The White Cockade = Or, Faith and Fortitude
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THE OUTHERN COUNTIES CIRCULATING LIBRARY. ESTABLISHED 1832. 37 and 39, LONDON ST., READING. CATALOGUES and TERMS SEUT ON APPLICATIOK. Subscriptions from Half-a-Guinea. LI B RAR.Y OF THE U NIVER5ITY Of ILLINOIS G764w V.3 W LIBRARY, I -MISS LANGLEY), 8 EET, READING. g Title Folio Supplements to the General Catalogue are issued periodically and can be had on application. : / THE WHITE COCKADE OR., FAITH AND EOETITUDK BY JAMES G E A N T, AUTHOR OF " THE YELLOW FEIGATE," " SECOND TO NONE," THE king's own BOEDEEEES," "THE KOMANCE OF WAE,' ETC., ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. Ill, LONDON GEOEGE EOUTLEDGE AND SONS, BEOADWAY, LUDGATE. NEW YOEK : 129, GRAND STREET. SZ.3 v>3 CONTENTS. OF THE THIRD VOLUME CHAPTER I. IV CONTENTS. HAPTEB PAGE xYi. THE 17th op JANIJART, 1746 . 165 XVII. cobham's peagoons . 176 XYIII. IN . THE NOETE . 191 XIX. THE GABERLUNZIE . 201 XX. THE BITEE BITTEN" . 213 XXI, HIS EXAMINATION . 223 XXII. THE NIGHT MAECH TO NAIEN . 236 XXIII. sepaeated! . 250 xxiy, the battle of culloden . 261 xxv. the sequel . 277 xxvi. the coiee gaoth . 291 l'envoy . 306 NOTES . 310 THE WHITE COCKADE. CHAPTER I. A FRIEND. *' She tore lier haffet links o' gowd, And diclited ay lier comely ee ; *My fatlier lies at bluidy Carlisle, At Preston sleep my brethren three ! I thocht my heart could hand nae mair, Mair tears could never blind my ee ; But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart, " A dearer ane there ne'er could be !' Old Ballad, All the time that those events were passing else- where, Bryde Otterburn considered herself in a land of bondage, ^ Prior to this the poor girl Iiad never been further from her home than to Edinburgh, when she had ridden there occasionally on a pillion behind a groom, or to the Dunse spa, in my Lady Haddington''s glass coach, and now she felt her- self as if in a foreign country, where her unmis- takable Scottish accent, even in Cumberland (though once an integral part of Scotland) caused VOL. HI. 1 Z THE WHITE COCKADE. her to be ridiculed, and, in that hot political time, occasionally reviled. The pet of her doting grandfather, the idol of an old-fashioned household, among whom she had grown up from infancy ; knowing the events of history and the tide of political affairs, and learn- ing to think long before the time proper for reflec- tion; hating the Elector of Hanover with childish rancour, and adoring an exiled king as the em- bodiment of every human virtue, and for whom she prayed as fervently as she did for those at sea (which she never failed to do when she heard the >vind bellowing in the woods, and the waves boom- ing as they rolled up Auldhame Bay) —Bryde Otterburn was of a temperament and turn of thought very different from those who had seen —that which few saw in those days—more of the great world that lay beyond the blue wavy line of their native mountains. Four days had now passed away since Sir Bal- dred^s interment, and in a species of stupor she lingered at Carlisle, scarcely knowing what to do. Bryde was young when her father was assassinated on Luffness Muir, and when her mother died of a broken heart; so this was, in reality, her first great grief, for the poor old man who was gone had been father, mother and kindred to her. She knew of none else. Her lover she had deemed lost, and the world a blank, till in a stray copy of the ' Westminster Journal ^ she saw it duly THE WHITE COCKADE. 3 notified, that '^ the third troop of the rebel Life Guards was commanded by Henry Douglas, call- ing himself Lord Dalquharn/' She thus learned that her lover was free—free, and with the devoted army of the Prince ! She heard of the overwhelming masses of troops assembling in the south of England, and all as- sured her that " the Pretender and his adherents ^^ were marching to their doom; hence her only craving now was to go home to die—home to the old beloved place, which would seem so lonely now —home, that once again she might look on the sea- beaten rocks, with all their gulls and gannets; that she might sit by St. Baldred^s gurgling well, pray as of old in the ruined chapel where her forefathers lay, and wander in the shady avenue or the tapestried rooms of the old house, for Bryde knew nothing of confiscation and attainder, and that her inheritance was to become the spoil of the whig and Hanoverian. She longed for old Dorriel Grahame, who had been her nurse (and the nurse of her mother before her), and on whose maternal heart she would so