by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XXXV.
While the King rode slowly back to the convent which he then occupied,Albany, with a discomposed aspect and faltering voice, asked the Earl ofDouglas: "Will not your lordship, who saw this most melancholy scene atFalkland, communicate the tidings to my unhappy brother?"
"Not for broad Scotland," said the Douglas. "I would sooner bare mybreast, within flight shot, as a butt to an hundred Tynedale bowmen. No,by St. Bride of Douglas! I could but say I saw the ill fated youth dead.How he came by his death, your Grace can perhaps better explain. Were itnot for the rebellion of March and the English war, I would speak my ownmind of it."
So saying, and making his obeisance to the King, the Earl rode off tohis own lodgings, leaving Albany to tell his tale as he best could.
"The rebellion and the English war!" said the Duke to himself. "Ay, andthine own interest, haughty earl, which, imperious as thou art, thoudarest not separate from mine. Well, since the task falls on me, I mustand will discharge it."
He followed the King into his apartment. The King looked at him withsurprise after he had assumed his usual seat.
"Thy countenance is ghastly, Robin," said the King. "I would thouwouldst think more deeply when blood is to be spilled, since itsconsequences affect thee so powerfully. And yet, Robin, I love thee thebetter that thy kind nature will sometimes show itself, even through thyreflecting policy."
"I would to Heaven, my royal brother," said Albany, with a voice halfchoked, "that the bloody field we have seen were the worst we had to seeor hear of this day. I should waste little sorrow on the wild kerne wholie piled on it like carrion. But--" he paused.
"How!" exclaimed the King, in terror. "What new evil? Rothsay? It mustbe--it is Rothsay! Speak out! What new folly has been done? What freshmischance?"
"My lord--my liege, folly and mischance are now ended with my haplessnephew."
"He is dead!--he is dead!" screamed the agonized parent. "Albany, asthy brother, I conjure thee! But no, I am thy brother no longer. As thyking, dark and subtle man, I charge thee to tell the worst."
Albany faltered out: "The details are but imperfectly known to me; butthe certainty is, that my unhappy nephew was found dead in his apartmentlast night from sudden illness--as I have heard."
"Oh, Rothsay!--Oh, my beloved David! Would to God I had died for thee,my son--my son!"
So spoke, in the emphatic words of Scripture, the helpless and bereftfather, tearing his grey beard and hoary hair, while Albany, speechlessand conscience struck, did not venture to interrupt the tempest of hisgrief. But the agony of the King's sorrow almost instantly changed tofury--a mood so contrary to the gentleness and timidity of his nature,that the remorse of Albany was drowned in his fear.
"And this is the end," said the King, "of thy moral saws and religiousmaxims! But the besotted father who gave the son into thy hands--whogave the innocent lamb to the butcher--is a king, and thou shalt knowit to thy cost. Shall the murderer stand in presence of hisbrother--stained with the blood of that brother's son? No! What ho,without there!--MacLouis!--Brandanes! Treachery! Murder! Take arms, ifyou love the Stuart!"
MacLouis, with several of the guards, rushed into the apartment.
"Murder and treason!" exclaimed the miserable King. "Brandanes, yournoble Prince--" Here his grief and agitation interrupted for a momentthe fatal information it was his object to convey. At length he resumedhis broken speech: "An axe and a block instantly into the courtyard!Arrest--" The word choked his utterance.
"Arrest whom, my noble liege?" said MacLouis, who, observing the Kinginfluenced by a tide of passion so different from the gentleness of hisordinary demeanour, almost conjectured that his brain had been disturbedby the unusual horrors of the combat he had witnessed.
"Whom shall I arrest, my liege?" he replied. "Here is none but yourGrace's royal brother of Albany."
"Most true," said the King, his brief fit of vindictive passionsoon dying away. "Most true--none but Albany--none but my parent'schild--none but my brother. O God, enable me to quell the sinful passionwhich glows in this bosom. Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!"
MacLouis cast a look of wonder towards the Duke of Albany, whoendeavoured to hide his confusion under an affectation of deep sympathy,and muttered to the officer: "The great misfortune has been too much forhis understanding."
"What misfortune, please your Grace?" replied MacLouis. "I have heard ofnone."
"How! not heard of the death of my nephew Rothsay?"
"The Duke of Rothsay dead, my Lord of Albany?" exclaimed the faithfulBrandane, with the utmost horror and astonishment. "When, how, andwhere?"
"Two days since--the manner as yet unknown--at Falkland."
MacLouis gazed at the Duke for an instant; then, with a kindling eyeand determined look, said to the King, who seemed deeply engaged in hismental devotion: "My liege! a minute or two since you left a word--oneword--unspoken. Let it pass your lips, and your pleasure is law to yourBrandanes!"
