It was some eleven miles, by Alloa, Clackmannan and Kincardine-on-Forth, to Culross, a small whitewashed, red-roofed town and harbour, where the venerable St Serf had established his Celtic abbey at the end of the sixth century—which abbey, Romanised to the Cistercian Order, had passed to the Bruce family at the Reformation. Now Sir George Bruce, with many West Fife gentlemen, met them at the approaches to the town, a round, bustling little man of middle years, genial and laughter-loving, far from typical of the Scots aristocracy. Indeed, he was exceptional in more than manner and appearance; for he was one of the greatest traders and merchant-venturers in the land—and would have been roundly despised and shunned by the gentry, in consequence, had it not been for his undeniable descent from kin of the hero-king Robert. He had taken over, as a going concern, the extensive coal-mines and salt-pans of the monks of Culross and had, with a lively business-sense and no nonsense about the unsuitability of making money from trade, developed and amplified these industries to a notable degree, as well as adding new ones, so that now he was one of the richest men in Scotland. He had built up a vast overseas traffic in coal and salt, in ironware and salted-herring and other items, to the extent that as many as 170 vessels at a time had been counted in and lying off Culross harbour. Even this May noonday there were fully fifty ships there.
James, always preoccupied with money, the lack of which had haunted him all his days, was much concerned to discover how Bruce seemed to be able more or less to coin it; and at the same time to seek to devise means by which he might be separated from some substantial part of his gains. The crowded shipping impressed him, although he did not fail to point out that he misliked and distrusted sea-going vessels; and the unsightly heaps of slag from the mines drew the shrewd comment that, though they looked like the Devil's ordure, if all this waste material was to be dumped out in the shallower waters of the estuary there, in the form of artificial reefs, then the area within could be drained and reclaimed, to provide new land for salt-pans, abstracted from the evil sea—a triumph for God and man against Satanicus, as he put it. Sir George, blinking, promised to consider this. But meantime would His Majesty care to honour his poor house at the abbey for a light repast? They could examine the possibilities of the mines and salt-pans later perhaps?
Majesty graciously agreed—but first elected to inform the company that it was fell suitable that this small bit atomy of his ancient kingdom should flourish as a hot-bed and fons et origo of industry and indefatigation—perfervidum ingenium. For was it not from here that the excellent St Serf—more properly St Servanus, mind—had sent forth the laddie Kentigernus or Mungo, with a bit cart drawn by two wild bulls, unchancy brutes, to found the city of Glasgow on the Clyde, whose industriosity thereafter was an ensample to all. Forti et fidele nihil difficile! Mind, Glasgow's fair operoseness was the more commendacious in that the place was over near to the territories of the deplorable Hamiltons. Having delivered himself of this profound observation, the monarch, with a glance around to see if any Hamiltons, in especial the Secretary of State, were within hearing, set off for the proffered refreshment at the Abbey House.
Bruce had called the provision light but it proved to be in fact the most substantial and ambitious spread yet provided in Scotland, with liquid accompaniment in keeping; with the inevitable result that when, at length, the King declared himself satisfied and eager to discover the secrets of profit-making, precious few of the company were of a mind or in a state to accompany him. Which entirely suited James, who had no desire to share his findings, if any, with a multitude, especially with Sir George pointing out that mine-workings, like salt-pans and stores, were scarcely places for crowds.
Only about a dozen, therefore, accompanied their host and sovereign down the hill again to the narrow and busy coastal flats, the Duke and John amongst them. James elected to inspect a mine first.
