Philip Rollo; or, the Scottish Musketeers, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by James Grant

Book the Fifth.

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE MARCH TOWARDS LAUENBURG.

It may be easily supposed that neither Dandy Dreghorn nor I slept much for the short remainder of that eventful morning. Poor Dandy's lamentations for the plight into which his sneeze had brought me, were incessant. The honest fellow never uttered a complaint for himself; but, having lost his appetite, resisted all the gruff invitations of our guard, who offered to share us their miserable ration of black bread and Danish beer. It required all my efforts to pacify my comrade, and convince him that he had no more power over an irrepressible desire to sneeze, than over the wind.

With the grey dawn Tilly came forth, accompanied by several officers muffled in their mantles, with their helmets closed or their plumed hats slouched well over their faces, for the morning air was chilly. The sharp notes of the trumpet summoned a troop of Kœningheim's Reitres to horse, and with these Tilly trotted away, leaving four dismounted men, with their carbines loaded, and orders to conduct Dreghorn and myself to a certain place which he named. As we were marched off, I gave a parting glance at the gothic lattices of the old mansion, and two female figures caught my eye. They were those of Ernestine and the kind-hearted Gabrielle. I perceived that the latter was weeping, but the former only waved her hand in adieu. I gave a profound bow, for which the surly corporal of our escort gave me a punch with his carbine, and we were compelled to move on.

While I was reflecting that Ernestine might have displayed some more emotion, for the worst of perils encompassed us, Spürrledter came running after the soldiers to give them a glass of brandy; and, while their minds were intent upon the flask, he approached me, and slyly, with his hand behind him, thrust into mine a purse, with a brief whisper:—

"My young lady sends you this, Herr Kombeek—it is a long march to Vienna."

The purse was of blue velvet, embroidered with silver thread, and the generous girl seemed to have filled it well. To have declined the gift in my desperate circumstances, would have been uncourteous to her, folly to myself, and false modesty; I concealed it at once in my sporran, and a glow of gratitude kindled in my heart.

"I shall end by loving Ernestine, but I shall see her no more," thought I; "the interest we take in each other is pure and sincere. I could not have loved Prudentia at all. Oh, no! I grow sick when I reflect on my folly. 'Twas the dream of a day, and she is the sister of Bandolo!"

I saw little of the country during the march, for my whole attention was excited by the vast bodies of Imperialists then pouring along the left bank of the Elbe—horse, foot, and artillery—in tens of thousands, towards the ducal capital of Saxe-Lauenburg; and on that day's march I observed and learned more of their internal economy, than a hundred battles with them could have taught me.

Though rusty armour and patched doublets, plumeless helmets and battered morions, were very common in the Imperial ranks, nothing military could surpass the magnificence of many of the officers. Their mantles and trunk hose were of the richest velvets Florence and Genoa could produce; their armour of the most gorgeous gilded plate from Venice and Milan, covered with sacred mottoes' figures, and charms, either religious or necromantic, to render them invulnerable—for they all believed implicitly in fated bullets and enchanted mail; their pistols and daggers were from Parma; their swords from Bilboa and Toledo. On their breasts sparkled the stars of St. George of Austria, of the Golden Fleece, and other knightly orders peculiar to the Empire. Here I saw Tilly's weatherbeaten Walloon infantry, and that savage Croatian force which had slaughtered our wounded Highlanders in cold blood at Boitzenburg; among these were one regiment of horse, the Krabats of Castanovitz, lightly armed with steel helmets and fur pelisses; another of infantry or Uskokes, famous for their agility in all rapid movements. But Tilly's best troops were the fine old Imperial Reitres in their black armour; the pikemen of Pappenheim, the cavalier of a hundred wounds; the musketeers of Wrangel, of Gordon, and Camargo; the Italian bands of Savelli, and the glittering Spanish infantry, so easily distinguished by their fine lofty bearing, their brilliant arms, and short quick step on the march.

His regiments usually consisted of men armed in five different ways; thus, in each company of a hundred soldiers, fifty were musketeers, thirty were pikemen, ten were halberdiers, and ten arquebussiers, armed also with swords and daggers; but these numbers varied so much, that I have seen companies of three hundred files, and regiments of three thousand. Every company carried a standard, and their order of battle was eight ranks deep.

Hard drinking, gaming, and licentiousness prevailed to the utmost extent, and thus (unlike the orderly armies of Christian and Gustavus) the Imperial camp swarmed with jugglers, dancers, posture-makers, and women of every description, from the luxurious ladies of the rich and powerful nobles, down to the cruel and dastardly death-hunter, who acted the lascivious wanton in the soldier's tent, and who murdered him when wounded, that she might plunder him with impunity when dead. Discipline was relaxed; yet desertion, punishment, grumbling, the saying of prayers and masses were incessant. The corps were destitute of surgeons and chaplains; but (attracted by the presence of Tilly, a brother of their order) a swarm of long-robed and severe-visaged Jesuits hovered on the skirts of the army. Tilly's cavalry gave all their horses romantic names after great warriors renowned in song or antiquity. Thus, Count Merodé rode Amadis of Gaul; Count Kœningheim had the Cid Rodrigo; a third rode Palmerin of England; a fourth, Tirante the White, and so on. Prisoners were never exchanged, all being shot who could neither pay ransom, or stoop to serve under the eagle. A colonel's ransom was £1000; a subaltern's, as much as he could scrape together.

The Scottish and Irish soldiers of fortune frequently passed from one service to the other; for, being passionate rogues, it sometimes happened that in quarrels they shot their senior officers, or ran them through the body; for, though we took their pay and fought their battles for glory and pleasure, we despised all these foreigners in our hearts, and made it a rule never to submit to the slightest encroachment or annoyance even from the best of them. Hence our quarrel with the king.

There were several regiments of Scottish and Irish musketeers in the Imperial service, and the best and bravest officers of the empire were Scots and Irishmen. Among the former, I may mention Field-marshal Count Leslie, who became governor of Sclavonia; the Gordons, one of whom became Colonel-general of infantry, and High-chamberlain of the empire, and who slew the great Duke of Friedland; the M'Dougals, one of whom became a general of horse, and the Lindesays of Crauford, and others. Of the gallant Irish nation, were Colonels Macarthy, Grace, O'Neill, and Walter Butler, all brave men as ever looked face to face on Death; but save the old Welshman, Colonel Morgan, there was no Englishman of note in these wars—but Morgan was in himself a host.

