The Yeoman Adventurer
me in such distinguished company. "I'll have two blue stars and a jack in
my coat-armour," thought I, as I bowed to the Duke, who made himself
singularly graceful.
There was now a general movement down the corridor, headed by the Prince
with one of the unknown ladies on his arm. There was no other formal
pairing though Lady Ogilvie deftly snapped up the Duke as he was coming
for Margaret, and thus left her to me.
She let the last pair get a yard or two ahead of us, and then looked at
me, her eyes full of laughter, curtsied, and said, "Good morrow, Sir
Kiss-the-ghost!"
"Good morrow, madam," said I stoutly.
She put her arm in mine and, as we moved off, whispered mockingly,
"Sensible ghost!"
CHAPTER XXI
MASTER FREAKE KNOWS AT LAST
Dinner was a success from the Prince's point of view. The Duke was
completely won over to the idea of our going on, and even the Lord Ogilvie
at one time wavered before the Prince's onslaught. The Irishmen were
strongly in favour of it, and Mr. Secretary, when thawed by wine, grew
expansive over its advantages. I incline to think that the rascal had
ratted already, and was anxious to get all he could out of the Government
by leading the Prince into a trap. Trap it would have been, as Culloden
plainly showed. Against English regular soldiers, resolutely led, the
Highlanders would work no more miracles.
So for a space the chatter and laughter went on. Charles was already in
St. James's, and the ladies were already queening it in the new Court over
the renegade beauties of the old one. Even Margaret caught some of the
enthusiasm, so that I whispered to her, "You beat our Kate at counting
your unhatched chickens."
Whereat she sobered all of a sudden, and whispered, "Maybe you are right,
Oliver!"
"I hope for your sake they are true prophets," I said. "I should dearly
like to see you a marchioness before I go back to my farming."
"That's one of the chickens I've not counted," she said.
She looked at me very steadily, and then turned and plunged into the
stream of conversation flowing around her.
Her father had steered clear of all awkward topics, taking for granted
that we were going on. Charles got less cautious as he got surer, and
moreover, as I could not but observe, he was mellowing somewhat under the
brandy he was drinking. Princes commonly have no judgment of men, having
never the need of noting their humours in order to mould them to their
will. So now Charles bluntly attacked the Colonel again on the military
aspect of the situation, which was merely butting against a stone wall.
"You must remember, Colonel," he said, "that my Highlanders have driven
the English soldiery before them like sheep. They wiped out an army of
them at Gladsmuir in less than fifteen minutes, and only lost thirty men
killed in doing it."
"Sir," said the Colonel, "give me one thousand English soldiers for a
week and I'll pit them against any thousand Highlanders you like to bring
against 'em."
"Then it's a good job you're on my side," said Charles.
"It is indeed, sir," said the Colonel, very quietly, "and under favour,
sir, you will be well advised to have your troops exercised in the best
ways of charging men who don't mean to run from them. There's no military
science wanted to beat men who run away from you as soon as you attack. As
I understand it, your Highlander fires his piece from a good distance,
throws it away, and then rushes to the attack. If the enemy stands, he
catches the bayonet of the man in front of him in his leather shield,
where it sticks, and so has him at mercy, and through you go like a knife
through a cheese."
"That's just how it's done, Colonel," said Charles merrily.
"Well, sir, that's just how it wouldn't be done if I was in command
against you."
There was neither eating nor drinking going on now, except that the
Prince poured out his third glass of brandy. Everybody was intent on the
dialogue. Ogilvie, his hand clasping his wife's under the skirt of the
napery, looked so intently at the Colonel that his face was like a figure
in a Euclid book.
"How would you stop it, sir?"
It was Mr. Secretary who spoke, for Charles was sipping at his brandy.
"We're all friends here?" said the Colonel brusquely.
"All loyal to the last drop of our blood," replied Mr. Secretary fervently.
"I dare say," was the Colonel's dry comment, "but it's much more
important at times to be loyal to the last wag of your tongue."
"Then I only answer, as in the presence of God, for myself," said he
piously.
"Leaving God to look after Mr. Secretary," said Charles, banging his
empty glass on the table. "I'll answer for the rest. So get on with your
plan, Colonel."
"His Royal Highness has selected the easier task," whispered Margaret in
my ear.
"Well, sir," began the Colonel, "I should say to my men: 'When the
Highlanders charge, take no notice of the man who is coming straight at
you. Keep your eye on his left-hand man, who is coming at your right-hand
man. Don't fire at him till you can see the whites of his eyes, and if you
don't bring him down with the bullet, have at him and thrust your bayonet
into his right ribs. There's no buckler there, and his right arm will be
up to strike. The man coming at you will be attended to in the same way by
your left-hand man.' After a week's practice in that little trick, sir, I
should face any charge your Highlanders liked to make, and would bet a
thousand guineas to this pinch of rappee--poor stuff as it is--on stopping
'em dead in their tracks."
"By gad! and so you would, sir!" said my Lord Ogilvie explosively.
"It sounds feasible," said old Sir Thomas, "but fortunately Colonel
Waynflete is with us, and can teach us new tricks."
"Of course he can," said Charles. "What do you say, Master Wheatman? You
know him."
"That old poachers make the best gamekeepers, sir," I answered.