"I was praying against temptation, MacLouis," said the heart brokenKing, "and you bring it to me. Would you arm a madman with adrawn weapon? But oh, Albany! my friend--my brother--my bosomcounsellor--how--how camest thou by the heart to do this?"
Albany, seeing that the King's mood was softening, replied with morefirmness than before: "My castle has no barrier against the power ofdeath. I have not deserved the foul suspicions which your Majesty'swords imply. I pardon them, from the distraction of a bereaved father.But I am willing to swear by cross and altar, by my share in salvation,by the souls of our royal parents--"
"Be silent, Robert!" said the King: "add not perjury to murder. And wasthis all done to gain a step nearer to a crown and sceptre? Take themto thee at once, man; and mayst thou feel as I have done, that they areboth of red hot iron! Oh, Rothsay--Rothsay! thou hast at least escapedbeing a king!"
"My liege," said MacLouis, "let me remind you that the crown and sceptreof Scotland are, when your Majesty ceases to bear them, the right ofPrince James, who succeeds to his brother's rights."
"True, MacLouis," said the King, eagerly, "and will succeed, poor child,to his brother's perils! Thanks, MacLouis--thanks. You have remindedme that I have still work upon earth. Get thy Brandanes under arms withwhat speed thou canst. Let no man go with us whose truth is not known tothee. None in especial who has trafficked with the Duke of Albany--thatman, I mean, who calls himself my brother--and order my litter tobe instantly prepared. We will to Dunbarton, MacLouis, or to Bute.Precipices, and tides, and my Brandanes' hearts shall defend the childtill we can put oceans betwixt him and his cruel uncle's ambition.Farewell, Robert of Albany--farewell for ever, thou hard hearted, bloodyman! Enjoy such share of power as the Douglas may permit thee. But seeknot to see my face again, far less to approach my remaining child; for,that hour thou dost, my guards shall have orders to stab thee down withtheir partizans! MacLouis, look it be so directed."
The Duke of Albany left the presence without attempting furtherjustification or reply.
What followed is matter of history. In the ensuing Parliament, the Dukeof Albany prevailed on that body to declare him innocent of the deathof Rothsay, while, at the same time, he showed his own sense of guilt bytaking out a remission or pardon for the offence. The unhappy and agedmonarch secluded himself in his Castle of Rothsay, in Bute, to mournover the son he had lost, and watch with feverish anxiety over the lifeof him who remained. As the best step for the youthful James's security,he sent him to France to receive his education at the court of thereigning sovereign. But the vessel in which the Prince of Scotlandsailed was taken by an English cruiser, and, although there was a trucefor the moment betwixt the kingdoms, Henry IV ungenerously detained hima prisoner. This last blow completely broke the heart of the unhappyKing Robert III. Vengeance followed, though with a slow pace, thetreachery and cruelty of his brother. Robert of Albany's own grey hairswent, indeed, in peace to the grave, and he transferred the regencywhich he had so foully acquired to his son Murdoch. But, nineteen yearsafter the death of
the old King, James I returned to Scotland, andDuke Murdoch of Albany, with his sons, was brought to the scaffold, inexpiation of his father's guilt and his own.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The honest heart that's free frae a' Intended fraud or guile, However Fortune kick the ba', Has aye some cause to smile.
BURNS.
We now return to the Fair Maid of Perth, who had been sent from thehorrible scene at Falkland by order of the Douglas, to be placed underthe protection of his daughter, the now widowed Duchess of Rothsay. Thatlady's temporary residence was a religious house called Campsie, theruins of which still occupy a striking situation on the Tay. It arose onthe summit of a precipitous rock, which descends on the princely river,there rendered peculiarly remarkable by the cataract called CampsieLinn, where its waters rush tumultuously over a range of basalticrock, which intercepts the current, like a dike erected by human hands.Delighted with a site so romantic, the monks of the abbey of Cuparreared a structure there, dedicated to an obscure saint, named St.Hunnand, and hither they were wont themselves to retire for pleasure ordevotion. It had readily opened its gates to admit the noble lady whowas its present inmate, as the country was under the influence ofthe powerful Lord Drummond, the ally of the Douglas. There the Earl'sletters were presented to the Duchess by the leader of the escort whichconducted Catharine and the glee maiden to Campsie. Whatever reasonshe might have to complain of Rothsay, his horrible and unexpected endgreatly shocked the noble lady, and she spent the greater part of thenight in indulging her grief and in devotional exercises.
