The Silver Glen

The relief of pouring out her heart to her husband was, as my dear lady once told me, very great, and I think it a real mercy that she could not foresee how long her letters were to be of reaching him. That they eventually did so, their presence before me is proof; but many of them are endorsed as having been received many weeks, nay, months, after they were written. My lady was so anxious to set Sir John’s mind at rest about herself and their children, so troubled on the score of money for his sake, and so uncertain as to what his next movements might be, that you can picture to yourselves her distress at not hearing either from or of him week after week. In spite of her care in seeking to provide him with money, Sir John seems at first to have been in straits for want of it, and it will interest you to know that among these papers there is a letter from the Queen’s Private Secretary, Mr. Dicconson, endorsed—“Came with the bill of 600 livres,” which I shall copy here.

St. Germain
Mar. ye. 6. 1716.

Sir,

I am ordered by the Queen to send you a small bill presuming you may be at present want of a little money, which her Majesty is troubled her circumstances will not permit her to make more considerable, but hopes she may be better able hereafter and that this might be a present supply. I beg you will please to do me the justice to believe that I am with all imaginable sincerity and esteem,

Your most humble and most obedient servant,

(Signed) W. Dicconson.

I remember that when my lady heard of this thoughtful kindness on the part of her Majesty, who out of her poverty endeavoured to help all who were suffering through their loyalty to her son, she could not refrain from shedding tears.

But this information came to Alva many weeks later. In the meantime, we hoped for letters from day to day, and had pain and anxiety enough in hearing of the many calamities that every hour came to our knowledge. Our hearts were wrung by the news of the sentence pronounced against Lords Kenmure, Derwentwater, Nithisdale and others; and eagerly did we await the result of the many petitions presented to the King for their reprieve. How we prayed in private, and spoke in public about them and the heart-broken wives, Ladys Kenmure, Derwentwater, and Nithisdale, who, braving the King’s displeasure, and in the case of the last, his determined wrath, in order to beg for mercy for their beloved husbands, made every effort to save them from death. How bitterly we wept on hearing of the executions that took place on Tower Hill one dreary day in the end of February. But no tears were of any avail; only the memory of two brave and innocent men lived long in the hearts of Scots and English alike. My Lord Kenmure died professing his loyalty to King James; and the young Earl of Derwentwater, much loved and long lamented, gave to the Sheriff on the scaffold a paper containing his dying profession of innocence. Part of this paper I copied in my little diary, and here I reproduce it for those who never saw it.

“Wherefore if in this affair I have acted rashly it ought not to affect the innocent; I intended to wrong nobody, but to serve my King and Country, and that without self-interest, hoping by the example I gave to have induced others to do their duty. And God, who sees the secrets of my heart, knows I speak truth.... I die a Roman Catholic.... I freely forgive such as reported false things of me; and I hope to be forgiven the trespasses of my youth by the Father of Infinite Mercy into Whose hand I commit my soul.

(Signed) Jas. Derwentwater.”

Such brave, gentle, innocently touching words! Do you wonder that they dared not bring the poor, headless body openly from London to the north, but had it carried thither by night, bringing him home by stealth to his weeping and distracted people, who believed that the wrath of Heaven would surely fall upon the doers of this awful deed. It was said that the Duke of Argyle, travelling to London, met the mournful procession on its way, and was so struck by the grief and despair of the people that he represented to the Government the unwisdom of their act, and thereby helped to turn their hearts to clemency.

It was with a shock of relief and joy that we heard immediately after this of the escape of my Lord Nithisdale out of prison. Long years afterwards I was told the whole story of his brave wife’s devotion: how she made the journey from Scotland to London mostly on horseback, the snow, which often reached to her horse’s girths, having stopped the Stagecoach, and even the Common Post, south of York. In spite of this she arrived safe and sound at London, only to find that no one to whom she applied could give her any hope, and that even the doors of her husband’s prison were closed against her, unless she consented to share his confinement. This, for reasons of her own, she refused to do, but by bribing the guards she contrived to see him several times and confided to him her plans. When she presented her petition to the King, the latter refused so much as to look at her, but treated her in a way not much to his honour or credit. However, on the very eve of the execution, as you know, she contrived by the help of her maid (a faithful woman) to dress my lord in female clothes, and bring him out of the prison under the very eyes of the guard. It happened that the coach of the Venetian Ambassador was to go that night to Dover to meet his brother, who was arriving as his guest in England. Lord Nithisdale, attired in the Ambassador’s livery, joined the retinue, and by help of friends at Dover hired a boat which landed him safe at Calais. His lady’s brave work was not yet finished, for she journeyed back to Scotland, accompanied by her maid and one servant, lying at all the smallest inns, and braving many hardships till she reached home. Before going to London, she had, with the help of the gardener, buried all the family papers; and knowing that search would soon be made, she contrived to secure every valuable document, and take them with her to Traquair, where her sister, the Countess, promised to preserve them. She then returned home, saw all her neighbours, and invited the magistrates to come and make the search for themselves; but next day before day-break she was off again to London as before. This conduct made the King so angry, that he said my Lady Nithisdale gave him more trouble and anxiety than any woman in all Europe. For a fortnight she lay concealed in London, and then escaped to France, where she joined her lord.

These details, as you know, I only learned long after; but the happy fact of Lord Nithisdale’s escape, and the action of his heroic wife, were common talk among us at the time. My dear lady envied the latter her chance of doing and suffering for her husband, as what wife in like circumstances would not; for sure the harder part is to sit still and do nothing, with one’s heart alive for action.

About this time came a letter from the dowager Lady Alva, offering a visit to her dear daughter-in-law, Catherine, which offer went exceedingly against my lady’s inclination. Not that she did not love her mother-in-law—and at another time would have welcomed her gladly to the house—but just now, with their political views so at variance from each other, she did not see how they could meet and talk with any show of cordiality and agreement. She could not bear, she said, to hear Sir John blamed, and she foresaw the dowager mourning over her son’s Rebellion, and drawing dark pictures of the future for herself and her little lads. At the same time she was resolved not to fail in duty to her husband’s mother, especially as by keeping friendly with her she might incline the favour of those in authority, for old Lady Alva was a determined Whig, and no shadow of doubt had ever touched her family.

My lady’s brothers-in-law, Mr. Charles Erskine and Mr. Patrick Campbell of Monzie, were constant in their care and interest for all her concerns, and as she said herself, she was supported on all sides by the kindest of friends. To say truth, her bitterest trouble was the absence of her husband, and the uncertainty of the measures to be taken by Government against the Rebels. Then, too, she was sick at heart for the sufferings of others: the imprisonment of her uncle, Colonel Erskine; the grief of her sister Grizel, whose husband, Mr. Paterson, was also in exile; of Lady Kippendavie, Lady Keir, and many others; not forgetting poor Lady Jean, my Lord Mar’s sister, who besides her sorrow at her brother’s failure, was suffering from the like bereavement. No news came from the Master of Sinclair, but I think my lady’s heart was so turned against him by his conduct at Perth that she did not greatly care what became of him, though poor Betty spoke of him constantly with much affection and regret.

And so the sad days went forward, and February wore to an end, and still my lady and poor Barbara had no word of cheer to lighten their hearts. The following letter is almost a repetition of the last, but I give it in its place, as to me it seems like my lady’s voice, alive and speaking.