The author of "Bothwell," and many other romantic tales, was a
Scotsman by birth, parentage, and perfervid sentiment. He was
born at Edinburgh on August 1, 1822. His father was a
distinguished Highland officer; by his mother he was related
to his illustrious literary exemplar, Sir Walter Scott. He was
only twenty-three years of age when "The Romance of War" made
him one of the most famous authors of his day. Other tales
quickly followed, including, in 1853, "Bothwell, or The Days
of Mary Queen of Scots," and it seemed as if readers could
not have too much of the lively adventure and vigorous
historical portraiture to which Grant unfailingly treated
them. Altogether he wrote more than fifty novels, many of them
involving considerable research. Grant outlived his
popularity; the public sought new writers, and when he died,
on May 5, 1887, he was penniless. For fertility of incident,
rapid change of scene, and skilful intermingling of historical
with imaginary people and events, "Bothwell" is not surpassed
by any of the romances that came from its author's fertile
pen.
_I.--Anna of Bergen_
Erick Rosenkrantz, Governor of Aggerhuis, in Norway, and castellan of
Bergen, stood in the hall of his castle to welcome noble guests. It was
a bleak and stormy day in September of 1565. Ill, indeed, would it have
fared with the newcomers had not Konrad of the Salzberg, the young
captain of the crossbowmen of Bergen, ventured forth on the raging sea
at the peril of his life, and piloted their vessel into safety.
The first of these was a tall and handsome man, about thirty years old,
with a peculiar, dare-devil expression in his deep, dark eye, richly
attired, and wearing a long sword and Scottish dagger. His companion,
who deferentially remained a few paces behind, was a man of gigantic
stature, swarthy and dark in complexion, with fierce and restless eyes.
"Sir Erick," began the chamberlain, "allow me to introduce Sir James
Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, a noble peer, ambassador from Mary Queen of
Scots to his Danish majesty."
"We thank you for your gracious hospitality, fair sir," said Bothwell,
with a profound courtesy; then, turning to Konrad, "And now, brave
youth, by whose valour we have been saved, let me thank _you_."
He warmly shook Konrad's hand, while the youth tried to catch the eye of
Anna, the governor's fair-haired and lovely niece. But Anna was too
intently regarding the strangers.
Suddenly Bothwell perceived her; his colour heightened, his eyes
sparkled.
"Anna--Lady Anna," he exclaimed, "art _thou_ here? When we parted at the
palace of King Frederick, I feared it was to meet no more."
"Thou seest, my lord," she replied gaily, "that fate never meant to
separate us altogether."
It was Bothwell who sat by Anna's side at the banquet, not Konrad, her
lover from childhood. Konrad was displaced and slighted; he left the
hall with a heart full of jealous and bitter thoughts.
"Dost thou not see the hand of fate in this meeting with Anna?" said
Bothwell, when retiring, to his gigantic companion, Black Hob of
Ormiston, the most merciless and ferocious of border barons.
"Nay," said Hob; "I perceive only the finger of mischief!"
"I own to thee," replied the earl, "that all my old passion is revived
in full force. My whole heart and soul are hers," he went on
passionately.
"Remember your solemn plight to the Lady Jane Gordon. If that be broken,
our doleful case will be worse than ever." For Bothwell was no
ambassador, but an exile; and his real mission to King Frederick was in
pursuit of a design to hand over the northern Scottish isles to Denmark,
and become viceroy of them.
"Hob, be not insolent," retorted Bothwell. "I love her a thousand times
more than Huntly's sickly sister."
It was always thus with this reckless noble--the passion of the moment
was ever too strong for past pledges and future policy. While waiting at
Bergen for the ship to be repaired, he wooed Anna with all the skill of
an accomplished man of pleasure.
Anna's heart was ready to be won, and it was not long ere Bothwell,
having gained her love, asked Governor Rosenkrantz for her hand. To his
mortification, he was refused. Anna, said the governor, had long been
pledged to Konrad.
But Konrad, meanwhile, was in despair. Anna no longer smiled upon him;
he was lightly cast aside to make way for a more favoured lover. One
evening he was missing. A day and a night passed, and Konrad was nowhere
to be seen. Search for him was useless--he had disappeared.
Two letters were brought to Bothwell by a king's messenger. One was from
King Frederick, commanding him to desist from his mock embassy, and
instantly leave the Danish seas; the other, from the Earl of Huntly,
told him that his enemies in Scotland were banished, and his forfeiture
reversed.