On the next morning, which was that of the memorable Palm Sunday, sheordered Catharine Glover and the minstrel into her presence. The spiritsof both the young women had been much sunk and shaken by the dreadfulscenes in which they had so lately been engaged; and the outwardappearance of the Duchess Marjory was, like that of her father, morecalculated to inspire awe than confidence. She spoke with kindness,however, though apparently in deep affliction, and learned from themall which they had to tell concerning the fate of her erring andinconsiderate husband. She appeared grateful for the efforts whichCatharine and the glee maiden had made, at their own extreme peril, tosave Rothsay from his horrible fate. She invited them to join in herdevotions; and at the hour of dinner gave them her hand to kiss, anddismissed them to their own refection, assuring both, and Catharine inparticular, of her efficient protection, which should include, she said,her father's, and be a wall around them both, so long as she herselflived.
They retired from the presence of the widowed Princess, and partook ofa repast with her duennas and ladies, all of whom, amid their profoundsorrow, showed a character of stateliness which chilled the light heartof the Frenchwoman, and imposed restraint even on the more seriouscharacter of Catharine Glover. The friends, for so we may now term them,were fain, therefore, to escape from the society of these persons, allof them born gentlewomen, who thought themselves but ill assorted witha burgher's daughter and a strolling glee maiden, and saw them withpleasure go out to walk in the neighbourhood of the convent. A littlegarden, with its bushes and fruit trees, advanced on one side of theconvent, so as to skirt the precipice, from which it was only separatedby a parapet built on the ledge of the rock, so low that the eye mighteasily measure the depth of the crag, and gaze on the conflicting waterswhich foamed, struggled, and chafed over the reef below.
The Fair Maiden of Perth and her companion walked slowly on a path thatran within this parapet, looked at the romantic prospect, and judgedwhat it must be when the advancing summer should clothe the grove withleaves. They observed for some time a deep silence. At length the gayand bold spirit of the glee maiden rose above the circumstances in whichshe had been and was now placed.
"Do the horrors of Falkland, fair May, still weigh down your spirits?Strive to forget them as I do: we cannot tread life's path lightly, ifwe shake not from our mantles the raindrops as they fall."
"These horrors are not to be forgotten," answered Catharine. "Yet mymind is at present anxious respecting my father's safety; and I cannotbut think how many brave men may be at this instant leaving the world,even within six miles of us, or little farther."
"You mean the combat betwixt sixty champions, of which the Douglas'sequerry told us yesterday? It were a sight for a minstrel to witness.But out upon these womanish eyes of mine--they could never see swordscross each other without being dazzled. But see--look yonder, MayCatharine--look yonder! That flying messenger certainly brings news ofthe battle."
"Methinks I should know him who runs so wildly," said Catharine. "But ifit be he I think of, some wild thoughts are urging his speed."
As she spoke, the runner directed his course to the garden. Louise'slittle dog ran to meet him, barking furiously, but came back, tocower, creep, and growl behind its mistress; for even dumb animals candistinguish when men are driven on by the furious energy of irresistiblepassion, and dread to cross or encounter them in their career. Thefugitive rushed into the garden at the same reckless pace. His head wasbare, his hair dishevelled, his rich acton and all his other vestmentslooked as if they had been lately drenched in water. His leathernbuskins were cut and torn, and his feet marked the sod with blood. Hiscountenance was wild, haggard, and highly excited, or, as the Scottishphrase expresses it, much "raised."
"Conachar!" said Catharine, as he advanced, apparently without seeingwhat was before him, as hares are said to do when severely pressed bythe greyhounds. But he stopped short when he heard his own name.
"Conachar," said Catharine, "or rather Eachin MacIan, what means allthis? Have the Clan Quhele sustained a defeat?"
"I have borne such names as this maiden gives me," said the fugitive,after a moment's recollection. "Yes, I was called Conachar when I washappy, and Eachin when I was powerful. But now I have no name, and thereis no such clan as thou speak'st of; and thou art a foolish maid tospeak of that which is not to one who has no existence."
"Alas! unfortunate--"
"And why unfortunate, I pray you?" exclaimed the youth. "If I am cowardand villain, have not villainy and cowardice command over the elements?Have I not braved the water without its choking me, and trod the firmearth without its opening to devour me? And shall a mortal oppose mypurpose?"
"He raves, alas!" said Catharine. "Haste to call some help. He will notharm me; but I fear he will do evil to himself. See how he stares downon the roaring waterfall!"
The glee woman hastened to do as she was ordered, and Conachar's halffrenzied spirit seemed relieved by her absence.
"Catharine," he said, "now she is gone, I will say I know thee--I knowthy love of peace and hatred of war. But hearken; I have, rather thanstrike a blow at my enemy, given up all that a man calls dearest: I havelost honour, fame, and friends, and such friends! (he placed his handsbefore his face). Oh! their love surpassed the love of woman! Why shouldI hide my tears? All know my shame; all should see my sorrow. Yes, allmight see, but who would pity it? Catharine, as I ran like a madman downthe strath, man and woman called 'shame' on me! The beggar to whom Iflung an alms, that I might purchase one blessing, threw it back indisgust, and with a curse upon the coward! Each bell that tolled rungout, 'Shame on the recreant caitiff!' The brute beasts in their lowingand bleating, the wild winds in their rustling and howling, the hoarsewaters in their dash and roar, cried, 'Out upon the dastard!' Thefaithful nine are still pursuing me; they cry with feeble voice, 'Strikebut one blow in our revenge, we all died for you!'"
