THE PRINCE AND THE ADMIRAL.
"Rebellion! foul dishonouring word,
Whose wrongful blight so oft hath stained
The holiest cause that tongue or sword
Or mortal ever lost or gained."--MOORE.
Undaunted by the presence of so many enemies, Sir Andrew Wood and his
two faithful followers ascended the great turnpike stair of Barton's
house, and were ushered by pages, esquires, and heralds into the
presence of the young prince and the chief conspirators, several of
whom were grouped in the recesses of the hall windows, conversing
earnestly. Others sat in corners, drinking the right Rhenish, the
Canary, and Bourdeaux with which the cellars of the wealthy Laird of
Barton had been stored.
"Robbie Barton," said the admiral, as they pushed their way towards
the dais; "by St. Anthony, 'tis enough to make thy father's bones
start from their coral bed in the English sea when so many deil's
buckies and gilded sharks hold wassail under his old rooftree! God
sain thee, old shipmate o' mine," sighed Sir Andrew, as he cast his
eyes over the hall; "many a long wine horn hast thou and I birled
here, over our old yarns of lee shores and cannon-shot."
Barton felt his heart stirred doubly by grief and indignation; for
every feature of this hall reminded him of his brave old father, and
he was exasperated to find so many of his enemies installed there,
all very much at their ease, and drinking from his cellars as if the
contents thereof were their own.
"My lords and gentlemen," said he, sternly; "by my faith, ye reck
little of hership and hamesücken."
"These are but the spray of the great wave, Barton," said Sir David
Falconer, "and are small items in the great amount of treason and
rebellion."
"And see," added the admiral, "on yonder window-bunker the traitor
Sauchie, full to the beams with thy father's wine. Ah, false
villain, one day I hope to see thee spritsail-yarded by three feet of
a good rapier!"
By this time they had reached the presence of the prince, and his
vicinity was fortunate for them, as the freedom of their remarks was
such that several poniards were drawn, and there was every prospect
of their being assailed, though the two noble hostages were certain
to dangle from the _Frigate's_ yardarm in an hour after. The young
prince stood up, and coloured deeply as they appeared before him, and
various whispers went round that otherwise silent circle of proud,
ferocious, and unscrupulous peers; for, owing to the loftiness,
dignity, and high bearing of Wood, there ran from tongue to tongue a
suggestion that "he was _the king_--James himself;" and then a thrill
pervaded all present, for he was the only one of three who wore a
close casque, the rivets of the vizor having been secured before he
came ashore, and his armour having gilded passguards on the
shoulders, and puckered _lambeaux_ similar to a suit frequently worn
by the king on state occasions. The same resemblance occurred to
Rothesay, who, looking up with eyes full of hope and timidity, said
in a low and agitated voice,--
"Sir, are you the king my father?"
The artlessness of this question, and the touching accent of the
young prince, smote the veteran admiral to the heart. He burst into
tears, and replied, says Pitscottie,--
"I am not your father, sir; but I am his true servant, and the sworn
enemy of those who have occasioned his downfall."
Though Lord Lyle and some of the nobles were touched by the pure,
honest, and generous loyalty of Wood, his words kindled the rage and
scorn of Angus and others. In the grief of age and manhood there is
something very impressive; and thus, when that brave mariner wept
there was a dead silence in the vast apartment; Rothesay covered his
face with his violet-coloured mantle, while Barton and Falconer cast
down their eyes, for they were deeply moved. But now that stately
bearing, which made so many suppose the closed helmet concealed the
face of James, kindled the pride of the nobles, who muttered among
themselves, and to those who adhered to them.
"I would give three of my best crofts to see old Tarrybreeks, and
these saucy tarpaulins, his comrades, with their master in yonder
ditch beside the Bannock," said Sir James Shaw, who was somewhat
tipsy, to Gray, who grasped his arm, and gave him a fierce and
significant glance; for, in that iron age, banter (as we now
understand it) was unknown in Scotland. Every man wore a sword and
dagger; so jesting was perilous work at all times.
"You speak somewhat loftily, _Master_ Wood," said Angus, with a
haughty frown on his dark and commanding face.
"I am Andrew Wood, _knight_, my Lord Earl of Angus," he replied,
firmly; "I received that title from a king's hand on my own deck,
abaft the mizen-mast--a deck drenched with foreign blood! From my
father, who was an honest and hard-working merchant-mariner of this
good port of Leith, I inherited nothing but a bold heart, and my
sturdy legs and arms. I have had to work my way through the voyage
of life, with no compass but honesty, and no convoy but faith in God;
and since I was an idle brat, who spent the day in fishing for
podleys out of the fore-chains, I have never owed or wronged any man
the value of a ropeyarn or a herring-scale--least of all do I owe any
merit to a dead ancestry--thof most here, my lord, owe mickle mair to
their ancestors than they owe to themselves, God wot! But enough of
this; the gunner to his lintstock, the----"
"Remember, Laird of Largo," said Lord Drummond, with a darkening
brow, "thou speakest to the Lieutenant-general of the kingdom, and to
men who will not stoop to monarchs, for 'tis beneath the dignity of
true nobility."
"Then why should I stoop to such as thee, an old jackfeather, when
'tis beneath the dignity of true manhood?"
