SACK OF HOLYROOD.
'Twas a dream of the ages of darkness and blood,
When the ministers' home was the mountain and wood;
The musquets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming;
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling,
When on Welwood's dark muirland the mighty were falling.
ANONYMOUS.
"Welcome, gentlemen," exclaimed Wallace; "I never stood in such need
of advice and comradeship."
He was a handsome man, above six feet in height; his gold-coloured
cuirass and buff coat, laced with silver, announced him a captain;
the slouch of his broad Spanish hat, with its drooping plumes, and
the tie of his voluminous white silk scarf, gave him inimitable grace.
"Welcome, Finland, to share the poor cheer and hard fighting of
Holyrood. By Mahoun! but times are changed with the King's soldiers.
I have endured a three days' siege here, and matters are not likely
to mend."
"No; a rabble, many thousands strong, by all the devils! the very
riddlings of St. Ninian's and the Beggars' Row, are at this moment
approaching, and if one of your guard are left alive by daylight it
will be a miracle."
"Dost think so?" rejoined Wallace, as he led them to a table in the
outer court of the palace, where a lantern placed on a table revealed
a few drinking horns, a keg of eau de vie, and some objects of a more
unpleasant nature, the dead bodies of several soldiers, shot by the
rioters during the day. "You hold out a dark future to us, Finland,
and, nevertheless, like the true soldier I have ever known thee, come
to take a turn of service with us."
"As you see," replied Finland, laughing, as he filled a horn from the
keg unbidden.
"Drink with me, gentlemen," said Wallace.
"With all my soul!" hiccupped Dr. Joram.
"This keg of brandy was lately in the cellars of the Jesuits, and
some friendly rogue trundled it our way. God bless the good old
cause! my service to ye, sirs. Hark, comrades--drums!" he added, as
he drained and threw down the cup.
"'Tis the march of the trained bands," said Walter.
"Indeed!" rejoined Wallace, sternly. "Let all the whigamore scum of
Scotland come, they are welcome. I am one of the good old race of
Elderslie, and I thank heaven that in an hour like this, it hath been
the hap of one of my name to have entrusted to his care the defence
of the palace of our princes, and yonder holy fane, the sepulchre of
their bones--one of the fairest piles that ancient piety ever
founded, or modern fanaticism destroyed." His swart countenance
lighted up, and signing the cross (for this noble cavalier was a true
catholic), he drew his sword.
"Hark, a chamade!" said Walter Fenton; "now let us hear what these
rascals have the impudence to say;" and the three cavaliers repaired
to the porch, leaving the divine to continue his devoirs to the
brandy keg. They beheld a very extraordinary scene.
Wallace's company was an Independent one. It was something less than
a hundred strong, and had the great porch of the palace and the two
lesser gates of the boundary wall to defend. In the former there
were sixty musqueteers drawn up, as it was the point of the greatest
danger; the remainder were posted at the small gates, which were well
secured by internal barricades. The great façade of the magnificent
palace, with its deep quadrangle and six round towers, loomed through
the starless gloom of the winter night; lights flickered in the
gallery of the Kings of Scotland, and through the lofty casements of
its long corridors and echoing chambers, for there many proscribed
catholic and cavalier families, terrified women, and helpless
children, hud fled for refuge. And from the great western windows of
the chapel royal shone "the dim religious light" of the distant
altar, where many a devout worshipper, in the ancient faith of our
fathers, sent up, with catholic fervour, the most solemn prayers to
God for conquest and for succour.
How different was the scene without those sacred walls, with their
shadowy aisles, their glimmering shrines and marble tombs--their
dark, deep, solemn arches, and mysterious echoes.
Through the strong gate of vertical iron bars that closed the dark
round archway of the porch, the cavaliers beheld the long vista of
the Canon-gate, extending to the westward. Its long perspective of
ancient and picturesque edifices, turrets, outshots, and gables, was
vividly lit up by the crimson glare of the blazing houses on the
Abbey-hill, to the northward of the palace.
A dense mob that had gathered in the Cow-gate, provided with weapons
and torches, mingled with Trained Bandsmen, and having drums beating,
and the Earl of Perth's effigy, borne aloft before them, after
traversing the West Bow and High-street, maltreating all they met,
were now descending the Canon-gate; and the light of their brandished
flambeaux streamed through the groined portal of the palace,
glittering on the helmets and arms of the soldiers drawn up within it
in close array, and beyond on the tall outline of the tower of James
V.
