looking at the novelties that presented themselves to his view, and
keeping a sharp eye for a red cloak. In this way he passed the time
until the grey of the twilight; when, as he sauntered along the foot of
the Calton Hill, he saw, lying in a sequestered spot, his aged parent,
wrapped up in her red cloak, and apparently in a sound sleep, into which
she had, in all likelihood, fallen, from the excessive fatigue to which
she had been exposed in her long journey to the metropolis. The
affection of the son produced only an involuntary sigh, and a musing
attitude of a few moments. He hastened to the residence of the
chamberlain; and, as he passed the door of a flesher who was killing
sheep, ran in, and, without saying a word, dipped his sword in the
blood, and then proceeded on his way. He got instant admittance to his
employer, who was sitting alone, occupied by the thoughts of the mighty
and dangerous enterprise on which he had entered. Slipping up to him,
with an air of great secresy, he stood before him.
"She's dead!" said Allan, looking into the face of Stuart, with an
expression of countenance in which triumph and cunning were strangely
blended.
"You are a most expeditious workman," replied the chamberlain; "but
where is the evidence of our being freed from this plague?"
"Will her heart's pluid satisfy ye?" replied Allan, holding up the sword
covered with the sheep's blood. "Waur evidence has hanged a shentleman
before noo. Ye'll pe ken there's twa kinds o' pluid in te human body--a
red and a plack: te ane comes frae flesh wounds o' te skean dhu, when
it's bashfu, and winna gang far ben; and te other follows te plow o' te
determined dirk, when it seeks te habitation o' life in te heart itsel.
Does yer honour ken te difference? What say ye to that?" showing him the
sword. "I'm sure ye never saw ponnier plack pluid i' te heart o' a
courtier o' King Shames."
"You are getting ironical in your probation," said the chamberlain. "I'm
no judge of the difference of veinous and arterial blood; but, if I
were, how am I to be satisfied that this is the life stream of the old
woman?"
"Nae other auld plack teevel could hae kept it sae lang in her gizzard,"
replied the Gael. "Put there pe mair evidence. An honest man's like
gowd--he rejoices in te fiery furnace. I'll show ye te pody o' te
treacherous hag hersel, wha would hae sent us a' to te head o' her clan,
Satan, if I hadna peen beforehand wi' her. She lies on te Calton yonder,
as quietly as if she were in the Greyfriars; and if your honour will
accompany me, ye may satisfy yersel o' te absolute truth and verity o'
my statement."
"The dead body cannot be long there," answered Sir Robert, "without
being discovered; and by approaching the spot we may subject ourselves
to suspicion, especially if you were previously seen hounding about the
place."
"Ugh! ugh! Is that a' your honour kens o' a Gael's prudence?" replied
Allan. "Think ye I wanted to let your Edinburghers see how neatly we
Gaels can strike pelow te fifth rib? Na! I was working for te ten merks,
and te salvation o' mysel, your honour, and Sir Robert Graham; and if te
auld witch hersel wasna inclined to spake o' te affair, it didna pecome
me to say a single word. She took it as quietly and decently as I'll
receive te ten merks (and whatever mair my expedition merits) frae te
hands o' yer honour. Put te night's fa'in, and there's nae danger in
lookin at te pody o' a dead wife. Come, your honour, and trust to me for
your guide."
The chamberlain, pleased with the issue of his negotiation, was
notwithstanding fully aware of the danger to which he was exposed by his
connection with the murderer. He hesitated about examining the evidence
of the murder; but how otherwise could he have any faith in the
statement of the Highlander? And his peace of mind, as well as the
safety of his colleagues, would repay the slight risk he ran in taking a
cursory view of the body of the murdered woman. He resolved, therefore,
on accompanying Allan to the spot; and having requested the Gael to go
before, he secretly followed him, until he saw his guide stop, and point
with his finger to the spot where his mother lay. Still under an alarm,
which the increasing gloom might have in some measure allayed, he walked
irresolutely forward, and having seen the body of the woman wrapped up
in the red cloak lying extended on the ground, he had not the slightest
doubt that she was dead, having been killed by the stern Gael. He
instantly retreated; and having waited for the approach of Allan, paid
him twenty merks (being ten in addition), and requested him to fly with
all expedition to the Highlands. Allan received the money, counting it
with a nonchalance which surprised the chamberlain, and bidding him
good-night, walked away to waken his mother, and take her to a warm bed,
while the other went home, delighted that this great danger had been so
easily averted.
