How dimly and confusedly that new day of terror, grief, and joy floats before me! I was like one who suffered from vertigo; I do not think I had the full use of my senses. Pennicuik immediately ordered all the windows to be opened; he took the pillows from under her head; he bathed her temples with Hungary water, eau de luce, and warm brandy; he spunged her little hands and snow white arms in vinegar and warm water; and a little wine was gently poured between her lips. Then, after the fashion of the female nurses at the Altenburg hospital, he blew air into her lungs by the nostrils.
In two days she was so fully restored to life as to be able to relate to us all her sensations, some of which were very remarkable.
She had dreamed that she was dead, and yet was sensible of all that passed around her. At times it seemed as if her spirit left her body, and yet remained near it—appearing to hover over that which it had no longer the power to move. When I kissed her, and closed her eyes, she had felt the touch of my hand without having the power of opening her eyes again. The horror of being buried alive occasioned her the utmost agony; and when she heard persons moving about her—when she heard sounds in the street, especially the jangle of the death-cart bell, her unexpressed agitation was terrible; but her soul could no longer act upon her fettered tongue, and she felt icy cold. Hence those spasmodic contractions of feature which I had actually seen, but thought were the result of my own disturbed fancy. The approach of her father, and the sound of his voice, gave a new impulse to her almost prostrate mind; it resumed its wonted power over her weakened organisation, and produced the sudden warmth which had startled him, when he thought he was embracing her for the last time.
Language has no power to describe the joy of such a restoration, as it seemed, from the very jaws of the grave; but it formed the subject of two sermons—one preached by Father Ignatius, and the other by the reverend Gideon Geddes, who construed the affair very differently; for the Jesuit affirmed that she had been restored to life by virtue of certain blessed reliques which he had cunningly slipped below her pillow; while the Presbyterian declared that she had merely been restored to existence, that she might live to see the errors of popery and its ways; and if the reader partake my joy and satisfaction, he or she will pardon my having kept them behind the curtain for a single chapter.
Little more remains to be told.
Rendered desperate by the successive defeats he had sustained since the battle of Lütter, Christian IV. was compelled, at the conference of Lubeck in 1629, to accede to the terms of a treaty of peace offered by the great Duke of Friedland, who then restored to Denmark all that he and Tilly had taken beyond the Elbe; and the siege of Gluckstadt, which had been so valiantly defended by the Scottish cavaliers of Sir David Drummond, was raised. The conditions imposed upon Christian were, that he should no more interfere in the German affairs than he was entitled to do as Count of Holstein; that on no pretext was he to enter the circles of Lower Germany; that he was to leave the weak and timid family of the palatine to its fate; and that the Scottish troops in his service were to quit it forthwith.
Thus, by a strange combination of misfortunes, was the most gallant of the Danish monarchs compelled to retire ingloriously from the great arena of the German war.
After thanking us for our services, he bade us adieu, and I saw the tears glisten in the only eye that war had left him. He sailed—not to rejoin his queen, who always met him with coldness in his reverses—but to seek the society and solace of the fair Countess of Fehmarn, his wife of the left-hand; who, whether in victory or defeat, had ever welcomed him with joy, gratitude, and love.
Repulsed, as related, in his last attempt to obtain Stralsund by assault, the great and ambitious Duke Albrecht, after a four months' siege, in which he lost upwards of twelve thousand of his best and bravest soldiers, was compelled to spike his cannon, burn his camp, destroy his baggage, and retreat into Saxony, thus acknowledging that neither his skill nor his mighty host had availed him before the valour of Marshal Leslie's Scottish garrison.
The plague passed away with him, and health, happiness, (and fresh provisions,) all flowed together into Stralsund. The good and industrious citizens resumed their wonted occupations; and, so sensible were they of the protection our swords had afforded, that they made old Field-marshal Leslie a magnificent present of silver-plate, and ordered medals* to be struck in honour of the Scottish troops.