historians has so long been a subject of mystery, is thus, by our
chronicle, cleared up. We may afterwards do the same good office to
other curious and doubtful parts of Scottish history; but, in the
meantime, as it may be satisfactory to know the fate of those bold
conspirators who executed so desperate a purpose as that we have
narrated, we may mention that the queen never rested till she had
brought them all to justice. Never was retribution so certain, so ample,
so merited, and so satisfactory to a whole nation; for James's alleged
harshness was confined to the nobles, and never extended to the people,
who loved the royal poet, and revered their king. Sir Robert Stuart and
Thomas Chambers were first taken; and, upon a confession of their guilt,
were beheaded on a high scaffold raised in the market-place, and their
heads fixed on the gates of Perth. Athol next suffered; and, as he had
sighed for a crown, his head, when it was severed from his body, was
encompassed by an iron one. Graham was next seized; and, after the
manner of the times, was tortured before his execution in a manner which
we cannot describe. Hall and all the others suffered a similar fate; and
it was alleged that not a single individual who had a hand in the
terrible tragedy was allowed to escape--thus justifying the ways of God,
where vengeance, though sometimes concealed, sooner or later overtakes
those who contravene His laws.
THE CURATE OF GOVAN.
Do any of our east or south country readers know anything of the little
village of Govan, within about two miles or so of Glasgow? If they do,
they will acknowledge, we daresay, that it is one of the most
prettily-situated little hamlets that may be seen. We mean, however,
solely that portion of it which stands on the banks of the Clyde. On a
summer evening, when the tide is at its height, filling up the channel
of the river from side to side in a bumper, and is gliding stilly and
gently along between its margins of green, there cannot, we think, be
anything prettier than the scene of which the little picturesque village
of Govan forms the centre or principal object. The antique row of houses
stretching down to the water, widened, at this particular spot, into a
little lake, by the confluence of the Kelvin; the rude but picturesque
salmon fisher's hut in the foreground; the river winding far to the
west, and skirting the base of the beautiful hills of Kilpatrick, that
form the boundary of the scene in that direction--all combine to form,
as we have already said, a scene of more than ordinary beauty.
Such, as nearly as we can describe it, is the local situation and
appearance of Govan at the present day; for often, often have we been
there in our younger years, and never shall we forget the happy hours we
have spent in it. Pleasant, indeed, was the walk of a summer's evening
on the banks of the Clyde--pleasant was the feast of kippered salmon,
for which the village was celebrated; but pleasanter than all were the
looks--the kindly, _pawky_ looks--the civility and the homely but shrewd
wit of David Dreghorn, the honest, worthy, and kindhearted landlord of
the ----. We are not sure if his house had a name; but it was not
necessary; for well and widely was David known, and by none was he known
by whom he was not esteemed and respected.
But there were other landlords in Govan before David's day--not more
worthy or better men, but of older date--yes, as far back as the time of
James V. At that period, the principal, indeed the only, hostelry in
Govan was kept by one Ninian, or, as he was more commonly called, Ringan
Scouler. The house--a small, plain-looking building with marvellously
few windows, and these few marvellously small in size and wide
apart--was situated at the extreme end of the village, which terminates
at or near the margin of the river. All trace of it has long since
disappeared; but we have pointed out its precise locality. It commanded,
as those who know the spot will at once believe, a delightful view, or
rather series of views. The front windows looked up the Clyde, the back
windows down; and those in the gable commanded the Kelvin and the
woodland scenery (more so then than now) around and beyond. The sign of
his calling, which hung above the door of Ringan Scouler's little
hostelry, was then, as it still is, that of several of his brethren in
trade in the village--the figure of a salmon, painted in its natural
colours on a black ground. Ringan's emblematic fish, however, was not a
very shapely animal; but there was enough of likeness remaining to place
beyond all manner of doubt that it was meant to represent the "monarch
of the flood." Mine host himself was a quiet-mannered, good-humoured,
and good-natured person, with just such an eye to the one thing needful
as admitted of his cherishing this temperament, and of keeping a
comfortable house over his head. Perhaps his propensity of the kind just
alluded to went even a little further in its objects than this. We will
not say that, with all his quiet wit, and good-humour, and kindness,
and apparent carelessness about the main chance, he was not a pretty
vigilant marker of it. But what then? It was all in a fair and honest
way; and he gave his urbanity of manner as an equivalent.
