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HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY TALES 
 
 FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
'BaTTantgne -press 
 
 BALI.ANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 
 Edinburgh and London 
 
SIR WALTER SCOT'!’. 
 
Historical, Legendary 
 
 AND 
 
 Romantic Tales 
 
 FROM THE WORKS OF 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 SELECTED AND ARRANGED 
 
 By WILLIAM T. DOBSON 
 
 WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS IN PERMANENT 
 PHOTOGRAPHY. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 BICKERS & SON, i LEICESTER SQUARE 
 1886 
 

 
CONTENTS. 
 
 B attle of the standard i 
 
 BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN.7 
 
 DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE . . 1 6 
 
 THE DOUGLAS LARDER.31 
 
 LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER. 36 
 
 HENRY WYND.44 
 
 WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN. 48 
 
 ARCHIBALD BELL-THE-CAT.49 
 
 THE FORAY.52 
 
 THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN.53 
 
 FEUD OF BUCCLEUCH AND KERR.71 
 
 MURDER OF RIZZIO AND DEATH OF DARNLEY ... 77 
 
 FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 90 
 
 ASSASSINATION OF REGENT MURRAY.99 
 
 THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY.IO 3 
 
 BATTLE OF TIPPERMUIR.Il 6 
 
 EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.1 23 
 
 WATT TINLINN. . . -130 
 
 LEGEND OF LITTLECOTE HALL. 131 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE.I38 
 
 THE LAIRD’S JOCK.I46 
 
 DONALD THE HAMMERER.152 
 
 MASSACRE OF GLENCOE . . . . . . , . 163 
 
 KINMONT WILLIE AND BUCCLEUCH.182 
 
 ROB ROY MACGREGOR.l88 
 
 ALLAN-A-SOP.215 
 
 THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 22 "J 
 
 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.24O 
 
 CAMERON OF LOCHIEL.242 
 
 BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE.251 
 
 TORTURE OF THE COVENANTER PRISONERS .... 262 
 
 JACOBITE ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE . . . 276 
 
 DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER AT THE BATTLE OF PRESTON 286 
 
 HIGH JINKS.299 
 
 FIELD-SPORTS ON THE BORDER IN THE EIGHTEENTH 
 
 CENTURY.313 
 
 MASANIELLO.321 
 
 ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION.334 
 
 [The above have been selected and adapted from Tales of a Grandfather, 
 Lord of the Isles (notes), Castle Dangerous, Marmion (notes), Border 
 Minstrelsy, Lay of the Last Minstrel (notes). Legend of Montrose, 
 Tales of My Landlord, Rob Roy, Dramatic Works, Old Mortality, 
 Waverley, Guy Mannering, Essays in Foreign Quarterly Review, 
 The Antiquary, <5r=£.] 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 
 IR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 HEROISM AND HUMANITY 
 THE MURDER OF RIZZIO 
 ASSASSINATION OF REGENT MURRAY 
 LAST SCENE IN THE LIFE OF MONTROSE 
 MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE . 
 ESCAPE OF ALASTER MACDONALD FROM 
 
 GLENCOE . 
 
 A DROVE OF HIGHLAND CATTLE 
 
 BOTHWELL BRIDGE. 
 
 THE COVENANTERS. 
 
 DEER-STALKING. 
 
 Frontispiece 
 page 17 
 . 82 
 
 . 100 
 
 . 128 
 
 • 143 
 
 THE MASSACRE AT 
 
 • 175 
 
 . I90 
 
 . 251 
 . 264 
 
 . 278 
 
 DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER 
 
 297 
 

TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 
 
 ALCOLM CANMORE was a brave and wise 
 prince, though without education. He often 
 made war upon King William the Conqueror 
 of England, and upon his son and successor 
 William, who, from his complexion, was called 
 William Rufus, that is, Red William. Malcolm was some¬ 
 times beaten in these wars, but he was more frequently 
 successful; and not only made a complete conquest of 
 Lothian, but threatened also to possess himself of the great 
 English province of Northumberland, which he frequently 
 invaded. In Cumberland, also, he held many possessions. 
 But in the year 1093, having assembled a large army for the 
 purpose, Malcolm besieged the border fortress of Alnwick, 
 where he was unexpectedly attacked by a great Norman 
 baron, called Robert de Moubray, who defeated the Scottish 
 army completely. Malcolm Canmore was killed in the 
 action, and his eldest son fell by his side. 
 
 There is a silly story told of Malcolm being killed by one 
 of the garrison of Alnwick, who, pretending to surrender the 
 *keys of the castle on the point of a spear, thrust the lance- 
 
 A 
 
2 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT.' 
 
 point into the eye of the King of Scotland, and so killed him. 
 They pretend that this soldier took the name of Pierce-eye, 
 and that the great family of the Percies of Northumberland 
 were descended from him. But this is all a fable. The 
 Percies are descended from a great Norman baron, who 
 came over with William, and who took his name from his 
 castle and estate in Normandy. 
 
 Queen Margaret of Scotland was extremely ill at the time 
 her husband marched against England. When she was 
 lying on her death-bed, she saw her second son, who had 
 escaped from the fatal battle, approach her bed. “ How 
 fares it,” said the expiring Queen, “with your father, and 
 with your brother Edward ? ”—The young man stood silent. 
 —“ I conjure you,” she added, “ by the Holy Cross, and by 
 the duty you owe me, to tell me the truth.” 
 
 “Your husband and your son are both slain.” 
 
 “The will of God be done,” answered the Queen, and 
 expired, with expressions of devout resignation to the plea¬ 
 sure of Heaven. This good princess was esteemed a Saint 
 by those of the period in which she lived, and was called 
 Saint Margaret. 
 
 After the death of Malcolm Canmore, the Scottish crown 
 was occupied successively by three princes of little power or 
 talent, who seized on the supreme authority because the 
 children of the deceased sovereign were under age. After 
 these had ended their short reigns, the sons of Malcolm 
 came to the throne in succession, by name Edgar,—Alex¬ 
 ander, called the First,—and David, also called the First of 
 that name. These two last princes were men of great ability. 
 David, in particular, was a wise, religious, and powerful 
 prince. He had many furious wars with England, and made 
 dreadful incursions into the neighbouring provinces, which 
 were the more easy that the country of England was then 
 disunited by civil war. The cause was this :— 
 
BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 
 
 3 
 
 Henry I., the youngest son of William the Conqueror, 
 had died, leaving only one child, a daughter, named Matilda, 
 or Maud, whose mother was a daughter of Malcolm Canmore, 
 and a sister, consequently, of David, King of Scotland. 
 During Henry’s life, all the English barons had agreed that 
 his daughter should succeed him on the throne. Upon the 
 King’s death, however, Stephen, Earl of Mortagne, a great 
 Norman lord, usurped the government, to the exclusion of 
 the Empress Matilda (so called because she had married 
 the Emperor of Germany), and caused himself to be pro- 
 laimed King. Many of the English barons took arms 
 against Stephen, with the purpose of doing justice to the 
 Empress Maud and her son Henry. It was natural that 
 David, King of Scotland, should join the party which 
 favoured his niece; but he also took the opportunity to 
 attempt an extension of his own dominions. 
 
 He assembled from the different provinces of Scotland 
 a large but ill-disciplined army, consisting of troops of 
 different nations and languages, who had only one common 
 principle—the love of plunder. There were Normans, and 
 Germans, and English; there were the Danes of Northum¬ 
 berland, and the British of Cumberland, and of the valley 
 of Clyde; there were the men of Teviotdale, who were 
 chiefly Britons, and those of Lothian, who were Saxons; 
 and there were also the people of Galloway. These last 
 were almost a separate and independent people, of peculiarly 
 wild and ferocious habits. Some historians say they came 
 of the race of the ancient Piets; some call them the wild 
 Scots of Galloway—all agree that they were a fierce, un¬ 
 governable race of men, who fought half naked, and 
 committed great cruelty upon the inhabitants of the in¬ 
 vaded country. These men of Galloway were commanded 
 by several chiefs. Amongst others, was a chief leader called 
 William MacDonochy, that is, William the son of Duncan. 
 
4 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 The barons of the northern parts of England, hearing 
 that the King of Scotland was advancing at the head of this 
 formidable army, resolved to assemble their forces to give 
 him battle. Thurstan, the Archbishop of York, joined with 
 them. They hoisted a banner, which they called that of 
 Saint Peter, upon a carriage mounted on wheels; from 
 which circumstance the war took the name of the Battle of 
 the Standard. The two armies came in sight of each other 
 at Cuton Moor, near Northallerton, and prepared to fight 
 on the next morning. It was a contest of great importance; 
 for if David should prove able to defeat the army now 
 opposed to him, there seemed little to prevent him from 
 conquering England as far as the Humber. 
 
 There was in the English army an aged baron named 
 Robert Bruce, father of a race afterwards very famous in 
 Scottish history. He had great estates both in England 
 and Scotland. He loved King David, because he had been 
 formerly his companion in arms, and he resolved to make 
 an effort to preserve peace. 
 
 He went, therefore, to the Scottish camp, and endeavoured 
 to persuade King Davki to retreat, and to make peace—re¬ 
 monstrated with him on the excesses which his army had 
 committed—exaggerated the danger in which he was placed; 
 and finally burst into tears when he declared his own purpose 
 of relinquishing his allegiance to the King of Scotland, and 
 fighting against him in battle, if he persevered in his invasion. 
 The King shed tears at this exhortation; but William 
 MacDonochy exclaimed, “ Bruce, thou art a false traitor! ” 
 Bruce, incensed at this insult, left the camp of the Scots, 
 renouncing for ever all obedience to David, and giving up 
 the lands he held of him in Scotland. 
 
 A dispute arose in the Scottish council of war. The 
 Galloway men, who had gained a considerable battle in their 
 advance into England, were intoxicated with their own 
 
BATTLE OF THE STANDARD. 
 
 5 
 
 success, and demanded peremptorily that they should lead 
 the van in the battle of the next day. King David would 
 fain have eluded the request. He had more confidence in 
 the disciplined valour of the men-at-arms in his service, than 
 in those brave but tumultuous barbarians. A chief, called 
 Malise, Earl of Strathearn, saw, and was angry at David’s 
 hesitation. “Why so much confidence in a plate of steel, 
 or in rings of iron?” said he. “I, who wear no armour, 
 will go as far to-morrow with a bare breast as any one who 
 wears a cuirass.” 
 
 “Rude earl,” said Allan de Percy, a Norman knight, 
 “ you brag of what you dare not do.” 
 
 The King interposed, and with difficulty appeased the 
 dispute. He granted with reluctance the request of the men 
 of Galloway. 
 
 In the morning [August n, 1138] David prepared for 
 the eventful contest. He drew his army up in three lines. 
 The first, according to his promise, consisted of the Galloway 
 men, who were commanded by William MacDonochy, and 
 Ulrick, and Dovenald. The second line consisted of the 
 men-at-arms, the Borderers of Teviotdale, with the archers 
 of Cumberland and Strathclyde. They were headed by 
 Henry, Prince of Scotland, a brave and amiable youth. 
 The King himself, surrounded by a guard consisting of 
 English and Norman men-at-arms, commanded the third 
 body of troops, who were the men of Lothian, with the 
 Northern Scots, properly so called. 
 
 The English were formed into one compact and firm 
 battalion, in the midst of which the consecrated Standard 
 was displayed. The Bishop of Orkney, as deputed by the 
 aged Thurstan, mounted the carriage of Saint Peter’s 
 Standard, and proclaiming the war was a holy one, assured 
 each English soldier that those who fell should imme¬ 
 diately pass into Paradise. The English barons grasped 
 
6 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 each other’s hands, and swore to be victorious, or die in 
 the field. 
 
 The armies being now near each other, the men of 
 Galloway charged, with cries which resembled the roar of 
 a tempest. They fought for two hours with the greatest 
 fury, and made such slaughter amongst the English spear¬ 
 men, that they began to give way. But the archers supported 
 them, and showered their arrows so thick upon the Galloway 
 men, that, having no defensive armour to resist the shot, 
 they became dismayed, and began to retreat. Prince Henry 
 of Scotland advanced to their support with the men-at-arms. 
 He rushed at full gallop on that part of the English line 
 which was opposed to him, and broke through it, says a 
 historian, as if it had been a spider’s web. He then attacked 
 the rear of the English ; the men of Galloway rallied, and 
 were about to renew the contest, when an English soldier 
 showed the head of a slain man on a spear, and called out 
 it was the King of Scots. The falsehood was believed by 
 the Scottish army, who fell into confusion and fled. The 
 King in vain threw his helmet from his head, and rode bare¬ 
 faced among the soldiers, to show that he still lived. The 
 alarm and panic were general, and the Scots lost a battle 
 which, if they had won, must have given them a great part 
 of England, and eventually, it may be, the whole of that 
 kingdom, distracted as it was with civil war. Such was 
 the famous Battle of the Standard. It forced David to 
 make peace with England, but it was upon the most favour¬ 
 able terms; since, excepting the fortresses of Newcastle and 
 Bamborough, the whole of Northumberland and Durham 
 was surrendered by Stephen to the Scottish monarch. 
 
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN . 
 
 HE arrangements adopted by King Robert for 
 the decisive battle of Bannockburn are given 
 very distinctly by Barbour, and form an 
 edifying lesson to tacticians. Yet, till com¬ 
 mented upon by Lord Hailes, this important 
 passage of history has been generally and strangely mis¬ 
 understood by historians. I will here endeavour to detail 
 it fully. 
 
 Two days before the battle, Bruce selected the field of 
 action, and took post there with his army, consisting of 
 about 30,000 disciplined men, and about half the number 
 of disorderly attendants upon the camp. The ground was 
 called the New Park of Stirling; it was partly open, and 
 partly broken by copses of wood and marshy ground. He 
 divided his regular forces into four divisions. Three of 
 these occupied a front line, separated from each other, yet 
 sufficiently near for the purpose of communication. The 
 fourth division formed a reserve. The line extended in a 
 north-easterly direction from the brook of Bannock, which 
 was so rugged and broken as to cover the right flank 
 effectually, to the village of Saint Ninians, probably in the 
 line of the present road from Stirling to Kilsyth. Edward 
 Bruce commanded the right wing, which was strengthened 
 
8 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 by a strong body of cavalry under Keith, the Mareschal of 
 Scotland, to whom was committed the important charge of 
 attacking the English archers; Douglas, and the young 
 Steward of Scotland, led the central wing; and Thomas 
 Randolph, Earl of Moray, the left wing. The King himself 
 commanded the fourth division, which lay in reserve behind 
 the others. The royal standard was pitched, according to 
 tradition, in a stone, having a round hole for its reception, 
 and thence called the Bore-Stone. It is still shown on the 
 top of a small eminence, called Brock’s-brae, to the south¬ 
 west of Saint Ninians. His main body thus disposed, King 
 Robert sent the followers of the camp, fifteen thousand and 
 upwards in number, to the eminence in rear of his army, 
 called from that circumstance the Gillies' ( i.e. the servants’) 
 Hill. 
 
 The military advantages of this position were obvious. 
 The Scottish left flank, protected by the brook of Bannock, 
 could not be turned; or, if that attempt were made, a 
 movement by the reserve might have covered it. Again, 
 the English could not pass the Scottish army, and move 
 towards Stirling, without exposing their flank to be attacked 
 while in march. 
 
 If, on the other hand, the Scottish line had been drawn 
 up east and west, and facing to the southward, as affirmed 
 by Buchanan, and adopted by Mr. Nimmo, the author of 
 the “ History of Stirlingshire,” there appears nothing to have 
 prevented the English approaching upon the carse, or level 
 ground from Falkirk, either from turning the Scottish left 
 flank, or from passing their position, if they preferred it, 
 without coming to an action, and moving on to the relief 
 of Stirling. And the Gillies’ Hill, if this less probable 
 hypothesis be adopted, would be situated, not in the rear, 
 as allowed by all the historians, but upon the left flank of 
 Bruce’s army. The only objection to the hypothesis above 
 
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 9 
 
 laid down, is, that the left flank of Bruce’s army was thereby 
 exposed to a sally from the garrison of Stirling. But, ist, 
 the garrison were bound to neutrality by terms of Mow¬ 
 bray’s treaty; and Barbour even seems to censure, as a 
 breach of faith, some secret assistance which they rendered 
 their countrymen upon the eve of battle, in placing 
 temporary bridges of doors and spars over the pools of 
 water in the carse, to enable them to advance to the charge. 
 2ndly, Had this not been the case, the strength of the 
 garrison was probably not sufficient to excite apprehension. 
 3rdly, The adverse hypothesis leaves the rear of the Scottish 
 army as much exposed to the Stirling garrison as the left 
 flank would be in the case supposed. 
 
 It only remains to notice the nature of the ground in 
 front of Bruce’s line of battle. Being part of a park, or chase, 
 it was considerably interrupted with trees; and an extensive 
 marsh, still visible, in some places rendered it inaccessible, 
 and in all of difficult approach. More to the northward, 
 where the natural impediments were fewer, Bruce fortified 
 his position against cavalry, by digging a number of pits so 
 close together, says Barbour, as to resemble the cells in a 
 honeycomb. They were a foot in breadth, and between two 
 and three feet deep, many rows of them being placed one 
 behind the other. They were slightly covered with brush¬ 
 wood and green sods, so as not to be obvious to an impetuous 
 enemy. 
 
 All the Scottish army were on foot, excepting a select body 
 of cavalry stationed with Edward Bruce on the right wing, 
 under the immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, the 
 Mareschal of Scotland, who were destined for the important 
 service of charging and dispersing the English archers. 
 Thus judiciously posted, in a situation fortified both by art 
 and nature, Bruce awaited the attack of the English. 
 
 Upon the 23rd June, 1314, the alarm reached the Scottish 
 
IO 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 army of the approach of the enemy. Douglas and the Mare- 
 schal were sent to reconnoitre with a body of cavalry. The 
 two Scottish commanders were cautious in the account 
 which they brought back to their camp. To the King in 
 private they told the formidable state of the enemy; but in 
 public reported that the English were indeed a numerous 
 host, but ill commanded, and worse disciplined. 
 
 The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of 
 Gloucester and Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army 
 upon the evening of the 23rd of June. Bruce was then riding 
 upon a little palfrey, in front of his foremost line, putting his 
 host in order. It was then that the personal encounter took 
 place betwixt him and Sir Henry de Bohun, a gallant English 
 knight, the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits 
 of both armies. The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the 
 King upon his temerity. He only answered, “ I have broken 
 my good battle-axe.” The English vanguard retreated after 
 witnessing this single combat. Probably their generals did 
 not think it advisable to hazard an attack while its unfavour¬ 
 able issue remained upon their minds. 
 
 While the van of the English army advanced, a detached 
 body attempted to relieve Stirling. Lord Hailes gives the 
 following account of this manoeuvre and the result, which is 
 accompanied by circumstances highly characteristic of the . 
 chivalrous manners of the age, and displays that generosity 
 which reconciles us even to their ferocity upon other occa¬ 
 sions. 
 
 Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who commanded the left 
 wing of his army, to be vigilant in preventing any advanced 
 parties of the English from throwing succours into the Castle 
 of Stirling. 
 
 “Eight hundred horsemen, commanded by Sir Robert 
 Clifford, were detached from the English army; they made 
 a circuit by the low grounds to the east, and approached the 
 
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN. n 
 
 % 
 
 Castle. The King perceived their motions, and, coming up to 
 Randolph, angrily exclaimed, ‘ Thoughtless man ! you have 
 suffered the enemy to pass.’ Randolph hastened to repair 
 his fault, or perish. As he advanced, the English cavalry 
 wheeled to attack him. Randolph drew up his troops in a 
 circular form, with their spears resting on the ground, and 
 protended on every side. At the first onset, Sir William 
 Daynecourt, an English commander of distinguished note, 
 was slain. The enemy, far superior in numbers to Randolph, 
 environed him, and pressed hard on his little band. Douglas 
 saw his jeopardy, and requested the King’s permission to go 
 and succour him. ‘ You shall not move from your ground,’ 
 cried the King; ‘ let Randolph extricate himself as he best 
 may. I will not alter my order of battle, and lose the 
 advantage of my position.’—‘ In truth,’ replied Douglas, ‘ I 
 cannot stand by and see Randolph perish; and therefore, 
 with your leave, I must aid him.’ The King unwillingly 
 consented, and Douglas flew to the assistance of his friend. 
 While approaching, he perceived that the English were falling 
 into disorder, and that the perseverance of Randolph had 
 prevailed over their impetuous courage. ‘Halt,’ cried 
 Douglas, ‘those brave men have repulsed the enemy; let 
 us not diminish their glory by sharing it .’”—Dalrymplds 
 Annals of Scotland. 
 
 Upon the 24th of June, the English army advanced to 
 the attack. The narrowness of the Scottish front, and the 
 nature of the ground, did not permit them to have the full 
 advantage of their numbers, nor is it very easy to find out 
 what was their proposed order of battle. The vanguard, 
 however, appeared a distinct body, consisting of archers and 
 spearmen on foot, and commanded, as already said, by the 
 Earls of Gloucester and Hereford. Barbour, in one place, 
 mentions that they formed nine battles or divisions; but 
 from the following passage, it appears that there was no room 
 
12 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 or space for them to extend themselves, so that, except the 
 vanguard, the whole army appeared to form one solid and 
 compact body:— 
 
 “The English men, on either party, 
 
 That as angels shone brightly, 
 
 Were not array’d on such manner : 
 
 For all their battles samyn 1 were 
 In a schiltrum . 2 But whether it was 
 Through the great straitness of the place 
 That they were in, to bide fighting; 
 
 Or that it was for abaysing ; 3 
 I wete not. But in a schiltrum 
 It seemed they were all and some ; 
 
 Out ta’en the vaward anerly, 
 
 That right with a great company, 
 
 Be them selwyn, arrayed were. 
 
 Who had been by, might have seen there 
 That folk ourtake a mekill feild 
 On breadth, where many a shining shield, 
 
 And many a burnished bright armour, 
 
 And many a man of great valour, 
 
 Might in that great schiltrum be seen, 
 
 And many a bright banner and sheen.” 
 
 — Barbour's Bruce. 
 
 The English archers commenced the attack with their 
 usual bravery and dexterity. But against a force, whose 
 importance he had learned by fatal experience, Bruce was 
 provided. A small but select body of cavalry were detached 
 from the right, under command of Sir Robert Keith. They 
 rounded, as I conceive, the marsh called Milntown Bog, and, 
 keeping the firm ground, charged the left flank and rear of 
 
 1 Together. 
 
 2 This word is used by Barbour here to express an irregular mass, 
 into which the English army was compressed by the unwieldiness of 
 its numbers, and the carelessness or ignorance of its leaders. 
 
 3 Frightening. 
 
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 13 
 
 the English archers. As the bowmen had no spears nor 
 long weapons fit to defend themselves against horse, they 
 were instantly thrown into disorder, and spread through the 
 whole English army a confusion from which they never 
 fairly recovered. 
 
 It is generally alleged by historians, that the English men- 
 at-arms fell into the hidden snare which Bruce had prepared 
 for them. Barbour does not mention the circumstance. 
 According to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaughter 
 made by the cavalry on the right wing among the archers, 
 advanced courageously against the main body of the English, 
 and entered into close combat with them. Douglas and 
 Stuart, who commanded the Scottish centre, led their division 
 also to the charge, and the battle becoming general along 
 the whole line, was obstinately maintained on both sides 
 for a long space of time; the Scottish archers doing great 
 execution among the English men-at-arms, after the bowmen 
 of England were dispersed. 
 
 When the engagement between the main bodies had 
 lasted some time, Bruce made a decisive movement, by 
 bringing up the Scottish reserve, fit is traditionally said, 
 that at this crisis he addressed the Lord of the Isles in a 
 phrase used as a motto by some of his descendants, “ My 
 trust is constant in thee.” Barbour intimates, that the 
 reserve “ assembled on one field,” that is, on the same line 
 with the Scottish forces already engaged; which leads 
 Lord Hailes to conjecture that the Scottish ranks must have 
 been much thinned by slaughter, since, in that circumscribed 
 ground, there was room for the reserve to fall into the line. 
 But the advance of the Scottish cavalry must have con¬ 
 tributed a good deal to form the vacancy occupied by the 
 reserve. 
 
 The followers of the Scottish camp observed, from the 
 Gillies’ Hill in the rear, the impression produced upon the 
 
H TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 English army by the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, and, 
 prompted by the enthusiasm of the moment, or the desire 
 of plunder, assumed, in a tumultuary manner, such arms as 
 they found nearest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, 
 and showed themselves like a new army advancing to 
 battle. 
 
 The unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, 
 completed the confusion which already prevailed among 
 the English, who fled in every direction, and were pursued 
 with immense slaughter. The brook of Bannock, according 
 to Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of men and 
 horses, that it might have been passed dry-shod. The 
 followers of the Scottish camp fell upon the disheartened 
 fugitives, and added to the confusion and slaughter. Many 
 were driven into the Forth, and perished there, which, by 
 the way, could hardly have happened, had the armies been 
 drawn up east and west; since, in that case, to get at the 
 river, the English fugitives must have fled through the 
 victorious army. About a short mile from the field of battle 
 is a place called the Bloody Folds. Here the Earl of 
 Gloucester is said to have made a stand, and died gallantly 
 at the head of his own military tenants and vassals. He 
 was much regretted by both sides; and it is said the Scottish 
 would gladly have saved his life, but, neglecting to wear his 
 surcoat with armorial bearings over his armour, he fell 
 unknown, after his horse had been stabbed with spears. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, contrived to 
 conceal himself during the fury of the pursuit, and when it 
 was somewhat slackened, approached King Robert. “ Whose 
 prisoner are you, Sir Marmaduke ? ” said Bruce, to whom 
 he was personally known. “ Yours, sir,” answered the knight. 
 “ I receive you,” answered the King, and, treating him with 
 the utmost courtesy, loaded him with gifts, and dismissed 
 him without ransom. The other prisoners were all well 
 
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN . 
 
 15 
 
 treated. There might be policy in this, as Bruce would 
 naturally wish to acquire the good opinion of the English 
 barons, who were at this time at great variance with their 
 King. But it also well accords with his high chivalrous 
 character. 
 
 Edward II., according to the best authorities, showed, in 
 the fatal field of Bannockburn, personal gallantry not un¬ 
 worthy of his great sire and greater son. He remained on 
 the field till forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, when all 
 was lost. He then rode to the Castle of Stirling, and de¬ 
 manded admittance; but the governor, remonstrating upon 
 the imprudence of shutting himself up in that fortress, 
 which must so soon surrender, he assembled around his 
 person five hundred men-at-arms, and, avoiding the field of 
 battle and the victorious army, fled towards Linlithgow, 
 pursued by Douglas with about sixty horse. They were 
 augmented by Sir Lawrence Abernethy with twenty more, 
 whom Douglas met in the Torwood upon their way to join 
 the English army, and whom he easily pursuaded to desert 
 the defeated monarch, and to assist in the pursuit. They 
 hung upon Edward’s flight as far as Dunbar, too few in 
 number to assail him with effect, but enough to harass his 
 retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant behind, 
 was instantly slain or made prisoner. Edward’s ignominious 
 flight terminated at Dunbar, where the Earl of March, who 
 still professed allegiance to him, “ received him full gently.” 
 From thence, the monarch of so great an empire, and the 
 late commander of so gallant and numerous an army, 
 escaped to Bamborough in a fishing vessel. 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 
 
 BOUT 1315, when Ireland had been almost fully 
 conquered by the English, the Irish chiefs, or 
 at least a great many of them, becoming weary 
 of their conquerors, invited Edward Bruce 
 to come over, drive out the English, and 
 become their king. He was willing enough to go, for he 
 had always a high courageous spirit, and desired to obtain 
 fame and dominion by fighting. Edward Bruce was as 
 good a soldier as his brother, but not so prudent and 
 cautious; for, except in the affair of killing the Red Comyn, 
 which was a wicked and violent action, Robert Bruce, in 
 his latter days, showed himself as wise as he was courageous. 
 However, he was well contented that his brother Edward, 
 who had always fought so bravely for him, should be raised 
 up to be King of Ireland. Therefore King Robert not 
 only gave him an army to assist in making the conquest, but 
 passed over the sea to Ireland himself in person, with a 
 considerable body of troops to assist him. The Bruces 
 gained several battles, and penetrated far into Ireland; but 
 the English forces were too numerous, and so many of the 
 Irish joined with them rather than with Edward Bruce, that 
 King Robert and his brother were obliged to retreat before 
 them. 
 


 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 17 
 
 The chief commander of the English was a great soldier, 
 called Sir Edmund Butler, and he had assembled a much 
 greater army than Edward Bruce and his brother King 
 Robert had to oppose to him. The Scots were obliged to 
 retreat every morning, that .they might not be forced to 
 battle by an army more numerous than their own. King 
 Robert the Bruce was a wise' and a good prince; but a 
 circumstance happened during this retreat, which showed 
 he was also a kind and humane man. It was one morning, 
 when the English, and their Irish auxiliaries, were pressing 
 hard upon Bruce, who had given his army orders to con¬ 
 tinue a hasty retreat; for to have risked a battle with a 
 much more numerous army, and in the midst of a country 
 which favoured his enemies, would have been extremely 
 imprudent. On a sudden, just as King Robert was about 
 to mount his horse, he heard a woman shrieking in despair. 
 “What is the matter?” said the King; and he was in¬ 
 formed by his attendants, that a poor woman, a laundress 
 or washerwoman, mother of an infant who had just been 
 born, was about to be left behind the army, as being too 
 weak to travel. The mother was shrieking for fear of falling 
 into the hands of the Irish, who were accounted very cruel, 
 and there was no carriage, nor means of sending the 
 woman and her infant on in safety. They must needs be 
 abandoned if the army retreated. 
 
 King Robert was silent for a moment when he heard 
 this story, being divided betwixt the feelings of humanity, 
 occasioned by the poor woman’s distress, and the danger to 
 which a halt would expose his army. At last he looked 
 round on his officers, with eyes which kindled like fire. 
 “ Ah, gentlemen,” he said, “ never let it be said that a man 
 who was born of a woman, and nursed by a woman’s 
 tenderness, should leave a mother and an infant to the 
 mercy of barbarians! In the name of God, let the odds 
 
 B 
 
i8 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 and the risk be what they will, I will fight Edmund Butler 
 rather than leave these poor creatures behind me. Let the 
 army, therefore, draw up in line of battle, instead of 
 retreating.” 
 
 The story had a singular conclusion; for the English 
 general, seeing that Robert the Bruce halted and offered 
 him battle, and knowing that the Scottish King was one of 
 the best generals then living, conceived that he must have 
 received some large supply of forces, and was afraid to 
 attack him. And thus Bruce had an opportunity to send 
 off the poor woman and her child, and then to retreat at his 
 leisure, without suffering any inconvenience from the halt. 
 
 But Robert was obliged to leave the conquest of Ireland 
 to his brother Edward, being recalled by pressing affairs to 
 his own country. Edward, who was rash as he was brave, 
 engaged, against the advice of his best officers, in battle 
 with an English general, called Sir Piers de Bermingham. 
 The Scots were surrounded on all sides, but continued to 
 defend themselves valiantly, and Edward Bruce showed the 
 example by fighting in the very front of the battle. At 
 length a strong English champion, called John Maupas, 
 engaged Edward hand to hand; and they fought till they 
 killed each other. Maupas was found lying after the battle 
 upon the body of Bruce; both were dead men. After 
 Edward Bruce’s death, the Scots gave up further attempts 
 to conquer Ireland. 
 
 Robert Bruce continued to reign gloriously for several 
 years, and was so constantly victorious over the English, 
 that the Scots seemed during his government to have 
 acquired a complete superiority over their neighbours. But 
 then we must remember that Edward II., who then reigned 
 in England, was a foolish prince, and listened to bad coun¬ 
 sels ; so that it is no wonder that he was beaten by so wise 
 and experienced a general as Robert Bruce, who had 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 19 
 
 fought his way to the crown through so many disasters, and 
 acquired in consequence so much renown, that he was 
 generally accounted one of the best soldiers and wisest 
 sovereigns of his time. 
 
 In the last year of Robert the Bruce’s reign, he became ex¬ 
 tremely sickly and infirm, chiefly owing to a disorder called 
 the leprosy, which he had caught during the hardships 
 and misfortunes of his youth, when he was so frequently 
 obliged to hide himself in woods and morasses, without 
 a roof to shelter him. He lived at a castle called Cardross, 
 on the beautiful banks of the river Clyde, near to where it 
 joins the sea; and his chief amusement was to go upon the 
 river, and down to the sea in a ship which he kept for his 
 pleasure. He was no longer able to sit upon his war-horse, 
 or to lead his army to the field. 
 
 While Bruce was in this feeble state, Edward II., King 
 of England, died, and was succeeded by his son, Edward 
 III. He turned out afterwards to be one of the wisest and 
 bravest kings whom England ever had; but when he first 
 mounted the throne he was very young, and under the 
 entire management of his mother, who governed by means 
 of a wicked favourite called Mortimer. 
 
 The war between the English and the Scots still lasting at 
 the time, Bruce sent his two great commanders, the Good 
 Lord James Douglas and Thomas Randolph, Earl of Murray, 
 to lay waste the counties of Northumberland and Durham, 
 and distress the English as much as they could. 
 
 Their soldiers were about twenty thousand in number, all 
 lightly armed, and mounted on horses that were but small 
 in height but excessively active. The men themselves carried 
 no provisions, except a bag of oatmeal; and each had at his 
 saddle a small plate of iron called a girdle, on which, when 
 they pleased, they could bake the oatmeal into cakes. They 
 killed the cattle of the English, as they travelled through the 
 
20 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 country, roasted the flesh on wooden spits, or boiled it in the 
 skins of the animals themselves, putting in a little water with 
 the beef, to prevent the fire from burning the hide to pieces. 
 This was rough cookery. They made their shoes, or rather 
 sandals, in as coarse a way; cutting them out of the raw 
 hides of the cattle, and fitting them to their ankles, like what 
 are now called short gaiters. As this sort of buskin had the 
 hairy side of the hide outermost, the English called those 
 who wore them rough-footed Scots, and sometimes, from the 
 colour of the hide, red-shanks. 
 
 As such forces needed to carry nothing with them, either 
 for provisions or ammunition, the Scots moved with amazing 
 speed, from mountain to mountain, and from glen to glen, 
 pillaging and destroying the country wherever they came. 
 In the meanwhile, the young King of England pursued them 
 with a much larger army; but as it was encumbered by the 
 necessity of carrying provisions in great quantities, and by 
 the slow motions of men in heavy armour, they could not 
 come up with the Scots, although they saw every day the 
 smoke of the houses and villages which they were burning. 
 The King of England was extremely angry; for, though only 
 a boy of sixteen years old, he longed to fight the Scots, and 
 to chastise them for the mischief they were doing to his 
 country ; and at length he grew so impatient, that he offered 
 a large reward to any one who would show him where the 
 Scottish army were. 
 
 At length, after the English host had suffered severe 
 hardships, from want of provisions, and fatiguing journeys 
 through fords and swamps and morasses, a gentleman named 
 Rokeby came into the camp, and claimed the reward which 
 the King had offered. He told the King that he had been 
 made prisoner by the Scots, and that they had said they 
 should be as glad to meet the English King as he to see 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 21 
 
 them. Accordingly, Rokeby guided the English army to 
 the place where the Scots lay encamped. 
 
 But the English King was no nearer to the battle which he 
 desired; for Douglas and Randolph, knowing the force and 
 numbers of the English army, had taken up their camp on a 
 steep hill, at the bottom of which ran a deep river, called the 
 Wear, having a channel filled with large stones, so that there 
 was no possibility for the English to attack the Scots without 
 crossing the water, and then climbing up the steep hill in the 
 very face of their enemy—a risk which was too great to be 
 attempted. 
 
 Then the King sent a message of defiance to the Scottish 
 generals, inviting them either to draw back their forces, and 
 allow him freedom to cross the river, and time to place his 
 army in order of battle on the other side, that they might 
 fight fairly, or offering, if they liked it better, to permit them 
 to cross over to his side without opposition, that they might 
 join battle on a fair field. Randolph and Douglas did 
 nothing but laugh at this message. They said, that when 
 they fought it should be at their own pleasure, and not 
 because the King of England chose to ask for a battle. 
 They reminded him, insultingly, how they had been in 
 his country for many days, burning, taking spoil, and doing 
 what they thought fit. If the King was displeased with 
 this, they said, he must find his way across the river to 
 fight them the best way he could. 
 
 The English King, determined not to quit sight of the 
 Scots, encamped on the opposite side of the river to watch 
 their motions, thinking that want of provisions would oblige 
 them to quit their strong position on the mountains. But 
 the Scots once more showed Edward their dexterity in 
 marching, by leaving their encampment, and taking up 
 another post, even stronger and more difficult to approach 
 than the first which they had occupied. King Edward 
 
22 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 followed, and again encamped opposite to his dexterous 
 and troublesome enemies, desirous to bring them to a 
 battle, when he might hope to gain an easy victory, having 
 more than double the number of the Scottish army, all 
 troops of the very best quality. 
 
 While the armies lay thus opposed to each other, Douglas 
 resolved to give the young King of England a lesson in the 
 art of war. At the dead of night, he left the Scottish camp 
 with a small body of chosen horse, not above two hundred, 
 well armed. He crossed the river in deep silence, and 
 came to the English camp, which was but carelessly 
 guarded. Seeing this, Douglas rode past the English 
 sentinels as if he had been an officer of the English army, 
 saying,—“ Ha, Saint George ! you keep bad watch here.”— 
 In those days, you must know, the English used to swear 
 by Saint George, as the Scots did by Saint Andrew. 
 Presently after Douglas heard an English soldier, who 
 lay stretched by the fire, say to his comrade,—“I cannot 
 tell what is to happen to us in this place; but, for my part, 
 I have a great fear of the Black Douglas playing us some 
 trick.” 
 
 “You shall have cause to say so,” said Douglas to him¬ 
 self. 
 
 When he had thus got into the midst of the English 
 camp without being discovered, he drew his sword, and 
 cut asunder the ropes of a tent, calling out his usual war- 
 cry,—“ Douglas, Douglas! English thieves, you are all 
 dead men.” His followers immediately began to cut down 
 and overturn the tents, cutting and stabbing the English 
 soldiers as they endeavoured to get to arms. 
 
 Douglas forced his way to the pavilion of the King 
 himself, and very nearly carried that young prince prisoner 
 out of the middle of his great army. Edward’s chaplain, 
 however, and many of his household, stood to arms bravely 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 23 
 
 in his defence, while the young King escaped by creeping 
 away beneath the canvas of his tent. The chaplain and 
 several of the King’s officers were slain; but the whole 
 camp was now alarmed and in arms, so that Douglas was 
 obliged to retreat, which he did by bursting through the 
 English at the side of the camp opposite to that by which 
 he had entered. Being separated from his men in the 
 confusion, he was in great danger of being slain by an 
 Englishman who encountered him with a huge club. This 
 man he killed, but with considerable difficulty; and then 
 blowing his horn to collect his soldiers, who soon gathered 
 around him, he returned to the Scottish camp, having 
 sustained very little loss. 
 
 Edward, much mortified at the insult which he had re¬ 
 ceived, became still more desirous of chastising those 
 audacious adversaries; and one of them at least was not 
 unwilling to afford him an opportunity of revenge. This 
 was Thomas Randolph, Earl of Murray. He asked Douglas 
 when he returned to the Scottish camp, “What he had 
 done?”—“We have drawn some blood.”—“Ah,” said the 
 earl, “had we gone all together to the night attack, we 
 should have discomfited them.”—“ It might well have been 
 so,” said Douglas; “ but the risk would have been too great.” 
 —“ Then will we fight them in open battle,” said Randolph, 
 “for if we remain here, we shall in time be famished for 
 want of provisions.”—“Not so,” replied Douglas; “we will 
 deal with this great army of the English as the fox did with 
 the fisherman in the fable.”—“And how was that?” said 
 the Earl of Murray. Hereupon the Douglas told him this 
 story:— 
 
 “A fisherman,” he said, “had made a hut by a river 
 side, that he might follow his occupation of fishing. Now, 
 one night he had gone out to look after his nets, leaving a 
 small fire in his hut; and when he came back, behold there 
 
24 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 was a fox in the cabin, taking the liberty to eat one of the 
 finest salmon he had taken. ‘ Ho, Mr. Robber! * said the 
 fisherman, drawing his sword, and standing in the door-way 
 to prevent the fox’s escape, ‘you shall presently die the 
 death.’ The poor fox looked for some hole to get out at, 
 but saw none; whereupon he pulled down with his teeth a 
 mantle, which was lying on the bed, and dragged it across 
 the fire. The fisherman ran to snatch his mantle from the 
 fire—the fox flew out at the door with the salmon;—and 
 so,” said Douglas, “ shall we escape the great English army 
 by subtilty, and without risking battle with so large a 
 force.” 
 
 Randolph agreed to act by Douglas’s counsel, and the 
 Scottish army kindled great fires through their encampment, 
 and made a noise and shouting, and blowing of horns, as if 
 they meant to remain all night there, as before. But in the 
 meantime, Douglas had caused a road to be made through 
 two miles of a great morass which lay in their rear. This 
 was done by cutting down to the bottom of the bog, and 
 filling the trench with faggots of wood. Without this con¬ 
 trivance it would have been impossible that the army could 
 have crossed; and through this passage, which the English 
 never suspected, Douglas and Randolph, and all their men, 
 moved at the dead of night. They did not leave so much 
 as an errand-boy behind, and so bent their march towards 
 Scotland, leaving the English disappointed and affronted. 
 Great was their wonder in the morning, when they saw the 
 Scottish camp empty, and found no living men in it, but 
 two or three English prisoners tied to trees, whom they had 
 left with an insulting message to the King of England, 
 saying, “ If he were displeased with what they had done, he 
 might come and revenge himself in Scotland.” 
 
 The place where the Scots fixed this famous encampment, 
 was in the forest of Weardale, in the bishopric of Durham, 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 25 
 
 and the road which they cut for the purpose of their retreat 
 is still called the Shorn Moss. 
 
 After this a peace was concluded with Robert Bruce, on 
 terms highly honourable to Scotland; for the English King 
 renounced all pretensions to the sovereignty of the country, 
 and, moreover, gave his sister, a princess called Joanna, to 
 be wife to Robert Bruce’s son, called David. This treaty 
 was very advantageous for the Scots. It was called the treaty 
 of Northampton, because it was concluded at that town in 
 the year 1328. 
 
 Good King Robert did not long survive this joyful event. 
 He was not aged more than four-and-fifty years, but, as I 
 said before, his bad health was caused by the hardships 
 which he sustained during his youth, and at length he 
 became very ill. Finding that he could not recover, he 
 assembled around his bedside the nobles and counsellers in 
 whom he most trusted. He told them, that now, being on 
 his deathbed, he sorely repented all his misdeeds, and 
 particularly, that he had, in his passion, killed Comyn with 
 his own hand, in the church and before the altar. He said 
 that if he had lived, he had intended to go to Jerusalem, to 
 make war upon the Saracens who held the Holy Land, as 
 some expiation for the evil deeds he had done. But since 
 he was about to die, he requested of his dearest friend and 
 bravest warrior, and that was the Good Lord James Douglas, 
 that he should carry his heart to the Holy Land. 
 
 To make you understand the meaning of this request, I 
 must tell you, that at this time a people called Saracens, 
 who believed in the false prophet Mahomet, had obtained 
 by conquest possession of Jerusalem, and the other cities 
 and places which are mentioned in the Holy Scripture; and 
 the Christians of Europe, who went thither as pilgrims to 
 worship at these places, where so many miracles had been 
 wrought, were insulted by these heathen Saracens. Hence 
 
26 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 many armies of Christians went from their own countries 
 out of every kingdom of Europe, to fight against these 
 Saracens; and believed that they were doing a great service 
 to religion, and that what sins they had committed would 
 be pardoned by God Almighty, because they had taken a 
 part in this which they called a holy warfare. You may 
 remember that Bruce thought of going upon this expedition 
 when he was in despair of recovering the crown of Scotland; 
 and now he desired his heart to be carried to Jerusalem 
 after his death, and requested Lord James of Douglas to 
 take the charge of it. Douglas wept bitterly as he accepted 
 this office,—the last mark of the Bruce’s confidence and 
 friendship. 
 
 The King soon afterwards expired, and his heart was 
 taken out from his body and embalmed, that is, prepared 
 with spices and perfumes, that it might remain a long time 
 fresh and uncorrupted. Then the Douglas caused a case 
 of silver to be made, into which he put the Bruce’s heart, 
 and wore it around his neck, by a string of silk and gold. 
 And he set forward for the Holy Land, with a gallant train 
 of the bravest men in Scotland, who, to show their value 
 and sorrow for their brave King Robert Bruce, resolved to 
 attend his heart to the city of Jerusalem. It had been much 
 better for Scotland if the Douglas and his companions had 
 stayed at home to defend their own country, which was 
 shortly afterwards in great want of their assistance. 
 
 Neither did Douglas ever get to the end of his journey. 
 In going to Palestine, he landed in Spain, where the Saracen 
 King, or Sultan of Grenada, called Osmyn, was invading 
 the realms of Alphonso, the Spanish King of Castile. King 
 Alphonso received Douglas with great honour and distinc¬ 
 tion, and people came from all parts to see the great sol¬ 
 dier, whose fame was well known through every part of 
 the Christian world. King Alphonso easily persuaded the 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 
 
 2 7 
 
 Scottish earl, that he would do good service to the Christian 
 cause, by assisting him to drive back the Saracens of Grenada 
 before proceeding on his voyage to Jerusalem. Lord Douglas 
 and his followers went accordingly to a great battle against 
 Osmyn, and had little difficulty in defeating the Saracens 
 who were opposed to them. But being ignorant of the mode 
 of fighting among the cavalry of the East, the Scots pursued 
 the chase too far, and the Moors, when they saw them 
 scattered and separated from each other, turned suddenly 
 back, with a loud cry of Allah illah Allah , which is their 
 shout of battle, and surrounded such of the Scottish knights 
 and squires as had advanced too hastily, and were dispersed 
 from each other. 
 
 In this new skirmish, Douglas saw Sir William St. Clair of 
 Roslyn fighting desperately, surrounded by many Moors, 
 who were hewing at him with their sabres. “ Yonder worthy 
 knight will be slain,” Douglas said, “ unless he have instant 
 help.” With that he galloped to his rescue, but presently 
 was himself also surrounded by many Moors. When he 
 found the enemy press so thick round him, as to leave him 
 no chance of escaping, the earl took from his neck the 
 Bruce’s heart, and speaking to it, as he would have done to 
 the King had he been alive,—“Pass first in fight,” he said, 
 “as thou wert wont to do, and Douglas will follow thee, 
 or die.” He then threw the King’s heart among the 
 enemy, and rushing forward to the place where it fell, was 
 there slain. His body was found lying above the silver 
 case, as if it had been his last object to defend the Bruce’s 
 heart. 
 
 The Good Lord James of Douglas was one of the best 
 and wisest soldiers that ever drew a sword. He was said to 
 have fought in seventy battles, being beaten in thirteen, and 
 victorious in fifty-seven. The English accused him of being 
 cruel; and it is said that he had such a hatred of the English 
 
28 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 archers, that when he made one of them prisoner, he would 
 not dismiss him until he was either blinded of his right eye, 
 or had the first finger of his right hand struck off. The 
 Douglas’s Larder also seems a very cruel story; but the 
 hatred at that time betwixt the two countries was at a high 
 pitch, and Lord James was much irritated at the death of his 
 faithful servant Thomas Dickson; on ordinary occasions he 
 was mild and gentle to his prisoners. The Scottish historians 
 describe the Good Lord James as one who was never dejected 
 by bad fortune, or unduly elated by that which was good. 
 They say he was modest and gentle in time of peace, but 
 had a very different countenance upon a day of battle. He 
 was tall, strong, and well made, of a swarthy complexion, 
 with dark hair, from which he was called the Black Douglas. 
 He lisped a little in his speech, but in a manner which 
 became him very much. Notwithstanding the many battles 
 in which he had fought, his face had escaped without a 
 wound. A brave Spanish knight at the court of King 
 Alphonso, whose face was scarred by the marks of Moorish 
 sabres, expressed wonder that Douglas’s countenance should 
 be unmarked with wounds. Douglas replied modestly, he 
 thanked God, who had always enabled his hands to guard 
 and protect his face. 
 
 Many of Douglas’s followers were slain in the battle in 
 which he himself fell. The rest resolved not to proceed on 
 their journey to Palestine, but to return to Scotland. Since 
 the time of the Good Lord James, the Douglasses have 
 carried upon their shields a bloody heart with a crown upon 
 it, in memory of this expedition of Lord James to Spain with 
 the Bruce’s heart. In ancient times men painted such 
 emblems on their shields that they might be known by 
 them in battle, for their helmet hid their face; and now, as 
 men no longer wear armour in battle, the devices, as they 
 are called, belonging to particular families, are engraved upon 
 
DOUGLAS AND THE HEART OF BRUCE. 29 
 
 their seals, or upon their silver plate, or painted upon their 
 carriages. 
 
 Thus, for example, there was one of the brave knights 
 who was in the company of Douglas, and was appointed to 
 take charge of the Bruce’s heart homewards again, who was 
 called Sir Simon Lockhard of Lee. He took afterwards for 
 his device, and painted on his shield, a man’s heart, with a 
 padlock upon it, in memory of Bruce’s heart, which was 
 padlocked in the silver case. For this reason, men changed 
 Sir Simon’s name from Lockhard to Lockheart, and all who 
 are descended from Sir Simon are called Lockhart to this 
 day. 
 
 Well, such of the Scottish knights as remained alive 
 returned to their own country. They brought back the 
 heart of the Bruce, and the bones of the Good Lord James. 
 These last were interred in the church of St. Bride, whilst 
 the Bruce’s heart was buried below the high altar in Melrose 
 Abbey. As for his body, it was laid in the sepulchre 
 in the midst of the church of Dunfermline, under a marble 
 stone. But the church becoming afterwards ruinous, and 
 the roof falling down with age, the monument was broken 
 to pieces, and nobody could tell where it stood. But when 
 they were repairing the church at Dunfermline [in 1818], 
 and removing the rubbish, they found fragments of the 
 marble tomb of Robert Bruce. Then they began to dig 
 farther, thinking to discover the body of this celebrated 
 monarch; and at length they came to the skeleton of a tall 
 man, and they knew it must be that of King Robert, both 
 as he was known to have been buried in a winding sheet of 
 cloth of gold, of which many fragments were found about 
 this skeleton, and also because the breastbone appeared to 
 have been sawed through, in order to take out the heart. 
 So orders were sent from the King’s Court of Exchequer to 
 guard the bones carefully until a new tomb should be pre- 
 
30 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 pared, into which they were laid with profound respect. A 
 great many gentlemen and ladies attended, and almost all 
 the common people in the neighbourhood; and as the 
 church could not hold half the numbers, the people were 
 allowed to pass through it, one after another, that each one, 
 the poorest as well as the richest, might see all that remained 
 of the great King Robert Bruce, who restored the Scottish 
 monarchy. Many people shed tears; for there was the 
 wasted skull, which once was the head that thought so 
 wisely and boldly for his country’s deliverance; and there 
 was the dry bone, which had once been the sturdy arm that 
 killed Sir Henry de Bohun, between the two armies, at a 
 single blow, on the evening before the battle of Bannock¬ 
 burn. 
 
THE DOUGLAS LARDER. 
 
 U know, I must presume, that the Douglas 
 hath, by various devices, already contrived to 
 make himself master of this Castle of Douglas 
 three several times, and that Sir John de 
 Walton, the present governor, holds it with a 
 garrison trebled in force, and under the assurance that if, 
 without surprise, he should keep it from the Scottish power 
 for a year and a day, he shall obtain the barony of Douglas, 
 with its extensive appendages, in free property for his 
 reward; while, on the other hand, if he shall suffer the 
 fortress during this space to be taken, either by guile or by 
 open force, as has happened successively to the holders of 
 the Dangerous Castle, he will become liable to dishonour as 
 a knight, and to attainder as a subject; and the chiefs who 
 take share with him, and serve under him, will participate 
 also in his guilt and his punishment ? ” 
 
 “All this I know well,” said Sir Aymer; “and I only 
 wonder that, having become public, the conditions have, 
 nevertheless, been told with so much accuracy; but what 
 has this to do with the issue of the combat, if the Douglas 
 and I should chance to meet ? I will not surely be disposed 
 to fight with less animation because I wear my fortune upon 
 my sword, or become coward because I fight for a portion 
 
32 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 of the Douglas’s estate, as well as for fame and for father- 
 land ! And, after all ”- 
 
 “ Hear me,” said the minstrel; “ an ancient gleeman has 
 said, that in a false quarrel there is no true valour, and the 
 los or praise won therein, is, when balanced against honest 
 fame, as valueless as a wreath formed out of copper, com¬ 
 pared to a chaplet of pure gold ; but I bid you not take me 
 for thy warrant in this important question. Thou well 
 knowest how James of Thirlwall, the last English commander 
 before Sir John de Walton, was surprised, and the castle 
 sacked with circumstances of great inhumanity.” 
 
 “Truly,” said Sir Aymer, “I think that Scotland and 
 England both have heard of that onslaught, and of the dis¬ 
 gusting proceedings of the Scottish chieftain, when he 
 caused transport into the wild forest gold, silver, ammunition, 
 and armour, and all things that could be easily removed, and 
 destroyed a large quantity of provisions in a manner equally 
 savage and unheard-of.” 
 
 “ Perhaps, Sir Knight,” said Bertram, “ you were yourself 
 an eye-witness of that transaction, which has been spoken of 
 far and wide, and is called the Douglas Larder ? ” 
 
 “ I saw not the actual accomplishment of the deed,” said De 
 Valence; “ that is, I witnessed it not a-doing, but I beheld 
 enough of the sad relics to make the Douglas Larder never 
 by me to be forgotten as a record of horror and abomination. 
 I would speak it truly, by the hand of my father and my 
 honour as knight! and I will leave it to thee to judge whether 
 it was a deed calculated to secure the smiles of Heaven in 
 favour of the actors. This is my edition of the story :— 
 
 “ A large quantity of provisions had during two years or 
 thereabouts been collected from different points, and the 
 Castle of Douglas, newly repaired, and, as was thought, 
 carefully guarded, was appointed as the place where the said 
 provisions were to be put in store for the service of the King 
 
THE DOUGLAS LARDER . 
 
 33 
 
 of England, or of the Lord Clifford, whichever should first 
 enter the Western Marches with an English army, and 
 stand in need of such a supply. This army was also to 
 relieve our wants, I mean those of my uncle the Earl of 
 Pembroke, who for some time before had lain with a con¬ 
 siderable force in the town called Ayr, near the old Cale¬ 
 donian Forest, and where we had hot wars with the insur¬ 
 gent Scots. Well, sir, it happened, as in similar cases, that 
 Thirlwall, though a bold and active soldier, was surprised 
 in the Castle of Douglas, about Hallowmass, by this same 
 worthy young James Douglas. In no very good humour 
 was he, as you may suppose; for his father, called William 
 the Hardy, or William Longlegs, having refused, on any 
 terms, to become Anglicised, was made a lawful prisoner, 
 and died as such, closely confined in Berwick, or, as some 
 say, in Newcastle. The news of his father’s death had put 
 young Douglas into no small rage, and tended, I think, to 
 suggest what he did in his resentment. Embarrassed by 
 the quantity of provisions which he found in the castle, 
 which, the English being superior in the country, he had 
 neither the means to remove nor the leisure to stay and 
 consume, the fiend, as I think, inspired him with a contriv¬ 
 ance to render them unfit for human use. You shall judge 
 yourself whether it was likely to be suggested by a good or 
 an evil spirit. 
 
 “ According to this device, the gold, silver, and other trans¬ 
 portable commodities being carried to secret places of safety, 
 Douglas caused the meat, the malt, and other corn or grain, 
 to be brought down into the castle cellar, where he emptied 
 the contents of the sacks into one loathsome heap, striking 
 out the heads of the barrels and puncheons, so as to let the 
 mingled drink run through the heap of meal, grain, and so 
 forth. The bullocks provided for slaughter were in like 
 manner knocked on the head, and their blood suffered to 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 drain into the mass of edible substances; and lastly, the 
 flesh of these oxen was buried in the same mass, in which 
 were also included the dead bodies of those in the castle, 
 who, receiving no quarter from the Douglas, paid dear 
 enough for having kept no better watch. This base and 
 unworthy abuse of provisions intended for the use of man, 
 together with throwing into the well of the castle carcasses 
 of men and horses, and other filth for polluting the same, 
 has since that time been called the Douglas Larder.” 
 
 “ I pretend not, good Sir Aymer,” said the minstrel, “ to 
 vindicate what you justly reprove, nor can I conceive any 
 mode of rendering provisions arranged after the form of the 
 Douglas Larder, proper for the use of any Christian; yet 
 this young gentleman might perhaps act under the sting of 
 natural resentment, rendering his singular exploit more ex¬ 
 cusable than it may seem at first. Think, if your own noble 
 lather had just died in a lingering captivity, his inheritance 
 seized upon, and occupied as a garrison by a foreign enemy, 
 would not these things stir you to a mode of resentment, 
 which in cold blood, and judging of it as the action of an 
 enemy, your honour might hold in natural and laudable 
 abhorrence ?—Would you pay respect to dead and senseless 
 objects, which no one could blame your appropriating to 
 your own use, or even scruple the refusal of quarter to 
 prisoners, which is so often practised even in wars which 
 are otherwise termed fair and humane ? ” 
 
 “You press me close, minstrel,” said Aymer de Valence. 
 “ I at least have no great interest to excuse the Douglas in 
 this matter, since its consequences were, that I myself, and 
 the rest of my uncle’s host, laboured with Clifford and his 
 army to rebuild this same Dangerous Castle; and feeling no 
 stomach for the cheer that the Douglas had left us, we suffered 
 hard commons, though I acknowledge we did not hesitate to 
 adopt for our own use such sheep and oxen as the miserable 
 
THE DOUGLAS LARDER. 
 
 35 
 
 Scots had still left round their farm-houses; and I jest not. 
 Sir Minstrel, when I acknowledge, in sad earnest, that we 
 martial men ought to make our petitions with peculiar 
 penitence to Heaven for mercy, when we reflect on the 
 various miseries which the nature of our profession compels 
 us to inflict on each other.” 
 
 “ It seems to me,” answered the minstrel, “ that those who 
 feel the stings of their own conscience should be more lenient 
 when they speak of the offences of others : nor do I greatly 
 rely on a sort of prophecy which was delivered, as the men 
 of this hill district say, to the young Douglas, by a man who 
 in the course of nature should have been long since dead, 
 promising him a course of success against the English for 
 having sacrificed his own castle to prevent their making it a 
 garrison.” 
 
 “We have time enough for the story,” said Sir Aymer, 
 “ and methinks it would suit a knight and a minstrel better 
 than the grave converse we have hitherto held, which would 
 have beseemed—so God save me—the mouths of two 
 travelling friars.” 
 
 “ So be it,” said the minstrel; “ the rote or the viol easily 
 changes its time and varies its note.” 
 
LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER . 
 
 “ A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep; 
 
 A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; 
 
 A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch, 
 
 And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly.” 
 
 —Old Play. 
 
 UR honour must be informed, gentle Sir 
 Aymer de Valence, that I have heard this story 
 told at a great distance from the land in which 
 it happened, by a sworn minstrel, the ancient 
 friend and servant of the house of Douglas, 
 one of the best, it is said, who ever belonged to that noble 
 family. This minstrel, Hugo Hugonet by name, attended 
 his young master when on this fierce exploit, as was his wont. 
 
 “ The castle was in total tumult; in one corner the war- 
 men were busy breaking up and destroying provisions; in 
 another, they were slaying men, horses, and cattle, and these 
 actions were accompanied with appropriate sounds. The 
 cattle, particularly, had become sensible of their impending 
 fate, and with awkward resistance and piteous cries, testified 
 that reluctance with which these poor creatures look 
 instinctively on the shambles. The groans and screams of 
 men, undergoing, or about to undergo, the stroke of death, 
 and the screeches of the poor horses which were in mortal 
 agony, formed a fearful chorus. Hugonet was desirous to 
 
LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER. 
 
 37 
 
 remove himself from such unpleasant sights and sounds; but 
 his master, the Douglas, had been a man of some reading, 
 and his old servant was anxious to secure a book of poetry, 
 to which he had been attached of old. This contained the 
 Lays of an ancient Scottish Bard, who, if an ordinary human 
 creature while he was in this life, cannot now perhaps be 
 exactly termed such. 
 
 “ He was, in short, that Thomas, distinguished by the 
 name of the Rhymer, and whose intimacy, it is said, became 
 so great with the gifted people, called the Faery folk, that he 
 could, like them, foretell the future deed before it came to 
 pass, and united in his own person the quality of bard and 
 of soothsayer. But of late years he had vanished almost 
 entirely from this mortal scene; and although the time and 
 manner of his death were never publicly known, yet the 
 general belief was that he was not severed from the land of 
 the living, but removed to the land of Faery, from whence 
 he sometimes made excursions, and concerned himself only 
 about matters which were to come hereafter. Hugonet was 
 the more earnest to prevent the loss of the works of this 
 ancient bard, as many of his poems and predictions were 
 said to be preserved in the castle, and were supposed to 
 contain much especially connected with the old house of 
 Douglas, as well as other families of ancient descent, who 
 had been subjects of this old man’s prophecy; and accord¬ 
 ingly he determined to save this volume from destruction in 
 the general conflagration to which the building was about to 
 be consigned by the heir of its ancient proprietors. With 
 this view he hurried up into the little old vaulted room, 
 called ‘ the Douglas's study/ in which there might be some 
 dozen old books written by the ancient chaplains, in what 
 the minstrels call the letter Mack. He immediately discovered 
 the celebrated lay, called Sir Tristrem, which has been so 
 often altered and abridged as to bear little resemblance to the 
 
38 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 original. Hugonet, who well knew the value in which this 
 poem was held by the ancient lords of the castle, took the 
 parchment volume from the shelves of the library, and laid 
 it upon a small desk adjacent to the Baron’s chair. Having 
 made such preparations for putting it in safety, he fell into a 
 brief reverie, in which the decay of light, and the preparations 
 for the Douglas Larder, but especially the last sight of objects 
 which had been familiar to his eyes, now on the eve of 
 destruction, engaged him at that moment. 
 
 “ The bard, therefore, was thinking within himself upon 
 the uncommon mixture of the mystical scholar and warrior 
 in his old master, when, as he bent his eyes upon the book 
 of the ancient Rhymer, he was astonished to observe it 
 slowly removed from the desk on which it lay by an in¬ 
 visible hand. The old man looked with horror at the ' 
 spontaneous motion of the book, for the safety of which 
 he was interested, and had the courage to approach a little 
 nearer the table, in order to discover by what means it had 
 been withdrawn. 
 
 “ I have said the room was already becoming dark, so as 
 to render it difficult to distinguish any person in the chair, 
 though it now appeared, on closer examination, that a kind 
 of shadowy outline of a human form was seated in it, but 
 neither precise enough to convey its exact figure to the mind, 
 nor so detailed as to intimate distinctly its mode of action. 
 The Bard of Douglas, therefore, gazed upon the object of 
 his fear, as if he had looked upon something not mortal; 
 nevertheless, as he gazed more intently, he became more 
 capable of discovering the object which offered itself to 
 his eyes, and they grew by degrees more keen to penetrate 
 what they witnessed. A tall thin form, attired in, or rather 
 shaded with, a long flowing dusky robe, having a face and 
 physiognomy so wild and overgrown with hair, as to be 
 hardly human, were the only marked outlines of the phan- 
 
LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER. 
 
 39 
 
 tom; and, looking more attentively, Hugonet was still 
 sensible of two other forms, the outlines, it seemed, of a 
 hart and a hind, which appeared half to shelter themselves 
 behind the person and under the robe of this supernatural 
 figure.” 
 
 “A probable tale,” said the knight, “for you, Sir Min¬ 
 strel, a man of sense as you seem to be, to recite so gravely ! 
 From what wise authority have you had this tale, which, 
 though it might pass well enough amid clanging beakers, 
 must be held quite apocryphal in the sober hours of the 
 morning ? ” 
 
 “ By my minstrel word, Sir Knight,” answered Bertram, 
 “I am no propagator of the fable, if it be one; Hugonet, 
 the violer, when he had retired into a cloister near the 
 Lake of Pembelmere in Wales, communicated the story 
 to me as I now tell it. Therefore, as it was upon the 
 authority of an eye-witness, I apologise not for relating it 
 to you, since I could hardly discover a more direct source 
 of knowledge.” 
 
 “ Be it so, Sir Minstrel,” said the knight; “ tell on thy 
 tale, and may thy legend escape criticism from others as 
 well as from me.” 
 
 “ Hugonet, Sir Knight,” answered Bertram, “ was a holy 
 man, and maintained a fair character during his whole life, 
 notwithstanding his trade may be esteemed a light one.” 
 The vision spoke to him in an antique language, like that 
 formerly used in the kingdom of Strath-Clyde, being a 
 species of Scots or Gaelic, which few would have compre¬ 
 hended. 
 
 “‘You are a learned man,’ said the apparition, ‘and not 
 unacquainted with the dialects used in your country formerly, 
 although they are now out of date, and you are obliged to 
 translate them into the vulgar Saxon of Deira or Northumber¬ 
 land ; but highly must an ancient British bard prize one in 
 
40 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 this “ remote term of time,” who sets upon the poetry of his 
 native country a value which invites him to think of its pre¬ 
 servation at a moment of such terror as influences the present 
 evening.’ 
 
 “‘It is, indeed,’ said Hugonet, ‘a night of terror, that 
 calls even the dead from the grave, and makes them the 
 ghastly and fearful companions of the living ! Who or what 
 art thou, in God’s name, who breakest the bounds which 
 divide them, and revisitest thus strangely the state thou 
 hast so long bid adieu to ? ’ 
 
 “‘I am,’ replied the vision, ‘that celebrated Thomas the 
 Rhymer, by some called Thomas of Ercildoun, or Thomas 
 the True Speaker. Like other sages, I am permitted at 
 times to revisit the scenes of my former life, nor am I incap¬ 
 able of removing the shadowy clouds and darkness which 
 overhang futurity; and know, thou afflicted man, that what 
 thou now seest in this woeful country, is not a general 
 emblem of what shall therein befall hereafter, but in propor¬ 
 tion as the Douglasses are now suffering the loss and destruc¬ 
 tion of their home for their loyalty to the rightful heir of the 
 Scottish kingdom, so hath Heaven appointed for them a just 
 reward; and as they have not spared to burn and destroy 
 their own house and that of their fathers in the Bruce’s cause, 
 so is it the doom of Heaven, that as often as the walls of 
 Douglas Castle shall be burnt to the ground, they shall be 
 again rebuilt still more stately and more magnificent than 
 before.’ 
 
 “A cry was now heard like that of a multitude in the 
 court-yard, joining in a fierce shout of exultation; at the 
 same time a broad and ruddy glow seemed to burst from 
 the beams and rafters, and sparks flew from them as from 
 the smith’s stithy, while the element caught to its fuel, and 
 the conflagration broke its way though every aperture. 
 
 “ ‘ See ye that ? ’ said the vision, casting his eye towards 
 
LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER. 
 
 4i 
 
 the windows and disappearing—‘ Begone ! The fated hour 
 of removing this book is not yet come, nor are thine the 
 destined hands. But it will be safe where I have placed 
 it, and the time of its removal shall come.’ The voice was 
 heard after the form had vanished, and the brain of Hugonet 
 almost turned round at the wild scene which he beheld; 
 his utmost exertion was scarcely sufficient to withdraw him 
 from the terrible spot, and Douglas Castle that night sunk 
 into ashes and smoke, to arise, in no great length of time, 
 in a form stronger than ever.” The minstrel stopped, and 
 his hearer, the English knight, remained silent for some 
 minutes ere at length he replied. 
 
 “It is true, minstrel,” answered Sir Aymer, “that your 
 tale is so far undeniable, that this castle—three times burned 
 down by the heir of the house and of the barony—has 
 hitherto been as often reared again by Henry Lord Clifford, 
 and other generals of the English, who endeavoured on 
 every occasion to build it up more artificially and more 
 strongly than it had formerly existed, since it occupies a 
 position too important to the safety of our Scottish border 
 to permit our yielding it up. This I myself have partly 
 witnessed. But I cannot think, that because the castle has 
 been so destroyed, it is therefore decreed so to be repaired 
 in future, considering that such cruelties, as surely cannot 
 meet the approbation of Heaven, have attended the feats of 
 the Douglasses. But I see thou art determined to keep 
 thine own faith, nor can I blame thee, since the wonderful 
 turns of fate which have attended this fortress are sufficient 
 to warrant any one to watch for what seem the peculiar in¬ 
 dications of the will of Heaven; but thou mayest believe, 
 good minstrel, that the fault shall not be mine, if the young 
 Douglas shall have opportunity to exercise his cookery upon 
 a second edition of his family larder, or to profit by the pre¬ 
 dictions of Thomas the Rhymer.” 
 
42 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 “ I do not doubt due circumspection upon your own part 
 and Sir John de Walton’s,” said Bertram : “but there is no 
 crime in my saying that Heaven can accomplish its own 
 purposes. I look upon Douglas Castle as in some degree a 
 fated place, and I long to see what changes time may have 
 made in it during the currency of twenty years. Above all, 
 I desire to secure, if possible, the volume of this Thomas of 
 Ercildoun, having in it such a fund of forgotten minstrelsy, 
 and of prophecies respecting the future fates of the British 
 kingdom, both northern and southern.” 
 
 The knight made no answer, but rode a little space 
 forward, keeping the upper part of the ridge of the water, by 
 which the road down the vale seemed to be rather sharply 
 conducted. It at length attained the summit of an acclivity 
 of considerable length. From this point, and behind a con¬ 
 spicuous rock, which appeared to have been pushed aside, 
 as it were, like the scene of a theatre, to admit a view of the 
 under part of the valley, the travellers beheld the extensive 
 vale, parts of which have been already shown in detail, but 
 which, as the river became narrower, was now entirely laid 
 bare in its height and depth as far as it extended, and dis¬ 
 played in its precincts, at a little distance from the course of 
 the stream, the towering and lordly castle to which it gave 
 the name. The mist, which continued to encumber the 
 valley with its fleecy clouds, showed imperfectly the rude 
 fortifications which served to defend the small town of 
 Douglas, which was strong enough to repel a desultory 
 attack, but not to withstand what was called in those days a 
 formal siege. The most striking feature was its church, an 
 ancient Gothic pile raised on an eminence in the centre of 
 the town, and even then extremely ruinous. To the left, 
 and lying in the distance, might be seen other towers and 
 battlements; and, divided from the town by a piece of 
 
LEGEND OF THOMAS THE RHYMER. 43 
 
 artificial water, which extended almost around it, arose the 
 Dangerous Castle of Douglas. 
 