Almost straight away there was difficulty. For, although the entry to the chosen pit probed unexceptionably into the hillside, away from the shore, and led gently enough down through a tunnel, lit by lamps carried by specially-washed minions, after a mere hundred yards or so they came to a gaping shaft in the floor, surmounted by an erection of timber scaffolding with pulley-wheels and ropes. The King eyed this contraption suspiciously, especially when the wheels began to turn and squeal, declaring it obviously to be a device of the Devil. His alarm was only enhanced when up out of the depths came a wooden platform hoisted by the ropes, with a miner, naked to the waist and streaky black, standing thereupon. A blast of hot air and a curious smell seemed to come up with this vision—which had James pointing out how right he had been about Satanicus and the Nether Regions, as this Devil's Acolyte and the hellish stink demonstrated. Bruce explained that this was merely the hoist-man, Dod Durie by name, who worked the ropes and would take them down. He gestured forward. When the monarch realised that he was expected actually to stand on this precarious platform and descend into the black depths on it the expedition all but ended there and then in loud protests and accusations. Their host soothingly pointed out that it was entirely safe, that hundreds of men, women and children went up and down in it every day, and if His Majesty wanted to see the mine, as intimated, this was the only way. Looking round him in major distress, the King's eye fell on the useful John, and lightened a little. Steenie was not present.
"You—aye you, Sir Johnnie. You go. Aye, you go doon there. See if it is to be trusted wi' our royal person. Try out this ill contrive and see what's what. You have spunk enough. Come back and tell me—if you can! Mind, if you dinna come back, I'm oot o' here like a wheasel! You be quiet, George Bruce!"
Swallowing a grin, John stepped on to the platform and Bruce signed to the hoist-man to lower away.
To a loud creaking and clanking the platform descended into darkness.
"Yon's a right feartie!" the man Durie shouted, above the din. "Whae is he, at a'?"
"That's the King."
"Him . . .!" The rest was left unsaid.
"He is none so ill." John found himself defending his sovereign. "Some things he fears excessively—plots and cold steel and deviltry and witchcraft, they say. It is believed because his mother the Queen Mary's secretary, Rizzio, was stabbed to death in front of her eyes just before James was born. He is courageous enough in other ways ..."
His unseen companion sniffed but said nothing.
It was getting hotter all the time in that black shaft. Presently a faint glimmer of light began to show through the cracks in the boarding beneath their feet and this developed into the yellow flame of a lamp hanging from a gleaming ebony roof where the platform clanked to a halt. John peered out. They seemed to be in something like a great cavern, dimly lit, walls and ceiling of chipped jet, with various openings off, some man-height, some only half that. Even as he looked a completely naked, black-streaked figure came crawling up on hands and knees out of one of the lower cavities, dragging a wicker basket filled with lumps of coal. This, when risen upright, the figure hoisted up staggeringly, to tip it into a large wooden trolley standing there, with others, in a black cloud of dust, before crouching down and entering the hole again, with the basket, like an animal into its burrow.
"Saints above!" John exclaimed. "That . . . that was a child- A girl, I saw, I saw . . .!"
"Aye, the lassies are right guid for hauling up yon braes," Durie explained. "They're ower low for grown folk."
"But. . . but.. . down there! Below this ... ?"
"Och, aye—the workings are further doon. The galleries where the hewers work, just. The men cut, the weemen drag the coal frae the face and the bairns draw it up the braes."
John was silent.
"Up, then?" the man asked, and at a nod started to pull on the ropes.
Emerged again into the half-light of the upper entry, James cried out at sight of them.
"You survived, man—God be praised! Is it secure and unjeopardous? Nae pitfalls?" He was relieved enough to chuckle. "Pitfalls, eh—right apt!"
"None, Sire. Only strangeness and, and the unnatural. There are children down there."
"Is that a fact? Och, then it should be safe enough." James allowed himself to be assisted on to the platform.
There followed the problem of who was to accompany the monarch down, for the hoist would take only seven or eight at a time, and with John, whom he clutched rightly for safety, Sir George and the hoist-man, there was room only for three more, for James would by no means have the thing overloaded. He solved the matter by beckoning Ludovick on, then selecting the two lightest-looking men there, Chancellor Fyvie and Sir Gideon Murray, the Treasurer-Depute, rejecting Tam Hamilton as too large and the Earl of Southampton as having too gross a belly. Huddled together, this company descended, to loud instructions to Durie-man to go canny and to John to keep close, exclamations at the wicked darkness, the satanic heat and the noxious stench. John could feel the royal body pressed against his own, trembling.