About mid-day our surly corporal halted at a little farmhouse. The proprietor, proving to be a good Catholic, escaped shooting, and his house escaped the flames. Being an honest fellow, he made us—though prisoners—quite as welcome as the military ragamuffins who guarded us, and we all dined jovially together on fried bacon and Danish beer. Dandy Dreghorn ate voraciously to make up for the loss of his breakfast; and his applications to the "gudeman for anither slice o' the grumphie," and to the corporal for "anither cogue o' the yill," were incessant. A fair-haired and blue-eyed little girl (the daughter of our host) gazed at me with terror, from time to time, from behind her father's chair.

"Come hither, Wilhelmina," said he, with a broad laugh; "thou seest these Scottish soldiers have but one head, like ourselves—not two, as Father d'Eydel told thee."

I soon made a friend of this little lady, and hastened to assure her that I never had more than one head; I placed her on my knee, where she laughed and pulled my mustaches; while her little brother was peeping fearfully towards the end of my kilt, to see that forked tail which he understood all Protestants possessed.

Contrasted with the horrors of war, I envied the contentment that pervaded this good man's hearth; but the sentiments of repugnance to rapine and strife, became fainter the more often we are impressed; till at last they are worn out, like the rough thistles on our Scottish pennies, which obliterate as they are used. I can remember all the horror, the breathless shrinking, I felt on first seeing a poor fellow near me torn in two by a cannon-shot at Boitzenburg; but a time came when I could gaze without emotion at the sack of a city and the slaughter of a multitude. Curiosity and horror were then alike effaced; they had passed away, and callousness alone remained behind, till peace again restored the feelings to their proper tone. However, I sighed as I left the house of the German farmer, and resumed that weary march, the end of which I could not foresee.

On the road I was frequently accosted by Scots Imperialists, who spoke to me kindly, and expressed indignation to see me marched thus on foot, and fettered to a private soldier. In short, a general excitement on the subject soon prevailed among them; and, after Gordon's musketeers had passed me, Tilly's aide-de-camp, Count Kœningheim, came up with an order to relieve me from the ignominy I endured, and the fetter was transferred to poor Dandy's other hand. He stared meanwhile in blank astonishment at the count, who had addressed me in our pure native dialect.

"So you are a Scot, sir?" said I.

"Had I not been that," said he, "I had left you to wear your bracelet; but dinna think o' escape; for Tilly's a dour auld carle, and never tholes muckle."

"You have become so foreign in aspect and manner, that I never could have recognised in you a kindly Scot."

"But I am a kindly Scot!" he retorted with a sparkling eye. "At hame, in auld Glencairn and on the banks of the Urr, I am kent as Hab Cunningham o' the Boortree-haugh; but here I am Albert Count Kœningheim, your friend and countryman. You must sup wi' me to-night; I'll hae three or four mair—a' Scottish gentlemen, to join us in a glass, for puir auld Scotland's sake. But excuse me, sir—for I see Count Tilly requires me. He hates the Scots like death or the deil, but he canna do without me;" and, with his long plume streaming behind, this gay soldier galloped towards the head of the column of infantry.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
COUNT TILLY'S OPINION OF THE PRESBYTERIANS.

Passing through Bleckede, a small town which is overlooked by a baronial castle, and through Radegast, both of which were plundered by the advanced guard of Croatian uskokes, we followed the course of the Elbe towards Lauenburg. As we passed an ancient tower in the dusk, I remember hearing the notes of the watchman's horn, when (in the old German fashion) he proclaimed the first hour of the night. By three long halts, Tilly delayed his march in such a manner, that though the distance was short, night had descended on the Elbe and its shores before we saw the lights twinkling in the old castle, which was occupied by two companies of my own regiment, under Major Wilson. The little town was deserted, for the inhabitants had all fled into Holstein by the bridge, which the castle defended by its cannon.

The town is situated at the confluence of a stream named the Stecknitz with the Elbe; its castle, which is said to have been built by Heinrich the Lion, Duke of Saxony, was strong, and crowned an eminence which Bernard, Prince of Anhalt, the successor of Heinrich, had left nothing undone to strengthen; but their old towers of the twelfth century, though black, and strong, and grim, were never meant to withstand the dint of cannon-shot.

At the foot of the steep eminence, and about a pistol-shot from the walls, was an ancient gate, surmounted by the demi-eagle of Anhalt carved on stone; and there Major Wilson had posted a picquet or outguard of my brave comrades, as Bandolo, who had crept forward to reconnoitre and espy, informed Tilly, who, acting upon his suggestion, and in revenge for the trick Dreghorn and I had played him during the preceding night, now resolved to turn our presence and services to account.

The advanced guard halted at the distance of two musket-shots from the bridge of Saxe-Lauenburg, in front of which stood a solitary sentinel of Wilson's picquet, in the very centre of the roadway. The bridge was ancient and narrow, with high parapets; but as the cannon and musketry of the castle could rake it with deadly effect, it was of the utmost advantage to Tilly that the bridge should be crossed, and the gateway passed without an alarm; thus he had cruelly resolved on destroying the sentinel, a project which the circumstance of our being his prisoners, and the dense darkness of the night, greatly furthered.

The whole country around us was deserted; the Croatians had captured or shot all the wayfarers and straggling peasantry: thus, neither my comrades under Major Wilson in the castle, nor their guard at the bridge, had the most remote idea that Tilly's troops, more than thirty thousand strong, were in their immediate vicinity. The major had been desired to rely on Herr Otto Roskilde for information as to the enemy's movements, and that worthy, whom we now know under another name, had completely deceived him by tidings that the Imperialists had fallen back towards the Weser.

Still, dark and unbroken by a ripple, the broad and starless current of the Elbe poured through the arches of the bridge; the opposite bank was veiled in obscurity, all save the upper ramparts of the castle, which we saw standing forth in dark outline against the gloomy sky, and towering high above the level landscape. Not a sound was heard; the most deathlike stillness prevailed, and the whole current of life seemed as still and turgid as the waters of the Elbe.