 Sternly was it fortified, after the fashion of the middle 
 ages, with donjon and battlements; displaying above others 
 the tall tower, which bore the name of Lord Henry’s or the 
 Clifford’s Tower. 
 
 “Yonder is the castle,” said Aymer de Valence, extending 
 his arm with a smile of triumph upon his brow; “thou 
 mayest judge thyself, whether the defences added to it under 
 the Clifford are likely to render its next capture a more easy 
 deed than the last.” 
 
 The minstrel barely shook his head, and quoted from the 
 Psalmist^-“ Nisi Dominus custodietT Nor did he prosecute 
 the discourse, though De Valence answered eagerly, “ My 
 own edition of the text is not very different from thine; but 
 methinks thou art more spiritually-minded than can always 
 be predicated of a wandering minstrel.” 
 
 “ God knows,” said Bertram, “ that if I, or such as I, are 
 forgetful of the finger of Providence in accomplishing its 
 purposes in this lower world, we have heavier blame than 
 that of other people, since we are perpetually called upon, 
 in the exercise of our fanciful profession, to admire the turns 
 of fate which bring good out of evil, and which render those 
 who think only of their own passions and purposes the 
 executors of the will of Heaven.” 
 
HENRY WYND. 
 
 HE eldest son of Robert II. was originally 
 called John. But it was a popular remark, 
 that the kings named John, both of France 
 and England, had been unfortunate, and the 
 Scottish people were very partial to the name 
 of Robert, from its having been borne by the great Bruce. 
 John Stewart, therefore, on ascending the Scottish throne, 
 changed his name to that of Robert III. However, this 
 poor king remained as unfortunate as if his name had still 
 been John. 
 
 The disturbances of the Highlands were one of the 
 plagues of his reign. You must recollect that that ex¬ 
 tensive range of mountains was inhabited by a race of 
 men different in language and manners from the Low- 
 landers, and divided into families called Clans. The 
 English termed them the Wild Scots, and the French 
 the Scottish Savages; and, in good truth, very wild and 
 savage they seem to have been. The losses which the 
 Low Country had sustained by the English wars had 
 weakened the districts next to the Highlands so much, 
 that they became unable to repress the incursions of the 
 mountaineers, who descended from their hills, took spoil, 
 burned and destroyed, as if in the country of an enemy. 
 
 In 1392, a large body of these Highlanders broke down 
 
HENRY WYND. 
 
 45 
 
 from the Grampian mountains. The chiefs were called 
 Clan-Donnochy, or sons of Duncan, answering to the clan 
 now called Robertson. A party of the Ogilvies and 
 Lindsays, under Sir Walter Ogilvy, Sheriff of Angus, 
 marched hastily against them, and charged them with 
 their lances. But notwithstanding the advantage of their 
 being mounted and completely sheathed in armour, the 
 Highlanders defended themselves with such obstinacy, as 
 to slay the Sheriff and sixty of his followers, and repulse the 
 Lowland gentlemen. To give some idea of their ferocity 
 it is told that Sir David Lindsay, having in their first en¬ 
 counter run his lance through the body of one of the 
 Highlanders, bore him down and pinned him to the earth. 
 In this condition, and in his dying agonies, the Highlander 
 writhed himself upwards on the spear, and exerted his last 
 strength in fetching a sweeping blow at the armed knight 
 with his two-handed sword. The stroke, made with all the 
 last energies of a dying man, cut through Lindsay’s stirrup 
 and steel-boot, and though it did not sever his leg from his 
 body, yet wounded him so severely as to oblige him to 
 quit the field. 
 
 It happened, fortunately perhaps for the Lowlands, that 
 the wild Highlanders were as much addicted to quarrel with 
 each other as with their Lowland neighbours. Two clans, 
 or rather two leagues or confederacies, composed each of 
 several separate clans, fell into such deadly feud with each 
 other, as filled the whole neighbourhood with slaughter and 
 discord. 
 
 When this feud or quarrel could be no otherwise ended, 
 it was resolved that the difference should be decided by a 
 combat of thirty men of the Clan Chattan, against the same 
 number of the Clan Kay; that the battle should take place 
 on the North Inch of Perth, a beautiful and level meadow, 
 in part surrounded by the river Tay; and that it should be 
 
46 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 fought in presence of the King and his nobles. Now, there 
 was a cruel policy in this arrangement; for it was to be 
 supposed that all the best and leading men of each clan 
 would desire to be among the thirty which were to fight for 
 their honour, and it was no less to be expected that the 
 battle would be very bloody and desperate. Thus, the 
 probable event would be, that both clans, having lost very 
 many of their best and bravest men, would be more easily 
 managed in future. Such was probably the view of the 
 King and his counsellors in permitting this desperate conflict, 
 which, however, was much in the spirit of the times. 
 
 The parties on each side were drawn out, armed with 
 sword and target, axe and dagger, and stood looking on 
 each other with fierce and savage aspects, when, just as the 
 signal for fight was expected, the commander of the Clan 
 Chattan perceived that one of his men, whose heart had 
 failed him, had deserted his standard. There was no time 
 to seek another man from the clan, so the chieftain, as his 
 only resource, was obliged to offer a reward to any one who 
 would fight in the room of the fugitive. Perhaps you think 
 it might be difficult to get a man, who, for a small hire, 
 would undergo the perils of a battle which was likely to be 
 so obstinate and deadly. But in that fighting age, men 
 valued their lives lightly. One Henry Wynd, a citizen of 
 Perth, and a saddler by trade, a little bandy-legged man, 
 but of great strength and activity, and well accustomed to 
 use the broadsword, offered himself, for half a French crown, 
 to serve on the part of the Clan Chattan in the battle of 
 that day. 
 
 The signal was then given by sound of the royal trumpets, 
 and of the great war-bagpipes of the Highlanders, and the 
 two parties fell on each other with the utmost fury; their 
 natural ferocity of temper being excited by feudal hatred 
 against the hostile clan, zeal for the honour of their own, 
 
HENRY WYND. 
 
 47 
 
 and a consciousness that they were fighting in presence of 
 the King and nobles of Scotland. As they fought with the 
 two-handed sword and axe, the wounds they inflicted on 
 each other were of a ghastly size and character. Heads were 
 cloven asunder, limbs were lopped from the trunk. The 
 meadow was soon drenched with blood, and covered with 
 dead and wounded men. 
 
 In the midst of the deadly conflict, the chieftain of the 
 Clan Chattan observed that Henry Wynd, after he had 
 slain one of the Clan Kay, drew aside, and did not seem 
 willing to fight more. 
 
 “ How is this,” said he, “ art thou afraid ? ” 
 
 “Not I,” answered Henry; “but I have done enough of 
 work for half-a-crown.” 
 
 “Forward and fight,” said the Highland chief; “he that 
 doth not grudge his day’s work, I will not stint him in his 
 wages.” 
 
 Thus encouraged, Henry Wynd again plunged into the 
 conflict, and, by his excellence as a swordsman, contributed 
 a great deal to the victory, which at length fell to the Clan 
 Chattan. Ten of the victors, with Henry Wynd, whom the 
 Highlanders called the Gow Chrom (that is, the crooked or 
 bandy-legged smith, for he was both a smith and saddler, 
 war-saddles being then made of steel), were left alive, but 
 they were all wounded. Only one of the Clan Kay survived, 
 and he was unhurt. But this single individual dared not 
 oppose himself to eleven men, though all more or less injured, 
 but, throwing himself into the Tay, swam to the other side, 
 and went off to carry to the Highlands the news of his clan’s 
 defeat. It is said, he was so ill received by his kinsmen 
 that he put himself to death. 
 
 Some part of the above story is matter of tradition, but 
 the general fact is certain. Henry Wynd was rewarded to 
 the Highland chieftain’s best abilities; but it was remarked, 
 
48 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 that, when the battle was over, he was not able to tell the 
 name of the clan he had fought for, replying, when asked 
 on which side he had been, that he was fighting for his own 
 hand. Hence the proverb, “ Every man for his own hand, 
 as Henry Wynd fought.” 
 
 WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN, 
 
 CHIEF OF MACLEAN. 
 
 A weary month has wander’d o’er 
 Since last we parted on the shore ; 
 
 Heaven ! that I saw thee, Love, once more 
 Safe on that shore again !— 
 
 ’Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word : 
 Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
 
 He call’d his kindred bands on board, 
 
 And launch’d them on the main. 
 
 Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone ; 
 
 Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; 
 Rejoicing in the glory won 
 
 In many a bloody broil: 
 
 For wide is heard the thundering fray, 
 
 The rout, the ruin, the dismay, 
 
 When from the twilight glens away 
 Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. 
 
 Woe to the hills that shall rebound 
 Our banner’d bagpipes’ maddening sound ; 
 Clan-Gillian’s onset echoing round, 
 
 Shall shake their inmost cell. 
 
 Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze, 
 Where Lachlan’s silken streamer plays ! 
 The fools might face the lightning’s blaze 
 As wisely and as well ! 
 
ARCHIBALD BELL-THE-CAT. 
 
 RCHIBALD DOUGLAS, Earl of Angus, a man 
 remarkable for strength of body and mind, 
 acquired the popular name of Bell-the-Cat , 
 upon the following remarkable occasion:— 
 James the Third, of whom Pitscottie com¬ 
 plains, that he delighted more in music, and “policies of 
 building,” than in hunting, hawking, and other noble 
 exercises, was so ill advised as to make favourites of his 
 architects and musicians, whom the same historian irreve¬ 
 rently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, who did not 
 sympathise in the King’s respect for the fine arts, were 
 extremely incensed at the honours conferred on those 
 persons, particularly on Cochrane, a mason, who had been 
 created Earl of Mar; and, seizing the opportunity, when, in 
 1482, the King had convoked the whole array of the 
 country to march against the English, they held a midnight 
 council in the church of Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly 
 removing these minions from the King’s person. When all 
 had agreed on the propriety of this measure, Lord Gray told 
 the assembly the apologue of the mice, who had formed a 
 resolution that it would be highly advantageous to their 
 community to tie a bell round the cat’s neck, that they 
 might hear her approach at a distance; but which public 
 
5o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 measure unfortunately miscarried, from no mouse being 
 willing to undertake the task of fastening the bell. “I 
 understand the moral,” said Angus, “and, that what we pro¬ 
 pose may not lack execution, I will bell-the-cat .” The rest 
 of the strange scene is thus told by Pitscottie :— 
 
 “ By this was advised and spoken by their lords foresaid, 
 Cochran, the Earl of Mar, came from the King to the council 
 (which council was holden in the kirk of Lauder for the 
 time), who was well accompanied with a band of men of war, 
 to the number of three hundred light axes, all clad in white 
 livery, and black bends thereon, that they might be known 
 for Cochran the Earl of Mar’s men. Himself was clad in a 
 riding-pie of black velvet, with a great chain of gold about 
 his neck, to the value of five hundred crowns, and four 
 blowing horns, with both the ends of gold and silk, set with a 
 precious stone, called a berryl, hanging in the midst. This 
 Cochran had his heumont borne before him, overgilt with 
 gold, and so were all the rest of his horns, and all his 
 pallions were of fine canvas of silk, and the cords thereof 
 fine twined silk, and the chains upon his pallions were 
 double overgilt with gold. 
 
 “This Cochran was so proud in his conceit, that he 
 counted no lords to be marrows to him, therefore he rushed 
 rudely at the kirk-door. The council inquired who it was 
 that perturbed them at that time. Sir Robert Douglas, 
 Laird of Lochleven, was keeper of the kirk-door at that time, 
 who inquired who that was that knocked so rudely? and 
 Cochran answered, ‘ This is I, the Earl of Mar.’ The which 
 news pleased well the lords, because they were ready boun 
 to cause take him, as is before rehearsed. Then the Earl 
 of Angus passed hastily to the door, and with him Sir 
 Robert Douglas of Lochleven, there to receive in the Earl 
 of Mar, and so many of his complices who were there, as 
 they thought good. And the Earl of Angus met with the 
 
ARCHIBALD BELL-THE-CAT. 
 
 5i 
 
 Earl of Mar, as he came / in at the door, and pulled the 
 golden chain from his craig, and said to him, a tow would 
 set him better. Sir Robert Douglas syne pulled the blowing 
 horn from him in like manner, and said, ‘ He had been the 
 hunter of mischief over long.’ This Cochran asked, ‘My 
 lords, is it mows, or earnest ? ’ They answered, and said, 
 ‘ It is good earnest, and so thou shalt find ; for thou and thy 
 complices have abused our prince this long time; of whom 
 thou shalt have no more credence, but shalt have thy reward 
 according to thy good service, as thou hast deserved in 
 times bypast; right so the rest of thy followers/ 
 
 “Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet till they 
 caused certain armed men to pass into the King’s pallion, 
 and two or three wise men to pass with them, and give the 
 King fair pleasant words, till they laid hands on all the 
 King’s servants, and took them and hanged them before his 
 eyes over the bridge of Lawder. Incontinent they brought 
 forth Cochran, and his hands bound with a tow, who desired 
 them to take one of his own pallion tows and bind his 
 hands, for he thought shame to have his hands bound with 
 such tow of hemp, like a thief. The lords answered, he was 
 a traitor, he deserved no better; and, for despight, they took 
 a hair tether, and hanged him over the bridge of Lawder, 
 above the rest of his complices.” 
 
 Angus was an old man when the war against England was 
 resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure 
 from its commencement; and, on the eve of the battle of 
 Flodden, remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fight¬ 
 ing, that the King said to him, with scorn and indignation, 
 “ If he was afraid he might go home.” The Earl burst into 
 tears at this insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, 
 leaving his sons George, Master of Angus, and Sir William 
 of Glenbervie, to command his followers. They were both 
 
52 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 slain in the battle, with two hundred gentlemen of the name 
 of Douglas. The aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calami¬ 
 ties of his house and his country, retired into a religious 
 house, where he died about a year after the field of 
 Flodden. 
 
 THE FORAY. 
 
 The last of our steers on the board has been spread, 
 
 And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red ; 
 
 Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt swords and begone, 
 There are dangers to dare, and there’s spoil to be won. 
 
 The eyes, that so lately mix’d glances with ours, 
 
 For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, 
 And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom, 
 The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 
 
 The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; 
 
 And the moon her red beacon has veil’d with a cloud ; 
 ’Tis the better, my mates ! for the warder’s dull eye 
 Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. 
 
 Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe grey 1 
 There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh ; 
 Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 
 Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. 
 
 The drawbridge has dropp’d, the bugle has blown ; 
 
 One pledge is to quaff yet—then mount and begone!— 
 To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain ; 
 To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again ! 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 URING the season of tranquillity which follow¬ 
 ed the marriage of James IV. and Margaret,* 
 we find that the King, with his Parliament, 
 enacted many good laws for the improvement 
 of the country. The Highlands and Islands 
 were particularly attended to, because, as one of the Acts of 
 Parliament expressed it, they had become almost savage for 
 want of justices and sheriffs. Magistrates were therefore 
 appointed, and laws made for the government of those wild 
 and unruly people. 
 
 Another most important Act of Parliament permitted the 
 King, and his nobles and barons, to let their land, not only 
 for military service, but for a payment in money or in grain; 
 a regulation which tended to introduce quiet peaceful 
 farmers into lands occupied, but left uncultivated, by tenants 
 of a military character. Regulations also took place for 
 attendance on Parliament, and the representation of the 
 different orders of society in that assembly. The possessors 
 of lands were likewise called on to plant wood, and make 
 enclosures, fish-ponds, and other improvements. 
 
 All these regulations show that the King entertained a 
 sincere wish to benefit his subjects, and entertained liberal 
 views of the mode of accomplishing that object. But the 
 1 Daughter of Henry VII. of England. 
 
54 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 unfortunate country of Scotland was destined never to 
 remain any long time in a state of peace or improvement; 
 and accordingly, towards the end of James’s reign, events 
 occurred which brought on a defeat still more calamitous 
 than any which the kingdom had yet received. 
 
 While Henry VII., the father-in-law of James, continued 
 to live, his wisdom made him very attentive to preserve the 
 peace which had been established betwixt the two countries. 
 His character was, indeed, far from being that of a generous 
 prince, but he was a sagacious politician, and granted, from 
 an enlightened view of his own interest, what perhaps he 
 would otherwise have been illiberal enough to refuse. On 
 this principle, he made some allowance for the irritable 
 pride of his son-in-law and his subjects, who were as proud 
 as they were poor, and made it his study to remove all the 
 petty causes of quarrel which arose from time to time. But 
 when this wise and cautious monarch died, he was succeeded 
 by his son Henry VIII., a prince of a bold, haughty, and 
 furious disposition, impatient of control or contradiction, and 
 rather desirous of war than willing to make any concessions 
 for the sake of peace. James IV. and he resembled each 
 other perhaps too nearly in temper to admit of their con¬ 
 tinuing intimate friends. 
 
 The military disposition of Henry chiefly directed him to 
 an enterprise against France; and the King of France, on 
 his part, desired much to renew the old alliance with Scot¬ 
 land, in order that the apprehension of an invasion from the 
 Scottish frontiers might induce Henry to abandon his 
 scheme of attacking France. He knew that the splendour 
 in which King James lived had exhausted the treasures 
 which his father had left behind him, and he concluded that 
 the readiest way to make him his friend was to supply him 
 with sums of money, which he could not otherwise have 
 raised. Gold was also freely distributed amongst the 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 55 
 
 counsellors and favourites of the Scottish King. This 
 liberality showed to great advantage, when compared with 
 the very opposite conduct of the King of England, who 
 delayed even to pay a legacy which had been left by Henry 
 his father to his sister the Queen of Scotland. 
 
 Other circumstances of a different kind tended to create 
 disagreements between England and Scotland. James had 
 been extremely desirous to increase the strength of his 
 kingdom by sea, and its commerce; and Scotland present¬ 
 ing a great extent of sea-coast, and numerous harbours, had 
 at this time a considerable trade. The royal navy, besides 
 one vessel called the Great Michael , supposed to be the 
 largest in the world, and which, as an old author says, 
 “ cumbered all Scotland to get her fitted out for sea,” con¬ 
 sisted, it is said, of sixteen ships of war. The King paid 
 particular attention to naval affairs, and seemed never more 
 happy than when inspecting and exercising his little navy. 
 
 It chanced that one John Barton, a Scottish mariner, had 
 been captured by the Portuguese, as far back as the year 
 1476. As the King of Portugal refused to make any 
 amends, James granted the family of Barton letters of 
 reprisals, that is, a warrant empowering them to take all 
 Portuguese vessels which should come in their way, until 
 their loss was made up. There were three brothers, all 
 daring men, but epecially the eldest, whose name was 
 Andrew Barton. He had two strong ships, the larger called 
 the Lion , the lesser the Jenny Pirwen , with which it would 
 appear he cruised in the British Channel, stopping not only 
 Portuguese vessels, but also English ships bound for 
 Portugal. Complaints being made to King Henry, he fitted 
 out two vessels which were filled with chosen men, and 
 placed under the command of Lord Thomas Howard and 
 Sir Edward Howard, both sons to the Earl of Surrey. They 
 found Barton and his vessels cruising in the Downs, being 
 
56 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 guided to the place by the captain of a merchant vessel 
 whom Barton had plundered on the preceding day. 
 
 On approaching the enemy, the noble brothers showed 
 no ensign of war, but put up a willow wand on their masts, 
 as being the emblem of a trading vessel. But when the 
 Scotsman attempted to make them bring to, the English 
 threw out their flags and pennons, and fired a broadside of 
 their ordnance. Barton then knew that he was engaged 
 with the King of England’s ships of war. Far from being 
 dismayed at this, he engaged boldly, and, distinguished by 
 his rich dress and bright armour, appeared on deck with a 
 whistle of gold about his neck, suspended by a chain of the 
 same precious metal, and encouraged his men to fight 
 valiantly. 
 
 The fight was very obstinate. If we may believe a ballad 
 of the time, Barton’s ship was furnished with a peculiar con¬ 
 trivance, suspending large weights or beams from his yard¬ 
 arms, to be dropped down upon the enemy when they should 
 come alongside. To make use of this contrivance, it was 
 necessary that a person should ascend the mainmast, or in 
 naval language, go aloft. As the English apprehended 
 much mischief from the consequences of this manoeuvre, 
 Howard had stationed a Yorkshire gentleman, named 
 Hustler, the best archer in the ship, with strict injunctions 
 to shoot every one who should attempt to go aloft to let fal 
 the beams of Barton’s vessel. Two men were successively 
 killed in the attempt, and Andrew Barton himself, confiding 
 in the strong armour which he wore, began to ascend the 
 mast. Lord Thomas Howard called out to the archer to 
 shoot true, on peril of his life. “Were I to die for it,” said 
 Hustler, “ I have but two arrows left.” The first which he 
 shot bounded from Barton’s armour without hurting him; 
 but as the Scottish mariner raised his arm to climb higher, 
 the archer took aim where the armour afforded him no 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 57 
 
 protection, and wounded him mortally through the arm- 
 pit. 
 
 Barton descended from the mast. “ Fight on,” he said, 
 “ my brave hearts; I am a little wounded, but not slain. I 
 will but rest a while, and then rise and fight again; mean¬ 
 time, stand fast by St. Andrew’s Cross,” meaning the Scottish 
 flag, or ensign. He encouraged his men with his whistle, 
 while the breath of life remained. At length the whistle 
 was heard no longer, and the Howards, boarding the Scottish 
 vessel, found that her daring captain was dead. They 
 carried the Lion into the Thames, and it is remarkable that 
 Barton’s ship became the second man-of-war in the English 
 navy. When the kings wanted to equip a fleet, they hired 
 or pressed into their service merchant vessels, and put sol¬ 
 diers on board of them. The ship called the Great Henry 
 was the first built especially for war, by the King, as his 
 own property,—this captured vessel was the second. 
 
 James IV. was highly incensed at this insult, as he termed 
 it, on the flag of Scotland, and sent a herald to demand 
 satisfaction. The King of England justified his conduct on 
 the ground of Barton being a pirate,—a charge which James 
 could not justly deny, but he remained not the less heated 
 and incensed against his brother-in-law. Another misfortune 
 aggravated his resentment, though the subject of misunder¬ 
 standing was of ancient date. 
 
 While Henry VII. was yet alive, Sir Robert Ker of Fair- 
 niehirst, chief of one branch of the clan of Ker, an officer of 
 James’s household, and a favourite of that monarch, held 
 the office of warden on the Middle Marches of Scotland. 
 In exercising this office with rather unusual strictness, he 
 had given offence to some of the more turbulent English 
 Borderers, who resolved to assassinate him. Three of these, 
 namely Heron, called the Bastard, because a natural brother 
 of Heron of Ford, with Starhed and Lilburn, surrounded 
 
58 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 the Scottish warden, at a meeting upon a day of truce, and 
 killed him with their lances. 
 
 Henry VII., with the pacific policy which marked his 
 proceedings towards Scotland, agreed to surrender the guilty 
 persons. Lilburn was given up to King James, and died in 
 captivity; Starhed escaped for a time, by flying into the 
 interior parts of England; the Bastard Heron caused it to 
 be rumoured that he was dead of the plague, and made 
 himself be transported in a coffin, so that he passed unsus¬ 
 pected through the party sent to arrest him, and skulked on 
 the Borders, waiting for a quarrel between the kingdoms, 
 which might make it safe for him to show himself. Henry 
 VII., anxious to satisfy James, arrested his legitimate brother, 
 and Heron of Ford was delivered up instead of the Bastard. 
 But when Henry VIII. and James were about to disagree, 
 both the Bastard Heron and Starhed began to show them¬ 
 selves more publicly. Starhed was soon disposed of, for 
 Sir Andrew, commonly called Dand Ker, the son of the 
 murdered Sir Robert, sent two of his dependants, called 
 Tait, to accomplish his vengeance upon the English Bor¬ 
 derer. They surprised and put him to death accordingly, 
 and brought his head to their patron, who exposed it publicly 
 at the cross of Edinburgh, exulting in the revenge he had 
 taken. But the Bastard Heron continued to rove about 
 the Border, and James IV. made the public appearance of 
 this criminal a subject of complaint against Henry VIII., 
 who perhaps was not justly responsible for it. 
 
 While James was thus on bad terms with his brother-in-law, 
 France left no measures unattempted which could attach 
 Scotland to her side. Great sums of money were sent to 
 secure the good-will of those courtiers in whom James most 
 confided. The Queen of France, a young and beautiful 
 princess, flattered James’s taste for romantic gallantry, by 
 calling herself his mistress and lady-love, and conjuring him 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 59 
 
 to march three miles upon English ground for her sake. 
 She sent him, at the same time, a ring from her own finger; 
 and her intercession was so powerful, that James thought 
 he could not in honour dispense with her request. This 
 fantastical spirit of chivalry was his own ruin, and very nearly 
 that of the kingdom also. 
 
 At length in June or July, 1513, Henry VIII. sailed to 
 France with a gallant army, where he formed the siege of 
 Terouenne. James IV. now took a decided step. He 
 sent over his principal herald to the camp of King Henry 
 before Terouenne, summoning him in haughty terms to 
 abstain from aggressions against James’s ally, the King of 
 France, and upbraiding him, at the same time, with the 
 death of Barton, the impunity of the Bastard Heron, the 
 detention of the legacy of Henry VII. to his daughter the 
 Scottish Queen, and all the subjects of quarrel which had 
 occurred since the death of that monarch. Henry VIII. 
 answered this letter, which he justly considered as a declara¬ 
 tion of war, with equal bitterness, treating the King of Scots 
 as a perjured man, because he was about the break the 
 peace which he had solemnly sworn to observe. His 
 summons he rejected with scorn. “The King of Scotland 
 was not,” he said, “of sufficient importance to determine 
 the quarrel between England and France.” The Scottish 
 herald returned with this message, but not in time to find 
 his master alive. 
 
 James had not awaited the return of his embassy to com¬ 
 mence hostilities. Lord Home, his Lord High Chamberlain, 
 had made an incursion into England with an army of about 
 three or four thousand men. They collected great booty; 
 but marching carelessly and without order, fell into an 
 ambush of the English Borderers, concealed among the tall 
 broom, by which Millfield Plain, near Wooler, was then 
 covered. The Scots sustained a total defeat, and lost near 
 
6 o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 a third of their numbers in slain and wounded. This was a 
 bad commencement of the war. 
 
 Meanwhile, James, contrary to the advice of his wisest 
 counsellors, determined to invade England with a royal army. 
 The Parliament were unwilling to go into the King’s measures. 
 The tranquillity of the country, ever since the peace with 
 England, was recollected, and as the impolitic claim of the 
 supremacy seemed to be abandoned, little remained to stir 
 up the old animosity between the kingdoms. The King, 
 however, was personally so much liked, that he obtained the 
 consent of the Parliament to this fatal and unjust war; and 
 orders were given to assemble all the array of the kingdom 
 of Scotland upon the Borough-moor of Edinburgh, a wide 
 common, in the midst of which the royal standard was 
 displayed from a large stone, or fragment of rock, called the 
 Hare-Stone. 
 
 Various measures were even in this extremity resorted to 
 for preventing the war. One or two of them seem to have 
 been founded upon a knowledge that the King’s temper was 
 tinged with a superstitious melancholy, partly arising from 
 constitutional habits, partly from the remorse which he always 
 entertained for his accession to his father’s death. It was 
 to these feelings that the following scene was doubtless 
 addressed: — 
 
 As the King was at his devotions in the church of 
 Linlithgow, a figure, dressed in an azure-coloured robe, girt 
 with a girdle or sash of linen, having sandals on his feet, with 
 long yellow hair, and a grave commanding countenance, 
 suddenly appeared before him. This singular-looking person 
 paid little or no respect to the royal presence, but pressing 
 up to the desk at which the King was seated, leaned down 
 on it with his arms, and addressed him with little reverence. 
 He declared, that “ his Mother laid her commands on James 
 to forbear the journey which he proposed, seeing that neither 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 61 
 
 he, nor any who went with him, would thrive in the under¬ 
 taking.” He also cautioned the King against frequenting 
 the society of women, and using their counsel; “If thou 
 dost,” said he, “ thou shalt be confounded and brought to 
 shame.” 
 
 These words spoken, the messenger escaped from among 
 the courtiers so suddenly, that he seemed to disappear. 
 There is no doubt that this person had been dressed up to 
 represent Saint John, called in Scripture the adopted son 
 of the Virgin Mary. The Roman Catholics believed in 
 the possibility of the souls of departed saints and apostles 
 appearing on earth, and many impostures are recorded in 
 history of the same sort. 
 
 Another story, not so well authenticated, says, that a 
 proclamation was heard at the market-cross of Edinburgh, 
 at the dead of night, summoning the King, by his name 
 and titles, and many of his nobles and principal leaders, to 
 appear before the tribunal of Pluto within the space of forty 
 days. This also has the appearance of a stratagem, in¬ 
 vented to deter the King from his expedition. 
 
 But neither these artifices, nor the advice and entreaty of 
 Margaret, the Queen of Scotland, could deter James from 
 his unhappy expedition. He was so well beloved, that 
 he soon assembled a great army, and placing himself at 
 their head, he entered England near the castle of Twisell, 
 on the 22d of August 1513. He speedily obtained posses¬ 
 sion of the Border fortresses of Norham, Wark, Etall, Ford, 
 and others of less note, and collected a great spoil. Instead, 
 however, of advancing with his army upon the country of 
 England, which lay defenceless before him, the King is 
 said to have trifled away his time in an intercourse of 
 gallantry with Lady Heron of Ford, a beautiful woman, 
 who contrived to divert him from the prosecution of his 
 expedition until the approach of an English army. 
 
62 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 While James lay thus idle on the frontier, the Earl of 
 Surrey, the noble and gallant knight who had formerly 
 escorted Queen Margaret to Scotland, now advanced at the 
 head of an army of 26,000 men. The Earl was joined by 
 his son Thomas, the Lord High Admiral, with a large body of 
 soldiers who had been disembarked at Newcastle. As the 
 warlike inhabitants of the northern counties gathered fast to 
 Surrey’s standard, so, on the other hand, the Scots began 
 to return home in great numbers ; because, though, accord¬ 
 ing to the feudal laws, each man had brought with him 
 provisions for forty days, these being now nearly expended, 
 a scarcity began to be felt in James’s host. Others went 
 home to place their booty in safety. 
 
 Surrey, feeling himself the stronger party, became desir¬ 
 ous to provoke the Scottish King to fight. He therefore 
 sent James a message, defying him to battle; and the Lord 
 Thomas Howard, at the same time, added a message, that 
 as King James had often complained of the death of Andrew 
 Barton, he, Lord Thomas, by whom that deed was done, 
 was now ready to maintain it with his sword in the front of 
 the fight. James returned for answer, that to meet the 
 English in battle was so much his wish, that had the 
 message of the Earl found him at Edinburgh, he would 
 have laid aside all other business to have met him on a 
 pitched field. 
 
 But the Scottish nobles entertained a very different 
 opinion from their King. They held a council, at which 
 Lord Patrick Lindsay was made president, or chancellor. 
 He opened the discussion, by telling the council a parable of 
 a rich merchant, who would needs go to play at dice with a 
 common hazarder, or sharper, and stake a rose-noble of gold 
 against a crooked halfpenny. “You, my lords,” he said, “will 
 be as unwise as the merchant, if you risk your King, whom I 
 compare to a precious rose-noble, against the English 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 63 
 
 general, who is but an old crooked churl, lying in a chariot. 
 Though the English lose the day, they lose nothing but this 
 old churl and a parcel of mechanics; whereas so many of 
 our common people have gone home, that few are left with 
 us but the prime of our nobility.” He therefore gave it 
 as his advice, that the King should withdraw from the 
 army, for safety of his person, and that some brave noble¬ 
 man should be named by the council to command in the 
 action. The council agreed to recommend this plan to the 
 King. 
 
 But James, who desired to gain fame by his own military 
 skill and prowess, suddenly broke in on the council, and 
 told them, with much heat, that they should not put such a 
 disgrace upon him. “ I will fight with the English,” he said, 
 “thoughyou all have sworn the contrary. You may shame 
 yourselves by flight, but you shall not shame me; and as 
 for Lord Patrick Lindsay, who has got the first vote, I vow, 
 that when I return to Scotland, I will cause him to be 
 hanged over his own gate.” 
 
 In this rash and precipitate resolution to fight at all risks, 
 the King was much supported by the French ambassador, 
 De la Motte. This was remarked by one of our old 
 acquaintances, the Earl of Angus, called Bell-the-Cat, who, 
 though very old, had come out to the field with his sovereign. 
 He charged the Frenchman with being willing to sacrifice 
 the interests of Scotland to those of his own country, which 
 required that the Scots and English should fight at all 
 hazards; and Angus, like Lord Lindsay, alleged the differ¬ 
 ence between the parties, the English being many of them 
 men but of mean rank, and the Scottish army being the 
 flower of their nobility and gentry. Incensed at his opposi¬ 
 tion, James said to him scornfully, “ Angus, if you are afraid, 
 you may go home.” The Earl, on receiving such an insult, 
 left the camp that night; but his two sons remained, and 
 
6 4 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 fell in the fatal battle, with two hundred of the name of 
 Douglas. 
 
 While King James was in this stubborn humour, the Earl 
 of Surrey had advanced as far as Wooler, so that only four 
 or five miles divided the armies. The English leader in¬ 
 quired anxiously for some guide, who was acquainted with 
 the country, which is intersected and divided by one or two 
 large brooks, which unite to form the river Till, and is, 
 besides, in part mountainous. A person well mounted, 
 and completely armed, but having the visor of his helmet 
 lowered to conceal his face, rode up, and then dismount¬ 
 ing, knelt down before the Earl, and offered to be his guide 
 if he might obtain pardon of an offence of which he had 
 been guilty. 
 
 The Earl assured him of his forgiveness, providing he had 
 not committed treason against the King of England, or 
 personally wronged any lady—crimes which Surrey declared 
 he would not pardon. “God forbid,” said the cavalier, 
 “ that I should have been guilty of such shameful sin: I 
 did but assist in killing a Scotsman who ruled our Borders 
 too strictly, and often did wrong to Englishmen.” So say¬ 
 ing, he raised the visor of his helmet, which hid his face, 
 and showed the countenance of the Bastard Heron, who 
 had been a partner in the assassination of Sir Robert Ker, 
 as you were told before. His appearance was most welcome 
 to the Earl of Surrey, who readily pardoned him the death 
 of a Scotsman at that moment, especially since he knew 
 him to be as well acquainted with every pass and path on 
 the eastern frontier, as a life of constant incursion and de¬ 
 predation could make him. 
 
 The Scottish army had fixed their camp upon a hill called 
 Flodden, which rises to close in, as it were, the extensive 
 flat called Millfield Plain. This eminence slopes steeply 
 towards the plain, and there is an extended piece of level 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 65 
 
 ground on the top, where the Scots might have drawn up 
 their army, and awaited at great advantage the attack of the 
 English. Surrey liked the idea of venturing an assault on 
 that position so ill, that he resolved to try whether he could 
 not prevail on the King to abandon it. He sent a herald to 
 invite James to come down from the height, and join battle 
 in the open plain of Millfield below—reminded him of the 
 readiness with which he had accepted his former challenge— 
 and hinted, that it was the opinion of the English chivalry 
 assembled for battle, that any delay of the encounter would 
 sound to the King’s dishonour. 
 
 We have seen that James was sufficiently rash and impru¬ 
 dent, but his impetuosity did not reach to the pitch Surrey 
 perhaps expected. He refused to receive the messenger 
 into his presence, and returned for answer to the message, 
 that it was not such as it became an earl to send to a king. 
 
 Surrey, therefore, distressed for provisions, was obliged to 
 resort to another mode of bringing the Scots to action. He 
 moved northward, sweeping round the hill of Flodden, keep¬ 
 ing out of the reach of the Scottish artillery, until, crossing 
 the Till near Twisell Castle, he placed himself, with his 
 whole army, betwixt James and his own kingdom. The 
 King suffered him to make this flank movement without 
 interruption, though it must have afforded repeated and 
 advantageous opportunities for attack. But when he saw 
 the English army interposed betwixt him and his dominions, 
 he became alarmed lest he should be cut off from Scotland. 
 In this apprehension he was confirmed by one Giles 
 Musgrave, an Englishman, whose counsel he used upon the 
 occasion, and who assured him, that if he did not descend 
 and fight with the English army, the Earl of Surrey would 
 enter Scotland, and lay waste the whole country. Stimulated 
 by this apprehension, the King resolved to give signal for 
 the fatal battle. 
 
 E 
 
66 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 With this view the Scots set fire to their huts, and the 
 other refuse and litter of their camp. The smoke spread 
 along the side of the hill, and under its cover the army 
 of King James descended the eminence, which is much less 
 steep on the northern than the southern side, while the 
 English advanced to meet them, both concealed from each 
 other by the clouds of smoke. 
 
 The Scots descended in four strong columns, all marching 
 parallel to each other, having a reserve of the Lothian men 
 commanded by Earl Bothwell. The English were also 
 divided into four bodies, with a reserve of cavalry led 
 by Dacre. 
 
 The battle commenced at the hour of four in the afternoon. 
 The first which encountered was the left wing of the Scots, 
 commanded by the Earl of Huntly and Lord Home, which 
 overpowered and threw into disorder the right wing of the 
 English, under Sir Edmund Howard. Sir Edmund was 
 beaten down, his standard taken, and he himself in danger 
 of instant death, when he was relieved by the Bastard Heron, 
 who came up at the head of a band of determined outlaws 
 like himself, and extricated Howard. It is objected to the 
 Lord Home by many Scottish writers, that he ought to have 
 improved his advantage, by hastening to the support of the 
 next division of the Scottish army. It is even pretended, 
 that he replied to those who urged him to go to the assistance 
 of the King, that “ the man did well that day who stood and 
 saved himself.” But this seems invented, partly to criminate 
 Home, and partly to account for the loss of the battle in 
 some other way than by the superiority of the English. In 
 reality, the English cavalry, under Dacre, which acted as a 
 reserve, appear to have kept the victors in check; while 
 Thomas Howard, the Lord High Admiral, who commanded 
 the second division of the English, bore down, and routed 
 the Scottish division commanded by Crawford and Montrose, 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 67 
 
 who were both slain. Thus matters went on the Scottish 
 left. 
 
 Upon the extreme right of James’s army, a division of 
 Highlanders, consisting of the clans of MacKenzie, MacLean, 
 and others, commanded by the Earls of Lennox and Argyle, 
 were so insufferably annoyed by the volleys of the English 
 arrows, that they broke their ranks, and, in despite of the 
 cries, entreaties, and signals of De la Motte, the French 
 ambassador, who endeavoured to stop them, rushed tumul¬ 
 tuously down hill, and being attacked at once in flank and 
 rear by Sir Edward Stanley, with the men of Cheshire and 
 Lancashire, were routed with great slaughter. 
 
 The only Scottish division which remains to be mentioned 
 was commanded by James in person, and consisted of the 
 choicest of his nobles and gentry, whose armour was so good 
 that the arrows made but slight impression upon them. 
 They were all on foot—the King himself had parted with 
 his horse. They engaged the Earl of Surrey, who opposed 
 to them the division which he personally commanded. 
 The Scots attacked with the greatest fury, and, for a time, 
 had the better. Surrey’s squadrons were disordered, his 
 standard in great danger, Bothwell and the Scottish reserve 
 were advancing, and the English seemed in some risk of 
 losing the battle. But Stanley, who had defeated the High¬ 
 landers, came up on one flank of the King’s division; the 
 admiral, who had conquered Crawford and Montrose, assailed 
 them on the other. The Scots showed the most undaunted 
 courage. Uniting themselves with the reserve under Both¬ 
 well, they formed into a circle, with their spears extended 
 on every side, and fought obstinately. Bows being now 
 useless, the English advanced on all sides with their bills, 
 a huge weapon which made ghastly wounds. But they could 
 not force the Scots either to break or retire, although the 
 carnage among them was dreadful. James himself died 
 
68 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 amid his warlike peers and loyal gentry. He was twice 
 wounded with arrows, and at length despatched with a bill. 
 Night fell without the battle being absolutely decided, for 
 the Scottish centre kept their ground, and Home and Dacre 
 held each other at bay. But during the night, the remainder 
 of the Scottish army drew off in silent despair from the 
 bloody field, on which they left their King and their choicest 
 nobles and gentlemen. 
 
 This great and decisive victory was gained by the Earl of 
 Surrey on 9th September 1513. The victors had about five 
 thousand men slain, the Scots twice that number at least. 
 But the loss lay not so much in the number of the slain, as 
 in their rank and quality. The English lost very few men 
 of distinction. The Scots left on the field the King, two 
 bishops, two mitred abbots, twelve earls, thirteen lords, and 
 five eldest sons of peers. The number of gentlemen slain 
 was beyond calculation;—there is scarcely a family of name 
 in Scottish history who did not lose a relative there. 
 
 The Scots were much disposed to dispute the fact, that 
 James IV. had fallen on Flodden Field. Some said, he 
 had retired from the kingdom, and made a pilgrimage to 
 Jerusalem. Others pretended, that, in the twilight, when 
 the fight was nigh ended, four tall horsemen came into the 
 field, having each a bunch of straw on the point of their 
 spears, as a token for them to know each other by. They 
 said these men mounted the King on a dun hackney, and 
 that he was seen to cross the Tweed with them at night-fall. 
 Nobody pretended to say what they did with him, but it was 
 believed he was murdered in Home Castle; and I recollect, 
 about forty years since, that there was a report, that in 
 cleaning the draw-well of that ruinous fortress, the workmen 
 found a skeleton wrapt in a bull’s hide, and having a belt of 
 iron round the waist. There was, however, no truth in this 
 rumour. It was the absence of this belt of iron which the 
 
THE DISASTER OF FLODDEN. 
 
 69 
 
 Scots founded upon to prove that the body of James could 
 not have fallen into the hands of the English, since they 
 either had not that token to show, or did not produce it. 
 They contended, therefore, that the body over which the 
 enemy triumphed, was not that of James himself, but of one 
 of his attendants, several of whom, they said, were dressed 
 in his armour. 
 
 But all these are idle fables, invented and believed 
 because the vulgar love what is mysterious, and the Scots 
 readily gave credit to what tended to deprive their enemies 
 of so signal a trophy of victory. The reports are contrary 
 to common sense. Lord Home was the chamberlain of 
 James IV., and high in his confidence. He had nothing 
 whatever to gain by the King’s death, and therefore we 
 must acquit him of a great crime, for which there could be 
 no adequate motive. The consequence of James’s death 
 proved, in fact, to be the Earl’s ruin. 
 
 It seems true, that the King usually wore the belt of iron 
 in token of his repentance for his father’s death, and the 
 share he had in it. But it is not unlikely that he would lay 
 aside such a cumbrous article of penance in a day of battle; 
 or the English, when they despoiled his person, may have 
 thrown it aside as of no value. The body which the 
 English affirm to have been that of James, was found on the 
 field by Lord Dacre, and carried by him to Berwick, and 
 presented to Surrey. Both of these lords knew James’s 
 person too well to be mistaken. The body was also 
 acknowledged by his two favourite attendants, Sir William 
 Scott and Sir John Forman, who wept at beholding it. 
 
 The fate of these relics was singular and degrading. 
 They were not committed to the tomb, for the Pope, being 
 at that time in alliance with England against France, had 
 laid James under a sentence of excommunication, so that no 
 priest dared pronounce the funeral-service over them. The 
 
70 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 royal corpse was therefore embalmed, and sent to the 
 monastery of Sheen, in Surrey. It lay there till the 
 Reformation, when the monastery was given to the Duke of 
 Suffolk; and, after that period, the body, which was lapped 
 up in a sheet of lead, was suffered to toss about the house 
 like a piece of useless lumber. Stow, the historian, saw it 
 flung into a waste room among old pieces of wood, lead, 
 and other rubbish. Some idle workmen, “ for their foolish 
 pleasure,” says the same writer, “hewed off the head; and 
 one Lancelot Young, master-glazier to Queen Elizabeth, 
 finding a sweet smell come from thence, owing doubtless to 
 the spices used for embalming the body, carried the head 
 home, and kept it for some time; but, in the end, caused 
 the sexton of Saint Michael’s, Wood Street, to bury it in the 
 charnel-house.” 
 
 Such was the end of that King, once so proud and 
 powerful. The fatal battle of Flodden, in which he was 
 slain, and his army destroyed, is justly considered as one of 
 the most calamitous events in Scottish history. 
 
FEUD OF BUCCLEUCH AND KERR. 
 
 TRADITION preserved by Scott of Satchells, 
 who published, in 1688, A true History of the 
 Right Honourable name of Scott , gives the 
 following romantic origin of that name. Two 
 brethren, natives of Galloway, having been 
 banished from that country for a riot, or insurrection, came 
 to Rankleburn, in Ettrick Forest, where the keeper, whose 
 name was Brydone, received them joyfully, on account of 
 their skill in winding the horn, and in the other mysteries of 
 the chase. Kenneth MacAlpine, then King of Scotland, 
 came soon after to hunt in the royal forest, and pursued a 
 buck from Ettrick-heugh to the glen now called Buckcleuch, 
 about two miles above the junction of Rankleburn with the 
 river Ettrick. Here the stag stood at bay; and the King 
 and his attendants, who followed on horseback, were thrown 
 out by the steepness of the hill and the morass. John, one 
 of the brethren from Galloway, had followed the chase on 
 foot; and now coming in, seized the buck by the horns, and, 
 being a man of great strength and activity, threw him on his 
 back, and ran with his burden about a mile up the steep hill, 
 to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Kenneth had halted, 
 and laid the buck at the sovereign’s feet. 
 
 “ The deer being cureed in that place, 
 
 At his Majesty’s demand, 
 
72 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Then John of Galloway ran apace, 
 And fetched water to his hand. 
 
 The King did wash into a dish, 
 
 And Galloway John he wot; 
 
 He said, * Thy name now after this 
 Shall ever be called John Scott. 
 
 “ ‘The forest and the deer therein, 
 
 We commit to thy hand ; 
 
 For thou shalt sure the ranger be, 
 
 If thou obey command ; 
 
 And for the buck thou stoutly brought 
 To us up that deep heuch, 
 
 Thy designation ever shall 
 
 Be John Scott in Buckscleuch.’ 
 
 In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then, 
 
 Before the buck in the cleuch was slain ; 
 
 Night’s men at first they did appear, 
 
 Because moon and stars to their arms they bear. 
 
 Their crest, supporters, and hunting-horn. 
 
 Show their beginning from hunting came ; 
 
 Their name, and style, the book doth say, 
 
 John gained them both into one day.” 
 
 — Walt's Bellendett. 
 
 The Buccleuch arms have been altered, and now allude 
 less pointedly to this hunting, whether real or fabulous. 
 It is said the motto was Best riding by moonlight , in allusion 
 to the crescents on the shield, and perhaps to the habits of 
 those who bore it. The motto now given is Amo> applying 
 to the female supporters. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather, 
 Sir David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, 
 and Warden of the West Marches of Scotland. His death 
 was the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, 
 the history of which is as follows :— 
 
 In the year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, “the Earl of 
 
FEUD OF BUCCLEUCH AND KERR. 
 
 73 
 
 Angus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they 
 liked, and no man durst say the contrary; wherefore the 
 King (James V. then a minor) was heavily displeased, and 
 would fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any 
 way : And, to that effect, wrote a quiet and secret letter with 
 his own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buccleuch, 
 beseeching him that he would come with his kin and friends, 
 and all the force that he might be, and meet him at Melross, 
 at his home passing, and there to take him out of the 
 Douglasses hands, and to put him to liberty, to use himself 
 among the lave (rest) of his lords, as he thinks expedient. 
 
 “This letter was quietly directed, and sent by one of the 
 King’s own secret servants, which was received very thankfully 
 by the Laird of Buccleuch, who was very glad thereof, to be 
 put to such charges and familiarity with his prince, and did 
 great diligence to perform the King’s writing, and to bring 
 the matter to pass as the King desired: And, to that effect, 
 convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for 
 him, to ride with him to Melross, when he knew of the King’s 
 homecoming. And so he brought with him six hundred 
 spears, of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and 
 clans thereabout, and held themselves quiet while that the 
 King returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to 
 remain there all that night. 
 
 “But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fernyherst 
 (the chiefs of the clan of Kerr), took their leave of the King, 
 and returned home, then appeared the Lord of Buccleuch in 
 sight, and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, in¬ 
 tending to have fulfilled the King’s petition, and therefore 
 came stoutly forward on the back side of Haliden hill. By 
 that the Earl of Angus, with George Douglas, his brother, 
 and sundry other of his friends, seeing this army coming, 
 they marvelled what the matter meant: while at the last they 
 knew the Laird of Buccleuch, with a certain company of the 
 
74 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 thieves of Annandale. With him they were less affeared, 
 and made them manfully to the field contrary them, and said 
 to the King in this manner, ‘Sir, yon is Buccleuch, and 
 thieves of Annandale with him, to unbeset your Grace from 
 the gate ’ (i.e. interrupt your passage). ‘ I vow to God they 
 shall either fight or flee; and ye shall tarry here on this 
 knowe, and my brother George with you, with any other 
 company you please; and I shall pass, and put yon thieves 
 off the ground, and rid the gate unto your Grace, or else die 
 for it/ The King tarried still, as was devised; and George 
 Douglas with him, and sundry other lords, such as the Earl 
 of Lennox, and the Lord Erskine, and some of the King’s 
 own servants; but all the lave {rest) past with the Earl of 
 Angus to the field against the Laird of Buccleuch who joyned 
 and countered cruelly both the said parties in the field of 
 Darnelinver, either against other, with uncertain victory. 
 But at the last, the Lord Hume, hearing word of that 
 matter how it stood, returned again to the King in all possible 
 haste, with him the Lairds of Cessfoord and Ferny hirst, to 
 the number of fourscore spears, and set freshly on the lap 
 and wing of the Laird of Buccleuch’s field, and shortly bare 
 them backward to the ground; which caused the Laird of 
 Buccleuch, and the rest of his friends, to go back and flee, 
 whom they followed and chased; and especially the Lairds 
 of Cessfoord and Ferny hirst followed furiouslie, till at the 
 foot of a path the Laird of Cessfoord was slain by the stroke 
 of a spear by an Elliot, who was then servant to the Laird of 
 Buccleuch. But when the Laird of Cessfoord was slain the 
 chase ceased. The Earl of Angus returned again with great 
 merriness and victory, and thanked God that he saved him 
 from that chance, and passed with the King to Melross, 
 where they remained all that night. On the morn they past 
 to Edinburgh with the King, who was very sad and dolorous 
 of the slaughter of the Laird of Cessfoord, and many other 
 
FEUD OF BUCCLEUCH AND KERR. 
 
 75 
 
 gentlemen and yeomen slain by the Laird of Buccleuch, 
 containing the number of fourscore and fifteen which died 
 in defence of the King, and at the command of his writing.” 
 
 In consequence of the battle of Melrose, there ensued a 
 deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in 
 spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged 
 for many years upon the Borders. Buccleuch was im¬ 
 prisoned, and his estates forfeited, in the year 1535, for 
 levying war against the Kerrs, and restored by Act of 
 Parliament, dated 15th March 1542, during the regency of 
 Mary of Lorraine. But the most signal act of violence to 
 which this quarrel gave rise, was the murder of Sir Walter 
 himself, who was slain by the Kerrs in the streets of 
 Edinburgh in 1552. 
 
 The feud between these two families was not reconciled 
 in 1596, when both chieftains paraded the streets of 
 Edinburgh with their followers, and it was expected their 
 first meeting would decide their quarrel. But, on July 14th 
 of the same year, Colvil, in a letter to Mr. Bacon, informs 
 him, “ that there was great trouble upon the Borders, which 
 would continue till order should be taken by the Queen of 
 England and the King, by reason of the two young Scots 
 chieftains, Cesford and Baclugh, and of the present necessity 
 and scarcity of corn amongst the Scots Borderers and riders. 
 That there had been a private quarrel betwixt those two 
 lairds on the Borders, which was like to have turned to 
 blood; but the fear of the general trouble had reconciled 
 them, and the injuries which they thought to have committed 
 against each other were now transferred upon England : not 
 unlike that emulation in France between the Baron de Biron 
 and Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitious of honour, 
 undertook more hazardous enterprises against the enemy 
 than they would have done if they had been at concord 
 together.” 
 
76 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the 
 feud betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there was a bond 
 executed in 1529, between the heads of each clan, binding 
 themselves to perform reciprocally the four principal pil¬ 
 grimages of Scotland, for the benefit of the souls of those 
 of the opposite name who had fallen in the quarrel. But 
 either it never took effect, or else the feud was renewed 
 shortly afterwards. 
 
 Such pactions were not uncommon in feudal times; and, 
 as might be expected, they were often, as in the present 
 case, void of the effect desired. When Sir Walter Mauny, 
 the renowned follower of Edward III., had taken the town 
 of Ryol in Gascony, he remembered to have heard that his 
 father lay there buried, and offered a hundred crowns to 
 any who could show him his grave. A very old man appeared 
 before Sir Walter, and informed him of the manner of his 
 father’s death, and the place of his sepulture. It seems 
 the Lord of Mauny had, at a great tournament, unhorsed, 
 and wounded to the death, a Gascon knight of the house of 
 Mirepoix, whose kinsman was Bishop of Cambray. For 
 this deed he was held at feud by the relations of the knight, 
 until he agreed to undertake a pilgrimage to the shrine of 
 St. James of Compostella, for the benefit of the soul of the 
 deceased. But as he returned through the town of Ryol, 
 after accomplishment of his vow, he was beset and treacher¬ 
 ously slain, by the kindred of the knight whom he had killed. 
 Sir Walter, guided by the old man, visited the lowly tomb 
 of his father; and, having read the inscription, which was 
 in Latin, he caused the body to be raised, and transported 
 to his native city of Valenciennes, where masses were, in 
 the days of Froissart, duly said for the soul of the unfortunate 
 pilgrim. 
 
MURDER OF RIZZIO AND DEATH OF 
 DARN LEY. 
 
 UEEN Mary’s brother, the Earl of Murray, was 
 by far the most able and powerful of those 
 who were displeased by Mary’s marriage [to 
 Darnley]. Darnley and he were personal 
 enemies; and besides, Murray was the prin¬ 
 cipal of the Lords of the Congregation, who affected to see 
 danger to the Protestant religion in Mary’s choice of Darnley 
 for a husband, and in the disunion which it was likely to 
 create betwixt Scotland and England. Murray even laid a 
 plan to intercept Darnley, seize his person, and either put 
 him to death, or send him prisoner to England. A body 
 of horse was for this purpose stationed at a pass under the 
 hill of Bennartey, near Kinross, called the Parrot-well, to 
 intercept the Queen and Darnley as they returned from a 
 Convention of Estates held at Perth; and they only escaped 
 the danger by a hasty march, commenced early in the 
 morning. 
 
 After the marriage, Murray and his confederates, who 
 were the Duke of Chatelherault, Glencairn, Argyle, Rothes, 
 and others, actually took up arms. The Queen, in this 
 emergency, assembled her subjects around her. They 
 came in such numbers as showed her popularity. Darnley 
 
78 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 rode at their head in gilded armour, accompanied by the 
 Queen herself, having loaded pistols at her saddle-bow. 
 Unable to stand their ground, Murray and his accomplices 
 eluded the pursuit of the royal army, and made a sudden 
 march on Edinburgh, where they hoped to find friends. 
 But the citizens not adopting their cause, and the castle 
 threatening to fire on them, the insurgents were compelled 
 to retreat, first to Hamilton, then to Dumfries, until they 
 finally disbanded their forces in despair, and the leaders fled 
 into England. Thus ended an insurrection, which, from 
 the hasty and uncertain manner in which the conspirators 
 posted from one part of the kingdom to another, obtained 
 the popular name of the Run-about Raid (or ride.) 
 
 Elizabeth, who had encouraged Murray and his associates 
 to rise against Mary, was by no means desirous to have the 
 discredit of having done so, when she saw their attempt 
 was unsuccessful. She caused Murray and the Abbot of 
 Kilwinning to appear before her in presence of the am¬ 
 bassadors of France and Spain, who, interfering in Mary’s 
 behalf, had accused Elizabeth of fomenting the Scottish 
 disturbances. “How say you,” she exclaimed, “my Lord 
 of Murray, and you his companion ? Have you had advice 
 or encouragement from me in your late undertaking?” 
 The exiles, afraid to tell the truth, were contented to say, 
 however falsely, that they had received no advice or 
 assistance at her hands. “ There you indeed speak truth,” 
 replied Elizabeth; “for neither did I, nor any in my name, 
 stir you up against your Queen; your abominable treason 
 may serve for example to my own subjects to rebel against 
 me. Therefore get out of my presence; you are but 
 unworthy traitors ! ” Mortified and disgraced, Murray and 
 his companion again retired to the Border, where Queen 
 Elizabeth, notwithstanding her pretended resentment, 
 allowed them privately means of support, until times should 
 
RIZZIO AND DARNLEY. 
 
 79 
 
 permit them to return into Scotland, and renew disturbances 
 there. 
 
 Mary had thus overcome her refractory subjects, but she 
 soon found that she had a more formidable enemy in the 
 foolish and passionate husband whom she had chosen. 
 This headstrong young man behaved to his wife with great 
 disrespect, both as a woman and as a queen, and habitually 
 indulged himself in intoxication, and other disgraceful vices. 
 Although already possessed of more power than fitted his 
 capacity or age, for he was but nineteen, he was importunate 
 in his demands for obtaining what was called in Scotland 
 the Crown Matrimonial; that is, the full equality of royal 
 right in the crown with his consort. Until he obtained this 
 eminence he was not held to be King, though called so in 
 courtesy. He was only the husband of the Queen. 
 
 This crown matrimonial had been bestowed on Mary’s 
 first husband, Francis, and Darnley was determined to be 
 possessed of the same rank. But Mary, whose bounty had 
 already far exceeded his deserts, as well as his gratitude, 
 was resolved not to make this last concession, at least with¬ 
 out the advice and consent of the Parliament. 
 
 The childish impatience of Darnley made him regard 
 with mortal hatred whatever interfered with the instant 
 execution of his wishes; and his animosity on this occasion 
 turned against the Italian secretary, once his friend, but 
 whom he now esteemed his deadly foe, because he supposed 
 that Rizzio encouraged the Queen in resisting his hasty 
 ambition. His resentment against the unhappy stranger 
 arose to such a height, that he threatened to poniard him 
 with his own hand; and as Rizzio had many enemies, and 
 no friend save his mistress, Darnley easily procured instru¬ 
 ments, and those of no mean rank, to take the execution of 
 his revenge on themselves. 
 
 The chief of Darnley’s accomplices, on this unhappy 
 
8 o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 occasion, was James Douglas, Earl of Morton, chancellor of 
 the kingdom, tutor and uncle to the Earl of Angus (who 
 chanced then to be a minor), and administrator, therefore, 
 of all the power of the great house of Douglas. He was a 
 nobleman of high military talent and political wisdom; but 
 although a pretender to sanctity of life, his actions show 
 him to have been a wicked and unscrupulous man. 
 Although chancellor of the kingdom, and therefore bound 
 peculiarly to respect the laws, he did not hesitate to enter 
 into the young King’s cruel and unlawful purpose. Lord 
 Ruthven, a man whose frame was exhausted by illness, 
 nevertheless undertook to buckle on his armour for the 
 enterprise; and they had no difficulty in finding other 
 agents. 
 
 It would have been easy to have seized on Rizzio, and 
 disposed of him as the Scottish peers at the bridge of 
 Lauder used the favourites of James III. But this would 
 not have accomplished the revenge of Darnley, who com¬ 
 plained that the Queen showed this mean Italian more 
 civility than she did to himself, and therefore took the 
 barbarous resolution of seizing him in her very presence. 
 This plan was the more atrocious, as Mary was at this time 
 with child; and the alarm and agitation which such an act 
 of violence was likely to produce, might endanger her life, 
 or that of her unborn offspring. 
 
 Whilst this savage plot was forming, Rizzio received 
 several hints of what was likely to happen. Sir James 
 Melville was at pains to explain to him the danger that 
 was incurred by a stranger in any country, who rose so high 
 in the favour of the prince as to excite the disgust of the 
 natives of the land. A French priest, who was something of 
 an astrologer, warned the secretary to beware of a bastard. 
 To such counsels, he replied, “ that the Scots were more given 
 to threaten than to strike; and as for the bastard (by whom 
 
RIZZIO AND DARNLEY. 
 
 81 
 
 he supposed the Earl of Murray to be meant), he would 
 take care that he should never possess power enough in 
 Scotland to do him any harm.” Thus securely confident, 
 he continued at court, to abide his fate. 
 
 Those lords who engaged in the conspiracy did not agree 
 to gratify Darnley’s resentment against Rizzio for nothing. 
 They stipulated, as the price of their assistance, that he 
 should in turn aid them in obtaining pardon and restoration 
 to favour for Murray, and his accomplices in the Run-about 
 Raid; and intimation was despatched to these noblemen, 
 apprising them of the whole undertaking, and desiring them 
 to be at Edinburgh on the night appointed for doing the 
 deed. 
 
 Queen Mary, like her father James V., was fond of laying 
 aside the state of a sovereign, and indulging in small private 
 parties, quiet, as she termed them, and merry. On these 
 occasions, she admitted her favourite domestics to her table, 
 and Rizzio seems frequently to have had that honour. On 
 the 9th of March 1566, six persons had partaken of supper 
 in a small cabinet adjoining to the Queen’s bedchamber, 
 and having no entrance save through it. Rizzio was of the 
 number. About seven in the evening, the gates of the 
 palace were occupied by Morton, with a party of two 
 hundred men; and a select band of the conspirators, 
 headed by Darnley himself, came into the Queen’s apart¬ 
 ment by a secret staircase. Darnley first entered the 
 cabinet, and stood for an instant in silence, gloomily 
 eyeing his victim. Lord Ruthven followed in complete 
 armour, looking pale and ghastly, as one scarcely recovered 
 from long sickness. Others crowded in after them, till the 
 little closet was full of armed men. While the Queen 
 demanded the purpose of their coming, Rizzio, who saw 
 that his life was aimed at, got behind her, and clasped the 
 folds of her gown, that the respect due to her person might 
 
82 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 protect him. The assassins threw down the table, and 
 seized on the unfortunate object of their vengeance, while 
 Darnley himself took hold of the Queen, and forced Rizzio 
 and her asunder. It was their intention, doubtless, to have 
 dragged Rizzio out of Mary’s presence, and to have killed 
 him elsewhere; but their fierce impatience hurried them 
 into instant murder. George Douglas, called the postulate 
 of Arbroath, a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, set 
 the example, by snatching Darnley’s dagger from his belt, 
 and striking Rizzio with it. He received many other 
 blows. They dragged him through the bedroom and ante¬ 
 chamber, and despatched him at the head of the staircase, 
 with no less than fifty-six wounds. Ruthven, after all was 
 over, fatigued with his exertions, sat down in the Queen’s 
 presence, and, begging her pardon for the liberty, called for 
 a drink to refresh him, as if he had been doing the most 
 harmless thing in the world. 
 
 The witnesses, the actors, and the scene of this cruel 
 tragedy, render it one of the most extraordinary which 
 history records. The cabinet and the bedroom still remain 
 in the same condition in which they were at the time; and 
 the floor near the head of the stair bears visible marks of 
 the blood of the unhappy Rizzio. The Queen continued to 
 beg his life with prayers and tears; but when she learned 
 that he was dead, she dried her tears.—“I will now,” she 
 said, “ study revenge.” 
 
 The conspirators, who had committed the cruel action 
 entirely or chiefly to gratify Darnley, reckoned themselves, 
 of course, secure of his protection. They united themselves 
 with Murray and his associates, who were just returned from 
 England according to appointment, and agreed upon a 
 course of joint measures. The Queen, it was agreed, should 
 be put under restraint in Edinburgh Castle, or elsewhere; 
 and Murray and Morton were to rule the state under the 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
RIZZ10 AND DARN LEY. 
 
 83 
 
 name of Darnley, who was to obtain the crown matrimonial, 
 which he had so anxiously desired. But all this scheme 
 was ruined by the defection of Darnley himself. As fickle 
 as he was vehement, and as timorous as he had shown 
 himself cruel, Rizzio was no sooner slain than Darnley 
 became terrified at what had been done, and seemed much 
 disposed to deny having given any authority for the crime. 
 
 Finding her weak-minded husband in a state between 
 remorse and fear, Mary prevailed on him to take part against 
 the very persons whom he had instigated to the late atrocious 
 proceeding. Darnley and Mary escaped together out of 
 Holyrood-house, and fled to Dunbar, where the Queen issued 
 a proclamation which soon drew many faithful followers 
 around her. It was now the turn of the conspirators 
 to tremble. That the Queen’s conquest over them might 
 be more certain, she pardoned the Earl of Murray, and those 
 concerned in the Run-about Raid, as guilty of more venial 
 offences than the assassins of Rizzio; and thus Murray, 
 Glencairn, and others, were received into favour, while 
 Morton, Ruthven, and his comrades, fled in their turn to 
 England. No Scottish subject, whatever his crime, could 
 take refuge there without finding secret support, if not an 
 open welcome. Such was Elizabeth’s constant policy. 
 
 Queen Mary was now once more in possession of authority, 
 but much disturbed and vexed by the silly conduct of her 
 husband, whose absurdities and insolences were not abated 
 by the consequences of Rizzio’s death; so that the royal 
 pair continued to be upon the worst terms with each other, 
 though disguised under a species of reconciliation. 
 
 On the 19th of June 1566, Mary was delivered of a son, 
 afterwards James VI. When news of this event reached 
 London, Queen Elizabeth was merrily engaged in dancing; 
 but upon hearing what had happened, she left the dance, 
 and sat down, leaning her head on her hand, and exclaim- 
 
8 4 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 mg passionately to her ladies, “ Do you not hear how the 
 Queen of Scots is mother of a fair son, while I am but a 
 barren stock ? ” But next morning she had recovered her¬ 
 self sufficiently to maintain her usual appearance of outward 
 civility, received the Scottish ambassador with much seem¬ 
 ing favour, and accepted with thanks the office of god-mother 
 to the young Prince, which he proffered to her in Queen 
 Mary’s name. 
 
 After a splendid solemnity at christening the heir of 
 Scotland, Queen Mary seems to have turned her mind 
 towards settling the disorders of her nobility; and, sacrific¬ 
 ing her own justifiable resentment, she yielded so far as to 
 grant pardon to all those concerned in the murder of Rizzio. 
 Two men of low rank, and no more, had been executed for 
 that crime. Lord Ruthven, the principal actor, had died 
 in England, talking and writing as composedly of “the 
 slaughter of David,” as if it had been the most indifferent, 
 if not meritorious, action possible. George Douglas, who 
 struck the first blow, and Ker of Faldonside, another ruffian 
 who offered his pistol at the Queen’s bosom in the fray, 
 were exempted from the general pardon. Morton and all 
 the others were permitted to return, to plan new treasons 
 and murders. 
 
 We are now come to a very difficult period in the history 
 of Scotland. The subsequent events, in the reign of 
 Queen Mary, are well known; but neither the names of 
 the principal agents in those events, nor the motives upon 
 which they acted, are at all agreed upon by historians. It 
 has, in particular, been warmly disputed, and will probably 
 long continue to be so, how far Queen Mary is to be con¬ 
 sidered as a voluntary party or actor in the tragical and 
 criminal events of which I am about to tell you; or how far, 
 being innocent of any fore-knowledge of these violent actions, 
 she was an innocent victim of the villany of others. 
 
RIZZIO AND DARNLEY. 
 
 85 
 
 James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, a man in middle age, 
 had for several years played a conspicuous part in those 
 troubled times. He had sided with the Queen Regent 
 against the Reformed party, and was in general supposed to 
 be attached rather to the reigning Queen, than to any of the 
 factions who opposed her. He was head of the powerful 
 family of Hepburn, and possessed great influence in East- 
 Lothian and Berwickshire, where excellent soldiers could 
 always be obtained. In his morals Bothwell was wild and 
 licentious, irregular and daring in his ambition; and al¬ 
 though his history does not show many instances of personal 
 courage, yet in his early life he had the reputation of 
 possessing it. He had been in danger on the occasion of 
 Rizzio’s murder, being supposed, from his regard for the 
 Queen, to have been desirous of preventing that cruel insult 
 to her person and authority. As this nobleman displayed 
 great zeal for Mary’s cause, she was naturally led to advance 
 him at court, until many persons, and particularly the 
 preachers of the Reformed religion, thought that she ad¬ 
 mitted to too great intimacy a man of so fierce and profligate 
 a character; and a numerous party among her subjects 
 accused the Queen as being fonder of Bothwell than she 
 ought to have been, he being a married man, and herself a 
 married woman. 
 
 A thoughtless action of Mary’s seemed to confirm this 
 suspicion. Bothwell, among other offices of authority, held 
 that of Lord Warden of all the Marches, and was residing 
 at the castle of Hermitage, a royal fortress which belonged 
 to that office, in order to suppress some disorders on the 
 Border. In October 1566, attempting with his own hand 
 to seize a Border freebooter called John Elliot of the Park, 
 he was severely wounded in the hand. The Queen, who 
 was then at Jedburgh holding a court of justice, hastened 
 through woods, morasses, and waters, to pay a visit to the 
 
86 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 wounded warden; and though the distance was twenty 
 English miles, she went and returned from Hermitage 
 Castle in the same day. This excursion might arise solely 
 from Mary’s desire to learn the cause and particulars of a 
 great outrage on her lieutenant; but all those who wished 
 ill to her, who were a numerous body, represented it as ex¬ 
 pressing her anxiety for the safety of her lover. 
 
 In the meantime, the dissensions between Darnley and 
 the Queen continued to increase: and while he must have 
 been disliked by Mary from their numerous quarrels, and 
 the affronts he put upon her, as well as from his share in 
 the murder of Rizzio, those who had been concerned with 
 him in that last crime, considered him as a poor mean-spirited 
 wretch, who, having engaged his associates in so daring an 
 act, had afterwards betrayed and deserted them. His latter 
 conduct showed no improvement in either sense or spirit. 
 He pretended he would leave the kingdom, and by this and 
 other capricious resolutions, hastily adopted and abandoned, 
 he so far alienated the affections of the Queen, that many 
 of the unscrupulous and plotting nobles by whom she was 
 surrounded, formed the idea, that it would be very agreeable 
 to Mary if she could be freed from her union with this 
 unreasonable and ill-tempered young man. 
 
 The first proposal made to her was, that she should be 
 separated from Darnley by a divorce. Bothwell, Maitland, 
 Morton, and Murray, are said to have joined in pressing 
 such a proposal upon Queen Mary, who was then residing 
 at Craigmillar Castle, near Edinburgh; but she rejected it 
 steadily. A conspiracy of a darker kind was then agitated, 
 for the murder of the unhappy Darnley; and Bothwell seems 
 to have entertained little doubt that Mary, thus rid of an un¬ 
 acceptable husband, would choose himself for his successor. 
 He spoke with the Earl of Morton on the subject of despatch¬ 
 ing Darnley, and represented it as an enterprise which had 
 
RIZZIO AND DARN LEY. 
 