Some days afterwards, the king and queen set out for Perth--Sir Robert
Stuart, now freed from all alarm, having preceded them, for the purpose
of making the necessary preparations at Dundee for the reception of his
royal master and mistress, and for their journey along the north bank of
the Tay to Perth. The royal party arrived at Leith about twelve o'clock
of the day, for the purpose of embarking in a yacht, which was to carry
them across the Forth. A large assemblage of people was present,
collected from Edinburgh and Leith, to see the embarkation; among whom,
the courtiers, dressed in their gay robes, were conspicuous, as well
from their dresses as the air of authority they assumed, on an occasion
which some of them might suspect was to be the last in which their
monarch would ever require their attendance. The sounds of the carriages
and horses, of a tumultuous crowd, and of those actually engaged in the
embarkation--with the crushing of anxious spectators, and the efforts of
the military to insure order, and make room for the progress of the
party towards the yacht--produced the confusion generally attending such
a scene. The queen had been escorted forward to the side of the vessel,
and been assisted on board; and the king was on the eve of taking the
step which was to remove him from the pier into the yacht, when an old
woman, wrapped in a red cloak, rushed forward, and, holding up two
spare, wrinkled arms in the face of the monarch, cried, in a wild and
prophetic manner--
"James Stuart, receive this warning! It is not made in vain, however it
may be received. If you cross the Scottish sea, betwixt and the feast o'
Christmas, you will never come back again in life."
Having said these words, she waved her hands, and disappeared. Struck
with her solemn and impressive manner, and her extraordinary
appearance, James started, and stood for a moment mute. Recollecting
himself, he called out to a knight to follow, and question her. He
obeyed; but ere he could make his way among the crowd, Allan Mackay had
seized his mother (for such she was), and hurried her beyond the reach
of the courtiers. The event struck James forcibly. He concealed it from
his queen; but, during the passage to Kirkcaldy, he was remarked to be
silent and abstracted--a mood which remained on him during a great part
of his journey. At Dundee, he repaired to the palace, in St Margaret's
Close, where he still meditated secretly on the strange warning, and
compared it with the denunciation and threat contained in the letter he
had some time before received from Sir Robert Graham. After retiring to
his chamber, he sent for Sir Robert Stuart, to commune with him on
matters of importance. The message alarmed the guilty chamberlain, who
conceived that the conspiracy of the north had been discovered, in spite
of his murderous effort to conceal it, by the death of the Highland
woman. He repaired to the presence-chamber, trembling, and full of
fearful anticipations.
"Sir Robert," said the king, as the chamberlain approached him, "I am
filled with gloomy apprehensions of a violent death, that will prevent
me from re-crossing the Forth. Have you heard anything of late of my
bitter foe, Graham, who has denounced me? Are you certain he is not
hatching against me some bloody conspiracy in these fastnesses of the
north?"
The question went to the heart of the conspirator. He gave up all for
lost, and guilt supplied all that was awanting in the king's speech to
fix upon him the reproach of plotting against the life of his sovereign.
Happily, James did not observe his agitation, having relapsed, after his
question, into the gloomy despondency in which he had for several days
been immerged. All the resolution of the guilty man was required to
enable him to utter a solitary question.
"What reason has your majesty," he said, "for entertaining these fears,
apparently so unfounded?"
"I have been warned," replied the king, in a deep voice, "surely by a
messenger from Heaven. As I stood on the pier of Leith, ready to step
into the yacht, a strange woman, muffled up in a red cloak, approached
me, and holding out her hands, warned me against crossing the Forth, and
said that if I did, I would never come back alive. Her manner was
supernatural, her voice hollow and grave-like. She disappeared, and,
notwithstanding the efforts of my messengers to seize her, could nowhere
be found. I cannot shake this vision from my mind. Every one knows that
I despise superstitious fears; but that very circumstance makes my gloom
and despondency the more remarkable."