Tilly's leading column had halted for more than an hour, and we knew not till afterwards that this great general delayed the attack until he had consulted an augur as to his hopes of success, and his confessor as to his prospects elsewhere, in case of being shot; thus he poured into the ear of Father Ignatius d'Eydel that confession which he always made, if possible, before engaging. Apart from his host, at the foot of a blasted oak by the wayside, the terrible John de Tserclä was on his knees, bareheaded and in the dust, before a brother of his order.

Escorted by the same soldiers, who now guarded some Walloons in addition, Dandy Dreghorn and I were seated near the wall of a ruined cottage; around us were our guards, leaning in silence on their arms. Dandy was occupied at supper on some meal, which (during our march) he had contrived to secure and prepare. He offered me a portion, but I declined; so he supped alone, talking all the while, that no time might be lost, for he made every meal with the air of a man who expected never to make another.

"Thou incorrigible glutton!" said I, "can you eat thus, when these overwhelming forces are about to assail our poor comrades in yonder small castle?"

"'Od, sir, I dinna see that it will mak meikle odds to them, whether I tyne my supper or no!"

"Upon my honour, Dandy, eating is quite a science with you, I perceive, and abstinence would be mere want of taste."

"I aye eat whan I can, for I kenna whan or whar the neist cogue may come frae. I took some groats frae an auld trooper's saddlebags at the last halt, and made thae braw sawans o' them before he kent they were tint; and sae I squatted mysel' doon here to sup withouten fear o' a hecklin. I daursay there's some braw soorocks in the burn yonder, if we could only find them. 'Stolen waters are sweet, and breid eaten in secret is pleasant,' saith Solomon, and he was a wise auld buckie, for a' that he had as mony wives as an Imperialist; but this water," he added, producing a leather bottle from his plaid-neuk, "is baith stronger and sweeter than Solomon's. It's the real stuff! hae a drap yoursel, sir."

I took a few mouthfuls, and then returned the leather bottle to Dandy, who, after pouring the remainder down his throat, with much mock politeness handed the flask to the corporal of escort. That sulky commander finding it empty, kicked it away with great contempt, and was drawing the ramrod of his carbine to chastise my companion, though fettered, when an armed cavalier appeared beside us on horseback. It was Albert Count Kœningheim.

"You must follow me," said he, "the generalissimo requires your presence."

"In this dusty dress?" said I, jestingly.

"Tush!" he replied, "a soldier is a companion for a king in any dress. I fear, sir, when you see Tilly, you will not jest. Corporal, bring these prisoners this way."

These prisoners; it was a very unpleasant sound, besides this lover (or intended lover) of Ernestine's spoke so gravely, that I had immediately some unpleasant anticipations. Nor was I deceived. Stumbling forward in the dark, over prostrate hedges and ruined garden walls, among neglected furrows and unsown fields, we reached the right flank of the advanced guard, where, sheltered from the view of those in the castle by a thick group of trees, Tilly stood in the centre of a number of steel-clad cavaliers and officers, whose bronzed visages and long mustaches were revealed by their open helmets, and the dim light of a stable lantern, which hung upon a demi-lance stuck in the earth. With his meagre figure cased in half-armour and buff with tassettes descending almost to his withered knees, half propping himself against his long sword with one hand, and grasping with the other a baton and the bridle of his horse, Count Tilly stood a little in front of his picturesque staff. There was a diabolical smile playing upon the lines of his thin wan mouth, though none was twinkling in his deep and fiery eyes, which searched the hearts of all.

"Welcome, thou jackfeather gallant!" said he in German, making me an ironical bow, to which I replied by another, haughtily enough; while Dandy, who kept close to me, saluted him as well as the fetter which chained his hands together would permit.

At that moment a tall red plume towered above the crowd of helmets; the group near Tilly parted on each side like the waves of the sea, and the stately Count of Carlstein approached with a fiery gleam in his full clear eyes—a cold and freezing expression of anger on his Grecian brow and finely formed upper lip.

"Ah—my camp-master general," said Tilly, with another ironical bow; "in searching for rats at your new castle in Luneburg, we found other vermin, as you may see."

The count bit his nether lip, but did not reply; and it was perhaps fortunate for him, that I (remembering Tilly's observations about treachery) had contrived, during the march, to explain to the aide-de-camp how we happened to be concealed in that apartment last night.

"Señor Bandolo," said Tilly.

That meritorious individual immediately appeared among us, in his large cloak and brown Dutch hat, with a cockade which was Danish on one side and Austrian on the other. Undisguised scorn was expressed by every face present, save that of the unscrupulous Count of Merodé, of whom more anon.

"Bandolo," said the general, "describe what you have seen."

"An officer, who wears an eagle's wing in his helmet, with a sergeant and fourteen musketeers, guard the gate which closes the other end of the bridge, and is, in fact, the outer barrier of the castle." (I listened with eagerness; this officer was evidently Ian.) "A single sentinel is posted at this end of the bridge."

"It is narrow, you perceive, gentlemen," said Tilly.

"And troops will be long in defiling across it," added the Count of Carlstein; "and will moreover be exposed to great danger, as ten heavy culverins and a bombarde from the castle can sweep its whole length."

"Señor—you have seen the advanced sentinel?"

"I could have pistoled him, but feared to alarm the guard," growled Bandolo.

"There is no sconce at this end of the bridge, as at Boitzenburg," said Tilly; "it is fortunate! But it is of the utmost importance, in case the arches should be undermined, that we capture the guard without alarming the garrison in the castle. This can only be done by deceiving the sentinel; and if one of these prisoners will lead an armed party to the gorge of the bridge, and reply to the challenge, in his own barbarous language; on one hand I offer him a thousand pistoles, with free leave to enter any regiment in the Imperial service; and on the other, instant death, and such a burial as the wolf and raven give. Sir—officer! translate this to your fellow-prisoner," he added to me, with a terrible frown.

"Dreghorn," said I, after translating the request, "what answer shall we give him?"

"Tell the auld tyke, that we'll baith see him hanged first—yea, high as Haman, and that then we wadna do it!"

