ; he suffered from cold, and entreated to be carried to some shelter, saying that the balls would do him less injury than the keen wind ; but his wife carried her point, and for a time they took refuge in a neighboming wood. AVlien all was quiet, they went on to the town of Vaudes. As they entered, a peasant, who was not known to her, cante up to Madame de L'Escvu-e, and, pressing her hand, said — *' We have left our country. We are now brothers and sis- ters. We must not separate. I will defend you till death, and we will perish together." This good man provided a room for M. de L'Escure ; and here her father, mother, and aunt soon joined them. But even here the wounded man might not rest. Li the confusion of the battle and the pas- sage of the river, some of the principal officers were missing, and some killed; and it devolved on him to sunmion a council, to tell them of his own hopeless state, to advise them on whom their election of a general should fall. As he recommended, they chose Henri de la Rochejaquelin, and with him he had an exciting scenebeforehe could be left to such reposeas hiswoimd would permit him to enj oy . Li the two or three days of rest which followed, cheered as they were by some successes, he seemed to gain ground, and his anxious wife was full of hope ; but the excitement of seeino* his friends oo forth to another battle, his longings to accompany them, his cheers and gestures of encouragement as the soldiers passed by his window, were too much, and from that time his situation grew worse and worse. The battle was Avon, but after some days of fluctuating suc- cess a reverse came. 158 MADAME LA rvOCHEJAQUELTX. We must pass over tlie details of other forced joul•ne3^s, so fatal to any chance of M. de L'Escure's recoveiy. On one occasion, as his wife was travelling on horseback by the side of his carriage, there was an alarm of the blues being upon them. *' Reason," she says, " failed me : my first idea was to fly. At the same moment I recollected I was with M. de L'Escure. Doubting my own courage, and fearing the ap- ju'oach of the hussars would strike me with an involuntary and invincible terror, I entered immediately into the carriage, without telling the reason, to make it impossible for me not to perish with my husband." For some days she had seen him gradually sinking : his temper became strangely excitable, his mind fixed itself with imnatural intensity on any subject which occupied it — she could no longer hide from herself the approaching calamity. *' We stayed," she continues, "nine days at Loval. The day before our departure, I was in his chamber, lying upon a mattress near his bed : I thought him dying. Every one had left the room, even the surgeon. He called to me, and said, with his usual gentleness, which he then regained, and which never forsook him afterwards — ' My dear friend, open the curtains.' I rose and opened them. ' Is it a fine day?' continued he. 'Yes,' I answered. 'I have, then, some- thing hke a veil before my eyes ; I do not see distinctly. I alwa^'S thought my wound was mortal ; I no longer doubt it. Dear friend, I am going to quit you : it is my onl}^ regret, except that of not having been able to replace my king on the throne. I leave you, in the midst of a civil war, pregnant and with a child : this is what afflicts me. Try to save your- self in disguise, and go to England.' I was choked with tears. ' Your grief alone,' he continued, ' makes me regret hfe. As for myself, I die easy : although a sinner, I have done nothing which can give me remorse or trouble my con- science. I have always served God with piety ; I have fought and I die for Him ; I hope in his mercy. I have often seen death near, and I fear it not. I leave life with confidence, and I only regret you. I had hoped to make you happy. If I have ever given you cause to complain, forgive me.' His countenance was calm ; he seemed already in heaven ; only, when he repeated ' I regret nothing but you,' liis eyes filled with tears. lie said again to mc — ' Comfort MADAME LA ROCITEJAQUELIX. 159 yourself by tliinkiiig tliat 1 am going to lieavon : God iii- ypires me ^vitli this oontidencc. It is for you I weep.' At last, no lonoer able to l^ear it, I Avent into a closet, which was near. M. Durivaul, tlie surgeon, returned. M. de L'Escurc told him to look for me, and to bring me back. He found me on my knees, suffocated l)y my tears ; he tried to encou- rage me, and took me back into the room." It was in this state that it was found absolutely neces- sary to remove M. de L'Escure with the retreating army. On the 2nd of November they quitted Loval, without having yet determined on the route the army should take. " On tlie road, M. de L'Escure learned a piece of news which I had carefully concealed from him, and which did him a great deal of harm. The carriage having stopped, some- body came and read to him from a newspaper the detail of the queen's death. He cried out — 'Ah, the monsters ! have they killed her ? I fought to deliver her. If I live it will be to avenge her. No more quarter.' This idea never quitted him ; he spoke incessantly of this crime. In the evening we stopped at Mayenne. The next day we con- tinued our journey. The army, after a skirmish, in which it succeeded completely, entered Ernee. We passed the night there. I was overwhelmed with fatigue : I threw ni}'- self on a mattress beside M. de L'Escure, and went into a dee[) sleep ; during it they perceived that, all at once, the patient lost his strength, and was dying. They put on blis- ters, lie asked for the same confessor he had had at Vau- dcs ; but an instant after, he lost his speech. He received absolution and extreme unction. They made no noise, not to awaken me. At one o'clock in the morning sleep left me, and I saw the frightful state into which he had fallen. He was still sensible, without being able to speak : he looked at me, and raised his eyes to heaven in tears : he even squeezed my hand several times. I passed twelve hours in a state of despair and distraction impossible to paint. It is difficult to conceive how much misery can be borne. Towards morn we were forced to quit Ernie, and continue our journey. This appeared impossible to me. I wanted them to leave us, at the risk of falling into the hands of the blues. They repre- sentee! to me that exposing myself to a hori'ible death was disobeying M. de L'Escure. They told me his body would v2 160 MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIX. fall into the hands of the Republieans : I had already been struck Avith that idea. The indignities to which the body of M. de Bonchanip had been subjected had made a deep and horrid impression on me, and I coidd not bear the idea of such a profanation. This decided me to quit Ernee. What a frightful war ! What enemies, to be obhged to steal from their fury a dying man, who had fought so generously, and so often spared them ! Thus I was condemned to see his last moments disturbed and agitated by this fatal journey. I got first into the carriage, on the mattress, by M. de L'Es- cure ; Agatha was on the other side. He suffered dreadfully. All our friends represented to me that the surgeon was more usefid than I, and that I prevented his giving the neces- sary cares. They made me get out of the carriage, and put me on horseback. " (She had before lajnented that, short- sighted and blinded by tears as she was, Agatha could attend more skilfully to the Avound than she could.) "My mother and several gentlemen surrounded me, and took care of me. I saw nothing : I had no power of thinldng : I distinguished neither objects nor what I felt. A dark cloud, a frightful void, surrounded me." In about an hour, some noise in the carriage attracted her attention. She wished to rush in, but was prevented : she, repulsed with the horror, the suspicion, which noAv seized her, and passive in the hands of her friends, con- tinued her journey, and remained seven hours on horse- back, close to the carriage. On arriving near their destina- tion, the town of Fougeres, they found it fortified by ramparts of earth, so that it Avas impossible for a carriage or a horse to enter. She Avas dreadfully ill ; her mother Avas in extreme alarm for her state, and entreated her to leave the carriage in the care of a friend, and herself to Avalk into the tOAvn. Her existence noAv de})cnded on prompt help. She consented to Avalk, but Avhcn she attempted, found herself unable. The Chevalier BeauvoUiers, her husband's Avarm friend, avIio Avas Avitli them, attempted to carry her, but Avas too nmch ex- hausted Avith grief for the effort. At length, hoAVCA'cr, through his and her mother's exertions, she dragged herself to a lodging Avliich they had jn'ocured ; there her mother urged her to lie doAvn in the bed Avliich Avas prepared for her ; but her thoughts Avcre Avith her husbaud. " I jilaced myself by MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELTX. 161 the fire witliout saying anythiiio-. I asked from time to time if the carriage ^vas arrived. When 1 heard it I made every- body go out, and claimed the chevalier's promise. He and I Avere alone ignorant all was over. He went out ; a moment after he returned, hatlied in tears, took my hand, and told me I must think of saving my child. In reality, the time when I heard the noise in the carriage had been M. de L'Escure's last moment. The surgeon had got out ; Agatha wished to do the same; but then, thinking that, seeing her, L should be sure of my fate, she had had the courage to pass seven hours in this horrible situation ; she was in a swoon more than two hours. She had been brought up with M. de L'Escure from her infancy." This nolde girl afterAvards narrowly escaped being drowned, in the Noyardes of Nantes. She had left her mistress at Nort, to avail herself of the amnesty which was then held out. She went to Nantes, and Avas there taken before General Lamberty, the most ferocious of Carrier's friends. Agatha's figure })leased him, and he said — " Are you afraid, brigande V '" No, general," she answered. " Well, then, Avhen you are, remember Lamberty." She Avas then con- ducted to the entrepot, the too famous prison Avhere the vic- tims destined to be droAvned Avere collected. Agatha, expecting immediate death, sent to Lamberty. In order to conA'ince her of his poAver over her fate, he conducted her into a boat Avitli a SAving trap-door, in AA'hicli they had droAvned the ])riests, and AA^hich Carrier had given him, and then oifered her her life on terms Avhich she Avould not accept. Her cou- rage struck liim Avith athniration, and he exclaimed-—*' You are a noble girl, and I Avill save you." He left her eight days alone in this vessel, and from this Avretched asylum she nightly heard the droAvnings Avhicli took place. She escaped Avithout further alarms. But to return to Mde. de L*Escure. This last bloAV, succeeding so much fatigue and suffering, thrcAv the unhappy Avife into extreme danger. A physician Avas called, avIio pronounced it necessary tliat she should be l)led. No one knoAv AA-here to find a surgeon, but one of her friends ran out into the street, crying out — *' A surgeon !-— help! — a Avoman is dying!" A man presented himself at this appeal, AA'ho Avas immediately brought up to her. She thus describes him : — ** He was six feet six high, looked 162 MADAME LA ROCHEJAQUELIN. ferocious, had four pistols in his girdle, and a great sabre. I told him I Avas afraid of being bled. ' I have killed,' said he, ' more than three hundred men with this hand, and this very evening I cut off the head of a gens-d'arme. I shall know very well how to bleed a woman. Come, give me your arm.' " She submitted, and revived a little ; and from this time her health gave less cause for alann, though for six months she suffered from a slow fever, which reduced her to extreme weakness. The trials and sorrows of these six months cannot be dwelt ujion in detail ; they would exceed our limits, and present too uniform a picture of misery. Every form of distress — ^liun- ger and weariness of body, anguish and terror of mind — were shared in common by this hapless 3"0ung widow (only now twenty-one) and her most loving and devoted mother. The memory of her husband — the sufferings that they had all shared in common — bound her by a tie she could not resolve to break, to the Vendean army, where her father still commanded, and which included all her friends — all whom she loved or cared for. For a time she and her mother followed its fortunes, as it alternately retreated before overwhelming nimibers, or made a bold stand, inspired by despair ; and, though sometimes, yielding to a panic which the boldest men could hardly resist, they fled in wild terror ; there were occa- sions when these ladies, and other women attached by the same ties to the army, would, by their own fearless bearing, excite the flagging corn-age of the poor worn-out solchers, and by their stirring words send them back upon the enemy, in- spired by all their early enthusiasm, to be crowned by the same success. Yet all, in the end, knew their cause to be hopeless, and a gloomy despair filled every breast. As she saye — '* Each of us went on with the certainty of perishing in battle, or being put to death a little sooner or later." And, again — '* Generals, ofiicers, and soldiers, everybody was cast down. It was evident we should all be destroyed sooner or later, and that the struggles we made were only the agonies of death. We were surrounded with suftering : the sight of the women, the chilch*en, the wounded, weakened the strong- est minds, at the very time when a miraculous courage was necessary." The time at length came when it was felt necessary to MADAME LA KOCIIEJAQUELIX. 