This speech struck another chord in the mind of the guilty courtier. No
doubt had remained in his mind that the old woman in the red cloak,
mentioned by Sir Robert Graham, had been by his orders killed; he had
seen her blood on the fatal sword, and he had seen her body lying
lifeless on the ground. Who, then, was this second old woman in the red
cloak, that had made such a fearful impression upon the king? Had Heaven
not taken up arms against him, and re-incorporated the departed spirit
of the murdered woman, for the purpose of her humane object being still
attained? Had not the king himself, the most dauntless of men, said the
figure was supernatural? And, above all, was it not certain that there
was a just occasion for the interposition of Providence, when one of the
rulers of the earth, who have often been protected by Heaven, was about
to fall a victim to a cruel purpose, in which he himself was engaged?
These thoughts passed through his mind with the rapidity of light, and
struck his heart with a remorse and fear which made him quake. James
looked at him with surprise; but attributed his agitation to the
strange tidings he had communicated regarding the supposed supernatural
visitation. Relieved, however, from the fear of personal danger produced
by the king's first announcement, the guilty chamberlain endeavoured to
shake off his superstitious feelings, and, summoning all his powers,
contrived to put together a few sentences of vulgar scepticism,
recommending to the king not to allow the ravings of a maniac (as the
old woman undoubtedly was) to disturb his tranquillity, or interfere
with his sound and philosophical notions of the government of the
universe.
The king proceeded to Perth, and subsequently overcame the feeling of
apprehension and despondency produced by the supposed apparition; and
the chamberlain got again so completely entoiled in the details of his
conspiracy, that the affair passed from his mind also. By the time the
festivities of Christmas came to be celebrated, the apprehensions of
evil had died away, just in proportion as the real danger became every
day more to be dreaded. The power of the chamberlain was now exercised
vigorously, and with ill-merited success. He contrived to gain over to
his side many of the royal guards; while Sir Robert Graham was not less
successful in his organisation of the external forces, composed of wild
and daring caterans, ready, on being let into the palace, to spread
death and desolation wherever they came. Meanwhile, the Duke of Athol
dreamed his day-dream of royalty, and indulged in all the intoxicating
visions of state and power, which he thought were on the point of being
realised. Yet the conspiracy was confined to a very few influential
individuals--the duke himself, Graham, Stuart, Hall, and Chambers being
almost the only persons of any distinction or authority who had been
asked to join the bold enterprise; and these, it is supposed, would not
have ventured on the scheme, had they not been blindfolded by personal
cravings of insatiable revenge, which prevented all prudential
calculations of consequences.
As the revels approached, the chamberlain took care to prevail upon the
king to send an invitation to those of the conspirators who were
considered to be so much in favour at court as to be entitled to that
mark of the royal favour; while especial care was also taken to get the
invitations to the _real_ friends of the king so distributed, that there
should, on the night intended for the murder, be collected in the
monastery as few as possible of the latter, and as many of the former as
the king could be prevailed upon to invite. There would thus be
insidious enemies within, at the head of whom would be the Duke of
Athol; and fierce foes without, led by the furious and bloodthirsty
Graham, to the latter of whom, by the bribing of the guards, a free
passage would be opened to the sleeping apartment of the king, where the
bloody scene was intended to be enacted in presence of the queen.
It was on the night of the 20th of February that the conspirators had
resolved to execute their work of death. All things were carefully
prepared: wooden boards were placed across the moat which surrounded the
monastery, to enable the conspirators to pass unknown to the warders,
who were placed only at the entrances; and the extraordinary precaution
was taken by the chamberlain, to destroy the locks of the royal
bedchamber, and of those of the outer room with which it communicated,
whereby it would be impossible for those within to secure the doors, and
to prevent the entrance of the party. Meanwhile, in the inside of the
monastery, a gay party was collected, consisting of young and gallant
nobles and knights, and crowds of fair damsels, dressed in the glowing
colours so much beloved by the belles of that age. In the midst of this
happy group were the traitors Sir Robert Stuart and his aged
grandfather, Athol, who looked and smiled upon the scene, while they
knew that, in a few minutes, that presence-chamber would in all
likelihood be flowing with the blood of the king who sat beside them,
and become, through their means, a scene of massacre and carnage.