"Count Tilly!" I exclaimed: "is this the honour—this the faith of an Imperial soldier?"

"Faith!" he retorted, "and dost thou speak to me of faith? Did not a council of our church, more than two hundred years ago, declare that no faith should be kept with heretics?"

A cloud came over the faces of the Counts of Carlstein and Kœningheim.

"Generalissimo," said the former, "what is this you would do? Assassinate a poor soldier because he will not betray his comrades? What! is the cause of the Empire and of Catholicism fallen so low, that we must become bravoes and murderers?"

"Darest thou to dictate?" cried the little man grasping his baton tighter, while a dark gleam shot from his fiery eyes; "dost think that I who have never shown mercy to the Flemish and German followers of Luther and Calvin, will mince matters with this Presbyterian spawn of their worthy colleague, Knox? No—nor will I now, so help me God; and, by my part of paradise! may the boom of our cannon sound every where as the funeral knell of those accursed Protestants—this unshriven spawn of Scotland, of Denmark, and the devil. They are your countrymen, count—true, but remember that on the brows and on the banner of your nation are written the curse of heresy, and the crime of sacred blood—the blood of a cardinal-priest, and that blood is yet unrevenged!"

"Lord hae a care o' us! what a deevil o' a body—what a bull o' Bashan!" muttered Dandy, as Tilly spurted out his fury in crackjaw German, though he usually swore in Spanish.

"Will this fellow obey my orders, if you will not?" he asked, with increasing wrath.

"He treats your offer with the scorn that it merits," said I.

"Maldicion de Dios! then stab him to the heart, Bandolo!" cried the merciless Tilly.

The unfortunate Dreghorn seemed to comprehend this terrible order; for, as the unscrupulous rascal raised his poniard, Dandy wrung my hand, and then in the old Scottish fashion mantled his head in his plaid, even as Caesar veiled his in his toga, to hide the death-stroke and its agony.

At that moment poor Dandy Dreghorn, the humble ploughman—the private soldier—was sublime! He was the grandest figure amid that stately group; but I caught the descending arm of Bandolo with one hand, and dashed him to the earth with the other.

"Do yer warst, ye dour auld walydraigel!" cried Dandy, shaking his fettered hands in Tilly's startled face; "I maun een dree my weird, syne ye gar me thole't!"

"Lead them both forward to the bridge," said Tilly, who was literally choking with passion. "To thee, Bandolo, I entrust them; six Croats will follow you; blow out their brains, if they refuse to reply that friends are approaching. The report of your pistols will be the signal for crossing and making a general assault. The regiments of Camargo and Merodé will lead the van; for, as Wallenstein says, God always helps the strongest brigade—forward!"

We were dragged away by Bandolo and the six dismounted Croats, all of whom were men of that amiable docility to orders, that they would have shot their own fathers without the slightest scruple, had such been the pleasure of Count Tilly or their prince, the Ban.

CHAPTER XXIX.
CAIRN NA CUIMHNE!

I secretly resolved that, whether I was shot or whether I escaped, a pretty loud alarm should be given; Dandy Dreghorn was of the same opinion, for, notwithstanding his strong predelictions for porridge and good feeding, he was a brave fellow, and vowed to stand by me to the last. Being aware that Bandolo knew neither our Scottish language nor the Gaëlic, we were resolving how we could bring both him and Tilly into a trap of their own constructing as we approached the end of the bridge, almost groping among the dark and smoke-like vapour, which was now beginning to spread along the river, and over the deserted town and the castle which commanded it.

At the gorge of the bridge I could perceive a Highland soldier standing perfectly motionless, resting on his musket, and apparently gazing straight before him, into the obscurity which veiled the army of Tilly. His powerful form had the aspect of a dusky statue. I could perceive his plaid waving at times; he was whistling a monotonous pibroch as we crept softly towards him; then he chanted a song; and doubtless the thoughts of home it raised within him, turned his eyes and heart back—as it were, back upon himself—and prevented him from observing the group of Croats, who approached him so stealthily, with their carbines cocked, under the shadow of the Dutch willows that fringed the narrow pathway. I have said the whole place was still as death; thus the clear, manly voice of the clansman as he sung "Failirin, ilirin, iulirin O," was distinctly heard. That old Highland air is so sad and slow, that it moved my heart within me, even amid the fierce impulses of that most critical hour.

"Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on its shore,
Can compare with the charms of the maid I adore;
Not so white is the snow on the mountain or dale,
Or the wild-rose that blooms on the bough in the vale.
As the clouds' golden wreath, on Ben Lomond's high brow,
The locks of my loved one luxuriantly flow;
And her cheek has the tint our wild-roses display,
When they blush in the bloom of a morning in May."

"Dreghorn," I whispered, "that is Gillian M'Bane, one of my own company—a Strathdee man! My God! what shall I do?"

"Let us baith set up a yowl, sir."

We still crept forward, and after a pause Gillian sang another verse of that tender old love-song; while my heart beat quicker, and my breath became more and more contracted.

"Like thy star oh, Ul-lochlin! that beams o'er the grove,
Are the slow-rolling eyes of the maid that I love;
High bosom'd, her girdle diffuses the light
Of the moon, when she beams on the ocean at night.
The lark and the linnet, they welcome the morn,
In a chorus of joy from yon time-gnarled thorn;
But the linnet and lark pour their chorus in vain,
When the maid that I love sings her sweet Highland strain."*

* Translation from the original Gaëlic, by Dominie Daidle.

Suddenly he perceived something, and, pausing again in his song, blew the match of his musket, and cried in his native Gaëlic—

"Stand!—who comes here?"

Bandolo raised his pistols and blew the matches; then a sound followed, as the Croats, who crept like snakes along the ground, imitated his example.

"Speak!" said he in a fierce whisper to Dreghorn and to me. He spoke in broken German, with a word or two of Spanish, and placed a pistol to each of our heads. I felt the cold muzzle against my left temple. My heart stopped—then there was a terrible conflict within it; but I knew the narrow path that honour required me to pursue. Again the sentinel challenged, and cocked his piece.

"Maldetto! will you speak—or you?" growled Bandolo.