As the drums of the Trained Bands continued to beat the point of war,
the rabble poured forth from all the diverging wynds and alleys,
until, like a river swollen by a hundred tributary streams, the dense
mass that debouched upon the open space around the ancient
Girth-cross of the once holy sanctuary, covered the whole arena. The
united roar of ten thousand angry voices swelled along the lofty
street, and the red torchlight revealed many an uncouth visage,
distorted by drunkenness, fanaticism, and ferocity. Several musquets
and pistols were incessantly discharged, while stones, sticks,
fragments of furniture, dead cats, and every available and imaginable
missile were hurled in showers over the battlements of the porch, and
strewed the pavement of the court within.
In front were Grahame and Macgill, two captains in the trained band,
armed with their buff coats, steel caps, and half pikes; several
baillies, in their scarlet gowns and gold chains; Lord Mersington,
reeling about and brandishing a partisan, his senatorial wig and
robes in a woeful plight; the Rev. Ichabod Bummel, bare-headed and
spurring like a madman a short, plump, and active Galloway cob of
which he had possessed himself, and over the flanks of which, his
long spindle shanks and scabbard trailed upon the ground. On each
side were the Marchmont and Islay heralds, the Unicorn and Ormond
pursuivants, in their tabards blazing with embroidery, and their tall
plumed bonnets; behind was a confused forest of uplifted hands, and
weapons, swords, pikes, staves, and halberts which flashed
incessantly in the wavering glare of the brandished torches, and
chief above all were the effigy of the Chancellor, and a great orange
and blue standard; the first the colour of the Revolutionists, the
second of the Covenanters.
The houses of the Earl of Perth, the Lairds of Niddry, Blairdrummond,
and others, were blazing close by, and the sky was sheeted with fire.
The contents of their cellars were rolled into the streets and
staved, and the rich and luscious wines of France, the nut-brown ale,
and crystal usquebaugh streamed along the swollen gutters, where
hundreds of rioters were wallowing like pigs in the kennel, and were
trod to death beneath the feet of the mighty host that swept over
them. After a flourish of trumpets, the senior herald cried with a
loud voice,--
"In the name of the Lords of His Majesty's Privy Council, I, the
Islay Herald-at-Arms, summon, warn, and charge you, Captain William
Wallace, under pain and penalty of loss of life and escheat of
goods----"
"Yea, and the loss of salvation," screamed Ichabod, with a voice of a
Stentor, as he brandished his bible and bloody sword. "Woe unto ye
who march against God with banners displayed! Woe unto ye who would
build up the walls of Jericho, which the Lord hath casten down! Take
heed, ye vipers and soldiers of Jeroboam, lest the curse that fell on
Kiel, the Bethelite, fall upon ye also! Woe unto ye, worshippers of
the Babylonian harlot, the mother of sin, for the hour is come when
it is written that ye shall perish!"
"----And escheat of goods and gear," continued the herald,
"forfeiture of name and fame."
"Surrender, ye d--d loons!" cried Mersington, "or hee hee, we'll gie
ye cauld kail through the reek, conform to the Acts of Estate."
"Sound trumpets for silence!" exclaimed the herald indignantly; but
now the voice of Mr. Bummel was again heard.
"Oh for one moment of the hand that smote the foes of Zion!" he
exclaimed, raising to heaven his sunken eyes that in the torchlight
seemed to fill with a yellow glare. "Oh for God's malediction on the
brats of Babel! Lo! I see a sign in the lift--they are delivered
unto us, that we may dash them against the stones. On, on, and spare
not! smite and slay! death to the false prophets! death to the
soldiers of the idolatrous James!"
"I, the Islay Herald-at-Arms----"
"Haud your d--d yammering!" cried Captain Graham, of the trained
bands, interrupting in turn; "close up, my trained men! come on, my
buirdly Baxters, and couthie craftsmen--advance pikes--musqueteers,
blow matches--give fire!"
"Give fire!" re-echoed the deep voice of Wallace within the groined
portal. A loud discharge of musquetry took place, and the bullets of
the mob rattled like a hailstorm against the walls, or whistled
through the archway of the porch.
Three soldiers fell dead, but nearly forty of the rabble were shot,
for every bullet fired by the "Brats of Babel" killed at second hand.