Of all the individuals in the royal presence-chamber on that night, no
one was more joyous than the merry monarch himself. A poet of exquisite
humour, as well exemplified in his performance of "Peebles to the Play,"
he was the life and spirit of the amusements of the evening, which
consisted chiefly of the recitation of poetical stories, the reading of
romances, the playing on the harp to the plaintive tunes of the old
Scottish ballads (the touching words being the suitable accompaniment),
the game of tables, and all the other diversions of the age. In all
this, the king joined with (it is said) greater pleasure and alacrity
than he had exhibited for many years. In the midst of his jests and
merry sayings, he even laughed and made light of a prophecy which had
foretold his death in that year--an allusion perfectly understood by
those who knew of the apparition of the old woman in the red cloak,
whose warning, though not forgotten, was now treated with his accustomed
levity. In playing at chess with a young knight, over whose shoulder the
grey-bearded Athol looked smilingly into the face of the king, his
jesting and merriment were kept up and exercised in a manner that
suggested the most extraordinary coincidences. He had been accustomed to
call the young knight "the king of love;" and, in allusion to the
warning, advised him to look well to his safety, as they were the only
two kings in the land. The old duke started as he heard this statement
come from the mouth of one on the very eve of being consigned to the
dagger; and for a moment thought that the conspiracy had been
discovered; but a second look at the joyous merry-maker left no doubt on
his mind that his jesting was the mere overflow of an exuberance of
spirits.
At this moment a hundred wild and kilted caterans, armed with swords and
knives, and thirsting for blood, were lurking in the dark angles of the
court of the monastery, directing their eyes to the blazing windows of
the presence-chamber, and listening to the sounds of the revels. The
conspirators within knew, by a concerted signal, that Graham and his
party were in this situation, and looked anxiously for the breaking up
of the entertainment; but the king was inclined to prolong the
amusements, and the hour was getting near midnight. While the king was
engaged in play with the young knight, Christopher Chambers, one of the
conspirators, was seized with a fit of remorse, and repeatedly
approached the royal presence, with a view to inform James of his
danger; but the crowd of knights and ladies who filled the
presence-chamber prevented him from executing his purpose. The
amusements continued; it was now long past midnight, and Stuart and
Athol heard at length the long-wished-for declaration of the king, that
the revels should be concluded.
Just as James had uttered this wish, the usher of the presence-chamber
approached Stuart, and whispered in his ear that an old woman, wrapped
up in a red cloak, was at the door, and requested permission to see and
speak with the king. The guilty chamberlain, who was on the point of
giving the fatal signal, heard the statement with horror, and recoiled
back from the usher; but the die was cast, and even the powers of heaven
were disregarded amidst the turmoil of wild thoughts that were then
careering through his excited mind. "Bid her begone--thrust her from the
door!" he whispered in the ear of the usher, and applied himself again
to the dreadful work in which he was engaged.
Soon after this, the king called for the parting cup, and the company
dispersed--Athol and Stuart being the last to leave the apartment. With
the view of going to bed, James and his queen now retired to the
sleeping chamber, where the merry monarch, still under the influence of
high spirits, stood before the fire in his night-gown, talking gaily
with those around him. At that moment, a clang of arms was heard, and a
blaze of torches was seen in the court of the monastery. The quick mind
of the king saw his danger in an instant; a suspicion of treason, and a
dread of his bloodthirsty enemy, Graham, were his first thoughts. Alarm
was now the prevailing power; and the ladies of the bedchamber, rushing
into the sleeping room, cried that treason was abroad. The queen and her
attendants flew to secure the doors; the locks were useless; and the
certainty of having been betrayed by his chamberlain now occupied the
mind of the king. Yet, though he saw his destruction resolved on, he did
not lose presence of mind. He called to his queen and ladies to obstruct
all entrance as long as they could, and rushed to the windows. They were
firmly secured by iron bars, and all escape in that way was impossible.