163 bcparate themselves from tlie army, and seek some hiding place from the fury of their victorious pursuers. " The Abbe Jagaidt," she says, ** proposed to my father to take a man who coidd be depended upon for a guide, who would conceal us at some good peasant's. My father leaned his head on his hands — he could not speak. At last, however, he persuaded us to take this resolution. ' As for me, ' said he, 'my duty is to remain with the army while it exists.* He trusted us to the care of M. Jagault, conjured him not to abandon us, and begged him to try to let him know where we were concealed. We dressed ourselves like peasants ; we embraced my father, but could not speak. He only said to me — ' Never leave your unhapp}^ mother. ' These were his last Avords." They never saw him again. The abbess, their aunt, who had hitherto been the com- panion of their wandering, had recently met a dreadful fate; for, falling into the hands of the Repubhcans, regardless of her age and venerable character, they had dragged her at once to the scaffold, where, at the age of eighty, she was murdered. Another separation had shortly before become necessary. Mde. de L'Escure's child was weak and aihng ; she coidd not endure the wandering life and the constant hardships to Avliich they were exposed. After some difficulty its mother found some poor people willing to imdertake this charge, with the promise of large remuneration. '* I di-essed my child," she says, "like a peasant's, leaving her behind, with a feeling like death at my heart." The poor fugitives met with great dangers in their search for an asylum, but were kindly received by the Breton pea- santry, who, though poor, would have died rather than betray them. They were transferred from one cottage or farm to another, as the repeated searches of the Republican soldiers rendered this precaution necessary. Their longest stay was made at the farm-house of Lagree, whither they were taken as being a most retired situation, and were kindly received. *' Meanwhile," she continues, "the hussars dispersed them- selves everywhere. The farmef's wife advised us to separate, to prevent suspicion. She sent poor M. JagaiUt to work with the men ; he was sick, and, as he had walked a grer.t way, his feet were all bloody. She placed my mother knitting, in a dark comer near the fire. She took me to a windmill, at a 164 MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQtELIN. distance from the house, and said to the miller — * Renaud, here is a i)Oor hrtgande, whom you must take care of. If the hlues come, you must say she has hrought some corn to he ground.' I seated myself on a sack, and remained there four hours, every moment hearing the noise of the horses, the tiring, and cries of ' Stop the hrigands ! kill them, kill them ! ' All the country was covered with fugitives, whom they Avere massacring. The hlues knocked at the door for sometliing to eat and drink. Renaud answered he had no- thing. In the evening he stopped his mill, and took me hack to Lagree. I lay down with my mother without taking off my clothes." A Breton girl, called Marianne, soon took her under her protection, and in the end hrought all the party to lodge in her father's house. There they led a peasant's life of lahour. M. de Jagault went daily to Avork with the men, and Madame de L'Escure tended the slieej) Avitli the good Marianne. In sjnte of these precautions, the hest that coidd ho taken, they lived in constant alarms ; hut the peasantry, without exception, Avere faithful : even the children felt for them, and showed a sense and discretion heyond their years; and the very dogs seemed to partake of the general senti- ment, for, heing frequently heaten and ill-used hy the hlues, they always harked when any of them approached, and thus gave timely warning. " We continued to inhahit Prinquiaux (the district in which Lagree was situated) Avithout any change in om- mode of life. Disheartened by illness and grief, my faculties appeared benumbed; hut my mother, Avatcliing over me Avith unremitting vigilance and tenderness, averted, by her care and prudence, the dangers I was incapable of avoiding : her courage and strength of mind saved my life tAveuty times. (Sometimes Ave changed our hichng-place, from the frequent alarms the searches of the blues tlircAv us into." She noAV succeeded in finding some one to make inquiries after her poor child, and received the intelligence that it had died six days after she had quitted it. The poor mother Avas completely overcome at this fresh calamity. MeanAvhile, as her time of trial and suffering* drcAV near, their situation be- came more wretched. Sometimes she and her mother slept in the open air. "We remained in the Avood," she says at one time ; "I placed my head on my mother's knee, and fell asleep, as usual, " Tliis was in the early .'spring', when the MADAME LA KOC'IIEJAQUELIN. 165 leaves were all off the trees. On one oecasion, when all seemed hopeless, and a man on -whom they depended refused to conduct them to some 2>laee of greater safety, their very extremity inspired the mother witli hope. " Well, then, my daughter," she said, " let us trust in God." She gathered some -wild jonquils, and put them in her daughter's bosom. " This shall be ahohday," she said ; " Providence will protect us. " " The impression these jonquils then made on me," says Madame de L'Escure, " can never be effaced : at this distance of time, when 1 see the flower, my blood thrills through my veins. We felt encouraged, and pro- ceeded across the iields, over hedges and ditches, always try- ing to avoid frequented places. We often heard the blues and the report of their muskets, and saw them search the wood that we had left. We felt so much exhausted that we were obhged to stop in a field filled with rushes, where Ave rested ourselves, back and back to support each other. In this attitude we remained several hours, Avithout knoAving Avliat to do next, and perishing Avith hunger and cold. At last Marianne appeared : she had learned AA'hat Avas passing, and had traced us in the fields. She took ns to her house, which Avas a considerable distance. When I got there I tlircAV myself on the bed, and fell asleep at the very moment tAvo hundred volunteers arrived in the village. My mother had only time to cry out to Marianne — ' Save my daughter — say she is yours ! ' and Avent into the garden, in the certainty of being taken. Happily, the blues did not think of searching; they Avalked about, drank milk, and all this passed Avithout my Avaking. Further changes brought them to a hamlet called Bois- Divet, Avhere they Avere luider the care of a cartAATight named Cyprien ; and we must again give her oaaui Avords. *'The 19th of April Ave heard the blues Avere going to search Bois- Divet. Cyprien carried us directly to his father-in-hiAv, Gouret, aa^io lived in the hamlet of Bournehere, a municipal officer. 1 Avas hardly able to Avalk to Gouret 's; yet, on our arrival, he told us there Avould certainly be a search during the night through the whole parish, and advised us to go to Laurent Cochard's, Avhicli Avas a league further off". This Avas to me impossible, and Ave therefore determined to pass the night out of dours. Gouret, after conducting us into a 166 MADAME LA ROCIIEJAQUELIN. field of Avlicat, slicd tears on leaving" us. We sat down in a furrow, and, tliougli it rained, I slejjt. My mother, awaken- ing about one in the morning, heard the patrol of the blues pass within fifty paces of us. Had there been a dog with them, as was sometimes the case, we should have been lost. At two o'clock Gouret came to take us back to his house." She had not been long under its slielter Avlien, to her mother's inexpressible alarm, it became evident that her time of trial was at hand. In her agony of fear, Mde. de Donnessan ran out crying — " Help, help ! " and fell senseless in the field. It Avas under these circumstances that Madame de L'Escure at length gave birth to twin daughters. " As for myself," she says, " I endured my sutferings with calmness and resignation. Life was to me a burden, and I wished to die. A married woman, whom tlie}^ had sent for from a neighbouring village, arrived at this time, and took care of me and the children. As I had made no preparations, they were obliged to take old clothes and rags to cover them. I wished to nurse them. My mother, however, convinced me it woidd be impracti- cable. But where were we to get nurses ? We considted with an old woman of Bois-Divet, and the infants were car- ried to two or three women, but they refused to take them. At last a cousin of Marianne's, named Marie Ma;nard, took charge of them ; and, three days after, a priest came and baptized them by the names of Josephine and Louise. We had four witnesses present, who wrote the testimony of their baptism on pewter plates Avith a nail, and then buried them in the earth. I was happy to get this accomplished, as it secured some trace of the existence and name of these un- fortunate infants. My recover}^ was rapid, for, owing to my having led the active life of a peasant, I was hardly worse than those poor people are on similar occasions. We passed a month very (piietly. The cottage we lived in "was thought deserted, and the blues did not come near it. Some days after, my little Josephine's wrist was observed out of joint. This gave me much distress, and I resolved that, as soon as she was a little older, I would carry her on my back, l)egging along the road as far as Barreges. This scheme did not ap- pear, at the time I formed it, at all extraordinary. I had neither hope nor fear for the future. I was become a stran- ger to the world, proscribed and wretched. My mind was MADAME L.\ ROCTIE.TAQUELIN. 