Ringan, at the period of our story, was about fifty years of age, of a
fresh, healthy complexion, and shrewd cast of countenance; the latter
being lighted up by a couple of little, cunning, grey eyes, deep set
beneath a pair of shaggy eyebrows, which, again, were surmounted by a
head of hair, prematurely grey--a constitutional characteristic; for
neither his years nor his cares warranted this usual indication of the
pressure of one or other, or both of these causes. Ringan was, moreover,
well to pass in the world; for, being a man of at least ordinary
prudence, and having as excellent business, his circumstances throve
apace. His business, we have said, was excellent. It could not be
otherwise; for it was not in the nature of man to pass Ringan's door
without entering it. His good things, in the shape of liquor and
provender; his quaint, sly jokes, spoken almost under breath, which, in
his case, added to their effect; his cunning, smirking, facetious look
and manner--were all and each of them wholly irresistible; and all the
king's lieges who passed within a mile of his door, and who had a penny
in their pockets, felt them to be so.
Such was Ringan Scouler, the landlord of the Grilse and Gridiron--for we
forgot to say, in its proper place, that the culinary implement just
named appropriately figured at one end of the board. The list of
Ringan's regular customers, which was a very extensive one, included the
curate and schoolmaster of Govan, both drouthy cronies and sworn
friends, although there was not a night in the world that they did not
quarrel; but this was more the effect of Ringan's ale than of any
inherent pugnacity of disposition in the belligerents themselves. This
quarrel, however, was so usual and so regular, that Ringan could tell
to a measure of liquor when it would commence.
In summer, these worthies generally occupied a little room that
overlooked the river; but in winter, or when the weather began to get
chill, they took possession of a corner of the kitchen, the most
cheerful apartment in the house at that season, as it was always kept in
most admirable order. The walls were white as snow, the floor strewed
with bright white sand; immense rows of shining pewter plates and jugs
of the same metal glittered on the rack; and a rousing fire crackled in
the old-fashioned chimney. Nothing, in short, could be more tempting to
the wayfarer, on a dark, cold, and drizzly night, than a casual peep
through the blazing windows into Ringan's cheerful kitchen; and nothing
could in reality be more comfortable than that kitchen, when you were
once into it. In a corner of this snug apartment was to be found
regularly, every evening, say, from October to May, between the hours of
seven and ten, Mr Walter Gibson, curate of Govan, and Mr John Craig,
schoolmaster there. Before them, and near to the fireplace, stood a
small fir table, and on this table invariably stood a large pewter
measure of ale, and three horn tumblers with silver rims--one for each
of the persons just named, and a spare one for the use of the landlord,
who joined their potations as often as the demands on his attention to
the duties of the house permitted.
Out of all the evenings, however, which the curate and schoolmaster
spent in Ringan Scouler's, we can afford to select one only; but this
shall be one on which something occurred to diversify the monotony of
their meetings, otherwise distinguished only by the usual quarrel, the
usual humdrum conversation (which, though sufficiently interesting to
themselves, would, if recorded, afford very little entertainment to the
reader), and the usual consumption of somewhere about a gallon of mine
host's double ale. The particular evening to which we have alluded
shall be one in the latter end of the month of October, and the
year somewhere about _anno_ 1529. It was a raw, wet, and cold
night--circumstances which greatly enhanced the comforts of Ringan's
kitchen, as both the curate and schoolmaster very sensibly felt. Having
each turned off a couple of horns of their good host's home-brewed, the
conversation between the two worthies began to assume a lively,
desultory character.
"I was up in the toun the day, curate," said the schoolmaster--a thin,
hard-visaged personage, with a good deal of the failing said to be
inherent in his craft--conceit. "I was up in the toun," he said--meaning
Glasgow.
"Were ye?" quoth the curate--in personal appearance and manner the very
antipodes of his friend; being a stout, homely-looking man, of blunt
speech and great good-nature; his age, about forty-five. "And what saw
ye strange there, Mr Craig?"
"Naething very particular, but the braw new gatehouse o' the archbishop.
My certy, yon's a notable piece o' wark! His arms are engraven on the
front o't--three cushions within the double tressure. Man, curate, can
ye no contrive to warsle up the brae a bit? I'm sure waur than you's
been made a bishop."
"I'm no sae ambitious, Johnny," replied the curate. "If I were rector o'
Govan, I wad be content. But St Mungo himsel wadna get even that length
noo-a-days without a pouchfu o' interest--and I hae nane."
"The mair's the pity," said the schoolmaster, filling up his horn
tumbler; "but there's nae sayin what may happen yet."