At the bottom, escaped out of the shaft, Bruce explained that this had been the first level of mining, but that as this seam of coal was worked out, they had had to probe down lower and lower, so that now they were working three seams at least two hundred feet further down, reached by these adits or braes. Unfortunately His Majesty could scarcely proceed down there since they would have to go on hands and knees. But further along this main gallery there was a new and shallow working where they could observe coal being won . . .
Whilst this was being announced, Sir George's voice began to be overborne by the rumbling and creaking as one of the large trolleys emerged from the main tunnel, pushed from behind. When this halted, the pushers appeared round the sides and proved to be two women, both naked from the waist up, ragged skirts kilted high and tucked into rope belts, thighs bare also. Covered with coal-dust and sweat they made no lovely sight.
"Guidsakes—those are women!" James gasped, peering in the dim light. "See their paps! Shameless hussies and maist undecorous!"
"It gets very hot down here, Sire—as you may feel. And they have a long way to push these carts before ..."
Bruce was interrupted. "Mercy on us—look at that!" The King was pointing to another of the low-browed apertures, where a child and his basket had appeared, a boy this, all grinning white teeth in a black face, wholly unclothed and looking no more than perhaps eight years. "An imp of Satanicus himsel'!"
The boy, rising from his knobbly knees, had difficulty in hoisting up his heavy-laden basket to empty into one of the trolleys and John went to aid him, blackening his hands in the process. The lad, staring open-mouthed at the gentlemen, looked shocked and guilty at this unsuitable assistance, and bolted for his hole, still more like a rabbit.
"Save us—what's he at?" James demanded. "Did you see that, Vicky? Did you ever ken the like?"
Whilst Bruce was explaining the children's part in the mining process, the women set off with a loaded trolley, the one in front putting on a sort of harness consisting of a double chain attached to a broad leather band which she placed round her forehead and so bent to the task, whilst her companion pushed from the rear. They had to strain hard to get the laden cart moving and once again John went to help overcome the initial inertia—to the rear woman's skirl and Sir George's chuckle that he would employ this young man any day. Embarrassed by this reaction, John left off pushing—but remained embarrassed as the elegant party strolled on along the main gallery behind the straining women.
It seemed that they had quite a long way to go, along this jet-black corridor lit by only occasional lamps—although Bruce now carried a lamp himself to ensure if possible that the distinctly shambling royal feet did not trip on the uneven floor.
There was a hold-up presently when a second pair of women, one quite elderly by her figure, returning with another truck, had to pass the first in a space just wide enough and no more. Bruce tut-tutting, declared that they had better get past or they would be all day reaching their destination. So they squeezed by, the King taking the opportunity to pinch one of the female behinds in passing by way of acknowledgement.
They passed many low-set side-alleys, some seeming to keep the same level, others sloping steeply downwards. One or two disgorged children. In time they came to a higher entry, almost man-height and Bruce led the way in, stooping. James promptly knocked his high hat off, muttering indignantly—and John had his first glimpse of his prince hatless. He was alleged to wear headgear even in his bed.
They slanted down this narrow passage in single file, it getting steeper and hotter. At one stage they paused, having to press against the black wall to allow a convoy of a woman and three children, all on hands and knees hauling filled baskets, to get past. James, gasping a little for breath now in the heat, observed that the place was fair crawling with the creatures, like an ant-hill, whereat Sir George informed that he employed nearly three hundred in this pit alone, men, women and bairns. It was what he called a family pit, where an entire family could work together. Was not that an excellent arrangement?
His hearers may have seemed only moderately enthusiastic.
