proceeded to obey his directions. He came again back to the hall, and
folding his arms, walked to and fro, muttering to himself, stopping at
times, and raising his hand in a menacing attitude, as if he were
wholly engrossed by one feeling of revenge, and then resuming his musing
attitude. The duke, dressed, belted, and muffled up in a large
riding-cloak, again roused him from his reverie. They proceeded to the
courtyard, where the duke mounted, and Graham, taking the bridle into
his hand, took the horse away into a by-path that led to the hills.
After proceeding forward for about an hour in the dark, they observed a
small light glimmering in the distance, and coming apparently from the
window of some cottage. For this Graham made as directly as the
unevenness of the ground would permit; and in a short time they arrived
at the door of the small dwelling, from the window of which the beam of
light shot out amongst the darkness, suggesting the idea of life, and
probably some of its comforts (at least a fire), amidst the dead
stillness of a winter night in so dreary a situation.
At the door of this cottage, Graham rapped in a peculiar manner; and
without a word being spoken, it was opened by a young man clad in the
Highland garb. The two friends entered. The scene presented to them was
the ordinary appearance of a mountain hut in those days: a small fire of
peats burned in the middle of the apartment, and sent out the light
which, beaming through the small aperture in place of a window, had
attracted the eyes of the guests. In a corner, a small truckle-bed
stuffed with heather, part of which protruded at the side and end, and
covered with a coarse blanket or two, contained an old woman, with a
clear, active eye, which twinkled in the light of the fire, and moved
with great rapidity as she scanned narrowly the persons of the guests.
In another corner was the bed of the young Highlander, composed simply
of a collection of heather, and without blanket or covering of any kind.
The guests seated themselves on two coarse stools that stood by the
fire; holding their hands over the flame, to receive as much as
possible of the heat to thaw their limbs, which the freezing night air,
co-operating with their advanced years, had stiffened and benumbed.
While they were engaged in this preliminary but indispensable operation,
the young man, who appeared restless and confused, placed another stool
before the bed of the old woman, so that, when seated upon it, his back
would be supported by the side of the bed, and his face in some degree
concealed from the gaze of the guests, who, being on the other side of
the peat fire, could, through the ascending smoke, see him only
indistinctly and at intervals.
With the exception of a few words that had passed between the young
Highlander and Graham--and which, being in Gaelic, were not understood
by the royal duke, who, though formerly Lord of Brechin, and resident in
the north, had been too long in leaving the royal residence of his
father, Robert II., to acquire the language--there was nothing for some
time said. The guests continued their manual applications to the peat
fire, and the young Gael, who had for some time been seated on his
stool, threw himself occasionally back on the fore part of the bed, then
brought himself forward again, and at intervals muttered quickly some
words in Gaelic, accompanied with sounds of wonder and surprise, from
all which he suddenly relapsed into quietness and silence. While these
strange operations were going on, Graham directed the attention of the
duke to the uncouth actor, and whispered something in his ear which had
the effect of rousing him, and making him look anxiously through the
smoke, to get a better view of the strange gestures of the youth. The
old woman in the bed made, in the meantime, efforts as if she intended
to speak; but these were repressed by a sudden motion of the youth,
whose hand, slipped back, was applied as secretly as possible to her
mouth, and then, in a menacing attitude, clenched and shaken in her
face.
"Is your hour come yet, Allan?" said Graham, in a deep and serious
voice.
"He says no," answered the old woman, with a sharp, clear voice, from
the bed, translating the Gaelic response of the youth; "but he sees
signs o' an oncome."
"Is it to be a mute vision, Allan?" again said Graham; "or see you any
signs of a _taisch_?"
"He thinks," said the woman again, as translator, "he will see again the
face and feir o' a dead king, wha will speak wi' sobs and granes o' him
wha will come after him, and sit in the browden and burniest ha' o'
Scone's auld palace, whar he will be crowned."
Silence again succeeded the clear notes of the woman's voice; the young
man's movements and gestures recommenced; and the old duke's attention
was riveted by the strange proceedings which, to an absolute believer in
the powers of the seer, were fraught with intense interest. The
prophetic paroxysm seemed to approach more near: the body of the seer
was bent stiffly back, and leaned on the bed; his eyes were wide open,
and fixed upon a mental object; his hands were extended forth; his lips
were apart; and every gesture indicated that state of the mind when,
under the influence of a rapt vision, it takes from the body its nervous
energy, and leaves the limbs as if under the power of a trance.