"No—never!" said Dreghorn; "not to be made king o' a' braid Scotland—Heevin bless every inch o't!"

"Maldicion!" howled the bravo, gnashing his teeth.

"Treachery, M'Bane!" I shouted in Gaëlic; "treachery, treachery! The Imperialists are upon you! Cairn na cuimhne! Claymore and biodag!"

There was a red flash as he fired his musket, and a Croat fell beside me, kicking up his heels in the dark; two pistol-shots followed, and, shot through the brain, poor Dandy Dreghorn sank dead at my feet. I thought myself also slain—for an instant all was chaos! I fell across his body, yet fortunately my cheek was only scorched by powder, while the ball had grazed my helmet, but with sufficient force to knock me down. My escape was miraculous, and Bandolo deemed me shot when I fell on the roadway, and, luckily for myself, close to a small recess in an abutment of the bridge, where I lay unobserved; for to advance would be to fall a sacrifice to the fire of my comrades, who with Ian guarded the gate of the bridge; to retire, would be to perish among the ferocious Imperialists.

Firing a volley through the loopholes of the archway, the Highland guard closed the klinket of the well-barricaded gate, and retired double quick into the castle; and now began one of the grandest scenes of war I ever had the fortune to witness! From the high ramparts of the gothic fortress, there burst upon the midnight gloom and on the narrow bridge a flood of light, with a storm of cannon-shot and musketry.

"To the assault! to the assault! and death be the doom of the first who turns his back!" cried Tilly, rushing on foot across the bridge at the head of his pikemen, with a standard in his left hand, and a horse-pistol in the right; for the old Jesuit, though he trembled last night before an antique picture, and had implicit faith in quacks and astrologers, was brave as a lion. "Forward, my hardy rogues! there are a hundred hogsheads of good wine in yonder castle—all the spoil of the heretical Bishop of Hildesheim. On, on brave cavaliers and valiant pikemen! Remember that every blow of your swords, and thrust of your pikes, is beheld with joy by the mother of God! Strike for the good cause! thrust for the blessed cause! Strike and thrust for the Cross and the Empire!"

The hoarse hurrah of the German infantry, the yells of the Croats, and the chivalric war-cry of the Spaniards, replied to his urgent address.

"Santiago! Santiago! and close, Spain! Viva el Conde Tilly! Viva Juan de Tserclä! Viva el Espiritu Santo!"

A flood of armed men—the regiments of Merodé and Camargo—poured along the bridge against that gate, which formed the only barrier between them and the fertile and unravaged provinces of Saxe-Lauenburg, Holstein, and Denmark, and they rushed impetuously against it, their pioneers being in front, with axes and sledge-hammers, petards and levers. Other corps followed, column after column, with all their bright points and uplifted pikes gleaming in the blaze of a light-ball, which (by Major Wilson's orders) was now burned on the summit of the castle, and which poured a torrent of dazzling radiance on every object. This engine (so useful for revealing the position and number of a foe at night) is usually a large bomb, filled and covered with powder, saltpetre, turpentine and rosin, well rammed with birchwood charcoal, and covered by innumerable coats of paper steeped in melted pitch.

On the grey battlements of Lauenburg this blazed like a comet, and enabled the Highlanders to direct their fire of musketry from the parapets above, and the Barbette batteries below—so named because, in their passage, the shots from them shave the cope of the rampart. The shower of missiles that swept the bridge was terrible! Two great basilisks, or 48-pounders, loaded with musket-balls, did frightful execution, while the enormous bombarde vomited stang-balls, or shot with double heads, having fourteen inch bars to connect them; these shred away whole ranks of men, who, as they crowded upon the bridge in their eagerness, impeded the operations of those who assailed the gate.

"Cairn na cuimhne!" rang at times above the uproar from the castle wall. I thought I could detect the voice of Ian; for it was the war-cry of the M'Farquhars—their Cairn of Remembrance on the hills of Strathdee.

The yells, cries, and tumult upon the narrow bridge were appalling, and almost equalled the din of the fire-arms and artillery in Lauenburg. What a contrast now was there! ten minutes before the stillness had been like that of a desert, unbroken save when the solitary sentinel sang, or when the wind shook the rushes of the Elbe, and swept along its darkened waters with a moaning sound.

A thick mist arose from its bosom, and on that mist fell the ghastly and sulphurous glare, amid which—yet half in obscurity—were seen the columns moving to the attack, like troops of spirits, with their armour and weapons gleaming as if tipped with blue fire, among that cold white vapour.

Down from the lofty rampart, lighting up its grim architecture of the twelfth century, poured that torrent of flame, revealing every object, even to the checks in the tartan plaids of the Highlanders; larger it grew, broader and brighter, until every ornament and stud upon the coats-of-mail were visible. The whole fortress was illuminated; the spire of Saxe-Lauenburg, the houses and their windows, the rolling mist, the broad river, and its clumps of pale green weeping willows and dusky copper beeches; the advancing columns with their umbered arms and rustling banners; the stormers on the bridge, swarming and swearing, jostling and crushing forward over the dead and dying, and uttering yells of rage and defiance, whenever a cannon-shot made a lane of carnage through their living mass, were fully and fearfully visible.

Surmounted by the demi-eagle of Anhalt rising from its ducal crown, before them lay the old archway with its deep dark mouth, having a false portcullis jagged with iron teeth, flanked by the Barbette batteries, and swept from innumerable loopholes of the casemates, from the recesses of which red streaks of fire and wreaths of pale blue smoke—blue even amid that pallid glare—burst forth incessantly, as the radiance of the blazing fireball enabled the Scottish musketeers to direct their deadly aim with precision and security.

At last this light from the castle began to subside and die away; but just then the Austrian petardiers blew up the Anhalt gate, and half their number with it; the din of hammers and axes followed; then another wild shout of triumph, and the musketeers of Merodé, the pikemen of Camargo, and the Croats of Castanovitz, with the whole of Tilly's column, began to pour along the bridge, through the shattered archway, and entered the duchy of Saxe-Lauenburg.

The Scottish major had undermined the bridge; but the powder found a vent somewhere, and the chamber was fired without effect; then a triumphant shout of fear, derision, and defiance arose from the soldiers of the Empire! The Rubicon was passed; the passage of the Elbe achieved, but with great loss; and the castle was immediately outflanked and environed on every side.