gladly have laid her aching head, and indulged in all the luxury of woe. Bryde was resolved to go home afoot, if she could liot proceed otherwise, though the mountain paths by which the Dutch escort had marched seemed so wild, lonely, toilsome and perilous, that ^ lier heart fslirurik within her at 1h pvosp-^c ': ; ]}ut V — ; 4 THE WHITE COCKADE. what was she to do ? Her little stock of money, raised chiefly by selling her ornaments to the castle sutler, was nearly expended, as she had spent so much of it in necessaries and comforts for her grandfather. La E-oque still hovered about, and his atten- tions terrified her, so home she resolved to go at all hazards, and secretly. He had repeatedly and tenderly declared his passion for her, and been no less than three times coldly and angrily repulsed or dismissed from her presence, but he was too much of a Frenchman to acknowledge himse 1 bafHed. In her limited ideas of distance and travel, Bryde, we have said, thought and felt herself quite in a strange country, and when weeping for her sole relation, Sir Baldred, and thinking on his lonely grave, the lines of the late Mr. Alexander Pope of Twickenham, often came to memory : " By foreign hands tliy dying eyes were closed, By foreign hands thy decent Hmbs composed By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, By strangers honoured, and by strangers urned." On the last evening she had resolved to spend in the castle of Carlisle, Bryde, out of her little stock of money, procured some slips of roses, with the seeds of the crocus, the snow^drop and other spring flowers, and on her knees she planted them over the lonely grave beneath the old ramparts THE WHITE COCKADE. 5' that they might come forth in the early months of the next year, when she should be far away from it. Her tears were flowing fast as she performed this filial tribute, and not until it was concluded did she become aware of a man's shadow being thrown by the sunshine across the grave. She thought of La Boque, and looked up with an angry shudder. Instead of her persevering admirer, a fine-look- ing man, of a noble and stately presence, wearing a very rich scarlet uniform, a three-cornered hat bound with gold, thick lace ruffles, a sword and clouded cane, stood before her. He was well up in years ; time had powdered his hair so whitely that he needed not the puff of a peruquier ; but he lifted his hat, and saluted the young girl respectfully. ^^ ^^ Your humble servant,^' said he ; Miss Otter- burn, I believe ?" Bryde rose, crossed her white hands on her bosom, and bowed, with one of those {j:Taceful old-fashioned curtsies, which she had been taught by Madam Straiton, that notable "mistress of manners. '' "I am Colonel Durand of the First English Guards—allow me to introduce myself,^' said the old officer. Bryde curtsied again, but bowed somewhat coldly. 6 THE WHITE COCKADE. " I am the Governor of this castle of Carlisle —without seeking to intrude upon your natural sorrows, I come to offer you my dutiful service, my kindly advice/' Bryde looked timidly and earnestly at the speaker with her soft pleading eyes. There was a benevolent expression in the face of this fine old English officer, and when she took his hand she burst into tears. " You will pardon me, young lady, that I did not come to you sooner in your great grief; but I have been absent, and I have had much to do since my return—so many things to think about —for erelong Carlisle may be attacked.^' '^ Attacked, sir, by whom ?" "The Chevalier de St. George and his ad- herents, of whom we have had no recent or relia- ble accounts, though some say they have begun their march, no one knows for where, unless it be our English border; but permit me to lead you from this spot.'' " My poor old grandfather, would I were laid beside thee there—even there !" said Bryde, look- ing wistfully on the grave under the shadow of the old castle wall. "I pray you, Miss Otterburn, not to speak thus. Long may God keep you from thinking, as you now, I hope, talk idly," said Colonel Durand. " I've met death face to face at Ramillies, Mal- plaquet, and Oudenarde, and in many a later fields ! THE WHITE COCKADE. 7 and feared him not ; but/' added this old soldier, with a piety that was quite unaffected, as he lifted his triangular beaver and looked upward, '' may He who sees all, keep us each and all, from thinking that our only chance of peace on earth, is there—in the dark grave/' Bryde's gentle and tender brown eyes were still bent on that solemn place, where she had sown the seeds of the spring flowers.