He remained in this condition for fully five minutes; and then, throwing
his arms about, he cried out some quickly-uttered words in Gaelic, which
the old woman translated into--"It comes! it comes!" After a pause of a
few minutes, during which the most death-like silence prevailed
throughout the cottage, he began to move his hands slowly through the
air, from right to left, as if he were following the progress of a
passing creation of the mind; and, as he continued this movement, he
spoke, in a deep, tremulous voice, with a kind of mournful, singing
cadence, the Gaelic words, which were continually translated by the old
woman.
"There comes slowly, as if frae the womb o' a cloud o' mountain mist,
the seim o' a turreted abbey, wi' the tomb o' the Bruce and the
monuments o' other kings, amang which a new grave, wi' the moul o'
centuries o' rotten banes lying on its edge, and mixed wi' the skulls o'
dead kings, and arm-banes that ance bore the sceptre o' Scotland!--It is
gane!--the seim has vanished, and my eye is again darkened!"
A deep silence succeeded, and lasted for several minutes. The speaker's
hands again began to move from right to left, and slowly-uttered words
again came from his lips!
"The cloud throws back its misty faulds, and shows the wraith o' a
gowd-graithit bier, movin to the wast; the Scotch lion is on the lid,
and a shinin halbrik, owre whilk waves the royal pennon o' Scotland,
begirt wi' gowd, is carried afore, by the king-at-arms. A warlock, auld
and shrivelled, wi' a white beard, touches wi' his wand the coffin; the
lid lifts, and the head o' a king, wi' a leaden crown, rises frae the
bier! A _taisch_! a _taisch_!--hark! the lips o' the dead open and move,
and he speaks the weird that never deceives! '_Hail, Walter, King o' the
Scots!_'"
This extraordinary statement was accompanied by a kind of yell or
scream, that rung through the cottage, and pierced the ears of the
listeners. Silence again followed, and lasted several minutes, during
which the seer was quiet. The duke was apparently entranced, and Graham
looked wonder and surprise. The seer began again to move his hands, and
speak as before.
"The cloud throws back its misty faulds, and my eye follows the seim o'
the royal chair o' Scone, wherein sits" (a loud scream of surprise broke
from the seer) "Walter, Lord o' Brechin that was, Duke o' Athol that
is--King o' Scotland that will be!"
These words were no sooner uttered, than the duke started from the stool
on which he sat, and showed strong indications of surprise and
confusion. His belief in the predictions of a seer was, as was common in
that age, unbounded, and when he heard himself pronounced King o'
Scotland his mind, freed from all manner of scepticism or doubt,
reverted to the circumstance of the doubtful legitimacy of his
half-brothers; the aspirations and day-dreams he had so long indulged
seemed in an instant to have received the stamp of truth; the prospect
of having his ambition at last gratified, by wearing the crown which his
enemy now bore, inflamed his mind, and the coldness and lethargy of old
age seemed to have been supplanted by the fire and energy of youth.
"Is the vision complete?" said he to the old woman, as he saw the seer
gradually regaining his upright position, and resulting his natural
manner, like one who had come out of a fit.
"Ay," replied she. "Allan is himsel again; but, if ye are the Duke o'
Athol, as I tak ye to be, I could rede ye, before our reddin, never
mair, aiblins, to meet on this side o' time, something that wad make
your auld een glimmer through the smeik o' that ingle mair swith and
deftly than could a' the visions o' the seers o' Scotland."
Graham looked alarmed at this unexpected speech of the old woman; and
Allan, the seer, slipping gently his hand behind her back, stopped her
mouth, and produced silence. The duke and Graham left the cottage--the
latter exhibiting a wish that the former should not remain longer, after
the object was attained for which they had made their visit. They
returned in the same way they had come; and for some time the duke was
so much occupied with the thoughts of the extraordinary vision he had
got declared to him, that he rode forward, still led by Graham, without
uttering a word. The night was, if possible, darker than it was when
they left the castle; and the stillness of a lazy fall of snow reigned
among the hills, unbroken by a single sound, even of the night-birds.