Column after column—horse foot and artillery—defiled along the bridge, until the whole main body of the Imperialists had passed, but not without severe loss; for my brave comrades fired incessantly until their bandoliers were empty, and their cannon had become so hot, that to cool them they were compelled to cease for a time; and then, on day breaking, the gallant Lowland cavalier who led them, finding the castle invested on every point, craved a parley by beat of drum, and, through the intervention of Tilly's aide-de-camp, and of his confessor, Father Ignatius d'Eydel, an influential Jesuit, obtained permission to march out with all the honours of war, and to retire without molestation down the right bank of the Elbe, to the fortress of Glückstadt.

While these arrangements were being made, I again became a prisoner, having been discovered by some Croatian women, who, in the twilight of the morning, had been stripping the killed and wounded on the bridge, and using their knives freely on the latter, if they resisted. Some of those wretches were on the point of assassinating me for the lace and jewels of my Highland garb, when a corporal of Reitres knocked two of them down with the butt-end of his carbine, and committed me to the care of Tilly's quarter guard. Escape was now impossible, and I feared to offer bribes, least these unscrupulous soldiers might deprive me of Ernestine's purse, as well as its contents.

Exactly at sunrise Major Wilson came forth with his little garrison, and two regiments of horse, with standards displayed and kettle-drums beating, were drawn up to salute the passing Highlanders. With one pipe playing, two drums beating the Scots march, and the major's own standard bearing the Lion Rampant displayed, they marched down from the castle, not quite two hundred strong, but a grim and determined little band as ever waved their tartans in the face of an enemy. Their faces were blackened by dust and powder, and most of them had bandages about their heads, their arms, or sturdy bare legs; but they all marched past, like brave fellows as they were, looking at the iron line of Tilly's Reitres as if they cared not a pinch of snuff for them.

With a heart that swelled within me, I stood among my escort by the wayside, and recognised many a face as my comrades passed. The first company was Captain Mackenzie of Kildon's; the next was Ian's—the stately men of Strathdee; and I saw him, with his arm in a sling, marching at their head, and those colossal sergeants, Phadrig Mhor, and Diarmed M'Gillvray, each with his enormous Lochaber axe, keeping close by his side—and Red Angus M'Alpine too, with the crape on his arm in memory of his secret sorrow. Had uncounted gold been mine, I would have given it for the power to rush into their ranks and claim their friendship and protection; but I was an unransomed prisoner of war, and they dared not receive me. I caught the eye of Ian as he passed. He grew pale with astonishment; then he reddened with joy and indignation; the M'Farquhars uttered a shout, but were compelled to march on; yet Ian sprang from their ranks and wrung my hand.

"God bless you, cousin Philip!" said he, "we thought you were gone with poor Learmonth and Martin to render Heaven an account of our good service in Germany."

"Rollo," added M'Alpine, hurriedly, "we cannot tarry a moment! We march by the way of Hamburg; a wood lies some twenty miles distant, near Bergedorf; escape, if you can, and some of us may meet you thereabout on this side of Glückstadt—farewell!"

They sprang back to their places, and marched on; but many a face was turned backward, and many a hand was waved to me in kindly recognition, till I lost sight of them, as the Reitres wheeled into broad squadrons to follow and cover their retreat.

CHAPTER XXX.
THE JESUIT.

Retaining ten thousand men under his own command, Count Tilly immediately despatched the Counts of Carlstein and Merodé, with the remainder of his force, along the banks of the Elbe, with orders to turn the flank of all King Christian's outposts; after which they were all to reunite, and advance again to the conquest of the Danish isles.

Devereaux's Irish regiment occupied Lauenburg, where the German pioneers buried the dead in great trenches, and many were quite warm, with the blood still oozing from their wounds when flung in. The vast depth to which they dug these pits excited my surprise, and I was informed by Count Kœningheim that it was "to prevent any vampires who might be among the slain ascending to upper earth;" for I found that, from the frightful atrocities of the Imperial troops, they had the most implicit belief in these imaginary monsters, and supposed that many were in their ranks.

Several prisoners, who had incurred Tilly's displeasure for various reasons, were now selected by the sergeant of the quarter-guard, and put aside for hanging at sunset. To my horror, I found myself placed among these doomed men! I remonstrated with the sergeant with all the earnestness of one whose life depended upon his own exertions, assuring him that I had done nothing worthy of a death so detestable.

"Very well," said he coolly; "make some interest with an officer, and we may shoot you instead—forward, escort!" and we were marched to a small open shed, which stood under some large trees that grew near the river. Against one of these trees stood a ladder, and Bandolo, who on this occasion had constituted himself assistant to the provost-marshal, superintended the arrangement of certain cords, having ugly loops thereon, from the branches of the trees. My fellow prisoners were six Croats and two Germans. They were all tied with cords; the Croats sat on the ground in sullen silence, glaring at their guards from under their fur caps and savage elf-locks; the two Germans had smoked themselves into a state of dreamy indifference, and sat with their lack-lustre eyes fixed on the flowing river. Around us, the soldiers of the escort were quietly cleaning their arms, rubbing down their horses, and cooking their rations on a large fire (composed of tables, chairs, &c., taken from a neighbouring house), previous to marching.

Though I could face death in any form when encountering him in the ranks, with the colours above and my comrades beside me, to die thus was a very different thing. To be left hanging like a dog or a thief from the branch of a tree (though the sergeant assured me "it was a most respectable gibbet")—I, a gentleman and soldier, in the manly garb of my native country—to die thus—and to die without a crime! The reflection was intolerable!

But there was not one to whom I could apply for mercy or for succour. Count Carlstein had marched, and Kœningheim, had gone, no one knew whither.

Devereux's Irishmen cared nothing for me. I was not their countryman; besides, I had not the means of communicating with them.

As the day wore on, with an agony which cannot now be written, I watched the summer sun verging to the westward, and shedding along, the whole bosom of the Elbe its bright evening beams, throwing far across the river and its bordering meadows the lengthening shadows of every spire, and house, and tree; for as still, as glassy, and waveless as ever, the stream flowed on towards the German Sea—the same sea that washed the Scottish shore. The sun sank lower and lower; the days were then long, and the landscape was flat; yet it was within an hour of setting.