1G7 too much sunk to imagine my present situation could ever change. But m}- poor infant died twelve days after. Ac- cording to the ordinary manners of the peasants, I was told of it without any preparation : one of Gouret's daughters came into my room, and cried — ' Your daughter, at Bois- Divet, is dead.' ' She is, then, happier than I,' I answered; and yet I wept." During her confinement her mother had received letters from friends who had learnt their wretched condition, and now offered them a better asylum. In the end they ventured to aerfidious promises, insulting refusals, and even menaces. Her father at length appeared before the judges. The execrable Dumas prevented this unfortunate man from proving that he was taken for another person. The daughter endeavoured to make the cries of nature heard : she was dragged away with violence. Tliis heartrending sight the father witnessed ; and he went to the scaffold with the dreadful thought that his daughter was now left destitute in the world, a prey to despair and all the horrors of indigence. " Nothing more can now be known of this loving and most unhappy daughter, left thus in the depths of misery : her task was over, and it seemed to have failed ; but we cannot be- lieve her a " prey to despair." For her there was a liigher Protector, another Father ; and we may confidently trust that she woidd not be left utterly desolate. GERTRUDE VOX DER WART. 17^ GERTRUDE VON DER WART. Albert 1., Emperor of Austria, in his schemes for the aggrandisement of his family, Avas guilty of the greatest injustice and oppression. Having failed in his attempts upon Bohemia and Thuringia, he endeavoured to estahlish a principality for his son ; consisting of Swahia, Alsatia, and such of the cantons of Switzerland as he possessed a remote dominion over. Finding all the methods of reducing the Swiss to dependance fail, he ordered his haihffs, hy harsh and oppressive treatment, to goad them to resistance ; hoping thus to find a pretext for their suhjugation. His injunctions were faithfully obeyed, and his deputies vied with each other in acts of cruelty and extortion. The people rose against their oppressors, and two of the bailiffs expiated their crimes by death ; the third was dismissed unhurt. The emperor's end was, however, gained ; and he raised a great army to advance against the rebellious cantons. In the meanwhile a conspiracy was being fonned against him by his nephew John, whom he had deprived of his in- heritance ; and whose demands for its restoration had been treated with contempt. This young prince was assisted in his designs by four confidential adlierents, all of high birth and great influence ; amongst whom, it was asserted, was Rudolph von der Wart. Arriving on the banks of the Reuss, opposite Windisch, the conspirators first passed over the ferry, and were followed by the emperor, who crossed with a single attendant ; leaving the rest of his suite on the other side of the river. It was here that his nephew, exasperated by a recent refusal of his demands, treacherously attacked his imcle, and, assisted by two of his conipanious, killed him 176 GERTRUDE VON DER WART. ill tlie sight of the whole army ; who, on the other side of the river, were helpless spectators of their emperor's fate. Von der Wart had taken no part in the assassination ; and, as it is said, " stood aghast," a witness of the horrid deed. To the last he maintained his innocence of having had any share in it, either in thought or act. This event took place in the year 1308. In the first moment of surprise and consternation, the family of the emperor considered his assassination as the signal for a general revolt ; hut, when their alarm had suh- sided, and the conspirators were found to he only a few discontented individuals, they hastened to avenge his death, and to pimish the adlierents and famihes of the assassins. Frederic and Leopold, the two elder sons, captured and razed their fortresses, put the garrisons to the sword, and sated their vengeance on all who were in the least degree connected with them. Their domestics were indiscriminately massacred, their estates confiscated, and their families reduced to extreme poverty. Sixty-three retainers of the Lord of Balm (one of the assassins) were in one day heheaded, in the presence of Leopold and his sister Agnes (Queen of Hungary), though the unfortunate victims uniformly protested their innocence. During this slaughter the savage Agnes is said to have repeatedly exclaimed, from the *' Legend of St. Ehzaheth" — *' Now I bathe in May-dew* !" A proverb expressing the most delicious pleasm-e. It was with great difficulty she could be prevailed upon to spare the infant child of the Lord of Eschenbach, whom the soldiers of her party, moved by its afi'ecting cries, rescued from her hands at the instant she was preparing to strangle it ; and above a thousand lives are supposed to have been sacrificed to the manes of the deceased monarch. Inconsolable for the loss of Albert, his widow, in conjunc- tion with Agnes, built and endowed a magnificent convent in Konigsfelden, on the spot where he was assassinated, and where they both passed their lives in monastic austerity. Agnes surpassed the most devout nuns in fasting, praying, giving ahns, and working costly implements for the church ; * Coxe's " House of Austria." GERTRUDE VON DEll WART. 177 but history records with pleasure the answer of an aged her- mit to her ofter of an asylum in the convent — " Woman," said he, " God is not served by shedding innocent blood, and by buikhng convents from the plunder of famiUes ; but by compassion and forgiveness of injuries." The greater part of this extract from the history of the period is necessary, to enable the reader fully to enter into the following most affecting and beautiful narrative, addressed by Gertrude von der Wart to her friend Margaret Freienstern, describing her attendance on her husband in his last hoiu-s of agony, after he had been broken on the wheel. He had been condemned to this fearful death as an accomplice in the emperor's assassination ; but to the last declared his inno- cence. '* I prayed under the scaffold on which my husband was fastened alive upon the wheel, and exhorted him to fortitude. I then arose, and with thick pieces of wood built myself a kind of steps, by means of which I could mount up to the wheel, laid myself upon his trembling limbs and head, and stroked the hair from his face, which the Avind had blown all over it. ' I beseech you to leave me ! 0, I beseech you !' he exclaimed continually. ' When day breaks, should you be found here, what will be your fate ; and what new misery will you bring upon me ? God ! is it possible that thou canst still increase my sufferings ! ' * I will die with you ! 'tis for that I came, and no power shafi force me from you ! ' said I ; and spread out my arms over him, and implored God for my Rudolph's death. " The day broke slowly, when I saw many people in motion opposite us : I replaced the thick pieces of wood where I had found them. It was the guard Avho had fled on my appearance, but had remained near the spot ; and, as it seemed, caused a report to be made of what had passed, for at daybreak all the people, men, women, and childi'en, came flocking out of the toAvn. " As more people approached, I saw also several women of my acquaintance ; among them was the wife of the baihff Hugo von Winterthm-. I saluted her, and begged her inter- vention with her husband, that he might order the executioner to put an end to my husband's cruel sufferings. *' * He dare not do anything for me,' sighed Wart, upon the 178 GERTRUDE VON DER WART. wheel ; agalu moving liis head at this moment, and looking down upon me with his swollen eyes — ' He dare not do any- thing. The queen* pronounced the sentence, and the baihff must therefore obey ; othenvise, I had Avell deserved of him that he should do for me this last kindness. ' *' Some persons brought me bread and confectionery, and offered me wine to refresh me ; but I could take nothing, for the tears that were shed, and the pity that animated every heart, and was kindly expressed, was to me the most agreeable refreshment. As it grew hghter the people in- creased. I recognized also the sheriff, Steiner von Pfungen, with his two sons, Conrad and Dathkon ; also a Madame vou Neftenbach, who was praying for us. " The executioner came also ; then Lamprecht the con- fessor. The first said, with a sigh — ' God have mercy on this unhappy man, and comfort his soul ! ' the latter asked Rudolph if he Avould not yet confess ? Wart, with a dreadful exertion of all his streng-th, repeated the same words that he had called out to the queen, before the tribunal at Brugk (denying the charge). The priest was silent. " AU at once I heard a cry of ' Make way ! ' and a troop of horsemen approached with their vizors down. The execu- tioner kneeled, the confessor laid his hand upon his breast, the horsemen halted, fathers and mothers held up their chil- di-en in their arms, and the guard with their lances formed a circle ; while the tall§st of the knights raised himself in his stirrups, and said to the executioner — ' Wliither are the crowjj flown, that he still keeps his eyes ? ' and this was Duke Leopold. " My heart ceased to beat, when another knight, with a scornful smile said — " Let him Avrithe as long as he has feehng ! but then the people must begone. Confounded wretches I this sighing and crying makes me mad ! No pity must be shown here ; and she here, who so increases the bowlings. Who is she ? Wliat does the woman want ? Away with her. ' ** I now recognized the voice of the queen. It was Agnes, in the dress and armom- of a knight. I remarked immediately that it was a woman's voice, and it is certain it was Agnes. * Agnes, queen of Hungary, daughter of the murdered emperor. GERTRUDE VON DER WART. 179 '' ' It is Wart's wife,' I heard a third knight say. ' Last niglit, when the sentence was executed, we took her with us to Kyburg- ; she escaped from us, and I must find her here then ! We thought that, in her despair, she had leaped into the moat of the castle. We have been seeking her since this morning early. God ! what faithful love ! Let her alone ; nothing can he done with her." " I here recognized the mild-tempered Von Landenberg. How well did he now speak for me ! I could have fallen at his feet. " ' Well, Gertrude,' cried a fourth to me ; * will you not take rational advice ? Do not kill yourself. Save yourself for the world. You will not repent of it. ' " Wlio was this ? Margaret. I trembled ; it was she who wanted to persuade me at Brugk to leave the criminal Wnrj to his fate, and pass days of joy with her. Then I too coidd ahnost have exclaimed — ' God ! this is too much ; cease ! ' " Agnes made a signal to an esquire to raise me up, and bring me aAvay from the scaifold. He approached me ; but I threw my arm aromid it, and implored my own and my husband's death. But in vain. Two men dragged me away. I besought assistance from heaven : it was granted me. •' Von Landenberg (otherwise a faithful servant of Austria) once more ventured to speak for me. ' Cease to hiunble her. Such fidelity is not found on earth ; angels in heaven must rejoice at it ; but it would be good if the people were driven away. ' " They let me loose again ; the horsemen departed ; tears flowed from Lamprecht's eyes ; he had acted strictly accord- ing to his duty, and executed the will of the queen ; he could now listen to the voice of nature and weep with me. ' I can hold out no longer, noble lady ! I am vanquished. Your name shall be mentioned with glory among the saints in heaven, for this world will forget it. Be faithful unto death, and God will give you the crown of life,' said he. He gave me his hand, and departed. " Every one now left the place except the executioner and the guard ; evening came on, and at length silent night. A stormy Avind arose, and its howling joined with the loud and unceasing prayers which I put up to the Almighty. One of the guard now brought me a cloak, to protect me from 180 GERTRUDE VON DER WART. the wind, because it was niglit ; but I got upon the wheel and spread it upon the naked and broken limbs of my husband. The wind whistled through his hair ; his lips were dry. I fetched some water in my shoe, which was a refreshment to us both. *' I know not, my dearest Margaritta, how it was possible for me to live through such heart-breaking and cruel hours ; but I lay as if guarded and wonderfully strengthened by God, continually praying near the wheel on which my whole world reposed. *' As often as a sigh broke from the breast of my Rudolph, it was a dagger in my heart ; but I consoled myself with the hope that, after a short time of suffering, the eternal joys of heaven would be my portion ; and this gave me strength to suffer. I knew, too, for whom I suffered ; and this gave me strength in the combat, so that I endured to the very last moment. *' Though Wart had at first so earnestly begged me not to increase his agonies by my presence, yet he how thanked me as much for not having left him. In my prayers to God he found consolation and refreshment, and it was a comfort to his soul when I prayed. " How the last di-eadful morning and noon were spent, allow me to pass over in silence. A few hom's before even- ing Rudolph moved liis head for the last time : I raised my- self up to him. He mm-mm*ed very faintly, but with smiling love upon his hps, these words : — ' Gertrude ! this is fidelity till death ! ' and expired. On my knees, I thanked God for the grace which he had given me, to remain faithful to the end." We are tempted to subjoin Mrs. Hemans's touching poem on this subject, which has the merit of adhering with great fidelity to the facts of the narrative. Poetry, indeed, could add nothing to the pathetic beauty of the wife's original record. GERTRUDE : OR, FIDELITY TILL DEATH. Her hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes raised, The breeze threw back her hair ; Up to the fearful wheel she gaz'd — All that she loved was there. GERTRUDE VOX DER WART. 181 The night was round her clear and cold, The holy heaven above ; Itspale stars watching to behold The might of earthly love. * And bid me not depart,' she cried ; ' My Rudolph, say not so ! This is no time to quit thy side. Peace, peace ! I cannot go. Hath the world aught for me to fear When death is on thy brow ? The world ! — what means it ? — mine is