 87 
 
 the approbation of the Queen. Morton refused to stir in a 
 matter of so great consequence, unless he received a mandate 
 under the Queen’s hand. Bothwell undertook to procure 
 him such a warrant, but he never kept his word. This was 
 confessed by Morton at his death. When it was asked of 
 him by the clergyman who received his confession, why he 
 had not prevented the conspiracy, by making it public ? he 
 replied, that there was no one to whom he could confess it 
 with safety. “The Queen,” he said, “was herself in the 
 plot; and if I had told Darnley, his folly was so great that 
 I am certain he would have betrayed it to his wife, and so 
 my own destruction would have been assured.” But though 
 he did not acknowledge more than I have told you, Morton 
 was always supposed to have been one of the actual con¬ 
 spirators ; and it was universally believed that a daring and 
 profligate relation of his, called Archibald Douglas, parson of 
 Glasgow, was one of the actual murderers. While these 
 suspicions hung over Morton himself, he seems to have had 
 no reason for believing Mary’s guilt excepting what Bothwell 
 told him; while he admits that Bothwell never showed him 
 any warrant under the Queen’s hand, though he promised 
 to do so. It seems probable that Maitland of Lethington 
 also knew the fatal and guilty secret. Morton and he, how¬ 
 ever, were both men of deep sagacity. They foresaw that 
 Bothwell would render himself, and perhaps the Queen also, 
 odious to the nation by the dark and bloody action which 
 he meditated; and therefore they resolved to let him run 
 on his course, in the hope that he would come to a speedy 
 fall, and that they themselves might succeed to the supreme 
 power. 
 
 While these schemes were in agitation against his life, 
 Darnley fell ill at Glasgow, and his indisposition proved to 
 be the small-pox. The Queen sent her physician, and after 
 an interval went herself to wait upon him, and an apparent 
 
88 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 reconciliation was effected between them. They came 
 together to Edinburgh on the 31st January 1566-67. 
 The King was lodged in a religious house called the Kirk 
 of Field, just without the walls of the city. The Queen and 
 the infant Prince were accommodated in the Palace of 
 Holyrood. The reason assigned for their living separate 
 was the danger of the child catching the small-pox. But 
 the Queen showed much attention to her husband, visiting 
 him frequently; and they never seemed to have been on 
 better terms than when the conspiracy against Darnley’s 
 life was on the eve of being executed. Meanwhile Darnley 
 and his groom of the chamber were alone during the night¬ 
 time, and separated from any other persons, when measures 
 were taken for his destruction in the following horrible 
 manner :— 
 
 On the evening of the 9th February, several persons, 
 kinsmen, retainers, and servants of the Earl of Bothwell, 
 came in secret to the Kirk of Field. They had with them 
 a great quantity of gunpowder; and by means of false keys 
 they obtained entrance into the cellars of the building, 
 where they disposed the powder in the vaults under Darn- 
 ley’s apartment, and especially beneath the spot where his 
 bed was placed. About two hours after midnight upon the 
 ensuing morning, Bothwell himself came disguised in a 
 riding-cloak, to see the execution of the cruel project. Two 
 of his ruffians went in and took means of firing the powder, 
 by lighting a piece of slow-burning match at one end, and 
 placing the other amongst the gunpowder. They remained 
 for some time watching the event, and Bothwell became so 
 impatient, that it was with difficulty he was prevented from 
 entering the house, to see whether the light had not been 
 extinguished by some accident. One of his accomplices, 
 by looking through a window, ascertained that it was still 
 burning. The explosion presently took place, blew up the 
 
R1ZZI0 AND DARN LEY. 
 
 89 
 
 Kirk of Field, and alarmed the whole city. The body of 
 Darnley was found in the adjoining orchard. The bed in 
 which he lay had preserved him from all action of the fire, 
 which occasioned a general belief that he and his chamber- 
 groom, who was found in the same situation, had been 
 strangled and removed before the house was blown up. But 
 this was a mistake. It is clearly proved, by the evidence of 
 those who were present at the event, that there were no 
 means employed but the gunpowder—a mode of destruction 
 sufficiently powerful to have rendered any other un¬ 
 necessary. 
 
FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 
 
 HE consequences of the Union of the Crowns 
 were more immediately felt on the Borders, 
 which, from being the extremity of both 
 countries, were now converted into the centre 
 of the kingdom. But it was not easy to see 
 how the restless and violent inhabitants, who had been for 
 so many centuries accustomed to a lawless and military life, 
 were to conduct themselves, when the general peace around 
 left them no enemies either to fight with or plunder. 
 
 These Borderers were, as I have elsewhere told you, 
 divided into families, or clans, who followed a leader 
 supposed to be descended from the original father of the 
 tribe. They lived in a great measure by the rapine which 
 they exercised indiscriminately on the English, or their own 
 countrymen, the inhabitants of the more inland districts, or 
 by the protection-money which they exacted for leaving them 
 undisturbed. This kind of plundering was esteemed by 
 them in the highest degree honourable and praiseworthy; 
 and the following, as well as many other curious stories, is 
 an example of this :— 
 
 A young gentleman, of a distinguished family belonging to 
 one of these Border tribes, or clans, made, either from the 
 desire of plunder, or from revenge, a raid, or incursion, upon 
 
FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 91 
 
 the lands of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, afterwards 
 deputy-treasurer of Scotland, and a great favourite of James 
 VI. The Laird of Elibank, having got his people under 
 arms, engaged the invaders, and, encountering them when 
 they were encumbered with spoil, defeated them, and made 
 the leader of the band prisoner. He was brought to the 
 castle of his conqueror, when the lady inquired of her 
 victorious husband, “what he intended to do with his 
 captive?”—“I design,” said the fierce baron, “to hang him 
 instantly, dame, as a man taken redhand in the act of robbery 
 and violence.”—“ That is not like your wisdom, Sir Gideon,” 
 answered his more considerate lady. “ If you put to death 
 this young gentleman, you will enter into deadly feud with 
 his numerous and powerful clan. You must therefore do a 
 wiser thing, and, instead of hanging him, we will cause him 
 to marry our youngest daughter, Meg with the meikle mouth, 
 without any tocher” (that is, without any portion.) The 
 laird joyfully consented; for this Meg with the large mouth 
 was so ugly, that there was very little chance of her getting 
 a husband in any other circumstances; and, in fact, when 
 the alternative of such a marriage, or death by the gallows, 
 was proposed to the poor prisoner, he was for some time 
 disposed to choose the latter; nor was it without difficulty 
 that he could be persuaded to save his life at the expense of 
 marrying Meg Murray. He did so at last, however; and it 
 is said that Meg, thus forced upon him, made an excellent 
 and affectionate wife; but the unusual size of mouth was 
 supposed to remain discernible in their descendants for 
 several generations. I mention this anecdote, because it 
 occurred during James the Sixth’s reign, and shows, in a 
 striking manner, how little the Borderers had improved in 
 their sense of morality, or distinctions between right and 
 wrong. 
 
 A more important, but not more characteristic event, 
 
92 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 which happened not long afterwards, shows, in its progress, 
 the utter lawlessnesses and contempt of legal authority which 
 prevailed on the Borders in the commencement of this reign, 
 and, in its conclusion, the increased power of the monarch 
 after the Union of the Crowns. 
 
 There had been long and deadly feud on the West 
 Borders, betwixt the two great families of Maxwell and 
 Johnstone. The former house was the most wealthy and 
 powerful family in Dumfriesshire and its vicinity, and had 
 great influence among the families inhabiting the more 
 level part of that country. Their chieftain had the title 
 of Lord Maxwell, and claimed that of Earl of Morton. 
 The Johnstones, on the other hand, were neither equal 
 to the Maxwells in numbers nor in power; but they were 
 a race of uncommon hardihood, much attached to each 
 other and their chieftain, and who, residing in the strong 
 and mountainous district of Annandale, used to sally from 
 thence as from a fortress, and return to its fastnesses after 
 having accomplished their inroads. They were, therefore, 
 able to maintain their ground against the Maxwells, though 
 more numerous than themselves. 
 
 So well was this known to be the case, that when, in 1585, 
 the Lord Maxwell was declared to be a rebel, a commission 
 was given to the Laird of Johnstone to pursue and appre¬ 
 hend him. In this, however, Johnstone was unsuccessful. 
 Two bands of hired soldiers, whom the Government had 
 sent to his assistance, were destroyed by the Maxwells; 
 and Lochwood, the chief house of the laird, was taken and 
 wantonly burnt, in order, as the Maxwells expressed it, 
 that Lady Johnstone might have light to put on her hood. 
 Johnstone himself was subsequently defeated and made 
 prisoner. Being a man of a proud and haughty temper, he is 
 said to have died of grief at the disgrace which he incurred; 
 
FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 
 
 93 
 
 and thus there commenced a long series of mutual injuries 
 between the hostile clans. 
 
 Shortly after this catastrophe, Maxwell, being restored to 
 the King’s favour, was once more placed in the situation of 
 Warden of the West Borders, and an alliance was made 
 betwixt him and Sir James Johnstone, in which they and 
 their two clans agreed to stand by each other against all 
 the world. This agreement being entered into, the clan of 
 Johnstone concluded they had little to apprehend from the 
 justice of the new Lord Warden, so long as they did not 
 plunder any of the name of Maxwell. They accordingly 
 descended into the valley of the Nith, and committed great 
 spoil on the lands belonging to Douglas of Drumlanrig, 
 Creichton Lord Sanquhar, Grierson of Lagg, and Kirk¬ 
 patrick of Closeburn, all of them independent barons of 
 high birth and great power. The injured parties pursued 
 the depredators with forces hastily assembled, but were 
 defeated with slaughter in their attempt to recover the 
 prey. The despoiled and injured barons next carried their 
 complaints to Maxwell the Warden, who alleged his late 
 alliance with Johnstone as a reason why he could not yield 
 them the redress which his office entitled them to expect 
 at his hands. But when, to make up for such risk as he 
 might incur by renewing his enmity with the Johnstones, 
 the barons of Nithsdale offered to bind themselves by a 
 bond of manrent, as it was called, to become the favourers 
 and followers of Lord Maxwell in all his quarrels, excepting 
 against the King, the temptation became too strong to be 
 overcome, and the ambitious warden resolved to sacrifice 
 his newly formed friendship with Johnstone to the desire 
 of extending his authority over so powerful a confederacy. 
 
 The secret of this association did not long remain con¬ 
 cealed from Johnstone, who saw that his own destruction 
 and the ruin of his clan were the objects aimed at, and 
 
94 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 hastened to apply to his neighbours in the east and south 
 for assistance. Buccleuch, the relative of Johnstone, and 
 by far his most powerful ally, was then in foreign parts. 
 But the Laird of Elibank, father of “ Meikle-mouthed Meg,” 
 bore the banner of Buccleuch in person, and assembled five 
 hundred men of the clan of Scott, whom our historians 
 term the greatest robbers and fiercest fighters among the 
 Border clans. The Elliots of Liddlesdale also assisted 
 Johnstone; and his neighbours on the southern parts, the 
 Grahams of the Debateable Land, from hopes of plunder 
 and ancient enmity to the Maxwells, sent also a consider¬ 
 able number of spears. 
 
 Thus prepared for war, Johnstone took the field with 
 activity, while Maxwell, on the other part, hastily assembling 
 his own forces, and those of his new followers, the Nithsdale 
 barons, Drumlanrig, Lagg, Closeburn, the Creichtons, and 
 others, invaded Annandale with the royal banner displayed, 
 and a force of upwards of two thousand men. Johnstone, 
 unequal in numbers, stood on the defensive, and kept 
 possession of the woods and strong ground; waiting an 
 opportunity of fighting to advantage; while Maxwell, in 
 contempt of him, formed the siege of the castle or tower of 
 Lockerby, the fortress of a Johnstone, who was then in arms 
 with his chief. His wife, a woman of a masculine dis¬ 
 position, the sister or daughter of the laird who had died in 
 Maxwell’s prison, defended his place of residence. While 
 Maxwell endeavoured to storm the castle, and while it was 
 bravely defended by its female captain, the chief received 
 information that the Laird of Johnstone was advancing to its 
 relief. He drew off from the siege, marched towards his 
 feudal enemy, and caused it to be published through his 
 little army that he would give a “ ten pound land,” that is, 
 land rated in the cess-books at that yearly amount, “ to any 
 one who would bring him the head or hand of the Laird of 
 
FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 
 
 95 
 
 Johnstone.” When this was reported to Johnstone, he said 
 he had no ten-pound lands to offer, but that he would 
 bestow a five-merk land upon the man who should bring 
 him the head or hand of Lord Maxwell. 
 
 The conflict took place close by the river Dryfe, near 
 Lochmaben, and is called the Battle of Dryfe Sands. It 
 was managed by Johnstone with considerable military skill- 
 He showed at first only a handful of horsemen, who made 
 a hasty attack upon Maxwell’s army, and then retired in a 
 manner which induced the enemy to consider them as de¬ 
 feated, and led them to pursue in disorder with loud 
 acclamations of victory. The Maxwells and their confede¬ 
 rates were thus exposed to a sudden and desperate charge 
 from the main body of the Johnstones and their allies, who 
 fell upon them while their ranks were broken, and compelled 
 them to take to flight. The Maxwells and the confederated 
 barons suffered grievously in the retreat—many were over¬ 
 taken in the streets of Lockerby, and cut down or slashed 
 in the face by the pursuers; a kind of blow, which to this 
 day is called in that country a “ Lockerby lick.” 
 
 Maxwell himself, an elderly man and heavily armed, was 
 borne down from his horse in the beginning of the conflict; 
 and, as he named his name and offered to surrender, his 
 right hand, which he stretched out for mercy, was cut from 
 his body. Thus far history; but family tradition adds the 
 following circumstance : The Lady of Lockerby, who was 
 besieged in her tower, as already mentioned, had witnessed 
 from the battlements the approach of the Laird of Johnstone, 
 and as soon as the enemy withdrew from the blockade of 
 the fortress, had sent to the assistance of her chief the few 
 servants who had assisted in the defence. After this she 
 heard the tumul of battle, but as she could not from the 
 tower see the place where it was fought, she remained in an 
 agony of suspense, until, as the noise seemed to pass away 
 
9 6 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 in a westerly direction, she could endure the uncertainty no 
 longer, but sallied out from the tower, with only one female 
 attendant, to see how the day had gone. As a measure of 
 precaution, she locked the strong oaken door and the iron- 
 grate with which a Border fortress was commonly secured, 
 and knitting the large keys on a thong, took them with her, 
 hanging on her arm. 
 
 When the Lady of Lockerby entered on the field of battle, 
 she found all the relics of a bloody fight; the little valley 
 was covered with slain men and horses, and broken armour, 
 besides many wounded, who were incapable of further effort 
 for saving themselves. Amongst others, she saw lying 
 beneath a thorn-tree a tall, grey-haired, noble-looking man, 
 arrayed in bright armour, but bare-headed, and bleeding to 
 death from the loss of his right hand. He asked her for mercy 
 and help with a faltering voice; but the idea of deadly feud 
 in that time and country closed all access to compassion 
 even in the female bosom. She saw before her only the 
 enemy of her clan, and the cause of her father’s captivity 
 and death; and raising the ponderous keys which she bore 
 along with her, the Lady of Lockerby is commonly reported 
 to have dashed out the brains of the vanquished Lord 
 Maxwell. 
 
 The battle of Dryfe Sands was remarkable as the last 
 great clan battle fought on the Borders, and it led to the 
 renewal of the strife betwixt the Maxwells and Johnstones, 
 with every circumstance of ferocity which could add horror 
 to civil war. The last distinguished act of the tragedy took 
 place thus:— 
 
 The son of the slain Lord Maxwell invited Sir James 
 Johnstone to a friendly conference to which each chieftain 
 engaged to bring one friend only. They met at a place 
 called Auchmanhill, on the 6th August 1608, when the 
 attendant of Lord Maxwell, after falling into bitter and 
 
FEUD OF MAXWELL AND JOHNSTON. 97 
 
 reproachful language with Johnstone of Gunmanlie, who 
 was in attendance on his chief, at length fired his pistol. 
 Sir James Johnstone turning round to see what had hap¬ 
 pened, Lord Maxwell treacherously shot him through the 
 back with a pistol charged with a brace of poisoned bullets. 
 While the gallant old knight lay dying on the ground, 
 Maxwell rode round him with the view of completing his 
 crime, but Johnstone defended himself with his sword till 
 strength and life failed him. 
 
 This final catastrophe of such a succession of bloody acts 
 of revenge took place several years after the Union of the 
 Crowns, and the consequences, so different from those which 
 ensued on former occasions, show how effectually the King’s 
 authority, and the power of enforcing the course of equal 
 justice, had increased in consequence of that desirable event. 
 You may observe from the incidents mentioned, that in 
 1585, when Lord Maxwell assaulted and made prisoner the 
 Laird of Johnstone, then the King’s warden, and acting in 
 his name, and committed him to the captivity in which he 
 died, James was totally unequal to the task of vindicating 
 his royal authority, and saw himself compelled to receive 
 Maxwell into favour and trust as if he had done nothing 
 contrary to the laws. Nor was the royal authority more 
 effectual in 1593, when Maxwell, acting as royal warden, 
 and having the King’s banner displayed, was in his turn 
 defeated and slain in so melancholy and cruel a manner at 
 Dryfe Sands. On the contrary, Sir James Johnstone was 
 not only pardoned, but restored to favour and trust by 
 the King. But there was a conspicuous difference in the 
 consequences of the murder which took place at Auch- 
 manhill in 1608. Lord Maxwell, finding no refuge in the 
 Border country, was obliged to escape to France, where he 
 resided for two or three years; but afterwards venturing 
 to return to Scotland, he was apprehended in the wilds of 
 
98 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 Caithness,, and brought to trial at Edinburgh. James, 
 desirous on this occasion to strike terror, by a salutary war¬ 
 ning, into the factious nobility and disorderly Borderers, 
 caused the criminal to be publicly beheaded on 21st 
 May 1613. 
 
 
ASSASSINATION OF REGENT MURRAY. 
 
 HE ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the 
 ancient baronial residence of the family of 
 Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous 
 banks of the river Evan, about two miles 
 above its junction with the Clyde. It was 
 dismantled, in the conclusion of the Civil Wars, during the 
 reign of the unfortunate Mary, to whose cause the house of 
 Hamilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal which 
 occasioned their temporary obscurity, and very nearly their 
 total ruin. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, 
 darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the 
 brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the 
 immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, 
 the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently ex¬ 
 tended through the south of Scotland, from the eastern to 
 the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure twenty- 
 five feet and upwards in circumference; and the state of 
 decay in which they now appear shows that they have 
 witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is 
 included in the magnificent and extensive park of the Duke 
 of Hamilton. There was long preserved in this forest the 
 breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occa¬ 
 sioned their being extirpated, about forty years ago. Their 
 
IOO 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, with black 
 muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by 
 ancient authors as having white manes ; but those of latter 
 days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with 
 the tame breed. 
 
 In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, it would 
 be injustice to my reader to use other words than those 
 of Dr. Robertson, whose account of that memorable event 
 forms a beautiful piece of historical painting. 
 
 “ Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who com¬ 
 mitted this barbarous action. He had been condemned to 
 death soon after the battle of Langside, and owed his life 
 to the Regent’s clemency. But part of his estate had been 
 bestowed upon one of the Regent’s favourites [Sir James 
 Bellenden], who seized his house, and turned out his 
 wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, where 
 before next morning she became furiously mad. This 
 injury made a deeper impression on him than the benefit he 
 had received, and from that moment he vowed to be revenged 
 of the Regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed his 
 private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded 
 the enterprise. The maxims of that age justified the most 
 desperate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He 
 followed the Regent for some time, and watched for an 
 opportunity to strike the blow. He resolved at last to wait 
 till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, through which 
 he was to pass in his way from Stirling to Edinburgh. He 
 took his stand in a wooden gallery, which had a window 
 towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor to 
 hinder the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a 
 black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be 
 observed from without; and, after all this preparation, calmly 
 expected the Regent’s approach, who had lodged during 
 the night in a house not far distant. Some indistinct 
 

ASSASSINATION OF REGENT MURRAY. ioi 
 
 information of the danger which threatened him had been 
 conveyed to the Regent, and he paid so much regard to it, 
 that he resolved to return by the same gate through which 
 he "had entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. 
 But as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself 
 unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the 
 street; and the throng of people obliging him to move very 
 slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that 
 he shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower part of 
 his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman who rode on 
 his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break 
 into the house whence the blow had come; but they found 
 the door strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced 
 open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, which stood 
 ready for him at a back passage, and was got far beyond 
 their reach. The Regent died the same night of his wound.” 
 —History of Scotland. 
 
 Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was 
 received in triumph; for the ashes of the houses in Clydes¬ 
 dale, which had been burned by Murray’s army, were yet 
 smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and 
 the enormity of the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to 
 justify the deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this 
 fierce and determined man left Scotland, and served in 
 France, under the patronage of the family of Guise, to 
 whom he was doubtless recommended by having avenged 
 the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful 
 brother. De Thou has recorded that an attempt was made 
 to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous 
 Admiral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. 
 But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was 
 no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with 
 contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, 
 from Scotland to commit murders in France; he had 
 
102 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 avenged his own just quarrel, but he would neither, for 
 price nor prayer, avenge that of another man. 
 
 The Regent’s death happened 23d January 1569. It is 
 applauded or stigmatized, by contemporary historians, 
 according to their religious or party prejudices. The 
 triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols 
 the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, “ who,” he observes, “ satis¬ 
 fied, with a single ounce of lead, him whose sacrilegious 
 avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St. Andrews 
 of its covering;” but he ascribes it to immediate divine 
 inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than 
 the miraculous interference of the Deity. With equal 
 injustice, it was by others made the ground of a general 
 national reflection; for when Mather urged Berney to 
 assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot 
 and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator answered, “that 
 neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, 
 without some reason or consideration to lead them to it; 
 as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or rewarde; 
 the other, upon desperate mind of revenge, for a lyttle 
 wrong done unto him, as the report goethe, according to 
 the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the 
 Scottes.” 
 
 [Regent Murray was a noble-looking personage, of grave 
 and commanding presence. His funeral, which was a solemn 
 spectacle, took place on the 14th February in the High 
 Church of St. Giles, at Edinburgh. The body had been taken 
 from Linlithgow to Stirling, and thence was transported by 
 water to Leith, and carried to the palace of Holyrood. In 
 the public procession to the church it was accompanied by the 
 magistrates and citizens of Edinburgh, who greatly lamented 
 him. On entering the church, the bier was placed before the 
 pulpit, and Knox preached the sermon, taking for his text, 
 “ Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.”] 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 AMES VI. was but an infant when he was 
 placed on the throne of his mother. He was 
 now only a boy of fourteen, very good-natured, 
 and with as much learning as two excellent 
 schoolmasters could cram him with. In fact, 
 he had more learning than wisdom; and yet, in the course 
 of his future life, it did not appear that he was without good 
 sense so much, as that he was destitute of the power to form 
 manly purposes, and the firmness necessary to maintain 
 them. A certain childishness and meanness of mind ren¬ 
 dered his good sense useless, and his learning ridiculous. 
 Even from his infancy he was passionately addicted to 
 favourites, and already, in his thirteenth or fourteenth year, 
 there were two persons so high in his good graces that 
 they could bring him to do anything they pleased. 
 
 The first was Esme Stewart of Aubigny, a nephew of the 
 late Earl of Lennox, and his heir. The king not only 
 restored this young man to the honours of his family, 
 but created him Duke of Lennox, and raised him with 
 too prodigal generosity to a high situation in the state. 
 There was nothing in the character of this favourite either 
 to deserve such extreme preferment or to make him un¬ 
 worthy of it. He was a gallant young gentleman, who was 
 
104 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 deeply grateful to the King for his bounty, and appears to 
 have been disposed to enjoy it without injuring any one. 
 
 Very different was the character of the other favourite 
 of James VI. This was Captain James Stewart, a second 
 son of the family of Ochiltree. He was an unprincipled, 
 abandoned man, without any wisdom except cunning, and 
 only distinguished by the audacity of his ambition and the 
 boldness of his character. 
 
 The counsels of these two favourites increased the King’s 
 natural desire to put an end to the sway of Morton, and 
 Stewart resolved that the pretext for his removal should 
 also be one which should bring him to the block. The 
 grounds of accusation were artfully chosen. The Earl of 
 Morton, when he resigned the regency, had obtained a 
 pardon under the great seal for all crimes and offences 
 which he had or might have committed against the King; 
 but there was no mention in that pardon of the murder 
 of Henry Darnley, the King’s father; and in counselling, 
 if not in committing that murder, the Earl of Morton had 
 certainly participated. The favourite Stewart took the office 
 of accuser upon himself; and entering the King’s chamber 
 suddenly when the Privy Council were assembled, he 
 dropped on his knees before James, and accused the Earl 
 of Morton of having been concerned in the murder of the 
 King’s father. To this Morton, with a haughty smile, re¬ 
 plied, that he had prosecuted the perpetrators of that 
 offence too severely to make it probable that he himself 
 was one of them. All he demanded was a fair inquiry. 
 
 Upon this public accusation, the Earl, so lately the most 
 powerful man in Scotland, was made prisoner, and appointed 
 to abide a trial. The friends he had left earnestly exhorted 
 him to fly. His nephew, the Earl of Angus, offered to raise 
 his men, and protect him by force. Morton refused both 
 offers, alleging he would wait the event of a fair investigation. 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY . 
 
 105 
 
 The Queen of England interfered in Morton’s behalf with 
 such partial eagerness as perhaps prejudiced James still 
 more against the prisoner, whom he was led to believe to 
 be more attached to Elizabeth’s service than to his own. 
 
 Meantime the accuser, Stewart, was promoted to the 
 earldom of Arran, vacant by the forfeiture of the Hamiltons. 
 Morton, who had no knowledge of this preferment, was 
 astonished when he heard that the charge ran against him 
 in the name of James, Earl of Arran. When it was ex¬ 
 plained to him who it was that now enjoyed the title, he 
 observed, “ Is it even so ? then I know what I have to 
 expect.” It was supposed that he recollected an old 
 prophecy, which foretold “that the Bloody Heart” (the 
 cognizance of the Douglasses) “should fall by the mouth 
 of Arran;” and it was conjectured that the fear of some 
 one of the Hamiltons accomplishing that prophecy had 
 made him the more actively violent in destroying that 
 family. If so, his own tyrannical oppression only opened 
 the way for the creation of an Arran different from those 
 whom he had thought of. 
 
 The trial of Morton appears to have been conducted 
 with no attention to the rules of impartial justice; for the 
 servants of the accused person were apprehended and put 
 to the torture, in order to extort from them confessions which 
 might be fatal to their master. Morton protested against 
 two or three persons who were placed upon his jury, as 
 being his mortal enemies; but they were nevertheless 
 retained. They brought in a verdict finding that he was 
 guilty, art and part, of the murder of Henry Darnley. A 
 man is said to be art and part of a crime when he con¬ 
 trives the manner of the deed, and concurs with and 
 encourages those who commit the crime, although he does 
 not put his own hand to the actual execution. Morton 
 heard the verdict with indignation, and struck his staff 
 
io6 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 against the ground as he repeated the words, “Art and 
 part! art and part! God knoweth the contrary.” On the 
 morning after his sentence he awoke from a profound 
 sleep—“ On former nights,” he said, “ I used to lie awake, 
 thinking how I might defend myself; but now my mind is 
 relieved of its burden.” Being conjured by the clergymen 
 who attended him to confess all he knew of Henry Darn- 
 ley’s murder, he told them, as we have noticed elsewhere, 
 that a proposal had been made to him by Bothwell to be 
 accessory to the deed, but that he had refused to assent to 
 it without an order under the Queen’s hand, which Bothwell 
 promised to procure, but could not, or at least did not do 
 so. Morton admitted that he had kept the secret, not 
 knowing, he said, to whom to discover it: for if he had 
 told it to Queen Mary, she was herself one of the con¬ 
 spirators; if to Darnley, he was of a disposition so fickle 
 that the Queen would work it out of him, and then he, 
 Morton, was equally undone. He also admitted that he 
 knew that his friend, dependant, and kinsman, Archibald 
 Douglas, was present at the murder, who, notwithstanding, 
 he never brought to justice, but on the contrary continued 
 to favour. Upon the whole, he seems to allow that he 
 suffered justly for concealing the crime, though he denied 
 having given counsel or assistance to its actual execution. 
 “ But it is all the same,” he said; “I should have had the 
 same doom whether I were as innocent as St. Stephen, 
 or as guilty as Judas.” 
 
 As they were about to lead the Earl to execution, Captain 
 Stewart, his accuser, now Earl of Arran, came to urge his 
 subscribing a paper containing the purport of his confession. 
 Morton replied, “ I pray you trouble me not; I am now to 
 prepare for death, and cannot write in the state in which I 
 am.” Arran then desired to be reconciled to him, pretend¬ 
 ing he had only acted from public and conscientious motives. 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 107 
 
 “ It is no time to count quarrels now, ” said the Earl; “ I 
 forgive you and all others/’ . . . 
 
 After the death of Morton his faults and crimes were in 
 a great measure forgotten, when it was observed that Arran 
 (that is, Captain Stewart) possessed all the late Regent’s 
 vices of corruption and oppression, without his wisdom or 
 his talents. Lennox, the King’s other favourite, was also 
 unpopular, chiefly because he was unacceptable to the 
 clergy, who, although he avowedly professed the Protestant 
 religion, were jealous of his retaining an attachment to the 
 Catholic faith. This suspicion arose from his having been 
 educated in France. They publicly preached against him 
 as “ a great Champion called his Grace, who, if he continued 
 to oppose himself to religion, should have little grace in the 
 end.” 
 
 A plot was formed among the discontented nobles to 
 remove the King’s favourites from the court; and this was 
 to be accomplished by forcibly seizing on the person of the 
 King himself, which, during the minority of the Prince, was 
 the ordinary mode of changing an administration in the 
 kingdom of Scotland. 
 
 On the 23d August 1582 the Earl of Gowrie invited the 
 King to his castle at Ruthven, under pretext of hunting; he 
 was joined by the Earl of Mar, Lord Lindsay, the Tutor of 
 Glamis, and other noblemen, chiefly such as had been 
 friendly to the Regent Morton, and who were, like him, 
 attached to Queen Elizabeth’s faction. When the King saw 
 so many persons gather round him whom he knew to be of 
 one way of thinking, and that hostile to his present measures, 
 he became apprehensive of their intentions, and expressed 
 himself desirous of leaving the castle. 
 
 The nobles gave him to understand that he would not be 
 permitted to do so ; and when James rose and went towards 
 the door of the apartment, the Tutor of Glamis, a rude stem 
 
io8 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 man, placed his back against it, and compelled him to 
 return. Affronted at this act of personal restraint and vio¬ 
 lence, the King burst into tears. “ Let him weep on,” said 
 the Tutor of Glamis, fiercely; “ better that bairns (children) 
 weep, than bearded men.” These words sank deep into the 
 King’s heart, nor did he ever forget or forgive them. 
 
 The insurgent lords took possession of the government, 
 and banished the Duke of Lennox to France, where he died 
 broken-hearted at the fall of his fortunes. James afterwards 
 recalled his son to Scotland, and invested him with his 
 father’s fortune and dignities. Arran, the King’s much less 
 worthy favourite, was thrown into prison, and closely guarded. 
 The King himself, reduced to a state of captivity, like his 
 grandfather, James V., when in the hands of the Douglasses, 
 temporised, and watched an opportunity of escape. His 
 guards consisted of a hundred gentlemen, and their com¬ 
 mander, Colonel Stewart, a relation of the disgraced and 
 imprisoned Arran, was easily engaged to do what the King 
 wished. 
 
 James, with the purpose of recovering his freedom, made 
 a visit to Saint Andrews, and when there affected some 
 curiosity to see the castle. But no sooner had he entered 
 it than he caused the gates to be shut, and excluded from 
 his presence the nobles who had been accessory to what 
 was called the Raid of Ruthven. 
 
 The Earl of Gowrie and his accomplices, being thus 
 thrust out of office, and deprived of the custody of the 
 King’s person, united in a fresh plot for regaining the power 
 they had lost by a new insurrection. In this, however, 
 they were unsuccessful. The King advanced against them 
 with considerable forces; Gowrie was made prisoner, tried, 
 and executed at Stirling, 4th May 1584. Angus and the 
 other insurgents fled to England, the ordinary refuge of 
 Scottish exiles. The execution of Gowrie gave rise long 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 109 
 
 afterwards to that extraordinary event in Scottish history 
 called the Gowrie Conspiracy, of which I shall give you an 
 account by and by. 
 
 The upstart Earl of Arran was now restored to power, 
 and indeed raised higher than ever, by that indiscriminate 
 affection which, on this and other occasions, induced James 
 to heap wealth and rank without bounds upon his favourites. 
 This worthless minister governed everything at court and 
 throughout the kingdom; and though ignorant, as well as 
 venal and profligate, he was raised to the dignity of Lord 
 Chancellor, the highest law-office in the state, and that in 
 which sagacity, learning, and integrity were chiefly required. 
 
 One day when the favourite was bustling into the Court 
 of Justice, at the head of his numerous retinue, an old man, 
 rather meanly dressed, chanced to stand in his way. As 
 Arran pushed rudely past him, the man stopped him, and 
 said, “ Look at me, my lord—I am Oliver Sinclair! ” 
 Oliver Sinclair was the favourite of James V., and had 
 exercised during his reign as absolute a sway in Scotland as 
 Arran now enjoyed under his grandson, James VI. In pre¬ 
 senting himself before the present favourite in his neglected 
 condition, he gave Arran an example of the changeful 
 character of court favour. The lesson was a striking one • 
 but Arran did not profit by it. 
 
 The strangest adventure in James’s reign was the event 
 called the Gowrie Conspiracy [August 5, 1600], over which 
 there hangs a sort of mystery, which time has not even yet 
 completely dispelled. You must recollect that there was 
 an Earl of Gowrie condemned and executed when James 
 was but a boy. This nobleman left two sons, bearing the 
 family name of Ruthven, who were well educated abroad, and 
 accounted hopeful young men. The King restored to the 
 
IIO TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 eldest the title and estate of Gowrie, and favoured them 
 both very much. 
 
 Now it chanced in the month of August, 1600, that 
 Alexander Ruthven, the younger of the two brothers, came 
 early one morning to the King, who was then hunting in 
 the Park of Falkland, and told him a story of his having 
 seized a suspicious-looking man, a Jesuit, as he supposed, 
 with a large pot of gold under his cloak. This man Ruthven 
 said he had detained prisoner at his brother’s house in Perth 
 till the King should examine him and take possession of 
 the treasure. With this story he decoyed James from the 
 hunting-field, and persuaded him to ride with him to Perth, 
 without any other company than a few noblemen and 
 attendants, who followed the King without orders. 
 
 When they arrived at Perth, they entered Gowrie House, 
 the mansion of the Earl, a large massive building, having 
 gardens which stretched down to the river Tay. The Earl of 
 Gowrie was, or seemed surprised, to see the King arrive so 
 unexpectedly, and caused some entertainment to be hastily 
 prepared for his Majesty’s refreshment. After the King 
 had dined, Alexander Ruthven pressed him to come with 
 him to see the prisoner in private; and James, curious by 
 nature, and sufficiently indigent to be inquisitive after money, 
 followed him from one apartment to another, until Ruthven 
 led him into a little turret, where there stood—not a prisoner 
 with a pot of gold—but an armed man, prepared, as it 
 seemed, for some violent enterprise. 
 
 The King started back, but Ruthven snatched the dagger 
 which the man wore, and pointing it to James’s breast, 
 reminded him of his father the Earl of Gowrie’s death, and 
 commanded him, upon pain of death, to submit to his 
 pleasure. The King replied that he was but a boy when 
 the Earl of Gowrie suffered, and upbraided Ruthven with 
 ingratitude. The conspirator, moved by remorse or some 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 hi 
 
 other reason, assured the King that his life should be safe, 
 and left him in the turret with the armed man, who, not 
 very well selected to aid in a purpose so desperate, stood 
 shaking in his armour, without assisting either his master 
 or the King. 
 
 Let us now see what was passing below, during this 
 strange scene betwixt the King and Ruthven. The attend¬ 
 ants of James had begun to wonder at his absence, when 
 they were suddenly informed by a servant of the Earl of 
 Gowrie, that the King had mounted his horse, and had set 
 out on his return to Falkland. The noblemen and attend¬ 
 ants rushed into the courtyard of the mansion, and called 
 for their horses, the Earl of Gowrie at the same time 
 hurrying them away. Here the porter interfered, and said 
 the King could not have left the house, since he had not 
 passed the gate, of which he had the keys. Gowrie, on the 
 other hand, called the man a liar, and insisted that the King 
 had departed. 
 
 While the attendants of James knew not what to think, 
 a half-smothered, yet terrified voice, was heard to scream 
 from the window of a turret above their heads—“ Help! 
 Treason ! Help ! my Lord of Mar ! ” They looked upwards, 
 and beheld James’s face in great agitation pushed through 
 the window, while a hand was seen grasping his throat, as 
 if some one behind endeavoured by violence to draw him 
 back. 
 
 The explanation was as follows:—The King, when left 
 alone with the armed man, had, it seems, prevailed upon 
 him to open the lattice window. This was just done when 
 Alexander Ruthven again entered the turret, and, swearing 
 that there was no remedy, but the King must needs die, he 
 seized on him, and endeavoured by main force to tie his 
 hands with a garter. James resisted, in the extremity of 
 despair, and dragging Ruthven to the window, now open, 
 
12 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 called out to his attendants in the manner we have described. 
 His retinue hastened to his assistance. The greater part 
 ran to the principal staircase, of which they found the doors 
 shut, and immediately endeavoured to force them open. 
 Meantime a page of the King’s, called Sir John Ramsay, 
 discovered a back stair which led him to the turret, where 
 Ruthven and the King were still struggling. Ramsay 
 stabbed Ruthven twice with his dagger, James calling to 
 him to strike high, as he had a doublet of proof on him. 
 Ramsay then thrust Ruthven, now mortally wounded, 
 towards the private staircase, where he was met by Sir 
 Thomas Erskine and Sir Hugh Herries, two of the royal 
 attendants, who despatched him with their swords. His 
 last words were—“ Alas! I am not to blame for this 
 action.” 
 
 This danger was scarcely over, when the Earl of Gowrie 
 entered the outer chamber, with a drawn sword in each 
 hand, followed by seven attendants, demanding vengeance 
 for the death of his brother. The King’s followers, only 
 four in number, thrust James, for the safety of his person, 
 back into the turret-closet, and shut the door; and then 
 engaged in a conflict, which was the more desperate, that 
 they fought four to eight, and Herries was a lame and 
 disabled man. But Sir John Ramsay having run the Earl 
 of Gowrie through the heart, he dropt dead without speaking 
 a word, and his servants fled. The doors of the great stair¬ 
 case were now opened to the nobles, who were endeavouring 
 to force their way to the King’s assistance. 
 
 In the meantime a new peril threatened the King and his 
 few attendants. The slain Earl of Gowrie was provost 
 of the town of Perth, and much beloved by the citizens. 
 On hearing what had happened, they ran to arms, and 
 surrounded the mansion-house, where this tragedy had been 
 acted, threatening, that if their provost were not delivered to 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 ii3 
 
 them safe and sound, the King’s green coat should pay for 
 it. Their violence was at last quieted by the magistrates of 
 the town, and the mob were prevailed on to disperse. 
 
 The object of this strange conspiracy is one of the darkest 
 in history, and what made it stranger, the armed man who 
 was stationed in the turret could throw no light upon it. 
 He proved to be one Henderson, steward to the Earl of 
 Gowrie, who had been ordered to arm himself for the pur¬ 
 pose of taking a Highland thief, and was posted in the 
 turret by Alexander Ruthven, without any intimation what 
 he was to do; so that the whole scene came upon him by 
 surprise. The mystery seemed so impenetrable, and so 
 much of the narrative rested upon James’s own testimony, 
 that many persons of that period, and even some historians 
 of our own day, have thought that it was not a conspiracy 
 of the brothers against the King, but of the King against 
 the brothers; and that James, having taken a dislike to 
 them, had contrived the bloody scene, and then thrown the 
 blame on the Ruthvens, who suffered in it. But, besides 
 the placability and gentleness of James’s disposition, and 
 besides the consideration that no adequate motive can be 
 assigned, or even conjectured, for his perpetrating such an 
 inhospitable murder, it ought to be remembered that the 
 King was naturally timorous, and could not even look at a 
 drawn sword without shuddering; so that it is contrary to 
 all reason and probability to suppose that he could be the 
 deviser of a scheme in which his life was repeatedly exposed 
 to the most imminent danger. However, many of the 
 clergy refused to obey James’s order to keep a day of solemn 
 thanksgiving for the King’s deliverance, intimating, without 
 hesitation, that they greatly doubted the truth of his story. 
 One of them being pressed by the King very hard, said— 
 “That doubtless he must believe it, since his majesty said 
 he had seen it; but that, had he seen it himself, he would 
 
 H 
 
114 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 not have believed his own eyes.” James was much vexed 
 with this incredulity, for it was hard not to obtain credit 
 after having been in so much danger. 
 
 Nine years after the affair, some light was thrown upon 
 the transaction by one Sprot, a notary-public, who, out of 
 mere curiosity, had possessed himself of certain letters, said 
 to have been written to the Earl of Gowrie by Robert Logan 
 of Restalrig, a scheming, turbulent, and profligate man. In 
 these papers allusion was repeatedly made to the death of 
 Cowrie’s father, to the revenge which was meditated, and to 
 the execution of some great and perilous enterprise. Lastly, 
 there was intimation that the Ruthvens were to bring a 
 prisoner by sea to Logan’s fortress of Fastcastle, a very 
 strong and inaccessible tower, overhanging the sea, on the 
 coast of Berwickshire. This place he recommends as 
 suitable for keeping some important prisoner in safety and 
 concealment, and adds, he had kept Bothwell there in his 
 utmost distresses, let the King and his council say what they 
 would. 
 
 All these expressions seem to point at a plot, not affecting 
 the King’s life, but his personal liberty, and make it probable 
 that when Alexander Ruthven had frightened the King into 
 silence and compliance, the brothers intended to carry him 
 through the gardens, and put him on board of a boat, and 
 so conveying him down the firth of Tay, might, after making 
 a private signal, which Logan alludes to, place their royal 
 prisoner in security at Fastcastle. The seizing upon the 
 person of the King was a common enterprise among the 
 Scottish nobles, and the father of the Ruthvens had lost his 
 life for such an attempt. Adopting this as their intention, 
 it is probable that Queen Elizabeth was privy to the attempt; 
 and perhaps having found so much conveniency from 
 detaining the person of Mary in captivity, she might have 
 formed some similar plan for obtaining the custody of her son. 
 
THE GOWRIE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 ii5 
 
 I must not conclude this story without observing that 
 Logan’s bones were brought into a court of justice for the 
 purpose of being tried after death, and that he was declared 
 guilty, and a sentence of forfeiture pronounced against him. 
 But it has not been noticed that Logan, a dissolute and 
 extravagant man, was deprived of great part of his estate 
 before his death, and that the King, therefore, could have no 
 lucrative object in following out this ancient and barbarous 
 form of process. The fate of Sprot, the notary, was singular 
 enough. He was condemned to be hanged for keeping 
 these treasonable letters in his possession, without com¬ 
 municating them to the government; and he suffered death 
 accordingly, asserting to the last that the letters were’ genuine, 
 and that he had only preserved them from curiosity. This 
 fact he testified even in the agonies of death; for being 
 desired to give a sign of the truth and sincerity of his 
 confession, after he was thrown off from the ladder he is 
 said to have clapped his hands three times. Yet some 
 persons continued to think that what Sprot told was untrue, 
 and that the letters were forgeries; but it seems great 
 incredulity to doubt the truth of a confession which 
 brought to the gallows the man who made it; and of late 
 years the letters produced by Sprot are regarded as genuine 
 by the best judges of these matters. When so admitted, 
 they render it evident that the purpose of the Gowrie con¬ 
 spiracy was to make King James a prisoner in the remote 
 and inaccessible tower of Fastcastle, and perhaps ultimately 
 to deliver him up to Queen Elizabeth. 
 
BATTLE OE TIPPERMUIR. 
 
 (.September I, 1644.) 
 
 [James Graham, Earl of Montrose, was a man of genius, being a 
 poet and scholar, and skilled in the art of war. A Scottish army having 
 been sent to the assistance of the English Parliamentary forces, against 
 Charles I., Montrose took advantage of its absence to raise the royal 
 standard in Scotland.] 
 
 the assistance of the [Highland] chieftains, 
 and more especially by the junction of the 
 Murrays, Stewarts, and other clans of Athole, 
 which were peculiarly zealous in the royal 
 cause, Montrose soon assembled an army of 
 Wo or three thousand Highlanders, to whom he successfully 
 united the Irish under Colkitto. This last leader was properly 
 named Alister, or Alexander M‘Donnell, by birth a Scottish 
 islesman, and related to the Earl of Antrim, to whose 
 patronage he owed the command assigned him in the Irish 
 troops. In many respects he merited this distinction. He 
 was brave to intrepidity, and almost to insensibility; very 
 strong and active in person, completely master of his weapons, 
 and always ready to show the example in the extremity of 
 danger. To counterbalance these good qualities, it must 
 be recorded that he was inexperienced in military tactics, 
 and of a jealous and presumptuous disposition, which often 
 lost to Montrose the fruits of Colkitto’s gallantry. Yet such 
 is the predominance of outward personal qualities in the 
 
BATTLE OF TIPPERMUIR . 
 
 1 7 
 
 eyes of a wild people, that the feats of strength and courage 
 shown by this champion seem to have made a stronger 
 impression upon the minds of the Highlanders than the 
 military skill and chivalrous spirit of the great Marquis of 
 Montrose. Numerous traditions are still preserved in the 
 Highland glens concerning Alister M‘Donnell, though the 
 name of Montrose is rarely mentioned among them. 
 
 The point upon which Montrose finally assembled his 
 little army was in Strathearn, on the verge of the Highlands 
 of Perthshire, so as to menace the principal town of that 
 county. 
 
 His enemies were not unprepared for his reception. 
 Argyle, at the head of his Highlanders, was dogging the 
 steps of the Irish from the west to the east, and by force, 
 fear, or influence, had collected an army nearly sufficient to 
 have given battle to Montrose. The Lowlands were also 
 prepared. A body of six thousand infantry, and six or seven 
 thousand cavalry, which profanely assumed the title of God’s 
 army, had been hastily assembled from the shires of Fife } 
 Angus, Perth, Stirling, and the neighbouring counties. A 
 much less force in former times, nay, even in the preceding 
 reign, would have been sufficient to have secured the Low¬ 
 lands against a more formidable descent of Highlanders 
 than those united under Montrose ; but times had changed 
 strangely within the last half century. Before that period, 
 the Lowlanders were as constantly engaged in war as the 
 mountaineers, and were incomparably better disciplined and 
 armed. The favourite Scottish order of battle somewhat 
 resembled the Macedonian phalanx. Their infantry formed 
 a compact body, armed with long spears, impenetrable even 
 to the men-at-arms of the age, though well mounted, and 
 arrayed in complete proof. It may easily be conceived, 
 therefore, that their ranks could not be broken by the 
 disorderly charge of Highland infantry armed for close 
 
118 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 combat only, with swords, and ill-furnished with missile 
 weapons, and having no artillery whatever. 
 
 This habit of fight was in a great measure changed by 
 the introduction of muskets into the Scottish Lowland service, 
 which, not being as yet combined with the bayonet, was a 
 formidable weapon at a distance, but gave no assurance 
 against the enemy who rushed on to close quarters. The 
 pike, indeed, was not wholly disused in the Scottish army; 
 but it was no longer the favourite weapon, nor was it relied 
 upon as formerly by those in whose hands it was placed; 
 insomuch that Daniel Lupton, a tactician of the day, has 
 written a book expressly upon the superiority of the musket. 
 This change commenced as early as the wars of Gustavus 
 Adolphus, whose marches were made with such rapidity, 
 that the pike was very soon thrown aside in his army, and 
 exchanged for firearms. A circumstance which necessarily 
 accompanied this change, as well as the establishment of 
 standing armies, whereby war became a trade, was the 
 introduction of a laborious and complicated system of dis¬ 
 cipline, combining a variety of words of command with 
 corresponding operations and manoeuvres, the neglect of 
 any one of which was sure to throw the whole into confusion. 
 War, therefore, as practised among most nations of Europe, 
 had assumed much more than formerly the character of a 
 profession or mystery, to which previous practice and expe¬ 
 rience were indispensable requisites. Such was the natural 
 consequence of standing armies, which had almost every¬ 
 where, and particularly in the long German wars, superseded 
 what may be called the natural discipline of the feudal 
 militia. 
 
 The Scottish Lowland militia, therefore, laboured under 
 a double disadvantage when opposed to Highlanders. 
 They were divested of the spear, a weapon which, in the 
 hands of their ancestors, had so often repelled the impetuous 
 
BATTLE OF TIPPERMUIR. ng 
 
 assaults of the mountaineer; and they were subjected to a 
 new and complicated species of discipline, well adapted, 
 perhaps, to the use of regular troops, who could be rendered 
 completely masters of it, but tending only to confuse the 
 ranks of citizen soldiers, by whom it was rarely practised, 
 and imperfectly understood. So much has been done in 
 our own time in bringing back tactics to their first principles 
 and in getting rid of the pedantry of war, that it is easy for 
 us to estimate the disadvantages under which a half-trained 
 militia laboured, who were taught to consider success as 
 depending upon their exercising with precision a system of 
 tactics, which they probably only so far comprehended as to 
 find out when they were wrong, but without the power of 
 getting right again. Neither can it be denied, that, in the 
 material points of military habits and warlike spirit, the 
 Lowlanders of the seventeenth century had sunk far beneath 
 their Highland countrymen. 
 
 From the earliest period down to the Union of the Crowns, 
 the whole kingdom of Scotland, Lowlands as well as High¬ 
 lands, had been the constant scene of war, foreign and 
 domestic; and there was probably scarce one of its hardy 
 inhabitants, between the age of sixteen and sixty, who was 
 not as willing in point of fact, as he was literally bound in 
 law, to assume arms at the first call of his liege lord, or of a 
 royal proclamation. The law remained the same in sixteen 
 hundred and forty-five as a hundred years before, but the 
 race of those subjected to it had been bred up under very 
 different feelings. They had sat in quiet under their vine 
 and under their fig-tree, and a call to battle involved a 
 change of life as new as it was disagreeable. Such of them, 
 also, who lived near unto the Highlands, were in continual 
 and disadvantageous contact with the restless inhabitants of 
 those mountains, by whom their cattle were driven off, their 
 dwellings plundered, and their persons insulted, and who 
 
120 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 had acquired over them that sort of superiority arising from 
 a constant system of aggression. The Lowlanders, who lay 
 more remote, and out of reach of these depredations, were 
 influenced by the exaggerated reports circulated concerning 
 the Highlanders, whom, as totally differing in laws, language, 
 and dress, they were induced to regard as a nation of 
 savages, equally void of fear and of humanity. These 
 various prepossessions, joined to the less warlike habits of 
 the Lowlanders, and their imperfect knowledge of the new 
 and complicated system of discipline for which they had 
 exchanged their natural mode of fighting, placed them at 
 great disadvantage when opposed to the Highlander in the 
 field of battle. The mountaineers, on the contrary, with 
 the arms and courage of their fathers, possessed also their 
 simple and natural system of tactics, and bore down with 
 the fullest confidence upon an enemy, to whom anything 
 they had been taught of discipline was, like Saul’s armour 
 upon David, a hindrance rather than a help, “ because they 
 had not proved it.” 
 
 It was with such disadvantages on the one side, and such 
 advantages on the other, to counterbalance the difference of 
 superior numbers and the presence of artillery and cavalry, 
 that Montrose encountered the army of Lord Elcho upon 
 the field of Tippermuir. The Presbyterian clergy had not 
 been wanting in their efforts to rouse the spirit of their 
 followers; and one of them, who harangued the troops on 
 the very day of battle, hesitated not to say, that if ever God 
 spoke by his mouth, he promised them, in His name, that 
 day, a great and assured victory. The cavalry and artillery 
 were also reckoned sure warrants of success, as the novelty 
 of their attack had upon former occasions been very dis¬ 
 couraging to the Highlanders. The place of meeting was 
 an open heath, and the ground afforded little advantage to 
 
BATTLE OF TIPPERMUIR. 
 
 12 
 
 either party, except that it allowed the horse of the Cove¬ 
 nanters to act with effect. 
 
 A battle upon which so much depended was never more 
 easily decided. The Lowland cavalry made a show of 
 charging; but, whether thrown into disorder by the fire of 
 musketry, or deterred by a disaffection to the service said to 
 have prevailed among the gentlemen, they made no impres¬ 
 sion on the Highlanders whatever, and recoiled in disorder 
 from ranks which had neither bayonets nor pikes to protect 
 them. Montrose saw, and instantly availed himself of this 
 advantage. He ordered his whole army to charge, which 
 they performed with the wild and desperate valour peculiar 
 to mountaineers. One officer of the Covenanters alone, 
 trained in the Italian wars, made a desperate defence upon 
 the right wing. In every other point their line was 
 penetrated at the first onset; and this advantage once 
 obtained, the Lowlanders were utterly unable to contend at 
 close quarters with their more agile and athletic enemies. 
 Many were slain on the field, and such a number in the 
 pursuit, that above one-third of the Covenanters were re¬ 
 ported to have fallen; in which number, however, must be 
 computed a great many fat burgesses who broke their wind 
 in the flight, and thus died without stroke of sword. 
 
 The victors obtained possession of Perth, and obtained 
 considerable sums of money, as well as ample supplies of 
 arms and ammunition. But those advantages were to be 
 balanced against an almost insurmountable inconvenience 
 that uniformly attended a Highland army. The clans could 
 be in no respect induced to consider themselves as regular 
 soldiers, or to act as such. Even so late as the year 1745-6, 
 when the Chevalier Charles Edward, by way of making an 
 example, caused a soldier to be shot for desertion, the 
 Highlanders, who composed his army, were affected as 
 much by indignation as by fear. They could not conceive 
 
122 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 any principle of justice upon which a man’s life could be 
 taken, for merely going home when it did not suit him to 
 remain longer with the army. Such had been the uniform 
 practice of their fathers. When a battle was over, the 
 campaign was, in their opinion, ended; if it was lost, they 
 sought safety in their mountains—if won, they returned 
 there to secure their booty. At other times they had their 
 cattle to look after, and their harvests to sow or reap, with¬ 
 out which their families would have perished for want. In 
 either case, there was an end of their services for the time; 
 and though they were easily enough recalled by the prospect 
 of fresh adventures and more plunder, yet the opportunity 
 of success was, in the meantime, lost, and could not after¬ 
 wards be recovered. This circumstance serves to show, 
 even if history had not made us acquainted with the same 
 fact, that the Highlanders had never been accustomed to 
 make war with the view of permanent conquest, but only 
 with the hope of deriving temporary advantage, or deciding 
 some immediate quarrel. It also explains the reason why 
 Montrose, with all his splendid successes, never obtained 
 any secure or permanent footing in the Lowlands, and why 
 even those Lowland noblemen and gentlemen who were 
 inclined to the royal cause, showed diffidence and reluctance 
 to join an army of a character so desultory and irregular, as 
 might lead them at all times to apprehend that the High¬ 
 landers, securing themselves by a retreat to their mountains, 
 would leave whatever Lowlanders might have joined them 
 to the mercy of an offended and predominant enemy. 
 
EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 
 
 HE death of Charles I. was nowhere more 
 deeply resented than in his native country of 
 Scotland; and the national pride of the Scots 
 was the more hurt, that they could not but be 
 conscious that the surrender of his person by 
 their army at Newcastle was the event which contributed 
 immediately to place him in the hands of his enemies. 
 
 The government since the Whigamores’ Raid had 
 continued in the hands of Argyle and the more rigid 
 Presbyterians; but even they, no friends to the House of 
 Stuart, were bound by the Covenant, which was their rule in 
 all things, to acknowledge the hereditary descent of their 
 ancient kings, and call to the throne Charles, the eldest son 
 of the deceased monarch, providing he would consent to 
 unite with his subjects in taking the Solemn League and 
 Covenant, for the support of Presbytery, and the putting 
 down of all other forms of religion. The Scottish Parlia¬ 
 ment met, and resolved accordingly to proclaim Charles II. 
 their lawful sovereign; but, at the same time, not to admit 
 him to the actual power as such, until he should give 
 security for the religion, unity, and peace of the kingdoms. 
 Commissioners were sent to wait upon Charles, who had 
 retreated to the Continent, in order to offer him the throne 
 of Scotland on these terms. 
 
124 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The young Prince had already around him counsellors of 
 a different character. The celebrated Marquis of Montrose, 
 and other Scottish nobles, few in number, but animated by 
 their leader’s courage and zeal, advised him to reject the 
 proposal of the Presbyterians to recall him to the regal 
 dignity on such conditions, and offered their swords and 
 lives to place him on the throne by force of arms. 
 
 It appears that Charles II., who never had any deep sense 
 of integrity, was willing to treat with both of these parties at 
 one and the same time; and that he granted a commission 
 to the Marquis to attempt a descent on Scotland, taking the 
 chance of what might be accomplished by his far-famed 
 fortune and dauntless enterprise, while he kept a negotia¬ 
 tion afloat with the Presbyterian commissioners, in case of 
 Montrose’s failure. 
 
 That intrepid but rash enthusiast embarked at Hamburgh 
 with some arms and treasure, supplied by the northern courts 
 of Europe. His fame drew around him a few of the 
 emigrant Royalists, chiefly Scottish, and he recruited about 
 six hundred German mercenaries. His first descent was 
 on the Orkney islands, where he forced to arms a few 
 hundred of unwarlike fishermen. He next disembarked on 
 the mainland; but the natives fled from him, remembering 
 the former excesses of his army. 
 
 Strachan, an officer under Lesley, came upon the Marquis 
 by surprise, near a pass called Invercharron, on the confines 
 of Ross-shire. The Orkney men made but little resistance; 
 the Germans retired to a wood, and there surrendered; the 
 few Scottish companions of Montrose fought bravely, but 
 in vain. Many gallant cavaliers were made prisoners. 
 Montrose, when the day was irretrievably lost, threw off his 
 cloak bearing the star, and afterwards changed clothes 
 with an ordinary Highland kern, that he might endeavour 
 to effect his escape, and swam across the river Kyle. 
 
EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 
 
 125 
 
 Exhausted with fatigue and hunger, he was at length taken 
 by a Ross-shire chief, MacLeod of Assint, who happened 
 to be out with a party of his men in arms. The Marquis 
 discovered himself to this man, thinking himself secure of 
 favour, since Assint had been once his own follower. But 
 tempted by a reward of four hundred bolls of meal, this 
 wretched chief delivered his old commander into the 
 unfriendly hands of David Lesley. 
 
 The Covenanters, when he who had so often made them 
 tremble was at length delivered into their hands, celebrated 
 their victory with all the exultation of mean, timid, and 
 sullen spirits, suddenly released from apprehension of 
 imminent danger. Montrose was dragged in a sort of 
 triumph from town to town, in the mean garb in which he 
 had disguised himself for flight. To the honour of the town 
 of Dundee, which had been partly plundered and partly 
 burnt by Montrose’s forces, during his eventful progress 
 in 1645, the citizens of that town were the first who supplied 
 their fallen foe with clothes befitting his rank, with money, 
 and with necessaries. The Marquis himself must have felt 
 this as a severe rebuke for the wasteful mode in which 
 he had carried on his warfare; and it was a still more piercing 
 reproach to the unworthy victors, who now triumphed over 
 a heroic enemy in the same manner as they would have 
 done over a detected felon. 
 
 While Montrose was confined in the house of the Laird 
 of Grange in Fifeshire, he had almost made his escape 
 through the bold stratagem of the laird’s wife, a descendant 
 of the house of Somerville. This lady’s address had 
 drenched the guards with liquor; and the Marquis disguised 
 in female attire, with which she had furnished him, had 
 already passed the sleeping sentinels, when he was 
 challenged and stopped by a half-drunken soldier who had 
 been rambling about without any duty or purpose. The 
 
126 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 alarm being .given, he was again secured, and the lady’s plot 
 was of no avail. She escaped punishment only by her 
 husband’s connexion with the ruling party. 
 
 Before Montrose reached Edinburgh, he had been con¬ 
 demned by the Parliament to the death of a traitor. The 
 sentence was pronounced, without further trial, upon an act 
 of attainder, passed whilst he was plundering Argyle in the 
 winter of 1644; and it was studiously aggravated by every 
 species of infamy. 
 
 The Marquis was, according to the special order of Par¬ 
 liament, met at the gates by the magistrates, attended by the 
 common hangman, who was clad for the time in his own 
 livery. He was appointed, as the most infamous mode of 
 execution, to be hanged on a gibbet thirty feet high, his head 
 to be fixed on the tolbooth, or prison of Edinburgh, his body 
 to be quartered, and his limbs to be placed over the gates of 
 the principal towns of Scotland. According to the sentence, 
 he was conducted to jail on a cart, whereon was fixed a high 
 bench on which he was placed, bound and bareheaded, the 
 horse led by the executioner, wearing his bonnet, and the 
 noble prisoner exposed to the scorn of the people, who were 
 expected to hoot and revile him. But the rabble, who came 
 out with the rudest purposes, relented when they saw the 
 dignity of his bearing; and silence, accompanied by the sighs 
 and tears of the crowd, attended the progress, which his ene¬ 
 mies had designed should excite other emotions. The only 
 observation he made was, that “the ceremonial of his entrance 
 had been somewhat fatiguing and tedious.” 
 
 He was next brought before the Parliament to hear the 
 terms of his sentence, where he appeared with the same 
 manly indifference. He gazed around on his assembled 
 enemies with as much composure as the most unconcerned 
 spectator; heard Loudoun, the Chancellor, upbraid him, in 
 a long and violent declamation, with the breach of both the 
 
EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 
 
 127 
 
 first and second Covenant; with his cruel wars at the head 
 of the savage Irish and Highlandmen; and with the 
 murders, treasons, and conflagrations, which they had 
 occasioned. When the Chancellor had finished, Montrose 
 with difficulty obtained permission to reply. 
 
 He told the Parliament, with his usual boldness, that if 
 he appeared before them uncovered, and addressed them 
 with respect, it was only because the King had acknowledged 
 their assembly, by entering into a treaty with them. He 
 admitted he had taken the first, or National Covenant, and 
 had acted upon it so long as it was confined to its proper 
 purposes, but had dissented from and opposed those who 
 had used it as a pretext for assailing the royal authority. 
 “ The second, or Solemn League and Covenant,” he said, 
 “ he had never taken, and was therefore in no respect bound 
 by it. He had made war by the King’s express commission; 
 and although it was impossible, in the course of hostilities 
 absolutely to prevent acts of military violence, he had always 
 disowned and punished such irregularities. He had never,” 
 he said, “ spilt the blood of a prisoner, even in retaliation of 
 the cold-blooded murder of his officers and friends—nay, he 
 had spared the lives of thousands in the very shock of battle. 
 His last undertaking,” he continued, “was carried on at the 
 express command of Charles II., whom they had proclaimed 
 their sovereign, and with whom they were treating as such. 
 Therefore, he desired to be used by them as a man and a 
 Christian, to whom many of them had been indebted for 
 life and property, when the fate of war had placed both in 
 his power. He required them, in conclusion, to proceed 
 with him according to the laws of nature and nations, but 
 especially according to those of Scotland, as they themselves 
 would expect to be judged when they stood at the bar of 
 Almighty God.” 
 
 The sentence already mentioned was then read to the 
 
128 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 undaunted prisoner, on which he observed, he was more 
 honoured in having his head set on the prison, for the cause 
 in which he died, than he would have been had they decreed 
 a golden statue to be erected to him in the market-place, 
 or in having his picture in the King’s bedchamber. As to 
 the distribution of his limbs, he said he wished he had flesh 
 enough to send some to each city of Europe, in memory of 
 the cause in which he died. He spent the night in reducing 
 these ideas into poetry. 
 
 Early on the morning of the next day he was awakened 
 by the drums and trumpets calling out the guards, by orders 
 of Parliament, to attend on his execution. “Alas!” he 
 said, “ I have given these good folks much trouble while 
 alive, and do I continue to be a terror to them on the day 
 I am to die ! ” 
 
 The clergy importuned him, urging repentance of his 
 sins, and offering, on his expressing such compunction, to 
 relieve him from the sentence of excommunication under 
 which he laboured. He calmly replied, that though the 
 excommunication had been rashly pronounced, yet it gave 
 him pain, and he desired to be freed from it, if a relaxation 
 could be obtained, by expressing penitence for his offences 
 as a man; but that he had committed none in his duty to 
 his Prince and country, and therefore had none to acknow¬ 
 ledge or repent of. 
 
 Johnstone of Warriston, an eminent Covenanter, intruded 
 himself on the noble prisoner, while he was combing the 
 long curled hair, which he wore as a cavalier. Warriston, 
 a gloomy fanatic, hinted as if it were but an idle employ¬ 
 ment at so solemn a time. “ I will arrange my head as I 
 please to-day, while it is still my own,” answered Montrose, 
 “ to-morrow it will be yours, and you may deal with it as 
 you list.” 
 
 The Marquis walked on foot, from the prison to the 
 
EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 
 
 129 
 
 Grassmarket, the common place of execution for the basest 
 felons, where a gibbet of extraordinary height, with a scaffold 
 covered with black cloth, were erected. Here he was again 
 pressed by the Presbyterian clergy to own his guilt. Their 
 cruel and illiberal officiousness could not disturb the serenity 
 of his temper. To exaggerate the infamy of his punish¬ 
 ment, or rather to show the mean spite of his enemies, a 
 book, containing the printed history of his exploits, was 
 hung around his neck by the hangman. This insult like¬ 
 wise he treated with contempt, saying he accounted such 
 a record of his services to his Prince as a symbol equally 
 honourable with the badge of the Garter which the King 
 had bestowed on him. In all other particulars Montrose 
 bore himself with the same calm dignity, and finally sub¬ 
 mitted to execution with such resolved courage, that many 
 even of his bitterest enemies wept on the occasion. He 
 suffered on the 21st of May 1650. 
 
 Argyle, the mortal foe of Montrose, exulted in private 
 over the death of his enemy, but abstained from appearing 
 in Parliament when he was condemned, and from witness¬ 
 ing his execution. He is even said to have shed tears when 
 he heard the scene rehearsed. His son, Lord Lorn, was 
 less scrupulous; he looked on his feudal enemy’s last 
 moments, and even watched the blows of the executioner’s 
 axe, while he dissevered the head from the body. His 
 cruelty was requited in the subsequent reign; and indeed 
 heaven soon after made manifest the folly, as well as guilt, 
 which destroyed this celebrated commander, at a time when 
 approaching war might have rendered his talents invaluable 
 to his country. 
 
 Other noble Scottish blood was spilt at the same time, 
 both at home and in England. The Marquis of Huntly, 
 who had always acted for the King, though he had injured 
 
 1 
 
13 ° 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 his affairs by his hesitation to co-operate with Montrose, 
 was beheaded at Edinburgh; and Urry, who had been 
 sometimes the enemy, sometimes the follower of Mon¬ 
 trose, was executed with others of the Marquis’s principal 
 followers. 
 
 WATT TIN LINN. 
 
 IT was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, 
 and held for his Border service a small tower 
 on the frontiers of Liddesdale. Watt was 
 by profession a sutor j 1 but by inclination 
 and practice an archer and warrior. Upon 
 one occasion, the captain of Bewcastle, military governor 
 of that wild district of Cumberland, is said to have made an 
 incursion into Scotland, in which he was defeated and 
 forced to fly. Watt Tinlinn pursued him closely through a 
 dangerous morass; the captain, however, gained the firm 
 ground, and seeing Tinlinn dismounted and floundering 
 in the bog, used these words of insult:—“ Sutor Watt, ye 
 cannot sew your boots ; the heels risp , and the seams rive A 2 
 “If I cannot sew,” retorted Tinlinn, discharging a shaft, 
 which nailed the captain’s thigh to his saddle—“ If I can¬ 
 not sew, I can yerkA 3 
 
 1 Shoemaker. 
 
 2 Risp, creak; rive, rend. 
 
 3 Yerky or jerk, as shoemakers do, to tighten their stitches. 
 
LEGEND OF LITTLECOTE HALL . 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 “ And whither would you lead me, then ?” 
 
 Quoth the Friar of orders grey ; 
 
 And the Ruffians twain replied again, 
 
 “By a dying woman to pray.”— 
 
 “I see,” he said, “a lovely sight, 
 
 A sight bodes little harm, 
 
 A lady as a lily bright, 
 
 With an infant on her arm.”— 
 
 “Then do thine office, Friar grey, 
 
 And see thou shrive her free ? 
 
 Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 
 
 Fling all its guilt on thee. 
 
 ‘•'Let mass be said, and trentrals read, 
 When thou’rt to convent gone, 
 
 And bid the bell of St. Benedict 
 Toll out its deepest tone.” 
 
 The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 
 Blindfolded as he came— 
 
 Next morning all in Littlecot Hall 
 Were weeping for their dame. 
 
132 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Wild Darrell is an altered man, 
 
 The village crones can tell ; 
 
 He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, 
 If he hears the convent bell. 
 
 If prince or peer cross Darrell’s way, 
 
 He’ll beard him in his pride— 
 
 If he meet a Friar of orders grey, 
 
 He droops and turns aside. 
 
 HE tradition from which the ballad is founded 
 was supplied by a friend (the late Lord Webb 
 Seymour), whose account I will not do the 
 injustice to abridge, as it contains an admirable 
 picture of an old English hall:— 
 
 “ Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situation. 
 On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads over 
 the adjoining hill; on the fourth, by meadows which are 
 watered by the river Kennet. Close on one side of the 
 house is a thick grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which 
 runs one of the principal avenues to it through the park. 
 It is an irregular building of great antiquity, and was pro¬ 
 bably erected about the time of the termination of feudal 
 warfare, when defence came no longer to be an object in 
 a country mansion. Many circumstances, however, in the 
 interior of the house, seem appropriate to feudal times. The 
 hall is very spacious, floored with stones, and lighted by 
 large transom windows, that are clothed with casements. 
 Its walls are hung with old military accoutrements, that have 
 long been left a prey to rust. At one end of the hall is a 
 range of coats of mail and helmets, and there is on every 
 side abundance of old-fashioned pistols and guns, many of 
 them with matchlocks. Immediately below the cornice 
 hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the form of a shirt, 
 supposed to have been worn as armour by the vassals. A 
 large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of the room 
 
LEGEND OF LITTLECOTE HALL. 
 