Only an hour! .......

I sprang up, and walked to and fro with an air of perturbation which I could not conceal; but which my phlegmatic German guard, viewed with the most perfect indifference. A torrent of bitter thoughts poured through my heart; I had quitted a home where none regretted me, with the hope that all I left behind should one day be proud of my actions, and might boast of my glorious death if I fell in battle or siege—but now the noose was waving over my head! I felt that it was impossible for me to meet such a death, and so unmerited, with resolution or with resignation, and without a struggle—a desperate struggle—if not for liberty at least for revenge. It was better, a thousand times better, to die sword in hand, and be hewed to pieces, than to be hung like a pitiful marauder.

A weapon! I saw none save in the hands of the strong guard which surrounded us, laughing and jesting through their bushy mustaches just as if nothing unusual was to happen, and nine poor devils were not to be hanged at all.

While full of these bitter thoughts, I perceived a man whom I knew by his attire to be a priest of the order of Jesus—one of the many who followed the army of Tilly—walking slowly towards the trees whereon the fatal nooses were dangling, and at the foot of which the Croats and Germans were seated in sullen and listless apathy.

He stooped down and addressed them all in succession; but they cursed, and bade him begone "to the devil." Then he paused, with the air of one who conferred with himself whether it were worth while to continue so ungrateful a task; and, after some hesitation, he approached and gazed at me from head to foot.

His thin, tall figure is yet before me. Worn evidently by asceticism and conventual severity, he stooped a little forward; his forehead was broad and impending; his features were harsh, while a prominence of mouth and chin indicated more firmness of purpose than mildness and benignity—yet, in many respects, his face belied the good man's disposition. His eyes—keen, penetrating and hard in expression—inspired awe, and commanded respect from all on whom he bent them; but their decided expression belied the humility with which he crossed his bony hands upon his bosom, and humbly bowed his head even unto the most humble.

Educated a Presbyterian, and being the soldier of a Protestant king, I gazed with some distrust at this brother of that order whose name excites so many jealous feelings, and which has been so obnoxious to the princes of Europe generally; for in my own time I have seen the Jesuits, as the result of their intrigues, expelled forcibly from Venice and Prague, from Naples and Flanders.

He halted before me, crossed his hands upon his breast, and slightly bent his lofty figure.

"Your servant, reverend sir," said I, in my own language.

"God be with you, my son," he answered in the same. I had used it inadvertently, but now my attention was excited, and I gazed at him inquiringly. "I am sorry," he continued, "to see a Scottish gentleman in this sad predicament."

"I fear me, good sir, your regrets will not mend the matter much," I replied sourly, for the most intense hatred of the Imperialists was swelling in my breast; "you cannot do any thing for me, I presume."

"Perhaps not—I am only poor father Ignatius."

"The confessor of Count Tilly!" I exclaimed, thunderstruck; "pardon me, sir—I have often heard of you."

"For little that is good—if in the Danish camp."

"Nay, sir—even there I have heard you spoken of with respect, as the possessor of a thousand virtues."

"Though a Jesuit—'tis wonderful! Though I am known as Ignatius in the Order of Jesus, at home, in poor old Scotland, I was kent but as David Daidle, the neer-do-weel o' the parish schule, and son o' auld Davie o' the Daidleysheugh, at the Rollo's Craig. Ye see, gude sir, I've no forgotten our auld Scottish whilk my puir mither taucht me."

"How!" I exclaimed, clasping both his hands in mine; "are you the brother of my old Dominie Daidle, at home in dear Cromartie?"

"The same—the same!" he sighed, with a flushing cheek and a kindling eye; "my brother did become a dominie; but I, with James of Jerusalem, and Father Leslie, now superior of the Scottish college at Douay, became followers of Ignatius Loyola. But my puir brother—when saw ye him last?"

"But a few months ago; the poor dominie plays the fiddle as well as ever, and still leads the choir of our parish kirk. I promised to bring him from Germany the object of his greatest ambition—a metal horologue, which he is not likely to receive, however," I added, glancing at the setting sun, and the noose which dangled over my head.

"Young gentleman, it seems to me as if your face was familiar to me, and your voice, too; yet I must have left old Scotland, years before you were born. You are a son of our father's laird and patron, Rollo of Craigrollo?"

"Compelled to become a soldier of fortune, because of a certain unlucky heirloom——"

"The Rollo spoon," replied the Jesuit, a broad smile spreading over his usually grave features; "I remember well that quaint heirloom of old Sir Ringan; I remember too, with gratitude, the many favours your family have for ages bestowed on mine, the hereditary vassals of your house. Oh! I would gladly repay but one of these, if in my power——"

"You can more than repay them all, sir, for indeed you owe us nothing. If we did service to the dominie's family, they did good service to ours. Whose sword hewed a farther passage into Huntly's pikemen at Glenlivat, than old Davie Daidle's? I am to be hanged in ten minutes—hanged like a dog, because I have done my devoir as a soldier against these rascally Imperialists, and would not betray to them my kinsmen, the M'Farquhars. If you can save me——"

"Save you!—I can and will——"

"There is but little time, then; for, by my soul, yonder come Bandolo the bravo, and the provost-marshal with his guard and assistants, carrying the fatal ladder, by which they mean to accommodate us in mounting the branches of these high trees."

"Follow me, Mr. Rollo, and let me see who will dare to interrupt you."

The soldiers fell back and presented arms to this well-known and formidable priest, who was as familiar to the armies of Tilly as the terrible Father du Tremblay was then known in those of France, but in a very different way—for every good, and not for every evil. Like his master's, the will and command of Ignatius d'Eydel (for so had they rendered his homely name) were as much law to the soldiers as if the cruel thin lips of Tilly had expressed them.

As we passed the provost, he respectfully saluted the priest who stood by my side, in his long flowing garments. Bandolo scowled at me with rage and disappointment, but was compelled to pass on, leaving me untouched. I remembered the cruel murder of poor Dandy Dreghorn, and could scarcely keep my hands from his throat; but hoped that an hour of retribution was coming.