here — I will not leave thee now. * I have been with thee in thine hour Of glory and of bliss ; Doubt not its memory's living power To strengthen me through this I And thou, mine honoured love and true, Bear on, bear nobly on I We have the blessed heaven in view, Whose rest shall soon be won.' " And were not these high words to flow From woman's breaking heart ? Through all that night of bitterest woe She bore her lofty part. But oh ! with such a glazing eye. With such a curdling cheek — Love, Love ! of mortal agony. Thou, only thou shouldst speak ! ** The wind rose high, but with it rose Her voice, that he might hear ; Perchance that dark hour brought repose To happy bosoms near ; While she sat striving with despair Beside his tortured form, And pouring her deep soul in prayer Forth on the rushing storm. " She wiped the death-damps from his brow, With her pale hands and soft ; Whose touch upon the lute chords low, Had still'd his heart so oft. She spread her mantle o'er his breast, She bath'd his lips with dew, And on his cheek such kisses press'd. As hope and joy ne'er knew. R 182 OERTRrDE VOX DER WART, " Oh ! lovely are ye, love and faith, Enduring to the last ! She had her meed — one smile in death ! And his v.orn spirit pass'd. ^yhile even, as o'er a martyr's grave, She knelt on that sad spot ; And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave Strength to forsake him not." THE miller's maid. 18^ THE MILLER'S MAID. Near the liamlct of Udorf, on the baiilcs of the Rhnic, not far from Bonn, there yet stands the mill which was the scene of the following adventure : — One Sunday morning, the miller and his family set out as usual to attend service at the nearest church in the village of Heasel, leaving the mill, to which the dwelling-house was at- tached, in charge of his servant maid Hanchen, a bold-hearted girl, who had been some time in his service. The youngest child, who was still too little to go to church, remained also under his care. As Hanchen was busily engaged in preparing dinner for the family, she was interrupted by a visit from her admirer Heinrich Botteler ; he was an idle, graceless fellow, and her master, who knew his character well, had forbidden him the house ; but Hanchen could not believe all the stories she heard against her lover, and was sincerely attached to him. On this occasion she greeted him kindly, and not only got him something to eat at once, but found time in the midst of her business to sit down and have a gossiji with him, while he did justice to the fare set before him. As he was eating he let fall his knife, which he asked her to pick up for him ; she pla^-fuUy remonstrated, telhng him she feared, from all she heard, he (hd little enough work, and ought at least wait upon himself ; in the end, however, she stooped down to pick up the knife, when the treacherous villain drew a dagger from imder his coat, and caught her by the nape of the neck, griping her throat firmly with his fingers to prevent her screaming ; then, with an oath, he desired her to tell him where her master kept his money, threatening to kill her if r2 184 THE miller's maid. slie did not comply with liis demand. The surprised and terrified girl in vain attempted to parley with him ; he still held her tightly in his choking grasp, leaving her no other choice hut to die or betray her master. She saw there was no hope of softening him or changing his purpose, and with the full conviction of his treachery, all her native courage woke in her bosom. Affecting however to yield to what was inevitable, she answered him in a resigned tone, that what must be, must ; only, if he carried off her master's gold, he must take her with him too ; for she could never stay to hear their suspicions and reproaches, entreating him at the same time to relax his grasp of her throat, for she could hardly speak, much less do what he bid her, while he held her so tight. At length he was induced to quit his hold on her re- minding liim that he must lose no time, or the family would be returning from church. She then led the way to her master's bed-room, and showed him the coffer where he kept his money. *' Here," she said, reaching to him an axe which lay in a corner of the room, ** you can open it with this while I run up stairs to put all my things together, besides the money I have saved since I have been here." Completely deceived by her apparent readiness to enter into his plans, he allowed her to leave the room, only exhort- ing her to be as quick as possible, and was immediately ab- sorbed in his own operations ; first opening the box, and then disposing of the money about his person. In the meanwhile Hanchen, instead of going up stairs to her own room, crept softly along several passages till she again reached her master's chamber. It was the work of a moment to shut and bolt the door upon him ; and this done, she rushed out to the outer door of the mill to give the alarm. The only being in sight was her master's httle boy, a child of five years old ; to him she called with all her might, '* Run, run to meet your father as he comes from church ; tell him we shall all be murdered if he does not come back." The frightened child did as she bid him, and set off running on the road she pointed out. Somewhat relieved by seeing that the child understood her, and would make her case known, she sank down for a moment on the stone seat before the door, and full of conflicting emotions of grief and thankfulness for her escape, she burst into tears. But at this moment a shrill whistle aroused her attention ; it THE miller's maid. 185 was from her prisoner llciiiricli, who, opciiliig the grated win- dow above her head, shouted out to some accomjilice without, to catch the child that was running away so fast, and to kill the girl. Ilanchen looked around in great alarm, but saw no one. The child still continued to run with all his might, and she hoped that it was but a false alarm to excite her fear and overcome her resolution ; when, just as the child reached a hollow in the next field (the channel of a natural drain), she saw a ruffian start up from the bed of the drain, and snatching up the child in his arms, hasten Avitli him towards the mill, in accordance with the directions of his accomplice. In a moment she perceived the full extent of her danger, and formed her plan for escaping it. Retreating into the mill, she double locked and bolted the door, the only apparent entrance into the building — every other means of obvious access being prevented by strong iron gratings fixed up against all the windows — and then took her post at the upper casement, determined to aAvait patiently her master's return, and her consequent delivery from that dan- gerous position ; or her own death. If Indeed inevitable ; for she was fully resolved to enter Into no terms, and that nothing should induce her to give up her master's property into the robber's hands. She had hardly had time to secure herself in her retreat, when the ruffian, holding the screaming child In his arms, and brandishing a knife in one hand, came up, and bid her open the door, or he would break It down, adding many awful oaths and threats ; to which her only answer was, that she put her trust in God. Helnrich, who, from his win- dow, was witness of this colloquy, now called out to cut the cliild's throat before her eyes if she still persisted in her refusal. Poor Hanchen's heart quailed at this horrible threat ; for a moment her i-esolution failed, but only for a moment. The death of the child could be no gain to them, wlille her own death was certain if she admitted the assailant, and her master too would be robbed. She had no reason either, to suppose that her compliance would save the life of the child. It was to risk all against nothing, and she resolved to hold out to the last, though the villain from without renewed his threats, saying, that if she would not open the door to him he would kill the child, and then set iire to the mill over her head. " 1 put my trust in God," was still the poor girl's answer. 11 3 186 THE miller's maid, 111 the meanwhile the ruffian set down the chikl for a moment to look about for combustibles to carry out his threat ; in this search he discovered a mode of entering the mill un- thought of by Hanchen. It was a large aperture in the waU, communicating with the great wheel, and the other machinery of the mill ; and it was a point entirely unprotected, for it had never been contemplated that any one would seek to enter by so dangerous an inlet. Triumphant at this discovery, he returned to tie the hands and feet of the poor child, to prevent its escape, and then stole back to the aperture, by which he intended to effect an entrance. The situation of the building prevented Hanchen seeing anything of tliis ; but a thought had meanwhile struck her. It was Sunday, when the mill was never at work ; if, therefore, the sails were seen in motion, the whole neighbourhood would know that some- thing unusual was the matter ; and her master, especially, would hasten home to know the meaning of anything so strange. Being all her life accustomed to the macliinery of the mill, it was the work of a moment to set it aU in motion ; a brisk breeze which sprung up at once, set the sails flying. The arms of the huge engine whirled round with fearful rapidity ; the great wheel slowly revolved on its axle ; the smaller gear turned, and creaked, and groaned according as the machinery came into action ; the mill Avas in full operation. It was at this moment that the ruffian intruder had succeeded in squeezing himself through the aperture in the wall, and getting himself safely lodged in the interior of the great drum wheel. His dismay, however, was indescribable when he began to be whirled about with its rotation, and found that aU his efforts to put a stop to the powerfid machinery which set it in motion, or to extricate himself from this perilous situation, were fruitless. In his terror he uttered shrieks and horrible imprecations. Astonished at the noise, Han- chen ran to the spot, and saw him caught like a rat in his own trap, from Avliich it was no part of her plan to liberate •him. She knew he would be more frightened than hurt if he kept within his rotatory prison, without any rash attempt at 'escape ; and that even if he became insensible he could not fall out of it. In the meantime the wheel went round and round with its TiiE miller's maid. 187 steady, unceasing motion ; antl round and round he >vcnt with it, while sense remained, besieging Hanchen with en- treaties, promises, and wild impotent threats, which were all equally disregarded, till by degrees feeling and perception failed him, and he saw and heard no one. He fell senseless at the bottom of the engine, but even then his inanimate body continued to be whirled round as before ; for Hanchen did not dare trust appearances in such a villain, and would not venture to suspend the working of the mill, or stop the mill gear and taclde from running at their fullest speed. At length she heard a loud knocking at the door, and flew to open it. It was her master and his family, accompanied by several of his neighbours, all in the utmost excitement and wonder at seeing the miU-sails in full swing on a Sunday, and still more when they had found the poor child lying bound upon the grass, who, however, was too terrified to give them any account of what had happened. Hanchen, in a few words, told all ; and then her spirit, which had sustained her through such scenes of terror, gave way under the sense of safety and relief, and she fell fainting in their arms, and was with much difficulty recovered. The machinery of the mill was at once stopped, and the inanimate ruffian dragged from his dreadfid prison. Heinrich, too, was brought forth from the miller's chamber, and both were in a short time sent bound, under a strong escort, to Bonn, where they soon after met the reward of their crimes. The story of this extraordinary act of presence of mind concludes by teUing us that Hanchen, thus eifectually cured of her pencJiant for her unworthy suitor, became eventually the Avife of the miller's eldest son, and thus lived all her life Du the scene of her imminent danger and happy deliverance.