"_Nom de chien_," cried the Colonel, twirling fiercely round on me.
Margaret, who sat between us, laughingly pretended to protect me from him,
and he thrust his snuff-box across at me.
The Prince rose, and, followed by Murray, left the room. We all stood
gossiping together. Ogilvie and O'Sullivan talked very earnestly about the
Colonel's trick. His Grace of Perth ogled Margaret off towards the window
on pretence of showing her some sight of interest in the square.
"Did they leave him in the lurch?" twittered a voice mockingly in my ear.
It was my lady Ogilvie.
"It must be nice to be with a duke," said I, very glum and miserable
again all of a sudden.
"It's a great deal nicer to be with a man," she answered. "Come and help
me throw crumbs to the pretty wee birdies in the garden."
In his attempt to 'smash 'em in detail' the Prince was acute enough to
use the Colonel, and condescending enough to use me, as supporters. The
unrivalled military skill which the Colonel would devote to the winning of
London was dwelt upon until even the Colonel, in no wise inclined to
under-estimate it, got restive, and snuffed and pshawed with great vigour.
I, of course, was the early, strong-winged swallow that announced the
flights of laggards behind.
There were some dozen chiefs of considerable position in the Prince's
army, and he tackled them one by one, and tried to argue them into his way
of thinking. Some he sent for to his lodging; others he visited in theirs--a
special but wasted mark of distinction. On the whole they would not
budge. They were courteous and respectful, for they were gentlemen, and he
was their Prince, but their minds were made up and they would not
surrender their wills to his. Mostly, in their talk, they simply chewed
over again the morning's cud.
Mr. Secretary went off as envoy to fetch the chiefs to Exeter House,
where the Prince received them in his little private chamber overlooking
the gardens. He would stand, silent and moody, glowering out of the
window, with the Colonel and me standing silent and thoughtful behind him.
I felt keenly for him, for he was indeed a gracious, likeable young
fellow, born to purple poverty and a shadowy princedom, and now, as he
thought, with the reality of wealth and power snatched out of his grasp.
"If we go back," said he, turning his eyes on me, so that I saw how life
and light had quite gone out of them, "it's all over with my House."
"I hope not, sir," said I.
"I know it is," he cried bitterly, almost rudely. "All over with us--and
all over with me. If we go on, I shall at the worst go to my grave strong
and sweet. If we go back--"
He paused and looked moodily out of the window. I think now, as I picture
him to myself standing there, that he knew himself well enough to know
what was coming. For another picture of him comes to my mind, as I saw him
in Rome many years later, and shuddered as I saw him.
He turned and smiled at me, as one smiles who sips sour wine.
"If we go back, friend Wheatman, I shall just rot into it."
He spoke truth. I saw him rotting.
And then, because he had more stuff in him than any other royal Stuart
that ever lived, he turned round, proud and princely, as the door opened
and in came Mr. Secretary with Macdonald of Glencoe, a short-horned bull
of a man.
"And when was it," said he, rapping the words out like hammer-strokes on
an anvil, "that the Macdonalds got feart?"
The Chief pulled up short, hit clean and hard between the eyes.
"Ye'll never see a feart Macdonald," he said, "if ye live to be as auld
as Ben Nevis."
"Ye're in the wrong, Glencoe," said Charles. "I saw one this morning, and
he was frightened of the English."
"I'll gie ye the lie o' that," roared Glencoe, "if I hae to scrat my way
into London wi' ma nails."
"I'll be glad of the lie from you on those terms," replied Charles
calmly, "and you shall ride into London at my right hand while I take my
words back."
The Prince went to a table and filled a silver-gilt tass with brandy. He
sipped it and then, handing it to the Chief, said, "We'll share the same
glass to-day, Glencoe, as a pledge that we'll share the same victory
to-morrow."
I did not like his brandy-drinking, but he did it well this time. As I
have said, he was at his best in dealing with a single man face to face.
It is only the rarest and finest spirits that can dominate a crowd.
At a sign from the Prince the Colonel and I escorted the Chief to the
door, bestowing on him, as was due and politic, every courtesy. He looked
like a man who, after days of doubt, had newly found himself.
"We've got him!" cried Charles gleefully as the door closed behind him.
"Now, gentlemen, I crave your attendance on a progress round the town. Mr.
Wheatman, bear our compliments to my Lord Elcho, and bid him call out some
score or so of our guards to escort us."
We made a gallant show as we walked the streets of Derby in the early
grey of that December evening. Ahead of us went a dozen dismounted
life-guards to clear the causeways. Then followed Mr. Secretary with a
brace or two of town notables unwillingly yoked to the task of giving an
appearance of local support; then followed the Prince, between O'Sullivan
and the Colonel, with young Clanranald and me at their heels; and another
dozen life-guards in the rear. As we passed along the causeways, a score
or so of mounted guards, with Lord Elcho at their head, kept level with us
in the roadways. Volleys of slogans greeted us wherever we went, for the
town was full to bursting of the clansmen. The townsmen crowded to doors
and windows to watch us pass.
The Prince doffed to them every other yard, but he and all of us were
mere curiosities to most of them.
The progress was stayed at the "White Horse" in Sadler-gate, and the
Prince, with us, his immediate attendants, turned into the inn-yard, with