“I would willingly think well of Henry Morton, my lord,” replied Major Bellenden; “and I own he has behaved handsomely to your lordship and to us; but I cannot have the same allowances which it pleases your lordship to entertain for his present courses.”
“You are to consider,” replied Lord Evandale, “that he has been partly forced upon them by necessity; and I must add, that his principles, though differing in some degree from my own, are such as ought to command respect. Claverhouse, whose knowledge of men is not to be disputed, spoke justly of him as to his extraordinary qualities, but with prejudice, and harshly, concerning his principles and motives.”
“You have not been long in learning all his extraordinary qualities, my lord,” answered Major Bellenden. “I, who have known him from boyhood, could, before this affair, have said much of his good principles and good-nature; but as to his high talents”—
“They were probably hidden, Major,” replied the generous Lord Evandale, “even from himself, until circumstances called them forth; and, if I have detected them, it was only because our intercourse and conversation turned on momentous and important subjects. He is now labouring to bring this rebellion to an end, and the terms he has proposed are so moderate, that they shall not want my hearty recommendation.”
“And have you hopes,” said Lady Margaret, “to accomplish a scheme so comprehensive?”
“I should have, madam, were every whig as moderate as Morton, and every loyalist as disinterested as Major Bellenden. But such is the fanaticism and violent irritation of both parties, that I fear nothing will end this civil war save the edge of the sword.”
It may be readily supposed, that Edith listened with the deepest interest to this conversation. While she regretted that she had expressed herself harshly and hastily to her lover, she felt a conscious and proud satisfaction that his character was, even in the judgment of his noble-minded rival, such as her own affection had once spoke it.
“Civil feuds and domestic prejudices,” she said, “may render it necessary for me to tear his remembrance from my heart; but it is not small relief to know assuredly, that it is worthy of the place it has so long retained there.”
While Edith was thus retracting her unjust resentment, her lover arrived at the camp of the insurgents, near Hamilton, which he found in considerable confusion. Certain advices had arrived that the royal army, having been recruited from England by a large detachment of the King’s Guards, were about to take the field. Fame magnified their numbers and their high state of equipment and discipline, and spread abroad other circumstances, which dismayed the courage of the insurgents. What favour they might have expected from Monmouth, was likely to be intercepted by the influence of those associated with him in command. His lieutenant-general was the celebrated General Thomas Dalzell, who, having practised the art of war in the then barbarous country of Russia, was as much feared for his cruelty and indifference to human life and human sufferings, as respected for his steady loyalty and undaunted valour. This man was second in command to Monmouth, and the horse were commanded by Claverhouse, burning with desire to revenge the death of his nephew, and his defeat at Drumclog. To these accounts was added the most formidable and terrific description of the train of artillery and the cavalry force with which the royal army took the field.
[Note: Royal Army at Bothwell Bridge. A Cameronian muse was
awakened from slumber on this doleful occasion, and gave the
following account of the muster of the royal forces, in poetry
nearly as melancholy as the subject:—
They marched east through Lithgow-town
For to enlarge their forces;
And sent for all the north-country
To come, both foot and horses.
Montrose did come and Athole both,
And with them many more;
And all the Highland Amorites
That had been there before.
The Lowdien Mallisha—Lothian Militia they
Came with their coats of blew;
Five hundred men from London came,
Claid in a reddish hue.
When they were assembled one and all,
A full brigade were they;
Like to a pack of hellish hounds,
Roreing after their prey.
When they were all provided well,
In armour and amonition,
Then thither wester did they come,
Most cruel of intention.
The royalists celebrated their victory in stanzas of equal merit.
Specimens of both may be found in the curious collection of Fugitive
Scottish Poetry, principally of the Seventeenth Century, printed for
the Messrs Laing, Edinburgh.]