 133 
 
 to the other, might have feasted the whole neighbourhood, 
 and an appendage to one end of it made it answer at other 
 times for the old game of shuffleboard. The rest of the 
 furniture is in a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of 
 cumbrous workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously 
 turned, with a high back and triangular seat, said to have 
 been used by Judge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The 
 entrance into the hall is at one end, by a low door, communi¬ 
 cating with a passage that leads from the outer door in the 
 front of the house to a quadrangle within; at the other, it 
 opens upon a gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the 
 first floor, and, passing the doors of some bedchambers, 
 enter a- narrow gallery, which extends along the back front 
 of the house from one end to the other of it, and looks upon 
 an old garden. This gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly 
 in the Spanish dresses of the sixteenth century. In one of 
 the bedchambers, which you pass in going towards the 
 gallery, is a bedstead with blue furniture, which time has 
 now made dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of one 
 of the bed curtains you are shown a place where a small 
 piece has been cut out and sewn in again—a circumstance 
 which serves to identify the scene of the following story :— 
 ‘“It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November 
 that an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fireside, when 
 on a sudden she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. 
 On opening it she found a horseman, who told her that her 
 assistance was required immediately by a person of rank, 
 and that she should be handsomely rewarded ; but that 
 there were reasons for keeping the affair a strict secret, and 
 therefore she must submit to be blindfolded, and to be 
 conducted in that condition to the bedchamber of the lady. 
 With some hesitation the midwife consented; the horseman 
 bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion behind him. 
 After proceeding in silence for many miles through rough 
 
134 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 and dirty lanes, they stopped, and the midwife was led into 
 a house, which, from the length of her walk through the 
 apartments, as well as the sounds about her, she discovered 
 to be the seat of wealth and power. When the bandage was 
 removed from her eyes, she found herself in a bedchamber, 
 in which were the lady on whose account she had been sent 
 for, and a man of a haughty and ferocious aspect. The 
 lady was delivered of a fine boy. Immediately the man 
 commanded the midwife to give him the child, and catching 
 it from her, he hurried across the room, and threw it on the 
 back of the fire that was blazing in the chimney. The 
 child, however, was strong, and by its struggles rolled itself 
 upon the hearth, when the ruffian again seized it with fury, 
 and in spite of the intercession of the midwife, and the more 
 piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust it under the grate, 
 and raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end to its 
 life. The midwife, after spending some time in affording 
 all the relief in her power to the wretched mother, was told 
 that she must be gone. Her former conductor appeared, 
 who again bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him 
 to her own home; he then paid her handsomely, and 
 departed. The midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors 
 of the preceding night; and she immediately made a deposi¬ 
 tion of the facts before a magistrate. Two circumstances 
 afforded hopes of detecting the house in which the crime 
 had been committed; one was, that the midwife, as she sat 
 by the bedside, had, with a view to discover the place, cut 
 out a piece of the bed-curtain, and sewn it in again; the 
 other was, that as she had descended the staircase she had 
 counted the steps. Some suspicions fell upon one Darrell, 
 at that time the proprietor of Littlecote House, and the 
 domain around it. The house was examined, and identified 
 by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at Salisbury for the 
 murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped the sentence 
 
LEGEND OF LITTLECOTE HALL. 
 
 135 
 
 of the law; but broke his neck by a fall from his horse in 
 hunting, in a few months after. The place where this hap¬ 
 pened is still known by the name of Darrell’s Style, a spot 
 to be dreaded by the peasant whom the shades of evening 
 have overtaken on his way.’ 
 
 “ Littlecote House is two miles from Hungerford, in 
 Berkshire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact 
 occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important cir¬ 
 cumstances I have given exactly as they are told in the 
 country; some trifles only are added, either to render the 
 whole connected, or to increase the impression.” 
 
 To Lord Webb’s edition of this singular story, the author 
 can now add the following account, extracted from Aubrey’s 
 Correspondence. It occurs among other particulars respect¬ 
 ing Sir John Popham :— 
 
 “ Sir * * * Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Corn. Wilts, having 
 gott his lady’s waiting-woman with child, when her travell 
 came, sent a servant with a horse for a midwife, whom he 
 was to bring hood-winked. She was brought, and layd the 
 woman, but as soon as the child was born, she sawe the 
 knight take the child and murther it, and burn it in the fire 
 in the chamber. She having done her businesse, was extra¬ 
 ordinarily rewarded for her paines, and sent blindfolded 
 away. This horrid action did much run in her mind, and 
 she had a desire to discover it, but knew not where ’twas. 
 She considered with herself the time that she was riding, 
 and how many miles she might have rode at that rate in that 
 time, and that it must be some great person’s house, for the 
 roome was 12 foot high ; and she should know the chamber 
 if she sawe it. She went to a Justice of Peace, and search 
 was made. The very chamber found. The Knight was 
 brought to his tryall; and, to be short, this judge had this 
 noble house, parke and manner, and (I thinke) more, for a 
 bribe to save his life. 
 
136 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 “Sir John Popham gave, sentence according to lawe, but 
 being a great person and a favourite, he procured a noli pro¬ 
 sequi. ” 
 
 With this tale of terror the author has combined some 
 circumstances of a similar legend, which was current at 
 Edinburgh during his childhood. 
 
 About the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the 
 large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded 
 hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which they pos¬ 
 sessed in Edinburgh, were sometimes the, scenes of strange 
 and mysterious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was 
 called up at midnight to pray with a person at the point of 
 death. This was no unusual summons; but what followed 
 was alarming. He was put into a sedan-chair, and after 
 he had been transported to a remote part of the town, the 
 bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded. The request 
 was enforced by a cocked pistol, and submitted to; but in 
 the course of the discussion he conjectured, from the phrases 
 employed by the chairmen, and from some part of their 
 dress not completely concealed by their cloaks, that they 
 were greatly above the menial station they had assumed. 
 After many turns and windings the chair was carried up¬ 
 stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were uncovered, and he 
 was introduced into a bedroom, where he found a lady, 
 newly delivered of an infant. He was commanded by his 
 attendants to say such prayers by her bedside as were fit¬ 
 ting for a person not expected to survive a mortal disorder. 
 He ventured to remonstrate, and observed, that her safe 
 delivery warranted better hopes. But he was sternly com¬ 
 manded to obey the orders first given, and with difficulty 
 recollected himself sufficiently to acquit himself of the task 
 imposed on him. He was then again hurried into the 
 chair ; but as they conducted him down stairs, he heard the 
 report of a pistol. He was safely conducted home; a purse 
 
LEGEND OF LITTLECOTE HALL. 
 
 37 
 
 of gold was forced upon him; but he was warned, at the 
 same time, that the least allusion to this dark transaction 
 would cost him his life. He betook himself to rest, and, 
 after long and broken musing, fell into a deep sleep. From 
 this he was awakened by his servant, with the dismal news 
 that a fire of uncommon fury had broken out in the house 
 of * * * *, near the head of the Canongate, and that it 
 was totally consumed; with the shocking addition, that the 
 daughter of the proprietor, a young lady eminent for beauty 
 and accomplishments, had perished in the flames. The 
 clergyman had his suspicions, but to have made them public 
 would have availed nothing. He was timid; the family was 
 of the first distinction; above all, the deed was done, and 
 could not be amended. Time wore away, however, and 
 with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the soli¬ 
 tary depositary of this fearful mystery, and mentioned it to 
 some of his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired 
 a sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been long 
 dead, and the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire 
 broke out again on the very same spot where the house of 
 * * * * h a( f formerly stood, and which was now occupied 
 by buildings of an inferior description. When the flames 
 were at their height, the tumult, which usually attends such 
 a scene, was suddenly suspended by an unexpected appari¬ 
 tion. A beautiful female, in a night-dress, extremely rich, 
 but at least half a century old, appeared in the very midst 
 of the. fire, and uttered these tremendous words in her 
 vernacular idiom: “Anes burned, twice burned; the third 
 time I’ll scare you all! ” The belief in this story was 
 formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and seeming 
 to approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of anxiety 
 testified, lest the apparition should make good her denun¬ 
 ciation. 
 
MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE. 
 
 N event now occurred (1679), one of the most 
 remarkable of the time, which had a great 
 effect upon public affairs, and the general 
 feeling of the nation. This was the murder 
 of James Sharpe, Archbishop of St. Andrews, 
 and Primate of Scotland. This person, you must remember, 
 having been the agent of the Presbyterians at the time of 
 the Restoration, had, as was generally thought, betrayed his 
 constituents; at least he had certainly changed his principles, 
 and accepted the highest office in the new Episcopal estab¬ 
 lishment. It may be well supposed that a person so much 
 hated as he was, from his desertion of the old cause, and 
 violence in the new, was the object of general hostility, and 
 that amongst a sect so enthusiastic as the Nonconformists, 
 some one should be found to exercise judgment upon him 
 —in other words, to take his life. 
 
 The avenger who first conceived himself called to this 
 task was one Mitchell, a fanatical preacher, of moderate 
 talents and a heated imagination. He fired a pistol, loaded 
 with three bullets, into the coach of the Archbishop, and 
 missing the object of his aim, broke the arm of Honeyman, 
 Bishop of the Orkneys, who sat with Sharpe in the carriage, 
 of which wound he never entirely recovered, though he 
 lingered for some years. The assassin escaped during the 
 
MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE. 
 
 139 
 
 confusion. This was in 1668, and in 1674 the Archbishop 
 again observed a man who seemed to watch him, and whose 
 face was imprinted upon his mind. The alarm was given, 
 and Mitchell was seized. Being closely examined by the 
 Lords of the Privy Council, he at first absolutely denied the 
 act charged against him. But to the Chancellor he con¬ 
 fessed in private—having at first received a solemn promise 
 that his life should be safe—that he had fired the shot which 
 wounded the Bishop of Orkney. After this compromise, the 
 assassin’s trial was put off from time to time, from the de¬ 
 termined desire to take the life which had been promised to 
 him. In order to find matter against Mitchell, he was ex¬ 
 amined concerning his accession to the insurrection of 
 Pentland ; and as he refused to confess anything which 
 should make against himself, he was appointed to undergo 
 the torture of the boot. 
 
 He behaved with great courage when the frightful appa¬ 
 ratus was produced, and not knowing, as he said, that he 
 could escape such torture with life, declared that he forgave 
 from his heart those at whose command it was to be inflicted, 
 the men appointed to be the agents of their cruelty, and 
 those who satiated their malevolence by looking on as 
 spectators. When the executioner demanded which leg 
 should be enclosed in the dreadful boot, the prisoner, with 
 the same confidence, stretched out his right leg, saying, 
 “Take the best; I willingly bestow it in this cause.” He 
 endured nine blows of the mallet with the utmost firmness, 
 each more severely crushing the limb. At the ninth blow he 
 fainted, and was remanded to prison. After this he was sent 
 to the Bass, a desolate islet, or rather rock, in the Firth of 
 Forth, where was a strong castle then occupied as a state 
 prison. 
 
 On the 7th January 1678, ten years after the deed was 
 committed, and four years after he was made prisoner, 
 
140 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Mitchell was finally brought to his trial; and while his own 
 confession was produced against him as evidence, he was 
 not allowed to plead the promise of life upon which he had 
 been induced to make the fatal avowal. It is shameful to 
 be obliged to add, that the Duke of Lauderdale would not 
 permit the records of the Privy Council to be produced, 
 and that some of the Privy Councillors swore that no 
 assurance of life had been granted, although it had been 
 accurately entered, and is now to be seen on the record. 
 The unfortunate man was therefore condemned. Lauder¬ 
 dale, it is said, would have saved his life; but the Arch¬ 
 bishop demanding his execution as necessary to guard the 
 lives of Privy Councillors from such attempts in future, 
 the Duke gave up the cause with a profane and brutal jest, 
 and the man was executed, with more disgrace to his judges 
 than to himself, the consideration of his guilt being lost in 
 the infamous manoeuvres used in bringing him to punish¬ 
 ment. 
 
 It may be noted that in the commencement of Lauder¬ 
 dale’s administration Archbishop Sharpe was removed from 
 public affairs. But this did not last long, as the Duke 
 found that he could not maintain his interest at court with¬ 
 out the support of the Episcopal party. The Primate’s 
 violence of disposition was supposed to have greatly in¬ 
 fluenced the whole of Lauderdale’s latter government. But 
 in Fife, where he had his archiepiscopal residence, it was 
 most severely felt; and as the Nonconformists of that county 
 were fierce and enthusiastic in proportion to the extremity 
 of persecution which they underwent, there was soon found 
 a band among them who sent abroad an anonymous placard, 
 threatening that any person who might be accessory to the 
 troubles inflicted upon the Whigs in that county, should 
 be suitably punished by a party strong enough to set resist¬ 
 ance at defiance. 
 
MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE. 141 
 
 The chief person among these desperate men was David 
 Hackston of Rathillet, a gentleman of family and fortune. 
 He had been a free liver in his youth, but latterly had 
 adopted strong and enthusiastic views of religion, which led 
 him into the extreme opinions entertained by the fiercest of 
 the Whig party. John Balfour of Kinloch, called Burley, 
 the brother-in-law of Hackston, is described by a cove¬ 
 nanting author as a little man of stern aspect, and squint- 
 eyed ; none of the most religious, but very willing to engage 
 in any battles or quarrels which his comrades found it neces¬ 
 sary to sustain. He was at this time in danger from the law, 
 on account of a late affray, in which he had severely wounded 
 one of the life-guards. It is alleged that both these persons 
 had private enmity at Archbishop Sharpe. Balfour had been 
 his factor in the management of some property, and had 
 failed to give account of the money he had received, and 
 Hackston, being bail for his brother-in-law, was thrown into 
 jail till the debt was made good. The remainder of the 
 band were either small proprietors of land, or portioners, as 
 they are called in Scotland, or mechanics, such as weavers 
 and the like. 
 
 These enthusiasts, to the number of nine, were out, and 
 in arms, on 3d May 1679, with the purpose of assaulting 
 (in the terms of their proclamation) one Carmichael, who 
 acted as a commissioner for receiving the fines of the non¬ 
 conformists. This person had indeed been in the fields 
 hunting that morning, but chancing to hear that there was 
 such a party looking out for him, he left his sport and went 
 home. 
 
 When Rathillet and his friends were about to disperse in 
 sullen disappointment, the wife of a farmer at Baldinny 
 sent a lad to tell them that the Archbishop’s coach was 
 upon the road returning from Ceres towards St. Andrews. 
 The conspirators were in that mood when our own wishes 
 
142 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 and thoughts, strongly fostered and cherished, are apt to 
 seem to us like inspiration from above. Balfour, or Burley, 
 affirmed he had felt a preternatural impulse, forcing him to 
 return to Fife, when it was his purpose to have gone to the 
 Highlands, and that on going to prayers he had been con¬ 
 firmed by the Scripture text, “ Go, have not I sent thee ? ” 
 Russel, another of the party, also affirmed he had been long 
 impressed with the idea that some great enemy to the 
 Church was to be cut off, and spoke of some text about 
 Nero, which assuredly does not exist in Scripture. 
 
 They all agreed, in short, that the opportunity offered was 
 the work of Heaven; that they should not draw back, but go 
 on; and that, instead of the inferior agent, for whom they 
 had been seeking in vain, it was their duty to cut off the 
 prime source of the persecution, whom Heaven had delivered 
 into their hands. This being determined upon, the band 
 chose Hackston for their leader; but he declined the office, 
 alleging, that the known quarrel betwixt him and the 
 Archbishop would mar the glory of the action, and cause it 
 to be imputed to private revenge. But he added with nice 
 distinction, that he would remain with them, and would not 
 interfere to prevent what they felt themselves called upon 
 to do. Upon this Balfour said, “ Gentlemen, follow me.” 
 
 They then set off at speed in pursuit of the carriage, 
 which was driving along a desolate heath, about three or 
 four miles from St. Andrews, called Magus-Moor. Fleming 
 and Russel, two of the assassins, rode into a farm-yard, and 
 demanded of the tenant, If the equipage on the road before 
 them was the Archbishop’s coach ? Guessing their purpose, 
 he was too much frightened to answer; but one of the 
 female servants came out and assured them with much 
 appearance of joy, that they were on the right scent. The 
 whole party then threw away their cloaks, and pursued as 
 fast as they could gallop, firing their carbines on the carriage 
 
MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE. 
 
 143 
 
 and crying out “Judas, be taken !” The coachman drove 
 rapidly, on seeing they were pursued by armed men; but a 
 heavy coach on a rugged road could not outstrip horsemen. 
 The servants who attended the carriage offered some 
 resistance, but were dismounted and disarmed by the pur¬ 
 suers. Having come up with the carriage, they stopped it 
 by cutting the traces and wounding the postilion; and then 
 fired a volley of balls into the coach, where the Archbishop 
 was seated with his daughter. This proving ineffectual, they 
 commanded the prelate to come forth, and prepare for 
 death, judgment, and eternity. The old man came out of 
 the coach, and creeping on his knees towards Hackston, said, 
 “ I know you are a gentleman—you will protect me ? ” 
 
 “ I will never lay a hand upon you,” said Hackston, 
 turning away from the suppliant. 
 
 One man of the party, touched with some compassion, 
 said, “ Spare his grey hairs.” 
 
 But the rest of the assassins were unmoved. One or 
 two pistols were discharged at the prostrate Archbishop 
 without effect; when conceiving, according to their super¬ 
 stitious notion, that their victim was possessed of a charm 
 against gun-shot, they drew their swords, and killed him 
 with many wounds, dashing even his skull to pieces, and 
 scooping out his brains. The lady, who made vain attempts 
 to throw herself between her father and the swords of the 
 assassins, received one or two wounds in the scuffle. They 
 rifled the coach of such arms and papers as it contained. 
 They found some trinkets, which they conceived were 
 magical; and also, as they pretended, a bee in a box, which 
 they concluded was a familiar spirit. 
 
 Such was the progress and termination of a violent and 
 wicked deed, committed by blinded and desperate men. 
 It brought much scandal on the Presbyterians, though 
 unjustly; for the moderate persons of that persuasion, 
 
144 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 comprehending the most numerous, and by far the most 
 respectable of the body, disowned so cruel an action, 
 although they might be at the same time of opinion, that 
 the Archbishop, who had been the cause of violent death to 
 many, merited some such termination to his own existence. 
 He had some virtues, being learned, temperate, and living 
 a life becoming his station; but his illiberal and intolerant 
 principles, and the violences which he committed to enforce 
 them, were the cause of great distress to Scotland, and of 
 his own premature and bloody end. 
 
 The Scottish government, which the Archbishop’s death 
 had alarmed and irrritated in the highest degree, used the 
 utmost exertions to apprehend his murderers; and failing 
 that, to disperse and subdue, by an extremity of violence 
 greater than what had been hitherto employed, every 
 assembly of armed Covenanters. All attendance upon field- 
 conventicles was declared treason ; new troops were raised, 
 and the strictest orders sent to the commanding officers to 
 act against Nonconformists with the utmost rigour. On the 
 other hand, the intercommmuned persons, now grown 
 desperate, assembled in more numerous and better armed 
 parties, and many of them showed a general purpose of 
 defiance and rebellion against the King’s authority, which 
 the moderate party continued to acknowledge, as being 
 that of the supreme civil magistrate. These circumstances 
 soon led to a crisis. 
 
 Several of the murderers of the Archbishop of St. 
 Andrews found their way, through great dangers, to the west 
 of Scotland; and their own interest, doubtless, induced 
 them to use such influence as they had acquired among the 
 zealots of their sect by their late action to bring matters to 
 extremity. 
 
 Hackston, Balfour, and others, seem to have held council 
 with Donald Cargill, one of the most noted of the preachers 
 
MURDER OF ARCHBISHOP SHARPE. 
 
 HS 
 
 at conventicles, and particularly with Robert Hamilton, 
 brother to the Laird of Prestonfield; in consequence of 
 which they appeared at the head of eighty horse, in the little 
 burgh of Rutherglen, on the 29th of May, appointed to be 
 held as a holiday, as the anniversary of the Restoration of 
 Charles II. They quenched the bonfires which had been 
 kindled on account of this solemnity, and drawing up in 
 order at the market-cross after prayer, and singing part of 
 a psalm, they formally entered their protest, or testimony, 
 as they called it, against the acts abolishing Presbytery and 
 establishing Episcopacy, together with the other defections 
 of the time, all of which they renounced and disclaimed. 
 After this bravado they affixed a copy of their testimony 
 to the cross, closed their meeting with prayer, and then 
 evacuated the town at their leisure, Hamilton harbouring 
 the Fife gentlemen—that is, those who had killed the 
 Archbishop. 
 
 K 
 
THE LAIRD'S JOCK. 
 
 OUGH has been said and sung about 
 
 “ The well-contested ground, 
 
 The warlike border-land”— 
 
 to render the-habits of the tribes who inha¬ 
 bited them before the union of England and Scotland fami¬ 
 liar to most readers. The rougher and sterner features of 
 their character were softened by their attachment to the fine 
 arts, from which has arisen the saying that, on the frontiers, 
 every dale had its battle and every river its song. A rude 
 species of chivalry was in constant use, and single combats 
 were practised as the amusement of the few intervals of truce 
 which suspended the exercise of war. The inveteracy of this 
 custom may be inferred from the following incident:— 
 Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the north, the first who 
 undertook to preach the Protestant doctrines to the Border 
 dalesmen, was surprised on entering one of their churches 
 to see a gauntlet or mail-glove hanging above the altar. 
 Upon inquiring the meaning of a symbol so indecorous 
 being displayed in that sacred place, he was informed by the 
 clerk that the glove was that of a famous swordsman, who 
 hung it there as an emblem of a general challenge and gage 
 of battle to any who should dare to take the fatal token down. 
 
THE LAIRD’S JOCK. 
 
 147 
 
 “ Reach it to me,” said the reverend churchman. The clerk 
 and sexton equally declined the perilous office; and the 
 good Bernard Gilpin was obliged to remove the glove with 
 his own hands, desiring those who were present to inform 
 the champion that he, and no other, had possessed himself 
 of the gage of defiance. But the champion was as much 
 ashamed to face Bernard Gilpin as the officials of the 
 church had been to displace his pledge of combat. 
 
 The date of the following story is about the latter years 
 of Queen Elizabeth’s reign; and the events took place in 
 Liddesdale, a hilly and pastoral district of Roxburghshire, 
 which on a part of its boundary is divided from England only 
 by a small river. 
 
 During the good old times of rugging and riving (that is, 
 tugging and tearing), under which term the disorderly doings 
 of the warlike age are affectionately remembered, this valley 
 was principally cultivated by the sept or clan of the 
 Armstrongs. The chief of this warlike race was the Laird 
 of Mangertown. At the period of which I speak the estate 
 of Mangertown, with the power and dignity of chief, was 
 possessed by John Armstrong, a man of great size, strength, 
 and courage. While his father was alive, he was distin¬ 
 guished from others of his clan who bore the same name, 
 by the epithet of the Laird’s Jock , that is to say, the Laird’s 
 son Jock, or Jack. This name he distinguished by so 
 many bold and desperate achievements, that he retained it 
 even after his father’s death, and is mentioned under it both 
 in authentic records and in tradition. Some of his feats are 
 recorded in the minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and others 
 mentioned in contemporary chronicles. 
 
 At the species of singular combat which we have de¬ 
 scribed, the Laird’s Jock was unrivalled ; and no champion 
 of Cumberland, Westmoreland, or Northumberland could 
 endure the sway of the huge two-handed sword which he 
 
48 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 wielded, and which few others could even lift. This 
 “awful sword,” as the common people term it, was as 
 dear to him as Durindana or Fushberta to their respective 
 masters, and was nearly as formidable to his enemies as 
 those renowned falchions proved to the foes of Christendom. 
 The weapon had been bequeathed to him by a celebrated 
 English outlaw named Hobbie Noble, who, having com¬ 
 mitted some deed for which he was in danger from justice, 
 fled to Liddesdale, and became a follower, or rather a 
 brother-in-arms, to the renowned Laird’s Jock; till, venturing 
 into England with a small escort, a faithless guide, and with 
 a light single-handed sword instead of his ponderous brand, 
 Hobbie Noble, attacked by superior numbers, was made 
 prisoner and executed. 
 
 With this weapon, and by means of his own strength and 
 address, the Laird’s Jock maintained the reputation of the 
 best swordsman on the border side, and defeated or slew 
 many who ventured to dispute with him the formidable 
 title. 
 
 But years pass on with the strong and the brave as with 
 the feeble and the timid. In process of time the Laird’s 
 Jock grew incapable of wielding his weapons, and finally of 
 all active exertion, even of the most ordinary kind. The 
 disabled champion became at length totally bedridden, and 
 entirely dependent for his comfort on the pious duties of an 
 only daughter, his perpetual attendant and companion. 
 
 Besides this dutiful child, the Laird’s Jock had an only 
 son, upon whom devolved the perilous task of leading the 
 clan to battle, and maintaining the warlike renown of his 
 native country, which was now disputed by the English 
 upon many occasions. The young Armstrong was active, 
 brave, and strong, and brought home from dangerous ad¬ 
 ventures many tokens of decided success. Still the ancient 
 chief conceived, as it would seem, that his son was scarce 
 
THE LAIRD'S JOCK. 
 
 149 
 
 yet entitled by age and experience to be intrusted with the 
 two-handed sword, by the use of which he had himself been 
 so dreadfully distinguished. 
 
 At length an English champion, one of the name of 
 Foster (if I rightly recollect), had the audacity to send a 
 challenge to the best swordsman in Liddesdale; and young 
 Armstrong, burning for chivalrous distinction, accepted the 
 challenge. 
 
 The heart of the disabled old man swelled with joy when 
 he heard that the challenge was passed and accepted, and 
 the meeting fixed at a neutral spot, used as the place of 
 rencontre upon such occasions, and which he himself had 
 distinguished by numerous victories. He exulted so much 
 in the conquest wfifich he anticipated, that to nerve his son 
 to still bolder exertions he conferred upon him, as champion 
 of his clan and province, the celebrated weapon which he 
 had hitherto retained in his own custody. 
 
 This was not alL When the day of combat arrived, the 
 Laird’s Jock, in spite of his daughter’s affectionate remon¬ 
 strances, determined, though he had not left his bed for 
 two years, to be a personal witness of the duel. His will 
 was still a law to his people, who bore him on their shoulders, 
 wrapped in plaids and blankets, to the spot where the com¬ 
 bat was to take place, and seated him on a fragment of rock, 
 which is still called the Laird’s Jock’s Stone. There he 
 remained with eyes fixed on the lists or barrier, within which 
 the champions were about to meet. His daughter, having 
 done all she could for his accommodation, stood motionless 
 beside him, divided between anxiety for his health and for 
 the event of the combat to her beloved brother. Ere yet 
 the fight began, the old men gazed on their chief, now seen 
 for the first time after several years, and sadly compared 
 his altered features and wasted frame with the paragon of 
 strength and manly beauty which they once remembered. 
 
150 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The young men gazed on his large form and powerful make 
 as upon some antediluvian giant who had survived the 
 destruction of the Flood. 
 
 But the sound of the trumpets on both sides recalled the 
 attention of every one to the lists, surrounded as they were 
 by numbers of both nations eager to witness the event of 
 the day. The combatants met. It is needless to describe 
 the struggle: the Scottish champion fell. Foster placing 
 his foot on his antagonist, seized on the redoubted sword, 
 so precious in the eyes of its aged owner, and brandished 
 it over his head as a trophy of his conquest. The English 
 shouted in triumph. But the despairing cry of the aged 
 champion, who saw his country dishonoured, and his sword, 
 long the terror of their race, in possession of an Englishman, 
 was heard high above the acclamations of victory. He 
 seemed, for an instant, animated by all his wonted power; 
 for he started from the rock on which he sat, and while the 
 garments with which he had been invested fell from his 
 wasted frame, and showed the ruins of his strength, he tossed 
 his arms wildly to heaven, and uttered a cry of indignation, 
 horror, and despair, which, tradition says, was heard to a 
 preternatural distance, and resembled the cry of a dying lion 
 more than a human sound. 
 
 His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly 
 exhausted by the effort, and bore him back to his castle in 
 mute sorrow; while his daughter at once wept for her 
 brother, and endeavoured to mitigate and soothe the despair 
 of her father. But this was impossible ; the old man’s only 
 tie to life was rent rudely asunder, and his heart had broken 
 with it. The death of his son had no part in his sorrow. 
 If he thought of him at all, it was as the degenerate boy 
 through whom the honour of his country and clan had been 
 lost; and he died in the course of three days, never even 
 
THE LAIRD’S JOCK . 151 
 
 mentioning his name, but pouring out unintermitted lamen¬ 
 tations for the loss of his sword. 
 
 I conceive, that the instant when the disabled chief was 
 roused into a last exertion by the agony of the moment is 
 favourable to the object of a painter. He might obtain the 
 full advantage of contrasting the form of the rugged old 
 man, in the extremity of furious despair, with the softness 
 and beauty of the female form. The fatal field might be 
 thrown into perspective, so as to give full effect to these two 
 principal figures, and with the single explanation that the 
 piece represented a soldier beholding his son slain, and the 
 honour of his country lost, the picture would be sufficiently 
 intelligible at the first glance. If it was thought necessary 
 to show more clearly the nature of the conflict, it might be 
 indicated by the pennon of Saint George being displayed 
 at one end of the lists, and that of Saint Andrew at the 
 other. 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 HE size and position of the Highlands of Scot¬ 
 land rendered them much less susceptible of 
 improvement than the Border districts, which, 
 far less extensive and less difficult of access, 
 were at the Union of the Crowns placed 
 between two civilised and peaceful countries instead of 
 being the frontier of two hostile lands. 
 
 The Highlanders, on the contrary, continued the same 
 series of wars among themselves, and incursions upon their 
 Lowland neighbours, which had distinguished them ever 
 since the dawn of their history. Military adventure, in one 
 form or other, was their delight as well as their employment, 
 and all works of industry were considered as unworthy the 
 dignity of a mountaineer. Even the necessary task of 
 raising a scanty crop of barley was assigned to the aged, 
 and to the women and children. The men thought of 
 nothing but hunting and war. I will give you an account 
 of a Highland chieftain, in character and practice not very 
 different from that of Allan-a-Sop, the Hebridean.* 
 
 The Stewarts, who inhabited the district of Appin, in the 
 West Highlands, were a numerous and warlike clan. Appin 
 is the title of the chief of the clan. The second branch of 
 the family was that of Invernahyle. The founder, a second 
 
 * See page 215. 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 153 
 
 son of the house of Appin, was called by the uncommon 
 epithet of Saioleach , or the Peaceful. One of his neighbours 
 was the Laird of Dunstaffnage, called Cailen Uaine, or 
 Green Colin, from the green colour which predominated in 
 his tartan. This Green Colin surprised the peaceful Laird 
 of Invernahyle, assassinated him, burnt his house, and 
 destroyed his whole family, excepting an infant at the breast. 
 This infant did not owe its safety to the mercy of Green 
 Colin, but to the activity and presence of mind of its nurse. 
 Finding she could not escape the pursuit of that chiefs 
 attendants, the faithful nurse determined to provide for the 
 safety of her foster-child, whose life she knew was aimed at, 
 in the only manner which remained. She therefore hid the 
 infant in a small fissure, or cave, of a rock, and, as the only 
 means she had of supplying him with subsistence, hung by 
 a string round his neck a large piece of lard, in the faint 
 hope that instinct might induce the child to employ it as a 
 .means of subsistence. The poor woman had only time to 
 get a little way from the place where she had concealed her 
 charge, when she was made prisoner by the pursuers. As 
 she denied any knowledge where the child was, they dis¬ 
 missed her as a person of no consequence, but not until 
 they had kept her two or three days in close confinement, 
 menacing her with death unless she would discover what 
 she had done with the infant. 
 
 When she found herself at liberty and unobserved, she 
 went to the hole in which she had concealed her charge, with 
 little hope save of finding such relics as wolves, wild-cats, or 
 birds of prey might have left after feasting upon its flesh, 
 but still with the pious wish to consign the remains of her 
 dault , or foster-child, to some place of Christian burial. 
 But her joy and surprise were extreme to find the infant 
 still alive and well, having lived during her absence by 
 sucking the lard, which it had reduced to a very small 
 
154 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 morsel, scarce larger than a hazel nut. The delighted nurse 
 made all haste to escape with her charge to the neighbour¬ 
 ing district of Moidart, of which she was a native, being the 
 wife of the smith of the clan of MacDonald, to whom that 
 country belonged. The mother of the infant thus miracu¬ 
 lously rescued had also been a daughter of this tribe. 
 
 To ensure the safety of her foster-child, the nurse per¬ 
 suaded her husband to bring it up as their own son. The 
 smith, you must remark, of a Highland tribe, was a person 
 of considerable consequence. His skill in forging armour 
 and weapons was usually united with dexterity in using 
 them, and with the strength of body which his profession 
 required. If I recollect right, the smith usually ranked as 
 third officer in the chief’s household. The young Donald 
 Stewart, as he grew up, was distinguished for great personal 
 strength. He became skilful in his foster-father’s art, and 
 so powerful, that he could, it is said, wield two fore¬ 
 hammers, one in each hand, for hours together. From this 
 circumstance he gained the name of Donuil nan Ord\ that 
 is, Donald of the Hammer, by which he was all his life 
 distinguished. 
 
 When he attained the age of twenty-one, Donald’s foster- 
 father, the smith, observing that his courage and enterprise 
 equalled his personal strength, thought fit to discover to 
 him the secret of his birth, the injuries which he had 
 received from Green Colin of Dunstaffnage, and the pre¬ 
 tensions which he had to the property of Invernahyle, now 
 in the possession of the man who had slain his father, and 
 usurped his inheritance. He concluded his discovery by 
 presenting to his beloved foster-child his own six sons to be 
 his followers and defenders for life and death, and his 
 assistants in the recovery of his patrimony. 
 
 Law of every description was unknown in the Highlands. 
 Young Donald proceeded in his enterprise by hostile 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 55 
 
 measures. In addition to his six foster-brethren, he got 
 some assistance from his mother’s kindred, and levied among 
 the old adherents of his father, and his kinsmen of the 
 house of Appin, such additional force, that he was able to 
 give battle to Green Colin, whom he defeated and slew, 
 regaining at the same time his father’s house and estate of 
 Invernahyle. This success had its dangers; for it placed 
 the young chief in feud with all the families of the powerful 
 clan of Campbell, to which the slain Dunstaffnage belonged 
 by alliance at least; for Green Colin and his ancestors had 
 assumed the name, and ranked themselves under the ban¬ 
 ner of this formidable clan, although originally they were 
 chieftains of a different and independent race. The feud 
 became more deadly, when, not satisfied with revenging 
 himself on the immediate authors of his early misfortune, 
 Donald made inroads on the Campbells in their own 
 dominions; in evidence of which his historian quotes a 
 verse to this purpose— 
 
 “ Donald of the Smithy, the Son of the Hammer, 
 
 Filled the banks of Lochawe with mourning and clamour.” 
 
 At length the powerful Earl of Argyle resented the 
 repeated injuries which were offered to his clansmen and 
 kindred. The Stewarts of Appin refused to support their 
 kinsman against an enemy so formidable, and insisted that 
 he should seek for peace with the Earl. So that Donald, 
 left to himself, and sensible that he was unable to withstand 
 the force which might be brought against him by this 
 mighty chief, endeavoured to propitiate the Earl’s favour 
 by placing himself in his hands. 
 
 Stewart went* accordingly, with only a single attendant, 
 towards Inverary, the castle of Argyle, and met with the 
 Earl himself at some distance in the open fields. Donald 
 of the Hammer showed on this occasion that it was not 
 
156 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 fear which had induced him to this step. Being a man of 
 ready wit, and a poet, which was an accomplishment high in 
 the estimation of the Highlanders, he opened the conference 
 with an extempore verse, which intimated a sort of defiance, 
 rather like the language of a man that cared not what might 
 befall him, than one who craved mercy or asked forgiveness. 
 
 “ Son of dark Colin, thou dangerous earl, 
 
 Small is the boon that I crave at thy hand ; 
 
 Enough, if in safety from bondage and peril, 
 
 Thou let’st me return to my kindred and land.’* 
 
 The Earl was too generous to avail himself of the 
 advantage which Invernahyle’s confidence had afforded him, 
 but he could not abstain from maintaining the conversation 
 thus begun in a gibing tone. Donuil nan Ord was harsh- 
 featured, and had a custom, allied to his mode of education, 
 and the haughtiness of his character, of throwing back his 
 head, and laughing loudly with his mouth wide open. In 
 ridicule of this peculiarity, in which Donald had indulged 
 repeatedly, Argyle, or one of his attendants, pointed out to 
 his observation a rock in the neighbourhood, which bore a 
 singular resemblance to a human face, with a large mouth 
 much thrown back, and open as if laughing a horse-laugh. 
 “Do you see yonder crag?” said the Earl to Donald of the 
 Hammer; “ it is called Gaire Granda , or the Ugly Laugh.” 
 Donald felt the intended gibe, and as Argyle’s lady was a 
 hard-favoured and haughty woman, he replied, without 
 hesitation, in a verse like the following : 
 
 “ Ugly the sneer of yon cliff of the hill, 
 
 Nature has stamped the grim laugh on the place ; 
 
 Would you seek for a grimmer and uglier still, 
 
 You will find it at home in your countess’s face.” 
 
 Argyle took the raillery of Donald in good part, but 
 would not make peace with him, until he agreed to make 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 157 
 
 two creaghs , or inroads, one on Moidart, and one on Athole. 
 It seems probable that the purpose of Argyle was to engage 
 his troublesome neighbour in a feud with other clans to 
 whom he bore no good-will; for whether he of the Hammer 
 fell or was successful, the Earl in either event would gain 
 a certain advantage. Donald accepted peace with the 
 Campbells on these terms. 
 
 On his return home Donald communicated to MacDonald 
 of Moidart the engagement he had come under; and that 
 chieftain, his mother’s kinsman and ally, concerted that 
 Invernahyle and his band should plunder certain villages in 
 Moidart, the inhabitants of which had offended him, and on 
 whom he desired chastisement should be inflicted. The 
 incursion of Donald the Hammerer punished them to some 
 purpose, and so far he fulfilled his engagement to Argyle, 
 without making an enemy of his own kinsman. With the 
 Athole men, as more distant and unconnected with him, 
 Donald stood on less ceremony, and made more than one 
 successful creagh upon them. His name was now established 
 as one of the most formidable marauders known in the 
 Highlands, and a very bloody action which he sustained 
 against the family of the Grahams of Monteith made him 
 still more dreaded. 
 
 The Earls of Monteith, you must know, had a castle situ¬ 
 ated upon an island in the lake, or loch, as it is called, of 
 the same name. But though this residence, which occupied 
 almost the whole of the islet upon which the ruins still exist, 
 was a strong and safe place of abode, and adapted accord¬ 
 ingly to such perilous times, it had this inconvenience, that 
 the stables, cow-houses, poultry-yard, and other domestic 
 offices, were necessarily separated from the castle, and situ¬ 
 ated on the mainland, as it would have been impossible to 
 be constantly transporting the animals belonging to (the 
 establishment to and fro from the shore to the island. 
 
158 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 These offices, therefore, were constructed on the banks of 
 the lake, and in some sort defenceless. 
 
 It happened upon a time that there was to be a great 
 entertainment in the castle, and a number of the Grahams 
 were assembled. The occasion, it is said, was a marriage 
 in the family. To prepare for this feast much provision 
 was got ready, and in particular a great deal of poultry had 
 been collected. While the feast was preparing, an unhappy 
 chance brought Donald of the Hammer to the side of the 
 lake, returning at the head of a band of hungry followers, 
 whom he was conducting homewards to the West Highlands, 
 after some of his usual excursions into Stirlingshire. Seeing 
 so much good victuals ready, and being possessed of an ex¬ 
 cellent appetite, the Western Highlanders neither asked 
 questions, nor waited for an invitation, but devoured all the 
 provisions that had been prepared for the Grahams, and then 
 went on their way rejoicing, through the difficult and dan¬ 
 gerous path which leads from the banks of the Loch of 
 Monteith, through the mountains, to the side of Loch 
 Katrine. 
 
 The Grahams were filled with the highest indignation. 
 No one in those fierce times was so contemptible as an in¬ 
 dividual who would suffer himself to be plundered without 
 exacting satisfaction and revenge, and the loss of their 
 dinner probably aggravated the sense of the insults enter¬ 
 tained by the guests. The company who were assembled at 
 the castle of Monteith, headed by the Earl himself, hastily 
 took to their boats, and, disembarking on the northern side 
 of the lake, pursued with all speed the marauders and their 
 leader. They came up with Donald’s party in the gorge of 
 a pass, near a rock, called Craig-Vad, or the Wolfs Cliff. 
 Here the Grahams called with loud insults on the Appin men 
 to stand, and one of them, in allusion to the execution which 
 had been done amongst the poultry, exclaimed in verse— 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 159 
 
 “ They’re brave gallants, these Appin men, 
 
 To twist the throat of cock and hen ? ” 
 
 Donald instantly replied to the reproach— 
 
 “ And if we be of Appin’s line, 
 
 We’ll twist a goose’s neck in thine.” 
 
 So saying, he shot the unlucky scoffer with an arrow. 
 The battle then began, and was continued with much fury 
 till night. The Earl of Monteith and many of his noble 
 kinsmen fell, while Donald, favoured by darkness, escaped 
 with a single attendant. The Grahams obtained, from the 
 cause of the quarrel, the nickname of Gramoch an Garrigh, 
 or Grahams of the Hens; although they certainly lost no 
 honour in the encounter, having fought like game-cocks. 
 
 Donald of the Hammer was twice married. His second 
 marriage was highly displeasing to his eldest son, whom he 
 had by his first wife. This young man, whose name was 
 Duncan, seems to have partaken rather of the disposition of 
 his grandfather, Alister Saioleach , or the Peaceful, than of 
 the turbulent spirit of his father the Hammerer. He quitted 
 the family mansion in displeasure at his father’s second 
 marriage, and went to a farm called Inverfalla, which his 
 father had bestowed upon his nurse in reward for her 
 eminent services. Duncan took up his abode with this 
 valued connection of the family, who was now in the 
 extremity of old age, and amused himself with attempting to 
 improve the cultivation of the farm; a task which not only 
 was considered as below the dignity of a Highland gentle¬ 
 man, but even regarded as the last degree of degradation. 
 
 The idea of his son’s occupying himself with agricultural 
 operations struck so much shame and anger into the heart 
 of Donald the Hammerer that his resentment against him 
 became ungovernable. At length, as he walked by his own 
 side of the river, and looked towards Inverfalla, he saw, to 
 
160 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ' his extreme displeasure, a number of men employed in 
 digging and levelling the soil for some intended crop. Soon 
 after he had the additional mortification to see his son come 
 out and mingle with the workmen, as if giving them 
 directions; and, finally, beheld him take the spade out of 
 an awkward fellow’s hand, and dig a little himself, to show 
 him how to use it. This last act of degeneracy drove the 
 Hammerer frantic; he seized a curragh, or boat covered 
 with hides, which was near, jumped into it, and pushed 
 across the stream, with the determination of destroying the 
 son who had, in his opinion, brought such unutterable 
 disgrace upon his family. The poor agriculturist, seeing his 
 father approach in such haste, and having a shrewd guess 
 of the nature of his parental intentions, fled into the house 
 and hid himself. Donald followed with his drawn weapon; 
 but, deceived by passion and darkness, he plunged his 
 sword into the body of one whom he saw lying on the bed¬ 
 clothes. Instead of his son, for whom the blow was 
 intended, it lighted on the old foster-mother, to whom 
 he owed his life in infancy and education in youth, and 
 slew her on the spot. After this misfortune, Donald became 
 deeply affected with remorse; and giving up all his estates 
 to his children, he retired to the Abbey of St. Columbus, in 
 Iona, passed the remainder of his days as a monk, and died 
 at the age of eighty-seven. 
 
 It may easily be believed that there was little peace 
 and quiet in a country abounding with such men as the 
 Hammerer, who thought the practice of honest industry on 
 the part of a gentleman was an act of degeneracy, for which 
 nothing short of death was an adequate punishment; so 
 that the disorderly state of the Highlands was little short of 
 that of the Isles. Still, however, many of the principal 
 chiefs attended occasionally at the court of Scotland; 
 others were frequently obliged to send their sons to be 
 
DONALD THE HAMMERER. 
 
 161 
 
 educated there, who were retained as hostages for the peace¬ 
 able behaviour of the clan; so that by degrees they came to 
 improve with the increasing civilisation of the times. 
 
 The authority also of the great nobles, who held estates 
 in or adjacent to the Highlands, was a means, though a 
 rough one, of making the district over which they exercised 
 their power submit, in a certain degree, to the occasional 
 influence of the laws. It is true that the great Earls of 
 Huntly, Argyle, Sutherland, and other nobles did not en¬ 
 force the Lowland institutions upon their Highland vassals 
 out of mere zeal for their civilisation, but rather because, by 
 taking care to secure the power of the sovereign and the laws 
 on their own side, they could make the infraction of them 
 by the smaller chiefs the pretext for breaking down the 
 independent clans, and making them submit to their^own 
 authority. 
 
 I will give you an example of the manner in which a 
 noble lady chastised a Highland chief in the reign of James 
 the Sixth. The head of the House of Gordon, then Marquis 
 of Huntly, was by far the most powerful lord in the northern 
 counties, and exercised great influence over the Highland 
 clans who inhabited the mountains of Badenoch, which lay 
 behind his extensive domains. One of the most ancient 
 tribes situated in and near that district is that of Macintosh, 
 a word which means Child of the Thane, as they boast their 
 descent from MacDuff, the celebrated Thane of Fife. This 
 haughty race having fallen at variance with the Gordons, 
 William Macintosh, their chief, carried his enmity to so 
 great a pitch, as to surprise and burn the castle of Auch- 
 indown, belonging to the Gordon family. The Marquis 
 of Huntly vowed the severest vengeance. He moved 
 against the Macintoshes with his own followers; and he 
 let loose upon the devoted tribe all such neighbouring clans 
 as would do anything, as the old phrase was, for his love or 
 
 L 
 
162 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 for his fear. Macintosh, after a short struggle, found himself 
 unequal to sustain the conflict, and saw that he must either 
 behold his clan totally exterminated, or contrive some mode 
 of pacifying Huntly’s resentment. The idea of the first 
 alternative was not to be endured, and of the last he saw no 
 chance, save by surrendering himself into the power of the 
 Marquis, and thus personally atoning for the offence which 
 he had committed. To perform this act of generous devotion 
 with as much chance of safety as possible, he chose a time 
 when the Marquis himself was absent, and asking Tor the 
 lady, whom he judged likely to prove less inexorable than 
 her husband, he presented himself as the unhappy Laird of 
 Macintosh, who came to deliver himself up to the Gordon, 
 to answer for his burning of Auchindown, and only de¬ 
 sired that Huntly would spare his clan. The Marchioness, 
 a stern and haughty woman, had shared deeply in her 
 husband’s resentment. She regarded Macintosh with a 
 keen eye, as the hawk or eagle contemplates the prey within 
 its clutch, and having spoken a word aside to her attendants, 
 replied to the suppliant chief in this manner:—“ Macintosh, 
 you have offended the Gordon so deeply, that Huntly has 
 sworn by his father’s soul that he will never pardon you 
 till he has brought your neck to the block.”—“ I will stoop 
 even to that humiliation to secure the safety of my father’s 
 house,” said Macintosh. And as this interview passed in 
 the kitchen of the castle at Bog of Gicht, he undid the 
 collar of his doublet, and kneeling down before the huge 
 block on which, in the rude hospitality of the time, the 
 slain bullocks and sheep were broken up for use, he laid 
 his neck upon it, expecting, doubtless, that the lady would 
 be satisfied with this token of unreserved submission. But 
 the inexorable Marchioness made a sign to the cook, who 
 stepped forward with his hatchet raised, and struck Mac¬ 
 intosh’s head from his body. 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 N 1691 some disputes arose concerning the 
 distribution of a large sum of money with 
 which the Earl of Breadalbane was intrusted 
 to procure, or rather to purchase, a peace 
 in the Highlands. Lord Breadalbane and 
 those with whom he negotiated disagreed, and the English 
 Government, becoming suspicious of the intentions of the 
 Highland chiefs to play fast and loose on the occasion, sent 
 forth a proclamation in the month of August 1691, re¬ 
 quiring all and each of them to submit to Government 
 before the first day of January 1692. After this period it 
 was announced in the same proclamation that those who 
 had not submitted themselves should be subjected to the 
 extremities of fire and sword. 
 
 This proclamation was framed by the Privy Council, 
 under the influence of Sir John Dalrymple (Master of Stair, 
 as he was called), an eminent lawyer, created Lord of 
 Session and Lord Justice-Clerk in February 1688, and in 
 1690 raised to be Secretary of State, in conjunction with 
 Lord Melville. The Master of Stair was at this time an in¬ 
 timate friend of Breadalbane, and it seems that he shared 
 with that nobleman the warm hope and expectation of 
 carrying into execution a plan of retaining a Highland army 
 in the pay of Government, and accomplishing a complete 
 transference of the allegiance of the chiefs to the person of 
 
164 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 King William, from that of King James. This could not 
 have failed to be a most acceptable piece of service, upon 
 which, if it could be accomplished, the Secretary might justly 
 reckon as a title to his master’s further confidence and favour. 
 
 But when Breadalbane commenced his treaty he was mor¬ 
 tified to find, that though the Highland chiefs expressed 
 no dislike to King William’s money, yet they retained their 
 secret fidelity to King James too strongly to make it safe to 
 assemble them in a military body, as had been proposed. 
 Many chiefs, especially those of the MacDonalds, stood 
 out also for terms, which the Earl of Breadalbane and the 
 Master of Stair considered as extravagant; and the result 
 of the whole was, the breaking off the treaty, and the pub¬ 
 lishing of the severe proclamation already mentioned. 
 
 Breadalbane and Stair were greatly disappointed and irri¬ 
 tated against those chiefs and tribes, who, being refractory 
 on this occasion, had caused a breach of their favourite 
 scheme. Their thoughts were now turned to revenge; and 
 it appears from Stair’s correspondence that he nourished 
 and dwelt upon the secret hope that several of the most 
 stubborn chiefs would hold out beyond the term appointed 
 for submission, in which case it was determined that the 
 punishment inflicted should be of the most severe and awful 
 description. That all might be prepared for the meditated 
 operations, a considerable body of troops were kept in 
 readiness at Inverlochy and elsewhere. These were des¬ 
 tined to act against the refractory clans, and the campaign 
 was to take place in the midst of winter, when it was 
 supposed that the season and weather would prevent the 
 Highlanders from expecting an attack. 
 
 But the chiefs received information of those hostile in¬ 
 tentions, and one by one submitted to Government within 
 the appointed period, thus taking away all pretence of acting 
 against them. It is said that they did so by secret orders 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 165 
 
 from King James, who having penetrated the designs of Stair, 
 directed the chiefs to comply with the proclamation rather 
 than incur an attack which they had no means of resisting. 
 
 The indemnity, which protected so many victims, and 
 excluded both lawyers and soldiers from a profitable job, 
 seems to have created great disturbance in the mind of the 
 Secretary of State. As chief after chief took the oath of 
 allegiance to King William, and by doing so put themselves 
 one by one out of danger, the greater became the anxiety of 
 the Master of Stair to find some legal flaw for excluding 
 some of the Lochaber clans from the benefit of the in¬ 
 demnity. But no opportunity occurred for exercising these 
 kind intentions, excepting in the memorable, but fortu¬ 
 nately the solitary instance, of the clan of the MacDonalds 
 of Glencoe. 
 
 This clan inhabited a valley formed by the river Coe, or 
 Cona, which falls into Lochleven, not far from the head of 
 Loch Etive. It is distinguished, even in that wild country, 
 by the sublimity of the mountains, rocks, and precipices in 
 which it lies buried. The minds of men are formed by 
 their habitations. The MacDonalds of the Glen were not 
 very numerous, seldom mustering above two hundred armed 
 men; but they were bold and daring to a proverb, confident 
 in the strength of their country, and in the protection and 
 support of their kindred tribes, the MacDonalds of Clan- 
 ranald, Glengarry, Keppoch, Ardnamurchan, and others of 
 that powerful name. They also lay near the possessions of 
 the Campbells, to whom, owing to the predatory habits to 
 which they were especially addicted, they were very bad 
 neighbours, so that blood had at different times been spilt 
 between them. 
 
 Maclan of Glencoe (this was the patronymic title of the 
 chief of this clan) was a man of a stately and venerable 
 person and aspect. He possessed both courage and sagacity 
 
166 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 and was accustomed to be listened to by the neighbouring 
 chieftains, and to take a lead in their deliberations. Maclan 
 had been deeply engaged both in the campaign of Killie- 
 crankie, and in that which followed under General Buchan; 
 and when the insurgent Highland chiefs held a meeting 
 with the Earl of Breadalbane at a place called Auchallader, 
 in the month of July 1691, for the purpose of arranging an 
 armistice, Maclan was present with the rest, and, it is said, 
 taxed Breadalbane with the design of retaining a part of the 
 money lodged in his hands for the pacification of the High¬ 
 lands. The Earl retorted with vehemence, and charged 
 Maclan with a theft of cattle, committed upon some of his 
 lands by a party from Glencoe. Other causes of offence 
 took place, in which old feuds were called to recollection; 
 and Maclan was repeatedly heard to say, he dreaded mis¬ 
 chief from no man so much as from the Earl of Breadalbane. 
 Yet this unhappy chief was rash enough to stand out to the 
 last moment, and decline to take advantage of King William’s 
 indemnity till the time appointed by the proclamation was 
 wellnigh expired. 
 
 The displeasure of the Earl of Breadalbane seems speed¬ 
 ily to have communicated itself to the Master of Stair, who, 
 in his correspondence with Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, 
 then commanding in the Highlands, expresses the greatest 
 resentment against Maclan of Glencoe, for having, by his 
 interference, marred the bargain between Breadalbane and 
 the Highland chiefs. Accordingly, in a letter of 3d De¬ 
 cember, the Secretary intimated that Government was 
 determined to destroy utterly some of the clans, in order to 
 terrify the others, and he hoped that, by standing out and 
 refusing to submit under the indemnity, the MacDonalds of 
 Glencoe would fall into the net—which meant that they 
 would afford a pretext for their extirpation. This letter is 
 dated a month before the time limited by the indemnity; so 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 167 
 
 long did these bloody thoughts occupy the mind of this 
 unprincipled statesman. 
 
 Ere the term of mercy expired, however, Mac Ian’s own 
 apprehensions, or the advice of friends, dictated to him the 
 necessity of submitting to the same conditions which others 
 had embraced, and he went with his principal followers to 
 take the oath of allegiance to King William. This was a 
 very brief space before the 1st of January, when, by the 
 terms of the proclamation, the opportunity of claiming the 
 indemnity was to expire. Maclan was therefore much 
 alarmed to find that Colonel Hill, the governor of Fort- 
 William, to whom he tendered his oath of allegiance, had 
 no power to receive it, being a military, and not a civil officer. 
 Colonel Hill, however, sympathised with the distress and 
 even tears of the old chieftain, and gave him a letter to Sir 
 Colin Campbell of Ardkinlas, Sheriff of Argyleshire, request¬ 
 ing him to receive the “ lost sheep,” and administer the oath 
 to him, that he might have the advantage of the indemnity, 
 though so late in claiming it. 
 
 Maclan hastened from Fort William to Inverary, without 
 even turning aside to his own house, though he passed 
 within a mile of it. But the roads, always very bad, were 
 now rendered almost impassable by a storm of snow; so 
 that with all the speed the unfortunate chieftain could exert, 
 the fatal 1st of January was past before he reached Inverary. 
 
 The Sheriff, however, seeing that Maclan had complied 
 with the spirit of the statute, in tendering his submission 
 within the given period, under the sincere, though mistaken 
 belief, that he was applying to the person ordered to receive 
 it; and considering also, that, but for the tempestuous 
 weather, it would after all have been offered in presence of 
 the proper law-officer, did not hesitate to administer the 
 oath of allegiance, and sent off an express to the Privy 
 Council, containing an attestation of Maclan’s having taken 
 
TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 168 
 
 the oaths, and a full explanation of the circumstances which 
 had delayed his doing so until the lapse of the appointed 
 period. The Sheriff also wrote to Colonel Hill what he had 
 done, and requested that he would take care that Glencoe 
 should not be annoyed by any military parties until the 
 pleasure of the Council should be known, which he could 
 not doubt would be favourable. 
 
 Maclan, therefore, returned to his own house, and resided 
 there, as he supposed, in safety, under the protection of the 
 Government to which he had sworn allegiance. That he 
 might merit this protection, he convoked his clan, acquainted 
 them with his submission, and commanded them to live 
 peaceably, and give no cause of offence, under pain of his 
 displeasure. 
 
 In the meantime the vindictive Secretary of State had 
 procured orders from his Sovereign respecting the measures 
 to be followed with such of the chiefs as should not have 
 taken the oaths within the term prescribed. The first of 
 these orders, dated nth January, contained peremptory 
 directions for military execution, by fire and sword, against 
 all who should not have made their submission within the 
 time appointed. It was, however, provided, in order to 
 avoid driving them to desperation, that there was still to 
 remain a power of granting mercy to those clans who, even 
 after the time was past, should still come in and submit 
 themselves. Such were the terms of the first royal warrant, 
 in which Glencoe was not expressly named. 
 
 It seems afterwards to have occurred to Stair that 
 Glencoe and his tribe would be sheltered under this miti¬ 
 gation of the intended severities, since he had already come 
 in and tendered his allegiance, without waiting for the 
 menace of military force. A second set of instructions were 
 therefore made out on the 16th January. These held out 
 the same indulgence to other clans who should submit them- 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 169 
 
 selves at the very last hour (a hypocritical pretext, for there 
 existed none which stood in such a predicament), but they 
 closed the gate of mercy against the devoted Maclan, who 
 had already done all that was required of others. The 
 words are remarkable:—“As for Maclan of Glencoe and 
 that tribe, if they can be well distinguished from the rest of 
 the Highlanders, it will be proper, for the vindication of 
 public justice, to extirpate that set of thieves.” 
 
 You will remark the hypocritical clemency and real cruelty 
 of these instructions, which profess a readiness to extend 
 mercy to those who needed it not (for all the other High¬ 
 landers had submitted within the limited time), and deny it 
 to Glencoe, the only man who had not been able literally 
 to comply with the proclamation, though in all fair con¬ 
 struction he had done what it required. 
 
 Under what pretence or colouring King William’s authority 
 was obtained for such cruel instructions it would be in vain 
 to inquire. The Sheriff of Argyle’s letter had never been 
 produced before the Council; and the certificate of Maclan’s 
 having taken the oath was blotted out, and, in the Scottish 
 phrase, deleted from the books of the Privy Council. It 
 seems probable, therefore, that the fact of that chiefs sub¬ 
 mission was altogether concealed from the King, and that 
 he was held out in the light of a desperate and incorrigible 
 leader of banditti, who was the main obstacle to the peace 
 of the Highlands; but if we admit that William acted under 
 such misrepresentations, deep blame will still attach to him 
 for rashly issuing orders of an import so dreadful. It is 
 remarkable that these fatal instructions are both superscribed 
 and subscribed by the King himself, whereas, in most state 
 papers, the Sovereign only superscribes, and they are counter¬ 
 signed by the Secretary of State, who is answerable for their 
 tenor; a responsibility which Stair, on that occasion, was 
 not probably ambitious of claiming. 
 
170 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The Secretary’s letters to the military officers, directing 
 the mode of executing the King’s orders, betray the deep 
 and savage interest which he took personally in their tenor, 
 and his desire that the bloody measure should be as general 
 as possible. He dwelt in these letters upon the proper 
 time and season for cutting off the devoted tribe. “ The 
 winter,” he said, “is the only season in which the Highlanders 
 cannot elude us, or carry their wives, children, and cattle to 
 the mountains. They cannot escape you ; for what human 
 constitution can then endure to be long out of house ? This 
 is the proper season to maul them, in the long dark nights.” 
 He could not suppress his joy that Glencoe had not come 
 in within the term prescribed; and expresses his hearty 
 wishes that others had followed the same course. He 
 assured the soldiers that their powers should be ample; and 
 he exacted from them proportional exertions. He entreated 
 that the thieving tribe of Glencoe might be rooted out in 
 earnest; and he was at pains to explain a phrase which is 
 in itself terribly significant. He gave directions for securing 
 every pass by which the victims could escape, and warned the 
 soldiers that it were better to leave the thing unattempted, 
 than fail to do it to purpose. “ To plunder their lands, 
 or drive off their cattle, would,” say his letters, “ be only to 
 render them desperate; they must be all slaughtered, and the 
 manner of execution must be sure, secret, and effectual.” 
 
 These instructions, such as have been rarely penned in a 
 Christian country, were sent to Colonel Hill, the Governor 
 of Fort William, who, greatly surprised and grieved at their 
 tenor, endeavoured for some time to evade the execution 
 of them. At length, obliged by his situation to render 
 obedience to the King’s commands, he transmitted the 
 orders to Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, directing him to 
 take four hundred men of a Highland regiment belonging 
 to the Earl of Argyle, and fulfil the royal mandate. Thus, 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 171 
 
 to make what was intended yet worse, if possible, than it 
 was in its whole tenor, the perpetration of this cruelty was 
 committed to soldiers, who were not only the countrymen 
 of the proscribed, but the near neighbours, and some of them 
 the close connexions, of the MacDonalds of Glencoe. This 
 is the more necessary to be remembered, because the mas¬ 
 sacre has unjustly been said to have been committed by Eng¬ 
 lish troops. The course of the bloody deed was as follows. 
 
 Before the end of January, a party of the Earl of Argyle’s 
 regiment, commanded by Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, 
 approached Glencoe. Maclan’s sons went out to meet 
 them with a body of men, to demand whether they came 
 as friends or foes. The officer replied, that they came as 
 friends, being sent to take up their quarters for a short 
 time in Glencoe, in order to relieve the garrison of Fort 
 William, which was crowded with soldiers. On this they 
 were welcomed with all the hospitality which the chief and 
 his followers had the means of extending to them, and they 
 resided for fifteen days amongst the unsuspecting Mac¬ 
 Donalds, in the exchange of every species of kindness and 
 civility. That the laws of domestic affection might be 
 violated at the same time with those of humanity and 
 hospitality, you are to understand that Alaster MacDonald, 
 one of the sons of Maclan, was married to a niece of Glen¬ 
 lyon, who commanded the party of soldiers. It appears 
 also, that the intended cruelty was to be exercised upon de¬ 
 fenceless men : for the MacDonalds, though afraid of no 
 other ill-treatment from their military guests, had supposed it 
 possible the soldiers might have a commission to disarm 
 them, and therefore had sent their weapons to a distance, 
 where they might be out of reach of seizure. 
 
 Glenlyon’s party had remained in Glencoe for fourteen 
 or fifteen days, when he received orders from his command¬ 
 ing officer, Major Duncanson, expressed in a manner which 
 
172 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 shows him to have been the worthy agent of the cruel 
 Secretary. They were sent in conformity with orders of the 
 same date, transmitted to Duncanson by Hamilton, direct¬ 
 ing that all the Macdonalds, under seventy years of age, 
 were to be cut off, and that the Government was not to be 
 troubled with prisoners. Duncanson’s orders to Glenlyon 
 were as follows :— 
 
 “You are hereby ordered to fall upon the rebels, and put 
 all to the sword under seventy. You are to have especial 
 care that the old fox and his cubs do on no account escape 
 your hands; you are to secure all the avenues, that no man 
 escape. This you are to put in execution at four in the 
 morning precisely, and by that time, or very shortly after, I 
 will strive to be at you with a stronger party. But if I do 
 not come to you at four, you are not to tarry for me, but fall 
 on. This is by the King’s special command, for the good 
 and safety of the country, that these miscreants be cut off 
 root and branch. See that this be put into execution with¬ 
 out either fear or favour, else you may expect to be treated 
 as not true to the King or Government, nor a man fit to 
 carry a commission in the King’s service. Expecting that 
 you will not fail in the fulfilling hereof, as you love yourself, 
 I subscribe these with my hand, 
 
 “Robert Duncanson.” 
 
 This order was dated 12th February, and addressed, 
 “ For their Majesties’ service, to Captain Robert Campbell 
 of Glenlyon. ” 
 
 This letter reached Glenlyon soon after it was written, 
 and he lost no time in carrying the dreadful mandate into 
 execution. In the interval, he did not abstain from any of 
 those acts of familiarity which had lulled asleep the suspi¬ 
 cions of his victims. He took his morning draught, as had 
 been his practice every day since he came to the glen, at 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 173 
 
 the house of Alaster MacDonald, Maclan’s second son, who 
 was married to his (Glenlyon’s) niece. He, and two of his 
 officers named Lindsay, accepted an invitation to dinner 
 from Maclan himself, for the following day, on which they 
 had determined he should never see the sun rise. To com¬ 
 plete the sum of treachery, Glenlyon played at cards in his 
 own quarters with the sons of Maclan, John and Alaster, 
 both of whom were also destined for slaughter. 
 
 About four o’clock in the morning of 13th February, 
 the scene of blood began. A party, commanded by one of 
 the Lindsays, came to Maclan’s house and knocked for 
 admittance, which was at once given. Lindsay, one of the 
 expected guests at the family meal of the day, commanded 
 this party, who instantly shot Maclan dead by his own bed¬ 
 side, as he was in the act of dressing himself, and giving 
 orders for refreshments to be provided for his fatal visitors. 
 His aged wife was stripped by the savage soldiery, who, at 
 the same time, drew off the gold rings from her fingers 
 with their teeth. She died the next day, distracted with 
 grief, and the brutal treatment she had received. Several 
 domestics and clansmen were killed at the same place. 
 
 The two sons of the aged chieftain had not been alto¬ 
 gether so confident as their father respecting the peaceful 
 and friendly purpose of their guests. They observed, on 
 the evening preceding the massacre, that the sentinels were 
 doubled, and the mainguard strengthened. John, the elder 
 brother, had even overheard the soldiers muttering amongst 
 themselves, that they cared not about fighting the men of 
 the glen fairly, but did not like the nature of the service 
 they were engaged in; while others consoled themselves 
 with the military logic, that their officers must be answerable 
 for the orders given, they having no choice save to obey 
 them. Alarmed with what had been thus observed and 
 heard, the young men hastened to Glenlyon’s quarters, 
 
74 - 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 where th6y found that officer and his men preparing their 
 arms. On questioning him about these suspicious appear¬ 
 ances, Glenlyon accounted for them by a story, that he was 
 bound on an expedition against some of Glengarry’s men ; 
 and alluding to the circumstance of their alliance, which 
 made his own cruelty more detestable, he added, “If any 
 thing evil had been intended, would I not have told Alaster 
 and my niece ? ” 
 
 Reassured by this communication, the young men retired 
 to rest, but were speedily awakened by an old domestic, 
 who called on the two brothers to rise and fly for their lives. 
 “Is it time for you,” he said, “to be sleeping, when your 
 father is murdered on his own hearth ? ” Thus roused they 
 hurried out in great terror, and heard throughout the glen, 
 wherever there was a place of human habitation, the shouts 
 of the murderers, the report of the muskets, the screams of 
 the wounded, and the groans of the dying. By their perfect 
 knowledge of the scarce accessible cliffs amongst which they 
 dwelt, they were enabled to escape observation, and fled to 
 the southern access of the glen. 
 
 Meantime the work of death proceeded with as little 
 remorse as Stair himself could have desired. Even the 
 slight mitigation of their orders respecting those above 
 seventy years, was disregarded by the soldiery in their in¬ 
 discriminate thirst for blood, and several very aged and 
 bedridden persons were slain amongst others. At the 
 hamlet where Glenlyon had his own quarters, nine men, 
 including his landlord, were bound and shot like felons; 
 and one of them, MacDonald of Auchintriaten, had General 
 Hill’s passport in his pocket at the time. A fine lad of 
 twenty had, by some glimpse of compassion on the part of 
 the soldiers, been spared, when one Captain Drummond 
 came up, and demanding why the orders were transgressed 
 in that particular, caused him instantly to be put to death. 
 
ESCAPE FROM GLENCOE 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 '75 
 
 A boy of five or six years old clung to Glenlyon’s knees, 
 entreating for mercy, and offering to become his servant 
 for life, if he would spare him. Glenlyon was moved; but 
 the same Drummond stabbed the child with his dirk, while 
 he was in this agony of supplication. 
 
 At a place called Auchnaion, one Barber, a sergeant, with 
 a party of soldiers, fired on a group of nine MacDonalds, 
 as they were assembled round their morning fire, and killed 
 four of them. The owner of the house, a brother of the 
 slain Auchintriaten, escaped unhurt, and expressed a wish 
 to be put to death rather in the open air than within the 
 house. “For your bread which I have eaten,” answered 
 Barber, “I will grant the request.” MacDonald was dragged 
 to the door accordingly; but he was an active man, and 
 when the soldiers were presenting their firelocks to shoot 
 him, he cast his plaid over their faces, and taking advan¬ 
 tage of the confusion, broke from them, and escaped up 
 the glen. 
 
 The alarm being now general, many other persons, male 
 and female, attempted their escape in the same manner as 
 the two sons of Maclan and the person last mentioned. 
 Flying from their burning huts', and from their murderous 
 visitors, the half-naked fugitives committed themselves to 
 a winter morning of darkness, snow, and storm, amidst a 
 wilderness the most savage in the West Highlands, having 
 a bloody death behind them, and before them tempest, 
 famine, and desolation. Bewildered in the snow-wreaths, 
 several sunk to rise no more. But the severities of the 
 storm were tender mercies compared to the cruelty of their 
 persecutors. The great fall of snow, which proved fatal to 
 several of the fugitives, was the means of saving the remnant 
 that escaped. Major Duncanson, agreeably to the plan 
 expressed in his orders to Glenlyon, had not failed to put 
 himself in motion, with four hundred men, on the evening 
 
176 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 preceding the slaughter; and had he reached the eastern 
 passes out of Glencoe by four in the morning, as he calcu¬ 
 lated, he must have intercepted and destroyed all those who 
 took that only way of escape from Glenlyon and his followers. 
 But as this reinforcement arrived so late as eleven in the 
 forenoon, they found no MacDonald alive in Glencoe, save 
 an old man of eighty, whom they slew ; and after burning 
 such houses as were yet unconsumed, they collected the 
 property of the tribe, consisting of twelve hundred head of 
 cattle and horses, besides goats and sheep, and drove them 
 off to the garrison of Fort William. 
 
 Thus ended this horrible deed of massacre. The number 
 of persons murdered was thirty-eight; those who escaped 
 might amount to a hundred and fifty males, who, with the 
 women and children of the tribe, had to fly more than 
 twelve miles through rocks and wildernesses, ere they could 
 reach any place of safety or shelter. 
 
 The detestable butchery excited general horror and disgust 
 not only throughout Scotland, but in foreign countries, and 
 did King William, whose orders, signed and superscribed 
 by himself, were the warrant of the action, incredible evil 
 both in popularity and character. 
 
