Out in the Forty-Five Part 24

CAROLINE, LADY NAIRN.

Yesterday, when Flora and I sat at our sewing in the manse parlour, something happened which has set everything in a turmoil. We had been talking, but we were silent just then: and I was thinking over what my Uncle Drummond and Mr Whitefield had said, when all at once we heard the gate dashed open, and Angus came rus.h.i.+ng up the path with his plaid flying behind him. Flora sprang up and ran to meet him.

"What is the matter?" she said. "'Tis so unlike Angus to come das.h.i.+ng up in that way. I do hope nothing is wrong with Father."

I dropped my sewing and ran after her.

"Angus, what is wrong?" she cried.

"Why should anything be wrong? Can't something be right?" cried Angus, as he came up; and I saw that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "The Prince has landed, and the old flag is flying at Glenfinnan. Hurrah!"

And Angus s.n.a.t.c.hed off his cap, and flung it up so high that I wondered if it would come down again.

"The Prince!" cried Flora; and looking at her, I saw that she had caught the infection too. "O Angus, what news! Who told you? Is it true?

Are you quite sure?"

"Sure as the hills. Duncan told me. I have been over to Monksburn, and he has just come home. All the clans in Scotland will be up to-morrow.

That was the one thing we wanted--our Prince himself among us. You will hear of no faint hearts now."

"What will the Elector do?" said Flora. "He cannot, surely, make head against our troops."

"Make head! We shall be in London in a month. Sir John Cope has gone to meet Tullibardine at Glenfinnan. I expect he will come back a trifle faster than he went. Long live the King, and may G.o.d defend the right!"

All at once, Angus's tone changed, as his eyes fell upon me. "Cary, I hope you are not a traitor in the camp? You look as if you cared nothing about it, and you rather wondered we did."

"I know next to nothing about it, Angus," I answered. "Father would care a great deal; and if I understood it, I dare say I might. But I don't, you see."

"What do I hear!" cried Angus, in mock horror, clasping his hands, and casting up his eyes. "The daughter of Squire Courtenay of Brocklebank knows next to nothing about Toryism! Hear it, O hills and dales!"

"About politics of any sort," said I. "Don't you know, I was brought up with Grandmamma Desborough, who is a Whig so far as she is anything--but she always said it was vulgar to get warm over politics, so I never had the chance of hearing much about it."

"Poor old tabby!" said irreverent Angus.

"But have you heard nothing since you came to Brocklebank?" asked Flora, with a surprised look.

"Oh, I have heard Father toast 'the King over the water,' and rail at the Elector; and I have heard f.a.n.n.y chant that 'Britons never shall be slaves' till I never wanted to hear the tune again; and I have heard Ambrose Catterall sing Whig songs to put Father in a pet, and heard lots of people talk about lots of things which are to be done when the King has his own again. That is about all I know. Of course I know how the Revolution came about, and all that: and I have heard of the war thirty years ago, and the dreadful executions after it--"

"Executions! Ma.s.sacres!" cried Angus, hotly.

"Well, ma.s.sacres if you like," said I. "I am sure they were shocking enough to be called any ugly name."

Angus seemed altogether changed. He could not keep to one subject, nor stand still for one minute. I was not much surprised so long as it was only he; but I was astonished when I saw the change which came over my Uncle Drummond. I never supposed he could get so excited about anything which had to do with earth. And yet his first thought was to connect it with Heaven. [Note 1.]

I shall never forget the ring of his prayer that night. An exile within sight of home, a prisoner to whom the gates had just been opened, might have spoken in the words and tones that he did.

"Lord, Thou hast been gracious unto Thy land!" "Let them give thanks whom the Lord hath redeemed, and delivered from the hand of the enemy!"

That was the key-note of every sentence.

I found, before long, that I had caught the complaint myself. I went about singing, "The King shall ha'e his ain again," and got as hot and eager for fresh news as anybody.

"Oh dear, I hope the Prince will conquer the Elector before I go to London," I said to Flora: "for I do not know whatever Grandmamma will say if I go to her in this mood. She always says there is nothing so vulgar as to get enthusiastic over anything. You ought to be calm, composed, collected, and everything else which is cold and begins with C."

Flora laughed, but was grave again directly.

"I expect, Cary, your journey to London is a long way off," said she.

"How are you to travel, if all the country be up, and troops going to and fro everywhere?"

"I am sure I don't care if it be," said I. "I would rather stay here, a great deal."

I thought we were tolerably warm about the Prince's landing, at Abbotscliff; but when I got to Monksburn, I found the weather still hotter. The Laird is almost beside himself; Mr Keith as I never saw him before. Annas has the air of an inspired prophetess, and even Lady Monksburn is moved out of her usual quietude, though she makes the least ado of any. News came while we were there, that Sir John Cope had been so hard pressed by the King's army that he was forced to fall back on Inverness; and nothing would suit the Laird but to go out and make a bonfire on the first hill he came to, so as to let people see that something had happened. The Elector, we hear, has come back from Hanover, and his followers are in a panic, I hope they will stay there.

Everybody agrees that the army will march southwards at once after this victory, and that unless my journey could take place directly, I shall have to stay where I am, at least over the winter. The Laird wishes he could get Annas out of the way. If I were going, I believe he would send her with me, to those friends of Lady Monksburn in the Isle of Wight. I thought Lady Monksburn looked rather anxious, and wistful too, when he spoke about it. Annas herself did not seem to care.

"The Lord will not go to the Isle of Wight," she said, quietly.

Oh, if I could feel as they do--that G.o.d is everywhere, and that everywhere He is my Friend! And then, my Uncle Drummond's words come back upon me. But how do you trust Christ? What have you to do? If people would make things plain!

Well, it looks as if I should have plenty of time for learning. For it seems pretty certain, whatever else is doubtful, that I am a fixture at Abbotscliff.

I wonder if things always happen just when one has made up one's mind that they are not going to happen?

About ten o'clock this morning, Flora and I were sewing in the parlour, just as we have been doing every day since I came here. My Uncle Drummond was out, and Angus was fixing a white c.o.c.kade in his bonnet.

Helen Raeburn put in her head at the door.

"If you please, Miss Cary," said she, "my cousin Samuel wad be fain to speak wi' ye."

For one moment I could not think who she meant. What had I to do with her cousin Samuel? And then, all at once, it flashed upon me that Helen's cousin Samuel was our own old Sam.

"Sam!" I almost screamed. "Has he come from Brocklebank? Oh, is anything wrong at home?"

"There's naething wrang ava, Miss Cary, but a hantle that's richt--only ane thing belike--and that's our loss mair than yours. But will ye see Samuel?"

"Oh, yes!" I cried. And Flora bade Helen bring him in.

In marched Sam--the old familiar Sam, though he had put on a flowered waistcoat and a glossy green tie which made him look rather like a Merry Andrew.

"Your servant, ladies! Your servant, Maister Angus! I trust all's weel wi' ye the morn?"

And Sam sighed, as if he felt relieved after that speech.

"Sam, is all well at home? Who sent you?"

"All's weel, Miss Cary, the Lord be thanked. And Mrs Kezia sent me."

"Is my Aunt Kezia gone to her new house? Does she want me to come back?"