Still they pressed forward with undiminished courage, and assailed
the three gates of the palace at once, and pressing close to the bars
of the portal, fired their musquets and pistols through with deadly
precision on the little band within. Here Wallace commanded in
person, with a bravery worthy of his immortal name, and encouraged by
his animated exhortations, his gallant few, though falling fast on
every hand, stood firm, with a resolution to die, but never surrender.
Walter Fenton and Finland commanded each about twenty musqueteers at
the lesser gates, which the insurrectionists assailed pell-mell with
hammers and pickaxes, and as nothing but a cruel death could be
expected if this mob of infuriated madmen obtained entrance, the poor
soldiers fought as much for their lives as for honour and protection
of the palace and chapel royal. From a platform of planks and
furniture, overlooking the south back of the Canon-gate, Walter's
party poured a fire upon the mob with deadly effect; the palace wall
was high, the gate strong and well secured, so they hurled ponderous
stones and swung hammers against its solid front in vain.
So it fared with Finland, who defended the northern doorway of the
royal gardens near a little turretted edifice called Queen Mary's
Bath. This experienced soldier had speedily made four loop-holes
through the strong wall, and the rioters, as they approached the
gate, were shot down in such rapid succession that an appalling pile
of dead and dying lay before it, forming a barrier so hideous, that
their companions began to recoil in dismay, and poured a storm of
bullets and abuse from a distance.
The blaze from the Abbey hill illuminated the whole garden, and the
dark buttresses, the square tower, the deep-ribbed doorway, and tall
lancet windows of the beautiful church of the Sancta Crucis were all
bathed in a blood-red hue by the flaring sheets of flame that
ascended from the burning houses.
"St. Bride speed you, my gallant Douglas!" cried Wallace, who,
anxious for the maintenance of his post, made a hurried round of the
walls. "Art keeping the knaves in check?"
"Let the deed show," replied Finland. "By my faith! their dead are
lying chin deep without the barrier. 'Twas a brave stroke in tactics
this enfilade of the approach; and the flames of yonder great mansion
enable my bold hearts to aim with notable precision."
"'Tis the noble lodging of the Great Chancellor," rejoined Wallace,
turning his flushed face towards the ruddy glow; "and I grieve deeply
that many noble dames of the first quality are likely perishing amid
yonder flames; however, death is preferable to dishonour at the hands
of fanatical clowns. This day they dragged my sister through the
streets ..... and in open day--my God!" He ground his teeth and
smote his breast.
"Malediction!" exclaimed Finland; "can we not succour them?"
"Impossible," replied the other, resuming his military nonchalance.
"I cannot spare a man. Bonnie blackeyed Maud, of Madertie, and Merry
Annie, of Maxwelton, are both yonder; this morning they fled to the
house of Perth. God sain them both--now I must see how fares young
Fenton." He hurried away, leaving Finland transfixed by what he had
revealed.
"Follow me, some of ye," he exclaimed; "let six maintain the post.
Come on, gallants--we will save these noble dames or die."
His party had now been reduced to twelve, but forgetful of everything
save the probable danger of Annie, he rushed through the garden
followed by six soldiers armed with pikes, and leaving the precincts
of the palace by a secret doorway near the old royal vault, hurried
through the narrow suburb of Croft-an-Righ, and felt his heart leap
as the hot glow of the burning houses was blown upon his cheek, and
the sparks fell like red hail around him. The roar of voices and of
musquetry still continued around the palace with unabated vigour; but
here the mob lay generally wallowing in the liquor that flowed along
the street, or were busy in revelling around piles of wine flasks,
runlets of wine, and barrels of ale, or hurrying away with whatever
plunder they had saved from the fast-spreading conflagration.
The house of the chancellor, a lofty edifice, with turrets at the
angles, steep roofs, and great stacks of chimneys, stood a little way
back from the street, with a row of tall Dutch poplars before it; but
these were now blackened and scorched by the forky flames that rolled
in volumes from the windows, and clambered over the sinking roofs.
The smoke ascended into the clear air in one vast shadowy pillar, and
showers of sparks were thrown as from the crater of a volcano. Not
one of the inmates was visible, for every window was full of flame,
and Finland felt distraction in his mind as he gazed upon the blazing
house; but suddenly several females appeared upon the stone gutters
and upper bartizan, waving their handkerchiefs and crying in piteous
accents for mercy and for succour; but they were unheeded by the mob,
or, if heard, only treated with derision.