"It is then ordained above," said the duke at last, in a low tone--"my
lot is already cast among the destinies, and all the dreams of a long
life are at last to be realised. I can scarcely believe that I have been
awake for this last hour; yet what can be more certain than that I am
now suffering the cold of these hills, a bodily feeling which dreams
cannot simulate? 'Walter, King of Scotland!' Ha! it sounds as well as
James--we are both the first of our name. It is tardy justice, but it is
justice accompanied by retribution; and when is the blood too thin and
cold to feed the fire of revenge? When do the pulses of the old heart
cease to quicken at the thought of a just retribution? When is the head
too bald to bear a crown lined with purple velvet? My spirits, frozen by
age and this cold night, are thawed by the fire of these visions of
vengeance, and dance in the wild array of youthful delight. Ha! he took
from me the fee of my dukedom, and gave me, because I was _old_, the
usufruct, the liferent: I shall now have the usufruct of a
_kingdom_--_his_ kingdom by courtesy, _mine_ by right. Hark, Graham! How
is this vision to be realised? The seer pointed to James's death--who is
to kill the tyrant?"
"I with this hand shall strike the blow," replied Graham. "My plans are
already laid, and I wanted only your cooperation and assistance; for
why, you know, should I be so improvident as to kill one king, until
another is ready to take his place?"
"I cannot speak lightly of this affair," said the duke, in check of
Graham's levity. "What are your plans? The fewer co-operators in a
conspiracy the better."
"I know it," replied Graham. "Your grandson, Sir Robert Stuart, whom
James has foolishly retained as chamberlain, while he has taken from him
his chance of succeeding you in your dukedom, waits for your command to
give us access to the royal chamber. The king is to celebrate the
Christmas holidays at the monastery of the Dominicans in Perth; he comes
to the point of our dagger, held by a hand nerved by a thousand wrongs,
to plunge it into his bosom. I can command the services of Sir John
Hall, and Christopher and Thomas Chambers, who cry for revenge for the
murder of their master Albany; three hundred caterans are at my service,
ready to do the work of death at my bidding; and all that was required
to complete my schemes was the consent of your grace, now happily
obtained, to the act which is to right you, to revenge you, to crown
you."
"If the king is to be at Perth," replied the duke, after a pause, "I
shall be at the revels of Christmas. My grandson Sir Robert, who, as
chamberlain, may be said to be the keeper of the king, can let your
three hundred caterans into the monastery, and the work may be finished
with a facility which seldom attends the execution of the purposes of
revenge."
"Your grace has anticipated my very thoughts and words," replied the
wily Graham. "Heaven aids the work of a just retribution on the head of
the tyrant. Mark the supernatural coincidences. When was the vision of
the seer presented to the living senses of the avenger of his own and
his country's wrongs--the executioner of a tyrant, and the successor who
is to occupy his throne--as if to urge him to his duty? When did the
groaning victims of royal cruelty get a chamberlain to turn for them the
key of the tyrant's sleeping room? And when were the suspicions of
remorse and guilt of the wrong-doer so opportunely lulled, as to give
room to a confidence which brings him to the dagger's point?"
"Walter, King of Scotland!" ejaculated the duke, who, during Graham's
speech, had been musing over the sudden change in his fortunes. "Ha!
how many acts shall I have to repeal! how many nobles to right! how many
wounds to bind up of my bleeding country! Graham, you shall be Earl of
Menteith, and your grand-nephew, Malise, shall have, instead of that
earldom, his own Strathearn. How my mind burns with the thoughts of
turning wrong into right, and taking the weight of the royal sceptre out
of the scales of justice!"
By this time, the pair had arrived again at the palace of Athol. Their
plans were completed: the duke retired to dream of his crown and
sceptre, and Graham returned to seek a heather bed, in his retreat,
beyond the reach of his enemies.
Some time after, he met Allan, the seer, whose surname was Mackay, among
the hills. The Gael had apparently gone in quest of his employer, and
seemed to have some important object to attain, by travelling so far as
he had done to meet him.