 Stair, however, seemed undaunted, and had the infamy 
 to write to Colonel Hill, while public indignation was at the 
 highest, that all that could be said of the matter was, that 
 the execution was not so complete as it might have been. 
 There was, besides, a pamphlet published in his defence, 
 offering a bungled vindication of his conduct; which, indeed, 
 amounts only to this, that a man of the Master of Stair's 
 high place and eminent accomplishments, who had per¬ 
 formed such great services to the public, of which a laboured 
 account was given—one also, who, it is particularly insisted 
 upon, performed the duty of family worship regularly in his 
 household, ought not to be over-severely questioned for the 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 177 
 
 death of a few Highland Papists, whose morals were no better 
 than those of English highwaymen. 
 
 No public notice was taken of this abominable deed until 
 1695, three years after it had been committed, when, late 
 and reluctantly, a Royal Commission, loudly demanded by 
 the Scottish nation, was granted, to inquire into the par¬ 
 ticulars of the transaction, and to report the issue of their 
 investigations to Parliament 
 
 The members of the Commission, though selected as 
 favourable to King William, proved of a different opinion 
 from the apologist of the Secretary of State, and reported 
 that the letters and instructions of Stair to Colonel Hill and 
 others were the sole cause of the murder. They slurred 
 over the King’s share of the guilt by reporting that the 
 Secretary’s instructions went beyond the warrant which 
 William had signed and superscribed. The royal mandate, 
 they stated, only ordered the tribe of Glencoe to be subjected 
 to military execution, in case there could be any mode found 
 of separating them from the other Highlanders. Having 
 thus found a screen, though a very flimsy one, for William’s 
 share in the transaction, the report of the Commission let 
 the whole weight of the charge fall on Secretary the Master 
 of Stair, whose letters, they state, intimated no mode of 
 separating the Glencoe men from the rest, as directed by 
 the warrant; but, on the contrary, did, under a pretext of 
 public duty, appoint them, without inquiry or distinction, to 
 be cut off and rooted out in earnest and to purpose, and 
 that “suddenly, secretly, and quietly.” They reported 
 that these instructions of Stair had been the warrant for the 
 slaughter; that it was unauthorised by his Majesty’s orders, 
 and in fact deserved no name save that of a most barbarous 
 murder. Finally, the report named the Master of Stair as 
 the deviser, and the various military officers employed as 
 the perpetrators of the same, and suggested with great 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 moderation that Parliament should address his Majesty to 
 send home Glenlyon and the other murderers to be tried, 
 or should do otherwise as his Majesty pleased. 
 
 The Secretary, being by this unintelligible mode of reason¬ 
 ing thus exposed to the whole severity of the storm, and 
 overwhelmed at the same time by the King’s displeasure, 
 on account of the Darien affair, was deprived of his office, 
 and obliged to retire from public affairs. General indignation 
 banished him so entirely from public life, that, having about 
 this period succeeded to his father’s title of Viscount Stair, 
 he dared not take his seat in Parliament as such, on account 
 of the threat of the Lord Justice-Clerk that if he did so 
 he w T ould move that the address and report upon the 
 Glencoe Massacre should be produced and inquired into. 
 It was the year 1700 before the Earl of Stair found the 
 affair so much forgotten that he ventured to assume the 
 place in Parliament to which his rank entitled him ; and he 
 died in 1707, on the very day when the treaty of Union was 
 signed, not without suspicion of suicide. 
 
 Of the direct agents in the massacre, Hamilton absconded 
 and afterwards joined King William’s army in Flanders, 
 where Glenlyon and the officers and soldiers connected with 
 the murder were then serving. The King, availing himself 
 of the option left to him in the address of the Scottish 
 Parliament, did not order them home for trial; nor does it 
 appear that any of them were dismissed the service or 
 punished for their crime, otherwise than by the general 
 hatred of the age in which they lived, and the universal 
 execration of posterity. 
 
 Although it is here a little misplaced, I cannot refrain 
 from telling you an anecdote connected with the preceding 
 events, which befell so late as the year 1745-6, during the 
 romantic attempt of Charles Edward, grandson of James II., 
 to regain the throne of his fathers. He marched through 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 179 
 
 the Lowlands at the head of an army consisting of the 
 Highland clans, and obtained for a time considerable 
 advantages. Amongst other Highlanders the descendant 
 of the murdered Maclan of Glencoe joined his standard 
 with a hundred and fifty men. The route of the Highland 
 army brought them near to a beautiful seat built by the Earl 
 of Stair, so often mentioned in the preceding narrative, and 
 the principal mansion of his family. An alarm arose in the 
 councils of Prince Charles, lest the MacDonalds of Glencoe 
 should seize this opportunity of marking their recollection 
 of the injustice done to their ancestors, by burning or plun¬ 
 dering the house of the descendant of their persecutor; and, 
 as such an act of violence might have done the Prince great 
 prejudice in the eyes of the people of the Lowlands, it was 
 agreed that a guard should be posted to protect the house 
 of Lord Stair. 
 
 MacDonald of Glencoe heard the resolution, and deemed 
 his honour and that of his clan concerned. He demanded 
 an audience of Charles Edward, and admitting the propriety 
 of placing a guard on a house so obnoxious to the feelings 
 of the Highland army, and to those of his own clan in 
 particular, he demanded, as a matter of right rather than 
 favour, that the protecting guard should be supplied by the 
 MacDonalds of Glencoe. If this request were not granted 
 he announced his purpose to return home with his people 
 and prosecute the enterprise no further. “The MacDonalds 
 of Glencoe,” he said, “ would be dishonoured by remaining 
 in a service where others than their own men were employed 
 to restrain them, under whatsoever circumstances of pro¬ 
 vocation, within the line of their military duty.” The royal 
 adventurer granted the request of the high-spirited chieftain, 
 and the MacDonalds of Glencoe guarded from the slightest 
 injury the house of the cruel and crafty statesman who had 
 devised and directed the massacre of their ancestors. 
 
180 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Considering how natural the thirst of vengeance becomes to 
 men in a primitive state of society, and how closely it was 
 interwoven with the character of the Scottish Highlander, 
 Glencoe’s conduct on this occasion is a noble instance of a 
 high and heroic preference of duty to the gratification of 
 revenge. 
 
 THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. 
 
 “ O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow 
 Thy wayward notes of wail and woe, 
 
 Far down the desert of Glencoe, 
 
 Where none may list their melody ? 
 Say, harp’st thou to the mists that fly, 
 
 Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
 
 Or to the eagle, that from high 
 
 Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ? ”— 
 
 “ No, not to these, for they have rest,— 
 
 The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, 
 
 The stag his lair, the erne her nest, 
 
 Abode of lone security. 
 
 But those for whom I pour the lay, 
 
 Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain grey, 
 Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, 
 Could screen from treach’rous cruelty. 
 
 “ Their flag was furl’d, and mute their drum, 
 The very household dogs were dumb, 
 Unwont to bay at guests that come 
 In guise of hospitality. 
 
 His blithest notes the piper plied, 
 
 Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
 
 The dame her distaff flung aside, 
 
 To tend her kindly housewifery. 
 
 “ The hand that mingled in the meal, 
 
 At midnight drew the felon steel, 
 
MASSACRE OF GLENCOE . 
 
 181 
 
 And gave the host’s kind breast to feel 
 Meed for his hospitality ! 
 
 The friendly hearth which warm’d that hand, 
 At midnight arm’d it with the brand, 
 
 That bade destruction’s flames expand 
 Their red and fearful blazonry. 
 
 “ Then woman’s shriek was heard in vain, 
 Nor infancy’s unpitied plain, 
 
 More than the warrior’s groan, could gain 
 Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
 
 The winter wind that whistled shrill, 
 
 The snows that night that cloked the hill. 
 Though wild and pitiless, had still 
 
 Far more than Southern clemency. 
 
 “ Long have my harp’s best notes been gone, 
 Few are its strings, and faint their tone, 
 
 They can but sound in desert lone 
 Their grey-hair’d master’s misery. 
 
 Were each grey hair a minstrel string, 
 
 Each chord should imprecations fling, 
 
 Till startled Scotland loud should ring, 
 
 ‘ Revenge for blood and treachery I ’ ” 
 
KINMONT WILLIE AND BUCCLEUCH. 
 
 COTLAND derived great advantage from the 
 peace with England [towards the close of the 
 16th century], as some degree of repose was 
 highly necessary to this distracted country. 
 The peace now made continued with little 
 interruption for thirty years and upwards. 
 
 On one occasion, however, a smart action took place 
 betwixt the Scots and English, which, though of little 
 consequence, I may here tell you of, chiefly because it was 
 the last considerable skirmish—with the exception of a deed 
 of bold daring, of which I shall speak by and by—which the 
 two nations had, or, it is to be hoped, ever will have, with 
 each other. 
 
 It was the course adopted for preserving peace upon the 
 Border, that the Wardens on each side used to meet on days 
 appointed, and deliver up to each other the malefactors who 
 had committed aggressions upon either country, or else 
 make pecuniary reparation for the trespasses which they 
 had done. On the 7th July 1575, Carmichael, as Warden 
 for the Scottish Middle Marches, met Sir John Foster, the 
 English officer on the opposite frontier, each being as usual 
 accompanied by the guards belonging to their office, as well 
 as by the armed clans inhabiting their jurisdiction. Foster 
 was attended by the men of Tynedale, in greater numbers 
 
KIN MONT WILLIE AND BUCCLEUCH. 18.3 
 
 than those of the Scottish Borderers, all well armed with 
 jack and spear, as well as bows and arrows. The meeting 
 was at first peaceful. The Wardens commenced their usual 
 business of settling delinquencies; and their attendants be¬ 
 gan to traffic with each other, and to engage in sports and 
 gaming. For, notwithstanding their habitual incursions, a 
 sort of acquaintance was always kept up between the Bor¬ 
 derers on both sides, like that which takes place betwixt 
 the outposts of two contending armies. 
 
 During this mutual friendly intercourse, a dispute arose 
 between the two Wardens, Carmichael desiring delivery of an 
 English depredator, for whom Foster, on the other hand, 
 refused to be responsible. They both arose from their seats 
 as the debate grew warm, and Sir John Foster told Car¬ 
 michael, contemptuously, he ought to match himself with 
 his equals. The English Borderers immediately raised their 
 war-cry of “ To it, Tynedale ! ” and without further ceremony 
 shot a flight of arrows among the Scots, who, few in number 
 and surprised, were with difficulty able to keep their ground. 
 A band of the citizens of Jedburgh arrived just in time to 
 support their countrymen and turn the fate of the day; for 
 most of them having firearms, the old English long-bow no 
 more possessed its ancient superiority. After a smart action 
 the English were driven from the field; Sir John Foster, 
 with many of the English gentlemen, being made prisoners, 
 were sent to be at the Regent Morton’s disposal. Sir George 
 Heron of Chipchase, and other persons of condition, were 
 slain on the English side. The Scots lost but one gentleman 
 of name. 
 
 Morton, afraid of Queen Elizabeth’s displeasure, though 
 the offence had been given by the English, treated the 
 prisoners with distinction, and dismissed them, not only 
 without ransom, but with presents of falcons and other 
 tokens of respect. “Are you not well treated,” said a 
 
184 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 Scotsman to one of these liberated prisoners, “since we 
 give you live hawks for dead Herons ! ” 
 
 This skirmish, called the Raid of the Redswair, took 
 place on the mountainous ridge of the Carter. It produced 
 no interruption of concord between the two countries, being 
 passed over as a casual affray. Scotland therefore enjoyed 
 the blessings of peace and tranquillity during the greater 
 part of Morton’s regency. 
 
 [The following Border exploit took place in April 1596, and though 
 one of the last that was performed there, was certainly not the least 
 remarkable for valour and conduct.] 
 
 The English and Scottish Wardens, or their deputies, 
 had held a day of truce for settling Border disputes, and, 
 having parted friends, both, with their followers, were 
 returning home. At every such meeting it was the general 
 rule on the Borders that there should be an absolute truce 
 for twenty-four hours, and that all men who attended the 
 Warden on either side to the field should have permission 
 to ride home again undisturbed. 
 
 Now there had come to the meeting, with other Border 
 men, a notorious depredator, called William Armstrong, 
 but more commonly known by the name of Kinmont Willie. 
 This man was riding home on the north or Scottish side of 
 the Liddell, where that stream divides England and Scot¬ 
 land, when some of the English who had enmity against 
 him, or had suffered by his incursions, were unable to 
 resist the temptation to attack him. They accordingly 
 dashed across the river, pursued Kinmont Willie more than 
 a mile within Scotland, made him prisoner, and brought 
 him to Carlisle castle. 
 
 As the man talked boldly and resolutely about the breach 
 of truce in his person, and demanded peremptorily to be 
 set at liberty, Lord Scrope told him, scoffingly, that before 
 he left the castle he should bid him “farewell,” meaning 
 
KIN MO NT WILLIE AND BUCCLEUCH. 185 
 
 that he should not go without his leave. The prisoner 
 boldly answered, “that he would not go without bidding 
 him good-night.” 
 
 The Lord of Buccleuch, who was Warden, or Keeper, of 
 Liddesdale, demanded the restoration of Kinmont Willie to 
 liberty, and complained of his being taken and imprisoned 
 as a breach of the Border-laws, and an insult done to 
 himself. Lord Scrope refused, or at least evaded, giving 
 up his prisoner. Buccleuch then sent him a challenge, 
 which Lord Scrope declined to accept, on the ground of 
 his employment in the public service. The Scottish chief, 
 therefore, resolved to redress by force the insult which his 
 country, as well as himself, had sustained on the occasion. 
 He collected about three hundred of his best men, and 
 made a night march to Carlisle castle. A small party of 
 chosen men dismounted, while the rest remained on horse¬ 
 back, to repel any attack from the town. The night being 
 misty and rainy, the party to whom that duty was committed 
 approached the foot of the walls, and tried to scale them 
 by means of ladders which they had brought with them for 
 the purpose. But the ladders were found too short. They 
 then, with mining instruments which they had provided, 
 burst open a postern, or wicket-door, and entered the castle. 
 Their chief had given them strict orders to do no harm save 
 to those who opposed them, so that the few guards whom 
 the alarm brought together were driven back without much 
 injury. Being masters of the castle, the trumpets of the 
 Scottish Warden were then blown, to the no small terror of 
 the inhabitants of Carlisle, surprised out of their quiet 
 sleep by the sounds of invasion at so early an hour. The 
 bells of the castle rang out; those of the Cathedral and 
 Moot-hall answered; drums beat to arms; and beacons 
 were lighted, to alarm the warlike country around. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Scottish party had done the errand 
 
TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 186 
 
 they came for. They had freed Kinmont Willie from his 
 dungeon. The first thing Armstrong did was to shout a 
 good-night to Lord Scrope, asking him at the same time if 
 he had any news for Scotland. The Borderers strictly obeyed 
 the commands of the chief, in forbearing to take any booty. 
 They returned from the castle, bringing with them their 
 rescued countryman and a gentleman named Spenser, an 
 attendant on the constable of the castle. Buccleuch 
 dismissed him with his commendations to Salkeld the 
 constable, whom he esteemed, he said, a better gentleman 
 than Lord Scrope, bidding him say it was the Warden of 
 Liddesdale who had done the exploit, and praying the 
 constable, if he desired the name of a man of honour, to 
 issue forth and seek a revenge. Buccleuch then ordered the 
 retreat, which he performed with great leisure, and re-entered 
 Scotland at sunrise in honour and safety. “ There had never 
 been a more gallant deed of vassalage done in Scotland,” 
 says an old historian, “ no, not in Wallace’s days.” 
 
 Queen Elizabeth, as you may imagine, was dreadfully 
 angry at this insult, and demanded that Buccleuch should 
 be delivered up to the English, as he had committed so great 
 an aggression upon their frontier during the time of peace. 
 The matter was laid before the Scottish Parliament. 
 King James himself pleaded the question on the part of 
 Elizabeth, willing, it may be supposed, to recommend him¬ 
 self to that Princess by his tameness and docility. The 
 Secretary of State replied in defence of Buccleuch ; and the 
 Scottish Parliament finally voted that they would refer the 
 question to commissioners, to be chosen for both nations, 
 and would abide by their decision. But concerning the pro¬ 
 posed surrender of Buccleuch to England, the President 
 declared, with a loud voice, that it would be time enough 
 for Buccleuch to go to England when the King should pass 
 there in person. 
 
KIN MONT WILLIE AND BUCCLEUCH. 187 
 
 Buccleuch finally ended the discussion by going to England 
 at the King’s personal request, and on the understanding 
 that no evil was to be done to him. Queen Elizabeth desired 
 to see him personally, and demanded of him how he dared 
 commit such aggression on her territory. He answered un¬ 
 dauntedly, that he knew not that thing which a man dared 
 not do. Elizabeth admired the answer, and treated this 
 powerful Border chief with distinction during the time he 
 ' remained in England, which was not long. 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR . 
 
 OB ROY MACGREGOR CAMPBELL, which 
 last name he bore in consequence of the 
 acts of Parliament abolishing his own, was 
 the youngest son' of Donald MacGregor of 
 Glengyle, said to have been a Lieutenant- 
 Colonel (probably in the service of James II.), by his wife, 
 a daughter of Campbell of Glenfalloch. Rob’s own desig¬ 
 nation was of Inversnaid; but he appears to have acquired a 
 right of some kind or other to the property or possession of 
 Craig Royston, a domain of rock and forest, lying on the 
 east side of Loch Lomond, where that beautiful lake stretches 
 into the dusky mountains of Glenfalloch. 
 
 The time of his birth is uncertain. But he is said to 
 have been active in the scenes of war and plunder which 
 succeeded the Revolution; and tradition affirms him to 
 have been the leader in a predatory incursion into the parish 
 of Kippen, in the Lennox, which took place in the year 
 1691. It was of almost a bloodless character, only one 
 person losing his life; but from the extent of the depreda¬ 
 tion, it was long distinguished by the name of the Her’-ship, 
 or devastation, of Kippen. The time of his death is also 
 uncertain; but as he is said to have survived the year 1733, 
 and died an aged man, it is probable he may have been 
 twenty-five about the time of the Her’-ship of Kippen, which 
 would assign his birth to the middle of the 17th century. 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 189 
 
 In the more quiet times which succeeded the Revolution, 
 Rob Roy, or Red Robert, seems to have exerted his active 
 talents, which were of no mean order, as a drover, or trader 
 in cattle, to a great extent. It may well be supposed that 
 in those days no Lowland, much less English drovers, 
 ventured to enter the Highlands. The cattle, which were 
 the staple commodity of the mountains, were escorted down 
 to fairs, on the borders of the Lowlands, by a party of High¬ 
 landers, with their arms rattling around them; and who 
 dealt, however, in all honour and good faith with their 
 Southern customers. A fray, indeed, would sometimes 
 arise, when the Lowlandmen, chiefly Borderers, who had to 
 supply the English market, used to dip their bonnets in the 
 next brook, and wrapping them round their hands, oppose 
 their cudgels to the naked broadswords, which had not 
 always the superiority. I have heard from aged persons, 
 who had been engaged in such affrays, that the Highlanders 
 used remarkably fair play, never using the point of the 
 sword, far less their pistols or daggers; so that 
 
 “ With many a stiff thwack and many a bang, 
 Hard crabtree and cold iron rang. ” 
 
 A slash or two, or a broken head, was easily accom¬ 
 modated, and as the trade was of benefit to both parties, 
 trifling skirmishes were not allowed to interrupt its harmony. 
 Indeed, it was of vital interest to the Highlanders, whose 
 income, so far as derived from their estates, depended 
 entirely on the sale of black cattle; and a sagacious and 
 experienced dealer benefited not only himself, but his friends 
 and neighbours, by his speculations. Those of Rob Roy 
 were for several years so successful as to inspire general 
 confidence, and raise him in the estimation of the country 
 in which he resided. 
 
1 9 o TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 His importance was increased by the death of his father, 
 in consequence of which he succeeded to the management 
 of his nephew Gregor MacGregor of Glengyle’s property, 
 and, as his tutor, to such influence with the clan and 
 following as was due to the representative of Dougal Ciar. 
 Such influence was the more uncontrolled, that this family 
 of the MacGregors seem to have refused adherence to Mac¬ 
 Gregor of Glencarnock, the ancestor of the present Sir 
 Ewan MacGregor, and asserted a kind of independence. 
 
 It was at this time that Rob Roy acquired an interest by 
 purchase, wadset, or otherwise, to the property of Craig 
 Royston already mentioned. He was in particular favour, 
 during this prosperous period of his life, with his nearest 
 and most powerful neighbour, James first Duke of Montrose, 
 from whom he received many marks of regard. His Grace 
 consented to give his nephew and himself a right of pro¬ 
 perty on the estates of Glengyle and Inversnaid, which they 
 had till then only held as kindly tenants. The Duke, also, 
 with a view to the interest of the country and his own 
 estate, supported our adventurer by loans of money to a 
 considerable amount, to enable him to carry on his specula¬ 
 tions in the cattle trade. 
 
 Unfortunately that species of commerce was and is liable 
 to sudden fluctuations; and Rob Roy was—by a sudden 
 depression of markets, and as a friendly tradition adds, by 
 the bad faith of a partner named MacDonald, whom he had 
 imprudently received into his confidence, and intrusted with 
 a considerable sum of money—rendered totally insolvent. 
 He absconded, of course—not emptv-handed, if it be true, 
 as stated in an advertisement for his apprehension, that he 
 had in his possession sums to the amount of jQ 1000 sterling, 
 obtained from several noblemen and gentlemen under pre¬ 
 tence of purchasing cows for them in the Highlands. This 
 advertisement appeared in June 1712, and was several times 
 

ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 191 
 
 repeated. It fixes the period when Rob Roy exchanged his 
 commercial adventures for speculations of a very different 
 complexion. 
 
 He appears at this period first to have removed from his 
 ordinary dwelling at Inversnaid, ten or twelve Scots miles 
 (which is double the number of English) farther into the 
 Highlands, and commenced the lawless sort of life which he 
 afterwards followed. The Duke of Montrose, who con¬ 
 ceived himself deceived and cheated by MacGregor’s 
 conduct, employed legal means to recover the money lent 
 to him. Rob Roy’s landed property was attached by the 
 regular form of legal procedure, and his stock and furniture 
 made the subject of arrest and sale. 
 
 It is said that this diligence of the law, as it is called 
 in Scotland, which the English more bluntly term distress, 
 was used in this case with uncommon severity, and that 
 the legal satellites, not usually the gentlest persons in the 
 world, had insulted MacGregor’s wife, in a manner which 
 would have aroused a milder man than he to thoughts of un¬ 
 bounded vengeance. She was a woman of fierce and haughty 
 temper, and is not unlikely to have disturbed the officers in 
 the execution of their duty, and thus to have incurred ill- 
 treatment, though, for the sake of humanity, it is to be 
 hoped that the story sometimes told is a popular exaggera¬ 
 tion. It is certain that she felt extreme anguish at being 
 expelled from the banks of Loch Lomond, and gave vent to 
 her feelings in a fine piece of pipe-music, still well known to 
 amateurs by the name of “ Rob Roy’s Lament.” 
 
 The fugitive is thought to have found his first place of 
 refuge in Glen Dochart, under the Earl of Breadalbane’s 
 protection ; for though that family had been active agents in 
 the destruction of the MacGregors in former times, they had 
 of late years sheltered a great many of the name in their 
 old possessions. The Duke of Argyle was also one of Rob 
 
192 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Roy’s protectors, so far as to afford him, according to the 
 Highland phrase, wood and water—the shelter, namely, that 
 is afforded by the forests and lakes of an inaccessible country. 
 
 The great men of the Highlands in that time, besides 
 being anxiously ambitious to keep up what was called their 
 Following, or military retainers, were also desirous to have 
 at their disposal men of resolute character, to whom the 
 world and the world’s law were no friends, and who might 
 at times ravage the lands or destroy the tenants of a feudal 
 enemy, without bringing responsibility on their patrons. 
 The strife between the names of Campbell and Graham, 
 during the civil wars of the 17th century, had been stamped 
 with mutual loss and inveterate enmity. The death of the 
 great Marquess of Montrose on the one side, the defeat at 
 Inverlochy, and cruel plundering of Lorn, on the other, 
 were reciprocal injuries not likely to be forgotten. Rob Roy 
 was therefore sure of refuge in the country of the Campbells, 
 both as having assumed their name, as connected by his 
 mother with the family of Glenfalloch, and as an enemy to 
 the rival house of Montrose. The extent of Argyle’s pos¬ 
 sessions, and the power of retreating thither in any emer¬ 
 gency, gave great encouragement to the bold schemes. of 
 revenge which he had adopted. 
 
 This was nothing short of the maintenance of a predatory 
 war against the Duke of Montrose, whom he considered as 
 the author of his exclusion from civil society, and of the 
 outlawry to which he had been sentenced by letters of 
 horning and caption (legal writs so called), as well as the 
 seizure of his goods, and adjudication of his landed property. 
 Against his Grace, therefore, his tenants, friends, allies, and 
 relatives, he disposed himself to employ every means of 
 annoyance in his power; and though this was a circle 
 sufficiently extensive for active depredation, Rob, who pro¬ 
 fessed himself a Jacobite, took the liberty of extending his 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 193 
 
 sphere of operations against all whom he chose to consider 
 as friendly to the revolutionary government, or to that most 
 obnoxious of measures—the Union of the Kingdoms. 
 Under one or other of these pretexts all his neighbours of 
 the Lowlands who had anything to lose, or were unwilling 
 to compound for security by paying him an annual sum for 
 protection or forbearance, were exposed to his ravages. 
 
 The country in which this private warfare or system of 
 depredation was to be carried on was, until opened up by 
 roads, in the highest degree favourable for his purpose. It 
 was broken up into narrow valleys, the habitable part of which 
 bore no proportion to the huge wildernesses of forest, rocks, 
 and precipices by which they were encircled, and which was, 
 moreover, full of inextricable passes, morasses, and natural 
 strengths, unknown to any but the inhabitants themselves, 
 where a few men acquainted with the ground were capable, 
 with ordinary address, of baffling the pursuit of numbers. 
 
 The opinions and habits of the nearest neighbours to the 
 Highland line were also highly favourable to Rob Roy’s 
 purpose. A large proportion of them were of his own clan 
 of MacGregor, who claimed the property of Balquhidder, 
 and other Highland districts, as having been part of the 
 ancient possessions of their tribe; though the harsh laws, 
 under the severity of which they had suffered so deeply, had 
 assigned the ownership to other families. The civil wars of 
 the seventeenth century had accustomed these men to the 
 use of arms, and they were peculiarly brave and fierce from 
 remembrance of their sufferings. The vicinity of a com¬ 
 paratively rich Lowland district gave also great temptations 
 to incursion. Many belonging to other clans, habituated to 
 contempt of industry, and to the use of arms, drew towards 
 an unprotected frontier which promised facility of plunder; 
 and the state of the country, now so peaceable and quiet, 
 verified at that time the opinion which Dr. Johnson heard 
 
 N 
 
194 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 with doubt and suspicion, that the most disorderly and law¬ 
 less districts of the Highlands were those which lay nearest 
 to the Lowland line. There was therefore no difficulty in 
 Rob Roy, descended of a tribe which was widely dispersed 
 in the country we have described, collecting any number of 
 followers whom he might be able to keep in action, and to 
 maintain by his proposed operations. 
 
 He himself appears to have been singularly adapted for 
 the profession which he proposed to exercise. His stature 
 was not of the tallest, but his person was uncommonly strong 
 and compact. The greatest peculiarities of his frame were 
 the breadth of his shoulders, and the great and almost dis- 
 proportioned length of his arms; so remarkable, indeed, 
 that it was said he could, without stooping, tie the garters of 
 his Highland hose, which are placed two inches below the 
 knee. His countenance was open, manly, stern at periods 
 of danger, but frank and cheerful in his hours of festivity. 
 His hair was dark-red, thick and frizzled, and curled short 
 around the face. His fashion of dress showed, of course, 
 the knees and upper part of the leg, which was described to 
 me as resembling that of a Highland bull, hirsute, with red 
 hair, and evincing muscular strength similar to that animal. 
 To these personal qualifications must be added a masterly 
 use of the Highland sword, in which his length of arm gave 
 him great advantage—and a perfect and intimate knowledge 
 of all the recesses of the wild country in which he harboured, 
 and the character of the various individuals, whether friendly 
 or hostile, with whom he might come in contact. 
 
 His mental qualities seem to have been no less adapted 
 to the circumstances in which he was placed. Though 
 the descendant of the bloodthirsty Ciar Mohr, he inherited 
 none of his ancestor’s ferocity. On the contrary, Rob Roy 
 avoided every appearance of cruelty, and it is not averred 
 that he was ever the means of unnecessary bloodshed, or 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 195 
 
 the actor in any deed which could lead the way to it. His 
 schemes of plunder were contrived and executed with equal 
 boldness and sagacity, and were almost universally success¬ 
 ful, from the skill with which they were laid, and the secrecy 
 and rapidity with which they were executed. Like Robin 
 Hood of England, he was a kind and gentle robber, and, 
 while he took from the rich, was liberal in relieving the poor. 
 This might in part be policy; but the universal tradition of 
 the country speaks it to have arisen from a better motive. 
 All whom I have conversed with, and I have in my youth 
 seen some who knew Rob Roy personally, gave him the 
 character of a benevolent and humane man “ in his way.” 
 
 His ideas of morality were those of an Arab chief, being 
 such as naturally arose out of his wild education. Suppos¬ 
 ing Rob Roy to have argued on the tendency of the life 
 which he pursued, whether from choice or from necessity, 
 he would doubtless have assumed to himself the character 
 of a brave man, who, deprived of his natural rights by the 
 partiality of laws, endeavoured to assert them by the strong 
 hand of natural power. ... We are not, however, to suppose 
 the character of this distinguished outlaw to be that of an 
 actual hero, acting uniformly and consistently on such moral 
 principles as the illustrious bard who, standing by his grave, 
 has vindicated his fame.* On the contrary, as is common 
 with barbarous chiefs, Rob Roy appears to have mixed his 
 professions of principle with a large alloy of craft and dis¬ 
 simulation, of which his conduct during the civil war is 
 sufficient proof. It is also said, and truly, that although his 
 courtesy was one of his strongest characteristics, yet some¬ 
 times he assumed an arrogance of manner which was not 
 easily endured by the high-spirited men to whom it was 
 addressed, and drew the daring outlaw into frequent disputes, 
 from which he did not always come off with credit. From 
 
 Wordsworth : “ Rob Roy’s Grave.” 
 
196 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 this it has been inferred that Rob Roy was more of a bully 
 than a hero, or at least that he had, according to the com¬ 
 mon phrase, his fighting days. Some aged men who knew 
 him well have described him also as better at a taich-tulzie y 
 or scuffle within doors, than in mortal combat. The tenor 
 of his life may be quoted to repel this charge ; while at the 
 same time it must be allowed, that the situation in which 
 he was placed rendered him prudently averse to maintain¬ 
 ing quarrels, where nothing was to be had save blows, and 
 where success would have raised up against him new and 
 powerful enemies, in a country where revenge was still con¬ 
 sidered as a duty rather than a crime. The power of 
 commanding his passions on such occasions, far from being 
 inconsistent with the part which MacGregor had .to perform, 
 was essentially necessary, at the period when he lived, to 
 prevent his career from being cut short. . . . 
 
 Occasionally Rob Roy suffered disasters, and incurred 
 great personal danger. On one remarkable occasion he was 
 saved by the coolness of his lieutenant, Macanaleister, or 
 Fletcher, the Little John of his band—a fine active fellow, 
 of course, and celebrated as a marksman. It happened 
 that MacGregor and his party had been surprised and dis¬ 
 persed by a superior force of horse and foot, and the word 
 was given to “ split and squander.” Each shifted for him¬ 
 self, but a bold dragoon attached himself to pursuit of Rob, 
 and overtaking him, struck at him with his broadsword. A 
 plate of iron in his bonnet saved the MacGregor from being 
 cut down to the teeth ; but the blow was heavy enough to 
 bear him to the ground, crying, as he fell, “ O, Macanaleister, 
 is there naething in her?” (i.e. in the gun). The trooper, at 
 the same time, exclaiming, “ D—n ye, your mother never 
 wrought your nightcap ! ” had his arm raised for a second 
 blow, when Macanaleister fired, and the ball pierced the 
 dragoon’s heart. 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 197 
 
 Such as he was, Rob Roy’s progress in his occupation is 
 thus described by a gentleman of sense and talent, who 
 resided within the circle of his predatory wars, had probably 
 felt their effects, and speaks of them, as might be expected, 
 with little of the forbearance with which, from their peculiar 
 and romantic character, they are now regarded. 
 
 “This man (Rob Roy MacGregor) was a person of 
 sagacity, and neither wanted stratagem nor address; and, 
 having abandoned himself to all licentiousness, set himself 
 at the head of all the loose, vagrant, and desperate people 
 of that clan, in the west end of Perth and Stirlingshires, and 
 infested those whole countries with thefts, robberies, and 
 depredations. Very few who lived within his reach (that is, 
 within the distance of a nocturnal expedition) could promise 
 to themselves security, either for their persons or effects, 
 without subjecting themselves to pay him a heavy and 
 shameful tax of black-mail. He at last proceeded to such a 
 degree of audaciousness, that he committed robberies, raised 
 contributions, and resented quarrels, at the head of a very 
 considerable body of armed men, in open day, and in the 
 face of the Government.” 
 
 The extent and success of these depredations cannot be 
 surprising, when we consider that the scene of them was laid 
 in a country where the general law was neither enforced 
 nor respected. . . . 
 
 The period of the Rebellion, 1715, approached soon after 
 Rob Roy had attained celebrity. His Jacobite partialities 
 were now placed in opposition to his sense of the obligations 
 which he owed to the indirect protection of the Duke of 
 Argyle. But the desire of “drowning his sounding steps 
 amid the din of general war,” induced him to join the forces of 
 the Earl of Mar, although his patron, the Duke of Argyle, was 
 at the head of the army opposed to the Highland insurgents. 
 
 The MacGregors—a large sept of them at least, that of 
 
198 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Ciar Mohr—on this occasion were not commanded by Rob 
 Roy, but by his nephew already mentioned, Gregor Mac¬ 
 Gregor, otherwise called James Grahame of Glengyle, and 
 still better remembered by the Gaelic epithet of Ghlune Dhu, 
 i.e., Black Knee, from a black spot on one of his knees, 
 which his Highland garb rendered visible. There can be 
 no question, however, that being then very young, Glengyle 
 must have acted on most occasions by the advice and direc¬ 
 tion of so experienced a leader as his uncle. 
 
 The MacGregors assembled in numbers at that period, 
 and began even to threaten the Lowlands towards the lower 
 extremity of Loch Lomond. They suddenly seized all the 
 boats which were upon the lake, and, probably with a view 
 to some enterprise of their own, drew them overland to 
 Inversnaid, in order to intercept the progress of a large body 
 of west-country whigs who were in arms for the Government, 
 and moving in that direction. 
 
 The whigs made an excursion for the recovery of the 
 boats. Their forces consisted of volunteers from Paisley, 
 Kilpatrick, and elsewhere, who, with the assistance of a 
 body of seamen, were towed up the river Leven in long¬ 
 boats belonging to the ships of war then lying in the Clyde. 
 At Luss they were joined by the forces of Sir Humphrey 
 Colquhoun, and James Grant, his son-in-law, with their 
 followers, attired in the Highland dress of the period, which 
 is picturesquely described. The whole party crossed to 
 Craig-Royston, but the MacGregors did not offer combat. 
 If we are to believe the account of the expedition given by 
 the historian Rae, they leaped on shore at Craig-Royston 
 with the utmost intrepidity, no enemy appearing to oppose 
 them, and, by the noise of their drums, which they beat 
 incessantly, and the discharge of their artillery and small 
 arms, terrified the MacGregors, whom they appear never to 
 have seen, out of their fastnesses, and caused them to fly in 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 199 
 
 a panic to the general camp of the Highlanders at Strath 
 Fillan. The low-country men succeeded in getting posses¬ 
 sion of the boats, at a great expenditure of noise and courage, 
 and little risk of danger. 
 
 After this temporary removal from his old haunts, Rob 
 Roy was sent by the Earl of Mar to Aberdeen, to raise, it is 
 believed, a part of the clan Gregor which is settled in that 
 country. These men were of his own family (the race of 
 the Ciar Mohr). They were the descendants of about three 
 hundred MacGregors whom the Earl of Murray, about the 
 year 1624, transported from his estates in Monteith to 
 oppose against his enemies the Macintoshes, a race as hardy 
 and restless as they were themselves. 
 
 But while in the city of Aberdeen Rob Roy met a rela¬ 
 tion of a very different class and character from those whom 
 he was sent to summon to arms. This was Dr. James 
 Gregory (by descent a MacGregor), the patriarch of a 
 dynasty of professors distinguished for literary and scientific 
 talent, and the grandfather of the late eminent physician 
 and accomplished scholar, Professor Gregory of Edinburgh. 
 This gentleman was at the time Professor of Medicine in 
 King’s College, Aberdeen, and son of Dr. James Gregory, 
 distinguished in science as the inventor of the reflecting 
 telescope. With such a family it may seem our friend Rob 
 could have had little communion. But civil war is a species 
 of misery which introduces men to strange bedfellows. Dr. 
 Gregory thought it a point of prudence to claim kindred, at 
 so critical a period, wuth a man so formidable and influen¬ 
 tial. He invited Rob Roy to his house, and treated him 
 with so much kindness, that he produced in his generous 
 bosom a degree of gratitude which seemed likely to occasion 
 very inconvenient effects. 
 
 The Professor had a son about eight or nine years old— 
 a lively, stout boy of his age—with whose appearance our 
 
200 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Highland Robin Hood was much taken. On the day before 
 his departure from the house of his learned relative, Rob 
 Roy, who had pondered deeply how he might requite his 
 cousin’s kindness, took Dr. Gregory aside, and addressed 
 him to this purport:—“ My dear kinsman, I have been 
 thinking what I could do to show my sense of your hospi¬ 
 tality. Now, here you have a fine spirited boy of a son, 
 whom you are ruining by cramming him with your useless 
 book-learning, and I am determined, by way of manifesting 
 my great good-will to you and yours, to take him with me 
 and make a man of him.” The learned Professor was utterly 
 overwhelmed when his warlike kinsman announced his 
 kind purpose, in language which implied no doubt of its 
 being a proposal which would be, and ought to be, accepted 
 with the utmost gratitude. The task of apology or explan¬ 
 ation was of a most delicate description; and there might 
 have been considerable danger in suffering Rob Roy to 
 perceive that the promotion with which he threatened the 
 son was,' in the father’s eyes, the ready road to the gallows. 
 Indeed, every excuse which he could at first think of—such 
 as regret for putting his friend to trouble with a youth who 
 had been educated in the Lowlands, and so on—only 
 strengthened the chieftain’s inclination to patronise his 
 young kinsman, as he supposed they arose entirely from 
 the modesty of the father. He would for a long time take 
 no apology, and even spoke of carrying off the youth by a 
 certain degree of kindly violence, whether his father con¬ 
 sented or not. At length the perplexed Professor pleaded 
 that his son was very young, and in an infirm state of health, 
 and not yet able to endure the hardships of a mountain life; 
 but that in another year or two he hoped his health would 
 be firmly established, and he would be in a fitting condition 
 to attend on his brave kinsman, and follow out the splendid 
 destinies to which he opened the way. This agreement 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 20 r 
 
 being made, the cousins parted—Rob Roy pledging his 
 honour to carry his young relation to the hills with him on 
 his next return to Aberdeenshire, and Dr. Gregory, doubt¬ 
 less, praying in his secret soul that he might never see Rob’s 
 Highland face again. 
 
 James Gregory, who thus escaped being his kinsman’s 
 recruit, and in all probability his henchman, was afterwards 
 Professor of Medicine in the College, and, like most of his 
 family, distinguished by his scientific acquirements. He 
 was rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition ; and 
 his friends were wont to remark, when he showed any 
 symptom of these foibles, “ Ah ! this comes of not having 
 been educated by Rob Roy.” 
 
 The connection between Rob Roy and his classical kins¬ 
 man did not end with the period of Rob’s transient power. 
 At a period considerably subsequent to the year 1715, he 
 was walking in the Castle Street of Aberdeen, arm-in-arm 
 with his host, Dr. James Gregory, when the drums in the 
 barracks suddenly beat to arms, and soldiers were seen 
 issuing from the barracks. “ If these lads are turning out,” 
 said Rob, taking leave of his cousin with great composure, 
 “it is time for me to look after my safety.” So saying, he 
 dived down a close, and as John Bunyan says, “ went upon 
 his way and was seen no more.” 
 
 We have already stated that Rob Roy’s conduct during 
 the insurrection of 1715 was very equivocal. His person 
 and followers were in the Highland army, but his heart 
 seems to have been with the Duke of Argyle’s. Yet the 
 insurgents were constrained to trust to him as their only 
 guide, when they marched from Perth towards Dumblane, 
 with the view of crossing the Forth at what are called the 
 Fords of Frew, and when they themselves said he could not 
 be relied upon. 
 
 This movement to the westward, on the part of the in- 
 
202 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 surgents, brought on the battle of Sherriff-muir—indecisive, 
 indeed, in its immediate results, but of which the Duke of 
 Argyle reaped the whole advantage. In this action, it will 
 be recollected that the right wing of the Highlanders broke 
 and cut to pieces Argyle’s left wing, while the clans on the 
 left of Mar’s army, though consisting of Stewarts, Mackenzies, 
 and Camerons, were completely routed. During this med¬ 
 ley of flight and pursuit, Rob Roy retained his station on a 
 hill in the centre of the Highland position; and though it 
 is said his attack might have decided the day, he could not 
 be prevailed upon to charge. This was the more unfortu¬ 
 nate for the insurgents, as the leading of a party of the Mac- 
 phersons had been committed to MacGregor. This, it is 
 said, was owing to the age and infirmity of the chief of that 
 name, who, unable to lead his clan in person, objected to 
 his heir-apparent, Macpherson of Nord, discharging his duty 
 on that occasion ; so that the tribe, or a part of them, were 
 brigaded with their allies the MacGregors. While the 
 favourable moment for action was gliding away unemployed, 
 Mar’s positive orders reached Rob Roy that he should 
 presently attack. To which he coolly replied, “ No, no ! if 
 they cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with me.” 
 One of the Macphersons, named Alexander, one of Rob’s 
 original profession, videlicet a drover, but a man of great 
 strength and spirit, was so incensed at the inactivity of his 
 temporary leader, that he threw off his plaid, drew his sword, 
 and called out to his clansmen, “ Let us endure this no 
 longer! if he will not lead you, I will.” Rob Roy replied, 
 with great coolness, “Were the question about driving 
 Highland stots or kyloes, Sandie, I would yield to your 
 superior skill; but as it respects the leading of men, I must 
 be allowed to be the better judge.”—“ Did the matter re¬ 
 spect driving Glen-Eigas stots,” answered the Macpherson, 
 “ the question with Rob would not be, which was to be last, 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 203 
 
 but which was to be foremost.” Incensed at this sarcasm, 
 MacGregor drew his sword, and they would have fought 
 upon the spot if their friends on both sides had not inter¬ 
 fered. But the moment of attack was completely lost. Rob 
 did not, however, neglect his own private interest on the 
 occasion. In the confusion of an undecided field of battle, 
 he enriched his followers by plundering the baggage and 
 the dead on both sides. 
 
 The fine old satirical ballad on the battle of Sherriff-muir 
 does not forget to stigmatise our hero’s conduct on this 
 memorable occasion:— 
 
 “Rob Roy he stood watch 
 On a hill for to catch 
 The booty, for aught that I saw, man ; 
 
 For he ne’er advanced 
 
 From the place where he stanced, 
 
 Till nae mair was to do there at a’, man.” 
 
 Notwithstanding the sort of neutrality which Rob Roy 
 had continued to observe during the progress of the Rebel¬ 
 lion, he did not escape some of its penalties. He was in¬ 
 cluded in the act of attainder, and the house in Breadalbane, 
 which was his place of retreat, was burned by General Lord 
 Cadogan, when, after the conclusion of the insurrection, he 
 marched through the Highlands to disarm and punish the 
 offending clans. But upon going to Inverary with about 
 forty or fifty of his followers, Rob obtained favour by an 
 apparent surrender of their arms to Colonel Patrick Camp¬ 
 bell of Finniah, who furnished them and their leader with 
 protections under his hand. Being thus in a great measure 
 secured from the resentment of Government, Rob Roy 
 established his residence at Craig-Royston, near Loch 
 Lomond, in the midst of his own kinsmen, and lost no time 
 in resuming his private quarrel with the Duke of Montrose. 
 For this purpose he soon got on foot as many men, and well 
 
204 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 armed too, as he had yet commanded. He never stirred 
 without a bodyguard of ten or twelve picked followers, and 
 without much effort could increase them to fifty or sixty. 
 
 The Duke was not wanting in efforts to destroy this 
 troublesome adversary. His Grace applied to General 
 Carpenter, commanding the forces in Scotland, and by his 
 orders three parties of soldiers were directed from the three 
 different points of Glasgow, Stirling, and Finlarig near Killin. 
 Mr. Graham of Killearn, the Duke of Montrose’s relation 
 and factor, Sherriff-depute also of Dumbartonshire, accom¬ 
 panied the troops, that they might act under the civil 
 authority, and have the assistance of a trusty guide well 
 acquainted with the hills. It was the object of these several 
 columns to arrive about the same time in the neighbourhood 
 of Rob Roy’s residence, and surprise him and his followers. 
 But heavy rains, the difficulties of the country, and the good 
 intelligence which the outlaw was always supplied with, 
 disappointed their well-concerted combination. The troops, 
 finding the birds were flown, avenged themselves by destroy¬ 
 ing the nest. They burned Rob Roy’s house, though not 
 with impunity; for the MacGregors, concealed among the 
 thickets and cliffs, fired on them, and killed a grenadier. 
 
 Rob Roy avenged himself for the loss which he sustained 
 on this occasion by an act of singular audacity. About the 
 middle of November 1716, John Graham of Killearn, 
 already mentioned as factor of the Montrose family, went to 
 a place called Chapel Errock, where the tenants of the 
 Duke were summoned to appear with their termly rents. 
 They appeared accordingly, and the factor had received 
 ready money to the amount of about ^300, when Rob Roy 
 entered the room at the head of an armed party. The 
 steward endeavoured to protect the Duke’s property by 
 throwing the books of accounts and money into a garret, 
 trusting they might escape notice. But the experienced 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 205 
 
 freebooter was not to be baffled where such a prize was at 
 stake. He recovered the books and cash, placed himself 
 calmly in the receipt of custom, examined the accounts, 
 pocketed the money, and gave receipts on the Duke’s part, 
 saying he would hold reckoning with the Duke of Montrose 
 out of the damages which he had sustained by his Grace’s 
 means, in which he included the losses he had suffered, as 
 well by the burning of his house by General Cadogan, as by 
 the later expedition against Craig-Royston. He then re¬ 
 quested Mr. Graham to attend him ; nor does it appear that 
 he treated him with any personal violence, or even rudeness, 
 although he informed him he regarded him as a hostage, 
 and menaced rough usage in case he should be pursued, or 
 in danger of being overtaken. Few more audacious feats 
 have been performed. After some rapid changes of place 
 (the fatigue attending which was the only annoyance that 
 Mr. Graham seems to have complained of), he carried his 
 prisoner to an island on Loch Katrine, and caused him to 
 write to the Duke, to state that his ransom was fixed at 
 3400 merks, being the balance which MacGregor pretended 
 remained due to him, after deducting all that he owed to 
 the Duke of Montrose. 
 
 However, after detaining Mr. Graham five or six days 
 in custody on the island, which is still called Rob Roy’s 
 prison, and could be no comfortable dwelling for Novem¬ 
 ber nights, the outlaw seems to have despaired of attaining 
 further advantage from his bold attempt, and suffered his 
 prisoner to depart uninjured, with the account books and 
 bills granted by the tenants, taking especial care to retain 
 the cash. 
 
 About 1717 our chieftain had the dangerous adventure of 
 falling into the hands of the Duke of Athole, almost as much 
 his enemy as the Duke of Montrose himself: but his cunning 
 and dexterity again freed him from certain death. 
 
206 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 [The following extract is from a letter which passed from one clergy¬ 
 man of the Church of Scotland to another, giving some particulars of 
 this escape of Rob Roy, and is taken from an appendix to the novel.] 
 
 “ My accounts of Rob Roy his escape are y 4 after severall 
 Embassies between his Grace (who I hear did Correspond 
 w 4 some at Court about it) and Rob he at length upon 
 promise of protectione Came to waite upon the Duke & 
 being presently secured his Grace sent post to Ed r to acquent 
 the Court of his being aprehended & call his friends at 
 Ed r and to desire a party from Ge n Carpinter to receive and 
 bring him to Ed r which party came the length of Kenross 
 in Fife, he was to be delivered to them by a party his Grace 
 had demanded from the Governour at Perth, who when 
 upon their march towards Dunkell to receive him, were 
 mete w 4 and returned by his Grace having resolved to de¬ 
 liver him by a party of his own men and left Rob at Logie- 
 rate under a strong guard till y 4 party should be ready to 
 receive him. This space of time Rob had Imployed in 
 taking the other dram heartily w 4 the Guard & q n all were 
 pretty hearty, Rob is delivering a letter for his wife to a 
 servant to whom he must needs deliver some private in¬ 
 structions at the Door (for his wife) where he’s attended w 4 
 on the Guard. When serious in this privat Conversatione 
 he is making some few steps carelessly from the Door about 
 the house till he comes closs by this horse which he soon 
 mounted and made off. This is no small mortifica 11 to the 
 guard because of the delay it give to their hopes of a Con¬ 
 siderable additionall charge ag 4 John Roy.” 
 
 Other pranks are told of Rob, which argue the same 
 boldness and sagacity as the seizure of Killearn. The Duke 
 of Montrose, weary of his insolence, procured a quantity of 
 arms, and distributed them among his tenantry, in order 
 that they might defend themselves against future violences. 
 But they fell into different hands from those they were 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 207 
 
 intended for. The MacGregors made separate attacks on 
 the houses of the tenants, and disarmed them all one after 
 another, not, as was supposed, without the consent of many 
 of the persons so disarmed. 
 
 As a great part of the Duke’s rents were payable in kind, 
 there were girnels (granaries) established for storing up the 
 corn at Moulin, and elsewhere on the Buchanan estate. To 
 these storehouses Rob Roy used to repair with a sufficient 
 force, and of course when he was least expected, and insist 
 upon the delivery of quantities of grain—sometimes for his 
 own use, and sometimes for the assistance of the country 
 people; always giving regular receipts in his own name, and 
 pretending to reckon with the Duke tor what sumshe received. 
 
 In the meanwhile a garrison was established by Govern¬ 
 ment, the ruins of which may be still seen about half way 
 betwixt Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, upon Rob Roy’s 
 original property of Inversnaid. Even this military establish¬ 
 ment could not bridle the restless MacGregor. He con¬ 
 trived to surprise the little fort, disarm the soldiers, and 
 destroy the fortification. It was afterwards re-established, 
 and again taken by the MacGregors under Rob Roy’s 
 nephew, Ghlune Dhu, previous to the insurrection of 1745-6. 
 Finally, the fort of Inversnaid was a third time repaired 
 after the extinction of civil discord; and when we find the 
 celebrated General Wolfe commanding in it, the imagination 
 is strongly affected by the variety of time and events which 
 the circumstance brings simultaneously to recollection. It 
 is now totally dismantled. 
 
 It was not, strictly speaking, as a professed depredator 
 that Rob Roy now conducted his operations, but as a sort 
 of contractor for the police; in Scottish phrase, a lifter of 
 black mail. As the practice of contracting for black-mail 
 was an obvious encouragement to rapine, and a great 
 obstacle to the course of justice, it was, by the statute 1567 
 
208 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 chap. 21, declared a capital crime, both on the part of him 
 who levied and him who paid this sort of tax. But the 
 necessity of the case prevented the execution of this severe 
 law, I believe, in any one instance; and men went on 
 submitting to a certain unlawful imposition, rather than run 
 the risk of utter ruin, just as it is now found difficult or 
 impossible to prevent those who have lost a very large sum 
 of money by robbery from compounding with the felons 
 for restoration of a part of their booty. 
 
 At what rate Rob Roy levied black-mail I never heard 
 stated; but there is a formal contract by which his nephew, 
 in 1741, agreed with various landholders of estates in the 
 counties of Perth, Stirling, and Dumbarton, to recover 
 cattle stolen from them, or to pay the value within six 
 months of the loss being intimated, if such intimation were 
 made to him with sufficient despatch, in consideration of a 
 payment of ^5 on each £100 of valued rent, which was 
 not a very heavy insurance. Petty thefts were not included 
 in the contract; but the theft of one horse, or one head of 
 black cattle, or of sheep exceeding the number of six, fell 
 under the agreement 
 
 Rob Roy’s profits upon such contracts brought him in a 
 considerable revenue in money or cattle, of which he made 
 a popular use ; for he was publicly liberal, as well as privately 
 beneficent. The minister of the parish of Balquhidaer, 
 whose name was Robison, was at one time threatening to 
 pursue the parish for an augmentation of his stipend. Rob 
 Roy took an opportunity to assure him that he would do 
 well to abstain from this new exaction, a hint which the 
 minister did not fail to understand. But to make him 
 some indemnification, MacGregor presented him every 
 year with a cow and a fat sheep; and no scruples as to the 
 mode in which the donor came by them are said to have 
 affected the reverend gentleman’s conscience. .... 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 209 
 
 It was perhaps about the same time that, by a rapid 
 march into the Balquhidder hills at the head of a body of 
 his own tenantry, the Duke of Montrose actually surprised 
 Rob Roy, and made him prisoner. He was mounted 
 behind one of the Duke’s followers, named James Stewart, 
 and made fast to him by a horse-girth.—The person who 
 had him thus in charge was grandfather of the intelligent 
 man of the same name, now deceased, who lately kept the 
 inn in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, and acted as a guide to 
 visitors through that beautiful scenery. From him I learned 
 the story many years before he was either a publican or a 
 guide, except to moorfowl shooters.—It was evening (to 
 resume the story), and the Duke was pressing on to lodge 
 his prisoner, so long sought after in vain, in some place of 
 security when, in crossing the Teith or Forth, I forget which, 
 MacGregor took an opportunity to conjure Stewart, by all 
 the ties of old acquaintance and good-neighbourhood, to 
 give him some chance of an escape from an assured doom. 
 Stewart was moved with compassion, perhaps with fear. He 
 slipped the girth-buckle, and Rob dropping down from 
 behind the horse’s croupe, dived, swam, and escaped. 
 When James Stewart came on shore, the Duke hastily de¬ 
 manded where his prisoner was; and as no distinct answer 
 was returned, instantly suspected Stewart’s connivance at 
 the escape of the outlaw, and drawing a steel pistol from 
 his belt struck him down with a blow on the head, from 
 the effects of which, his descendant said, he never com¬ 
 pletely recovered. 
 
 In the success of his repeated escapes from the pursuit of 
 his powerful enemy, Rob Roy at length became wanton 
 and facetious. He wrote a mock challenge to the Duke, 
 which he circulated among his friends to amuse them over 
 a bottle. It is written in a good hand, and not particularly 
 deficient in grammar or spelling. Our Southern readers 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 must be given to understand that it was a piece of humour, 
 —a qu^ in short—on the part of the outlaw, who was too 
 sagacious to propose such a rencontre in reality. This letter 
 was written in the year 1719. 
 
 In the following year Rob Roy composed another epistle, 
 very little to his own reputation, as he therein confesses 
 having played booty during the civil war of 1715. It is 
 addressed to General Wade, at that time engaged in dis¬ 
 arming the Highland clans, and making military roads 
 through the country. The letter is a singular composition. 
 It sets out the writer’s real and unfeigned desire to have 
 offered his service to King George, but for his liability to be 
 thrown into jail for a civil debt, at the instance of the Duke 
 of Montrose. Being thus debarred from taking the right 
 side, he acknowledged he embraced the wrong one, upon 
 Falstaff’s principle, that since the King wanted men and the 
 rebels soldiers, it were worse shame to be idle in such a 
 stirring world than to embrace the worst side, were it as 
 black as rebellion could make it. The impossibility of his 
 being neutral in such a debate Rob seems to lay down as 
 an undeniable proposition. At the same time, while he 
 acknowledges having been forced into an unnatural rebellion 
 against King George, he pleads that he not only avoided 
 acting offensively against his Majesty’s forces on all occasions, 
 but, on the contrary, sent to them what intelligence he could 
 collect from time to time; for the truth of which he refers 
 to his Grace the Duke of Argyle. What influence this plea 
 had on General Wade we have no means of knowing. 
 
 Rob Roy appears to have continued to live very much as 
 usual. His fame in the meanwhile passed beyond the 
 narrow limits of the country in which he resided. A pre¬ 
 tended history of him appeared in London during his 
 lifetime, under the title of the Highland Rogue. It is a 
 catchpenny publication, bearing in front the effigy of a 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 211 
 
 species of ogre, with a beard of a foot in length ; and his 
 actions are as much exaggerated as his personal appearance. 
 Some few of the best known adventures of the hero are told, 
 though with little accuracy; but the greater part of the 
 pamphlet is entirely fictitious. It is a great pity so excellent 
 a theme for a narrative of the kind had not fallen into the 
 hands of De Foe, who was engaged at the time on subjects 
 somewhat similar, though inferior in dignity and interest. 
 
 As Rob Roy advanced in years he became more peace¬ 
 able in his habits, and his nephew, Ghlune Dhu, with most 
 of his tribe, renounced those peculiar quarrels with the Duke 
 of Montrose by which his uncle had been distinguished. 
 The policy of that great family had latterly been rather to 
 attach this wild tribe by kindness than to follow the mode 
 of violence which had been hitherto ineffectually resorted to. 
 Leases at a low rent were granted to many of the MacGregors, 
 who had heretofore held possessions in the Duke’s High¬ 
 land property merely by occupancy; and Glengyle (or Black- 
 knee), who continued to act as collector of black-mail, 
 managed his police, as a commander of the Highland watch 
 arrayed at the charge of Government. He is said to have 
 strictly abstained from the open and lawless depredations 
 which his kinsman had practised. 
 
 It was probably after this state of temporary quiet had 
 been obtained that Rob Roy began to think of the concerns 
 of his future state. He had been bred, and long professed 
 himself a Protestant; but in his later years he embraced the 
 Roman Catholic faith—perhaps on Mrs. Cole’s principle, 
 that it was a comfortable religion for one of his calling. He 
 is said to have alleged as the cause of his conversion a 
 desire to gratify the noble family of Perth, who were then 
 strict Catholics. Having, as he observed, assumed the 
 name of the Duke of Argyle, his first protector, he could 
 pay no compliment worth the Earl of Perth’s acceptance, 
 
212 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 save complying with his mode of religion. Rob did not 
 pretend, when pressed closely on the subject, to justify all 
 the tenets of Catholicism, and acknowledged that extreme 
 unction always appeared to him a great waste of ulzie , or 
 oil. 
 
 In the last year of Rob Roy’s life his clan was involved 
 in a dispute with one more powerful than themselves. 
 Stewart of Appin, a chief of the tribe so named, was pro¬ 
 prietor of a hill-farm in the Braes of Balquhidder, called 
 Invernenty. The MacGregors of Rob Roy’s tribe claimed 
 a right to it by ancient occupancy, and declared they would 
 oppose to the uttermost the settlement of any person upon 
 the farm not being of their own name. The Stewarts came 
 down with two hundred men, well armed, to do themselves 
 justice by main force. The MacGregors took the field, but 
 were unable to muster an equal strength. Rob Roy, finding 
 himself the weaker party, asked a parley, in which he re¬ 
 presented that both clans were friends to the King, and that 
 he was unwilling they should be weakened by mutual con¬ 
 flict, and thus made a merit of surrendering to Appin the 
 disputed territory of Invernenty. Appin, accordingly, 
 settled as tenants there, at an easy quit-rent, the MacLarens, 
 a family dependent on the Stewarts, and from whose 
 character for strength and bravery it was expected that they 
 would make their right good if annoyed by the MacGregors. 
 When all this had been amicably adjusted, in presence of 
 the two clans drawn up in arms near the Kirk of Balqu¬ 
 hidder, Rob Roy, apparently fearing his tribe might be 
 thought to have conceded too much upon the occasion, 
 stepped forward and said, that where so many gallant men 
 were met in arms, it would be shameful to part without a 
 trial of skill, and therefore he took the freedom to invite any 
 gentleman of the Stewarts present to exchange a few blows 
 with him for the honour of their respective clans. The 
 
ROB ROY MACGREGOR. 
 
 21 3 
 
 brother-in-law of Appin, and second chieftain of the clan, 
 Alaster Stewart of Invernahyle, accepted the challenge, and 
 they encountered with broadsword and target before their 
 respective kinsmen. The combat lasted till Rob received a 
 slight wound in the arm, which was the usual termination of 
 such a combat when fought for honour only, and not with a 
 mortal purpose. Rob Roy dropped his point, and con¬ 
 gratulated his adversary on having been the first man who 
 ever drew blood from him. The victor generously acknow¬ 
 ledged, that without the advantage of youth, and the agility 
 accompanying it, he probably could not have come off with 
 advantage. 
 
 This was probably one of Rob Roy’s last exploits in arms. 
 The time of his death is not known with certainty, but he is 
 generally said to have survived 1738, and to have died an 
 aged man. When he found himself approaching his final 
 change, he expressed some contrition for particular parts of 
 his life. His wife laughed at these scruples of conscience, 
 and exhorted him to die like a man, as he had lived. In 
 reply, he rebuked her for her violent passions, and the 
 counsels she had given him. “ You have put strife,” he said, 
 “betwixt me and the best men of the country, and now you 
 would place enmity between me and my God.” 
 
 There is a tradition, no way inconsistent with the former, 
 if the character of Rob Roy be justly considered, that while 
 on his deathbed he learned that a person with whom he 
 was at enmity proposed to visit him. “ Raise me from my 
 bed,” said the invalid; “ throw my plaid around me, and 
 bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols—it shall never be 
 said that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless 
 and unarmed.” His foeman, conjectured to be one of the 
 MacLarens, entered and paid his compliments, inquiring 
 after the health of his formidable neighbour. Rob Roy 
 maintained a cold, haughty civility during their short con- 
 
214 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ference, and so soon as he had left the house, “ Now,” he 
 said, “all is over—let the piper play Ha til mi tulidh” (We 
 return no more) : and he is said to have expired before the 
 dirge was finished. 
 
 This singular man died in bed in his own house, in the 
 parish of Balquhidder. He was buried in the churchyard 
 of the same parish, where his tombstone is only distinguished 
 by a rude attempt at the figure of a broadsword. 
 
 The character of Rob Roy is, of course, a mixed one. 
 His sagacity, boldness, and prudence, qualities so highly 
 necessary to success in war, became in some degree vices, 
 from the manner in which they were employed. The cir¬ 
 cumstances of his education, however, must be admitted as 
 some extenuation of his habitual transgressions against the 
 law; and for his political tergiversations, he might in that 
 distracted period plead the example of men far more power¬ 
 ful, and less excusable in becoming the sport of circumstances, 
 than the poor and desperate outlaw. On the other hand, 
 he was in the constant exercise of virtues, the more meri¬ 
 torious as they seem inconsistent with his general character. 
 Pursuing the occupation of a predatory chieftain—in modern 
 phrase, a captain of banditti—Rob Roy was moderate in his 
 revenge, and humane in his successes. No charge of cruelty 
 or bloodshed, unless in battle, is brought against his 
 memory. In like manner, the formidable outlaw was the 
 friend of the poor, and, to the utmost of his ability, the 
 support of the widow and the orphan—kept his word when 
 pledged—and died lamented in his own wild country, where 
 there were hearts thankful for his beneficence, though their 
 minds were not sufficiently instructed to appreciate his 
 
 errors. 
 

 ALLAN-A-SOP. 
 
 HE Highlands and Western Islands were in 
 no respect so much affected by the Union of 
 the Crowns as the inhabitants of the Borders. 
 The accession of James to the English throne 
 was of little consequence to them, unless in 
 so far as it rendered the King more powerful, and gave him 
 the means of occasionally sending bodies of troops into their 
 fortresses to compel them to order; and this was a measure 
 of unusual rigour which was but seldom resorted to. 
 
 The Highland tribes, therefore, remained in the same 
 state as before, using the same dress, wielding the same 
 arms, divided into the same clans, each governed by its own 
 patriarch, and living in all respects as their ancestors had 
 lived for many centuries before them. Or if there were 
 some marks of softened manners among those Gaelic tribes 
 who resided on the mainland, the inhabitants of the Heb¬ 
 rides or Western Isles, adjacent to the coast of Scotland, are 
 described to us as utterly barbarous. A historian of the 
 period says, “ that the Highlanders who dwell on the main¬ 
 land, though sufficiently wild, show some shade of civilisa¬ 
 tion ; but those in the islands are without laws or morals, 
 and totally destitute of religion and humanity.” Some stories 
 of their feuds are indeed preserved which go far to support 
 this general accusation. 
 
2l6 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 The principal possessors of the Hebrides or Western 
 Isles were originally of the name of MacDonald, the whole 
 being under the government of a succession of hereditary 
 chiefs, who bore the name of Donald of the Isles, and 
 were possessed of authority almost independent of the Kings 
 of Scotland. But this great family becoming divided into 
 two or three branches, other chiefs settled in some of the 
 islands, and disputed the property of the original proprietors. 
 Thus, the MacLeods, a powerful and numerous clan, who 
 had extensive estates on the mainland, made themselves 
 masters, at a very early period, of a great part of the large 
 island of Skye, seized upon much of the Long Island, as the 
 Isles of Lewis and Harris are called, and fought fiercely 
 with the MacDonalds, and other tribes of the islands. The 
 following is an example of the mode in which these feuds 
 were conducted. 
 
 About the end of the sixteenth century a boat manned by 
 one or two of the MacLeods, landed in Eigg, a small island 
 peopled by the MacDonalds. They were at first hospitably 
 received; but having been guilty of some incivility to the 
 young women on the island, it was so much resented 
 by the inhabitants that they tied the MacLeods hand and 
 foot, and putting them on board of their own boat, towed it 
 to sea, and set it adrift, leaving the wretched men, bound as 
 they were, to perish by famine, or by the winds and waves, 
 as chance should determine. But fate so ordered it that a 
 boat belonging to the Laird of MacLeod fell in with that 
 which had the captives on board, and brought them in 
 safety to the laird’s castle of Dunvegan in Skye, where they 
 complained of the injury which they had sustained from the 
 MacDonalds of Eigg. MacLeod, in a great rage, put to sea 
 with his galleys, manned by a large body of his people, which 
 the men of Eigg could not entertain any rational hope of 
 resisting. Learning that their incensed enemy was approach- 
 
ALLAN-A-SOP. 
 
 217 
 
 ing with superior forces and deep vows of revenge, the 
 inhabitants, who knew they had no mercy to expect at 
 MacLeod’s hands, resolved as the best chance of safety in 
 their power to conceal themselves in a large cavern on the 
 sea-shore. 
 
 This place was particularly well calculated for that purpose. 
 The entrance resembles that of a fox-earth, being an open¬ 
 ing so small that a man cannot enter save by creeping on 
 hands and knees. A rill of water falls from the top of the 
 rock, and serves, or rather served at the period we speak of, 
 wholly to conceal the aperture. A stranger, even when 
 apprised of the existence of such a cave, would find the 
 greatest difficulty in discovering the entrance. Within the 
 cavern rises to a great height, and the floor is covered with 
 white dry sand. It is extensive enough to contain a great 
 number of people. The whole inhabitants of Eigg, who, 
 with their wives and families, amounted to nearly two hun¬ 
 dred souls, took refuge within its precincts. 
 
 MacLeod arrived with his armament, and landed on the 
 island, but could discover no one on whom to wreck his 
 vengeance—all was desert. The MacLeods destroyed the 
 huts of the islanders, and plundered what property they 
 could discover; but the vengeance of the chieftain could 
 not be satisfied with such petty injuries. He knew that the 
 inhabitants must either have fled in their boats to one of the 
 islands possessed by the MacDonalds, or that they must be 
 concealed somewhere in Eigg. After making a strict but 
 unsuccessful search for two days, MacLeod had appointed 
 the third to leave his anchorage, when, in the grey of the 
 morning, one of the seamen beheld from the deck of his 
 galley the figure of a man on the island. This was a spy 
 whom the MacDonalds, impatient of their confinement in 
 the cavern, Had imprudently sent out to see whether Mac¬ 
 Leod had retired or no. The poor fellow, when he saw 
 
218 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 himself discovered, endeavoured, by doubling after the 
 manner of a hare or fox, to obliterate the track of his foot¬ 
 steps on the snow, and prevent its being discovered where 
 he had re-entered the cavern. But all the arts he could use 
 were fruitless; the invaders again landed and tracked him to 
 the entrance of the den. 
 
 MacLeod then summoned those who were within it, and 
 called upon them to deliver up the individuals who had 
 maltreated his men, to be disposed of at his pleasure. The 
 MacDonalds, still confident in the strength of their fastness, 
 which no assailant could enter but on hands and knees, 
 refused to surrender their clansmen. 
 
 MacLeod next commenced a dreadful work of indis¬ 
 criminate vengeance. He caused his people, by means of 
 a ditch cut above the top of the rock, to turn away the 
 stream of water which fell over the entrance of the cavern. 
 This being done, the MacLeods collected all the combus¬ 
 tibles which could be found on the island, particularly turf 
 and quantities of dry heather, piled them up against the 
 aperture, and maintained an immense fire for many hours, 
 until the smoke, penetrating into the inmost recesses of the 
 cavern, stifled to death every creature within. There is no 
 doubt of the truth of this story, dreadful as it is. The 
 cavern is often visited by strangers; and I have myself 
 seen the place where the bones of the murdered Mac¬ 
 Donalds still remain, lying as thick on the floor of the cave 
 as in the charnel-house of a church. 
 
 The MacLeans, in like manner, a bold and hardy race, 
 who, originally followers of the Lords of the Isles, had 
 assumed independence, seized upon great part both of the 
 isle of Mull and the still more valuable island of Ilay, and 
 made war on the MacDonalds with various success. There 
 is a story belonging to this clan which I may tell you, as 
 
ALLAN-A-SOP. 
 
 219 
 
 giving another striking picture of the manners of the 
 Hebrideans. 
 
 The chief of the clan, MacLean of Duart, in the isle of 
 Mull, had an intrigue with a beautiful young woman of his 
 .own clan, who bore a son to him. In consequence of the 
 child’s being, by some accident, born on a heap of straw, he 
 received the name of Allan-a-Sop, or Allan of the Straw, 
 by which he was distinguished from others of his clan. As 
 his father and mother were not married, Allan was, of 
 course, a bastard, or natural son, and had no inheritance to 
 look for, save that which he might win for himself. 
 
