Unknown (43 page)

So,
for the first time in five years - indeed, for that matter, in his
adult life - Montrose, unwanted by either his country or his king,
could be himself and lead the normal life of a Scots nobleman, chief
and landowner. And he had had enough of the alternative to
appreciate it. Not that he did not frequently fret and fume with
himself at Argyll's complete triumph, and his own helplessness
to do anything about it — even, meantime, to avenge burned
Mugdock. But the long months in Edinburgh Castle had taught him his
lesson, he assured himself. He knew now when he was fortunate. After
all,
he
never
had had any wish to rule, to dominate. He had taken up the cause
because he conceived it to be right; and if it had gone sour, and
into wrong hands, he had reason to be glad that it had no further
use for him. Thus James Graham in 1642.

More
truly he rejoiced to become a family man - not again, for in fact he
had never been one. On this score he did not have to convince
himself. He went back to Kinnaird, to pick up Magdalen and the
children, to take them to Kincardine Castle; and perhaps
because he was so obviously defeated, perhaps because he had brought
Archie Napier with him for the latter's safety, old Southesk was
almost welcoming. He had been proved right - which is an excellent
thing for any man; and he was able to emphasise, and to go on
emphasising, the nobility of his beloved liege lord Charles, who
despite all James Graham's sins against him, had vouchsafed to
save the prodigal at cost to himself. Montrose, clearly, would have
to listen to variations on this theme for the rest of his
father-in-law's life; but at least they could live with each other
again - for short periods.

As
for Magdalen, she discovered that she could be sorry for her so
splendid husband - and the experience was as a balm to her troubled
soul. Undoubtedly she was a better mother than she was a wife; and
now James Graham qualified in some measure for mothering, and
she felt better able to cope with him. Perceiving something of it,
however ruefully, the man also perceived that, while not really
solving any problems for him, it would make life a deal easier, and
certainly pleasanter for the woman he had married and whom by any
standards he had grievously neglected. He suffered the mothering and
sympathy, like he suffered Southesk's sermons and the periodic
frustrations that boiled up within him. He was learning forbearance.

His
children were his true joy. John, now twelve, was a sturdy lad,
dark, keen, strong-minded, a son of whom any father might be proud -
although undoubtedly he needed the said father's hand occasionally.
James, with some of his mother's diffidence, was a little delicate
and of less independent spirit, but a thinker, an asker of
questions, interminable questions, intelligent enough for two, but
not yet so much so as to be a trouble. Any fears their father might
have entertained that his sons might look at him askance were
quickly dissipated. Magdalen had done better by him, in this, than
perhaps he deserved, bringing them up to look on their sire, not as
one part of herself did - or as did their grandfather so obviously -
but as gallant gentleman, cavalier, almost hero. His splendid good
looks, noble bearing yet essential easy friendliness, did the rest.
Unfairly, perhaps, within a day or two of his return, his sons were
doting on him, and he could do no wrong.

Montrose
remained no longer than he decently must, at Kinnaird. Magdalen made
no objections to removing to Strathearn, and at Kincardine Castle
most evidently sought to make the best of it. Almost it seemed that
her recent troubles, the death of their third son, and her husband's
imprisonment and fall from popularity, had bred a new strength in
her, an increase in independence And she was now preoccupied, not
with living up to her husband so much as with retaining him at home
and contented. So life at the little castle by the Ruthven Water was
much improved on previously, for all concerned. Inchbrakie was only
a few miles away; and Black Pate's wife Jean, a daughter of the Lord
Drummond, was almost as much at Kincardine, with her children, as at
home. Kilpont was not much farther away, on the other side; and
Stirling of Keir closer still. Other friends, clansmen and
supporters lived all around. Frequently Montrose asked himself why
he had ever left this his own place. Archie Napier's continued
presence with them helped likewise.

Not,
however, that James Graham abandoned all concern for his country and
its fate. He kept himself informed of what went on; and many were
the discussions and arguments in Kincardine's hall, that winter and
spring, on what was to be the outcome, and what ought to be done.
But, more or less, by mutual consent, these were conversations, not
councils, with no suggestion that any there must again involve
himself.

Leaving
Edinburgh, King Charles had gone back to London, to authorise
the necessary steps against the rebellion in Ireland. But that done,
promptly the parliamentarians had resumed their campaign against
him, producing the Grand Remonstrance, a detailed indictment of his
rule, and which demanded supreme powers for parliament. All his
hopes of betterment were shattered - like his hopes of a Scots army.
With disaster and massacre in Ireland, and the mob shouting for the
blood of his Queen Henrietta Maria - whom it blamed, along with
Strafford and Archbishop Laud, for most of his English policies -
too late as always, Charles acted. He sacrificed Laud and Strafford,
who were arrested. But to no purpose. Parliament continued to defy
him; and on the 4th of January, 1642 the King took the ill-advised
step of going in person to the Houses of Parliament, to arrest the
men whom he considered the leaders. The gesture failed. Defeated and
humiliated, Charles was forced to retire. Indeed, a week later he
retired from London altogether, wiping its dust from his royal feet,
and heading northwards.

But
the English dissidents were not confined to the South. On die 23rd
of April, Sir John Hotham shut the gates of Hull in his monarch's
face. It was the final, unforgivable affront. There could be no more
compromising. It was war, civil war, in England, with the King
summoning all loyal subjects to arms.