Bothwell's thoughts instantly turned to Anna. He knew that she would not
accompany him unless he married her, and policy now more than ever
required that he should keep his troth to the sister of his friend, the
Earl of Huntly. Then there occurred to him the sinister thought of a
mock marriage.
His actions were quick, and his persuasions, to the love-sick Anna,
irresistible. That evening the two were wedded by a crazy hermit who
dwelt among the rocks of the fjord, and Anna, without a word of farewell
to her kin, left her native land, it might be for ever.
A stormy voyage brought the ship to Westeray, in Shetland. Bothwell
escorted Anna to the castle of Noltland; and as she landed at the pier,
a young man sprang forward and helped her across the plank. She felt
agitated, she knew not why; she looked at the man's face, but it was
concealed. It was Konrad. He had fallen over a cliff, had been carried
out to sea on a plank, had been picked up by a ship which had carried
him to Shetland, and had taken service with the castellan of Noltland.
The unexpected sight of Anna brought back his emotions to their
starting-point, and recalled the poignancy of the hour in which he had
realised that he had lost her.
_II.--Bothwell Castle_
"I have resolved!" exclaimed the earl, on the morning after their
arrival at Noltland. "I would be worse than mad to forego the prospect
of power by marring my union with the sister of Huntly."
"Cock and pie! now thou speakest like a man of mettle!" growled Hob.
"Anna is not my first love," mused the earl. "Have I not felt how feeble
have been my sentiments for Anna, for Jane of Huntly, for all who have
succeeded her whom I met in France long ago?"
"Then thou wilt sail----"
"Yes, like Æneas, leaving my Dido behind me."
With a pretence of the love he felt no longer, Bothwell bade Anna
farewell, and left her to doubts which, as the months went on and his
promise to return was not fulfilled, gradually rose to despair.
During the decline of a spring evening, as Anna wandered dejectedly on
the battlements, Konrad stood before her for the first time since her
arrival at Noltland.
"Konrad," she faltered, "thou here!"
"Anna--dear Anna!" exclaimed the unhappy young man. "I have tidings to
tell thee. The false lord of Bothwell hath been espoused to the sister
of Huntly!"
"And I--" gasped Anna.
"Thou art a captive for life in this island castle!"
Anna would have fallen backwards had Konrad not sprung to her
assistance.
"Listen," he said, in a low voice. "If thou wouldst escape, an hour will
set thee free."
"Yes, land me once in Scotland, and I will make my way to Bothwell."
That night Anna was on a Norwegian vessel bound for Glasgow, and Konrad
was with her. She could not, he knew, be his bride, but he could at
least protect and cherish her, and strive to redress the wrongs she had
suffered.
A storm was gathering above the lovely valley of the Clyde one June
evening as two strangers--a man and a woman--plodded wearily towards
Bothwell Castle. The woman became wholly exhausted; the man laid her
gently down in shelter among the ruins of Blantyre Priory, and went on
his errand alone. The storm had now burst, and the river was rising
rapidly; but Konrad--for it was he--plunged into the raging waters, and
strove to swim across. The current was too strong for him; he clung to
an ash tree that projected over the stream, and was nearly exhausted
when a man on the bank flung down his mantle and poniard, plunged in,
and dragged him to the shore.
Konrad, almost senseless, was carried within the castle. When he had
revived and was dressed in dry garments, he was brought before his
rescuer--it was Bothwell himself.
"I thank thee," said Konrad proudly, "for saving my life."
"Thou didst save mine. We are now equal," replied the earl.
"'Tis well! I would not be _thy_ debtor for all the silver in the mines
of Bergen! Lord of Bothwell, I tell thee in thine own hall that thou art
a dishonoured villain!"
"Thou art stark mad!" cried the earl. Then he went on, "Konrad, I have
wronged thee deeply. In my youth I loved one who neglected me as cruelly
as thou hast been neglected, and since then a mischievous spirit of
vengeance, as it were, has led me to make women my playthings, to be won
and thrown aside. I love thy spirit, Konrad. If I could be thy friend----"
"Never!" cried Konrad. "I come not for friendship, but for justice to
Anna! Hast thou not wedded another after thine espousal of her?"
"Dost thou deem the mock blessing of yon mad hermit a spousal rite?"
exclaimed the earl, laughing.
Konrad repressed his passion.