"Indeed, is there no, Mr Craig," interposed Ringan, who made at this
particular moment one of the party. "Ye may get promotion, curate, whan
ye least expeck it, and may find a freend whar ye didna look for him.
There's mony chances, baith o' guid and ill, befa' folk in this warld."
While the curate's friends were endeavouring, by these vague and
sufficiently commonplace but well-meant remarks, to inspire him with
hopes of better days, it was announced to the party that the ferry-boat
was bringing over a passenger. By the way, with regard to this
particular, we forgot to say before that there _was_ a ferry across the
Clyde, just below Ringan's house; and, as the passengers were not then,
as they are now, very numerous, there was always a degree of interest
and speculation excited by their appearance.
"Wha can he be?" said Ringan. "Some o' oor ain folk, I fancy. It'll be
Jamie Dinwoodie frae Glasgow fair, I'll wad a groat. He's come roun by
Partick, instead o' comin doun by the water-side."
"The deil o' him it's, at ony rate, Ringan," said the schoolmaster.
"Jamie's been hame twa hoors since, and as fou's a fiddler."
All further speculation on the subject of the passenger was here
interrupted by the entrance of that person himself; and it was with some
disappointment the speculators found that, to judge by his appearance,
he was not worth speculating about; for he was very meanly dressed--nay,
worse than meanly--his attire was beggarly; so much so, indeed, that
there was a general belief that he was a mendicant by profession,
although, perhaps, of a somewhat better order than common. His apparel
consisted of a threadbare and patched short coat or surtout, of coarse
grey cloth, secured round his middle by a black belt. On his legs he
wore a pair of thick blue rig-and-fur hose or stockings, as a certain
description of these _wearables_ are called in Scotland. They are now
nearly extinct, but may still be seen occasionally. Those on the legs of
the stranger were darned in fifty places, and with worsted of various
colours. His shoes were in no better condition than his stockings, being
patched in nearly as many places. On his head he wore an old broad blue
bonnet, which, with a pair of sadly dilapidated inexpressibles, and a
rough newly-cut staff, completed his equipment--the whole unequivocally
bespeaking a very limited exchequer. On his entrance, the stranger,
perceiving the respectable quality of the guests assembled in the
kitchen of the Grilse and Gridiron, reverently doffed his bonnet, and
apologised for intruding on the "honourable company."
"Nae apology necessary, freend," said the curate, rising from his seat,
to allow the poor traveller, who was dripping with wet, to approach
nearer to the fire. "Come awa--nae apology at a' necessary. This is a
public hostelry; and, if ye can birl your bawbee, ye've as guid a richt
to accommodation as the best in the land."
"Thanks to ye, honourable sir," replied the stranger, meekly. "I wish
every ane were o' your way o' thinking; but I find this auld coat and
thae clouted shoon nae great recommendations to civility onywhere."
Saying this, the stranger planted himself in a chair before the fire,
and ordered the landlord to bring him a measure of ale.
"Tak a moothfu o' this in the meantime, honest man," said the curate,
handing him his own goblet; "for ye seem to be baith wat and weary."
"Ou, no--no very weary, sir," replied the stranger, taking the proffered
goblet; "but a wee thing wet, certainly. I hae only come frae Glasgow
the day."
"Nae far'er?" said the curate.
"No an inch," replied the other.
"Tak it oot, man, tak it oot," said the former, as the latter was about
to return the goblet, after merely tasting it. "It'll warm your heart,
man, and I'm sure ye're welcome till't."
The stranger, without any remark, did as he was bid, and drained out the
cup. In the business of this scene, the schoolmaster took no part, but
maintained a haughty distance; his pride evidently hurt by the intrusion
into his society of a person of such questionable condition--a feeling
which he indicated by observing a dignified silence. This difference of
disposition between the two gentlemen did not escape the stranger, who
might have been detected from time to time throwing expressive glances
of inquiry, not unmingled with contempt, at the offended dominie. The
displeasure of his friend, however, did not deter the kindhearted curate
from prosecuting his conversation with the stranger, who eventually
proved to be so intelligent and entertaining a person, that he gradually
forced himself into the position of an understood, though not formally
acknowledged, member of the party. Being full of anecdote and quaint
humour, such as even the schoolmaster could not altogether resist,
although he made several ineffectual attempts to do so, the laugh and
the liquor both soon began to circulate with great cordiality; and in
due time songs were added to the evening's enjoyment. In this species of
entertainment the good-humoured curate set the example, at the earnest
request of Ringan, who asked him, and not in vain, to "skirl up," as he
called it, the following ditty, which he had often heard the worthy
churchman sing before:--
"In scarlet hose the bishop he goes,
In the best o' braid claith goes the vicar;
But the curate, puir soul, has only the bowl
To comfort him wi' its drap liquor, drap liquor,
To comfort him wi' its drap liquor.