* from " The Rhine," by Joseph Snowe, Esq. 188 A RUSTIC HErxOlNE. A RUSTIC HEROINE. The following story of village heroism Is given from a private letter ; the names having heen changed : — " I know of no higher jJroof of courage than was shown last week by a poor woman in this parish. To those who do not knovr the parties it will he difficult to give an idea of the bravery she exliihited. A father and son Avcre lighting ! — it seems too horrible to Avrite — I would rather say two men were fighting ; one an old, but still powerful man ; the other a ruffian fellow of thirty, who set all the parish at defiance ; his passions as violent as his body was strong and giant-like. The vroman had been hired to Avasli, and she had just finished a hard day's work in another room when this battle began. The old man had the worst of it ; his wife had ])rayed for mercy for him, and she had been kicked out of the room ; not a man in the farm-yard dared to interfere ; a few women, lookers on, went into fits, hysterics, «fcc. In this state of things Betty Burton thrust herself between the ruffian and his victim, and laid hold of his arm, and hung with all her might upon it. He swore, of course, and threw her on one side, telling her to be gone, or he would break every bone in her skin. 'Do, if you dare, John Page,' she said; and while his furious eyes were glaring in astonishment upon her, she again placed herself upon the old man, and holding up her doubled fist at the other, she said : ' I dare you to touch me. ' "For the first time in his life tlu^ villain had met with a master spirit, and he quailed under it. The old man had sunk on the floor ; the ribs on one side had been broken ; but while the contest was carried on he succeeded in crawhng 180 A FvUSTIC HEROINE. I away to tlie stable. Tlic fellow, avIiosc first object had beei to turn tbe old man out of the bouse, now threatened ven- geance to any who went near. My heroine paid no attention to his threats, but taking a light in her hand she went to the stable, raised the old man's head on her lap, and spoke woixls of kindness to him ; she succeeded in the end in getting him to a neighbour's house. The good man of that house would have interfered, but he was afraid of being murdered ! ! But for the interference of this brave woman the old man must have been nmrdered ; the son acknowledges this, for his pas- sions are not to be controlled by any one — but Betty Burton." A subsequent letter says—" I have heard the story from Betty Burton's own mouth since I wrote to you ; but I do not know that there is any material difference. She placed her- self between the ruffian and his victim, 'But,' she said, ' such arms as these were no match for him, but I managed to get a tight gripe of his collar, and I hung there whilst the old gentleman crawled away to the stable. Then John said he'd take care he did not come in any more, and he forbid any- body going to him ; but I was not going to be ordered by him ; so I put a candle into the lanthorn, and called my boy Bill, and went to get him up. He said, * I will lie here and die, Betty ;' but I got his head in my lap, and Bill cried over him, and said, * Don't leave him a sixpence, Mr. Page' — 1 mean to patronize Bill forthwith.' ** I hope you are sufficiently interested in my poor heroine to bear with me while I tell you that she is one of the women that your late dear sister visited with me. She was then beautifid ; in proof of this I may tell you that H took her picture at three different times, and she was in the exhi- bition t^cice. You would find it hard to believe this. Her curhng brown hair is now as wliite as snow, and, except a fine, erect person, there is scarcely a trace of beauty left. She married at fifteen, and she has suffered from a large family, poverty, sickness, and sorroAV ; they are still pressing hard upon her, and they have nearly done their work." 190 MRS. SPENCER SMITH. THE ESCAPE OF MRS. SPENCER SMITH. At the time of the French taking possession of Venice in June, 1806, Mrs. Spencer Smith, wife of the Enghsh am- bassador at Constantinople, and sister-in-law of Sir Sidney Smith, chanced to be residing there with her two children. Her health had been too weak and suffering to aUow her to accompany her husband on his return to England ; and Venice, both on account of its climate and as being the resi- dence of her sister and brother-in-law, the Count and Countess Attems, had been fixed upon for her home, till she should be able to bear the colder air of England. As her health obliged her to live in a very retired manner, it was not thought that the new order of things need in the least affect her plans. She applied at once to General Lauriston, com- mander of the French forces, for permission to remain unchs- turbed in her present residence. He most politely granted her request, and also furnished her with a passport, in case she shoidd wish to leave Venice for any other Itahan city. It soon, however, proved that she had done ill to trust French promises, for on Buonaparte's receiving the parti- culars of the taldng of Venice, his grudge against the hero of Acre prompted him to the dishonourable measure of re- versing his general's assurances ; and he sent instant orders that Mrs. Spencer Smith and her children should be car- ried prisoners to Valenciennes. On attendnig the first summons from the police, she was declared to be under arrest as a French prisoner ; but, veiling the real intentions of the French government, they informed her that her residence for the future must be Bassano. She demanded to know the reason why she was thus treated, and MRS. SPENCER SMITH. 191 was answered, " Your coiintry and your name." Her own country was not England, for her father, the Baron Ilerhert, was a German, and her hirth-phice was Constantinople, tlie seat of lier father's emhassy. But such arguments were set aside hy M. Lagarde, head of the police, who told lier, her ari-est was amply justified by the name of Smith, of which she coidd not divest herself ; and her heing sister-in-law of Sir Sidney Smith and wife of Mr. Spencer Smith (who had so ably forwarded and assisted his brother's plans), placed her in a situation that precluded an}' mitiga- tion of the order of imprisonment. Slie had, therefore, no course but to begin at once to make arrangements for the removal of herself and her children to Bassano, for which ten days were allowed. In the meanwhile it transpired, in the visiting circles of Venice, that her real destination was tlie fortress of Valen- ciennes, there to endure hopeless imprisonment, if not a worse fate. While she and her friends were doubting the ])ossibility of this intelligence, and waiting with impatience for the arrival of the promised passports, the arrival of a sergeant and three gendarmes changed their suspense into the certainty of evil. She was at this time at her sister's house ; but Avas forced to return under this formidable escort to her own residence, with orders not to quit it. One Avitness to the grief and conster- nation which this summons caused was the Marquis de Salvo, a yoimg Sicihan nobleman, who, having been admitted into Count Attems' intimate family circle, had often previously met Mrs. Smith. He was becoming weary of his inactive life in Venice, and, to judge from his narrative, not in- sensible to the eclat of a successful adventure ; so that on witnessing the distress of all present, and contemplating the real danger of Mrs. Smith's situation, he gave his mind earnestly to form a plan for her escape : a thought which had entered his mind on fii'st hearing of the intended outrage of the French government. In the meanwliile, in order to leave no means untried to change this cruel order, Mrs. Smith requested another inter- view with AI. Lagarde, the only result of wliich was that she was shown tlie Prince Eugene's wi'itten order in the name of the emperor, specifying that within forty-eight hours she must quit Venice under the escort of gendarmes, and be 192 MRS. SPENCER SMITH. carried a prisoner to the fortress of Valenciennes. In such a case pity could not he looked for, and even the visible weak- ness of her health produced no mitigation of the order. She returned dejected and desponding to her apartments, where her sister, brother-in-law, and other friends, among whom was the Marquis de Salvo, waited in anxiety to know the result of her apphcation. All was consternation when she had given the account of her interview. The countess wept, and offered to share her sister's capti^dty ; the surrounding friends could only offer consolations, and express hopes which they felt to he vain. At sight of this affecting scene the marquis was seized with a vehement desire to avert a ca- lamity dreaded so much by all, and to devote himself to the service of a lady whom he describes as '' harassed, sickly, and forlorn," yet, from her amiable manners and appearance, so calculated to create interest : and that evening he hastened to Mrs. Smith to communicate his plans for her escape, and gain her consent and co-operation. She hesitated some time in allowing one on whom she had no claim of relationship to run such great risks in her service ; but he at length prevailed upon her to consent to the enterprise, which she seems to have feared only on his account. His first step now was to rescue the children, which was comparatively an easy matter, as they were left under less strict surveillance than their mother ; and he succeeded (we may infer by means of a bribe to the soldiers) in withdrawing them from Venice and sending them under the care of their tutor to Gratz, where a sister of Mrs. Smith's resided. After an affecting parting from them, Mrs. Smith had to prepare for her own departure. It was necessary for their scheme that the Marquis de Salvo should travel with her ; and on her representation to the police that she ought not to be left to the care of gendarmes alone, his escort was readily allowed her. She was accompanied to the main land by many weeping friends ; and there, after a painful leave-taking, commenced her journey, and travelled on without being able to make any effectual attempt at escape till they reached Brescia, the nearest city to the neutral territory, and there- fore best situated for their entei-prise. Here they Avere joined by the Count Attems, wlio had pro- mised Mrs. Smith at parting to follow her and to accompany MRS. SPENCER SMITH. 193 lier from Milan (tlie point where the marquis was to leave her) to Valenciennes ; they however decided not to take him into their confidence, as the only means of avertino- evil consequences to himself should their attempt prove successful. The party arrived at Brescia at a late hour, and the Count Attems being- anxious to converse with Mrs. Smitli, no opportunity could be found for any private consultation with the marquis, who therefore had to commence his schemes unassisted. Ilis first step was to get his passport signed for the Tyrol before the gendarmes should give iiotice of the arrival of their pursuers. He then took a hasty survey of the city, and found, to his dismay, that there was no outlet but through the gates, which Avere strongly guarded. However, in disguise, it might not be difficult to pass through them ; and he was not dis- couraged by this obstacle. He also procured a man's dress, as absolutely necessary for Mrs. Smith's disguise ; and having made all these preparations, he repaired to pay her a visit, and acquaint her witli Avhat he had done. On being informed of the nature of her disguise, and of the risks she was called upon to encounter, she was, for a moment, staggered ; but the extreme danger of her pre- sent situation restored her courage, and rendered her bold to run all hazards in an attempt to escape a certain evil. The marquis assures us he *' could perceive nothing but the glory which lay before him," and generously resisted all her per- suasions to give up an enterprise so perilous to himself. She then recognized the hand of Providence in his resolution to save her, and restore her to her husband and lier children, and submitted herself to his direction. Having thus over- come her first fears, she manifested the greatest re- solution ; and his final interview with her previous to the great attempt inspired the marquis with entire con- fidence in her courage. He spent the day at a neigh- bouring village, in necessary arrangements for making good their escape into the Tyrol, should they succeed in tlieir hazardous enterprise ; and concluded his exertions by con- structing a rope ladder, by which she was to descend from her window, which, though a great height (the narrative says 50 feet) from tlie ground, was the only means of egress that the watchfulness and close neighbourhood of the gendarmes allowed. He tlien wrote a long letter to Mrs. Smith, in^ 194 MRS. SPENCER SMITH. structino- her minutely in all she was to do, and encou- raging her by his own hopes of success. Before making the great attempt, he had appointed to he under her