"I go to push my fortune with your turbulent border chiefs; and if, in
the strife that will soon convulse this land, thou meetest Konrad of
Salzberg, look well to thyself!"
"Go thy way, and God be with thee!" replied the earl. "Thou art the
first who hath bent a dark brow on a lord of Bothwell under his own
roof-tree."
Konrad returned to Anna, and in the ruined priory told her how Bothwell
was false to her. Anna's grief was dreadful to behold.
"Anna," said Konrad, after a pause, "Scotland hath a queen whose
goodness of heart is revered in every land save her own."
"True; and at her feet will I pour forth my sorrow and my tears
together."
So the two traversed the thickets around the priory, and reached the
broad highway, which was to lead them at length to Edinburgh.
_III.--Mary Queen of Scots_
But it was long ere Anna looked upon the face of the queen. At the Red
Lion Inn in Edinburgh her beauty struck the eye of the Earl of Morton,
the factious, proud, and ferocious associate of Moray in all the dark
intrigues of that craftiest of Scottish statesmen. Morton promised that
Anna should be entrusted to a lady of fair repute, and soon presented to
the queen. Konrad trusted him, little knowing that the repute of Dame
Alison Craig, Anna's new guardian, was anything but fair, and set forth
for the Border.
It was to Sir John Elliot of Park that he offered the service of his
sword, for it was against this turbulent borderer, who had just raided
Northumberland, and threatened the peace of the two kingdoms, that
Bothwell was advancing with the army of Queen Mary. Now garrisoning some
solitary peel-tower, now hiding in some unfathomed cavern, now issuing
with uplifted lance from the haggs of some deep moss, Konrad engaged
with ardour in every desperate foray, and his daring made him the idol
of the wild spirits around him. In every deed of arms one thought was in
his mind--to come within a lance-length of Bothwell.
Long and fierce was the struggle, but it ended as a fight so unequal was
bound to end. John of Park was slain, refusing with his dying breath to
surrender, and Konrad was carried, a half-senseless captive to
Bothwell's castle of Hermitage. Even then the earl spared his life. He
lay in a hideous den, in pitch darkness and dead silence broken only by
the splash of drops of fetid water that fell from the slimy arch of the
vault.
No token reached him of what was happening above; and an event happened
there that had vast influence on Bothwell's future. Across the hills to
Hermitage rode the Queen of Scots herself. The sight of her stirred in
Bothwell's heart an emotion he had never wholly conquered, for she, Mary
herself, was his first love of the bygone days in France. He had begun
to realise that he loved her still; he knew the coldness of her
relations with the dissolute and unfaithful Darnley, her husband; now
she had come to Hermitage.
"Jesu Maria!" cried the queen, as Bothwell, with beating heart, paused
in the conversation. "Have you lost your tongue?"
"Nay, madame--my heart."
"That is very serious; but search for another."
"I want no other," replied the earl, in a trembling voice, "but
_thine_!"
"Lord Bothwell," she said, with a hauteur that froze her admirer, "thou
art in a dream."
"Pardon me, I pray you--"
"I do pardon thee," replied the queen, with a calm smile; but added,
significantly, "I think 'tis time I was riding from Hermitage."
So ended the famous visit to Hermitage, which was interpreted throughout
Scotland as a token of Mary's love for her favourite earl.
Konrad, a month afterwards, was sent to Edinburgh and confined in the
old tower of Holyrood, awaiting trial as a Border outlaw. Bothwell
himself soon followed, and celebrated his return by a wild revel in
company with Hob of Ormiston and other choice spirits.
As the revellers wandered through the narrow streets at midnight,
seeking a quarrel, they passed the house of Dame Alison Craig.
"My page tells me," said Bothwell, "there is a famous foreign beauty
concealed there. Ho! within!"
A stoup of water, poured on them from an upper window, was the answer.
They broke open the door, and forced the shrieking dame to lead them to
the apartment where the foreign beauty was hidden.
"Death and confusion!" muttered the earl when he saw who was within.
"Cock and pie!" said Ormiston. "We have started the wrong game."
Hastily they thrust back their companions. But Anna had recognised him.
When Morton had made advances towards her, she had repulsed him
scornfully, telling him she was the Countess of Bothwell. Morton had
seized on this opportunity of injuring a man he hated, and resolved to
bring Anna before the queen. Bothwell now knew the danger before him,
and prepared for it.
Next day, as the queen sat with her grim lords in council, Morton led in
Anna.