 But the beauty of the boy’s mother having captivated a 
 man of rank in the clan, called MacLean of Torloisk, he 
 married her, and took her to reside with him at his castle 
 of Torloisk, situated on the shores of the sound, or small 
 strait of the sea, which divides the smaller island of Ulva 
 from that of Mull. Allan-a-Sop paid his mother frequent 
 visits at her new residence, and she was naturally glad to 
 see the poor boy, both from affection, and on account of 
 his personal strength and beauty, which distinguished him 
 above other youths of his age. But she was obliged to 
 confer marks of her attachment on him as privately as 
 she could, for Allan’s visits were by no means so acceptable 
 to her husband as to herself. Indeed, Torloisk liked so 
 little to see the lad, that he determined to put some affront 
 on him, which should prevent his returning to the castle 
 for some time. An opportunity for executing his purpose 
 soon occurred. 
 
 The lady one morning, looking from the window, saw her 
 son coming wandering down the hill, and hastened to put a 
 girdle cake upon the fire, that he might have hot bread for 
 breakfast. Something called her out of the apartment after 
 making this preparation, and her husband, entering at the 
 same time, saw at once what she had been about, and 
 
220 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 determined to give the boy such a reception as should 
 disgust him for the future. He snatched the cake from the 
 girdle, thrust it into his stepson’s hands, which he forcibly 
 closed on the scalding bread, saying, “ Here, Allan—here is 
 a cake which your mother has got ready for your breakfast.” . 
 Allan’s hands were severely burnt; and, being a sharp-witted 
 and proud boy, he resented this mark of his stepfather’s 
 ill-will, and came not again to Torloisk. 
 
 At this time the western seas were covered with the 
 vessels of pirates, who, not unlike the Sea-Kings of Den¬ 
 mark at an early period, sometimes settled and made 
 conquests on the islands. Allan-a-Sop was young, strong, 
 and brave to desperation. He entered as a mariner on 
 board of one of these ships, and in process of time obtained 
 the command, first of one galley, then of a small flotilla, 
 with which he sailed round the seas and collected con¬ 
 siderable plunder, until his name became both feared and 
 famous. At length he proposed to himself to pay a visit to 
 his mother, whom he had not seen for many years; and 
 setting sail for this purpose, he anchored one morning in 
 the sound of Ulva, and in front of the house of Torloisk. 
 His mother was dead, but his stepfather, to whom he was 
 now as much an object of fear as he had been formerly 
 of aversion, hastened to the shore to receive his formidable 
 stepson, with great affectation of kindness and interest in 
 his prosperity; while Allan-a-Sop, who, though very rough 
 and hasty, does not appear to have been sullen or vindic¬ 
 tive, seemed to take his kind reception in good part. 
 
 The crafty old man succeeded so well, as he thought, in 
 securing Allan’s friendship, and obliterating all recollections 
 of the former affront put on him, that he began to think it 
 possible to employ his stepson in executing his own private 
 revenge upon MacQuarrie of Ulva, with whom, as was 
 usual between such neighbours, he had some feud. With 
 
ALLAN-A-SOP. 
 
 221 
 
 this purpose, he offered what he called the following good 
 advice to his stepson : “ My dear Allan, you have now 
 wandered over the seas long enough; it is time you should 
 have some footing upon land, a castle to protect yourself in 
 winter, a village and cattle for your men, and a harbour to 
 lay up your galleys. Now, here is the island of Ulva, near 
 at hand, which lies ready for your occupation, and it will 
 cost you no trouble, save that of putting to death the present 
 proprietor, the Laird of MacQuarrie, an useless old carle, who 
 has cumbered the world long enough.” 
 
 Allan-a-Sop thanked his stepfather for so happy a 
 suggestion, which he declared he would put in execution 
 forthwith. Accordingly, setting sail the next morning, he 
 appeared before MacQuarrie’s house an hour before noon. 
 The old chief of Ulva was much alarmed at the menacing 
 apparition of so many galleys, and his anxiety was not 
 lessened by the news that they w r ere commanded by the 
 redoubted Allan-a-Sop. Having no effectual means of re¬ 
 sistance, MacQuarrie, who was a man of shrewd sense, saw 
 no alternative save that of receiving the invaders, whatever 
 might be their purpose, with all outward demonstrations of 
 joy and satisfaction; the more especially as he recollected 
 having taken some occasional notice of Allan during his 
 early youth, which he now resolved to make the most of. 
 Accordingly, MacQuarrie caused immediate preparations 
 to be made for a banquet as splendid as circumstances 
 admitted, hastened down to the shore to meet the rover, 
 and welcomed him to Ulva with such an appearance of 
 sincerity, that the pirate found it impossible to pick any 
 quarrel, which might afford a pretence for executing the 
 violent purpose which he had been led to meditate. 
 
 They feasted together the whole day; and in the evening, 
 as Allan-a-Sop was about to retire to his ships, he thanked 
 the laird for his hospitality, but remarked, with a sigh, that 
 
222 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 it had cost him very dear. “ How can that be,” said Mac- 
 Quarrie, “ when I bestowed this entertainment upon you in 
 free good-will?”—“It is true, my friend,” replied the pirate, 
 “ but then it has quite disconcerted the purpose for which I 
 came hither; which was to put you to death, my good friend, 
 and seize upon your house and island, and so settle myself 
 in the world. It would have been very convenient for me 
 this island of Ulva; but your friendly reception has rendered 
 it impossible for me to execute my purpose: so that I must 
 be a wanderer on the seas for some time longer.” Whatever 
 MacQuarrie felt at learning he had been so near to destruc¬ 
 tion, he took care to show no emotion save surprise, and 
 replied to his visitor—“ My dear Allan, who was it that put 
 into your mind so unkind a purpose towards your old friend; 
 for I am sure it never arose from your own generous nature ? 
 It must have been old Torloisk, who made such an indiffer¬ 
 ent husband to your mother, and such an unfriendly step¬ 
 father to you when you were a helpless boy; but now, when 
 he sees you a bold and powerful leader, he desires to make 
 a quarrel betwixt you and those who were the friends of 
 your youth. If you consider this matter rightly, Allan, you 
 will see that the estate and harbour of Torloisk lie to the 
 full as conveniently for you as those of Ulva, and that, if 
 you are disposed (as is very natural) to make a settlement 
 by force, it is much better it should be at the expense of the 
 old churl, who never showed you kindness or countenance, 
 than at that of a friend like me, who always loved and 
 honoured you.” 
 
 Allan-a-Sop was struck with the justice of this reasoning; 
 and the old offence of his scalded fingers was suddenly re¬ 
 called to his mind. “ It is very true what you say, Mac¬ 
 Quarrie,” he replied, “and besides, I have not forgotten 
 what a hot breakfast my stepfather treated me to one 
 morning. Farewell for the present; you shall soon hear 
 
A LLA N-A -SOP. 
 
 223 
 
 news of me from the other side of the sound” Having said 
 thus much, the pirate got on board, and commanding his 
 men to unmoor the galleys, sailed back to Torloisk, and 
 prepared to land in arms. MacLean hastened to meet him, 
 in expectation to hear of the death of his enemy, MacQuarrie. 
 But Allan greeted him in a very different manner from what 
 he expected. “You hoary old traitor,” he said, “you 
 instigated my simple good-nature to murder a better man 
 than yourself! But have you forgotten how you scorched 
 my fingers twenty years ago with a burning cake ? The day 
 is come that that breakfast must be paid for.” So saying, 
 he dashed out the old man’s brains with a battle-axe, took 
 possession of his castle and property, and established there 
 a distinguished branch of the clan of MacLean. 
 
 It is told of another of these western chiefs, who is said, 
 upon the whole, to have been a kind and good-natured man, 
 that he was subjected to repeated risk and injury by the 
 treachery of an ungrateful nephew, who attempted to sur¬ 
 prise his castle, in order to put his uncle to death, and 
 obtain for himself the command of the tribe. Being detected 
 on the first occasion, and brought before his uncle as a 
 prisoner, the chief dismissed him unharmed; with a warning, 
 however, not to repeat the offence, since, if he did so, he 
 would cause him to be put to a death so fearful that all 
 Scotland should ring with it. The wicked young man per¬ 
 severed, and renewed his attempts against his uncle’s castle 
 and life. Falling a second time into the hands of the 
 offended chieftain, the prisoner had reason to term him as 
 good as his word. He was confined in the pit or dungeon of 
 the castle, a deep dark vault, to which there was no access 
 save through a hole in the roof. He was left without food, 
 till his appetite grew voracious; the more so, as he had reason 
 to apprehend that it was intended to starve him to death. 
 But the vengeance of his uncle was of a more refined char¬ 
 acter. The stone which covered the aperture in the roof 
 
224 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 was lifted, and a quantity of salt beef let down to the 
 prisoner, who devoured it eagerly. When he had glutted 
 himself with this food, and expected to be supplied with 
 liquor to quench the raging thirst which the diet had 
 excited, a cup was slowly lowered down, which, when he 
 eagerly grasped it, he found to be empty ! Then they rolled 
 the stone on the opening in the vault, and left the captive 
 to perish by thirst, the most dreadful of all deaths. 
 
 Many similar stories could be told you of the wild wars of 
 the islanders; but these may suffice at present to give you 
 some idea of the fierceness of their manners, the low value 
 at which they held human life, the cruel manner in which 
 wrongs were revenged, and the unscrupulous violence by 
 which property was acquired. 
 
 The Hebrideans seem to have been accounted by King 
 James a race whom it was impossible to subdue, conciliate, 
 or improve by civilisation; and the only remedy which 
 occurred to him was to settle Lowlanders in the islands, and 
 drive away or extirpate the people by whom they were in¬ 
 habited. For this purpose the King authorised an associa¬ 
 tion of many gentlemen in the county of Fife, then the 
 wealthiest and most civilised part of Scotland, who under¬ 
 took to make a settlement in the isles of Lewis and Harris. 
 These undertakers, as they were called, levied money, 
 assembled soldiers, and manned a fleet, with which they 
 landed on the Lewis, and effected a settlement at Stornoway 
 in that country, as they would have done in establishing a 
 colony on the desert shores of a distant continent. 
 
 At this time the property of the Lewis was disputed 
 between the sons of Rory MacLeod, the last lord, who had 
 two families by separate wives. The undertakers, finding 
 the natives thus quarrelling among themselves, had little 
 difficulty in building a small town and fortifying it; and their 
 enterprise in the beginning assumed a promising appearance. 
 But the Lord of Kintail, chief of the numerous and powerful 
 
ALLAN-A-SOP. 
 
 225 
 
 clan of MacKenzie, was little disposed to let this fair island 
 fall into the possession of a company of Lowland adven¬ 
 turers. He had himself some views of obtaining it in the 
 name of Torquil Connaldagh MacLeod, one of the Hebridean 
 claimants, who was closely connected with the family of 
 MacKenzie, and disposed to act as his powerful ally desired. 
 Thus privately encouraged, the islanders united themselves 
 against the undertakers ; and, after a war of various fortune, 
 attacked their camp of Stornoway, took it by storm, burnt 
 the fort, slew many of them, and made the rest prisoners. 
 They were not expelled, you may be sure, without bloodshed 
 and massacre. Some of the old persons still alive in the 
 Lewis talk of a very old woman, living in their youth, who 
 used to say that she had held the light while her countrymen 
 were cutting the throats of the Fife adventurers. 
 
 A lady, the wife of one of the principal gentlemen in the 
 expedition, fled from the scene of violence into a wild and 
 pathless desert of rock and morass, called the Forest of 
 Fannig. In this wilderness she became the mother of a 
 child. A Hebridean, who chanced to pass on one of the 
 ponies of the country, saw the mother and infant in the act 
 of perishing with cold, and being struck with the misery of 
 their condition, contrived a strange manner of preserving 
 them. He killed his pony, and opening its belly, and re¬ 
 moving the entrails, he put the new-born infant and the 
 helpless mother into the inside of the carcass, to have the 
 advantage of the warmth which this strange and shocking 
 receptacle for some time afforded. In this manner, with or 
 without assistance, he contrived to bear them to some place 
 of security, where the lady remained till she could get back 
 in safety to her own country. 
 
 The lady who experienced this remarkable deliverance 
 became afterwards, by a second marriage, the wife of a person 
 of consequence and influence in Edinburgh—a judge, I 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 believe, of the Court of Session. One evening while she 
 looked out of the window of her house in the Canongate, 
 just as a heavy storm was coming on, she heard a man in the 
 Highland dress say in the Gaelic language to another with 
 whom he was walking, “This would be a rough night for 
 the forest of Fannig.” The lady’s attention was imme¬ 
 diately attracted by the name of a place which she had such 
 awful reasons for remembering, and, on looking attentively 
 at the man who spoke, she recognised her preserver. She 
 called him into the house, received him in the most cordial 
 manner, and finding that he was come from the Western 
 Islands on some law business of great importance to his 
 family, she interested her husband in his favour, by whose 
 influence it was speedily and successfully settled; and the 
 Hebridean, loaded with kindness and presents, returned to 
 his native island, with reason to congratulate himself on the 
 humanity which he had shown in so singular a manner. 
 
 After the surprise of their fort, and the massacre of the 
 defenders, the Fife gentlemen tired of their undertaking; 
 and the Lord of Kintail had the whole advantage of the 
 dispute, for he contrived to get possession of the Lewis for 
 himself, and transmitted it to his family, with whom it still 
 remains. 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 
 
 AN AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY. 
 
 OHN MUIR, or Mure, of Auchindrane, the 
 contriver and executor of the following cruel¬ 
 ties, was a gentleman of an ancient family 
 and good estate in the west of Scotland; 
 bold, ambitious, treacherous to the last de¬ 
 gree, and utterly unconscientious—a Richard the Third in 
 private life, inaccessible alike to pity and to remorse. His 
 view was to raise the power and extend the grandeur of his 
 own family. This gentleman had married the daughter of 
 Sir Thomas Kennedy of Barganie, who was, excepting the 
 Earl of Cassilis, the most important person in all Carrick, 
 the district of Ayrshire which he inhabited, and where the 
 name of Kennedy held so great a sway as to give rise to the 
 popular rhyme:— 
 
 “ ’Twixt Wigton and the town of Air, 
 
 Portpatrick and the Cruives of Cree, 
 
 No man need think for to bide there, 
 
 Unless he court Saint Kennedie.” 
 
 Now, Mure of Auchindrane, who had promised himself 
 high advancement by means of his father-in-law Barganie, 
 saw, with envy and resentment, that his influence remained 
 
228 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 second and inferior to the House of Cassilis, chief of all the 
 Kennedys. The Earl was indeed a minor, but his authority 
 was maintained, and his affairs well managed, by his uncle, 
 Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, the brother of the 
 deceased Earl, and tutor and guardian to the present. 
 This worthy gentleman supported his nephew’s dignity and 
 the credit of the house so effectually, that Barganie’s con¬ 
 sequence was much thrown into the shade, and the ambi¬ 
 tious Auchindrane, his son-in-law, saw no better remedy 
 than to remove so formidable a rival as Cullayne by violent 
 means. 
 
 For this purpose, in the year of God 1597, he came with 
 a party of followers to the town of Maybole (where Sir 
 Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne then resided), and lay in 
 ambush in an orchard, through which he knew his destined 
 victim was to pass in returning homewards from a house 
 where he was engaged to sup. Sir Thomas Kennedy came 
 alone and unattended, when he was suddenly fired upon by 
 Auchindrane and his accomplices, who, having missed their 
 aim, drew their swords and rushed upon him to slay him. 
 But the party thus assailed at disadvantage had the good 
 fortune to hide himself for that time in a ruinous house, 
 where he lay concealed till the inhabitants of the place 
 came to his assistance. 
 
 Sir Thomas Kennedy prosecuted Mure for this, assault, 
 who, finding himself in danger from the law, made a sort of 
 apology and agreement with the lord of Cullayne, to whose 
 daughter he united his eldest son, in testimony of the 
 closest friendship in future. This agreement was sincere on 
 the part of Kennedy, who, after it had been entered into, 
 showed himself Auchindrane’s friend and assistant on all 
 occasions. But it was most false and treacherous on that 
 of Mure, who continued to nourish the purpose of murder¬ 
 ing his new friend and ally on the first opportunity. 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 229 
 
 Auchindrane’s first attempt to effect this was by means of 
 the young Gilbert Kennedy of Barganie (for old Barganie, 
 Auchindrane’s father-in-law, was dead), whom he persuaded 
 to brave the Earl of Cassilis, as one who usurped an undue 
 influence over the rest of the name. Accordingly, this 
 hot-headed youth, at the instigation of Auchindrane, rode 
 past the gate of the Earl of Cassilis, without waiting on his 
 chief, or sending him any message of civility. This led to 
 mutual defiance, being regarded by the Earl, according to 
 the ideas of the time, as a personal insult. Both parties 
 took the field with their followers, at the head of about 250 
 men on each side. The action which ensued was shorter 
 and less bloody than might have been expected. Young 
 Barganie, with the rashness of headlong courage, and 
 Auchindrane, fired by deadly enmity to the House of 
 Cassilis, made a precipitate attack on the Earl, whose men 
 were strongly posted and under cover. They were received 
 by a heavy fire. Barganie was slain. Mure of Auchindrane, 
 severely wounded in the thigh, became unable to sit his 
 horse, and, the leaders thus slain or disabled, their party 
 drew off without continuing the action. It must be par¬ 
 ticularly observed, that Sir Thomas Kennedy remained 
 neuter in this quarrel, considering his connexion with 
 Auchindrane as too intimate to be broken even by his desire 
 to assist his nephew. 
 
 For this temperate and honourable conduct he met a vile 
 reward; for Auchindrane, in resentment of the loss of his 
 relative Barganie, and the downfall of his ambitious hopes, 
 continued his practices against the life of Sir Thomas of 
 Cullayne, though totally innocent of contributing to either. 
 Chance favoured his wicked purpose. 
 
 The knight of Cullayne, finding himself obliged to go 
 to Edinburgh on a particular day, sent a message by a 
 servant to Mure, in which he told him, in the most 
 
230 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 unsuspecting confidence, the purpose of his journey, and 
 named the road which he proposed to take, inviting Mure 
 to meet him at Duppill, to the west of the town of Ayr, a 
 place appointed, for the purpose of giving him any com¬ 
 missions which he might have for Edinburgh, and assuring 
 his treacherous ally he would attend to any business which 
 he might have in the Scottish metropolis as anxiously as to 
 his own. Sir Thomas Kennedy’s message was carried to 
 the town of Maybole, where his messenger, for some trivial 
 reason, had the import committed to writing by a school¬ 
 master in that town, and despatched it to its destination by 
 means of a poor student, named Dalrymple, instead of 
 carrying it to the house of Auchindrane in person. 
 
 This suggested to Mure a diabolical plot. Having thus 
 received tidings of Sir Thomas Kennedy’s motions, he con¬ 
 ceived the infernal purpose of having the confiding friend 
 who sent the information waylaid and murdered at the 
 place appointed to meet with him, not only in friendship, 
 but for the purpose of rendering him service. He dismissed 
 the messenger Dalrymple, cautioning the lad to carry back 
 the letter to Maybole, and to say that he had not found 
 him, Auchindrane, in his house. Having taken this pre¬ 
 caution, he proceeded to instigate the brother of the slain 
 Gilbert of Barganie, Thomas Kennedy of Drumurghie by 
 name, and Walter Mure of Cloncaird, a kinsman of his own, 
 to take this opportunity of revenging Barganie’s death. The 
 fiery young men were easily induced to undertake the crime. 
 They waylaid the unsuspecting Sir Thomas of Cullayne at 
 the place appointed to meet the traitor Auchindrane, and 
 the murderers having in company five or six servants, well 
 mounted and armed, assaulted and cruelly murdered him 
 with many wounds. They then plundered the dead corpse 
 of his purse, containing a thousand merks in gold, cut off 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 231 
 
 the gold buttons which he wore on his coat, and despoiled 
 the body of some valuable rings and jewels. 
 
 The revenge due for his uncle’s murder was keenly 
 pursued by the Earl of Cassilis. As the murderers fled 
 from trial, they were declared outlaws ; which doom, being 
 pronounced by three blasts of a horn, was called “being 
 put to the horn, and declared the king’s rebel.” Mure of 
 Auchindrane was strongly suspected of having been the 
 instigator of the crime. But he conceived there could be 
 no evidence to prove his guilt if he could keep the boy 
 Dalrymple out of the way, who delivered the letter which 
 made him acquainted with Cullayne’s journey, and the place 
 at which he meant to halt. On the contrary, he saw that 
 if the lad could be produced at the trial it would afford 
 ground of fatal presumption, since it could be then proved 
 that persons so nearly connected with him as Kennedy and 
 Cloncaird had left his house, and committed the murder at 
 the very spot which Cullayne had fixed for their meeting. 
 
 To avoid this imminent danger, Mure brought Dalrymple 
 to his house, and detained him there for several weeks. 
 But the youth tiring of this confinement, Mure sent him to 
 reside with a friend, Montgomery of Skellmorly, who main¬ 
 tained him under a borrowed name, amid the desert regions 
 of the then almost savage island of Arran. Being confident 
 in the absence of this material witness, Auchindrane, instead 
 of flying, like his agents Drumurghie and Cloncaird, pre¬ 
 sented himself boldly at the bar, demanded a fair trial, and 
 offered his person in combat to the death against any of 
 Lord Cassilis’s friends who might impugn his innocence. 
 This audacity was successful, and he was dismissed without 
 trial. 
 
 Still, however, Mure did not consider himself safe, so 
 long as Dalrymple was within the realm of Scotland; and 
 the danger grew more pressing when he learned that the 
 
232 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 lad had become impatient of the restraint which he sus¬ 
 tained in the island of Arran, and returned to some of his 
 friends in Ayrshire. Mure no sooner heard of this than he 
 again obtained possession of the boy’s person, and a second 
 time concealed him at Auchindrane, until he found an 
 opportunity to transport him to the Low Countries, where 
 he contrived to have him enlisted in Buccleuch’s regiment; 
 trusting, doubtless, that some one of the numerous chances 
 of war might destroy the poor young man whose life was so 
 dangerous to him. 
 
 But after five or six years’ uncertain safety, bought at 
 the expense of so much violence and cunning, Auchin- 
 drane’s fears were exasperated into frenzy when he found 
 this dangerous witness, having escaped from all the perils of 
 climate and battle, had left, or been discharged from, the 
 Legion of Borderers, and had again accomplished his return 
 to Ayrshire. There is ground to suspect that Dalrymple 
 knew the nature of the hold which he possessed over 
 Auchindrane, and was desirous of extorting from his fears 
 some better provision than he had found either in Arran or 
 the Netherlands. But if so it was a fatal experiment to 
 tamper with the fears of such a man as Auchindrane, who 
 determined to rid himself effectually of this unhappy young 
 man. 
 
 Mure now lodged him in a house of his own, called 
 Chapeldonan, tenanted by a vassal and connexion of his 
 called James Bannatyne. This man he commissioned to 
 meet him at ten o’clock at night on the sea-sands near 
 Girvan, and bring with him the unfortunate Dalrymple, the 
 object of his fear and dread. The victim seems to have 
 come with Bannatyne without the least suspicion, though 
 such might have been raised by the time and place 
 appointed for the meeting. When Bannatyne and Dalrymple 
 came to the appointed spot, Auchindrane met them, accom- 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 233 
 
 panied by his eldest son, James. Old Auchindrane, having 
 taken Bannatyne aside, imparted his bloody purpose of 
 ridding himself of Dairymple for ever, by murdering him on 
 the spot. His own life and honour were, he said, en- 
 dangered by the manner in which this inconvenient witness 
 repeatedly thrust himself back into Ayrshire, and nothing 
 could secure his safety but taking the lad’s life, in which 
 action he requested James Bannatyne’s assistance. Banna¬ 
 tyne felt some compunction, and remonstrated against the 
 cruel expedient, saying it would be better to transport Dai¬ 
 ry mple to Ireland, and take precautions against his return. 
 While old Auchindrane seemed disposed to listen to this 
 proposal, his son concluded that the time was come for 
 accomplishing the purpose of their meeting, and without 
 waiting the termination of his father’s conference with Ban¬ 
 natyne, he rushed suddenly on Dalrymple, beat him to the 
 ground, and kneeling down on him, with his father’s assist¬ 
 ance accomplished the crime by strangling the unhappy 
 object of their fear and jealousy. Bannatyne, the witness, 
 and partly the accomplice, of the murder, assisted them in 
 their attempt to make a hole in the sand, with a spade 
 which they had brought on purpose, in order to conceal the 
 dead body. But as the tide was coming in, the holes which 
 they made filled with water before they could get the body 
 buried, and the ground seemed, to their terrified con¬ 
 sciences, to refuse to be accessory to concealing their crime. 
 Despairing of hiding the corpse in the manner they pro¬ 
 posed, the murderers carried it out into the sea as deep as 
 they dared wade, and there abandoned it to the billows, 
 trusting that a wind, which was blowing off the shore, would 
 drive these remains of their crime out to sea, where they 
 would never more be heard of. But the sea, as well as the 
 land, seemed unwilling to conceal their cruelty. After 
 floating for some hours, or days, the dead body was, by the 
 
234 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 wind and tide, again driven on shore, near the very spot 
 where the murder had been committed. 
 
 This attracted general attention, and when the corpse was 
 known to be that of the same William Dalrymple whom 
 Auchindrane had so often spirited out of the country, or 
 concealed when he was in it, a strong and general suspicion 
 arose, that this young person had met with foul play from 
 the bold bad man who had shown himself so much interested 
 in his absence. It was always said or supposed that the dead 
 body had bled at the approach of a grandchild of Mure of 
 Auchindrane, a girl who from curiosity had come to look at 
 a sight which others crowded to see. The bleeding of a 
 murdered corpse at the touch of the murderer was a thing 
 at that time so much believed that it was admitted as a 
 proof of guilt; but I know no case, save that of Auchindrane, 
 in which the phenomenon was supposed to be extended to 
 the approach of the innocent kindred; nor do I think that the 
 fact itself, though mentioned by ancient lawyers, was ever 
 admitted to proof in the proceedings against Auchindrane. 
 
 It is certain, however, that Auchindrane found himself so 
 much the object of suspicion from this new crime that he 
 resolved to fly from justice, and suffer himself to be declared 
 a rebel and outlaw rather than face a trial. But his conduct 
 in preparing to cover his flight with another motive than the 
 real one is a curious picture of the men and manners of the 
 times. He knew well that if he were to shun his trial for 
 the murder of Dalrymple the whole country would consider 
 him as a man guilty of a mean and disgraceful crime in 
 putting to death an obscure lad against whom he had no 
 personal quarrel. He knew, besides, that his powerful 
 friends, who would have interceded for him had his offence 
 been merely burning a house or killing a neighbour, would 
 not plead for or stand by him in so pitiful a concern as the 
 slaughter of this wretched wanderer. 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 235 
 
 Accordingly, Mure sought to provide himself with some 
 ostensible cause for avoiding law, with which the feelings of 
 his kindred and friends might sympathise ; and none occurred 
 to him so natural as an assault upon some friend and adherent 
 of the Earl of Cassilis. Should he kill such a one, it would 
 be indeed an unlawful action, but so far from being infamous, 
 would be accounted the natural consequences of the avowed 
 quarrel between the families. With this purpose, Mure, with 
 the assistance of a relative, of whom he seems always to have 
 had some ready to execute his worst purposes, beset Hugh 
 Kennedy of Garriehorne, a follower of the Earl’s, against 
 whom they had especial ill-will, fired their pistols at him, 
 and used other means to put him to death. But Garriehorne, 
 a stout-hearted man, and well armed, defended himself in 
 a very different manner from the unfortunate knight of 
 Cullayne, and beat off the assailants, wounding young 
 Auchindrane in the right hand, so that he wellnigh lost 
 the use of it. 
 
 But though Auchindrane’s purpose did not entirely suc¬ 
 ceed, he availed himself of it to circulate a report, that if he 
 could obtain a pardon for firing upon his feudal enemy with 
 pistols, weapons declared unlawful by act of Parliament, he 
 would willingly stand his trial for the death of Dalrymple, 
 respecting which he protested his total innocence. The 
 King, however, was decidedly of opinion that the Mures, 
 both father and son, were alike guilty of both crimes, and 
 used intercession with the Earl of Abercorn, as a person of 
 power in those western counties, as well as in Ireland, to 
 arrest and transmit them prisoners to Edinburgh. In con¬ 
 sequence of the Earl’s exertions old Auchindrane was made 
 prisoner and lodged in the tolbooth of Edinburgh. 
 
 Young Auchindrane no sooner heard that his father was 
 in custody than he became as apprehensive of Bannatyne, 
 the accomplice in Dalrymple’s murder, telling tales, as ever 
 
236 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 his father had been of Dalrymple. He therefore hastened 
 to him, and prevailed on him to pass over for a while to the 
 neighbouring coast of Ireland, finding him money and means 
 to accomplish the voyage, and engaging in the meantime to 
 take care of his affairs in Scotland. Secure, as they thought, 
 in this precaution, old Auchindrane persisted in his inno¬ 
 cence, and his son found security to stand his trial. Both 
 appeared with the same confidence at the day appointed, 
 and braved the public justice, hoping to be put to a formal 
 trial, in which Auchindrane reckoned upon an acquittal for 
 want of the evidence which he had removed. The trial was, 
 however, postponed, and Mure the elder was dismissed, 
 under high security, to return when called for. 
 
 But King James being convinced of the guilt of the 
 accused, ordered young Auchindrane, instead of being sent 
 to trial, to be examined under the force of torture, in order 
 to compel him to tell whatever he knew of the things charged 
 against him. He was accordingly severely tortured; but the 
 result only served to show that such examinations are as 
 useless as they are cruel. A man of weak resolution, or of 
 a nervous habit, would probably have assented to any con¬ 
 fession, however false, rather than have endured the extremity 
 of fear and pain to which Mure was subjected. But young 
 Auchindrane, a strong and determined ruffian, endured the 
 torture with the utmost firmness, and by the constant auda¬ 
 city with which, in spite of the intolerable pain, he continued 
 to assert his innocence, he spread so favourable an opinion 
 of his case, that the detaining him in prison, instead of 
 bringing him to open trial, was censured as severe and 
 oppressive. James, however, remained firmly persuaded of 
 his guilt, and by an exertion of authority quite inconsistent 
 with our present laws, commanded young Auchindrane to 
 be still detained in close custody till further light could be 
 thrown on these dark proceedings. He was detained accord- 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 237 
 
 ingly by the King’s express personal command, and against 
 the opinion even of his privy counsellors. This exertion of 
 authority was much murmured against. 
 
 In the meanwhile old Auchindrane, being, as we have 
 seen, at liberty on pledges, skulked about in the west, feeling 
 how little security he had gained by Dalrymple’s murder, 
 and that he had placed himself by that crime in the power 
 of Bannatyne, whose evidence concerning the death of Dal- 
 rymple could not be less fatal than what Dalrymple might 
 have told concerning Auchindrane’s accession to the con¬ 
 spiracy against Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne. But 
 though the event had shown the error of his wicked policy, 
 Auchindrane could think of no better mode in this case 
 than that which had failed in relation to Dalrymple. When 
 any man’s life became inconsistent with his own safety, no 
 idea seems to have occurred to this inveterate ruffian save 
 to murder the person by whom he might himself be in any 
 way endangered. He therefore attempted the life of James 
 Bannatyne by more agents than one. Nay, he had nearly 
 ripened a plan, by which one Pennycuke was to be employed 
 to slay Bannatyne, while, after the deed was done, it was 
 devised that Mure of Auchnull, a connexion of Bannatyne, 
 should be instigated to slay Pennycuke; and thus close up 
 this train of murders by one, which, flowing in the ordinary 
 course of deadly feud, should have nothing in it so particular 
 as to attract much attention. 
 
 But the justice of Heaven would bear this complicated 
 train of iniquity no longer. Bannatyne, knowing with what 
 sort of men he had to deal, kept on his guard, and, by his 
 caution, disconcerted more than one attempt to take his 
 life, while another miscarried by the remorse of Pennycuke, 
 the agent whom Mure employed. At length Bannatyne, 
 tiring of this state of insecurity, and in despair of escaping 
 such repeated plots, and also feeling remorse for the crime 
 
238 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 to which he had been accessory, resolved rather to submit 
 himself to the severity of the law, than remain the object of 
 the principal criminal’s practices. He surrendered himself 
 to the Earl of Abercorn, and was transported to Edinburgh, 
 where he confessed before the King and council all the 
 particulars of the murder of Dalrymple, and the attempt to 
 hide his body by committing it to the sea. 
 
 When Bannatyne was confronted with the two Mures 
 before the Privy Council, they denied with vehemence every 
 part of the evidence he had given, and affirmed that the 
 witness had been bribed to destroy them by a false tale. 
 Bannatyne’s behaviour seemed sincere and simple, that of 
 Auchindrane more resolute and crafty. The wretched 
 accomplice fell upon his knees, invoking God to witness that 
 all the land in Scotland could not have bribed him to bring 
 a false accusation against a master whom he had served, 
 loved, and followed in so many dangers, and calling upon 
 Auchindrane to honour God by confessing the crime he 
 had committed. Mure the elder, on the other hand, boldly 
 replied that he hoped God would not so far forsake him 
 as to permit him to confess a crime of which he was inno¬ 
 cent, and exhorted Bannatyne in his turn to confess the 
 practices by which he had been induced to devise such 
 falsehoods against him. 
 
 The two Mures, father and son, were therefore put upon 
 their solemn trial, along with Bannatyne, in 1611, and, after 
 a great deal of evidence had been brought in support of 
 Bannatyne’s confession, all three were found guilty. The 
 elder Auchindrane was convicted of counselling and directing 
 the murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy of Cullayne, and also 
 of the actual murder of the lad Dalrymple. Bannatyne and 
 the younger Mure were found guilty of the latter crime, and 
 all three were sentenced to be beheaded. Bannatyne, how¬ 
 ever, the accomplice, received the King’s pardon, in conse- 
 
THE DEADLY FEUD OF AUCHINDRANE. 239 
 
 quence of his voluntary surrender and confession. The two 
 Mures were both executed. The younger was affected by 
 the remonstrances of the clergy who attended him, and he 
 confessed the guilt of which he was accused. The father, 
 also, was at length brought to avow the fact, but in other 
 respects died as impenitent as he had lived ;—and so ended 
 this dark and extraordinary tragedy. . . . 
 
 The family of Auchindrane did not become extinct on the 
 death of the two homicides. The last descendant existed 
 in the eighteenth century, a poor and distressed man. The 
 following anecdote shows that he had a strong feeling of his 
 situation. 
 
 There was in front of the old castle a huge ash-tree called 
 the Dule-tree ( mourning-tree ) of Auchindrane, probably be¬ 
 cause it was the place where the Baron executed the criminals 
 who fell under his jurisdiction. It is described as having been 
 the finest tree of the neighbourhood. This last representa¬ 
 tive of the family of Auchindrane had the misfortune to be 
 arrested for payment of a small debt; and, unable to 
 discharge it, was prepared to accompany the messenger 
 (bailiff) to the jail of Ayr. The servant of the law had 
 compassion for his prisoner, and offered to accept of this 
 remarkable tree as of value adequate to the discharge of the 
 debt. “What!” said the debtor. “Sell the Dule-tree of 
 Auchindrane! I will sooner die in the worst dungeon of 
 your prison.” In this luckless character the line of Auchin¬ 
 drane ended. The family, blackened with the crimes of 
 its predecessors, became extinct, and the estate passed 
 into other hands. 
 
THE MAID OF NElDPATH. 
 
 HERE is a tradition in Tweeddale that, when 
 Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited 
 by the Earls of March, a mutual passion sub¬ 
 sisted between a daughter of that noble family, 
 and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick 
 Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her 
 parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence 
 the lady fell into a consumption ; and at length, as the only 
 means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover 
 should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to 
 pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young 
 lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried 
 to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, 
 that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and 
 eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to 
 have distinguished his horse’s footsteps at an incredible dis¬ 
 tance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her 
 appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode 
 on without recognising her, or even slackening his pace. The 
 lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short 
 struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. 
 
 O lovers’ eyes are sharp to see, 
 
 And lovers’ ears in hearing ; 
 
 And love, in life’s extremity, 
 
 Can lend an hour of cheering. 
 
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 
 
 241 
 
 Disease had been in Mary’s bower, 
 
 And slow decay from mourning, 
 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath’s tower, 
 To watch her love’s returning. 
 
 All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 
 
 Her form decay’d by pining, 
 
 Till through her wasted hand, at night, 
 You saw the taper shining; 
 
 By fits, a sultry hectic hue 
 Across her cheek were flying ; 
 
 By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 
 
 Her maidens thought her dying. 
 
 Yet keenest powers to see and hear, 
 Seem’d in her frame residing; 
 
 Before the watch-dog prick’d his ear, 
 
 She heard her lover’s riding ; 
 
 Ere scarce a distant form was kenn’d, 
 
 She knew, and waved to greet him ; 
 
 And o’er the battlement did bend, 
 
 As on the wing to meet him. 
 
 He came—he pass’d—an heedless gaze, 
 As o’er some stranger glancing; 
 
 Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 
 Lost in his courser’s prancing— 
 
 The castle arch, whose hollow tone 
 Returns each whisper spoken, 
 
 Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, 
 Which told her heart was broken. 
 
 Q 
 
CAMERON OF LOCH I EL. 
 
 
 
 ssf 
 
 HE confusion which the usurpation of Cromwell 
 was expected to have occasioned in England, 
 determined the Royalists to attempt a general 
 rising, in which it was expected that great 
 part of the Highland chieftains would join. 
 The successes of Montrose were remembered, although it 
 seems to have been forgotten that it was more his own 
 genius than his means that enabled him to attain them. 
 The Earl of Glencairn was placed by the King’s commission 
 at the head of the insurrection; he was joined by the Earl 
 of Athole, by the son of the heroic Montrose, by Lord Lorn, 
 the son of the Marquis of Argyle, and other nobles. A roman¬ 
 tic English cavalier, named Wogan, joined this insurgent 
 army at the head of a body of eighty horse, whom he brought 
 by a toilsome and dangerous march through England and the 
 Lowlands of Scotland. This gallant troop was frequently 
 engaged with the Republican forces, and particularly with a 
 horse regiment called “the Brazen Wall,” from their never 
 having been broken. Wogan defeated, however, a party of 
 these invincibles, but received several wounds, which, though 
 not at first mortal, became so for want of good surgeons; 
 and thus in an obscure skirmish ended the singular career 
 of an enthusiastic Royalist. 
 
 The army under Glencairn increased to five thousand 
 
CAMERON OF LOCH I EL. 
 
 243 
 
 men, numbers much greater than Montrose usually com¬ 
 manded. Their leader, however, though a brave and 
 accomplished nobleman, seems to have been deficient in 
 military skill, or, at any rate, in the art of securing the good¬ 
 will and obedience of the various chiefs and nobles who 
 acted under him. It was in vain that Charles, to reconcile 
 their feuds, sent over, as their commander-in-chief, General 
 Middleton, who, after having fought against Montrose in the 
 cause of the Covenant, had at length become an entire 
 Royalist, and was trusted as such. But his military talents 
 were not adequate to surmount the objections which were 
 made to his obscure origin, and the difficulties annexed to 
 his situation. 
 
 General Middleton met with but an indifferent welcome 
 from the Highland army, as the following scene, which took 
 place at an entertainment given by him on taking the com¬ 
 mand, will show. Glencairn had spoken something in praise 
 of the men he had assembled for the King’s service, espe¬ 
 cially the Highlanders. In reply, up started Sir George 
 Munro, an officer of some reputation, but of a haughty and 
 brutal temper, and who, trained in the wars of Germany, 
 despised all irregular troops, and flatly swore that the men 
 of whom the Earl thus boasted were a pack of thieves and 
 robbers, whose place he hoped to supply with different 
 soldiers. Glengarry, a Highland chief, who was present, 
 arose to resent this insolent language ; but Glencairn, pre¬ 
 venting him, replied to Munro, “ You are a base liar !—these 
 men are neither thieves nor robbers, but gentlemen and 
 brave soldiers.” 
 
 In spite of Middleton’s attempts to preserve peace this 
 altercation led to a duel. They fought on horseback, first 
 with pistols and then with broadswords. Sir George Munro, 
 having received a wound on the bridle hand, called to the 
 Earl that he was unable to command his horse, and there- 
 
244 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 fore desired to continue the contest on foot. “You base 
 churl/’ answered Glencairn, “ I will match you either on 
 foot or on horseback.” Both dismounted, and encountered 
 fiercely on foot, with their broadswords, when Munro received 
 a wound across his forehead, from which the blood flowed 
 so fast into his eyes that he could not see to continue the 
 combat. Glencairn was about to thrust his enemy through 
 the body, when the Earl’s servant struck up the point of his 
 master’s sword, saying, “You have enough of him, my lord 
 —you have gained the day.” Glencairn, still in great anger, 
 struck the intrusive peacemaker across the shoulders, but 
 returned to his quarters, where he was shortly after laid under 
 arrest by order of the General. 
 
 Ere this quarrel was composed one Captain Livingstone, 
 a friend of Munro’s, debated the justice of the question be¬ 
 twixt the leaders so keenly with a gentleman named Lindsay, 
 that they must needs fight a duel also, in which Lindsay 
 killed Livingstone on the spot. General Middleton, in 
 spite of Glencairn’s intercessions, ordered Lindsay to be exe¬ 
 cuted by martial law, on which Glencairn left the army with 
 his own immediate followers, and soon after returning to the 
 Lowlands, made peace with the English. His example was 
 followed by most of the Lowland nobles, who grew impatient 
 of long marches, Highland quarters, and obscure skirmishes, 
 which were followed by no important result. 
 
 Middleton still endeavoured to keep the war alive, although 
 Cromwell had sent additional forces into the Highlands. 
 At length he sustained a defeat at Loch Gary, 26th July, 
 1654, after which his army dispersed and he himself retired 
 abroad. The English forces then marched through the 
 Highlands, and compelled the principal clans to submit to 
 the authority of the Protector. And here I may give you an 
 account of one individual chieftain, of great celebrity at that 
 time, since you will learn better the character of that primi- 
 
CAMERON OF LOCHIEL. 
 
 245 
 
 tive race of men from personal anecdotes than from details 
 of obscure and petty contests, fought at places with un¬ 
 pronounceable names. 
 
 Evan Cameron of Lochiel, chief of the numerous and 
 powerful clan of Cameron, was born in 1629. He was 
 called MacConnuill Dhu (the son of Black Donald), from 
 the patronymic that marked his descent, and Evan Dhu, or 
 Black Evan, a personal epithet derived from his own com¬ 
 plexion. Young Lochiel was bred up under the directions 
 of the Marquis of Argyle, and was in attendance on that 
 nobleman, who regarded him as a hostage for the peaceable 
 behaviour of his clan. It is said that in the civil war the 
 young chief was converted to the side of the King by the 
 exhortations of Sir Robert Spottiswood, then in prison at St. 
 Andrews, and shortly afterwards executed for his adherence 
 to Montrose. 
 
 Evan Dhu, having embraced these principles, was one of 
 the first to join in the insurrection of 1652, of which I have 
 just given a short account. During the best part of two years 
 he was always with his clan, in the very front of battle, and 
 behaved gallantly in the various skirmishes which took place. 
 He was compelled, however, on one occasion, to withdraw 
 from the main body, on learning that the English were 
 approaching Lochaber, with the purpose of laying waste the 
 country of Lochiel. He hastened thither to protect his own 
 possessions and those of his clan. 
 
 On returning to his estates Lochiel had the mortification 
 to find that the English had established a garrison at In- 
 verlochy with the purpose of reducing to submission the 
 Royalist clans in the neighbourhood, particularly his own 
 and the MacDonalds of Glengarry and Keppoch. He 
 resolved to keep a strict watch on their proceedings, and 
 dismissing the rest of his followers, whom he had not the 
 means of maintaining without attracting attention to his 
 
246 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 motions, he lay in the woods with about fifty chosen men, 
 within a few miles of Inverlochy. 
 
 It was the constant policy of Cromwell and his officers, 
 both in Ireland and Scotland, to cut down and destroy the 
 forests in which the insurgent natives found places of defence 
 and concealment. In conformity with this general rule the 
 commandant of Inverlochy embarked three hundred men in 
 two light-armed vessels, with directions to disembark at a 
 place called Achdalew,for the purpose of destroying Lochiel’s 
 cattle and felling his woods. Lochiel, who watched their 
 motions closely, saw the English soldiers come ashore, one 
 half having hatchets and other tools as a working party, the 
 other half under arms, to protect their operations. Though 
 the difference of numbers was so great, the chieftain vowed 
 that he would make the red soldier (so the English were 
 called from their uniform) pay dear for every bullock or tree 
 which he should destroy on the black soldier’s property 
 (alluding to the dark colour of the tartan, and perhaps to his 
 own complexion). He then demanded of some of his 
 followers who had served under Montrose whether they had 
 ever seen the Great Marquis encounter with such unequal 
 numbers. They answered, they could recollect no instance 
 of such temerity. “We will fight, nevertheless,” said Evan 
 Dhu, “ and if each of us kill a man, which is no mighty 
 matter, I will answer for the event.” That his family 
 might not be destroyed in so doubtful an enterprise, he 
 ordered his brother Allan to be bound to a tree, meaning to 
 prevent his interference in the conflict. But Allan prevailed 
 on a little boy, who was left to attend him, to unloose the 
 cords, and was soon as deep in the fight as Evan himself. 
 
 The Camerons, concealed by the trees, advanced so 
 close on the enemy as to pour on them an unexpected and 
 destructive shower of shot and arrows, which slew thirty 
 men; and ere they could recover from their surprise, the 
 
CAMERON OF LOCHIEL. 
 
 247 
 
 Highlanders were in the midst of them, laying about them 
 with incredible fury with their ponderous swords and axes. 
 After a gallant resistance, the mass of the English began to 
 retire towards their vessels, when Evan Dhu commanded a 
 piper and a small party to go betwixt the enemy and their 
 barks, and then sound his pibroch and war-cry, till their 
 clamour made it seem that there was another body of High¬ 
 landers in ambush to cut off their retreat. The English, 
 driven to fury and despair by this new alarm, turned back, 
 like brave men, upon the first assailants, and if the working 
 party had possessed military weapons Lochiel might have 
 had little reason to congratulate himself on the result of 
 this audacious stratagem. 
 
 He himself had a personal rencontre, strongly charac¬ 
 teristic of the ferocity of the times. The chief was singled 
 out by an English officer of great personal strength, and, 
 as they were separated from the general strife, they fought in 
 single combat for some time. Lochiel was dexterous enough 
 to disarm the Englishman; but his gigantic adversary sud¬ 
 denly closed on him, and in the struggle which ensued both 
 fell to the ground, the officer uppermost. He was in the 
 act of grasping at his sword, which had fallen near the place 
 where they lay in deadly struggle, and was naturally ex¬ 
 tending his neck in the same direction, when the Highland 
 chief, making a desperate effort, grasped his enemy by the 
 collar, and snatching with his teeth at the bare and out¬ 
 stretched throat, he seized it as a wild-cat might have done, 
 and kept his hold so fast as to tear out the windpipe. The 
 officer died in this singular manner. Lochiel was so far 
 from disowning, or being ashamed of this extraordinary 
 mode of defence, that he was afterwards heard to say it 
 was the sweetest morsel he had ever tasted. 
 
 When Lochiel, thus extricated from the most imminent 
 danger, was able to rejoin his men, he found they had not 
 
248 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 only pursued the English to the beach, but even into the 
 sea, cutting and stabbing whomever they could overtake. 
 He himself advanced till he was chin-deep, and observing a 
 man on board one of the armed vessels take aim at him 
 with a musket, he dived under the water, escaping so 
 narrowly that the bullet grazed his head. Another marks¬ 
 man was foiled by the affection of the chiefs foster-brother, 
 who threw himself betwixt the Englishman and the object 
 of his aim, and was killed by the ball designed for his lord. 
 
 Having cut off a second party, who ventured to sally from 
 the fort, and thus, as he thought, sufficiently chastised the 
 garrison of Inverlochy, Lochiel again joined Middleton, but 
 was soon recalled to Lochaber by new acts of devastation. 
 Leaving most of his men with the Royalist general, Evan 
 Dhu returned with such speed and secrecy that he again 
 surprised a strong party when in the act of felling his woods, 
 and assaulting them suddenly, killed on the spot a hundred 
 men and all the officers, driving the rest up to the very 
 walls of the garrison. 
 
 Middleton’s army being disbanded, it was long ere Lochiel 
 could bring himself to accept of peace from the hands of 
 the English. He continued to harass them by attacks 
 on detached parties who straggled from the fort—on the 
 officers who went out into the woods in hunting parties— 
 on the engineer officers who were sent to survey the High¬ 
 lands, of whom he made a large party prisoners, and confined 
 them in a desolate island, on a small lake called Loch 
 Ortuigg. By such exploits he rendered himself so trouble¬ 
 some that the English were desirous to have peace with 
 him on any moderate terms. Their overtures were at first 
 rejected, Evan Dhu returning for answer, that he would not 
 abjure the King’s authority even though the alternative was 
 to be his living and dying in the condition of an exile and 
 outlaw. But when it was hinted to him that no express 
 
CAMERON OF LOCHIEL. 
 
 249 
 
 renunciation of the King’s authority would be required, and 
 that he was only desired to live in peace under the existing 
 government, the chief made his submission to the existing 
 powers with much solemnity. 
 
 Lochiel came down on this occasion at the head of his 
 whole clan in arms to the garrison of Inverlochy. The 
 English forces being drawn up in a line opposite to them, 
 the Camerons laid down their arms in the name of King 
 Charles, and took them up again in that of the States, 
 without any mention of Cromwell, or any disowning of the 
 King’s authority. In consequence of this honourable treaty, 
 the last Scotsman who maintained the cause of Charles 
 Stuart submitted to the authority of the republic. 
 
 It is related of this remarkable chieftain that he slew 
 with his own hand the last wolf that was ever seen in the 
 Highlands of Scotland. Tradition records another anecdote 
 of him. Being benighted, on some party for the battle or 
 the chase, Evan Dhu laid himself down with his followers 
 to sleep in the snow. As he composed himself to rest, he 
 observed that one of his sons, or nephews, had rolled 
 together a great snow-ball, on which he deposited his head. 
 Indignant at what he considered as a mark of effeminacy, 
 he started up and kicked the snow-ball .from under the 
 sleeper’s head, exclaiming—“Are you become so luxurious 
 that you cannot sleep without a pillow ? ” 
 
 After the accession of James II., Lochiel came to court to 
 obtain pardon for one of his clan, who, being in command 
 of a party of Camerons, had fired by mistake on a body 
 of Athole men, and killed several. He was received with 
 the most honourable distinction, and his request granted. 
 The King desiring to make him a knight, asked the chieftain 
 for his own sword, in order to render the ceremony still 
 more peculiar. Lochiel had ridden up from Scotland, being 
 then the only mode of travelling, and a constant rain had so 
 
250 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 rusted his trusty broadsword that at the moment no man- 
 could have unsheathed it. Lochiel, affronted at the idea 
 which the courtiers might conceive from his not being able 
 to draw his own sword, burst into tears. 
 
 “ Do not regard it, my faithful friend,” said King James 
 with ready courtesy—“your sword would have left the 
 scabbard of itself, had the royal cause required it.” 
 
 With that he bestowed the intended honour with his own 
 sword, which he presented to the new knight as soon as the 
 ceremony was performed. 
 
 Sir Evan Dhu supported the cause of the Stuart family 
 for the last time, and with distinguished heroism, in the 
 battle of Killiecrankie. After that civil strife was ended, 
 he grew old in peace, and survived until 1719, aged about 
 ninety, and so much deprived of his strength and faculties, 
 that this once formidable warrior was fed like an infant, and 
 like an infant rocked in a cradle. 
 
BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE. 
 
BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE . 
 
 {June 22, 1679.] 
 
 B SjiSiHEN Morton had left the well-ordered out- 
 posts of the regular army, and arrived at 
 yJBfi those which were maintained by his own 
 party, he could not but be peculiarly sensible 
 of the difference of discipline, and entertain 
 a proportional degree of fear for the consequences. The 
 same discords which agitated the counsels of the insur¬ 
 gents raged even among their meanest followers; and their 
 picquets and patrols were more interested and occupied in 
 disputing the true occasion and causes of wrath, and de¬ 
 fining the limits of Erastian heresy, than in looking out for 
 and observing the motions of their enemies, though within 
 hearing of the royal drums and trumpets. 
 
 There was a guard, however, of the insurgent army 
 posted at the long and narrow bridge of Bothwell, over 
 which the enemy must necessarily advance to the attack; 
 but, like the others, they were divided and disheartened; 
 and, entertaining the idea that they were posted on a des¬ 
 perate service, they even meditated withdrawing themselves 
 to the main body. This would have been utter ruin, for 
 on the defence or loss of this pass the fortune of the day 
 was most likely to depend. All beyond the bridge was a 
 plain open field, excepting a few thickets of no great depth, 
 and, consequently, was ground on which the 'undisciplined 
 
252 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 forces of the insurgents, deficient as they were in cavalry, 
 and totally unprovided with artillery, were altogether un¬ 
 likely to withstand the shock of regular troops. 
 
 Morton therefore viewed the pass carefully, and formed 
 the hope that by occupying two or three houses on the 
 left bank of the river, with the copse and thickets of alders 
 and hazels that lined its side, and by blockading the passage 
 itself, and shutting the gates of a portal which, according 
 to the old fashion, was built on the central arch of the 
 bridge of Bothwell, it might be easily defended against a 
 very superior force. He issued directions accordingly, and 
 commanded the parapets of the bridge, on the farther side 
 of the portal, to be thrown down, that they might afford no 
 protection to the enemy when they should attempt the 
 passage. Morton then conjured the party at this important 
 post to be watchful and upon their guard, and promised 
 them a speedy and strong reinforcement. He caused them 
 to advance videttes beyond the river to watch the progress 
 of the enemy, which outposts he directed should be with¬ 
 drawn to the left bank as soon as they approached; finally, 
 he charged them to send regular information to the main 
 body of all that they should observe. Men under arms, 
 and in a situation of danger, are usually sufficiently alert in 
 appreciating the merit of their officers. Morton’s intelli¬ 
 gence and activity gained the confidence of these men, and 
 with better hope and heart than before they began to fortify 
 their position in the manner he recommended, and saw 
 him depart with three loud cheers. 
 
 Morton now galloped hastily towards the main body of 
 the insurgents, but was surprised and shocked at the scene 
 of confusion and clamour which it exhibited, at the moment 
 when good order and concord were of such essential conse¬ 
 quence. Instead of being drawn up in line of battle, and 
 listening to the commands of their officers, they were 
 
BATTLE OF BOTH WELL BRIDGE. 
 
 253 
 
 crowding together in a confused mass, that rolled and 
 agitated itself like the waves of the sea, while a thousand 
 tongues spoke, or rather vociferated, and not a single ear 
 was found to listen. Scandalised at a scene so extra¬ 
 ordinary, Morton endeavoured to make his way through the 
 press, to learn, and if possible to remove, the cause of this 
 so untimely disorder. While he is thus engaged we shall 
 make the reader acquainted with that which he was some 
 time in discovering. 
 
 The insurgents had proceeded to hold their day of 
 humiliation, which, agreeably to the practice of the Puritans 
 during the earlier civil war, they considered as the most 
 effectual mode of solving all difficulties, and waiving all dis¬ 
 cussions. It was usual to name an ordinary week-day for 
 this purpose, but on this occasion the Sabbath itself was 
 adopted, owing to the pressure of the time and the vicinity 
 of the enemy. A temporary pulpit or tent was erected in 
 the middle of the encampment; which, according to the 
 fixed arrangement, was first to be occupied by the Reverend 
 Peter Poundtext, to whom the post of honour was assigned 
 as the eldest clergyman present. But as the worthy divine, 
 with slow and stately steps, was advancing towards the 
 rostrum which had been prepared for him, he was prevented 
 by the unexpected apparition of Habakkuk Mucklewrath, 
 the insane preacher, whose appearance had so much startled 
 Morton at the first council of the insurgents after their 
 victory at Loudon Hill. It is not known whether he was 
 acting under the influence and instigation of the Camer- 
 onians, or whether he was merely compelled by his own 
 agitated imagination, and the temptation of a vacant pulpit 
 before him, to seize the opportunity of exhorting so respect¬ 
 able a congregation. It is only certain that he took 
 occasion by the forelock, sprung into the pulpit, cast his 
 eyes wildly round him, and undismayed by the murmurs of 
 
254 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 many of the audience, opened the Bible, read forth as his 
 text from the thirteenth chapter of Deuteronomy, “ Certain 
 men, the children of Belial, are gone out from among you, 
 and have withdrawn the inhabitants of their city, saying, 
 Let us go and serve other gods which you have not known,” 
 and then rushed at once into the midst of his subject. 
 
 The harangue of Mucklewrath was as wild and extrava¬ 
 gant as his intrusion was unauthorised and untimely; but 
 it was provokingly coherent, in so far as it turned entirely 
 upon the very subjects of discord, of which it had been 
 agreed to adjourn the consideration until some more suit¬ 
 able opportunity. Not a single topic did he omit which 
 had offence in it; and, after charging the moderate party 
 with heresy, with crouching to tyranny, with seeking to be 
 at peace with God’s enemies, he applied to Morton by 
 name the charge that he had been one of those men of 
 Belial who, in the words of his text, had gone out from 
 amongst them, to withdraw the inhabitants of his city, and 
 to go astray after false gods. To him, and all who followed 
 him, or approved of his conduct, Mucklewrath denounced 
 fury and vengeance, and exhorted those who would hold 
 themselves pure and undefiled to come up from the midst 
 of them. 
 
 “ Fear not,” he said, “ because of the neighing of horses, 
 or the glittering of breastplates. Seek not aid of the Egyp¬ 
 tians because of the enemy, though they may be numerous 
 as locusts, and fierce as dragons. Their trust is not as our 
 trust, nor their rock as our rock; how else shall a thousand 
 fly before one, and two put ten thousand to the flight ? I 
 dreamed it in the visions of the night, and the voice said, 
 
 ‘ Habakkuk, take thy fan and purge the wheat from the 
 chaff, that they be not both consumed with the fire of in¬ 
 dignation and the lightning of fury.’ Wherefore, I say, 
 take this Henry Morton—this wretched Achan, who hath 
 
BATTLE OF BOTH WELL BRIDGE. 
 
 255 
 
 brought the accursed thing among ye, and made himself 
 brethren in the camp of the enemy—take him and stone 
 him with stones, and thereafter burn him with fire, that the 
 wrath may depart from the children of the Covenant! He 
 hath not taken a Babylonish garment, but he hath sold the 
 garment of righteousness to the woman of Babylon—he 
 hath not taken two hundred shekels of fine silver, but 
 he hath bartered the truth, which is more precious than 
 shekels of silver or wedges of gold.” 
 
 At this furious charge, brought so unexpectedly against 
 one of their most active commanders, the audience broke 
 out into open tumult, some demanding that there should 
 instantly be a new election of officers, into which office none 
 should hereafter be admitted who had, in their phrase, 
 touched of that which was accursed, or temporised more or 
 less with the heresies and corruptions of the times. 
 
 It was at this moment when Morton arrived in the field 
 and joined the army, in total confusion, and on the point of 
 dissolving itself. His arrival occasioned loud exclamations 
 of applause on the one side, and of imprecation on the 
 other. “What means this ruinous disorder at such a 
 moment ? ” he exclaimed to Burley, who, exhausted with 
 his vain exertions to restore order, was now leaning on his 
 sword, and regarding the confusion with an eye of resolute 
 despair. 
 
 “ It means,” he replied, “ that God has delivered us into 
 the hands of our enemies.” 
 
 “ Not so,” answered Morton, with a voice and gesture 
 which compelled many to listen ; “ it is not God who deserts 
 us—it is we who desert Him, and dishonour ourselves by 
 disgracing and betraying the cause of freedom and religion. 
 Hear me ! ” he explained, springing to the pulpit which 
 Mucklewrath had been compelled to evacuate by actual 
 exhaustion—“ I bring from the enemy an offer to treat, if 
 
256 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 you incline to lay down your arms. I can assure you the 
 means of making an honourable defence if you are of more 
 manly tempers. The time flies fast on. Let us resolve 
 either for peace or war; and let it not be said of us in 
 future days, that six thousand Scottish men in arms had 
 neither courage to stand their ground and fight it out, nor 
 prudence to treat for peace, nor even the coward’s wisdom 
 to retreat in good time and with safety. What signifies 
 quarrelling on minute points of church discipline, when the 
 whole edifice is threatened with total destruction? Oh 
 remember, my brethren, that the last and worse evil which 
 God brought upon the people whom He had once chosen— 
 the last and worse punishment of their blindness and hardness 
 of heart, was the bloody dissensions which rent asunder their 
 city, even when the enemy were thundering at its gates ! ” 
 Some of the audience testified their feeling of this ex¬ 
 hortation by loud exclamations of applause, others by 
 hooting and exclaiming—“To your tents, O Israel!” 
 
 Morton, who beheld the columns of the enemy already 
 beginning to appear on the right bank, and directing their 
 march upon the bridge, raised his voice to its utmost pitch, 
 and, pointing at the same time with his hand, exclaimed— 
 “ Silence your senseless clamours ! Yonder is the enemy ! 
 On maintaining the bridge against him depend our lives 
 as well as our hope to reclaim our laws and liberties. There 
 shall at least one Scottishman die in their defence. Let any 
 one who loves his country follow me ! ” 
 
 The multitude had turned their heads in the direction to 
 which he pointed. The sight of the glittering files of the 
 English Foot-Guards, supported by several squadrons of 
 horse, of the cannon which the artillerymen were busily 
 engaged in planting against the bridge, of the plaided clans 
 who seemed to search for a ford, and of the long succession 
 of troops which were destined to support the attack, silenced 
 
BATTLE OF BOTH WELL BRIDGE . 
 
 257 
 
 at once their clamorous uproar, and struck them with as 
 much consternation as if it were an unexpected apparition, 
 and not the very thing which they ought to have been look¬ 
 ing out for. They gazed on each other, and on their 
 leaders, with looks resembling those that indicate the 
 weakness of a patient when exhausted by a fit of frenzy. 
 Yet when Morton, springing from the rostrum, directed his 
 steps toward the bridge, he was followed by about an hun¬ 
 dred of the young men who were particularly attached to 
 his command. 
 
 Burley turned to Macbriar—“ Ephraim,” he said, “ it is 
 Providence points us the way, through the worldly wisdom 
 of this latitudinarian youth. He that loves the light, let 
 him follow Burley ! ” 
 
 “ Tarry,” replied Macbriar; “ it is not by Henry Morton, 
 or such as he, that our goings-out and our comings-in are to 
 be meted ; therefore tarry with us. I fear treachery to the 
 host from this nullifidian Achan. Thou shalt not go with 
 him—thou art our chariots and our horsemen.” 
 
 “ Hinder me not,” replied Burley; “ he hath well said 
 that all is lost if the enemy win the bridge—therefore let 
 me not. Shall the children of this generation be called 
 wiser or braver than the children of the sanctuary ? Array 
 yourselves under your leaders—let us not lack supplies of 
 men and ammunition; and accursed be he who turneth 
 back from the work on this great day ! ” 
 
 Having thus spoken, he hastily marched towards the 
 bridge, and was followed by about two hundred of the most 
 gallant and zealous of his party. There was a deep and dis¬ 
 heartened pause when Morton and Burley departed. The 
 commanders availed themselves of it to display their lines 
 in some sort of order, and exhorted those who were most 
 exposed, to throw themselves upon their faces to avoid the 
 cannonade which they might presently expect. The insur- 
 
 R 
 
258 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 gents ceased to resist or to remonstrate; but the awe which 
 had silenced their discords had dismayed their courage. 
 They suffered themselves to be formed into ranks with the 
 docility of a flock of sheep, but without possessing, for the 
 time, more resolution or energy; for they experienced a 
 sinking of the heart, imposed by the sudden and imminent 
 approach of the danger which they had neglected to provide 
 against while it was yet distant. They were, however, drawn 
 out with some regularity; and as they still possessed the 
 appearance of an army, their leaders had only to hope that 
 some favourable circumstance would restore their spirits and 
 courage. 
 
 Ere Morton or Burley had reached the post to be 
 defended, the enemy had commenced an attack upon it 
 with great spirit. The two regiments of Foot-Guards, 
 formed into a close column, rushed forward to the river; 
 one corps, deploying along the right bank, commenced a 
 galling fire on the defenders of the pass, while the other 
 pressed on to occupy the bridge. The insurgents sustained 
 the attack with great constancy and courage; and while part 
 of their number returned the fire across the river, the rest 
 maintained a discharge of musketry upon the farther end 
 of the bridge itself, and every avenue by which the soldiers 
 endeavoured to approach it. The latter suffered severely, 
 but still gained ground, and the head of their column 
 was already upon the bridge, when the arrival of Morton 
 changed the scene; and his marksmen, commencing 
 upon the pass a fire as well aimed as it was sustained 
 and regular, compelled the assailants to retire with much 
 loss. They were a second time brought up to the charge, 
 and a second time repulsed with still greater loss, as Burley 
 had now brought his party into action. The fire was con¬ 
 tinued with the utmost vehemence on both sides, and the 
 issue of the action seemed very dubious. 
 
BATTLE OF BOTH WELL BRIDGE. 
 
 259 
 
 Monmouth, mounted on a superb white charger, might 
 be discovered on the top of the right bank of the river, 
 urging, entreating, and animating the exertions of his 
 soldiers. By his orders the cannon, which had hitherto 
 been employed in annoying the distant main body of the 
 Presbyterians, were now turned upon the defenders of the 
 bridge. But these tremendous engines, being wrought 
 much more slowly than in modern times, did not produce 
 the effect of annoying or terrifying the enemy to the extent 
 proposed. The insurgents, sheltered by the copsewood 
 along the bank of the river, or stationed in the houses 
 already mentioned, fought under cover, while the Royalists, 
 owing to the precautions of Morton, were entirely exposed. 
 The defence was so protracted and obstinate, that the royal 
 generals began to fear it might be ultimately successful. 
 While Monmouth threw himself from his horse, and, rallying 
 the Foot-Guards, brought them on to another close and 
 desperate attack, he was warmly seconded by Dalzell, who, 
 putting himself at the head of a body of Lennox High¬ 
 landers, rushed forward with their tremendous war-cry of 
 Loch-sloy. The ammunition of the defenders of the bridge 
 began to fail at this important crisis ; messages command 
 ing and imploring succours and supplies were in vain des¬ 
 patched, one after the other, to the main body of the Pres¬ 
 byterian army, which remained inactively drawn up on the 
 open fields in the rear. Fear, consternation and misrule, 
 had gone abroad among them, and while the post on which 
 their safety depended required to be instantly and power¬ 
 fully reinforced, there remained none either to command or 
 to obey. As the fire of the defenders of the bridge began 
 to slacken, that of the assailants increased, and in its turn 
 became more fatal. Animated by the example and exhorta¬ 
 tions of their generals, they obtained a footing upon the 
 bridge itself, and began to remove the obstacles by which it 
 
26 o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 was blockaded. The portal-gate was broke open, the beams, 
 trunks of trees, and other materials of the barricade, pulled 
 down and thrown into the river. This was not accom¬ 
 plished without opposition. Morton and Burley fought in 
 the very front of their followers, and encouraged them 
 with their pikes, halberds, and partisans to encounter the 
 bayonets of the Guards and the broadswords of the High¬ 
 landers. But those behind the leaders began to shrink 
 from the unequal combat, and fly singly, or in parties of 
 two or three, towards the main body, until the remainder 
 were, by the mere weight of the hostile column as much 
 as by their weapons, fairly forced from the bridge. The 
 passage being now open, the enemy began to pour over. 
 But the bridge was long and narrow, which rendered the 
 manoeuvre slow as well as dangerous ; and those who first 
 passed had still to force the houses, from the windows of 
 which the Covenanters continued to fire. Burley and 
 Morton were near each other at this critical moment. 
 
 “ There is yet time,” said the former, “ to bring down 
 horse to attack them, ere they can get into order; and, with 
 the aid of God, we may thus regain the bridge. Hasten 
 thou to bring them down, while I make the defence good 
 with this old and wearied body.” 
 
 Morton saw the importance of the advice, and throwing 
 himself on the horse which Cuddie (his retainer) held in 
 readiness for him behind the thicket, galloped towards a 
 body of cavalry which chanced to be composed entirely of 
 Cameronians. Ere he could speak his errand, or utter his 
 orders, he was saluted by the execrations of the whole body. 
 
 “ He flies ! ” they exclaimed; “ the cowardly traitor flies 
 like a hart from the hunters, and hath left valiant Burley in 
 the midst of the slaughter.” 
 
 “ I do not fly,” said Morton. “ I come to lead you to 
 the attack. Advance boldly, and we shall yet do well.” 
 
BATTLE OF BOTH WELL BRIDGE. 
 
 261 
 
 “ Follow him not!—follow him not! ”—such were the 
 tumultuous exclamations which resounded from the ranks; 
 “ he hath sold you to the sword of the enemy ! ” 
 
 And while Morton argued, entreated, and commanded 
 in vain, the moment was lost in which the advance might 
 have been useful; and the outlet from the bridge, with all its 
 defences, being in complete possession of the enemy, Burley 
 and his remaining followers were driven back upon the main 
 body, to whom the spectacle of their hurried and harassed 
 retreat was far from restoring the confidence which they so 
 much wanted. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the forces of the King crossed the 
 bridge at their leisure, and securing the pass formed in line 
 of battle; while Claverhouse, who, like a hawk perched on 
 a rock, and eyeing the time to pounce on its prey, had 
 watched the event of the action from the opposite bank, 
 now passed the bridge at the head of his cavalry, at full trot, 
 and leading them in squadrons through the intervals and 
 round the flanks of the royal infantry, formed them in line 
 on the moor, and led them to the charge, advancing in 
 front with one large body, while other two divisions threa¬ 
 tened the flanks of the Covenanters. Their devoted army 
 was now in that situation when the slightest demonstration 
 towards an attack was certain to inspire panic. Their 
 broken spirits and disheartened courage were unable to 
 endure the charge of the cavalry, attended with all its 
 terrible accompaniments of sight and sound, the rush of the 
 horses at full speed, the shaking of the earth under their 
 feet, the glancing of the swords, the waving of the plumes, 
 and the fierce shouts of the Cavaliers. The front ranks 
 hardly attempted one ill-directed and disorderly fire, and 
 their rear were broken and flying in confusion ere the charge 
 had been completed; and in less than five minutes the 
 horsemen were mixed with them, cutting and hewing with- 
 
262 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 out mercy. The voice of Claverhouse was heard, even 
 above the din of conflict, exclaiming to his soldiers—“Kili! 
 Kill!—no quarter !—think on Richard Graham ! ” The 
 dragoons required no exhortations to vengeance as easy 
 as it was complete. Their swords drank deep of slaughter 
 among the unresisting fugitives. Screams for quarter were 
 only answered by the shouts with which the pursuers accom¬ 
 panied their blows, and the whole field presented one 
 general scene of confused slaughter, flight, and pursuit. 
 