window at nightfall to convey to her her disguise. For this purpose, towards sunset, he quitted Salo, the small village from whence they were to cross the Lake di Garda on their way to the Tyrolese frontier. " It was near eleven o'clock" — to quote from his own nar- rative — "when, dressed as a Breseian postilion, and with the rope-ladder and letter under my cloak, I advanced through the most lonely streets toAvards the inn called The Two Towers, where Mrs. Smith was. A high Avind, which thick- ened the atmosphere -Avith a cloud of dust, had caused the iidiahitants to retire to coHee-houses and the theatre, leaving the city quite deserted, even at that hour. Being apprehen- sive that the gendarmes might observe me from the inn, I stopped before I approached the Avindow, and listened for some time to the noise of the soldiers ; and, after convincing myself that they were occupied in drinking, I drew near and felt for the string Avith my hand. Having found it, I tied the bundle and letter to it, and, on my pulling gently, she drcAv up the parcel. I then retired, overjoyed at seeing the first dangers so Avell over. ' ' He had now to Avait three hours be- fore returning again to the AvindoAV — a time of great anxiety, and full of reflections, Avhich are all given in his narrative : " Tavo o'clock noAv struck, and the hour in AA'hich our destiny AA^as to be fixed called me to action. My mind suffered that insurmountable agitation Avhich frequently accompanies any hazardous enterprise Avhere our life and liberty are imminently exposed. I hurried on, almost heedlessly, till I Avas opposite the Avindow ; and here I suddenly discovered, notAA'ithstand- ing the darkness of the night, that the Avindows of her room Avere still shut. On this I stood motionless, but continued to fix my eyes on them, Avhen I Avas struck Avith terror at jierceiving the AvindoAv of the room occupied by the gen- darmes, Avide open : I heard tlie voice of one of them, and Avas afraid they Avatched us. I sliuddered at the idea that all Avas divulged — that they knew of the ladder Avhich I had tied to tlie strino;, and Avere only AA'aiting for tbo critical moment, to exert tlieir fury upon us. I suspected tliat they might have seen the clothes for their captive's disguise. I MR??. .SPEXCEIl SMITH. 195 feared that the maid might have betrayed us; so that perliaps some person had followed mc the day before, as a spy on my actions. In short, I iirmly believed that they stood ready to assuage their thirst of Idood on mc for daring to deceive them. This cruel state of doubt, suspense, and terror gave way, however, to my anxiety for Mrs. Smith's situation. I could never once suppose her capable of having relinquished the attempt, for I was convinced of her fortitude ; nor think her so thoughtless as to have allowed anything to transpire to appear capable of exciting the suspicion of the guards. I coidd not guess, therefore, what prevented her from showing herself at the window at the appointed time." The reason of this delay was, that j\lrs. Smith, being aware that one of the gendarmes was awake, which made it impossible for her to comnnmicate with her deliverer, was employing herself in writing a letter to the colonel of the gendarmerie, excul- pating the guards, as well as her brother-in-law, Count Attems, from any share in wdiat she was doing ; and another to the count, explaining her reasons for not imparting her secret to him. To continue the marquis's stor}^ : " As I retired a foAv paces from the spot, after waiting so long, my eyes caught the opening AvindoAV of Mrs. Smith's chamber, at which a figure presented itself. I could have no doubt of its being her, and, after looking round to see that all was safe, I droAv near ; but she, being ignorant of the disguise which I wore, asked, in a low voice, if it was I. I replied — ' I am that friend, and Avait for you.' I now resumed my hopes that everything was unknown to the guards, and that no fatal occurrence Avould ensue during the critical moment. She continued, however, hi the room, and 1 stood, unable to breathe, for fear of some hidden witness of the scene, ready perhaps to sound the alarm, and call the patrol of the city. I earnestly wished to remind her of the pressing danger incident to every moment's delay ; but I heard a noise proceed from the window, which Avas oc- casioned by her tying the end of the ladder to the iron : my terror increased at this uuAvelcome sound ; I thought it, above all others, the most likely to rouse the soldiers, and oc- casion the w^orst disasters. Scarcely did the ladder appear to be fastened, when I saAv Mrs. Smith take hold of the AvindoAV, 196 MRS. SrEXCER SMITH. and cling- to tlic wall, pressing with lier uncertain foot the first step. I perceived she was reluctant in trusting herself upon it : the unhappy lady stood tottering upon the step, and seemed to tremble so much, that I was under the necessity of attending particularly to her, fearing that she might fall. But I was agreeably deceived when I beheld her grasping the knots of the ladder, and boldly determined to descend. * * She reached the ground without receiving any essential iujm-y ; and the maid, to Avliom the secret had been imparted, threw a bundle from the window, containing whatever could be saved. AVe instantly began our flight, running along unknown streets without meeting any person. Our trepidation, the haste with which we went, and our mean dress, would have been thought unfavourable indications, if we had been observed. From sohtary street to street we precipitated our steps till we reached the summit of the fortress of Brescia. Here the violence of my companion's desire to save herself was such that she actually offered to attempt scaling the walls ; but, on my acquainting her that a chaise was ready for us at the tavern near the gates, she followed me with less agitation." When arrived at the stable of the inn, the ostler seemed struck with some surprise at their appearance, but his curiosity did them no injury, as he so far spupathised with their obvious impatience as to watch for them when the gates .should be open for the day ; they finally passed through, without meeting with any interruption, at four o'clock in the morning of the 3rd of May. In spite of some delays, as well as many well-grounded alarms, all the marquis's preparations answered. They crossed the lake in safety ; and on the land- ing of the carriage he had had the precaution to engage, they set off for Trent as fast as the marquis, in liis ca- pacity of postilion, could urge the horses. At Trent they met with great trouble from the i)olice; but our space will not allow us to follow our heroine through the perils and continued alarms of her flight, in which she showed great courage and self-possession. They at length made their -way, under innu- merable diflficulties, through the Tyrol to Salzburg and Lintz in Austria. The authorities here, afraid of embroiUng their country, as a neutral power, with the French government, Avould not permit Mrs. Smith, whose name and importance had become known to them, to go to Gratz, where she had MBS. SrEXC'EE SMITH. 197 I.opcd to njoii, licr chiklron. Xot wisliing her to reiuain with,u the Austnan dominions .it Lintz, she received, htstead, orders to repair to Pragne, in Bohen.ia, whcnee she was to hud hor way to England, either throng), Saxony or Rnssian si;„ 1 ""f^-P^cted order was a crnel disappointn.ent. bheliad supported lier hopes and spirits through so niatiy extraordniary at,g„es and alarms hy the prospect of soon onnng her children and Iicr sister. The ma'.piis, witnessing licr distress, with trne hmdness, offered to go himself to Gratz! and Imng her eh, hire,, and the Countess Strassoldo to meet her at Prague w,th,n ton days of quitting her. Tlie proposal ^^ as accepted w,th the greatest Joy, .and he set out on his second ad,ei,ture, x<-h.ch he so successfully accomplished that n the given time he had the joy .and triumph of seeiug tl,e ch h ren embraced by their mother, and her sister alst present to enha.ice tho h,xppiness of the scene. Traversiii"- h-tXt '"nf "'','-^7 ^° ""Iv "-ere they allowed to t.-aveh fiom fear of the French governmon^they came at length t^ Pohsh Russia, where they could for the first time feel them- selves entirely free, and where Mrs. Smith was received with much respect and consideration. At AVilna, however, she was seized with an illness which th,-e.atened to be fatal ; but wl,n1?° '''"'f'-"^ «» &'„»« to be able to travel, when the whole party set out for Riga, whence they cmb.arked for SepSer " "° '"'"''"' """' ''''*''' '"™"'' ""^ '''"' '''' iJ^: ^"tI' '''''',""' l""S; ''""■'™ t'"^ '"'Pl'y eiKl of her mneb f:;, -T, ™"S'>»"^ }'': l^'S w-auderings she had suffered c^lt:e;;e!s:;;r ''''=""''' ^^'^ --^ "^ -i^p-^ '- s3 198 MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. For the particulars of the following remarkable story we are indebted to Mrs. Jameson,* who learnt from Mademoiselle Anibos herself the history of her adventm'ous jom*ney, and the circumstances which led to it. We venture to extract from this lady's interesting work the graphic sketch in which she first introduces her heroine to the reader : — *' I was travelling from Weimar to Frankfort, and had stopped at a little town one or two stages beyond Fulda. I was standing at the Avindow of the inn, which was opposite the post-house, and looking at a crowd of travellers who had just been disgorged from a huge Eil- wagon, or post-coach, which w^as standing there. Among them w\is one female, who, before I was aw^are, fixed my attention. Although closely enveloped in a winter dress from head to foot, her height, and the easy decision with AA'hich she moved, showed that her figure Avas fine and well proportioned ; and as the wind blew aside her black veil, I had a glimpse of features which still further excited my curiosity. I had time to con- sider her, as she alighted and walked over to the inn alone. She entered at once the room — it was a sort of pubhc saloon — in wdiich I w^as, summoned the waiter, whom she addressed in a good-humoured but rather familiar style, and ordered breakfast. * * * AVhile this was preparing, she threw oft' her traveUing accoutrements; first, a dark cloak, * '* Visits and Sketches at home and abroad." In abridging Mrs. Jameson's narrative it was not possible, without injuring the effect of the story, to avoid in many places using her own words, for which we here make a general acknowledgment. MADEMOL-SELLE AMBOS. lOl richly lined with fur ; one or two shawls ; a sort of pelisse, or rather surtout, reaching- to the knees, with long loose sleeves, such as you may see in Tartar or Muscovite costumes ; this was made of hcautiful Indian shawls, lined with hlue silk, and trimmed with sables. Under these splendid and multifarious coverings she Avore a dress of deep mourning. Her figure, when displayed, excited my admiration ; it was one of the most perfect I ever beheld. Iler feet, hands, and head were small in proportion to her figure ; her face was not so striking, it was pretty rather than handsome ; her small mouth closed lirmly, so as to give a marked and singular expression of re- solution and decision to a physiognomy otherwise frank and good-humoured ; her eyes, also small, Avere of a dark hazel, bright, with long blonde eyelashes. Her abundant hair was plaited in several bands, and fastened on the top of her head, in the fashion of German peasant girls. Her voice would have been deemed rather high-pitched for ' ears polite' ; but it was not deficient in melody ; and though her expression was grave, and even sad, upon our first encounter, I soon found that mirth and not sadness was the natural character of her mind, as of her countenance. When anything ridicu- lous occurred, she burst at once into a laugh, such a merry, musical peal, that it was impossible not to sympathise in it. Her whole appearance and manners gave the idea of a farmer's buxom daughter ; nothing could be more distinct from our notions of the lady-hke, yet nothing could be more free from impropriety, more expressive of native innocence and modesty ; but the splendour of her dress did not exactly suit her deport- ment — it puzzled me. I observed, when she drew ott' her glove, that she wore a number of silver rings of a peculiar fasliion, and among them a fine diamond. She walked up and down, seemingly lost in painful meditations ; but when breakfast appeared she sat down and did justice to it, as one who had been many hours without food. While she was thus engaged the conductor of the Eil-wagon and one of the passengers came in, and spoke to her