Soon they were hearing the clink and thud of picks and hammers, and rounding a bend there was light ahead. Here, illuminated by three lamps, was a scene which might have come out of Dante's Inferno, with the damned working out their grim destiny. Two men, entirely unclothed, hacked and battered at the coal-face, whilst two others crouched, heads down, recovering nearby. Three half-naked women stooped behind, scooping the hewn coal back and into baskets, with wooden shovels and bare hands; and a group of children waited for the filled baskets, all panting in the heat.
The visitors considered this scene for a while, unspeaking. Then James said, "Here, I say, is work for felons, skellums and gaol-limmers, no' for honest subjects o' mine. Man Bruce, you sell dear-won coals!"
Astonished, Sir George protested. "Why, Sire, they are paid good siller. All are glad of the work. As I say, all the families can work together. None go hungry."
"Aye. Let us be out o' here. I mislike it."
Crestfallen, Bruce led the way back.
Up at the main gallery again, James was for turning left-handed whence they had come. But their host led them to the right, saying that there was still something to see.
They went on for a considerable distance further, passing numerous trolleys and entries, and James, who was no walker, was soon complaining, with Bruce assuring him that they would have further to go if they turned back. The monarch was becoming disenchanted.
In the event, he hailed another hoist almost with relief— only almost, because this one was more than twice as large as the first and so capable of being twice as dangerous. As they waited, the platform came down, to disgorge two women and an empty trolley—James declaring that they were the same pair they had first encountered, he recognised them by their mammilla he added, their faces being no more distinguishable than were black Moors.
Gingerly entrusting himself to this platform, which was of a size to take the entire company, the King remarked on the lowering temperature as they rose, contriving a parable out of this, in Latin, for the edification of at least the Scots present—only English priests and siklike apparently being taught Latin, he revealed.
This enlightenment ended abruptly, as they emerged into daylight, bright daylight, indeed sunlight, and sunlight reflected on water. James gasped, choked, and made a grab at John Stewart.
"Treason! Treason!" he yelled. "Wae's me—all's undone! Treason! The sea—the fell sea!"
Sure enough, they had come up a shaft, extended with notable skill to rise from the bed of the estuary and to finish as a sort of isolated jetty or wharf, almost a mile out from the shore. The King—whose dread of the sea probably dated from his return, with his bride, from Denmark, when a storm off North Berwick and the Bass Rock, engineered by witches, had much distressed him—was appalled, instantly terror-stricken, imploring the aid of Heaven, the saints and all true and honest men, clinging to John. In vain Sir George explained that this was a device for loading coa
l directly on to ships, without them having to crowd the limited space of the harbour; that it was perfectly safe and in use every day. The monarch was convinced that it was all a dastardly plot. Torn between a desire to hurry back whence they had come and escape all this terrifying water, and fear of the long, black passage below to be walked, he wailed and clutched and refused to be reassured.
The Duke pointed out that there was a handsome pinnace moored to the timbers directly below, but James cried that it was to be approached only by a more deplorable ladder down which he would by no means descend. Bruce was at a loss, declaring that this was the only way down and that there were only a dozen or so rungs anyway; but Majesty would have none of it. He was not a Barbary ape, he asserted, to swing from branches and pendicles.
It appeared to be stalemate, with progress neither backwards nor forwards to be considered. John ventured a suggestion.
"If I was to take Your Highness on my back, pickapack . . . ?" "Eh? Eh?"
"If you clung to me, and I carried you down, all would be well, Sire. I am much used to ladders. At Methven ..."
James stared. It is probable that he would never for a moment have considered it; but he had come to look upon John as something like a saviour; moreover, no other solution offered itself. He bit trembling lip.
John turned, offering his sturdy back. The Duke urged James on, indeed assisted him up.
So, arms round John's neck, all but throttling him in fact, knees dug in at the waist with a horseman's grip—being better on a horse than on his feet no doubt helped—the sovereign of two kingdoms was brought to the ladder-head and lowered step by step, hat askew and babbling incoherent instructions. John was a fairly muscular young man and very fit, and did not feel the royal burden too sorely, although he could have done with less of the strangling. They reached the pinnace to paeans of thankfulness.
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