"I peg your honour's pardon," said the seer, as he came up to Graham;
"te katherans are to pe at te red stane in te howe o' te hills, on te
saxth. I hae seen a' te praw fallows, wha are as keen for te onset as te
eagles o' Shehallion. Ye will meet them, dootless, and keep up the fire
o' their pluid, pe te three grand powers--te speeches, te peat-reek, and
te pay. Hoo did I manage te duke? Te play was weel played, your honour,
though Allan Mackay pe te man who says it; and te mair's my credit, that
I never pefore acted to seer in presence o' te son o' a king. Ugh--ugh!
put it was a praw performance, and are that deserves to pe weel paid
for. Hoo muckle did your honour promise to gie me for my remuneration?
Te sum has clean escaped my memory."
"It was five merks, Allan," said Graham.
"I peg your pardon, your honour," said Allan. "It was shust exactly
seven; and little aneugh, seein I had my mither's mouth to keep close,
for fear she wad peach te secret to te duke, pesides te grand story o'
Dumferlin Appey, and te funeral, and te taisch, and te Palace o' Scone,
to invent and perform. King Shames's actors are petter paid for
performin his 'Peebles to te Play.' Maybe your honour can pay me te
seven merks shusht now?"
"I cannot quarrel with you, Allan," said Graham; "but our bargain was
five. Here's your own sum, however. Since that night, I have had
apprehensions about your mother's steadfastness. You must watch her, and
prevent her from going from home. Women have been the ruin of all plots,
since the beginning of the world."
"That was shust what I was to speak aboot, next after the payment, your
honour," said Allan. "She's awa owre the hills already, Cot knows whar."
"What!" cried Graham, in great agitation--"has she gone away without
your knowledge, and without telling you whither she was going?"
"That's shust the very thing I hae to inform ye o'," replied the
phlegmatic Gael. "Te last time I saw her was on Wednesday morning, when
she was warstlin wi' the winds that plaw ower te tap o' te hill o' Gary.
A glint o' te risin sun showed me her red cloak is it fluttered in te
plast, and, in a moment after, a' my powers o' the second sight couldna
discover her. But we've ae satisfaction; she's no awa to the duke. Put
maybe" (turning up his eye slyly) "she's awa to King Shames. I would
follow her, and pring her pack, put I require te seven merks I hae got
frae your honour for other necessary occasions, and purposes, and
necessities; and a pody canna travel in the Lowlands, whar there's nae
heather to sleep on, without pawpees."
"Death and fury!" cried the agitated Graham, "are all my long-meditated
schemes of revenge, are the concerted purposes for cutting off a tyrant
and righting a nation, to be counteracted by the wag of an old woman's
tongue? Allan" (lowering his voice), "you must after your mother--dog
her through hill and dale, highway and city vennel; seize her, by force
or guile; prevent her from seeking the presence of the king, or those
who may have the power of communicating with him; and get her back to
her cottage, on the peril of all our lives. Here's money for you"
(giving him a purse), "and here is a passport to the confidence of Sir
Robert Stuart, the king's chamberlain, one of our friends, who will
co-operate with you in preventing her from approaching the royal
presence."
"She's a Lowlander, your honour," said Allan, putting the money in his
pocket; "and maybe she's awa to see her praw freends o' the south, whar
she gaes ance a-year, shust about this time; put, to oplige, and favour,
and satisfy your honour, I'll awa doon te Strath o' te Tay; and, if I
dinna find her wi' her relations in Dundee, there may be some reason,
and occasion, and authority for your honour's apprehension, and for my
crossin te Tay and te Forth, to prevent her frae payin her respects to
Shames, whilk she wad think nae mair o' doin than o' speakin in te way
she did to te Duke o' Athol."
"Away--away, then!" cried Graham; "and remember that your head's at
stake as well as that of the best of us. So look to yourself."