with interest and respect. Soon afterwards came the mistress of the inn (who had never deigned to notice me, for it is not the fashion in Germany) ; she came with an oft'er of particidar services, and from the conversation I gathered, to my astonishment, that this yomig creature — she seemed not more than two or three- and- tweaty — ^was on her way home, alone and unprotected, from — 200 MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. can you imagine ? — even from the -vvilds of Siberia ! But tlien, wliat had brought her there ? I Hstened, in hojies of discovering, but they all spoke so fast that I could make out nothing more. Afterwards, I had occasion to go over to a little shop to make some purchases ; on my return I found her crying bitterly, and my maid, also in tears, was comfort- ing her with great volubiUty. Now though my having in German was not considerable, and my heroine s])oke still less French, I could not help assisting in the task of consolation ; never, certainly, were my curiosity and interest more strongly excited. Suljsequently, we met at Frankfort, where she lodged in the same hotel, audi was enabled to offer her a seat in my vehicle to Maycnce ; thus I had opportunities of hearing her whole history, related at diflerent times, and in parts and parcels ; and I will now endeavour to give it to you in a con- nected form. You shall have, if not the wliole truth, at least as much of it as I can remember, and with no Petitions in- terpolations and improvements. Of tlie animation of voice and manner, tlie vivid eloquence, the graphic spirit, the quick transitions of feeling, and the grace and vivacity of gesture and action Avitli which the relation was made to me* by this line untutored child of nature, I can give you no idea." Mademoiselle Bety Aml>os was the daughter of a rich wine merchant of Deuxj)0Jit (Zwcibrucken), in Bavaria. She was one of five children, two nnich older and two younger than herself. Ilcr eldest brothe]-, Henri, early displayed such talents and inclination for study, as determined his father to give him a learned education. He accordingly sent him to the university of Elangau, in Bavaria, from whence, in due time, he returned to his family with high tes- timonials of his talent and good conduct. He now decided, in accordance with his father's wishes, on entering the clerical profession, and won the esteem, not only of his own family, but of his fellow-townsmen, by his remarkable abihties and attractive and amiable qualities. After he had been a short time settled at home, he was engaged by some prince in the north of Germany to travel with him as his secretary ; and through him, when ho was al)0ut eight-and-twenty, was appointed professor of theology in a Lutheran university of Courland, either Riga, or some town near it ; for on this point the account is not certain. Here our young professor chanced to meet a very fascinating and beautiful young MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. 201 Jewess, iliiuglitcr of a ricli Jew merchant there, with wlioiii, imhappily, he fell in love, lie was now seized with a great zeal for her conversion, for it was impossible to marry until this was effected ; and he seems to have carried on a secret correspondence with her, -Nvith a view to further hotli these designs. This was discovered by her relations, and they strictly forbad all further intercourse. They met, however, in secret, and the lover so far succeeded as to persuade the young lady to fly with him beyond the frontiers into Silesia, and after her ba])tisni to become his wife. But their plans were ill-arranged ; the flight was immediately discovered ; and before they had reached the frontiers they were overtaken by the police, and brought back to Riga. Here the young man was accused of having carried oft' the Jewess by force — in that district, where the Jews have peculiar immunities, said to be a capital crime. He defended himself by declaring that the lady had eloped with him volun- tarily, and that she was now a Christian, and his betrothed bride, as they had exchanged rings, the usual ceremony of betrothal. All this the lady's father positively denied ; upon wliicli Henri Ambos desired that she might be brought into court, to answer for herself. Her relations made many ob- jections to this just demand ; but the judge supported the accused, and enforced the attendance of the lady, to give her testimony in person. She was brought into court in extreme agitation, supported by her father, and others of her relations. The judge then asked if wdth her own free will she had fled with Henri Ambos ? She faintly ansAvered ' No.'' Had any violence been used to carry her oft"? 'Yes.' Was she a Christian? 'Ax>.' Did she regard Henri Ambos as her aflianced husband ? 'No. ' On ftnding himself thus denied and deserted by her from whom he had hoped so much, the young man was seized with sudden frenzy ; he endeavoured first to rush upon the trem- bling girl, and wdien held back, drew a knife from his pocket, and attempted to plunge it in his own bosom. It was snatched from him ; but in the scuftle he was wounded in the hands and face. Either from remorse, or the sight of his Avounds, the young lady fainted away ; and her unhappy lover behold- ing her insensible, and becoming calm from the loss of blood, now sidlenly refused to answer further (questions, and was at 202 3IADEM0ISELLE AMBOS. once carried to prison. These particulars reached his family after many months of anxiety ; but the most diligent inquiries brought them no information of his subsequent fate. One of Henri's relations undertook a journey to Riga, for the pur- pose of obtaining some intelligence or redress, but his ex- ertions were fruitless ; and the family knew not whether to suppose him languishing in a dungeon, or dead from his Avounds. Thus six years passed away, in the course of which his father died. But the mother lived in suspense ; she could not despair, as every one did beside ; she still hoped to see her son once more. At length, in the beginning of the year 1833, a travelhng merchant passed through Deuxpont, and inquired for the family of Ambos. He told them that the year before he had seen and spoken to a man in rags, Avith a long beard, ayIio Avas Avorking in fetters Avitli other criminals, near the fortress of Barinski, in Siberia ; avIio described him- self as Henri Ambos, a pastor of the Lutheran church, un- justly condemned ; and besought him Avith tears, and the most urgent supplications, to convey some tidings of him to his unhappy parents, and beseech them to use every means for his liberation. On this overAvhelming intelligence the Ambos family, Avheu the first agitation and excitement left them calm enough to think, consulted Avhat Avould be best to be done. It Avas soon determined that application should at once be made to the police authorities in St. Petersburgh, to ascertain beyond all doubt the real fate of Henri, and then to present a petition on his behalf to the Emperor. But Avho must present it ? The second brother oifered himself ; but he had a Avife and two children, and his Avife declared she should die if her hus- band left her ; besides, he Avas noAv his mother's only stay. The sister then said she Avould undertake all — the journey, the inquiries, the presentation ; arguing that as a Avoman she might liaA^e a greater chance of success. The mother gave her consent, for she saAv there Avas no other alternative ; and, amply supplied Avith means, this noble-minded girl set out on her long and perilous journey. " When my mother gave me her blessing," she said, " I made a voav to God and my oavu heart that I Avould not return alive Avithout the pardon of my brother. I feared nothing ; I had nothing to live for ; I had MADEMOISELLE A^fP.OS. 203 liealtli and strength, and I liad not a doubt of my own suc- cess, because I avos resohed to succeed ; but ab ! what fate was mine I and liow am I returnhig to my mother — my poor old mother ! ' ' Every detail and arrangement of her journey that could be planned in prospect would, no doubt, be laid out for her before leaving home, and she reached Riga without mis- chance. There she collected the necessary documents rela- tive to her brother's character and conduct, with all the circumstances of his trial, and had them properly attested. With these she Avent forward to St. retersburgh, where she arrived safe in June, 1833. She had come provided with several letters of recommendation ; one to a German eccle- siastic, who entered warmly into her cause. She had the greatest difficulty in procuring from the police the necessary documents of her brother's condemnation, and of his place of exile and punishment ; but at length, by almost incredible boldness and address, she procured these, and, Avith the assist- ance of her countrymen, drew up a ])etition to the Em])eror. With tlws she sought an audience of the minister of the interior, and after many applications was admitted to his presence ; but he treated her with harshness, and absolutely refused to deliver the petition. She knelt and wept in vain, till, angry with her importunity, he said : " Your brother was a mauvois sKJet, he ought not to be pardoned ; and if I were the Emperor I would not pardon him." She then rose indignant from her knees, and stretching out her hands to- wards heaven, exclaimed : "I call God to witness that my brother was innocent ! and I thank God that you are not the Emperor, for I can still hope I" The minister, in a rage, said : "Do you dare to speak thus to me ? do you know who I am?" "Yes," she answered; "You are his excellency the minister C ; but what of that ? You are a cruel man ! but I put ray trust in God and the Emperor ;" and having said this she left him, he following her to the door, and speaking very loud and angrily, and she not even curtseying to him as slie withdrew from liis presence. With the same ill success she applied to all the ministers. They were not all unkind, but none would uiulertake to pre- sent the petition. Slio tlierefore resolved to do wliat she had hitherto been dissuaded from — appeal to the Emperor in 204 MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. person. But the difficulty of gaining access to his presence threatened to be insui>erahle. She lavished large sums as bribes among the guards ; she beset the imperial suite at revicAvs ; at the theatre ; on the way to church. For six weeks she wearied herself in vain in fruitless and humiliating efforts to penetrate to the Emperor's presence. She was threatened by the police, and driven about by officials ; at length, when almost in despair, Providence raised her up a friend in one of her own sex. Her story had become known, and several ladies of rank had expressed themselves interested in it. Among these the Countess Elise showed parti- cular kindness and sympathy. One day, seeing her young protege in despair at so many disappointments, she said with emotion : "I cannot dare present your petition myself ; I might be sent off to Siberia, or at least banished the court ; but all I can do I will. I will lend you my equipage and servants ; I will dress you in one of my robes ; you shall drive to the palace the next levee day, and obtain an audience under my name. When once in the presence of the Emperor you must manage for yourself. If I risk thus much, will you venture the rest ?" This of^cr was accepted with a transport of gratitude ahnost too great for words ; and the scheme thus boldly planned was not long in being acted upon. At the appointed time our heroine, attired in a court dress of the Countess, took her seat in a splendid equipage, preceded by a running foot- man, with three laced laquais in fidl dress mounted behind, and drove up to the palace. She was announced as the Countess Elise , who supplicated a private audience of his majesty. The doors flew open before her, and in a few minutes she was in the presence of the Emperor, who, with an air of gallantry, advanced one or two steps to meet her, but suddenly started back. When she came to this part of her narrative she was asked, if at this moment she did not feel her heart sink ? " No," she replied ; "on the contrary, I felt my heart beat quicker and higher ! I sprang forward and knelt at his feet, exclaiming, with clasped hands — " Pardon, imperial majesty I pardon!' 