"A ladder, a ladder!" exclaimed Finland, whose arms and attire were
so much disfigured by smoke and dust, that he seemed in no way
different from the other armed citizens that thronged the streets.
"Death and confusion! a hundred bonnet pieces for a ladder; my brave
friends, my good comrades, your pikes--truss them into a ladder. Ere
now I've led an escalade of such a turnpike. Bravo, my bold hearts!"
and with the silent precision of practised campaigners, the soldiers
with their scarfs trussed or tied their six pikes into the form of a
scaling ladder. In a moment it was placed against the wall. "Guard
the passage," cried Finland, as he disappeared through one of the
upper windows.
The heat and smoke were so great that he could scarcely breathe; for
the old mansion being all wainscotted, burned like a ship, and
ancient paintings, costly hangings, carpets, furniture, books, and
all the magnificent household of the great chancellor was crumbling
to ashes beneath the relentless flame.
The hot conflagration often drove Finland back, and made his very
brains whirl; but he found other passages, across the yielding
floors, and ascending from story to story, at last felt gratefully
the cooler air upon his flushed and scorched face as he stepped upon
the flame-lighted bartizan, and Annie, with a wild hysterical laugh,
threw herself into his arms and immediately swooned.
"Your hand, Lady Madertie--away, away!" cried he; "we have not a
moment to lose;" and bearing his burden like a child, he attempted to
descend the staircase; but lo! the forked flames shot up the spiral
descent and drove him back upon the platform, which was thirty feet
in height.
All retreat was cut off.
Annie was insensible, and Finland, as he leant against the parapet
and pressed her to his breast and felt the masses of her soft hair
blown against his face, became giddy with despair. At a little
distance Matilda of Madertie, a beautiful blonde, was kneeling before
her crucifix, and praying with all the happy fervour of a true
Catholic; her long dark hair was streaming over her shoulders. Near
her were several female servants, crouching against the parapet, and
who, exhausted by the energy of their shrieks, and the near approach
of death, lay in a kind of stupor, without motion, and seeming
scarcely to breathe. Finland thought only of Annie; but a glance
sufficed to show that their fate was sealed.
The whole of the lofty house beneath the turret where they stood was
an abyss of flames, and the glare, as they flashed upward and around
him, compelled him to close his eyes; and thus a prey to grief and
horror, he moved to and fro upon the toppling wall until the slate
roofs sank crashing into the flaming pit with a roar, and now one
vast sheet of broad red fire ascended into the air, making the
calcined walls that confined it rend and tremble; a shout came up
from the street below; the whole city, the hills and the sky seemed
to be on fire. The flames came closer to Finland; he felt their
scorching heat; the next seemed to sweep his cheek, and Annie's
waving locks and his own, that mingled with them, were burned away
together.
"Laird of Finland," cried a soldier from below, "the tree---the tree!"
"'Tis death at all events," replied the Cavalier, and quick as light,
with his long scarf, he bound the slender waist of Annie to his own,
and stretching from the wall, got into the lofty and strong poplar
tree, and began to descend slowly and laboriously. A shout burst
from the soldiers in the garden below.
"God receive us!" cried Maud of Madertie, holding up her crucifix to
heaven. At that moment the wall gave way beneath her, and she
disappeared for ever.....
Finland's desertion of his post proved ultimately fatal to the
defence of Holyrood, which by the efforts of Wallace, Walter Fenton,
and the church-militant, Dr. Joram, was protracted until eleven at
night. Then the soldiers of Finland, having been all shot down, a
party of the Trained Bands, led by Captain Grahame, broke down the
gate with sledge-hammers, and then the armed mob, roused to an
indescribable pitch of frenzy and ferocity by the liquors they had
imbibed, the resistance and slaughter, and the exhortations of the
religious maniacs who led them, crowded like a hell disgorged into
the outer court and inner quadrangle of the palace.
Taken thus in flank, the soldiers of Wallace were almost immediately
destroyed. That brave cavalier was hewn down, his body was hacked to
pieces, his entrails torn out and cast into the air. Many of his
soldiers who surrendered were shot in cold blood, and all the wounded
perished. Walter Fenton, gathering a few of the survivors upon his
platform, still continued to fire upon the sea of madmen that swarmed
around them.