"I have the pleasure," said he, "to present a lady who accuseth the Earl
of Bothwell of wedding and ignobly deserting her."
"'Tis false, Lord Earl!" cried Bothwell.
"Oh, madam, hear my story, and condemn me not unheard," pleaded Anna.
"Let her speak for herself," said Mary.
Thus encouraged, Anna, in moving accents, told her story.
"A meloncholy tale, in sooth," said Mary; "but what proof is there?"
"Your majesty," said Bothwell, "this is the invention of some unknown
enemy"--he glanced at Morton--"to deprive me of your royal favour. Let
this frantic damsel be removed to a Danish vessel now at Leith, and
conveyed to her home."
"Well, so be it!" replied the facile queen.
Anna drew herself up to her full height.
"Farewell, Bothwell," she cried. "In that dark time of ruin and regret
that is coming upon thee, remember Anna!"
And as she spoke they hurried her away.
Bothwell henceforth was more than ever in the queen's favour. Only the
life of Darnley intervened between him and the goal of his love and
ambition; and the sinister promptings of Ormiston suggested that even
that obstacle was not irremovable.
_IV.--The Kirk of Field_
On a dark winter night a conference of nobles was held at Whittinghame.
Mary had been asked to divorce her husband, and had proudly and
indignantly refused. Only one way remained. A solemn bond was drawn up
among the assembled nobles, and the bond sealed the fate of Darnley. It
was not without doubt and shrinking that Bothwell saw whither his
schemes were leading him, but he would not, he could not, turn back.
It was at Ormiston's suggestion that Konrad was employed as an
unconscious tool in the affair. Ormiston hinted that with a little
adroitness the whole blame might be laid on the unhappy prisoner. Konrad
accordingly, on the night when the deed was to be done, was awakened
from a reverie in his cell at Holyrood by the entry of a tall, masked
figure.
"If thou wouldst attain liberty, follow me!" said Ormiston, for it was
he.
He put a sword in Konrad's hand. Konrad as he grasped the weapon, felt
his spirits rise again, and he followed.
Presently they came to a group of masked men, and silently the party
went through a private door in the city walls. Their destination, though
Konrad knew it not, was the lonely house of the Kirk of Field, where
Darnley was lying slowly recovering from small-pox--an illness through
which the queen, forgetting her wrongs at his hands, had tenderly nursed
him.
Konrad, arrived at the house, helped to unload a horse of heavy packages
which he conjectured to contain plunder; but it was gunpowder that he
unwittingly handled.
Suddenly a piercing cry came from above. A moment later the startled
Konrad perceived Bothwell, his mask awry, his eyes glazed and haggard.
"Thou hast done well!" said Ormiston grimly.
"Well! My God!" groaned the earl.
"Away while I fire the train!" shouted Ormiston.
Like a fiery serpent the train glowed along the ground. Then, red and
lurid in the shadowy night, there flashed a volume of dazzling light;
then came a roar as if the earth was splitting.
Konrad fled in bewildered terror, and wandered about the outskirts of
the city until, in a little ruined chapel on the verge of a moor, he lay
down exhausted and fell asleep.
In the morning he was awakened by a rough grasp on his shoulder.
"We have meshed one of the knaves at least," said a stern voice. Konrad
found himself amidst knights and men-at-arms, and he was led back to the
city.
The citizens were in arms, furious at the outrage of the night before.
The appearance of a suspected murderer aroused their passion to the
utmost; Konrad's escort was overpowered and thrust aside. "Awa' wi' him
to the Papist's pillar!" cried a voice. Down they went with him to the
North Loch, and tied him there to an oaken stake about five feet deep in
the water--a spot where many a luckless Catholic had perished. The mob
retired, and Konrad was left alone, helpless, and to die.
Bothwell sat by the fire in his apartments at Holyrood, with knit brows
and muttering lips; the word he muttered was, "Murderer." The shriek of
the man whose death-blow he had struck still echoed in his ears.
Presently there entered the room one of his followers, Hepburn of
Bolton.
"The Norwegian hath been bound to the Papist's pillar," said he; "and by
this time he must be dead, for it rains heavily, and the loch fills
fast."
"One other life!" said the earl gloomily. "By heaven, Bolton! if I can
save him--come!"