"Right substantial, in troth, is the fat prebend's broth,
And the bishop's a hantle yet thicker;
But muslin kail to the curate they deal,
Sae dinna begrudge his drap liquor, drap liquor,
Sae dinna begrudge his drap liquor.
"Gie the sodger renown, the doctor a gown,
And the lover the long looked-for letter;
But for me the main chance is a weel-plenish'd manse--
And the sooner I get it the better, the better,
And the sooner I get it the better."
"Faith, and I say so too with all my heart, sir," said the stranger,
laughing loudly, and ruffing applause of the good curate's humorous song
on the table. "I'm sure I've known many a one planted in a comfortable
living, who, I would take it upon me to say, were less deserving of it
than you are."
"That may be, honest man," replied the curate; "but, as I said to my
freend here a little ago, when he made the same remark, I hae nae
interest; and withoot that, ye ken, it's as impossible to get on, as for
a milestane to row its lane up a hill."
"Indeed, sir, that is but too true, I fear," said the stranger; "yet the
king, they say, is very well disposed to reward merit when he finds it,
and has often done so with out the interference of influence."
"Ou, I daur say," replied the curate; "he's gude aneugh that way--na,
very guid, I believe; but I hae nae access to the king, and it'll be
lang aneugh before my merits, if I hae ony--which I mysel very much
doot--'ll find their way to him. He has owre mony greedy gleds to feed,
for the like o' me to hae ony chance o' promotion. No, no, freend--
"Curate o' Govan I was born to be,
An' curate o' Govan I'm destined to dee."
"Ha, ha!" exclaimed the stranger, laughing; "a bit of a poet, curate."
"In an unco sma' way, freend," replied the worthy churchman.
"Excuse my freedom, sir," rejoined the stranger; "but pray how long have
you been curate of this parish?'
"Nine years, come Martinmas next."
"And no prospect of advancement yet?"
"Just as muckle as ye may see through a whunstane; and ye ken it taks
gey sharp een to see onything through that."
"Nae doot," replied the stranger; "but the king, though he cannot see
through a whunstane farther than ither folk, has pretty sharp eyes, and
ears, too, sir, and baith hears and sees things that every one is not
aware of. You may, therefore--who knows?--be nearer promotion than you
think. Isn't the rectorship of Govan vacant just now?"
"Deed is't, freend," said the curate; "and if I had it, I wadna ca' the
king my cousin, though he were my uncle's son. But it'll no be lang
vacant, I warrant; some o' thae hungry hingers-on aboot the court 'll be
clinkin doun intill't in the turnin o' a divot. It's owre canny a seat
to be lang withoot a sitter."
"It will not be long without an incumbent, I daresay," rejoined the
stranger; "but I'm not sure that you're right, curate, as to the
description of person that will obtain it. But will your friend here not
favour us with a verse or two? It is his turn now."
"Ou, I daresay he will," replied the curate. "Come, Johnny, gie's yer
auld favourite."
With this request, the schoolmaster, who was now considerably mollified
by the liquor he had drank, readily complied, and struck up--
'Let kings their subjects keep in awe,
By terror o' the laws;
For me, I fin' there's naething like
A guid thick pair o' tawse.
'Let doctors think to store the mind,
By screeds o' rules and saws--
Commend me to the learning that's
Weel whupp'd in wi' the tawse.
'Let lawyers, whan they wad prevail
In fine words plead their cause--
The _argumentum_ still wi' mo
Is thae bit nine-taed tawse.'
Suiting the action to the word, the dominie, on repeating the last line,
whipped the formidable and efficacious instrument he spoke of out of his
pocket. Whether, however, it had actually nine toes or not, or whether
that assertion was merely a poetical flourish, none of those present
took the trouble of ascertaining.
"By my troth, sir," said the stranger, when the schoolmaster had
concluded, "it's a pity that such a thing as tawse was not in use
outside the school as well as inside. There are many children of the
larger growth in the world who would be greatly improved by its
application."
"Come, landlord," now said the curate, "it's your turn now;--and it'll
be yours belyve, freend," he added, addressing the stranger. "Up wi't,
Ringan--up wi't, man."