Conspicuous among his followers, upon his prancing Galloway cob,
towered the tall and ghastly figure of Mr. Ichabod Bummel; and,
urging the work of death, he sent his powerful voice before him
wherever he went.
"No quarter to the birds of Belial!--smite them both hip and thigh.
On, ye chosen of Israel, who now, in the good fight of faith, shall
extirpate the heathen, sent forth even as the Jews were of old."
"Pick me down yonder villain!" cried Fenton to his soldiers; and
bullet after bullet whistled past the head of the preacher, but he
seemed to bear a charmed life, and escaped them all.
"On, on to the good work, and prosper!" he cried. "Smite and slay!
smite and slay! lest the curses that befel Saul for sparing the
Amalekites fall upon ye."
Thus urged, the people hewed the soldiers limb from limb, and the
bodies of the dead shared the same fate. Seeing all lost, Walter and
Dr. Joram had torn the cavalier plumes from their hats, and leaped
upon their horses, hoping to cut their way through the press, or
escape unknown. But, alas! Joram was recognised by the terrible
Ichabod, who, urging his Galloway towards him, brandished his sword,
and exclaimed with stentorian lungs--
"'Tis a priest of Baal, and this night will I send him howling to his
false gods! Come on, Jonadab Joram, thou wolf in sheep's clothing."
"Approach, thou d--ned, round-headed, prick-eared, covenanting, and
rebellious rapscallion!" cried the Doctor in great wrath, urging his
horse towards his clerical antagonist; but the crowd was great
between them, and they were enabled to glare at and menace and
bespatter each other with scriptural abuse and very hard names for
some time before they came within sword's point; for they were both
intoxicated, the one with brandy, and the other with an enthusiasm
that bordered on insanity. "Come on, thou villanous whigamore,"
cried Joram, flourishing his long rapier; "thy glory and thee shall
depart to the devil together!"
"Out upon thee, and the bloody papistical Duke whom thou servest, and
hast blasphemously prayed for; but the curse that fell upon Jeroboam
hath already fallen upon him--he shall die without a son, and be the
last of his persecuting race, despite the brat in the warming pan."
"On thy carcase, foul kite, will I avenge this treason against the
Lord's anointed!" replied Joram, spurring his horse.
"Thou fool!" shrieked Ichabod, with a hollow laugh; "was that
accursed tyrant who fiddled while Rome blazed beneath him the
anointed of the Lord?"
"Have at thee, trumpeter of treason!"
"Caitiff and firebrand of hell, at last I have thee!" and their
swords flashed as they fell upon each other like two mad bulls. The
superior strength and skill of the cavalier chaplain quite failed him
before the ferocious enthusiasm of the Presbyterian, whose long
broadsword, swayed by both hands, was twice driven through his body
at the first onset.
"King and High Kirk for ever!" cried poor Joram, as he fell forward
with the blood gushing from his mouth; but, still unsatisfied,
Ichabod seized him as he sank down, writhing one hand in his hair,
and throwing the body across his saddle-bow, he slashed off the head,
and held it aloft, a grinning and dripping trophy.
"Behold," he exclaimed in an unearthly voice, "behold the head of
Holofernes!"
All was over now. Walter gave a hurried glance around him. The
palace was being sacked by the rabble, who carried off all they could
lay their hands upon; but it was upon the beautiful chapel, that
venerable monument of ancient art and David's pious zeal, that the
whole tide of popular fury was poured. In five minutes it was
completely devastated. The tall windows, with their rich tracery and
stained glass, were destroyed; the magnificent tombs of marble and
brass, the grand organ, the altar with its burning candles and great
silver crucifix, the rich oak stalls of the Thistle, with the swords,
helmets, and banners of the twelve knights,--were all torn down, and
the beautifully variegated pavement was stripped from the floor.
All the wood and ornamental work, the pictures, reliques, furniture,
vestments, &c., were piled in front of the palace, and committed to
the flames amid the yells of the populace, whose cries seemed to rend
the very welkin. Dashing spurs into his horse, Walter gave him the
reins, and sweeping his sword around him, right, left, front and
rear, he broke through the crowd, and, followed by a score of
bullets, galloped up the Canongate and escaped,--the sole survivor of
that night's slaughter at Holyrood.