While the unhappy youth thus raved, a rustling was heard in the bushes.
"There is but one way!" he exclaimed, springing upon the parapet, butwith a terrified glance towards the thicket, through which one or twoattendants were stealing, with the purpose of surprising him. But theinstant he saw a human form emerge from the cover of the bushes, hewaved his hands wildly over his head, and shrieking out, "Bas airEachin!" plunged down the precipice into the raging cataract beneath.
It is needless to say, that aught save thistledown must have been dashe
dto pieces in such a fall. But the river was swelled, and the remains ofthe unhappy youth were never seen. A varying tradition has assigned morethan one supplement to the history. It is said by one account, that theyoung captain of Clan Quhele swam safe to shore, far below the Linns ofCampsie; and that, wandering disconsolately in the deserts of Rannoch,he met with Father Clement, who had taken up his abode in the wildernessas a hermit, on the principle of the old Culdees. He converted, it issaid, the heart broken and penitent Conachar, who lived with him in hiscell, sharing his devotion and privations, till death removed them insuccession.
Another wilder legend supposes that he was snatched from death by thedaione shie, or fairy folk, and that he continues to wander through woodand wild, armed like an ancient Highlander, but carrying his sword inhis left hand. The phantom appears always in deep grief. Sometimes heseems about to attack the traveller, but, when resisted with courage,always flies. These legends are founded on two peculiar points in hisstory--his evincing timidity and his committing suicide--both of themcircumstances almost unexampled in the history of a mountain chief.
When Simon Glover, having seen his friend Henry duly taken care of inhis own house in Curfew Street, arrived that evening at the Place ofCampsie, he found his daughter extremely ill of a fever, in consequenceof the scenes to which she had lately been a witness, and particularlythe catastrophe of her late playmate. The affection of the glee maidenrendered her so attentive and careful a nurse, that the glover said itshould not be his fault if she ever touched lute again, save for her ownamusement.
It was some time ere Simon ventured to tell his daughter of Henry's lateexploits, and his severe wounds; and he took care to make the most ofthe encouraging circumstance, that her faithful lover had refused bothhonour and wealth rather than become a professed soldier and follow theDouglas. Catharine sighed deeply and shook her head at the history ofbloody Palm Sunday on the North Inch. But apparently she had reflectedthat men rarely advance in civilisation or refinement beyond the ideasof their own age, and that a headlong and exuberant courage, like thatof Henry Smith, was, in the iron days in which they lived, preferable tothe deficiency which had led to Conachar's catastrophe. If she hadany doubts on the subject, they were removed in due time by Henry'sprotestations, so soon as restored health enabled him to plead his owncause.
"I should blush to say, Catharine, that I am even sick of the thoughtsof doing battle. Yonder last field showed carnage enough to glut atiger. I am therefore resolved to hang up my broadsword, never to bedrawn more unless against the enemies of Scotland."
"And should Scotland call for it," said Catharine, "I will buckle itround you."
"And, Catharine," said the joyful glover, "we will pay largely for soulmasses for those who have fallen by Henry's sword; and that will notonly cure spiritual flaws, but make us friends with the church again."
"For that purpose, father," said Catharine, "the hoards of the wretchedDwining may be applied. He bequeathed them to me; but I think you wouldnot mix his base blood money with your honest gains?"
"I would bring the plague into my house as soon," said the resoluteglover.
The treasures of the wicked apothecary were distributed accordinglyamong the four monasteries; nor was there ever after a breath ofsuspicion concerning the orthodoxy of old Simon or his daughter.
Henry and Catharine were married within four months after the battleof the North Inch, and never did the corporations of the glovers andhammermen trip their sword dance so featly as at the wedding of theboldest burgess and brightest maiden in Perth. Ten months after, agallant infant filled the well spread cradle, and was rocked by Louiseto the tune of--
Bold and true, In bonnet blue.
The names of the boy's sponsors are recorded, as "Ane Hie and MichtyLord, Archibald Erl of Douglas, ane Honorabil and gude Knicht, SchirPatrick Charteris of Kinfauns, and ane Gracious Princess, MarjoryDowaire of his Serene Highness David, umquhile Duke of Rothsay."
Under such patronage a family rises fast; and several of the mostrespected houses in Scotland, but especially in Perthshire, and manyindividuals distinguished both in arts and arms, record with pride theirdescent from the Gow Chrom and the Fair Maid of Perth.
