“You should take a course in Jacobitism,” I told him gravely. “’Tis warranted to cure gout, liver trouble, indigestion, drunkenness, and sundry other complaints. I can warrant that one lives simply while he takes the treatment; sometimes on a crust of bread and a bowl of brose, sometimes on water from the burn, never does one dine over-richly.”
“Yet this course is not conducive to long life. I’ve known a hundred followers of it fall victim to an epidemic throat disease,” he retorted. Then he added more gravely, “By the way, you need have no fears for your friend Miss Flora Macdonald. I learn on the best of authority that she is in no danger whatever.”
“And Malcolm?” I asked.
“His name has been put near the foot of the list for trial. Long before that time the lust for blood will be glutted. I shall make it a point to see that his case never comes to trial. One cannot afford to have his brother-in-law hanged like a common cutpurse.”
Day by day the time drew nearer on which my reprieve expired. I saw nothing of Aileen now, for she had followed the King and his court to Bath, intent on losing no opportunity that might present itself in my favour. For one reason I was glad to have her gone; so long as she was out of town Sir Robert could not urge on her the sacrifice which he intended.
The time of my execution had been set for Friday, and on the preceding Monday Volney, just arrived from the executions of Balmerino and Kilmarnock, drove out to New Prison to see me. He was full of admiration for Balmerino’s bold exit from the stage of life and retailed to me with great gusto every incident of the last scene on Tower Hill.
“I like your bluff Balmerino’s philosophy of life,” he told me. “When I called on him and apologized for intruding on the short time he had left the old Lord said, ‘O sir, no intrusion at all. I am in no ways concerned to spend more time than usual at my devotions. I think no man fit to live who is not fit to die, and to die well is much the easier of the two.’ On the scaffold no bridegroom could have been more cheerful. He was dressed in his old blue campaign uniform and was as bold and manly as ever. He expressed joy that Cromartie had been pardoned, inspected with interest the inscription on his coffin, and smilingly called the block his pillow of rest. ’Pon honour, the intrepid man then rehearsed the execution with his headsman, kneeling down at the block to show how he would give the signal for the blow. He then got up again, made a tender smiling farewell with his friends, and said to me, ‘I fear some will think my behaviour bold, Volney, but remember what I say, that it arises from confidence in God and a clear conscience.’ He reaffirmed his unshaken adherence to the house of Stuart, crying aloud, ‘God save King James!’ and bowed to the multitude. Presently, still cheerfully, he knelt at the block and said in a clear voice, ‘O Lord, reward my friends, forgive my enemies, bless Prince Charles and his brother, the Duke, and receive my soul.’ His arms dropped for the signal, and Arthur Elphinstone of Balmerino passed to the Valhalla where brave men dwell as gods.”
“God bring peace to his valiant restless soul,” I said, much moved.
“’Tis a thing to admire, the sturdy loyalty of you Jacobites,” he said after a pause. “You carry it off like gentlemen. Every poor Highlander who has yet suffered has flung out his ‘God save King James’ on the scaffold. Now I’ll wager you too go to death with the grand air—no canting prayers for King George, eh?”
“I must e’en do as the rest,” I smiled.