'Who are you?' said the Emperor, astonished, 'and what can I do for you?' He spoke gently, more gently than any of his ministei's ; and overcome, even by my own hopes, I burst into a flood of tears, MADEMOISELLE AMT50S. 205 and said : * May it please your imperial majesty, I am not Countess Elise , I am only the sister of" tlie unfortunate Henri Ambos, who has been condemned on false accusation. pardon ! pardon I Here are the papers — the proofs. imperial majesty ! pardon my poor brother ! ' I held out the petition and the papers, and at the same time, prostrate on my knees, I seized the skirt of his embroidered coat, and pressed it to my lips. The Emperor said, 'Rise, rise!' but I would not rise ; I still held my papers, resolved not to rise till he had taken them. At last the Emperor, who seemed much moved, extended one hand towards me, and took the papers with the other, saying, ' Rise, Mademoiselle, 1 command you to rise. ' I ventured to kiss his hand, and said, with tears, ' I pray of your majesty to read that paper. ' He said, ' I will read it.' I then rose from the ground, and stood watching him while he unfolded the petition and read it. His countenance changed, and he exclaimed once or twice ' This is dreadful ! ' When he had finished he folded the paper, and Avithout any observation, said at once : ' Mademoi- selle Ambos, your brother is pardoned.' The Avords rang in my ears, and I again flung myself at his feet, saying, ' Your imperial majesty is a god upon earth ; do you indeed pardon my brother ? Your ministers Avould not snfter me to approach you ; and even yet I fear ! ' He said ' Fear nothing ; you have my promise.' He then raised me from the ground, and conducted me himself to the door. I tried to thank and bless him, but I could not ; he held out his hand for me to kiss, and then bowed his head as I left the room." Her friends were warm in their congratulations on her re- turn home, but advised her to keep her interview with the Emperor a profound secret, which she agreed to the more willingly, as after the first excitement Avas over her heart mis- gaA'e her that some impediment Avould be throAvn in her way, and those Avho had hitherto opposed her Avould still de- vise machinations to hinder the promise of the Emperor from being carried out. For some days she Avas in a state of great suff'ering from the effects of past fatigue, and present agitation and suspense. While in this state of feverish anxiety, a few days after her intervicAV Avith the Emperor, she believed herself the sub- ject of a supernatural visitation, Avhich she described as 206 MADEMOISELLE AMROS. follows. She was reading in bed, being unable to sleep, when on raisino; her eyes from her book, she saw the fio-ure of her brotlier, standing at the other end of the room. She exclaimed — " Henri, my brother, is that you ?" But, without making any reply, the form approached nearer the bed, keeping its melancholy eyes fixed on hers till it came quite close to the bedside, and laid a cold, heavy hand upon her. T]ie figure, after looking at her sadly for some minutes, during which slie had no power either to move or speak, turned away. She then made a desperate eftbrt to call out to the daughter of her hostess, who slept in the next room — " Luise ! Luise I" Luise came in to her. *' Do you not see m^^jrother standing there?" she exclaimed, with horror, and pointing to the other end of the room, where the figure seemed to have receded. Luise, terrified and bewildered by being waked suddenly out of sleep, turned her eyes towards tlie spot, and answered — " Yes !" Then, thought the poor sister, Henri is dead, and God has permitted liim to visit me ; and for two days she was haunted by this idea ; but on the third, just five days after her interview with the Emperor, a laquais in tlie imperial hvery came to her lodgings, and ])ut a packet into her liands, with " The Emperor's compliments to Mademoiselle Ambos." It was the pardon of her brother, witli the Emperor's seal and signature ; and at that moment she forgot everything but joy. She was now overwhelmed Avith ofi*ers of service from those who had before only thrown obstacles in her way ; and the minister, C , vrith whom she had had so stormy an interview, ])roposed himself to foi:- ward the pardon to Siberia, in order to spare her trouble. But she was resolved that none but herself shoidd be the ])earer of this precious document — none but herself should take off those fetters, the very description of whicli had en- tered into her soul. She accordingly made instant arrangements for her journey, and i-eached Moscoav in thi-ee days from leaving Petersburg. Tlie town in Siberia, where she was first to carry her ofiicial recommendation, lay, according to her ac- count, 9, 0(H) versts beyond .Moscow, and the foitress where her brother was confined lay a great distance farther. She travelled jiost for seven days and nights, only sleeping in her carriage, and after two days' rest, posted, without stopping. MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. 207 for another seven nights and days. The roads were good, the post houses at reguhir intervals, and the travelling rapid, hut the country most desolate : sometimes, for hundreds of miles, there Avas hardly a human hahitation to he seen, and the only food she could procure so bad that she often suf- fered hunger rather than attempt to cat it. She descri'bed with great force her sensations in travelling thus alone through these wild, desolate regions. " Some- times," she said, '* my head seemed to turn: I could not believe that it was a waking reality : I could not believe that it was myself. Alone in a strange land, so many hundred leagues from my OAvn home, and driven along as if through the air, with a rapidity so different from anything I had been used to, that it almost took away my breath." She was asked if she ever felt fear. " Ah I yes:" she answered: " when I waked sometimes in the carriage in the middle of the night, wondering at myself, and unable immediately to collect my thoughts : never at any other time." The recol- lection of this journey Avas terrible to her : she could not speak of it without shuddering ; but at the time, she was sustained by thoughts of hope and joy, which overcame every natural sentiment of fear. The last week in August, she arrived at the end of her journey, and was courteously received by the governor, to whom she immediately showed her credentials ; and, with feelings of transport too great to be borne, placed in his hands her brother's pardon. The officer looked very grave as he received the paper ; and, she thought, took a very long- time to read the few lines it contained. At length he stam- mered out — " I am sorry ; but the Henri Ambos mentioned in this paper is dead .'" The blow was too sudden and too heavy. She fell, insensible, to the earth. " Ah ! what a horrible fate was mine !" she said, weeping : " I had come thus far to find — not my brother — only a grave !" Henri Ambos had died a year before. His fetters had caused an ulcer in the leg, which, perhaps in despair, he had neglected, and a few weeks of intense suffering brouglit him to his grave. For five years his task-work had been, to break stones to repair the road, chained hand and foot, and iu company with the vilest malefactors. The authorities seem to have felt for her, and to have t3 208 IMADEilOLSELLE AMEO.S. given her every record of her unfortunate brother that re- mained — memorials written by stealth, and which had, since his death, come into their possession. With these she re- turned, heart-broken, to St. Petersburg, Avliere she was seized with a dangerous illness, -which confined her many weeks to her bed. Her story got abroad, and excited great commiseration. Many persons of distinction invited her to their houses, and made her rich presents, some of which were the splendid articles of dress already spoken of. The Em- peror himself desired to see her, and very graciously ex- pressed his sympathy. He did her the honour also to present her to the Empress ; but she said — " They could not bring my brother back to life." In October, she left St. Peters- burg to return home, where she had not yet had courage to communicate the bitter disappointment of all her hopes. She was received Avith much connniseration at Riga, by those avIio had known her brother and her own extraordinary exertions in his cause. One thing, she believed, yet remained for her to do ; and this impulse — which must not be rashly o harshly judged of — shall be given in her oavu words. " There was one thing I had resolved to do, which yet remained un- done. I was resolved to sec the woman who had been the original cause of all my brother's misfortunes, I thought, if once I could say to her — ' Your falsehood has done this !' I should be satisfied ; but my brother's friends dissuaded me from this idea. They said it was better not ; that it could do my poor Henri no good ; that it Avas Avrong ; that it was un- christian ; and I submitted. I left Riga with a voiturier. I had reached Pojer, on the Prussian frontier, and there I stopped at the Douane, to have my packages searched. The chief officer looked at the address on my trunk, and ex- claimed, Avith surprise — ' Mademoiselle Ambos I Are you any relation of the professor, Henri Ambos ? ' 'I am his sister.' ' Good heaven ! I Avas the intimate friend of your brotlie]-. What has become of him V I then told him all ; and Avlicn I came to an end, this good man burst into tears, and for some time Ave Avept together. The kutscher (driver), Avho Avas standing by, heard all this conversation ; and Avhen I turned round, he Avas crying too. My brother's friend pressed on me offers of service and hospitality ; but I could not delay, for, besides that my impatience to reach home in- MADEM01SELLI-: AMHOS. 200 creased every hour, I had not much money in my purse. Of 3,000 dollars, which I had taken with me to St. Petersburg, very little remained ; so I bade him farewell, and I pro- ceeded. " At the next town, Avhcrc my kutscher stoj^ped to feed his horses, he came to the door of my caUche and said, ' You have just missed seeing- the young lady whom your brother Avas in love with. That caUcJie which passed us by just now, and changed horses here, contained Mademoiselle S , her sister, and her sister's husband.' Imagine my surprise : 1 could not believe my fortune. It seemed that Providence had delivered her into my hands ; and I was re- solved that she should not escape me. I knew they would be delayed at the custom-house. I ordered the man to turn, and drive back as fast as possible, promising him the reward of a dollar if he overtook them. On reaching the custom- house, I saw a caleche standing at a little distance. I felt myself tremble, and my heart beat so, but not Avith fear. I Avent up to the caUcJie : Uvo ladies Avere sitting in it. I addressed the one aa'Iio AA'as the most beautiful, and said — ' Are you Mademoiselle Emilie S ?' I suppose I must have looked very strange, and Avild, and resolute ; for she replied, Avith a frightened manner — * I am. Who are you, and Avliat do you Avant Avith me ? ' I said — ' I am the sister of Henri Ambos, Avhom you murdered !' She shrieked out : the men came running from the house ; but I held fast the carriage-door, and said — ' I am not come to hurt you ; but you are the nnu'deress of my brother, Henri Ambos. He loved you, and your falsehood has killed him. May God punish you for it I May his ghost pursue you to the end of your life !' I remember no more. I Avas like one mad. I have just a recollection of her ghastly, terrified look, and her eyes Avide oi)en, staring at me. I fell into fits ; and they carried me into the house of my brother's friend, and laid mc on a bod. When I recovered my senses, the caleche and all Avere gone. When I reached Berlin, all this appeared so miraculous, so like a dream, I coidd not trust my oAvn recollection. I Avrote to the officer of customs, to beg that he Avould attest that it Avas really true, and Avliat I had said Avlien I Avas out of my senses, and Avhat she had said ; and at Leipsic I received his 21 U MADEMOISELLE AMBOS. letter." Tliis, together with many other letters and documents, she showed to the sympathising English lady, all proving the truth of her statements to the minutest particulars. The next morning, Mademoiselle Amhos and her new friend parted, to follow their different routes ; and nothing fm'ther is known of our heroine ; though all must follow her with their kindest thoughts and wishes, to that liome where she had still to hreak her sad tale to her mother. Yet, amid all their sorrow and their mingled tears, some joy there must have been in Avelcoming such a daughter hack again, and much thankfulness that through so many dangers she was restored to them unharmed. PRINTED DV JOSEPH ROGERSO.V, 24, NORfOLK STREET, STRAND, LONDON. W-^ 'iJt V .* ir~^i 'm ^ :,i^ Si^*