THE ISLES OF FORTH.
"The moon was in the dark blue sky,
And mirrored in the dark blue deep;
The placid wave rolled noiseless by,
The winds like babes had gone to sleep;
While o'er the vessel's shadowy side,
The pilot viewed the glassy tide."
On rounding that long promontory known as the Ness of Fife, the wind,
which had been upon the beam, became, of course, ahead, and as the
frigates entered the mouth of that magnificent estuary, where the
Forth, after a course of a hundred and seventy miles, joins the
German Sea, they had to tack from shore to shore, consequently their
progress became slow and protracted. The king, who loved to be among
his subjects, to learn their wants, their wishes, and ideas, had been
through every part of the ship between stem and stern, and had heard
Willie Wad's explanations on various points of gunnery, and the
boatswain expound on seamanship and the intricacies of standing and
naming rigging. He had been through the magazine, the bread-room,
the hold, cockpit, and cable-tier, and amid the various new things he
heard and saw, forgot for a time, perhaps, that he was the unhappy
King of Scotland.
He rejoined Father Zuill and the admiral on deck, where the former
told him many a tale and legend of the castled craigs, the isles and
rocks they passed; and amid these stories of the olden time, the
chaplain forgot his crotchets of burning-glasses and other learned
absurdities, and all who were near, drew nearer still to listen.
About noon, they were between the Isle of May and the straggling town
of Anster, with the castle of the Anstruthers of that Ilk, and all
its rough, brown, antique houses that cluster round the mouth of the
Dreel-burn. Brightly on sea and river shone the unclouded sun on the
white cliffs of the isle, and the rugged shore of Fife, with all its
caverns, rocks, and towers, its ancient burghs, with their pointed
spires and long and straggling fisher-villages that dot the sandy
beach. The scene was lively and beautiful; but with saddened eyes
and a sorrowful heart the thoughtful king gazed from Sir Andrew's
lofty poop on the shores of his rebellious kingdom. The Forth shone
like a stream of lucid gold; the Bass Rock, in the vaults and towers
of which so many a wretch has pined: the Isle of May, with its priory
and gifted holy well; Anster, with the enchanted Castle of Dreel;
lonely Crail, with its Chapel of St. Rufus, and the Weem, wherein
King Constantine was murdered by the Danes; St. Monan's, with the
cavern where that martyr-hermit dwelt in the ninth century, and where
he was slain, on that day of blood when the Norsemen ravaged all the
coast of Fife, and slew six thousand persons;--all these were visible
at once, and bathed in ruddy light.
Around the ships vast droves of porpoises were leaping joyously in
the bright sunshine, and near the shore at least three hundred
fisher-boats, with all their varnished sides shining in the noon-tide
glow, were shooting their nets; and now a cheer floated over the
water from their crews, in greeting to the valiant Laird of Largo,
whose _Yellow Frigate_ was so familiar to them all. Above these
boats the white sea-mews were flying in wild flocks, thus indicating
where the droves of herring were.
Perceiving that the king gazed fixedly at the picturesque old town of
St. Monan, with its venerable church having the walls of its
steep-roofed chancel washed by the encroaching waves, the chaplain
drew near, and pointed out a deserted path, which leads to this
beautiful fane, by the side of a little stream that rushes through a
ravine upon the beach. By that path King David II., when in sore
agony from a wound received at the Battle of Neville's Cross, came
humbly to crave the intercession of the dead St. Monan by praying at
his shrine; and even while he prayed, the rankling wound, which had
defied the care of the most skilful leeches, became well and whole,
for the barbed head of an English arrow dropped from the scar as it
closed;--so say the monks of old.
In the days of which we write, the bell that summoned the people to
prayer hung upon a venerable yew, which stood in the churchyard, just
where the saint had placed it seven hundred years before; but once in
every year it was removed during the herring season, for the
fishermen of the East Neuk averred that the tolling thereof scared
all the fish from the coast.
In the roads of Leith the king was joined by the _Salamander_ and
several other armed ships, commanded by the admiral's brother, by
John Barton, and other brave seamen whose names are distinguished in
the annals of their country.
The western breeze blew down the Firth as the vessels tacked between
the narrowing shores, and Father Zuill or the garrulous boatswain had
a tale to tell the king of every rock and isle; nor was the legend of
Alexander II. and the Hermit of Emona who saved him from shipwreck,
forgotten; and they showed a rock where the little prince his son was
drowned, since named Inch nan Mhic Rhi; and before this story was
finished the vessels were passing through the Ferry and standing
slowly up the river, which there opens out like a vast lake, bounded
by hills and wooded shores, between which its waters were rippling in
the evening sun: but still the wind blew hard ahead, and Sir Andrew's
ships lay as close to it as possible, being anxious to land the king
at Alloa, the muster-place of the loyal barons. Repeatedly Captain
Barton reported to him that he feared "the tide would not serve, and
the ships would run aground."
"No matter," said he; "bear ahead at all risks, and remember our auld
Leith proverb--Obey orders, though ye break owners."
Next morning, when the pale and anxious monarch came on deck, the
ships were at anchor off the town of Alloa, which lay on one side of
them, while on the other stretched a number of beautiful isles or
Inches, covered with the richest pasture, and among the sedgy banks
of these the stormy petrels yet build their nests at times. It was
one of those hot summer days, when a smokelike vapour seems to pass
in the sunshine over the fields of ripe corn, and in that sunny haze
the hills of Clackmannan and the fertile shores of Stirling were
steeped. The water was then deeper at Alloa than it is now,
otherwise the ships of Wood could not have come abreast of the town,
even though favoured by St. Mungo's tide, of which the crews, who of
course knew the river well, took due advantage. This double flow is
somewhat remarkable, for when the tide appears full it suddenly falls
fifteen inches, and then returns with greater force, until it attains
a much higher mark.
Tradition accounts for this by stating that when St. Mungo, the
tutelar saint of the district, was proceeding with certain missionary
priests to Stirling, by water, their vessel ran aground, and could
not be got off, as the tide was ebbing; but the Saint prayed, and lo!
the ebb returned with greater strength to bear the holy freight on
their way; and in memory thereof, a _double tide_ rolls even unto
this day on the beach of the ancient Alauna.