 About twelve hundred of the insurgents who remained in 
 a body a little apart from the rest, and out of the line of 
 the charge of cavalry, threw down their arms and surrendered 
 at discretion, upon the approach of the Duke of Monmouth 
 at the head of the infantry. That mild-tempered nobleman 
 instantly allowed them the quarter which they prayed for; 
 and galloping about through the field exerted himself as 
 much to stop the slaughter as he had done to obtain the 
 victory. 
 
TORTURE OF THE COVENANTER 
 PRISONERS. 
 
 ORTON was now, with respect to his fortune, 
 like a rider who has flung his reins on the 
 horse’s neck, and, while he abandoned him¬ 
 self to circumstances, was at least relieved 
 from the task of attempting to direct them. 
 In this mood he journeyed on, the number of his com¬ 
 panions being continually augmented by detached parties 
 of horse, who came in from every quarter of the country, 
 bringing with them, for the most part, the unfortunate 
 persons who had fallen into their power. At length they 
 approached Edinburgh. 
 
 “ Our Council,” said Claverhouse, “ being resolved, I 
 suppose, to testify by their present exultation the extent of 
 their former terror, have decreed a kind of triumphal entry 
 to us victors and our captives ; but as I do not quite 
 approve the taste of it, I am willing to avoid my own part 
 in the show, and, at the same time, to save you from yours.” 
 
 So saying, he gave up the command of the forces to 
 Allan (now a lieutenant-colonel), and, turning his horse 
 into a by-lane, rode into the city privately, accompanied by 
 Morton and two or three servants. When Claverhouse 
 arrived at the quarters which he usually occupied in the 
 Canongate, he assigned to his prisoner a small apartment, 
 with an intimation that his parole confined him to it for 
 the present. 
 
264 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 After about a quarter of an hour spent in solitary musing 
 on the strange vicissitudes of his late life, the attention of 
 Morton was summoned to the window by a great noise in 
 the street beneath. Trumpets, drums, and kettledrums 
 contended in noise with the shouts of a numerous rabble, 
 and apprised him that the royal cavalry were passing in the 
 triumphal attitude which Claverhouse had mentioned. The 
 magistrates of the city, attended by their guard of halberds, 
 had met the victors with their welcome at the gate of the 
 city, and now preceded them as a part of the procession. 
 The next object was two heads borne upon pikes; and 
 before -each bloody head were carried the hands of the dis¬ 
 membered sufferers, which were, by the brutal mockery of 
 those who bore them, often approached towards each other 
 as if in the attitude of exhortation or prayer. These bloody 
 trophies belonged to two preachers who had fallen at 
 Bothwell Bridge. After them came a cart led by the 
 executioner’s assistant, in which were placed Macbriar and 
 other two prisoners, who seemed of the same profession. 
 They were bareheaded, and strongly bound, yet looked 
 around them with an air rather of triumph than dismay, 
 and appeared in no respect moved either by the fate of 
 their companions, of which the bloody evidences were 
 carried before them, or by dread of their own approaching 
 execution, which these preliminaries so plainly indicated. 
 
 Behind these prisoners, thus held up to public infamy 
 and derision, came a body of horse, brandishing their 
 broadswords, and filling the wide street with acclamations, 
 which were answered by the tumultuous outcries and shouts 
 of the rabble, who, in every considerable town, are too 
 happy in being permitted to huzza for anything whatever 
 which calls them together. In the rear of these troopers 
 came the main body of the prisoners, at the head of whom 
 were some of their leaders, who were treated with every 
 circumstance of inventive mockery and insult. Several 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 265 
 
 were placed on horseback with their faces to the animal’s 
 tail; others were chained to long bars of iron, which they 
 were obliged to support in their hands, like the galley-slaves 
 in Spain when travelling to the port where they are to be 
 put on shipboard. The heads of others who had fallen 
 were borne in triumph before the survivors, some on pikes 
 and halberds, some in sacks, bearing the names of the 
 slaughtered persons labelled on the outside. Such were the 
 objects who headed the ghastly procession, who seemed as 
 effectually doomed to death as if they were the sanbenitos 
 of the condemned heretics in an auio-da-fe. 
 
 Behind them came on the nameless crowd to the number 
 of several hundreds, some retaining under their misfortunes 
 a sense of confidence in the cause for which they suffered 
 captivity, and were about to give a still more bloody testi¬ 
 mony; others seemed pale, dispirited, dejected, question¬ 
 ing in their own minds their prudence in espousing a cause 
 which Providence seemed to have disowned, and looking 
 about for some avenue through which they might escape 
 from the consequences of their rashness. Others there 
 were who seemed incapable of forming an opinion on the 
 subject, or of entertaining either hope, confidence, or fear, 
 but who, foaming with thirst and fatigue, stumbled along 
 like over-driven oxen, lost to everything but their present 
 sense of wretchedness, and without having any distinct 
 idea whether they were led to the shambles or to the 
 pasture. These unfortunate men were guarded on each 
 hand by troopers, and behind them came the main body 
 of the cavalry, whose military music resounded back from 
 the high houses on each side of the street, and mingled 
 with their own songs, of jubilee and triumph, and the wild 
 shouts of the rabble. 
 
 Morton felt himself heart-sick while he gazed on the 
 dismal spectacle, and recognised in the bloody heads, and 
 still more miserable and agonised features of the living 
 
266 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 sufferers, faces which had been familiar to him during the 
 brief insurrection. He sunk down in a chair in a be¬ 
 wildered and stupefied state, from which he was awakened 
 by the voice of Cuddie. 
 
 “ Lord forgie us, sir! ” said the poor fellow, his teeth 
 chattering like a pair of nut-crackers, his hair erect like 
 boars' bristles, and his face as pale as that of a corpse— 
 “ Lord forgie us, sir! we maun instantly gang before the 
 Council! O Lord ! what made them send for a puir body 
 like me, sae mony braw lords and gentles?—and there’s 
 my mither come on the lang tramp frae Glasgow, to see 
 to gar me testify, as she ca’s it, that is to say, confess and 
 be hanged; but deil tak me if they mak sic a guse o’ 
 Cuddie, if I can do better. But here’s Claverhouse himsell 
 —the Lord preserve and forgie us, I sae anes mair ! ” 
 
 “You must immediately attend the Council, Mr. Morton,” 
 said Claverhouse, who entered while Cuddie spoke, “ and 
 your servant must go with you. You need be under no 
 apprehension for the consequences to yourself personally. 
 But I warn you that you will see something that will give 
 you much pain, and from which I would willingly have 
 saved you, if I had possessed the power. My carriage 
 waits us—shall we go ? ” 
 
 It will be readily supposed that Morton did not ven¬ 
 ture to dispute this invitation, however unpleasant. He 
 rose and accompanied Claverhouse. 
 
 “ I must apprise you,” said the latter, as he led the way 
 down stairs, “ that you will get off cheap; and so will your 
 servant, provided he can keep his tongue quiet.” 
 
 Cuddie caught these last words, to his exceeding joy. 
 
 “ Deil a fear o’ me,” said he, “ an my mither disna pit 
 her finger in the pie.” 
 
 At that moment his shoulder was seized by old Mause, 
 who had contrived to thrust herself forward into the lobby 
 of the apartment. 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 267 
 
 “ O, hinny, hinny ! ” said she to Cuddie, hanging upon 
 his neck, “ glad and proud, and sorry and humbled am I, 
 a’ in ane and the same instant, to see my bairn ganging to 
 testify for the truth gloriously with his mouth in Council, as 
 he did with his weapon in the field! ” 
 
 “ Whisht, whisht, mither! ” cried Cuddie impatiently. 
 “ Od, ye daft wife, is this a time to speak o’ thae things ? I 
 tell ye I’ll testify naething either ae gate or another. I hae 
 spoken to Mr. Poundtext, and I’ll tak the declaration, or 
 whate’er they ca’ it, and we’re a’ to win free off if we do 
 that—he’s gotten life for himsell and a’ his folk, and that’s 
 a minister for my siller; I like nane o’ your sermons that 
 end in a psalm at the Grassmarket.” * 
 
 “ O Cuddie, man, laith wad I be they suld hurt ye,” said 
 old Mause, divided grievously between the safety of her 
 son’s soul and that of his body; “but mind, my bonny 
 bairn, ye hae battled for the faith, and dinna let the dread 
 o’ losing creature-comforts withdraw ye frae the gude fight.” 
 
 “ Hout tout, mither,” replied Cuddie, “ I hae fought e’en 
 ower muckle already, and, to speak plain, I’m wearied o’ the 
 trade. I hae swaggered wi’ a’ thae arms, and muskets, and 
 pistols, buff-coats, and bandoliers, lang eneugh, and I like 
 the pleugh-paidle a hantle better. I ken naething suld gar 
 a man fight (that’s to say when he’s no angry), by and out- 
 taken the dread of being hanged or killed if he turns back.” 
 
 “ But, my dear Cuddie,” continued the persevering 
 Mause, “ your bridal garment—Oh, hinny, dinna sully the 
 marriage garment! ” 
 
 “Awa, awa, mither,” replied Cuddie; “dinna ye see 
 the folks waiting for me? Never fear me—I ken how to 
 turn this far better than ye do—for ye’re bleezing awa 
 about marriage, and the job is how we are to win by 
 hanging.” 
 
 * [The Grassmarket in Edinburgh at the date of the story was the 
 place of public execution.] 
 
268 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 So saying, he extricated himself out of his mother’s em¬ 
 braces, and requested the soldiers who took him in charge 
 to conduct him to the place of examination without delay. 
 He had been already preceded by Claverhouse and Morton. 
 
 The Privy Council of Scotland, in whom the practice 
 since the union of the crowns vested great judicial powers, 
 as well as the general superintendence of the executive 
 department, was met in the ancient dark Gothic room 
 adjoining to the House of Parliament in Edinburgh, when 
 General Grahame entered and took his place amongst the 
 members at the council-table. 
 
 “You have brought us a leash of game to-day, General,” 
 said a nobleman of high place amongst them. “ Here is a 
 craven to confess—a cock of the game to stand at bay— 
 and what shall I call the third, General ? ” 
 
 “ Without further metaphor, I will entreat your Grace to 
 call him a person in whom I am specially interested,” 
 replied Claverhouse. 
 
 “ And a whig into the bargain,” said the nobleman, lolling 
 out a tongue which was at all times too big for his mouth, 
 and accommodating his coarse features to a sneer, to which 
 they seemed to be familiar. 
 
 “Yes, please your Grace, a whig; as your Grace was in 
 1641,” replied Claverhouse, with his usual appearance of 
 imperturbable civility. 
 
 “ He has you there, I think, my Lord Duke,” said one of 
 the Privy Councillors. 
 
 “Ay, ay,” returned the Duke, laughing; “there’s no 
 speaking to him since Drumclog. But come, bring in the 
 prisoners; and do you, Mr. Clerk, read the record.” 
 
 The clerk read forth a bond, in which General Grahame 
 of Claverhouse and Lord Evandale entered themselves 
 securities, that Henry Morton, younger of Milnwood, should 
 go abroad and remain in foreign parts until his Majesty’s 
 pleasure was further known in respect of the said Henry 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 269 
 
 Morton’s accession to the late rebellion, and that under 
 penalty of life and limb to the said Henry Morton, and of 
 ten thousand marks to each of his securities. 
 
 “ Do you accept of the King’s mercy upon these terms, 
 Mr. Morton ? ” said the Duke of Lauderdale, who presided 
 in the Council. 
 
 “ I have no other choice, my lord,” replied Morton. 
 
 “Then subscribe your name in the record.” 
 
 Morton did so without reply, conscious that, in the circum¬ 
 stances of his case, it was impossible for him to have escaped 
 more easily. Macbriar, who was at the same instant brought 
 to the foot of the council-table, bound upon a chair, for his 
 weakness prevented him from standing, beheld Morton 
 in the act of what he accounted apostasy. “ He hath 
 summed his defection by owning the carnal power of the 
 tyrant! ” he exclaimed, with a deep groan. “ A fallen star ! 
 a fallen star ! ” 
 
 “ Hold your peace, sir,” said the Duke, “ and keep your 
 ain breath to cool your ain porridge—ye’ll find them scald¬ 
 ing hot, I promise you. Call in the other fellow, who has 
 some common sense. One sheep will leap the ditch, when 
 another goes first.” 
 
 Cuddie was introduced unbound, but under the guard of 
 two halberdiers, and placed beside Macbriar at the foot of 
 the table. The poor fellow cast a piteous look around 
 him, in which were mingled awe for the great men in 
 whose presence he stood, and compassion for his fellow- 
 sufferers, with no small fear of the personal consequences 
 which impended over himself. He made his clownish 
 obeisances with a double portion of reverence, and then 
 awaited the opening of the awful scene. 
 
 “Were you at the battle of Bothwell Brigg?” was the 
 first question which was thundered in his ears. 
 
 Cuddie meditated a denial, but had sense enough, upon 
 reflection, to discover that the truth would be too strong 
 
270 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 for him; so he replied, with true Caledonian indirectness 
 of response, “ I’ll no say but it may be possible that I 
 might hae been there.” 
 
 “Answer directly, you knave—yes, or no? You know 
 you were there.” 
 
 “It’s no for me to contradict your Lordship’s Grace’s 
 honour,” said Cuddie. 
 
 “Once more, sir, were you there?—yes, or no?” said 
 the Duke, impatiently. 
 
 “Dear stir,” again replied Cuddie, “how can ane mind 
 preceesely where they hae been a’ the days o’ their 
 life?” 
 
 “Speak out, you scoundrel,” said General Dalzell, “or 
 I’ll dash your teeth out with my dudgeon-haft! Do you 
 think we can stand here all day to be turning and dodging 
 with you, like greyhounds after a hare ? ” 
 
 “Aweel, then,” said Cuddie, “since naething else will 
 please ye, write down that I cannot deny but I was there.” 
 
 “ Well, sir,” said the Duke, “ and do you think that the 
 rising upon that occasion was rebellion or not?” 
 
 “ I’m no just free to gie my opinion, stir,” said the 
 cautious captive, “ on what might cost my neck; but I 
 doubt it will be very little better.” 
 
 “ Better than what ? ” 
 
 “Just than rebellion, as your honour ca’s it,” replied 
 Cuddie. 
 
 “ Well, sir, that’s speaking to the purpose,” replied his 
 Grace. “ And are you content to accept of the King’s 
 pardon for your guilt as a rebel, and to keep the Church, 
 and pray for the King ? ” 
 
 “Blithely, stir,” answered the unscrupulous Cuddie; 
 “ and drink his health into the bargain, when the ale’s gude.” 
 
 “ Egad ! ” said the Duke, “ this is a hearty cock. What 
 brought you into such a scrape, mine honest friend ? ” 
 
 “Just ill example, stir,” replied the prisoner, “and a 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 271 
 
 daft auld jaud of a mither, wi’ reverence to your Grace’s 
 honour.” 
 
 “Why, God-a-mercy, my friend,” replied the Duke, 
 “take care of bad advice another time; I think you are 
 not likely to commit treason on your own score. Make 
 out his free pardon and bring forward the rogue in the 
 chair.” 
 
 Macbriar was then moved forward to the post of examina¬ 
 tion. 
 
 “ Were you at the battle of Bothwell Bridge ? ” was, in 
 like manner, demanded of him. 
 
 “I was,” answered the prisoner, in a bold and resolute tone. 
 
 “ Were you armed ? ” 
 
 “ I was not—I went in my calling as a preacher of 
 God’s Word, to encourage them that drew the sword in 
 His cause.” 
 
 “ In other words, to aid and abet the rebels ? ” said the 
 Duke. 
 
 “ Thou hast spoken it,” replied the prisoner. 
 
 “Well, then,” continued the interrogator, “let us know 
 if you saw John Balfour of Burley among the party? I 
 presume you know him ? ” 
 
 “ I bless God that I do know him,” replied Macbriar; 
 “ he is a zealous and a sincere Christian.” 
 
 “ And when and where did you last see this pious per¬ 
 sonage ? ” was the query which immediately followed. 
 
 “ I am here to answer for myself,” said Macbriar, in the 
 same dauntless manner, “ and not to endanger others.” 
 
 “We shall know,” said Dalzell, “how to make you find 
 your tongue.” 
 
 “ If you can make him fancy himself in a conventicle,” 
 answered Lauderdale, “ he will find it without you. Come, 
 laddie, speak while the play is good—you’re too young to 
 bear the burden will be laid on you else.” 
 
 “ I defy you,” retorted Macbriar. “ This has not been 
 
272 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 the first of my imprisonments or of my sufferings; and, 
 young as I may be, I have lived long enough to know how 
 to die when I am called upon.” 
 
 “ Ay, but there are some things which must go before an 
 easy death, if you continue obstinate,” said Lauderdale, and 
 rung a small silver bell which was placed before him on the 
 table. 
 
 A dark crimson curtain, which covered a sort of niche 
 or Gothic recess in the wall, rose at the signal, and dis¬ 
 played the public executioner, a tall, grim, and hideous 
 man, having an oaken table before him, on which lay 
 thumb-screws, and an iron case, called the Scottish boot, 
 used in those tyrannical days to torture accused persons. 
 Morton, who was unprepared for this ghastly apparition, 
 started when the curtain arose, but Macbriar’s nerves were 
 more firm. He gazed upon the horrible apparatus with 
 much composure; and if a touch of nature called the blood 
 from his cheek for a second, resolution sent it back to his 
 brow with greater energy. 
 
 “ Do you know who that man is ? ” said Lauderdale, in a 
 low, stern voice, almost sinking into a whisper. 
 
 “ He is, I suppose,” replied Macbriar, “ the infamous 
 executioner of your bloodthirsty commands upon the per¬ 
 sons of God’s people. He and you are equally beneath 
 my regard; and, I bless God, I no more fear what he can 
 inflict than what you can command. Flesh and blood may 
 shrink under the sufferings you can doom me to, and poor 
 frail nature may shed tears, or send forth cries ; but I trust 
 my soul is anchored firmly on the Rock of Ages.” 
 
 “ Do your duty,” said the Duke to the executioner. 
 
 The fellow advanced, and asked, with a harsh and dis¬ 
 cordant voice, upon which of the prisoner’s limbs he should 
 first employ his engine. 
 
 “ Let him choose for himself,” said the Duke ; “ I should 
 like to oblige him in anything that is reasonable.” 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 273 
 
 “ Since you leave it to me,” said the prisoner, stretching 
 forth his right leg, “ take the best—I willingly bestow it in 
 the cause for which I suffer.” * 
 
 The executioner, with the help of his assistants, enclosed 
 the leg and knee within the tight iron boot or case, and 
 then placing a wedge of the same metal between the knee 
 and the edge of the machine, took a mallet in his hand, 
 and stood waiting for further orders. A well-dressed man, 
 by profession a surgeon, placed himself by the other side of 
 the prisoner’s chair, bared the prisoner’s arm, and applied 
 his thumb to the pulse in order to regulate the torture 
 according to the strength of the patient. When these 
 preparations were made, the President of the Council 
 repeated with the same stern voice the question, “ When 
 and where did you last see John Balfour of Burley ?” 
 
 The prisoner, instead of replying to him, turned his eyes 
 to heaven as if imploring divine strength, and muttered a few 
 words, of which the last were distinctly audible, “ Thou hast 
 said Thy people shall be willing in the day of Thy power! ” 
 The Duke of Lauderdale glanced his eye around the 
 Council as if to collect their suffrages, and, judging from their 
 mute signs, gave on his own part a nod to the executioner, 
 whose mallet instantly descended on the wedge, and, forcing 
 it between the knee and the iron boot, occasioned the most 
 exquisite pain, as was evident from the flush which instantly 
 took place on the brow and on the cheeks of the sufferer. 
 The fellow then again raised his weapon, and stood prepared 
 to give a second blow. 
 
 “Will you yet say,” repeated the Duke of Lauderdale, 
 “ where and when you last parted from Balfour of Burley ? ” 
 “ You have my answer,” said the sufferer resolutely,—and 
 
 * This was the reply actually made by James Mitchell when subjected 
 to the torture of the boot, for an attempt to assassinate Archbishop 
 Sharpe. 
 
 S 
 
274 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 the second blow fell. The third and fourth succeeded ; 
 but at the fifth, when a larger wedge had been introduced, 
 the prisoner set up a scream of agony. 
 
 Morton, whose blood boiled within him at witnessing 
 such cruelty, could bear no longer, and although unarmed, 
 and himself in great danger, was springing forward, when 
 Claverhouse, who observed his emotion, withheld him by 
 force, laying one hand on his arm and the other on his 
 mouth, while he whispered, “ For God’s sake, think where 
 you are ! ” 
 
 This movement, fortunately for him, was observed by no 
 other of the councillors, whose attention was engaged with 
 the dreadful scene before them. 
 
 “ He is gone ! ” said the surgeon—“ he has fainted, my 
 lords, and human nature can endure no more.” 
 
 “Release him,” said the Duke; and added, turning to 
 Dalzell, “ He will make an old proverb good, for he’ll scarce 
 ride to-day, though he has had his boots on. I suppose we 
 must finish with him ? ” 
 
 “ Ay, dispatch his sentence, and have done with him; 
 we have plenty of drudgery behind.” 
 
 Strong waters and essences were busily employed to re¬ 
 call the senses of the unfortunate captive; and when his first 
 faint gasps intimated a return of sensation, the Duke pro¬ 
 nounced sentence of death upon him, as a traitor taken in 
 the act of open rebellion, and adjudged him to be carried 
 from the bar to the common place of execution, and there 
 hanged by the neck; his head and hands to be stricken off 
 after death, and disposed of according to the pleasure of 
 the Council, and all and sundry his moveable goods and 
 gear escheat and inbrought to his Majesty’s use. 
 
 “ Doomster,” he continued, “repeat the sentence to the 
 prisoner.” 
 
 The office of Doomster was in those days, and till a much 
 
TORTURE OF COVENANTER PRISONERS. 275 
 
 later period, held by the executioner in commendam with his 
 ordinary functions. The duty consisted in reciting to the 
 unhappy criminal the sentence of the law as pronounced by 
 the judge, which acquired an additional and horrid emphasis 
 from the recollection that the hateful personage by whom it 
 was uttered was to be the agent of the cruelties he denounced. 
 Macbriar had scarce understood the purport of the words as 
 first pronounced by the Lord President of the Council; but 
 he was sufficiently recovered to listen and to reply to the 
 sentence when uttered by the harsh and odious voice of the 
 ruffian who was to execute it, and at the last awful words, 
 “ And this I pronounce for doom,” he answered boldly— 
 “ My lords, I thank you for the only favour I looked for, 
 or would accept at your hands, namely, that you have sent 
 the crushed and maimed carcass, which has this day sus¬ 
 tained your cruelty, to this hasty end. It were indeed little 
 to me whether I perish on the gallows or in the prison-house ; 
 but if death, following close on what I have this day suffered 
 had found me in my cell of darkness and bondage, many 
 might have lost the sight how a Christian man can suffer in 
 the good cause. For the rest, I forgive you, my lords, for 
 what you have appointed and I have sustained. And why 
 should I not? Ye send me to a happy exchange—to the 
 company of angels and the spirits of the just, for that of frail 
 dust and ashes. Ye send me from darkness into day—from 
 mortality to immortality—and, in a word, from earth to 
 heaven ! If the thanks, therefore, and pardon of a dying 
 man can do you good, take them at my hand, and may 
 your last moments be as happy as mine! ” 
 
 As he spoke thus, with a countenance radiant with joy 
 and triumph, he was withdrawn by those who had brought 
 him into the apartment, and executed within half an hour, 
 dying with the same enthusiastic firmness which his whole 
 life had evinced. 
 
JACOBITE ATTEMPT TO SEIZE 
 EDINBURGH CASTLE . 
 
 HE death of Louis XIV. in September 1715 
 was represented in Scotland as rather favour¬ 
 able than otherwise to the cause of James 
 the Pretender. The power of France was 
 now wielded, it was said, by a courageous 
 and active young prince, to whose character enterprise was 
 more natural than to that of an aged and heart-broken old 
 man, and who would, of course, be ready to hazard as 
 much, or more, in the cause of the Jacobites than the late 
 monarch had so often promised. In short, the death of 
 Louis the Great, long the hope and prop of the Jacobite 
 cause, was boldly represented as a favourable event during 
 the present crisis. 
 
 Although a little dispassionate inquiry would have dis¬ 
 pelled the fantastic hopes, founded on the baseless rumour 
 of foreign assistance, yet such fictions as I have here alluded 
 to, tending to exalt the zeal and spirits of the party, were 
 circulated because they were believed, and believed be¬ 
 cause they were circulated; and the gentlemen of Stirling¬ 
 shire, Perth, Angus, and Fifeshire, began to leave their 
 homes and assemble in arms, though in small parties, at 
 the foot of the Grampian hills, expecting the issue of Lord 
 Mar’s negotiations in the Highlands. 
 
ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE. 277 
 
 Upon leaving Fifeshire, having communicated with such 
 gentlemen as were most likely to serve his purpose, Mar 
 proceeded instantly to his own estates of Braemar, lying 
 along the side of the river Dee, and took up his residence 
 with Farquharson of Invercauld. This gentleman was chief 
 of the clan Farquharson, and could command a very con¬ 
 siderable body of men. But he was vassal to Lord Mar 
 for a small part of his estate, which gave the Earl consider¬ 
 able influence with him; not, however, sufficient to induce 
 him to place himself and followers in such hazard as would 
 have been occasioned by an instant rising. He went to 
 Aberdeen, to avoid importunity on the subject, having 
 previously declared to Mar that he would not take arms 
 until the Chevalier de St. George had actually landed. At 
 a later period he joined the insurgents. 
 
 Disappointed in this instance, Mar conceived that as 
 desperate resolutions are usually most readily adopted in 
 large assemblies where men are hurried forward by ex¬ 
 ample, and prevented from retreating, or dissenting, by 
 shame, he should best attain his purpose in a large convo¬ 
 cation of the chiefs and men of rank, who professed 
 attachment to the exiled family. The assembly was made 
 under pretext of a grand hunting match, which, as main¬ 
 tained in the Highlands, was an occasion of general 
 rendezvous of a peculiar nature. The lords attended at 
 the head of their vassals, all, even Lowland guests, attired 
 in the Highland garb, and the sport was carried on upon a 
 scale of rude magnificence. A circuit of many miles was 
 formed around the wild desolate forests and wildernesses, 
 which are inhabited by the red-deer, and is called the 
 tinchel. Upon a signal given, the hunters who compose 
 the tinchel begin to move inwards, closing the circle, and 
 driving the terrified deer before them, with whatever else 
 the forest contains of wild animals who cannot elude the 
 
2 78 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 surrounding sportsmen. Being in this manner concentrated 
 and crowded together, they are driven down a defile, where 
 the principal hunters lie in wait for them, and show their 
 dexterity by marking out and shooting those bucks which 
 are in season. As it required many men to form the 
 tinchel, the attendance, of vassals on these occasions 1 was 
 strictly insisted upon. Indeed, it was one of the feudal 
 services required by the law, attendance on the superior 
 at hunting being as regularly required as at hosting, that 
 is, joining his banner in war; or watching and warding , 
 garrisoning, namely, his castle in times of danger. 
 
 An occasion such as this was highly favourable; and the 
 general love of sport and well-known fame of the forest of 
 Braemar for game of every kind, assembled many of the 
 men of rank and influence who resided within reach of the 
 rendezvous, and a great number of persons besides, who, 
 though of less consequence, served to give the meeting the 
 appearance of numbers. This great council was held about 
 the 26th of August, and, it may be supposed, they did not 
 amuse themselves much with hunting, though it was the 
 pretence and watchword of their meeting. 
 
 Among the noblemen of distinction there appeared in 
 person, or by representation, the Marquis of Huntly, eldest 
 son of the Duke of Gordon ; the Marquis of Tulliebardine, 
 eldest son of the Duke of Athole; the Earls of Nithsdale, 
 Marischal, Traquair, Errol, Southesk, Carnwath, Seaforth, 
 and Linlithgow; the Viscounts of Kilsythe, Kenmuir, 
 Kingston, and Stormount; the Lords Rollo, Duffus, Drum¬ 
 mond, Strathallan, Ogilvy, and Nairn. Of the chiefs of 
 clans, there attended Glengarry, Campbell of Glendarule, 
 on the part of the powerful Earl of Breadalbane, with others 
 of various degrees of importance in the Highlands. 
 
 When this council was assembled, the Earl of Mar ad¬ 
 dressed them in a species of eloquence which was his 
 
DEER STARRING. 
 

ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE. 279 
 
 principal accomplishment, and which was particularly quali¬ 
 fied to succeed with the high-spirited and zealous men by 
 whom he was surrounded. He confessed, with tears in his 
 eyes, that he had himself been but too instrumental in for¬ 
 warding the Union between England and Scotland, which 
 had given the English-the power, as they had the disposition, 
 to enslave the latter kingdom. He urged that the Prince 
 of Hanover was an usurping intruder, governing by means 
 of an encroaching and innovating faction; and that the 
 only mode to escape his tyranny was to rise boldly in de¬ 
 fence of their lives and property, and to establish on the 
 throne the lawful heir of these realms. He declared that he 
 himself was determined to set up the standard of James 
 III., and summon around it all those over whom he had 
 influence, and to hazard his fortune and life in the cause. 
 He invited all who heard him to unite in the same generous 
 resolution. He was large in his promises of assistance 
 from France in troops and money, and persisted in the 
 story that two descents were to take place, one in England 
 under the command of Ormond, the other in Scotland 
 under that of the Duke of Berwick. He also strongly 
 assured his hearers of the certainty of a general insurrection 
 in England, but alleged the absolute necessity of showing 
 them an example in the north, for which the present time 
 was most appropriate, as there were few regular troops in 
 Scotland to restrain their operations, and as they might 
 look for assistance to Sweden as well as to France. 
 
 It has been said that Mar on this memorable occasion 
 showed letters from the Chevalier de St. George, with a 
 commission nominating the Earl his lieutenant-general and 
 commander-in-chief of his armies in Scotland. Other 
 accounts say, more probably, that Mar did not produce any 
 other credentials than a picture of the Chevalier, which he 
 repeatedly kissed, in testimony of zeal for the cause of the 
 
28 o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 original, and that he did not at the time pretend to the 
 supreme command of the enterprise. This is also the 
 account given in the statement of the transaction drawn up 
 by Mar himself, or under his eye, where it is plainly said, 
 that it was nearly a month after the standard was set up ere 
 the Earl of Mar could procure a commission. 
 
 The number of persons of rank who were assembled, the 
 eloquence with which topics were publicly urged which had 
 been long the secret inmates of every bosom, had their 
 effect on the assembled guests, and every one felt, that to 
 oppose the current of the Earl’s discourse by remonstrance 
 or objection, would be to expose himself to the charge of 
 cowardice, or of disaffection to the common cause. It 
 was agreed that all of them should return home, and raise, 
 under various pretexts, whatever forces they could indi¬ 
 vidually command against a day, fixed for the third of 
 September, on which they were to hold a second meeting 
 at Aboyne, in Aberdeenshire, in order to settle how they 
 were to take the field. The Marquis of Huntly alone 
 declined to be bound to any limited time; and in conse¬ 
 quence of his high rank and importance he was allowed to 
 regulate his own motions at his own pleasure. 
 
 Thus ended that celebrated hunting in Braemar, which, 
 as the old bard says of that of Chevy Chace, might, from 
 its consequences, be wept by a generation which was yet 
 unborn.* There was a circumstance mentioned at the 
 time, which tended to show that all men had not forgotten 
 that the Earl of Mar, on whose warrant this rash enterprise 
 was undertaken, was considered by some as rather too 
 
 * “ To drive the deer with hound and horn 
 Earl Percy took his way ; 
 
 The child may rue that is unborn, 
 
 The hunting of that day.” 
 
 —Ballad of Chevy Chace. 
 
ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE . 281 
 
 versatile to be fully trusted. As the castle of Braemar 
 was overflowing with guests, it chanced that, as was not 
 unusual on such occasions, many of the gentlemen of the 
 secondary class could not obtain beds, but were obliged to 
 spend the night around the kitchen fire, which was then 
 accounted no great grievance. An English footman, a 
 domestic of the Earl, was of a very different opinion. 
 Accustomed to the accommodations of the south, he came 
 bustling in among the gentlemen, and complained bitterly 
 of being obliged to sit up all night, notwithstanding he 
 shared the hardship with his betters, saying, that rather 
 than again expose himself to such a strait, he would return 
 to his own country and turn Whig. However, he soon 
 after comforted himself by resolving to trust to his master’s 
 dexterity for escaping every great danger. “ Let my Lord 
 alone,” he said; “ if he finds it necessary, he can turn cat- 
 in-pan with any man in England.” 
 
 While the Lowland gentlemen were assembling their 
 squadrons, and the Highland chiefs levying their men, an 
 incident took place in the metropolis of Scotland, which 
 showed that the spirit of enterprise which animated the 
 Jacobites had extended to the capital itself. 
 
 James Lord Drummond, son of that unfortunate Earl of 
 Perth who, having served James VII. as Chancellor of 
 Scotland, had shared the exile of his still more unfortunate 
 master, and been rewarded with the barren title of Duke 
 of Perth, was at present in Edinburgh; and by means of 
 one Mr. Arthur, who had been formerly an ensign in the 
 Scots Guards, and quartered in the castle, had formed a 
 plan of surprising that inaccessible fortress, which re¬ 
 sembled an exploit of Thomas Randolf, or the Black 
 Lord James of Douglas, rather than a feat of modern 
 war. This Ensign Arthur found means of seducing, by 
 money and promises, a sergeant named Ainslie, and two 
 
282 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1 
 
 privates, who engaged, that, when it was their duty to 
 watch on the walls which rise from the precipice looking 
 northward, near the Sally-port, they would be prepared to 
 pull up from the bottom certain rope-ladders prepared for 
 the purpose, and furnished with iron grapplings to make 
 them fast to the battlements. By means of these it was 
 concluded that a select party of Jacobites might easily 
 scale the walls, and make themselves masters of the place. 
 By a beacon placed on a particular part of the castle, three 
 rounds of artillery, and a succession of fires made from 
 hill to hill through Fife and Angus shires, the signal of 
 success was to be communicated to the Earl of Mar, who 
 was to hasten forward with such forces as he had collected, 
 and take possession of the capital city and chief strength of 
 Scotland. 
 
 There was no difficulty in finding agents in this perilous 
 and important enterprise. Fifty Highlanders, picked men, 
 were summoned up from Lord Drummond’s estates in 
 Perthshire, and fifty more were selected among the Jaco¬ 
 bites of the metropolis. These last were disbanded officers, 
 writers’ clerks and apprentices, and other youths of a class 
 considerably above the mere vulgar. Drummond, other¬ 
 wise called MacGregor, of Bahaldie, a Highland gentleman 
 of great courage, was named to command the enterprise.* 
 If successful, this achievement must have given the Earl 
 
 * “The principal traitor,” says Rae, “William Ainslie, a sergeant, 
 who hath since been hanged for his villainy, had the promise of a 
 lieutenant’s place ; and James Thomson and John Holland, two single 
 sentinels, had received, the one eight guineas, and the other four, with 
 a promise of a better reward, if the design should succeed. And it 
 hath since appeared by their own confession, that the numbers engaged 
 n this attempt were about eighty, besides officers; and that each of 
 them was to have^ioo sterling, and a commission in the army, if the 
 attempt had succeeded, and that the Lord Drummond was to be the 
 governor of the castle.”— Hist., p. 198. 
 
ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE. 283 
 
 of Mar and his forces the command of the greater part of 
 Scotland, and afforded them a safe and ready means of 
 communication with the English malecontents, the want 
 of which was afterwards so severely felt. He would also 
 have obtained a large supply of money, arms, and ammuni¬ 
 tion, deposited in the fortress, all of which were most 
 needful for his enterprise. And the apathy of Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Stewart, then deputy-governor of the castle, was 
 so great that, in spite of numerous blunders on the part 
 of the conspirators, and an absolute revelation on the 
 subject made to Government, the surprise had very nearly 
 taken place. 
 
 The younger conspirators who were to go on this forlorn 
 hope had not discretion in proportion to their courage. 
 Eighteen of them, on the night appointed, were engaged 
 drinking in a tippling-house, and were so careless in their 
 communications, that the hostess was able to tell some per¬ 
 sons who inquired what the meeting was about, that it con¬ 
 sisted of young gentlemen who were in the act of having 
 their hair powdered, in order to go to the attack of the castle. 
 At last the full secret was intrusted to a woman. Arthur, 
 their guide, had communicated the plot to his brother, a 
 medical man, and engaged him in the enterprise. But 
 when the time for executing it drew nigh, the doctor’s ex¬ 
 treme melancholy was observed by his wife, who, like a 
 second Belvidera or Portia, suffered him not to rest until 
 she extorted the secret from him, which she communicated 
 in an anonymous letter to Sir Adam Cockburn of Ormiston, 
 then Lord Justice-Clerk, who instantly dispatched the in¬ 
 telligence to the castle. The news arrived so critically, that 
 it was with difficulty the messenger obtained entrance to the 
 castle; and even then the deputy-governor, disbelieving the 
 intelligence, or secretly well affected to the cause of the 
 Pretender, contented himself with directing the rounds and 
 
284 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 patrols to be made with peculiar care, and retired to 
 rest. 
 
 In the meantime the Jacobite storming party had ren¬ 
 dezvoused at the churchyard of the West Kirk, and pro¬ 
 ceeded to post themselves beneath the castle wall. They 
 had a part of their rope ladders in readiness, but the arti¬ 
 ficer, one Charles Forbes, a merchant in Edinburgh, who 
 ought to have been there with the remainder, which had 
 been made under his direction, was nowhere to be seen. 
 Nothing could be done during his absence; but, actuated 
 by their impatience, the party scrambled up the rock, and 
 stationed themselves beneath the wall, at the point where 
 their accomplice kept sentry. Here they found him ready 
 to perform his stipulated part of the bargain, by pulling up 
 the ladder of ropes which was designed to give them admit¬ 
 tance. He exhorted them, however, to be speedy, telling 
 them he was to be relieved by the patrol at twelve o’clock, and 
 if the affair were not completed before that hour, that he 
 could give no further assistance. The time was fast flying 
 when Bahaldie, the commander of the storming party, per¬ 
 suaded the sentinel to pull up the grapnel, and make it fast 
 to the battlements, that it might appear whether or not they 
 had length of ladder sufficient to make the attempt. But it 
 proved, as indeed they had expected, more than a fathom 
 too short. At half-past eleven o’clock the steps of the 
 patrol, who had been sent their rounds earlier than usual, 
 owing to the message of the Lord Justice-Clerk, were heard 
 approaching, on which the sentinel exclaimed, with an oath, 
 “ Here comes the rounds I have been telling you of this 
 half hour; you have ruined both yourself and me; I can 
 serve you no longer.” With that he threw down the grap¬ 
 pling-iron and ladders, and in the hope of covering his own 
 guilt, fired his musket, and cried “ Enemy! ” Every man 
 was then compelled to shift for himself, the patrol firing on 
 
ATTEMPT TO SEIZE EDINBURGH CASTLE. 285 
 
 them from the wall. Twelve soldiers of the burgher guard 
 who had been directed by the Lord Justice-Clerk to make 
 the round of the castle on the outside, took prisoners three 
 youths, who insisted that they were found there by mere 
 accident, and an old man, Captain MacLean, an officer of 
 James VII., who was much bruised by a fall from the rocks.* 
 The rest of the party escaped alongst the north bank of the 
 North Loch, through the fields called Barefoord’s Parks, on 
 which the New Town of Edinburgh now stands. In their 
 retreat they met their tardy engineer, Charles Forbes, loaded 
 with the ladders which were so much wanted a quarter of an 
 hour before. Had it not been for his want of punctuality, 
 the information and precautions of the Lord Justice-Clerk 
 would have been insufficient for the safety of the place. It 
 does not appear that any of the conspirators were punished, 
 nor would it have been easy to obtain proof of their guilt. 
 The treacherous sergeant was hanged by sentence of a 
 court-martial, and the deputy-governor (whose name of 
 Stewart might perhaps aggravate the suspicion that attached 
 to him) was deprived of his office, and imprisoned for some 
 time. 
 
 * “The patrol found one Captain MacLean, whom they secured, 
 sprawling on the ground and bruised ; with Alexander Ramsay and 
 George Boswell, writers in Edinburgh, and one Lesly, formerly page 
 to the Duchess of Gordon; they likewise found the ladder, with a 
 dozen of firelocks and carabines, which the conspirators had thrown away, 
 in order to make their escape the better.” —Rae, p. 200. 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER AT 
 THE BA TTLE OF PRESTON 
 
 LTHOUGH the Highlanders marched on very 
 fast, the sun was declining when they arrived 
 upon the brow of those high grounds which 
 command an open and extensive plain stretch¬ 
 ing northward to the sea, on which are situ¬ 
 ated, but at a considerable distance from each other, the 
 small villages of Seaton and Cockenzie, and the larger one 
 of Preston. One of the low coast-roads to Edinburgh 
 passed through this plain, issuing upon it from the enclo¬ 
 sures of Seaton House, and at the town or village of Preston 
 again entering the defiles of an enclosed country. By this 
 way the English general had chosen to approach the metro¬ 
 polis, both as most commodious for his cavalry, and being 
 probably of opinion that by doing so he would meet in front 
 with the Highlanders advancing from Edinburgh in the 
 opposite direction. In this he was mistaken ; for the sound 
 judgment of the Chevalier, or of those to whose advice he 
 listened, left the direct passage free, but occupied the strong 
 ground by which it was overlooked and commanded. 
 
 When the Highlanders reached the heights above the 
 plain described, they were immediately formed in array of 
 battle along the brow of the hill. Almost at the same 
 instant the van of the English appeared issuing from among 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 287 
 
 the trees and enclosures of Seaton, with the purpose of 
 occupying the level plain between the high ground and the 
 sea; the space which divided the armies being only about 
 half a mile in breadth. Waverley could plainly see the 
 squadrons of dragoons issue, one after another, from the 
 defiles, with their videttes in front, and form upon the 
 plain, with their front opposed to that of the Prince’s army. 
 They were followed by a train of field-pieces, which, when 
 they reached the flank of the dragoons, were also brought 
 into line, and pointed against the heights. The march was 
 continued by three or four regiments of infantry marching 
 in open column, their fixed bayonets showing like succes¬ 
 sive hedges of steel, and their arms glancing like lightning, 
 as, at a signal given, they also at once wheeled up, and 
 were placed in direct opposition to the Highlanders. A 
 second train of artillery, with another regiment of horse, 
 closed the long march, and formed on the left flank of the 
 infantry, the whole line facing southward. 
 
 While the English army went through these evolutions, 
 the Higlanders showed equal promptitude and zeal for 
 battle. As fast as the clans came upon the ridge which 
 fronted their enemy, they were formed into line, so that 
 both armies got into complete order of battle at the same 
 moment. When this was accomplished, the Highlanders 
 set up a tremendous yell, which was re-echoed by the 
 heights behind them. The regulars, who were in high 
 spirits, returned a loud shout of defiance, and fired one or 
 two of their cannon upon an advanced post of the High¬ 
 landers. The latter displayed great earnestness to proceed 
 instantly to the attack, Evan Dhu urging to Fergus, by way 
 of argument, that “the sidier roy was tottering like an 
 egg upon a staff, and that they had a’ the vantage of the 
 onset, for even a haggis (God bless her !) could charge down 
 hill.” 
 
288 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 But the ground through which the mountaineers must 
 have descended, although not of great extent, was imprac¬ 
 ticable in its character, being not only marshy, but inter¬ 
 sected with walls of dry stone, and traversed in its whole 
 length by a very broad and deep ditch, circumstances which 
 must have given the musketry of the regulars dreadful 
 advantages before the mountaineers could have used their 
 swords, on which they were taught to rely. The authority 
 of the commanders was therefore interposed to curb the 
 impetuosity of the Highlanders, and only a few marksmen 
 were sent down the descent to skirmish with the enemy’s 
 advanced posts, and to reconnoitre the ground. 
 
 Here then was a military spectacle of no ordinary interest, 
 or usual occurrence. The two armies, so different in aspect 
 and discipline, yet each admirably trained in its own pecu¬ 
 liar mode of war, upon whose conflict the temporary fate at 
 least of Scotland appeared to depend, now faced each other 
 like two gladiators in the arena, each meditating upon the 
 mode of attacking their enemy. The leading officers and 
 the general’s staff of each army could be distinguished in 
 front of their lines, busied with spy-glasses to watch each 
 other’s motions, and occupied in despatching the orders 
 and receiving the intelligence conveyed by the aides-de- 
 camp and orderly men, who gave life to the scene by 
 galloping along in different directions, as if the fate of the 
 day depended upon the speed of their horses. The space 
 between the armies was at times occupied by the partial 
 and irregular contest of individual sharpshooters, and a 
 hat or bonnet was occasionally seen to fall, as a wounded 
 man was borne off by his comrades. These, however, were 
 but trifling skirmishes, for it suited the views of neither 
 party to advance in that direction. From the neighbouring 
 hamlets the peasantry cautiously showed themselves, as if 
 watching the issue of the expected engagement; and at no 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 289 
 
 great distance in the bay were two square-rigged vessels, 
 bearing the English flag, whose tops and yards were crowded 
 with less timid spectators. 
 
 When this awful pause had lasted for a short time, Fergus, 
 with another chieftain, received orders to detach their clans 
 towards the village of Preston, in order to threaten the right 
 flank of Cope’s army, and compel him to a change of posi¬ 
 tion. To enable him to execute these orders, the Chief of 
 Glennaquoich occupied the churchyard of Tranent, a com¬ 
 manding situation, and a convenient place, as Evan Dhu 
 remarked, “ for any gentleman who might have the misfor¬ 
 tune to be killed, and chanced to be curious about Christian 
 burial.” To check or dislodge this party, the English general 
 detached two guns, escorted by a strong party of cavalry. 
 They approached so near that Waverley could plainly 
 recognise the standard of the troop he had formerly com¬ 
 manded, and heard the trumpets and the kettledrums sound 
 the signal of advance, which he had so often obeyed. He 
 could hear, too, the well-known word given in the English 
 dialect, by the equally well-distinguished voice of the com¬ 
 manding officer for whom he had once felt so much respect. 
 It was at that instant that, looking around him, he saw the 
 wild dress and appearance of his Highland associates, heard 
 their whispers in an uncouth and unknown language, looked 
 upon his own dress, so unlike that which he had worn from 
 his infancy, and wished to awake from what seemed at the 
 moment a dream, strange, horrible, and unnatural. “ Good 
 God! ” he muttered, “ am I then a traitor to my country, 
 a renegade to my standard, and a foe to my native 
 England! ” 
 
 Ere he could digest or smother the recollection, the 
 tall military form of his late commander came full in view, 
 for the purpose of reconnoitring. “I can hit him now,” 
 said Callum, cautiously raising his fusee over the wall 
 
 T 
 
290 TALES FROM SIR WALTERSCOTT. 
 
 under which he lay couched, at scarce sixty yards’ 
 distance. 
 
 Edward felt as if he was about to see a parricide com¬ 
 mitted in his presence; for the venerable grey hair and 
 striking countenance of the veteran recalled the almost 
 paternal respect with which his officers universally regarded 
 him. But ere he could say “ Hold ! ” an aged Highlander, 
 who lay beside Callum Beg, stopped his arm. “ Spare your 
 shot,” said the seer, “ his hour is not yet come. But let 
 him beware of to-morrow—I see his winding-sheet upon 
 his breast.” 
 
 Callum, flint to other considerations, was penetrable to 
 superstition. He turned pale at the words of the Taishatr , 
 and recovered his piece. Colonel Gardiner, unconscious of 
 the danger he had escaped, turned his horse round, and 
 rode slowly back to the front of his regiment. 
 
 By this time the regular army had assumed a new line, 
 with one flank inclined towards the sea, and the other rest¬ 
 ing upon the village of Preston; and, as similar difficulties 
 occurred in attacking their new position, Fergus and the rest 
 of the detachment were recalled to their former post. This 
 alteration created the necessity of a corresponding change 
 in General Cope’s army, which was again brought into a line 
 parallel with that of the Highlanders. In these manoeuvres 
 on both sides the daylight was nearly consumed, and both 
 armies prepared to rest upon their arms for the night in the 
 lines which they respectively occupied. 
 
 “There will be nothing done to-night,” said Fergus to 
 his friend Waverley; “ere we wrap ourselves in our plaids 
 let us go see what the Baron is doing in the rear of the 
 line.” 
 
 When they approached his post they found the good old 
 careful officer, after having sent out his night patrols and 
 posted his sentinels, engaged in reading the Evening Service 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 
 
 291 
 
 of the Episcopal Church to the remainder of his troop. 
 His voice was loud and sonorous, and though his spectacles 
 upon his nose, and the appearance of Saunders Sanderson 
 in military array performing the functions of clerk, had 
 something ludicrous, yet the circumstances of danger in 
 which they stood, the military costume of the audience, 
 and the appearance of their horses, saddled and picquetted 
 behind them, gave an impressive and solemn effect to the 
 office of devotion. 
 
 “ I have confessed to-day, ere you were awake,” whispered 
 Fergus to Waverley; “yet I am not so strict a Catholic as to 
 refuse to join in this good man’s prayers.” 
 
 Edward assented, and they remained till the Baron had 
 concluded the service. 
 
 As he shut the book, “ Now lads,” said he, “ have at them 
 in the morning, with heavy hands and light consciences.” 
 He then kindly greeted Mac-Ivor and Waverley, who re¬ 
 quested to know his opinion of their situation. “ Why, 
 you know Tacitus saith, * In rebus bellicis maxime dominatur 
 Fortuna ,’ which is equiponderate with our vernacular adage, 
 ‘ Luck can maist in the mellee.’ But credit me, gentlemen, 
 yon man is not a deacon o’ his craft. He damps the spirits 
 of the poor lads he commands, by keeping them on the 
 defensive, whilk of itself implies inferiority or fear. Now 
 will they lie on their arms yonder, as anxious and as ill at 
 ease as a toad under a harrow, while our men will be quite 
 fresh and blithe for action in the morning. Well, good 
 night. One thing troubles me, but if to-morrow goes well 
 off, I will consult you about it, Glennaquoich.” 
 
 “ I could almost apply to Mr. Bradwardine the character 
 which Henry gives of Fluellen,” said Waverley, as his friend 
 and he walked towards their bivouac: 
 
 “ Though it appears a little out of fashion, 
 
 There is much care and valour in this ‘ Scotchman.’ 
 
292 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 “He has seen much service,” answered Fergus, “and one 
 is sometimes astonished to find how much nonsense and 
 reason are mingled in his composition. I wonder what 
 can be troubling his mind—probably something about 
 Rose. Hark ! the English are setting their watch.” 
 
 The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the 
 fifes swelled up the hill—died away—resumed its thunder— 
 and was at length hushed. The trumpets and kettledrums 
 of the cavalry were next heard to perform the beautiful and 
 wild point of war appropriated as a signal for that piece of 
 nocturnal duty, and then finally sunk upon the wind with a 
 shrill and mournful cadence. 
 
 The friends, who had now reached their post, stood and 
 looked round them ere they lay down to rest. The western 
 sky twinkled with stars, but a frost-mist rising from the ocean 
 covered the eastern horizon, and rolled in white wreaths 
 along the plain where the adverse army lay couched upon 
 their arms. Their advanced posts were pushed as far as the 
 side of the great ditch at the bottom of the descent, and 
 had kindled large fires at different intervals, gleaming with 
 obscure and hazy lustre through the heavy fog which 
 encircled them with a doubtful halo. 
 
 The Highlanders, “ thick as leaves in Vallambrosa,” lay 
 stretched upon the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting their 
 sentinels) in the most profound repose. “ How many of 
 these brave fellows will sleep more soundly before to¬ 
 morrow night, Fergus ! ” said Waverley, with an involuntary 
 sigh. 
 
 “ You must not think of that,” answered Fergus, whose 
 ideas were entirely military. “ You must only think of your 
 sword, and by whom it was given. All other reflections 
 are now too late.” 
 
 With the opiate contained in this undeniable remark, 
 Edward endeavoured to lull the tumult of his conflicting: 
 
 O 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 
 
 293 
 
 feelings. The chieftain and he, combining their plaids, 
 made a comfortable and warm couch. Callum, sitting 
 down at their head (for it was his duty to watch upon the 
 immediate person of the chief), began a long mournful song 
 in Gaelic, to a low and uniform tune, which, like the sound 
 of the wind at a distance, soon lulled them to sleep. 
 
 When Fergus Mac-Ivor and his friend had slept for a few 
 hours, they were awakened, and summoned to attend the 
 Prince. The distant village-clock was heard to toll three as 
 they hastened to the place where he lay. He was already 
 surrounded by his principal officers and the chiefs of clans. 
 A bundle of pease-straw, which had been lately his couch, 
 now served for his seat. Just as Fergus reached the circle, 
 the consultation had broken up. “ Courage, my brave 
 friend ! ” said the Chevalier, “ and each one put himself 
 instantly at the head of his command; a faithful friend has 
 offered to guide us to a practicable, though narrow and 
 circuitous route, which, sweeping to our right, traverses the 
 broken ground and morass, and enables us to gain the firm 
 and open plain, upon which the enemy are lying. This 
 difficulty surmounted, Heaven and your good swords must 
 do the rest.” 
 
 The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader 
 hastened to get his men into order with as little noise as 
 possible. The army, moving by its right from off the 
 ground on which they had rested, soon entered the path 
 through the morass, conducting their march with astonish¬ 
 ing silence and great rapidity. The mist had not risen to 
 the higher grounds, so that for some time they had the 
 advantage of star-light. But this was. lost as the stars 
 faded before approaching day, and the head of the marching, 
 column, continuing its descent, plunged as it were into the 
 heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its white waves over the 
 whole plain, and over the sea by which it was bounded. 
 
294 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 Some difficulties were now to be encountered, inseparable 
 from darkness, a narrow, broken, and marshy path, and the 
 necessity of preserving union in the march. These, how¬ 
 ever, were less inconvenient to Highlanders, from their 
 habits of life, than they would have been to any other 
 troops, and they continued a steady and swift movement. 
 
 As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, following - 
 the track of those who preceded them, the challenge of a 
 patrol was heard through the mist, though they could not 
 see the dragoon by whom it was made—“ Who goes 
 there ? ” 
 
 “Hush,” cried Fergus, “hush! let none answer as he 
 values his life—Press forward ; ” and they continued their 
 march with silence and rapidity. 
 
 The patrol fired his carbine upon the body, and the report 
 was instantly followed by the clang of his horse’s feet as he 
 galloped off. £ Hylax in limine latrat] said the Baron of 
 Bradwardine, who heard the shot; “ that loon will give the 
 alarm.” 
 
 The clan of Fergus had now gained the firm plain, 
 which had lately borne a large crop of corn. But the 
 harvest was gathered in, and the expanse was unbroken by 
 tree, bush, or interruption of any kind. The rest of the 
 army were following fast, when they heard the drums of the 
 enemy beat the general. Surprise, however, had made no 
 part of their plan, so they were not disconcerted by this 
 intimation that the foe was upon his guard and prepared to 
 receive them, it only hastened their dispositions for the 
 combat, which were very simple. 
 
 The Highland army, which now occupied the eastern end 
 of the wide plain, or stubble field, so often referred to, was 
 drawn up in two lines, extending from the morass towards 
 the sea. The first was destined to charge the enemy, the 
 second to act as a reserve. The few horse, whom the 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 295 
 
 Prince headed in person, remained between the two lines. 
 The Adventurer had intimated a resolution to charge in 
 person a. the head of his first line; but his purpose was 
 deprecated by all around him, and he was with difficulty 
 induced to abandon it.’ 
 
 Both lines were now moving forward, the first prepared 
 for instant combat. The clans of which it was composed 
 formed each a sort of separate phalanx, narrow in front, 
 and in depth ten, twelve, or fifteen files, according to the 
 strength of the following. The best-armed and best-born, 
 for the words were synonymous, were placed in front of 
 each of these irregular subdivisions. The others in the 
 rear shouldered forward the front, and by their pressure 
 added both physical impulse and additional ardour and 
 confidence to those who were first to encounter the danger. 
 
 “ Down with your plaid, Waverley,” cried Fergus, throw¬ 
 ing off his own ; “ we’ll win silks for our tartans before the 
 sun is above the sea.” 
 
 The clansmen on every side stript their plaids, prepared 
 their arms, and there was an awful pause of about three 
 minutes, during which the men, pulling off their bonnets, 
 raised their faces to heaven, and uttered a short prayer; 
 then pulled their bonnets over their brows, and began to 
 move forward at first slowly. Waverley felt his heart at 
 that moment throb as it would have burst from his bosom. 
 It was not fear, it was not ardour,—it was a compound of 
 both, a new and deeply energetic impulse, that with its 
 first emotion chilled and astounded, then fevered and mad¬ 
 dened his mind. The sounds around him combined to 
 exalt his enthusiasm; the pipes played, and the clans 
 rushed forward, each in its own dark column. As they 
 advanced they mended their pace, and the muttering sounds 
 of the men to each other began to swell into a wild cry. 
 
 At this moment the sun, which was now risen above the 
 
296 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 horizon, dispelled the mist. The vapours rose like a curtain 
 and showed the two armies in the act of closing. The line 
 of the regulars was formed directly fronting the attack of 
 the Highlanders; it glittered with the appointments of a 
 complete army, and was flanked by. cavalry and artillery. 
 But the sight impressed no terror on the assailants. 
 
 “ Forward, sons of Ivor,” cried their Chief, “ or the 
 Camerons will draw the first blood ! ” They rushed on 
 with a tremendous yell. 
 
 The rest is well known. The horse who were commanded 
 to charge the advancing Highlanders in the flank received 
 an irregular fire from their fusees as they ran on, and seized 
 with a disgraceful panic, wavered, halted, disbanded, and 
 galloped from the field. The artillerymen, deserted by the 
 cavalry, fled after discharging their pieces, and the High¬ 
 landers, who dropped their guns when fired, and drew their 
 broadswords,' rushed with headlong fury against the infantry. 
 
 It was at this moment of confusion and terror, that 
 Waverley remarked an English officer, apparently of high 
 rank, standing alone and unsupported by a field-piece, 
 which, after the flight of the men by whom it was wrought, 
 he had himself levelled and discharged against the clan of 
 Mac-Ivor, the nearest group of Highlanders within his aim. 
 Struck with his tall, martial figure, and eager to save him 
 from inevitable destruction, Waverley outstripped for an 
 instant even the speediest of the warriors, and reaching the 
 spot first, called to him to surrender. The officer replied 
 by a thrust with his sword, which Waverley received in his 
 target, and in turning it aside, the Englishman’s weapon 
 broke. At the same time the battle-axe of Dugald Mahoney 
 was in the act of descending upon the officer’s head. 
 Waverley intercepted and prevented the blow, and the 
 officer, perceiving farther resistance unavailing, and struck 
 with Edward’s generous anxiety for his safety, resigned the 
 
DEATH OF COLONEL GARDINER. 
 
 297 
 
 fragment of his sword, and was committed by Waverley to 
 Dugald, with strict charge to use him well, and not to 
 pillage his person, promising him, at the same time, full • 
 indemnification for the spoil. 
 
 On Edward’s right the battle for a few minutes raged 
 fierce and thick. The English infantry, trained in the 
 wars in Flanders, stood their ground with great courage. 
 But their extended files were pierced and broken in many 
 places by the close masses of the clans; and in the personal 
 struggle which ensued, the nature of the Highlanders’ 
 weapons, and their extraordinary fierceness and activity, 
 gave them a decided superiority over those who had been 
 accustomed to trust much to their array and discipline, and 
 felt that the one was broken and the other useless. Waverley, 
 as he cast his eyes towards this scene of smoke and slaughter, 
 observed Colonel Gardiner, deserted by his own soldiers in 
 spite of all his attempts to rally them, yet spurring his horse 
 through the field to take the command of a small body of 
 infantry, who, with their backs arranged against the wall of 
 his own park (for his house was close by the field of battle), 
 continued a desperate and unavailing resistance. Waverley 
 could perceive that he had already received many wounds, 
 his clothes and saddle being marked with blood. To save 
 this good and brave man became the instant object of his 
 most anxious exertions. But he could only witness his fall. 
 Ere Edward could make his way among the Highlanders, 
 who, furious and eager for spoil, now thronged upon each 
 other, he saw his former commander brought from his 
 horse by the blow of a scythe, and beheld him receive, 
 while on the ground, more wounds than would have let out 
 twenty lives. When Waverley came up, however, perception 
 had not entirely fled. The dying warrior seemed to re¬ 
 cognise Edward, for he fixed his eye upon him with an 
 upbraiding, yet sorrowful look, and appeared to struggle for 
 
298 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 utterance. But he felt that death was dealing closely with 
 him, and resigning his purpose, and folding his hands as if 
 in devotion, he gave up his soul to his Creator. The look 
 with which he regarded Waverley in his dying moments did 
 not strike him so deeply at that crisis of hurry and confusion 
 as when it recurred to his imagination at the distance of 
 some time. 
 
 Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole field. 
 The battle was fought and won, and the whole baggage, 
 artillery, and military stores of the regular army remained 
 in possession of the victors. Never was a victory more 
 complete. Scarce any escaped from the battle excepting 
 the cavalry, who had left it at the very onset, and even these 
 were broken into different parties and scattered all over the 
 country. 
 
HIGH JINKS. 
 
 ANNERING, with Sampson for his companion, 
 lost no time in his journey to Edinburgh. 
 They travelled in the Colonel’s post-chariot, 
 who, knowing his companion’s habits of 
 abstraction, did not choose to lose him out 
 of his own sight, far less to trust him on horseback, where, 
 in all probability, a knavish stable-boy might with little 
 address have contrived to mount him with his face to the 
 tail. Accordingly, with the aid of his valet, who attended 
 on horseback, he contrived to bring Mr. Sampson safe to 
 an inn in Edinburgh—for hotels in those days there were 
 none—without any other accident than arose from his 
 straying twice upon the road. On one occasion he was 
 recovered by Barnes, who understood his humour, when 
 after engaging in close colloquy with the schoolmaster of 
 Moffat respecting a disputed quantity in Horace’s 7th Ode, 
 Book II., the dispute led on to another controversy con¬ 
 cerning the exact meaning of the word Malobathro , in that 
 lyric effusion. His second escapade was made for the pur¬ 
 pose of visiting the field of Rullion-green, which was dear 
 to his Presbyterian predilections. Having got out of the 
 carriage for an instant, he saw the sepulchral monument of 
 the slain at the distance of about a mile, and was arrested 
 by Barnes in his progress up the Pentland Hills, having on 
 
300 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 both occasions forgot his friend, patron, and fellow-traveller 
 as completely as if he had been in the East Indies. On 
 being reminded that Colonel Mannering was waiting for 
 him, he uttered his usual ejaculation of “ Prodigious!—I 
 was oblivious,” and then strode back to his post. Barnes 
 was surprised at his master’s patience on both occasions, 
 knowing by experience how little he brooked neglect or 
 delay; but the Dominie was in every respect a privileged 
 person. His patron and he were never for a moment in 
 each other’s way, and it seemed obvious that they were 
 formed to be companions through life. If Mannering 
 wanted a particular book, the Dominie could bring it; if 
 he wished to have accounts summed up, or checked, his 
 assistance was equally ready; if he desired to recall a parti¬ 
 cular passage in the classics, he could have recourse to the 
 Dominie as to a dictionary; and all the while, this walking 
 statue was neither presuming when noticed, nor sulky when 
 left to himself. To a proud, shy, reserved man, and such 
 in many respects was Mannering, this sort of living cata¬ 
 logue and animated automaton had all the advantages of 
 a literary dumb-waiter. 
 
 As soon as they arrived in Edinburgh, and were estab¬ 
 lished at the George Inn, near Bristo Port, then kept by old 
 Cockburn (I love to be particular), the Colonel desired the 
 waiter to procure him a guide to Mr. Pleydell’s, the advo¬ 
 cate for whom he had a letter of introduction from Mr. 
 Mac-Morlan. He then commanded Barnes to have an eye 
 to the Dominie, and walked forth with a chairman, who 
 was to usher him to the man of law. 
 
 The period was near the end of the American war. The 
 desire of room, of air, and of decent accommodation, had 
 not as yet made very much progress in the capital of Scot¬ 
 land. Some efforts had been made on the south side of the 
 town towards building houses within themselves , as they 
 are emphatically termed; and the New Town on the north, 
 
HIGH JINKS. 
 
 301 
 
 since so much extended, was then just commenced. But 
 the great bulk of the better classes, and particularly those 
 connected with the law, still lived in flats or dungeons of 
 the Old Town. The manners also of some of the veterans 
 of the law had not admitted innovation. One or two 
 eminent lawyers still saw their clients in taverns, as was the 
 general custom fifty years before; and although their habits 
 were already considered as old-fashioned by the younger 
 barristers, yet the custom of mixing wine and revelry with 
 serious business was still maintained by those senior coun¬ 
 sellors who loved the old road, either because it was such, 
 or because they had got too well used to it to travel any 
 other. Among those praisers of the past time, who with 
 ostentatious obstinacy affected the manners of a former 
 generation, was this same Paulus Pleydell, Esq., otherwise a 
 good scholar, an excellent lawyer, and a worthy man. 
 
 Under the guidance of his trusty attendant, Colonel 
 Mannering, after threading a dark lane or two, reached the 
 High Street, then clanging with the voices of oyster-women 
 and the bells of pye-men; for it had, as his guide assured 
 him, “just chappit eight upon the Tron.” It was long since 
 Mannering had been in the street of a crowded metropolis, 
 which, with its noise and clamour, its sounds of trade, of 
 revelry, and of license, its variety of lights, and the eternally 
 changing bustle of its hundred groups, offers, by night espe¬ 
 cially, a spectacle which, though composed of the most 
 vulgar materials when they are separately considered, has, 
 when they are combined, a striking and powerful effect on the 
 imagination. The extraordinary height of the houses was 
 marked by lights, which, glimmering irregularly along their 
 front, ascended so high among the attics, that they seemed 
 at length to twinkle in the middle sky. This coup d'ocil, 
 which still subsists in a certain degree, was then more im¬ 
 posing, owing to the uninterrupted range of buildings on 
 each side, which, broken only at the space where the North 
 
302 
 
 TALES -FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Bridge joins the main street, formed a superb and uniform 
 Place, extending from the front of the Luckenbooths to the 
 head of the Canongate, and corresponding in breadth and 
 length to the uncommon height of the buildings on either side. 
 
 Mannering had not much time to look and to admire. 
 His conductor hurried him across this striking scene, and 
 suddenly dived with him into a very steep paved lane. 
 Turning to the right, they entered a scale staircase, as it is 
 called, the state of which, so far as it could be judged of by 
 one of his senses, annoyed Mannering’s delicacy not a little. 
 When they had ascended cautiously to a considerable height, 
 they heard a heavy rap at a door, still two stories above 
 them. The door opened, and immediately ensued the sharp 
 and worrying bark of a dog, the squalling of a woman, the 
 screams of an assaulted cat, and the hoarse voice of a man, 
 who cried in a most imperative tone, “ Will ye, Mustard ! 
 Will ye? down sir, down?” 
 
 “ Lord preserve us ! ” said the female voice, “ an he had 
 worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne’er ha’e forgi’en me.” 
 
 “ Aweel, my doo, the cat’s no a preen the waur. So he’s 
 no in, ye say ? ” 
 
 “Na, Mr. Pleydell’s ne’er in the house on Saturday at 
 e’en,” answered the female voice. 
 
 “And the morn’s Sabbath, too,” said the querist; “I 
 dinna ken what will be done.” 
 
 By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall strong 
 countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt coloured 
 mixture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat and boots, 
 and a large horse-whip beneath his arm, in colloquy with a 
 slipshod damsel, who had in one hand the lock of the door, 
 and in the other a pail of whiting, or camstane, as it is called, 
 mixed with water—a circumstance which indicates Saturday 
 night in Edinburgh. 
 
 “So Mr. Pleydell is not at home, my good girl?” said 
 Mannering. 
 
HIGH JINKS. 303 
 
 “ Ay, sir, he’s at hame, but he’s no in the house; he’s aye 
 out on Saturday at e’en.” 
 
 “ But, my good girl, I am a stranger, and my business ex¬ 
 press. Will you tell me where I can find him ! ” 
 
 “ His honour,” said the chairman, “ will be at Clerihugh’s 
 about this time. Hersell could hae tell’t ye that, but she 
 thought ye wanted to see his house.” 
 
 “ Well, then, show me to this tavern. I suppose he will 
 see me, as I come on business of some consequence ? ” 
 
 “ I dinna ken, sir,” said the girl; “ he disna like to be 
 disturbed on Saturdays wi’ business—but he’s aye civil to 
 strangers.” 
 
 “ I’ll gang to the tavern too,” said our friend Dinmont, 
 “ for I am a stranger also, and on business e’en sic like.” 
 
 “Na,” said the handmaiden, “an he see the gentleman, 
 he’ll see the simple body too—but, Lord’s sake, dinna say 
 it was me sent ye there ! ” 
 
 “Atweel, I am a simple body, that’s true, hinny, but I 
 am no come to steal ony o’ his skeel for naething,” said the 
 farmer in his honest pride, and strutted away downstairs, 
 followed by Mannering and the cadie. Mannering could 
 not help admiring the determined stride with which the 
 stranger who preceded them divided the press, shouldering 
 from him, by the mere weight and impetus of his motion, 
 both, drunk and sober passengers. “ He’ll be a Teviotdale 
 tup, dat ane,” said the chairman, “ tat’s for keeping ta crown 
 o’ ta causeway tat gate—he’ll no gang far or he’ll get some¬ 
 body to bell ta cat wi’ him.” 
 
 His shrewd augury, however, was not fulfilled. Those 
 who recoiled from the colossal weight of Dinmont, on 
 looking up at his size and strength, apparently judged him 
 too heavy metal to be rashly encountered, and suffered him 
 to pursue his course unchallenged. Following in the wake 
 of this first-rate, Mannering proceeded till the farmer made 
 
3°4 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 a pause, and looking back to the chairman, said, “I’m 
 thinking this will be the close, friend.” 
 
 “ Ay, ay,” replied Donald, “ tat’s ta close.” 
 
 Dinmont descended confidently, then turned into a dark 
 alley—then up a dark stair—and then into an open door. 
 While he was whistling shrilly for the waiter, as if he had 
 been one of his collie dogs, Mannering looked round him, 
 and could hardly conceive how a gentleman of a liberal 
 profession and good society should choose such a scene for 
 social indulgence. Besides the miserable entrance, the 
 house itself seemed paltry and half ruinous. The passage 
 in which they stood had a window to the close, which 
 admitted a little light during the daytime, and a villainous 
 compound of smells at all times, but more especially towards 
 the evening. Corresponding to this window was a borrowed 
 light on the other side of the passage looking into the 
 kitchen, which had no direct communication with the free 
 air, but received in the daytime, at second hand, such 
 straggling and obscure light as found its way from the lane 
 through the window opposite. At present the interior of 
 the kitchen was visible by its own huge fires—a sort of 
 Pandemonium, where men and women, half undressed, 
 were busied in baking, broiling, roasting oysters, and 
 preparing devils on the gridiron ; the mistress of the place, 
 with her shoes slipshod, and her hair straggling like that of 
 Megaera from under a round-eared cap, toiling, scolding, 
 receiving orders, giving them, and obeying them all once, 
 seemed the presiding enchantress of that gloomy and fiery 
 region. 
 