In the darkness and the rain, with the water rising around him, Konrad
waited for death. A sound of oars roused him from the stupefaction into
which he had fallen. "Here, here! His head is above water still," said a
voice. The bonds were cut, Konrad was dragged into the boat and taken to
land, and offered a draught that revived him.
"Here we part," said the voice. "Give him dry garments, and take him to
the Norwegian vessel, and bid him cross my path no more!"
"Who art thou?" asked Konrad feebly.
"Thy greatest enemy, James, Earl of Bothwell!"
Slowly Konrad mounted the horse that had been brought for him, and with
difficulty he rode; but the morning saw him on board a vessel of Bergen,
in the hands of countrymen and friends.
Bothwell was tried for the murder of Darnley, and triumphantly
acquitted. He procured the secret assent of the nobles to his marriage
with Mary; he divorced the Countess Jane; one more vigorous action, and
the goal would be attained.
On an April day, as Mary rode along the Stirling road towards Edinburgh,
her way was barred by a thousand armed horsemen in close array; and
Bothwell, riding up, requested that she should accompany him to his
castle of Dunbar. It was useless to resist. Once in the castle, Bothwell
offered her his hand, and was proudly refused.
"Lord Earl," cried Mary, "thou mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!"
"Madame," he replied, "thou shalt never leave Dunbar but as the bride of
Bothwell!"
In May, Mary and Bothwell were married. A month later Bothwell fled
before the wrath of an outraged nation, never to see Mary again; and
within a week of their parting he roamed a pirate on the northern seas.
_V.--Nemesis_
A large Danish war vessel approached the port of Bergen, with prisoners
to hand over to the castellan--the new castellan, for old Erick
Rosenkrantz was dead. Chief of the captives was Bothwell, nonchalant but
melancholy, pale, and more thoughtful than formerly; still, in pleasure
and in sorrow, was he haunted by the shriek of the dying Darnley.
Near him stood one who was not a captive, but a returning wanderer.
Konrad had again crossed the path of the earl; his vessel, long detained
in port, and afterwards delayed by storms, had been captured by the
Scottish pirate ship, and he had been rescued from this new misfortune
by the great Norwegian war vessel.
The prisoners were escorted to the hall of the castle, and Bothwell
assumed his most defiant look. The arras that concealed the daïs was
withdrawn, and Bothwell looked upon the face of the hereditary castellan
of Bergen, Anna Rosenkrantz!
On seeing the earl, she turned pale as death. The earl recovered
instantly from his surprise, and bowed smilingly.
"Well, madam," said he, "we foresaw not this meeting!"
"Dost thou know," replied Anna firmly, "that thy life and liberty are in
my power?"
"I am assured," he answered, "that they could not be in safer keeping."
"Regicide and betrayer," return Anna, with flashing eyes, "from this
hour thou shalt have meted out to thee the stern measures thou hast so
ruthlessly dealt to others. This man," she went on, turning to the
captain of the war ship, "is the king's prisoner; away with him to the
Castle of Kiobenhafen--be under sail before sunset!"
Red-bearded Danish bowmen crowded round the earl, who thus passed away
to the wretched captivity that ended only with his death, ten years
afterwards.
Konrad, unnoticed and uncared for, stood alone in the hall where he had
once been so welcome a guest. He had no intention of remaining in a
place where all was so changed; but ere he turned to leave it for ever
he paused a moment irresolutely. Once more the arras was withdrawn, and
Anna stood before him.
"I heard thou wert here, Konrad," she said, with a blushing cheek.
"Wouldst thou go without one word to me?"
She seated herself in the recess of a window. "I have long wished," she
faltered, "to see thee once more. I have now seen the worth and faith of
thy heart when contrasted with mine own, and I blush for my weakness--my
wickedness--my folly. Thou mayest deem this unwomanly--indelicate; but
in love we are equal, and why may not one make reparation as the other?"
"Anna," said Konrad, in a choking voice, "though my heart be soured and
saddened, my first sentiment for thee hath never altered. For all thou
hast made me endure I forgive thee, and I pray that thou mayest be
happy. Anna--dearest Anna--I am going far away, for I have doomed myself
to exile, but I still regard thee as a sister--as a friend. All is
forgotten and forgiven. And now, farewell!"
He felt the hand of Anna in his; another moment, and she sank upon his
breast.
"Oh, Konrad," she whispered, "if my heart is still prized by thee, it is
thine, as in the days of our first love."
And, borne away by his passion, the forgiving Konrad pressed the woman
he loved closer and closer to his breast.