The clang of arms increased; and the sounds of the approach of armed men
along the passages came every instant nearer and nearer. The ladies
screamed, and held the doors; the king was in despair; and, seizing a
pair of tongs from the fireplace, with unexampled force wrenched up the
boards of the floor, and descended into a vault below, while the ladies
replaced the covering.
A slight hope was now entertained that he might escape. The vault
communicated with the outer court; but, unfortunately, the passage had
been, shortly before, by the king's own orders, built up, to prevent the
tennis-balls of the players in the tennis-court, to which the passage
led, from rolling into the vault (as they had often done), and being
lost. There was, therefore, no escape. Meanwhile, Graham and his
caterans rushed towards the bedchamber, and having slain Walter
Straiton, a page they met in the passage, began to force open the door,
amidst the shrieks of the women, who still, though weakly, attempted to
barricade it. An extraordinary circumstance here occurred: Catherine
Douglas, with the heroic resolution of her family, thrust her arm into
the staple from which the bolt had been taken by the traitors, and in an
instant it was snapped asunder. The conspirators, yelling like fiends,
and with bloody daggers and knives in their hands, now rushed into the
room, and cowardly stabbed some of the defenceless ladies, as they fled
screaming round the apartment, or trying vainly to hide themselves in
its corners and beneath the bed. The queen herself never moved: horror
had thrown its cataleptic power over her frame; she stood rooted to the
floor, a striking spectacle--her hair hanging over her shoulders, and
nothing on her but her kirtle and mantle. In this situation, she was
stabbed by one of the conspirators, and was only saved from the knives
of others and death itself, by a son of Graham, who, impatient for the
life of the king, commanded the men to leave such work for that which
was more important. The king was not to be found; and a suspicion gained
ground that he had escaped from the sleeping room by the door. A search
was therefore made throughout the whole monastery, in all the outer
rooms along the corridor, and in the court; and had it not been that
Stuart assured them that it was impossible the king could have escaped
beyond the walls, the search would have been relinquished in despair.
Meanwhile, the citizens and the nobles who were quartered in the town
heard the tumult, and were hastening to the spot. The king might yet be
saved; for his place of escape had not been discovered, and rescue was
at hand. Alas! his own impatience brought on his head the ruin that
seemed to be averted. Hearing all quiet, he fancied that the traitors
had relinquished the search, and called up from the vault to the ladies,
to bring the sheets from the bed and draw him up again into the
apartment. In attempting this, one of the ladies, Elizabeth Douglas,
fell down into the vault. The noise recalled the murderers. Thomas
Chambers, who knew all the holes and recesses of the monastery, suddenly
remembered the small vault, and concluded that James must be concealed
there. He therefore returned; the torn floor caught his eye; the planks
were again lifted, and a blazing torch was soon held down into the dark
hole. The king and the unfortunate lady, who lay apparently breathless
beside him, were seen; and, glorying in his discovery, the relentless
ruffian shouted aloud with savage merriment, and called his companions
back; "for," as he said, "the bride was found for whom they had sought
and carolled all night." A dreadful scene was now enacted in the vault,
in the hearing of the queen, who, with her attendants, was still in the
apartment. Sir John Hall first leaped down; but James, strong in his
agony, throttled him, and flung him beneath his feet. Hall's brother
next descended, and met the same fate; and now came the arch-enemy, Sir
Robert Graham. Like a roaring tiger, he threw himself into the hole, and
James, bleeding sore from the wounds of the Halls' knives, was overcome,
and fell, with the stern murderer over him. The wretched monarch
implored mercy, and begged his life, should it be at the price of half
his kingdom.
"Thou cruel tyrant!" said Graham, "never hadst thou compassion on thine
own noble kindred; therefore expect none from me."
"At least," cried James, "let me have a confessor, for the good of my
soul."
"None," replied Graham, "but this sword!" Upon which he stabbed him in a
vital part; but the king continued to implore so piteously for mercy,
that even Graham's nerves were shaken, and he felt inclined to fly from
the dreadful scene.
His companions above noticed this change; and, as he was scrambling up,
leaving the king still breathing, they threatened him with death, if he
did not complete the work. He at last obeyed, and struck the king many
times, till he died.