 Loud and repeated bursts of laughter, from different 
 quarters of the house, proved that her labours were accept¬ 
 able, and not unrewarded by a generous public. With some 
 difficulty a waiter was prevailed upon to show Colonel 
 Mannering and Dinmont the room where their friend, 
 learned in the law, held his hebdomadal carousals. The 
 
HIGH JINKS. 
 
 305 
 
 scene which it exhibited, and particularly the attitude of the 
 counsellor himself, the principal figure therein, struck his 
 two clients with amazement 
 
 Mr. Pleydell was a lively, sharp-looking gentleman, with 
 a professional shrewdness in his eye, and, generally speaking, 
 a professional formality in his manners. But this, like his 
 three-tailed wig and black coat, he could slip off on a 
 Saturday evening, when surrounded by a party of jolly 
 companions and disposed for what he called his altitudes. 
 On the present occasion, the revel had lasted since four 
 o’clock, and, at length, under the direction of a venerable 
 compotator, who had shared the sports and festivity of three 
 generations, the frolicsome company had begun to practise 
 the ancient and now forgotten pastime of High Jinks. This 
 game was played in several different ways. Most frequently 
 the dice were thrown by the company, and those upon 
 whom the lot fell were obliged to assume and maintain for 
 a time a certain fictitious character, or to repeat a certain 
 number of fescennine verses in a particular order. If they 
 departed from the characters assigned, or if their memory 
 proved treacherous in the repetition, they incurred for¬ 
 feits, which were either compounded for by swallowing an 
 additional bumper, or by paying a small sum towards the 
 reckoning. At this sport the jovial company were closely 
 engaged when Mannering entered the room. 
 
 Mr. Counsellor Pleydell, such as we have described him, 
 was enthroned as a monarch in an elbow-chair placed 
 on the dining-table, his scratch-wig on one side, his head 
 crowned with a bottle-slider, his eye leering with an ex¬ 
 pression betwixt fun and the effects of wine, while his court 
 around him resounded with such crambo scraps of verse 
 as these:— 
 
 “ Where is Gerunto now ? and what’s become of him ? 
 
 Gemnto’s drown’d because he could not swim,” &c. &c. 
 
 U 
 
306 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Such, O Themis, were anciently the sports of thy Scottish 
 children ! 
 
 Dinmont was first in the room. He stood aghast a 
 moment—and then exclaimed, “ It’s him, sure enough. 
 Deil o’ the like o’ that ever I saw! ” 
 
 At the sound of “ Mr. Dinmont and Colonel Mannering 
 wanting to speak to you, sir,” Pleydell turned his head, and 
 blushed a little when he saw the very genteel figure of the 
 English stranger. He was, however, of the opinion of 
 Falstaff, “ Out, ye villains, play out the play! ” wisely 
 judging it the better way to appear totally unconcerned. 
 “Where be our guards?” exclaimed this second Justinian : 
 “ see ye not a stranger knight from foreign parts arrived at 
 this our court of Holyrood,—with our bold yeomen, Andrew 
 Dinmont, who has succeeded to the keeping of our royal 
 flocks within the forest of Jedwood, where, thanks to our 
 royal care in the administration of justice, they feed as safe 
 as if they were within the bounds of Fife ? Where be our 
 heralds, our pursuivants, our Lyon, our Marchmount, our 
 Carrick, and our Snowdown ? Let the strangers be placed 
 at our board, and regaled as beseemeth their quality, and 
 this our high holiday—to-morrow we will hear their 
 tidings.” 
 
 “ So please you, my liege, to-morrow’s Sunday,” said one 
 of the company. 
 
 “ Sunday is it ? then we will give no offence to the As¬ 
 sembly of the Kirk—on Monday shall be their audience.” 
 
 Mannering, who had stood at first uncertain whether to 
 advance or retreat, now resolved to enter for the moment 
 into the whim of the scene, though internally fretting at 
 Mac-Morlan for sending him to consult with a crack-brained 
 humourist. He therefore advanced with three profound 
 congees, and craved permission to lay his credentials at the 
 feet of the Scottish monarch, in order to be perused at his 
 best leisure. The gravity with which he accommodated him- 
 
HIGH JINKS. 
 
 30 7 
 
 self to the humour of the moment, and the deep and 
 humble inclination with which he at first declined, and then 
 accepted, a seat presented by the master of the ceremonies, 
 procured him three rounds of applause. 
 
 “ Deil hae me if they arena’ a’ mad thegither! ” said 
 Dinmont, occupying with less ceremony a seat at the 
 bottom of the table, “or else they hae taen Yule before it 
 comes, and are gaun a guisarding.” 
 
 A large glass of claret was offered to Mannering, who 
 drank it to the health of the reigning prince. “ You are, I 
 presume to guess,” said the monarch, “ that celebrated Sir 
 Miles Mannering, so renowned in the French wars, and 
 may well pronounce to us if the wines of Gascony lose 
 their flavour in our more northern realm.” 
 
 Mannering, agreeably flattered by this allusion to the 
 fame of his celebrated ancestor, replied, by professing him¬ 
 self only a distant relation of the preux chevalier, and 
 added, “ that in his opinion the wine was superlatively good.” 
 
 “ It’s ower cauld for my stamach,” said Dinmont, setting 
 down the glass (empty, however). 
 
 “We will correct that quality,” answered King Paulus, 
 the first of the name; “ we have not forgotten that the moist 
 and humid air of our valley of Liddel inclines to stronger 
 potations. Seneschal, let our faithful yeoman have a cup 
 of brandy; it will be more germain to the matter.” 
 
 “ And now,” said Mannering, “ since we have unwarily 
 intruded upon your majesty at a moment of mirthful retire¬ 
 ment, be pleased to say when you will indulge a stranger 
 with an audience on those affairs of weight which have 
 brought him to your northern capital.” 
 
 The monarch opened Mac-Morlan’s letter, and running 
 it hastily over, exclaimed, with his natural voice and man¬ 
 ner, “ Lucy Bertram of Ellangowan, poor dear lassie ! ” 
 
 “ A forfeit! a forfeit! ” exclaimed a dozen voices; “ his 
 majesty has forgot his kingly character.” 
 
3°8 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 “Not a whit! not a whit!” replied the king: “I’ll be 
 judged by this courteous knight. May not a monarch love 
 a maid of low degree ? Is not King Cophetua and the 
 Beggar-maid an adjudged case in point ? ” 
 
 “ Professional! professional!—another forfeit,” exclaimed 
 the tumultuary nobility. 
 
 “ Had not our royal predecessors,” continued the 
 monarch, exalting his sovereign voice to drown these dis¬ 
 affected clamours,—“ Had they not their Jean Logies, their 
 Bessie Carmichaels, their Oliphants, their Sandilands, and 
 their Weirs, and shall it be denied to us even to name a 
 maiden whom we delight to honour ? Nay, then, sink state 
 and perish sovereignty ! for, like a second Charles V., we 
 will abdicate, and seek in the private shades of life those 
 pleasures which are denied to a throne.” 
 
 So saying, he flung away his crown, and sprung from his 
 exalted station with more agility than could have been 
 expected from his age, ordered lights and a wash-hand basin 
 and towel, with a cup of greer tea, into another room, and 
 made a sign to Mannering to accompany him. In less than 
 two minutes he washed his face and hands, settled his wig 
 in the glass, and, to Mannering’s great surprise, looked 
 quite a different man from the childish Bacchanal he had 
 seen a moment before. 
 
 “There are folks,” he said, “Mr. Mannering, before 
 whom one should take care how they play the fool— 
 because they have either too much malice or too little wit, 
 as the poet says. The best compliment I can pay Colonel 
 Mannering is to show I am not ashamed to expose myself 
 before him—and truly I think it is a compliment I have not 
 spared to-night on your good nature. But what’s that great 
 strong fellow wanting ? ” 
 
 Dinmont, who had pushed after Mannering into the room, 
 began with a scrape of his foot and a scratch of his head in 
 unison. “ I am Dandie Dinmont, sir, of the Chariies-hope— 
 
HIGH JINKS . 309 
 
 the Liddesdale lad—ye’ll mind me ?—it was for me ye won 
 yon grand plea.” 
 
 “What plea, you loggerhead?” said the lawyer, “d’ye 
 think I can remember all the fools that come to plague 
 me?” 
 
 “Lord, sir, it was the grand plea about the grazing o’ the 
 Langtaehead ! ” said the farmer. 
 
 “Well, curse thee, never mind; give me the memorial, 
 and come to me on Monday at ten,” replied the learned 
 counsel. 
 
 “ But, sir, I haena got ony distinct memorial.” 
 
 “No memorial, man?” said Pleydell. 
 
 “ Na, sir, nae memorial,” answered Dandie; “for your 
 honour said before, Mr. Pleydell, ye’ll mind, that ye liked 
 best to hear us hill-folk tell our ain tale by word o’ mouth.” 
 
 “ Beshrew my tongue that said so ! ” answered the coun¬ 
 sellor, “it will cost my ears a dinning. Well, say in two 
 words what you’ve got to say—you see the gentleman 
 waits.” 
 
 “ Ou, sir, if the gentleman likes he may play his ain 
 spring first; it’s a’ ane to Dandie.” 
 
 “Now, you looby,” said the lawyer, “cannot you con¬ 
 ceive that your business can be nothing to Colonel Manner- 
 ing, but that he may not choose to have these great ears of 
 thine regaled with his matters ? ” 
 
 “Aweel, sir, just as you and he like—so ye see to my 
 business,” said Dandie, not a whit disconcerted by the 
 roughness of this reception. “We’re at the auld wark o’ 
 the marches again, Jock o’ Dawston Cleugh and me. Ye 
 see we march on the tap o’ Touthoprigg after we pass the 
 Pomoragrains ; for the Pomoragrains and Slackenspool, and 
 Bloodylaws, they come in there, and they belang to the 
 Peel; but after ye pass Pomoragrains at a muckle great 
 saucer-headed cutlugged stane that they ca’ Charlie’s 
 Chuckie, there Dawston Cleugh and Charlies-hope they 
 
3 io TALES FRQM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 march. Now, I say, the march rins on the tap o’ the hill 
 where the wind and water shears; but Jock o’ Dawston 
 Cleugh again, he contravenes that, and says, that it hauds 
 down by the auld drove-road that gaes awa by the Knot o’ 
 the Gate ower to Keeldar-ward—and that makes an unco 
 difference.” 
 
 “ And what difference does it make, friend ? ” said Pley- 
 dell. “ How many sheep will it feed ? ” 
 
 “Ou, no mony,” said Dandie, scratching his head,—“it’s 
 lying high and exposed—it may feed a hog, or aiblins twa, 
 in a good year.” 
 
 “And for this grazing, which may be worth about five 
 shillings a year, you are willing to throw away a hundred 
 pound or two ? ” 
 
 “ Na, sir, it’s no for the value of the grass,” replied 
 Dinmont; “ it’s for justice.” 
 
 “ My good friend,” said Pleydell, “justice, like charity, 
 should begin at home. Do you justice to your wife and 
 family, and think no more about the matter.” 
 
 Dinmont still lingered, twisting his hat in his hand—“ It’s 
 no for that, sir—but I would like ill to be bragged wi’ 
 him—he threeps he’ll bring a score o’ witnesses and mair— 
 and I’m sure there’s as mony will swear for me as for him, 
 folk that lived a’ their days upon the Charlies-hope, and 
 wadna like to see the land lose its right.” 
 
 “Zounds, man, if it be a point of honour,” said the 
 lawyer, “ why don’t your landlords take it up ? ” 
 
 “ I dinna ken, sir (scratching his head again); there’s 
 been nae election-dusts lately, and the lairds are unco 
 neighbourly, and Jock and me canna get them to yoke 
 thegither about it a’ that we can say—but if ye thought we 
 might keep up the rent ”- 
 
 “No! no! that will never do,” said Pleydell; “con¬ 
 found you, why don’t you take good cudgels and settle it ? ” 
 
 “Odd, sir,” answered the farmer, “we tried that three 
 
I HIGH JINKS . 
 
 3ii 
 
 times already—that’s twice on the land and ance at Lock- 
 erby fair. But I dinna ken—we’re baith gey good at single¬ 
 stick, and it couldna weel be judged.” 
 
 “Then take broadswords, and be d—d to you, as your 
 fathers did before you,” said the counsel learned in the 
 law. 
 
 “ Aweel, sir, if ye think it wouldna be again the law, it’s 
 a’ ane to Dandie.” 
 
 “ Hold ! hold! ” exclaimed Pleydell, “ we shall have 
 another Lord Soulis’ mistake. Pr’ythee, man, comprehend 
 me; I wish you to consider how very trifling and foolish a 
 lawsuit you wish to engage in.” 
 
 “ Ay, sir ? ” said Dandie, in a disappointed tone. “ So 
 ye winna take on wi’ me, I’m doubting ? ” 
 
 “ Me! not I—go home, go home, take a pint and 
 agree.” Dandie looked but half contented, and still re¬ 
 mained stationary. “ Anything more, my friend ? ” 
 
 “ Only, sir, about the succession of this leddy that’s dead, 
 auld Miss Margaret Bertram o’ Singleside.” 
 
 “ Ay, what about her ? ” said the counsellor rather 
 surprised. 
 
 “ Ou, we have nae connection at a’ wi’ the Bertrams,” 
 said Dandie—“ they were grand folk by the like o’ us—. 
 But Jean Liltup, that was auld Singleside’s housekeeper, 
 and the mother of these twa young ladies that are gane— 
 the last o’ them’s dead at a ripe age, I trow—Jean Liltup 
 came out o’ Liddel water, and she was as near our connec¬ 
 tion as second cousin to my mother’s half sister. She drew 
 up wi’ Singleside, nae doubt, when she was his housekeeper, 
 and it was a sair vex and grief to a’ her kith and kin. But 
 he acknowledged a marriage, and satisfied the kirk—and 
 now I wad ken frae you if we hae not some claim by law ? ” 
 
 “Not the shadow of a claim.” 
 
 “ Aweel, we’re nae puirer,” said Dandie,—“ but she may 
 hae thought on us if she was minded to make a testament. 
 
312 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Weel, sir, I’ve said my say—I’se e’en wish you good night, 
 and ”—putting his hand in his pocket. 
 
 “ No, no, my friend ; I never take fees on Saturday 
 nights, or without a memorial—away with you, Dandie.” 
 And Dandie made his reverence, and departed accordingly. 
 
 The anecdote of Mr. Pleydell, of his sitting down in the midst of 
 a revel to draw an appeal case, was taken from a story, told by an 
 aged gentleman, of the elder President Dundas of Arniston (father of 
 the younger President, and of Lord Melville). It had been thought very 
 desirable, while that distinguished lawyer was King’s counsel, that his 
 assistance should be obtained in drawing an appeal case, which, as 
 occasion for such writings then rarely occurred, was held to be matter 
 of great nicety. The Solicitor employed for the appellant went to the 
 Lord Advocate’s chambers in the Fishmarket Close, as I think. It was 
 Saturday at noon, the Court was just dismissed, the Lord Advocate 
 had changed his dress and booted himself, and his servant and horses 
 were at the foot of the close to carry him to Arniston. It was scarcely 
 possible to get him to listen to a word respecting business. The wily 
 agent, however, on pretence of asking one or two questions, which 
 would not detain him half an hour, drew his Lordship, who was no 
 less an eminent bon vivant than a lawyer of unequalled talent, to take 
 a whet at a celebrated tavern, when the learned counsel became gradu¬ 
 ally involved in a spirited discussion of the law points of the case. At 
 length it occurred to him that he might as well ride to Arniston in the 
 cool of the evening. The horses were directed to be put in the stable, 
 but not to be unsaddled. Dinner was ordered, the law was laid aside 
 for a time, and the bottle circulated very freely. At nine o’clock at 
 night, after he had been honouring Bacchus for so many hours, the 
 Lord Advocate ordered his horses to be unsaddled—paper, pen, and 
 ink were brought—he began to dictate the appeal case—and con¬ 
 tinued at his task till four o’clock next morning. By next day’s post the 
 solicitor sent the case to London, a chef-d'oeuvre of its kind ; and in 
 which it was not necessary on revisal to correct five words. I am not, 
 therefore, conscious of having overstepped accuracy in describing the 
 manner in which Scottish lawyers of the old time occasionally united 
 the worship of Bacchus with that of Themis. 
 
FIELD-SPORTS ON THE BORDER IN THE 
 EIGHTEENTH CENTUR V. 
 
 BEHOOVED to be round the hirsel this morn¬ 
 ing, and see how the herds were coming on— 
 they’re apt to be negligent wi’ their footballs, 
 and fairs, and trysts, when ane’s away. And 
 there I met wi’ Tam o’ Todshaw, and a wheen 
 o’ the rest o’ the billies on the water side; they’re a’ for a 
 fox-hunt this morning—ye’ll gang? I’ll gie ye Dumple, and 
 take the brood mare mysell.” 
 
 “ But I fear I must leave you this morning, Mr. Dinmont,” 
 replied Brown. 
 
 “ The fient a bit o’ that,” exclaimed the Borderer; “ I’ll 
 no part wi’ ye at ony rate for a fortnight mair. Na, na; we 
 dinna meet sic friends as you on a Bewcastle moss every 
 night.” 
 
 Brown had not designed his journey should be a speedy 
 one; he therefore readily compounded with this hearty in¬ 
 vitation, by agreeing to pass a week at Charlies-hope. 
 
 On their return to the house, where the good-wife presided 
 over an ample breakfast, she heard news of the proposed 
 fox-hunt, not indeed with approbation, but without alarm or 
 surprise. “ Dand! ye’re the auld man yet—naething will 
 make ye take warning till ye’re brought hame some day wi’ 
 ye’re feet foremost.” 
 
3 H TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 “Tut, lass!” answered Dandie, “ye ken yoursell I am 
 never a prin the waur o’ my rambles.” 
 
 So saying, he exhorted Brown to be hasty in despatching 
 his breakfast, as “the frost having given way, the scent 
 would lie this- morning primely.” 
 
 Out they sallied accordingly for Otterscope-scaurs, the 
 farmer leading the way. They soon quitted the little valley, 
 and involved themselves among hills as steep as they could 
 be without being precipitous. The sides often presented 
 gullies, down which, in the winter season, or after heavy 
 rain, the torrents descended with great fury. Some dappled 
 mists still floated along the peaks of the hills, the remains 
 of the morning clouds, for the frost had broken up with a 
 smart shower. Through these fleecy screens were seen a 
 hundred little temporary streamlets, or rills, descending the 
 sides of the mountains like silver threads. By small sheep- 
 tracks along these steeps, over which Dinmont trotted with 
 the most fearless confidence, they at length drew near the 
 scene of sport, and began to see other men, both on horse 
 and foot, making toward the place of rendezvous. Brown 
 was puzzling himself to conceive how a fox-chase could take 
 place among hills where it was barely possible for a pony, 
 accustomed to the ground, to trot along but where, quitting 
 the track for half a yard’s breadth, the rider might be either 
 bogged or precipitated down the bank. This wonder was 
 not diminished when he came to the place of action. 
 
 They had gradually ascended very high, and now found 
 themselves on a mountain-ridge, overhanging a glen of 
 great depth, but extremely narrow. Here the sportsmen 
 had collected, with an apparatus which would have shocked 
 a member of the Pychely Hunt; for, the object being the 
 removal of a noxious and destructive animal, as well as the 
 pleasures of the chase, poor Reynard was allowed much 
 less fair play than when pursued in form through an open 
 
FIELD-SPORTS ON THE BORDER. 
 
 3i5 
 
 country. The strength of his habitation, however, and the 
 nature of the ground by which it was surrounded on all 
 sides, supplied what was wanting in the courtesy of his 
 pursuers. The sides of the glen were broken banks of earth 
 and rocks of rotten-stone, which sunk sheer down to the 
 little winding stream below, affording here and there a tuft 
 of scathed brushwood or a patch of furze. Along the 
 edges of this ravine, which, as we have said, was very narrow, 
 but of profound depth, the hunters on horse and foot ranged 
 themselves; almost every farmer had with him at least a 
 brace of large and fierce greyhounds, of the race of those 
 deer-dogs which were formerly used in that country, but 
 greatly lessened in size from being crossed with the common 
 breed. The huntsman, a sort of provincial officer of the 
 district, who receives a certain supply of meal, and a reward 
 for every fox he destroys, was already at the bottom of the 
 dell, whose echoes thundered to the chiding of two or three 
 brace of foxhounds. Terriers, including the whole genera¬ 
 tion of Pepper and Mustard, were also in attendance, having 
 been sent forward under the care of a shepherd. Mongrel, 
 whelp, and cur of low degree filled up the burden of the 
 chorus. The spectators on the brink of the ravine or glen 
 held their greyhounds in leash in readiness to slip them at 
 the fox, as soon as the activity of the party below should 
 force him to abandon his cover. 
 
 The scene, though uncouth to the eye of a professed 
 sportsman, had something in it wildly captivating. The 
 shifting figures on the mountain ridge, having the sky for 
 their background, appeared to move in the air. The dogs, 
 impatient of their restraint, and maddened with the baying 
 beneath, sprung here and there, and strained at the slips, 
 which prevented them from joining their companions. 
 Looking down, the view was equally striking. The thin 
 mists were not totally dispersed in the glen, so that it was 
 
3 j 6 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 often through their gauzy medium that the eye strove to 
 discover the motions of the hunters below. Sometimes a 
 breath of wind made the scene visible, the blue rill glitter¬ 
 ing as it twined itself through its rude and solitary dell. 
 They then could see the shepherds springing with fearless 
 activity from one dangerous point to another, and cheering 
 the dogs on the scent, the whole so diminished by depth 
 and distance that they looked like pigmies. Again the 
 mists close over them, and the only signs of their continued 
 exertions are the halloos of the men, and the clamours of 
 the hounds, ascending as it were out of the bowels of the 
 earth. When the fox, thus persecuted from one stronghold 
 to another, was at length obliged to abandon his valley, and 
 to break away for a more distant retreat, those who watched 
 his motions from the top slipped their greyhounds, which, 
 excelling the fox in swiftness, and equalling him in ferocity 
 and spirit, soon brought the plunderer to his life’s end. 
 
 In this way, without any attention to the ordinary rules 
 and decorums of sport, but apparently as much to the grati¬ 
 fication both of bipeds and quadrupeds as if all due ritual 
 had been followed, four foxes were killed on this active 
 morning; and even Brown himself, though he had seen the 
 princely sports of India, and ridden a-tiger-hunting upon an 
 elephant with the Nabob of Arcot, professed to have received 
 an excellent morning’s amusement. When the sport was 
 given up for the day, most of the sportsmen, according 
 to the established hospitality of the country, went to dine 
 at Charlies-hope. . . . 
 
 Without noticing the occupations of an intervening day 
 or two, which, as they consisted of the ordinary silvan 
 amusements of shooting and coursing, have nothing suffi¬ 
 ciently interesting to detain the reader, we pass to one in 
 some degree peculiar to Scotland, which may be called a 
 sort of salmon-hunting. This chase, in which the fish is 
 
FIELD-SPORTS ON THE BORDER. 
 
 317 
 
 pursued and struck with barbed spears, or a sort of long- 
 shafted trident, called a waster , is much practised at the 
 mouth of the Esk, and in the other salmon rivers of 
 Scotland The sport is followed by day and night, but 
 most commonly in the latter, when the fish are discovered 
 by means of torches or fire-grates, filled with blazing frag¬ 
 ments of tar-barrels, which shed a strong though partial light 
 upon the water. On the present occasion, the principal 
 party were embarked in a crazy boat upon a part of the 
 river which was enlarged and deepened by the restraint of 
 a mill-wear, while others, like the ancient Bacchanals in 
 their gambols, ran along the banks brandishing their torches 
 and spears and pursuing the salmon, some of which endea¬ 
 voured to escape up the stream, while others, shrouding 
 themselves under the roots of trees, fragments of stones, 
 and large rocks, attempted to conceal themselves from the 
 researches of the fishermen. These the party in the boat 
 detected by the slightest indications; the twinkling of a fin, 
 the rising of an air-bell was sufficient to point out to these 
 adroit sportsmen in what direction to use their weapon. 
 
 The scene was inexpressibly animating to those accus¬ 
 tomed to it; but as Brown was not practised to use the 
 spear, he soon tired of making efforts, which were attended 
 with no other consequences than jarring his arms against the 
 rocks at the bottom of the river, upon which, instead of the 
 devoted salmon, he often bestowed his blow. Nor did he 
 relish, though he concealed feelings which would not have 
 been understood, being quite so near the agonies of the 
 expiring salmon, as they lay flapping about in the boat, 
 which they moistened with their blood. He therefore 
 requested to be put ashore, and, from the top of a heugh or 
 broken bank, enjoyed the scene much more to his satisfac¬ 
 tion. Often he thought of his friend Dudley the artist, 
 when he observed the effect produced by the strong red 
 
318 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 glare on the romantic banks under which the boat glided. 
 Now the light diminished to a distant star that seemed to 
 twinkle on the waters, like those which, according to the 
 legends of the country, the water-kelpy sends for the pur¬ 
 pose of indicating the watery grave of his victims. Then 
 it advanced nearer, brightening and enlarging as it again 
 approached, till the broad flickering flame rendered bank, 
 and rock, and tree visible as it passed, tinging them 
 with its own red glare of dusky light, and resigning them 
 gradually to darkness, or to pale moonlight, as it receded. 
 By this light also were seen the figures in the boat, now 
 holding high their weapons, now stooping to strike, now 
 standing upright, bronzed by the same red glare, into a 
 colour which might have befitted the regions of Pande¬ 
 monium. 
 
 Having amused himself for some time with these effects 
 of light and shadow, Brown strolled homewards towards 
 the farm-house, gazing in his way at the persons engaged in 
 the sport, two or three of whom are generally kept together, 
 one holding the torch, the others with their spears ready to 
 avail themselves of the light it affords to strike their prey. . . . 
 
 “ Come here, sir ! come here, sir! look at this ane ! He 
 turns up a side like a sow.” Such was the cry from the 
 assistants when some of them observed Brown advancing. 
 “ Ground the waster weel, man ! ground the waster weel!— 
 haud him down—ye haena the pith o’ a cat! ”—were the 
 cries of advice, encouragement, and expostulation from 
 those who were on the bank, to the sportsman engaged 
 with the salmon, who stood up to his middle in water, 
 jingling, among broken ice, struggling against the force of 
 the fish and the strength of the current, and dubious in 
 what manner he should attempt to secure his booty. . . . 
 
 The sportsmen returned loaded with fish, upwards of one 
 hundred salmon having been killed within the range of their 
 
FIELD-SPORTS ON THE BORDER. 
 
 319 
 
 sport. The best were selected for the use of the principal 
 farmers, the others divided among their shepherds, cottars, 
 dependants, and others of inferior rank who attended. 
 These fish, dried in the turf smoke of their cabins, or steal¬ 
 ings, formed a savoury addition to the mess of potatoes, 
 mixed with onions, which was the principal part of their 
 winter food. In the meanwhile a liberal distribution of ale 
 and whisky was made among them, besides what was called 
 a kettle of fish—two or three salmon, namely, plunged into 
 a cauldron, and boiled for their supper. Brown accom¬ 
 panied his jolly landlord and the rest of his friends into the 
 large and smoky kitchen, where this savoury mess reeked 
 on an oaken table, massive enough to have dined Johnnie 
 Armstrong and his merry men. All was hearty cheer and 
 huzza, and jest and clamorous laughter, and bragging 
 alternately, and raillery between whiles. . . . 
 
 After some farther conversation the superior sportsmen 
 retired to conclude the evening after their own manner, 
 leaving the others to enjoy themselves, unawed by their 
 presence. That evening, like all those which Brown had 
 passed at Charlies-hope, was spent in much innocent mirth 
 and conviviality. The latter might have approached to the 
 verge of riot but for the good women ; for several of the 
 neighbouring mistresses (a phrase of a signification how 
 different from what it bears in more fashionable life !) had 
 assembled at Charlies-hope to witness the event of this 
 memorable evening. Finding the punch-bowl was so often 
 replenished that there was some danger of their gracious 
 presence being forgotten, they rushed in valorously upon 
 the recreant revellers, headed by our good Mistress Ailie, 
 so that Venus speedily routed Bacchus. The fiddler and 
 piper next made their appearance, and the best part of the 
 night was gallantly consumed in dancing to their music. 
 
 An otter-hunt the next day, and a badger-baiting the day 
 
320 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 after, consumed the time merrily. I hope our traveller will 
 not sink in the reader’s estimation, sportsman though he 
 may be, when I inform him that on this last occasion, after 
 young Pepper had lost a fore-foot, and Mustard the second 
 had been nearly throttled, he begged as a particular and 
 personal favour of Mr. Dinmont, that the poor badger who 
 had made so gallant a defence should be permitted to retire 
 to his earth without farther molestation. 
 
 The farmer, who would probably have treated this request 
 with supreme contempt had it come from any other person, 
 was contented, in Brown’s case, to express the utter extremity 
 of his wonder. “ Weel,” he said, “ that’s queer aneugh !— 
 But since ye take his part, deil a tyke shall meddle wi’ him 
 mair in my day—we’ll e’en mark him, and ca’ him the 
 Captain’s brock; and I’m sure I’m glad I can do ony thing 
 to oblige you— : but, Lord save us, to care about a brock ! ” 
 
 After a week spent in rural sport, and distinguished by 
 the most frank attentions on the part of his honest land¬ 
 lord, Brown bade adieu to the banks of the Liddel, and the 
 hospitality of Charlies-hope. 
 
MASANTELLO. 
 
 [The dominion of Naples and Sicily passed in 1505, after various 
 changes of masters, under the sovereignty of Spain, and for the next 
 200 years was governed by viceroys. The rule of these viceroys was 
 severe and unjust, and borne by the people with patience till 1647, 
 when a new and oppressive tax was imposed which occasioned general 
 discontent, this becoming at lastso threatening, that the viceroy, the Duke 
 of Arcos, thought it proper to forbid the annual procession in honour 
 of St. John the Baptist, on June 24, lest the concourse should lead to 
 open insurrection.] 
 
 ONG the populace at this time was a young 
 fisherman, who observed and shared deeply 
 the general discontent. His anger and re¬ 
 sentment had been roused by the rough treat¬ 
 ment which his wife had experienced from the 
 tax-collectors, who, detecting her in the act of concealing a 
 small bag of flour in order to evade the payment of the duty, 
 had put her in prison. Her husband paid a fine in order to 
 obtain her release, but swore vengeance upon the oppressors, 
 and was not long in finding the opportunity of fulfilling his 
 vow. This man’s name was Tommaso Aniello, of Amalfi, 
 commonly called Masaniello, for whom fate had destined 
 such rapid change of condition as never mortal underwent 
 within the same space of time. He was of middle stature 
 and handsome countenance, with lively dark eyes, short, 
 
 x 
 
322 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 curly hair, a frank and bold address, noted among his com¬ 
 panions for smartness and activity, and about twenty-four 
 years of age. He wore a fisherman’s blue jacket with white 
 linen trousers, a sailor’s red woollen cap on his head, and 
 was barelegged and barefooted. 
 
 Matters had arrived at this pass, and preparations were 
 making by the populace for the celebration of one of their 
 great festivals, that of Our Lady of Carmel, which takes 
 place in the middle of July. One of the amusements in 
 which the people took the greatest delight on that occasion 
 was the mock siege of a wooden fortress of considerable 
 elevation, erected on the site of the ancient castle, which 
 was defended by fishermen, disguised as Turks, against the 
 attacks of the lazzaroni in their ordinary attire. The better 
 to enable them to perform their part, both parties were ac¬ 
 customed to assemble on the three Sundays immediately 
 previous to the festival, forming themselves into companies 
 carrying small canes, marching about, preceded by a stan¬ 
 dard, and making a display of their newly-acquired disci¬ 
 pline. Our journal now commences. 
 
 July ith. —This being the second Sunday before the 
 festival, there was an unusually early assemblage of boys 
 and young people, who were to be actors in it, headed by 
 Masaniello, who had been chosen the leader of the besieging 
 party; being market-day, there was also a large concourse 
 of peasants and gardeners from the surrounding country, 
 and the supply of fruit and vegetables was so abundant that 
 purchasers could not be found for it. The tax-collectors 
 insisting upon receiving the duty for all, whether sold or not, 
 a dispute arose whether it was to be paid by the country¬ 
 men or the retail dealers; the dispute was referred to 
 Nauclerio, the eletto del popolo , who decided that it must 
 fall upon the person who brought the fruit to market. One 
 of the persons aggrieved by this decision happened to be a 
 
M ASA NIELLO. 
 
 3 2J 
 
 peasant from Pozzuoli, and a brother-in-law of Masaniello. 
 Indignant at the decision, he took the basket of figs, which 
 had given occasion to the dispute, and throwing it down, 
 scattered its contents about, at the same time exclaiming, 
 “This belongs to me, I give it to you, my friends;—our 
 tyrants shall have none of this at least.” “ Let them have 
 some of it! ” said Masaniello, who stood by his side, and 
 snatching up a bunch of figs struck Nauclerio over the 
 face with it. His example was instantly followed by his 
 numerous companions. Masaniello then addressing them 
 in bold and ready eloquence, such as the occasion demanded, 
 conjured them to stand by him, promising in the most de¬ 
 cided terms redress for the grievances of which they had 
 to complain. They then commenced acts of violence, 
 broke down and destroyed the booths of the tax-collectors, 
 burst into the houses of such as were conceived to have 
 enriched themselves by farming the imposts, and spread 
 alarm through the whole city. Their numbers had by this 
 time increased to many thousands, armed with weapons 
 which they had taken from gunsmiths’ shops, and wherever 
 they could find them. They compelled the Prince of 
 Bisignano, a Neapolitan nobleman, to go with them and act 
 as their chief; but being shocked at their excesses, and 
 alarmed for the consequences, he contrived to make his 
 escape. Contrary, however, to the custom of ordinary 
 rioters, the insurgents took no spoils for their own use. 
 Mutinies and riots often commence with scruples on the 
 part of the actors to profit by pillage, but it is seldom that 
 these vehement patriots do not finally give way to tempta¬ 
 tion. They next proceeded to the viceroy’s palace, forced 
 their way into his presence, despite of his guards, and 
 peremptorily demanded the abolition not only of the new 
 gabelle on fruits, but of all other imposts whatsoever, 
 demands which, under the immediate influence of terror, 
 
324 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 the viceroy assented to. They then destroyed the most 
 valuable effects in the palace; the viceroy himself, endea¬ 
 vouring to escape from the insurgents by throwing himself 
 into a coach, was discovered, abused, and grossly insulted; 
 and it was with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded, by 
 throwing money among them, in effecting his retreat into 
 the Castello Nuovo. The populace then, by unanimous 
 consent, placed themselves under the command of 
 Masaniello, who was installed “Captain-General of the 
 most faithful people of Naples,” and such coadjutors and 
 counsellors were added (chiefly of low rank and infamous 
 character) as appeared to him best qualified to assist him. 
 He used little counsel, however, and while he sat by a chafing- 
 dish of fire, by which he spent the night, at the Tower of the 
 Carmelites, which he had made his headquarters, his advisers 
 could only draw from him these words : “ I feel a \yeight 
 like boiling lead in my head, but the Virgin and Saints 
 appear to me every night and promise me their protection. 
 I have assured the people that I will give them freedom, 
 and they shall be free.” By his directions the prisons were 
 broke open, and the captives set at liberty; the few inhabi¬ 
 tants who resisted were put to death ; and one house, where 
 there chanced to be a quantity of gunpowder, was blown up, 
 an accident which cost eighty-seven persons their lives. 
 
 July Zth .—The people having once tasted the pleasures 
 of license, prepared with tenfold force to repeat their riot. 
 In the meantime the Duke of Arcos was taken absolutely 
 unprovided. He had indeed about three thousand soldiers, 
 most of them Germans and Spaniards. But though he garri¬ 
 soned the three castles, Nuovo, dell' Uovo, and Saint Elmo, 
 the citadels of Naples, cutting tliem off by hasty fortifica¬ 
 tions and entrenchments from the city, the number of troops 
 was scarcely sufficient to protect these important strong¬ 
 holds, and such outposts as were essentially necessary to 
 
MASANIELLO. 
 
 325 
 
 their defence. A German regiment of five hundred men 
 was defeated and disarmed in an attempt to enter the city. 
 The provincial militia were even more easily repulsed, and 
 many joined the insurgents. Thus it became almost 
 evident that the city, and ultimately the kingdom of 
 Naples, were lost to Spain, in case the nobility and gentry 
 of the city should unite with the populace against the 
 government. There were no doubt deadly feuds of old 
 standing betwixt the two orders, and Arcos, though secretly 
 as hostile to the nobles as to the people, resolved to make 
 use of the former in negotiating a truce with the latter, in 
 order to effect a general pacification, and prevent the ominous 
 conjunction of their forces. He employed in this perilous 
 negotiation a Neapolitan nobleman, the Duke of Matalone, 
 whom he held at that time a prisoner in the Castle Nuovo, 
 and who was easily prevailed on, by flattery and promises, 
 to forget for the moment his own injuries, and undertake 
 the part of mediator between the Spanish viceroy and the 
 insurgents. Successful and unopposed, the multitude now 
 raised their demands. They required not only the aboli¬ 
 tion of all the imposts, but the restoration of all privileges 
 granted by Ferdinand the Catholic, and his successor, 
 Charles V., to the citizens of Naples; in particular, with a 
 view of becoming acquainted with the full extent of these 
 immunities, they demanded the production of a charter, 
 written, as they said, in letters of gold, and granted by 
 Charles V. to the city of Naples. Whatever were the vice¬ 
 roy’s motives, whether he had no such deed, or did not 
 choose to deliver it, he acted equally foolishly and criminally 
 in endeavouring to palm on the populace some other docu¬ 
 ment in the place of that which they required. As for his 
 unfortunate envoy, the Duke of Matalone, they seized on 
 his person, loaded him with insults, and dragged him to 
 prison. In the meantime they followed their course of 
 
326. TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 burning and destroying the houses of all whom they regarded 
 as enemies of the people, and inspired such general terror, 
 that bodies of a hundred men fled at the approach of one 
 of Masaniello’s lazzaroni, although they were merely ragged 
 lads, armed with long poles headed with iron hooks, usually 
 employed for steering their boats, but now wielded for the 
 purpose of pulling the gentlemen (as they said) from their 
 horses. The very women took arms and formed themselves 
 into companies, marching through the streets with muskets 
 on their shoulders, swords by their sides, and poignards in 
 their bosoms. Others brought their children in their arms, 
 and made them cast burning brands into the houses of the 
 Duke of Matalone and other nobles, whom they now con¬ 
 sidered their enemies as much as the Spaniards. “These 
 lambs,” they cried, “ shall take vengeance for the loss of the 
 bread they have been deprived of by traitors ! ” 
 
 July gt/i .—The insurrection was equally progressive and 
 increasing. The insurgents, after overcoming the efforts of 
 a company of soldiers, placed for the protection of that 
 important post, possessed themselves of the steeple and 
 church of St. Lorenzo, which commanded the city. Masa- 
 niello and his successors in this stormy exaltation as chief 
 of the people, made use of the great bell of that church 
 as a tocsin or alarm bell, and the Duke of Arcos was wont 
 to say, long after, that he never heard it toll without think¬ 
 ing of the judgment peal. Cardinal Filomarino, Arch¬ 
 bishop of Naples, was now employed, instead of the Duke 
 of Matalone, to negotiate with Masaniello and the people. 
 He was a subtle and sagacious churchman; popular with 
 the citizens, from having occasionally taken their side 
 against the Spanish government, to which he was not sup¬ 
 posed to be partial, though willing to contribute the weight 
 of his character and influence to effect a pacification in 
 this dreadful emergency. After much cavilling he con- 
 
MASANIELLO. 
 
 327 
 
 vinced the people and their leader that he had sufficient 
 powers from the viceroy to assent to all their demands, 
 and that the papers which he exhibited, and to which the 
 viceroy expressed himself willing to conform, were the 
 authentic charters of Ferdinand and Charles V. 
 
 July 10 th .—Masaniello had appointed a general rendez¬ 
 vous of the people to be held in the Piazzo del Popolo, 
 to hear the terms proposed by the cardinal. But events 
 took place which gave a different turn to affairs. Various 
 parties of banditti, long the dishonour and plague of 
 Naples, seeking naturally to find their own advantage 
 amid rapine and slaughter, now made their appearance. 
 They were welcomed as friends of the people, and one of 
 them, named Perrone, a particular confidant of Masaniello, 
 was intrusted with the care of the prisoners who had been 
 arrested. The Duke of Matalone being under this per¬ 
 son’s charge (of whom he had formerly some knowledge), 
 found little difficulty in engaging him, and another chief 
 of banditti, named Pepe Palombe, by a promise of twelve 
 thousand ducats, in an attempt to end the insurrection by 
 assassinating Masaniello. At the same time the imprisoned 
 Duke was allowed to escape from custody. An immense 
 throng of citizens crowded the square where the assembly 
 was held, when five hundred banditti assembled among 
 them, completely armed and well mounted. Their appear¬ 
 ance in such numbers excited suspicion, and Masaniello 
 required them to dismount and divide themselves; instead 
 of this order being obeyed, seven arquebuses were fired 
 at the Capo del Popolo , so near that they burnt his shirt, 
 though not a ball touched him ! The populace instantly 
 discharged a volley of musketry on the troop of banditti, 
 and killed thirty of them; the rest fled into a neighbouring 
 church, which, notwithstanding the respect usually paid 
 
328 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 in Catholic countries to such an asylum, proved no place 
 of refuge. The gates were unhinged, the vaults resounded 
 to the fire of musketry, while the people slew the wretches 
 at the very altar, flooding the church pavement with gore. 
 Such of the banditti as were examined and executed con¬ 
 fessed the existence of the plot to assassinate Masaniello, 
 after which they hoped to disperse the insurgents, by 
 assaulting them at unawares, while astonished at the loss 
 of their captain. Other reports were added—namely, that 
 mines were formed below the Piazzo del Popolo, where 
 the insurgents were to meet—though, in truth, the con¬ 
 spirators had neither time nor means for such a gunpowder 
 plot. All agreed, however, in naming the Duke of Mata- 
 lone, and his brother, Don Joseph Caraffa, as the insti¬ 
 gators of the conspiracy, who were immediately sought 
 after with the most vigorous alacrity. Masaniello, mean¬ 
 time, remained in the great square, surrounded by the 
 heads of the slain banditti, planted upon pikes, exaggerat¬ 
 ing the dangers which he had encountered, and calling for 
 vengeance on the aristocracy. The Duke of Matalone 
 had the good fortune to make his escape, but his brother, 
 Don Joseph Caraffa, fell into the hands of the people, 
 who were dragging him before Masaniello, when a butcher, 
 called Michael de Santis, struck off his head with a cleaver. 
 His miserable remains were brought to the insurgent chief, 
 who struck and spurned the senseless body, which was 
 afterwards gibbetted in the market-place. Masaniello’s 
 rage against the banditti was so great that he ordered that 
 no person, even ladies of condition, or priests of the 
 highest orders, should dare to wear long garments in the 
 streets of Naples. Even cardinals and prelates were 
 obliged to go in such succinct dress, as to warrant that 
 they were not banditti in disguise carrying arms under 
 their robes. The nobles and aristocrats were compelled to 
 
MASANIELLO. 
 
 329 
 
 surrender their arms to the popular officers, and with 
 admirable consistency, an excise on all eatables brought 
 to market was imposed, for the maintenance of that revolu¬ 
 tionary government which had its origin in the abolition of 
 the gabelles. . . . 
 
 July 11 th .—In the meantime the accommodation proposed 
 by the viceroy, through the mediation of the Cardinal 
 Filomarino, though somewhat checked by Perrone’s con¬ 
 spiracy, was still proceeding. The truth is, that whether 
 the conspiracy succeeded or failed, the Spaniards were the 
 party sure to benefit by it. Had Perrone effected his 
 object, they would have been rid of Masaniello \ and 
 although he had failed, the death of Don Joseph Caraffa, 
 with other consequences, had removed all possibility of 
 a reconciliation between the nobles and the people, of 
 which the viceroy was so justly apprehensive. Assisted by 
 two persons, Genuino a priest, and Arpaya an attorney, 
 who had been formerly employed in political business, 
 Masaniello had a set of articles drawn up, in which the 
 gabelles were abolished, all former privileges renewed and 
 confirmed, and the actors in the late tumults, including him¬ 
 self and his counsellors by name, assured of pardon. These 
 articles were read publicly in the church of Our Lady of the 
 Carmelites, after which the Cardinal Filomarino passed in 
 procession to the Castello Nuovo, followed by the whole 
 tide of the population, amid loud acclamations. On this 
 occasion Masaniello, at the cardinal’s suggestions, exchanged 
 his mariner’s habit, which he had rendered more awful than 
 imperial robes of Tyrian purple, for a splendid suit of cloth 
 of silver, and mounted on a fine charger, proceeded to pay 
 his respects to the viceroy, who received him with the 
 utmost respect, and had an opportunity to see the wonder¬ 
 ful and alarming influence which this fisherman had attained 
 over the populace. Vast numbers of insurgents had 
 
33o 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 crowded in after the procession, and filled the castle yard. 
 Alarmed at the length of Masaniello’s stay, they began to 
 show symptoms of uneasiness. The Capo del Popolo was 
 then with the cardinal and viceroy in the cabinet of the 
 latter, when stepping to the window he silenced them by 
 a word of his mouth and a signal of his hand. At another 
 signal, all the bells of the city were tolled; at a third, the 
 deafening peal was silenced. He waved his hand, and the 
 people shouted ; he placed his finger on his lips, and the 
 roaring multitude became hushed as death. Finally, he 
 commanded them to disperse to their homes, and the court¬ 
 yard, as if by magic, was evacuated in an instant. The 
 viceroy and his courtiers looked at each other with 
 astonishment. It was no wonder that the viceroy felt it 
 necessary to recognise the authority of captain-general of 
 the people in a demagogue possessing such complete in¬ 
 fluence over his constituents. The Duke of Arcos went so 
 far as to put a gold chain round his neck, and to salute him 
 by the title of Duke of St. George. So closed the fifth day, 
 the events of which augured a restoration of public tran¬ 
 quility. 
 
 July 12 th .—The events of the day proved, however, that 
 peace was yet far distant. Masaniello, agitated perhaps by 
 apprehensions of the banditti, no longer received petitions 
 and applications in the open market-place, but at a window 
 of his own cottage, which was close by it, where he stood 
 in his fisherman’s dress, with a loaded blunderbuss in his 
 hand, which put the suitors in some terror for the reply 
 which they might possibly receive. . . . 
 
 July 13/A—A solemn ceremony was appointed to take 
 place in the cathedral, where Masaniello presented himself 
 before the viceroy, the cardinal archbishop, and the whole 
 of the constituted authorities of the kingdom, holding a 
 drawn sword in one hand, and the charter of Charles V. in 
 
MAS A NIELLO. 
 
 33i 
 
 the other. Here, after religious service, the Duke of Arcos 
 took a solemn oath to observe the articles stipulated betwixt 
 him and the Capo del Popolo on the part of the people of 
 Naples. In the course of this ceremony Masaniello for 
 the first time showed marks of deranged intellect. In 
 discussing the different articles of the capitulation he made 
 freakish and absurd interruptions, and at the conclusion of 
 the solemnity was with difficulty—almost perforce—pre¬ 
 vented from stripping himself of his ceremonial dress, in 
 order to resume his mariner’s rags, in presence of the 
 viceroy, the cardinal, and the whole assembly. The 
 viceroy, on returning from the ceremony, seeing the wife 
 of Masaniello at a window, saluted her with the greatest 
 respect. 
 
 July \\th .—This day, being Sunday, the eighth of the 
 insurrection, the conduct of Masaniello became still more 
 capricious and fantastic than on the preceding—attracted 
 general notice, and began to diminish the respect paid to 
 him even by the ignorant multitude. In the morning he 
 resumed the exercise of his judicial functions; afterwards 
 gave orders for the surrender of the principal posts to the 
 Spanish troops, and at the moment the popular chiefs were 
 attending him in council, rushed out suddenly, half un¬ 
 dressed, mounted his horse, and galloped off to invite the 
 cardinal to sup with him at Pausilippo. The cardinal, not 
 daring to refuse, excused himself from accompanying him 
 immediately, on account of his spiritual duties, and promised 
 to join him in the afternoon. Masaniello then proceeded 
 to the viceroy’s residence, and invited him also to be of 
 the party; the Duke of Arcos contrived to excuse himself, 
 but gave orders that his barge should convey the Capo del 
 Popolo to the foot of Pausilippo. On his way to the barge 
 he committed all sorts of extravagances, and on his arrival 
 at Pausilippo he went into the church to hear mass; after 
 
332 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 which he threw himself into the sea, swimming about with 
 his clothes on, and an hour afterwards ordered supper. It 
 was supposed that Masaniello at this time had been 
 poisoned with some liquor having the power of creating 
 lunacy. We believe the art of medicine knows no such 
 drug as would destroy the mind, leaving the body uninjured, 
 though there is no want of liquors by which a temporary 
 suspension of the faculties may be produced. To these 
 also Masaniello applied himself, having drank twelve 
 tumblers or flasks of the wine called Lachrymce Christie a 
 dose which could not tend to calm his frenzy. He was 
 carried home, and, for the first time probably since his 
 exaltation, slept soundly. 
 
 July 15th .—The ninth day of the insurrection exhibited 
 fresh proofs of Masaniello’s frenzy, and every class of 
 persons began to be equally tired of its consequences, 
 which were sometimes ludicrous, sometimes fatal. The 
 people of every condition, and even many of the popular 
 chiefs, headed by Genuino and Arpaya, expressed an earnest 
 desire to be rid, by whatever means, of their own beloved 
 Capo del Popolo. With this view a new conspiracy was 
 formed to assassinate him, as one whom friends and foes 
 were alike desirous to be rid of. During the day he kept 
 his absolute authority in complete exercise. He drew his 
 sword and cut furiously round him—became, in short, so 
 outrageously mad that his attendants and friends were 
 forced to bind and secure him for the night. . . . 
 
 July 16th .—Upon the tenth and last day of his singular 
 career, Masaniello, escaping from his best friends (those 
 who detained him in custody as a lunatic), rushed into the 
 church of del Carmine, the day being the festival of the 
 Virgin patroness. The Cardinal Filomarino performed the 
 service, and after its conclusion, Masaniello, in a desponding 
 mood, harangued the people with a crucifix in his hand; 
 
MASANIELLO. 
 
 333 
 
 complained of being forsaken by them, mingling expressions 
 which were of a pathetic description with such as were 
 utterly irrational and ridiculous. He behaved with such 
 indecorum of speech and gesture, that the priests were 
 obliged to withdraw him from the pulpit by force. To the 
 cardinal he next had recourse, expressing his purpose to 
 resign all his power to the viceroy. The prelate with diffi¬ 
 culty prevailed on him to enter the adjoining cloister, 
 and cease interrupting the prayers of the congregation. 
 While the unfortunate man was yet in the cloister, the 
 assassins, few in number, but followed by many others who 
 favoured them, burst into his place of refuge, exclaiming, 
 “ Long live the King of Spain, and death to Masaniello ! ” 
 “ Do you seek me, my people ? ” answered Masaniello. 
 “ Here I am ! ” As he turned round he received the fire 
 of four arquebuses, which killed him on the spot, giving him 
 but time to exclaim—“ Oh ye ungrateful traitors ! ” So low 
 was his popularity fallen that the thousands then assembled 
 in the church of del Carmine heard without the least emo¬ 
 tion that Masaniello was slain. Thereafter his head was 
 carried to the viceroy, and his body, after being dragged 
 through the streets by a rabble of boys, among whom the 
 nobility threw pieces of money, was at length tossed into 
 the city ditches. 
 
 But the flame which Masaniello had kindled was not 
 extinguished by his death. Even in the morning which 
 succeeded his exit, some of the striplings, who had consti¬ 
 tuted the guard and lictors of their murdered captain-general, 
 sought out his dishonoured remains, and carried them to 
 the cathedral. The mangled corpse was arrayed in royal 
 robes, decorated with a crown and sceptre, and after being 
 carried in funeral procession,, followed by thousands of armed 
 men, it was at length solemnly interred in the church, with 
 many tears, prayers, and lamentations. 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION. 
 
 UT I must go to Edinburgh; for I see my 
 uncle is beginning to grow tired of me, and 
 I am afraid-” 
 
 “ That you will grow tired of him ? ” in¬ 
 terrupted Oldbuck; “ I fear that’s past pray¬ 
 ing for. But you have forgotten that the ecstatic twelfth of 
 August approaches, and that you are engaged to meet one 
 of Lord Glenallan’s gamekeepers, God knows where, to per¬ 
 secute the peaceful feathered creation.” 
 
 “True, true, uncle —I had forgot that,” exclaimed the 
 volatile Hector; “but you said something just now that put 
 everything out of my head.” 
 
 “ An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his 
 white head from behind the screen, where he had been 
 plentifully regaling himself with ale and cold meat—“ an it 
 like your honours, I can tell ye something that will keep 
 the Captain wi’ us amaist as well as the pouting. Hear ye 
 na the French are coming?” 
 
 “The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck. 
 “Bah!” 
 
 “I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “to 
 look over my lieutenancy correspondence for the week— 
 indeed, I generally make a rule to read it only on Wednes¬ 
 days, except in pressing cases, for I do everything by method 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION. 335 
 
 —but from the glance I took of my letters I observed some 
 alarm was entertained.” 
 
 “Alarm?” said Edie,— “troth there’s alarm, for the 
 provost’s gar’d the beacon-light on the Halket-head be sorted 
 up (that suld hae been sorted half a year syne) in an unco 
 hurry, and the council hae named nae less a man than auld 
 Caxon himsell to watch the light. Some say it was out o’ 
 compliment to Lieutenant Taffril—for it’s neist to certain 
 that he’ll marry Jenny Caxon—and some say it’s to please 
 your honour and Monkbarns that wear wigs—and some say 
 there’s some auld story about a periwig that ane o’ the 
 bailies got and ne’er paid for. Ony way, there he is sitting, 
 cockit up like a skart upon the tap o’ the craig, to skirl when 
 foul weather comes.” 
 
 “ On mine honour, a pretty warder,” said Monkbarns; 
 “ and what’s my wig to do all the while ? ” 
 
 “ I asked Caxon that very question,” answered Ochiltree, 
 “and he said he could look in ilka morning, and gie’t a 
 touch before he gaed to his bed, for there’s another man to 
 watch in the daytime, and Caxon says he’ll frizz your 
 honour’s wig as weel sleeping as wauking.” 
 
 This news gave a different turn to the conversation, which 
 ran upon national defence, and the duty of fighting for the 
 land we live in, until it was time to part. . . . 
 
 The watch who kept his watch on the hill, and looked 
 towards Birnam, probably conceived himself dreaming 
 when he first beheld the fated grove put itself into motion 
 for its march to Dunsinane. Even so, old Caxon, as, 
 perched in his hut, he qualified his thoughts upon the 
 approaching marriage of his daughter, and the dignity of 
 being father-in-law to Lieutenant Taffril, with an occasional 
 peep towards the signal-post with which his own corres¬ 
 ponded, was not a little surprised by finding a light in that 
 direction. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, adjusting 
 
336 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 his observation by a cross-staff which had been placed so 
 as to bear upon the point. And behold, the light increased, 
 like a comet to the eye of the astronomer, “ with fear of 
 change perplexing nations.” 
 
 “ The Lord preserve us ! ” said Caxon, “ what’s to be 
 done now? But there will be wiser heads than mine to 
 look to that, sae I’se e’en fire the beacon.” 
 
 And he lighted the beacon accordingly, which threw up 
 to the sky a long wavering train of light, startling the sea- 
 fowl from their nests, and reflected far beneath by the 
 reddening billows of the sea. The brother warders of 
 Caxon being equally diligent, caught and repeated his 
 signal. The lights glanced on headlands and capes and 
 inland hills, and the whole district was alarmed by the 
 signal of invasion. 
 
 Our Antiquary, his head wrapped warm in two double 
 night-caps, was quietly enjoying his repose, when it was 
 suddenly broken by the screams of his sister, his niece, and 
 two maid-servants. 
 
 “What the devil is the matter?” said he, starting up in 
 his bed—“ womankind in my room at this hour of night!— 
 are ye all mad ? ” 
 
 “ The beacon, uncle ! ” said Miss MTntyre. 
 
 “ The French coming to murder us! ” screamed Miss 
 Griselda. 
 
 “ The beacon, the beacon !—the French, the French !— 
 murder, murder! and waur than murder! ” cried the two 
 handmaidens, like the chorus of an opera. 
 
 “The French?” said Oldbuck, starting up—“get out of 
 the room, womankind that you are, till I get my things on. 
 And, hark ye, bring me my sword.” 
 
 “ Whilk o’ them, Monkbarns ? ” cried his sister, offering 
 a Roman falchion of brass with the one hand, with the 
 other an Andrea Ferrara without a handle. 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION. 
 
 337 
 
 “ The langest, the langest,” cried Jenny Rintherout, 
 dragging in a two-handed sword of the twelfth century. 
 
 “Womankind,” said Oldbuck, in great agitation, “be 
 composed, and do not give way to vain terror. Are you 
 sure they are come ? ” 
 
 “ Sure !—sure ! ” exclaimed Jenny—“ ower sure !—a’ the 
 sea fencibles, and the land fencibles, and the volunteers 
 and yeomanry, are on fit, and driving to Fairport as hard 
 as horse and man can gang—and auld Mucklebackit’s gane 
 wi’ the lave—muckle good he’ll do. Hech sirs !— he'll be 
 missed the morn wha wad hae served king and country 
 weel! ” 
 
 “Give me,” said Oldbuck, “the sword which my father 
 wore in the year forty-five—it hath no belt or baldrick— 
 but we’ll make shift.” 
 
 So saying, he thrust the weapon through the cover of his 
 breeches pocket. At this moment Hector entered, who 
 had been to a neighbouring height to ascertain whether the 
 alarm was actual. 
 
 “ Where are your arms, nephew ? ”—exclaimed Oldbuck 
 —“ where is your double-barrelled gun, that was never out 
 of your hand when there was no occasion for such vanities ?” 
 
 “ Pooh! pooh ! sir,” said Hector, “ who ever took a 
 fowling-piece on action ? I have got my uniform on, you 
 see—I hope I shall be of more use if they will give me a 
 command, than I could be with ten double-barrels. And 
 you, sir, must get to Fairport, to give directions for the 
 quartering and maintaining the men and horses and pre¬ 
 venting confusion.” 
 
 “You are right, Hector—I believe I shall do as much 
 with my head as my hand too. But here comes Sir Arthur 
 Ward our, who, between ourselves, is not fit to accomplish 
 much either one way or other.” 
 
 Sir Arthur was probably of a different opinion; for, 
 
 Y 
 
338 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 dressed in his lieutenancy uniform, he was also on the 
 road to Fairport, and called in his way to take Mr. Old- 
 buck with him, having had his original opinion of his 
 sagacity much confirmed by late events. And in spite of 
 all the entreaties of the womankind that the Antiquary 
 would stay to garrison Monkbarns, Mr. Oldbuck, with his 
 nephew, instantly accepted Sir Arthur’s offer. 
 
 Those who have witnessed such a scene can alone con¬ 
 ceive the state of bustle in Fairport. The windows were 
 glancing with a hundred lights, which, appearing and dis¬ 
 appearing rapidly, indicated the confusion within doors. 
 The women of lower rank assembled and clamoured in the 
 market-place. The yeomanry, pouring from their different 
 glens, galloped through the streets, some individually, some 
 in parties of five or six, as they had met on the road. The 
 drums and fifes of the volunteers beating to arms, were 
 blended with the voice of the officers, the sound of the 
 bugles, and the tolling of the bell from the steeple. The 
 ships in the harbour were lit up, and boats from the armed 
 vessels added to the bustle, by landing men and guns, des¬ 
 tined to assist in the defence of the place. This part of the 
 preparations was superintended by Taffril with much ac¬ 
 tivity. Two or three light vessels had already slipped their 
 cables and stood out to sea, in order to discover the sup¬ 
 posed enemy. 
 
 Such was the scene of general confusion when Sir Arthur 
 Wardour, Oldbuck, and Hector made their way with diffi¬ 
 culty into the principal square, where the town-house is 
 situated. It was lighted up, and the magistracy, with many 
 of the neighbouring gentlemen, were assembled. And here, 
 as upon other occasions of the like kind in Scotland, it was 
 remarkable how the good sense and firmness of the people 
 supplied almost all the deficiencies of inexperience. 
 
 The magistrates were beset by the quartermasters of the 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION. 
 
 339 
 
 different corps for billets for men and horses. “ Let us,” 
 said Bailie Littlejohn, “take the horses into our warehouses, 
 and the men into our parlours—share our supper with the 
 one, and our forage with the other. We have made our¬ 
 selves wealthy under a free and paternal government, and 
 now is the time to show we know its value.” 
 
 A loud and cheerful acquiescence was given by all present, 
 and the substance of the wealthy, with the persons of those 
 of all ranks, were unanimously devoted to the defence of 
 the country. 
 
 Captain M‘Intyre acted on this occasion as military ad¬ 
 viser and aid-de-camp to the principal, magistrate, and 
 displayed a degree of presence of mind, and knowledge of 
 his profession, totally unexpected by his uncle, who, recol¬ 
 lecting his usual insouciance and impetuosity, gazed at him 
 with astonishment from time to time, as he remarked the 
 calm and steady manner in which he explained the various 
 measures of precaution that his experience suggested, and 
 gave directions for executing them. He found the different 
 corps in good order, considering the irregular materials of 
 which they were composed, in great force of numbers, and 
 high confidence and spirits. And so much did military 
 experience at that moment overbalance all other claims to 
 consequence, that even old Edie, instead of being left, like 
 Diogenes at Sinope, to roll his tub when all around were 
 preparing for defence, had the duty assigned him of super¬ 
 intending the serving out of the ammunition, which he 
 executed with much discretion. 
 
 Two things were still anxiously expected—the presence 
 of the Glenallan volunteers, who, in consideration of the 
 importance of that family, had been formed into a separate 
 corps, and the arrival of the officer before announced, to 
 whom the measures of defence on that coast had been 
 committed by the commander-in-chief, and whose com- 
 
340 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 mission would entitle him to take upon himself the full dis¬ 
 posal of the military force. 
 
 At length the bugles of the Glenallan yeomanry were 
 heard, and the Earl himself, to the surprise of all who knew 
 his habits and state of health, appeared at their head in 
 uniform. They formed a very handsome and well-mounted 
 squadron, formed entirely out of the Earl’s lowland tenants, 
 and were followed by a regiment of five hundred men, 
 completely equipped in the Highland dress, whom he had 
 brought down from the upland glens, with their pipes play¬ 
 ing in the van. The clean and serviceable appearance of 
 this band of feudal dependants called forth the admiration 
 of Captain MTntyre; but his uncle was still more struck 
 by the manner in which, upon this crisis, the ancient mili¬ 
 tary spirit of his house seemed to animate and invigorate 
 the decayed frame of the Earl, their leader. He claimed, 
 and obtained for himself and his followers, the post most 
 likely to be that of danger, displayed great alacrity in 
 making the necessary dispositions, and showed equal acute¬ 
 ness in discussing their propriety. Morning broke in upon 
 the military councils of Fairport, while all concerned were 
 still eagerly engaged in taking precautions for their defence. 
 
 At length a cry among the people announced, “ There’s 
 the brave Major Neville come at last, with another officer;” 
 and their post-chaise and four drove into the square, amidst 
 the huzzas of the volunteers and inhabitants. The magis¬ 
 trates, with their assessors of the lieutenancy, hastened to 
 the door of their town-house to receive him ; but what was 
 the surprise of all present, but most especially that of the 
 Antiquary, when they became aware that the handsome 
 uniform and military cap disclosed the person and features 
 of the pacific Lovel! A warm embrace and a hearty shake 
 of the hand were necessary to assure him that his eyes were 
 doing him justice. Sir Arthur was no less surprised to 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION. 
 
 34i 
 
 recognise his son, Captain Wardour, in Lovel’s or rather 
 Major Neville’s company. The first words of the young 
 officer’s were a positive assurance to all present that the 
 courage and zeal which they had displayed were entirely 
 thrown away, unless in so far as they afforded an accept¬ 
 able proof of their spirit and promptitude. 
 
 “ The watchman at Halket-head,” said Major Neville, 
 “as we discovered by an investigation which we made in our 
 route hither, was most naturally misled by a bonfire which 
 some idle people had made on the hill above Glenwithershins, 
 just in the line of the beacon with which his corresponded.” 
 
 Olbuck gave a conscious look to Sir Arthur, who returned 
 it with one equally sheepish, and a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 “Yonder comes the prudent Caxon. Hold up your 
 head, you ass—your betters must bear the blame for you. 
 And here, take this what-d’ye call-it” (giving him his 
 sword)—“ I wonder what I would have said yesterday to 
 any man that would have told me I was to stick such an 
 appendage to my tail.” 
 
 The story of the false alarm at Fairport, and the conse¬ 
 quences, are taken from a real incident. Those who wit¬ 
 nessed the state of Britain, and of Scotland in particular, 
 from the period that succeeded the war which commenced 
 in 1803 to the battle of Trafalgar, must recollect those 
 times with feelings which we can hardly hope to make the 
 rising generation comprehend. Almost every individual 
 was enrolled either in a military or civil capacity, for the 
 purpose of contributing to resist the long-suspended threats 
 of invasion, which were echoed from every quarter. 
 Beacons were erected along the coast, and all through 
 the country, to give the signal for every one to repair to 
 the post where his peculiar duty called him, and men of 
 every description fit to serve, held themselves in readiness 
 on the shortest summons. During this agitating period, 
 
342 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT . 
 
 and on the evening of the 2d February 1804, the person 
 who kept watch on the commanding station of Home 
 Castle, being deceived by some accidental fire in the county 
 of Northumberland, which he took for the corresponding 
 signal-light in that county with which his orders were to 
 communicate, lighted up his own beacon. The signal was 
 immediately repeated through all the valleys on the English 
 Border. If the beacon at Saint Abbs-head had been fired, 
 the alarm would have run northward, and roused all Scot¬ 
 land. But the watch at this important point judiciously 
 considered, that if there had been an actual or threatened 
 descent on our eastern sea-coast, the alarm would have come 
 along the coast, and not from the interior of the country. 
 
 Through the Border counties the alarm spread with 
 rapidity, and on no occasion, when that country was the 
 scene of perpetual and unceasing war, was the summons to 
 arms more readily obeyed. In Berwickshire, Roxburgh¬ 
 shire, and Selkirkshire the volunteers and militia got under 
 arms with a degree of rapidity and alacrity which, consider¬ 
 ing the distance individuals lived from each other, had 
 something in it very surprising. They poured to the alarm- 
 posts on the sea-coast in a state so well armed, and so com¬ 
 pletely appointed, with baggage, provisions, &c., as was 
 accounted by the best military judges to render them fit for 
 instant and effectual service. 
 
 There were some particulars in the general alarm which 
 are curious and interesting. The men of Liddesdale, the 
 most remote point to the westward which the alarm reached, 
 were so much afraid of being late in the field, that they put 
 in requisition all the horses they could find, and when they 
 had thus made a forced march out of their own county, 
 they turned their borrowed steeds loose to find their way 
 back through the hills, and they all got back safe to their 
 own stables. Another remarkable circumstance was the 
 general cry of the inhabitants of the smaller towns for arms, 
 
ALARM OF FRENCH INVASION . 
 
 343 
 
 that they might go along with their companions. The 
 Selkirkshire Yeomanry made a remarkable march; for 
 although some of the individuals lived at twenty and thirty 
 miles distance from the place where they mustered, they 
 were nevertheless embodied and in order in so short a 
 period, that they were at Dalkeith, which was their alarm- 
 post, about one o’clock on the day succeeding the first 
 signal, with men and horses in good order, though the roads 
 were in a bad state, and many of the troopers must have 
 ridden forty or fifty miles without drawing bridle. Two 
 members of the corps chanced to be absent from their 
 homes, and in Edinburgh on private business. The lately 
 married wife of one of these gentleman, and the widowed 
 mother of the other, sent the arms, uniforms, and chargers 
 of the two troopers, that they might join their companions at 
 Dalkeith. The author was very much struck by the answer 
 made to him by the last-mentioned lady, when he paid her 
 some compliment on the readiness which she showed in 
 equipping her son with the means of meeting danger, when 
 she might have left him a fair excuse for remaining absent. 
 “ Sir,” she replied, with the spirit of a Roman matron, “ none 
 can know better than you that my son is the only prop by 
 which, since his father’s death, our family is supported. 
 But I would rather see him dead on that hearth than hear 
 that he had been a horse’s length behind his companions in 
 the defence of his king and country.” The author mentions 
 what was immediately under his own eye, and within his 
 own knowledge: but the spirit was universal, wherever the 
 alarm reached, both in Scotland and England. 
 
 The account of the ready patriotism displayed by the 
 country on this occasion warmed the hearts of Scottishmen 
 in every corner of the w r orld. It reached the ears of the 
 well-known Dr. Leyden, whose enthusiastic love of Scotland, 
 and of his own district of Teviotdale, formed a distinguished 
 part of his character. The account, which w r as read to him 
 
344 
 
 TALES FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 when on a sick-bed, stated (very truly) that the different 
 corps on arriving at their alarm-posts, announced them¬ 
 selves by their music, playing the tunes peculiar to their 
 own districts, many of which have been gathering-signals 
 for centuries. It was particularly remembered, that the 
 Liddesdale men, before mentioned, entered Kelso playing 
 the lively tune— 
 
 “ O wha dare meddle wi’ me, 
 
 And wha dare meddle wi’ me ! 
 
 My name it is little Jock Elliot, 
 
 And wha dare meddle wi’ me ! 
 
 The patient was so delighted with this display of ancient 
 Border spirit, that he sprung up in his bed, and began to 
 sing the old song with such vehemence of action and 
 voice that his attendants, ignorant of the cause of excitation, 
 concluded that the fever had taken possession of his brain; 
 and it was only the entry of another Borderer, Sir John 
 Malcolm, and the explanation which he was well qualified to 
 give, that prevented them from resorting to means of medi¬ 
 cal coercion. 
 
 The circumstances of this false alarm, and its conse¬ 
 quences, may be now held of too little importance even for 
 a note upon a work of fiction : but, at the period when it 
 happened, it was hailed by the country as a propitious 
 omen, that the national force, to which much must naturally 
 have been trusted, had the spirit to look in the face the 
 danger which they had taken up arms to repel; and every 
 one was convinced, that on whichever side God might 
 bestow the victory, the invaders would meet with the most 
 determined opposition from the children of the soil. 
 
 PRINTED BY BAI.LANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 


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