After walking in silence along the road for some hundred yards, on looking back I saw the convulsed bodies of my eight recent companions dangling from the trees, while the provost and his guard retired leisurely towards their quarters in the town of Lauenburg.

CHAPTER XXXI.
OF THE GOOD DEEDS OUR MUSKETEERS WERE UNDOING.

My heart sickened at the thought of all I had so providentially escaped, by the casual intervention of a passing priest.

"Come, master Rollo," thought I, as gayer ideas suggested themselves; "you must not deem these Jesuits such bad fellows after all! Indeed this one seems remarkably amiable. Reverend sir," said I, as we passed the extreme outposts of Tilly's troops, and proceeded along the margin of the Elbe, "I hope you will not incur the count's displeasure by setting me free."

"Displeasure—oh no! My brother, John of Tserclä—for I presume you are aware that he is a priest of our order—cannot quarrel with me for a trifling act of mercy like this."

"This trifling act has saved my life, but you value existence lightly on the Imperial side of the Elbe. I am full of joy and gratitude for the service you have rendered me; but why, good sir, do you seem so much dejected?"

"I am indeed dejected, and sorrowful—exceedingly sorrowful!" he replied, folding his hands heavily upon his breast, and bending his eyes upon the ground.

"For what, good sir?"

"To see my own countrymen arrayed in tens of thousands against the good cause. Ye are come to uproot and destroy that tree of knowledge whose leaves were faith, and whose fruit was life everlasting; that stately tree which, in other times, our pious countrymen, from the holy Isle of Iona, in the far west, transplanted among the barbarous Goths of Germany. For hither in those dark ages of the world, from our old Caledonian shore, came Boniface, who, after converting all the savages of Thuringia and Saxony, became first Archbishop of Mentz, as we may find in the writings of Trithemius. While his Scottish disciples founded the noble abbey of Fulda, Patto (also a Scot) converted Westphalia, and was made Bishop of Verden. In the 8th century, St. Robert, the son of a Scottish king, converted Theodo lord of Bavaria, with all his people, and is now the apostle of their descendants; while Callum Bane and Gallus of Argyle rescued Swabia from the darkness of paganrie; and the latter ceased not from his blessed labours until he perished among the Switzers, who yet preserve his reliques in the convent of St. Gall; and all these things ye are come to undo! Nor need I tell you how John the Scot became Bishop of Mecklenburg, and died a martyr, being slain by the Wendish apostles, who, in 1066, cut off his hands and feet, leaving this man of godliness to perish miserably by the wayside; or how, in the year 1000, Callunianus, the son of a Scottish prince, converted all Austria, where he was martyred, and where his reliques are yet preserved in the convent of our countrymen, near the Scottish Gate at Vienna. Argobastus," continued my companion, warming with enthusiasm and reckoning on his fingers—"Argobastus, the converter of Strasburg, and William who founded a Scottish monastery at Cologne, another at Nuremburg, another at Aix-la-chapelle, two at Ratisbon, and another at Würtsburg, were also Scots, as we may read in the writings of Baronius and Trithemius; and all these blessed works ye are come from the same land, with your muskets and bandoliers, to undo! Virgilius the Scot, was made perpetual legate of Germany by His Holiness Gregory VII.; nor need I expatiate on the piety, the virtues, and the suffering of Kilian, the Culdee of Iona, who converted all Franconia; and that ye are come to subvert and undo! Oh! why seek to convert these lands to heresy and heathendom by the sword? with drums beating and banners displayed? Why not try it, like the Scots of other times, with no other weapons than the staff and the sandals—prayer and exhortation?"

"By my faith, reverend sir, a salvo of good cannon-shot is the best exhortation for such a congregation as Tilly and his Croats," said I, half stunned by the vehemence of the Jesuit, and the facility with which he enumerated so many barbarous names. "My good father and countryman," I added; "we came hither neither to convert like the Scots of old, nor to persecute like Count Tilly. But we are come to fight the battles of those who cannot fight for themselves; to win honour and fame like true cavaliers, to clip the wings of the Austrian eagle, and to defend the civil and religious liberties of Northern Europe—a high and a glorious mission!"

"To overturn the faith of God!—the church which is founded on the rock of ages, and is cemented by the blood of many a martyr. Oh! were you to see, as I have seen at Melek, the body of our countryman St. Colman, undecayed, uncorrupted, pure and fair, as on that day in the year 1012, when, after returning there barefooted from Jerusalem, the barbarians hanged him on a tree, where he swung untainted by the weather, and untouched by the ravens, until the good Bishop of Aichstadt conveyed his reliques to Alba Regulis, upon a mountain in Hungary, where they have converted many by the miracles they work daily; but all these good and wondrous things ye are come with your pikemen and musketeers to subvert and undo!"

"By Jove! Father Daidle, I do not think the corbies would have respected me as they did this good man; but sure I am, that so far as toil and fasting go, our poor Scottish soldiers endure now as much as ever your Scottish saints did in the olden time, though not so patiently perhaps; as we can relieve our minds, now and then, by a good round oath."

The Jesuit paused, and said gravely, as if displeased, "Here we part, sir. I free you as a countryman, though as a heretic, and the soldier of a heretic king, I should have left you to the mercy of the provost-marshal."

"Do not be chafed by my heedless way, good sir," said I, glad to perceive that the close of this long harangue had brought me to the verge of a small wood. "I owe you more than I can ever repay—more than I can ever express—my life—my honour!"

"I would gladly give you a horse (though your kilt is scarcely suited for the saddle), but I possess only a poor ass for the march."

"Why not mount yourself better? I saw nags enough and to spare, among the Imperialists."

"It would ill become us to ride chargers, when our Master, who is in heaven, contented himself with the humbler animal, and in memory thereof marked it with his cross. If you escape all the dangers of this disastrous war, and return to our common home by the shore of Cromartie, bear my blessing to my poor brother, the dominie—for, alas! it is all the poorer Jesuit has to send him. Keep the path that is before you; by it your comrades marched this morning—it leads straight to Hamburg, and to Glückstadt—farewell."

We separated—

He to return to Tilly's disorderly cantonment, and I to pursue my solitary way.