Both
sides wooed the Scots. The Earls of Lothian and Lindsay were sent
south, ostensibly to mediate, actually to discover which side was
most likely to win, and which offered the best terms. By May, it
seemed evident that the Committee of the Estates, at least,
were likely to plump for the parliamentarians.

It
was at this stage, reluctandy indeed, and greatly against Magdalen's
urgings, that Montrose agreed to take a hand,
a
very
modest hand, once more. The blame could be laid at Napier's door.
During the long winter's evenings, he had advised his friend to put
pen to paper and set down his theory of government, the art and
ethics of it as he saw it, to clear his own mind and to instruct his
companions. It was a change from the poetry and lyrics which the
Graham had been penning, and though without enthusiasm at first, he
had warmed to the task. He discovered in the process that he had
indeed certain strong convictions which, set out, formulated a sort
of creed. This, much acclaimed by others, presently began to nag at
his conscience. Was it possible for a man of integrity to know all
this, to construe it and believe in it, and yet to do nothing about
it when he saw what he believed in set at naught and mocked, his
country and his king at need? There was no use in telling himself
that he no longer had the power to influence matters. He might not
be wanted by either side - but he still could raise 1000 armed
Grahams to back his word. Not that he had any intention of so doing;
but he could not hide behind the screen of helplessness.

In
May, Napier, who was still a member of the Privy Council, received a
summons from Loudoun, now Chancellor, to attend a meeting
thereof at Edinburgh, to decide on policy anent the King and his
English parliament. Needless to say, he was in doubts as to
whether to venture into the lion's den again. Montrose said that he
should - for his voice was honoured and respected by many, and
somebody must advocate the right. His friend's safety would be
vouched for by the provision of a close escort of some hundreds of
Graham troopers. His brother-in-law, in return, countered by
advising that, in such case, Montrose himself should go to the
capital with the escort — and not only he, but other
like-minded nobles, to be present in Edinburgh during the period of
the Council meeting, to press their views on the Councillors, in
private, and to let the people see that all Scotland was not yet
Argyll's.

So,
towards the end of that month, a large company rode to Edinburgh -
Grahams, Drummonds, Murrays and Ogilvys - not too aggressively
armed, as escort for the Lord Napier, Privy Councillor, Montrose and
his friends accompanying it, not exactly incognito but not parading
their presence, and very much in a private capacity, their objective
certainly not to provoke any clash with the Covenant leadership.

It
was strange to be back in the city from which James Graham had all
but fled, in darkness, six months before. He went nowhere unguarded,
naturally, and so was scarcely able to test die true temper and
opinion of the citizens. But he could sense the tension and unease
of the place, the suspicion and fear in men's faces, the feeling
that tyranny was not far away. The Kirk might be ruling here, rather
than the Crown - but men's hearts were none the lighter.

Argyll
was in town, attending the Council; but the two men made sure that
they did not meet. They both were active, however. Montrose sought
to impress on all Privy Councillors whom he might influence that so
long as Charles Stewart was King of Scots they could not lawfully or
morally take the side of the English parliamentarians against him.
They had to accept that the King and his people were indivisible;
and that monarch and parliament together ruled the state, not one or
the other. His 'creed' now clear in his mind, he was the better able
to convince others; though what effect he might have against
Argyll's contrary influence, he could not tell, and was scarcely
optimistic. For his part, the Campbell went to work in a different
direction, sending out minions to rouse Fife and the Lothians to the
threat of an armed bid for power on the part of the malignant Earl
of Montrose and other royalists, Papists and traitors. In the event,
Argyll had much the best of the exercise, the Covenanting
gentry and ministers, with their retainers, flocking into Edinburgh
from a wide area, intent on rescuing the Lord's faithful servants
from the bloody hands of wicked men; so that to avert armed clash
and bloodshed, which would serve no good purpose, the Grahams and
their friends had to withdraw from the city, back to Strathearn,
taking Napier with them, and leaving the Privy Council to make a
carefully non-committal decision - which, in fact, had the
effect of giving Argyll and die Committee all the powers they
desired to make common cause with the English parliamentarians
and Presbyterians.

More
frustrated than ever, Montrose admitted that the non-success of this
venture had been on a par with all his other recent activities, and
that he was in fact beating the air. Magdalen did not fail to
confirm that point of view.

The
summer of 1642 stretched itself out in disquiet and tension. Another
General Assembly was held, at St Andrews, now openly under Argyll's
thumb - Montrose, of course, and none of his like, being summoned.
Its main decision was that aid should be accorded to the English
parliament if it would abolish episcopacy in England. To maintain
the fiction of impartiality, it urged King Charles, in loyal duty,
to see to this also. That this was shameless interference in the
rights and affairs of another country, the very thing that the
Covenant had stood out against for themselves, seemed to trouble
few. And, almost unbelievably, the thing was accepted. The
English parliament thereafter voted unanimously to abolish the
episcopate, the bishops were driven from the Upper House, and the
Church of England was instructed to turn itself into a Presbyterian
body. For his part, King Charles did not reply to the Scots
dictation.

Argyll
was triumphant. He not only ruled Scotland, but was in a position
largely to impose his will on England also, owing to the need of
both sides for Scots aid. Oddly enough, he celebrated his ascendancy
by betrothing his son, the Lord Lorne, to Hamilton's eldest
daughter.