Graham went away to an appointed place, where he was to meet Sir John
Hall, who was to accompany him to the meeting of the caterans, and Allan
went back to the cottage, and, taking out some necessaries, proceeded to
Strath Tay. He arrived at the town of Dundee next evening; and, having
ascertained that his mother had crossed over to Fife, had no doubt that
she was away to Edinburgh for the purpose of communicating to King James
what she knew of the conspiracy of the north. He therefore also crossed
the Tay, proceeded through Fife, and, after considerable delay,
produced by ineffectual inquiries after an old woman in a red cloak, he
arrived in Edinburgh on the third day after he had set out from his
cottage. He had procured no trace of his mother, and all his wanderings
and searchings through the Scottish metropolis were unavailing--he could
neither see nor hear of her; and he therefore resolved to wait upon Sir
Robert Stuart, to put him on his guard, lest she might, by her cunning,
escape also his notice, and get access to the king by means of some
subtle story told to the usher. He had no difficulty in getting access
to Sir Robert, who was, about that time, too much occupied with secret
messengers from the seat of the conspiracy in which he had engaged, to
hesitate an instant about consenting to see the Gael, who, he doubted
not, came from Sir Robert Graham, or his grandfather, the duke--both, he
knew, deeply engaged in the secret affair. Having been admitted, Allan,
as he walked up to the end of the apartment where Sir Robert was seated,
looked cautiously around; and, seeing no one near, assumed an attitude
and demeanour somewhat bolder, but still suited to the secresy of his
message.
"Has your honour seen an old woman in a red cloak, apoot te precincts o'
te king's residence?" said he, in a whispering tone, as he slipped
Graham's token--a piece of paper with ciphers on it--into Sir Robert's
hand.
"Sir Robert has himself written me about that beldam," said the
chamberlain. "She is in our secret, I understand--an extraordinary
instance of imprudence, which I must have explained to me. Meantime, the
danger must be averted. I have not seen her. Have you, sir?"
"No," answered Allan. "I wish I could get a climpse o' her. It's te very
thing I want. She would never see te face o' te king, if she ance
crossed my path--tamn her!"
"What would ye do with her?" inquired the chamberlain, eagerly. "I wish
we could get her out of the way. You know what I mean; a sum of money is
of no importance in comparison of security--real, absolute, undoubted
security--from this plague. You understand me?" And he touched his
sword, to make himself better understood.
"Understand ye!--ugh, ugh, your honour," cried the Gael, "there was nae
occasion for touchin te sword; your words are sharp aneugh for gettin to
my intellects. You mean" (whispering in the chamberlain's ear) "that for
a praw consideration and remuneration, I might kill te auld hag. Eh!
isn't that it, your honour?"
"Supposing, but not admitting, that that was my meaning," said the
chamberlain, cautiously, "what would you say to the proposition?"
"Say to't, your honour!" said Allan. "Ugh! ugh! Let your honour say te
word and pay te remuneration, and te auld harridan is dead twa hoors
after I get a climpse o' her. Of course" (looking knowingly into the
chamberlain's face), "your honour would protect me till I got to to
hills. Te work itsel is naething--an auld wife's easy kilt--it's no pe
tat te remuneration should be measured--it's pe te risk o' hangin. Was
it ten merks your honour said?"
"I did not mention any sum," said the chamberlain; "but you may have
twenty, if you relieve us of this fear in the manner you have yourself
mentioned."
"Ten in hand, I fancy," said the Gael--"word for word, your honour. If I
trust you ten merks, you may trust me te trifle o' killin an auld
wife--a mere pagatelle. I hae kilt twenty shust to please te Wolf o'
Padenoch's son, Duncan."
"But do you know the woman?" said the chamberlain.
"I think I do," answered Allan. "There pe nae fear o' a mistake; put, if
I should kill ae auld wife for anithor, whar's te harm? The right ane
can easily be kilt afterwards."
The importance of being entirely relieved from the danger that thus
impended over the heads of the conspirators was very apparent to Sir
Robert Stuart. He knew well the character of James: a hint was often
sufficient for him; and the statement of a woman, if it quadrated with
known facts and suspicions, would be believed; inquiry would follow; one
fact would lead to another, and the whole scheme be laid open. He
therefore eagerly closed with Allan's offer; the ten merks were paid;
and it was agreed upon that the murderer should receive his other ten
merks, as well as harbourage and protection, upon satisfying the
chamberlain that the deed was executed. Well pleased at having made so
easily a sum of considerable magnitude in those days, Allan went to look
for his mother--not, it may readily be conceived, for the purpose of
killing her, but simply with the view of getting her out of the way,
until the king had set off for Perth, which he understood he would do in
a few days.