"Ye'se no want that lang," said the jolly, good-natured landlord of the
Grilse and Gridiron, with one of his quiet, cunning shrugs of the
shoulders and pawky leers of the eye; and off he went with--
"A flowing jug, a reaming jug,
'S a glorious sicht, my dear boys;
It waukens love, it lichtens care,
And drowns all sorts of fear, boys.
"Come, gentlemen, chorus.
"Fal de ral, &c.
"Your sober man's an arrant fool,
His spirits are all sunk, boys;
Give me your honest, jovial soul,
That night and day is drunk, boys.
"Chorus, gentlemen.
"Fal de ral, &c.
"You tell me that his outward man
Is shabby, spare, and thin, boys;
But you forget to reckon on
The comfort that's within, boys.
"Chorus.
"Fal de ral, &c.
"Then, whether I be here or there,
Or this or t'other side, boys,
May streams o' ale still round me flow,
As broad and deep's the Clyde, boys!
"Chorus, gentlemen.
"Fal de ral," &c.
At the moment the landlord of the Grilse and Gridiron had completed his
temperance-society lyric, and ere the tribute of applause which was
ready to be paid down on the nail to him for it by his auditors could be
tendered him--the feelings of the whole party were directed into another
channel, by the information that a boat-load of passengers had just
landed at the ferry. On receiving this intelligence, Ringan hurriedly
rose from the table, and ran to the door, to see what portion of the
human cargo was likely to come his way--and right glad was he to find
that he was about to be favoured with the company of the whole. They
were one party, and were approaching Ringan's house in a string. On
entering the kitchen, they were found to be three men and two women. The
former were apparently farmers--two of them elderly men, and one of them
a young, loutish-looking fellow, of about two-and-twenty. The women were
mother and daughter--the latter a beautiful girl, of about eighteen or
twenty years of age. The whole of these persons were well known to the
curate, schoolmaster, and landlord; and the consequence was a general
cry of recognition, and a tumultuous shaking of hands.
"How are ye, curate?" "How are ye, Clayslaps?" "Glad to see you, Mr
Craig!" "As glad to see you, Jordanhill!"
"And hoo are _ye_, guidwife?" said the curate, advancing towards the
elder of the two females, and taking her kindly by the hand--"and you,
Meenie, my bonny dear," he said, turning towards the daughter--"hoo are
ye? and hoo," he added, with an intelligent smirk, "is Davy Linn o'
Partick? But hoo's this?" he said, more seriously, and now peering into
her face--"there's a tear in yer ee, Meenie. What's wrang, lassie? Hae
ye lost yer leman? Has Davy no been sae kind's he should hae been?"
Poor Meenie made no reply to the worthy curate's half-jocular,
half-serious remarks. Her heart was sad; and to her dismal and
heart-withering was the errand on which she and her friends (for, of the
men of the party, one was her father, the other her uncle, and the third
her intended husband) had come to Govan. While the curate spoke to her,
she held down her head to hide the tears that were fast falling from her
beautiful dark hazel eyes; but she could not conceal the heaving of her
bosom, from the sobs which she was endeavouring to suppress.
"She's a camstairy cutty," said her father, Adam Ritchie of Clayslaps,
frowningly, "and most undutifu, no to submit to the wishes o' her
parents wi' a better grace."
"Surely every bairn is bound to obey with cheerfulness those to whom
they owe their being," said the curate; "but there are some cases,
Clayslaps, where it wad be cruelty to impose restraint, and unreasonable
to expect ungrudged compliance."
"Weel, weel, curate," replied Adam Ritchie, impatiently, "we'll speak o'
thae things anither time. In the meantime, landlord," he said, turning
to Ringan, "bring us in some brandy; for we're baith cauld and wat, and
a thumblefu o' the Frenchman'll do us nae harm."
This order was speedily complied with. A small pewter measure of the
liquor desired, accompanied by a small silver drinking-cup or quaigh,
was placed on the table; and the whole party, including the former
occupants of the kitchen, soon began to get cheerful and somewhat
talkative, with the exception of Meenie Ritchie. In all that had
hitherto passed, he of the clouted shoes and darned hose had taken no
part, but had kept his eye steadily fixed on Meenie, with a look of
deep interest and compassion. At length, as if urged on by the
increasing energy of those feelings, he rose, went up to her, and
clapping her kindly on the shoulder--
"I wish, my sweet lass," he said, "it were in my power to lighten that
bit heartie o' yours; for it seems to me to be sore burdened wi' some
grief or other; and I am wae to see't."