"Let us have no brawling here, sirs," said the High Constable,
stepping forward, as he saw the admiral disposed to "come to close
quarters;" "remember my office, its high prerogative, and this
presence."
"Know ye aught, Sir Andrew, of the king my father?" asked Rothesay.
"Alake! I do not," replied Wood, mournfully.
"Will you swear on your honour as a knight, that he is not on board
your fleet?"
"There are over many knights here for me to be believed," replied
Wood; "but I pledge you my faith and troth as a seaman, that he is
not on board of any of the ships now under my broad pennon."
"Who were those you took off after the battle?"
"My Lord St. John of Jerusalem, the High Treasurer, the Mareschal de
Concressault, and a few more loyal men: but as for the king,--God
bless him, and confound his enemies!--of him I know nothing; even
rumour hath not reached us in the Firth. My shipmates and I were
ready to have risked our lives in his defence; and we landed many
times on that evil day, yet saw him not, though duly warned by his
Grace of Montrose that James would wear a yellow plume, and ride a
grey charger."
Here Sir James Shaw gave a peculiar snort, and blew his nose to
conceal his malicious laughter.
Then (as Buchanan records) Sir Andrew added,--
"If the good king is alive, I am resolved to obey _none_ but him; if
he is slain, I am ready to _revenge_ him!"
At this Grey almost clutched his dagger, and felt assured he would
never be safe while such a man as Wood lived.
"Would to St. Mary he had never left our ship!" said Barton, who had
hitherto remained silent, "for then he would have been in safety from
those false traitors, whom I hope to see one day rewarded as they
deserve, by having their dog-throats cut from clew to ear-ring."
Perceiving that these rough speeches were rousing the anger and
apprehension of the insurgent lords, and moreover that they were
making too favourable an impression on Rothesay, who never forgot the
three leal and true men who now so boldly confronted so many
enemies--for Scotland's truest sons were seldom men of noble
birth--Lord Angus said,--
"Sir Andrew Wood, news hath come in, within this hour, that five
English ships are plundering all the coast about Dunbar, so that men
can neither fish at sea, nor plough upon the shore, for the shot of
their cannon and arquebusses. They have burned many homesteads in
the night, and harried the hirsels of the friars at Aberlady; so, if
you will not serve _us_, you may, at least, serve Scotland, by
ridding her of these gnats, who sting her in her time of toil and
trouble."
"That will I do blithely, lord earl! I searched all the coast from
the Red Head to Dunbar Sands, and yet saw nought of these English
craft, which were off Taymouth last month. What say ye, Barton, if
it should prove to be Eddy Howard?"
"That I will found an altar to St. Clement in Mary's Kirk of Leith,
where, if we are victorious, masses shall be said till the day of
doom."
"Where were these craft last seen, lord earl?"
"Cruising between the Isle of May and the Craig of Bass," answered
Hepburn of Blackcastle; "there are five in all, and three have their
forecastle guns _en barbette_."
"With red crosses in their topsails?" asked Falconer.
"The same."
"'Tis Howard!" exclaimed Sir Andrew Wood, striking his hands together
with joy; "let us unmoor, and be off, lest we miss them again.
Farewell, your grace and lordships--come, Davie Falconer, and thou,
too, Barton; let us go."
"You will take one cup of wine ere you leave us, admiral," said Angus.
"I crave leave to be excused," said Wood; "I have drunk many a pot of
wine here with my auld messmate, Andrew Barton; but I will never bend
a bicker with those who are in arms against his master--for had puir
Andrew been alive, he had stood by my side to-day; so let us bear
away, then--the sky is clear, as the saw saith,
'When the clouds spread like a feather,
Mariner look for fair gude weather.'
We'll sight these Englishmen to-night, and overhaul them before
morning."
Glad to be rid of one whose loyalty and inflexible truth were likely
to prove troublesome, and perhaps infectious, the barons in reality
cared very little whether Sir Andrew vanquished the English or was
sunk by them; for, like true Scottish peers, the national honour to
them was nothing when conflicting with their own private ends. As
the three kingsmen left the house, they saw two ladies at one of the
lower windows waving their handkerchiefs through the basketted
grating, careless whether pages, grooms, or men-at-arms observed
them. These were Sybilla and Euphemia Drummond. For a minute the
lovers loitered to exchange a word and glance.
"Thou art welcome, thrice welcome to my father's house, Lady Effie,"
said Barton; "and one day I hope to see its porch bedecked with white
garlands in thine honour, when coming home as its lawful mistress;
but that must be when the tide of fortune turns, for sorely hath it
now set in against the loyal and true; so we, dear Effie, must thole
it with the others. I see how the land lies still with the old lord,
thy father; but we'll weather the reefs yet, please God, Effie."
Poor Falconer could only kiss the soft white hand of Sybilla, and
give her one deep and sorrowful glance, when Lord Home, who would
gladly have fallen on him, sword in hand, but for the safety of their
hostages, came furiously forward, and the two lovers hurried after
the admiral, who was impatiently waiting for them at the outer gate.
"Bear on, Robbie," said he, "we have no leisure now for backing and
filling, or toying and kissing hands. Doth not thy heart glow with a
double hope of vengeance at the sight of thy father's rooftree and
wasted substance? Well-a-day," he added, as they hastened through
St. Nicholas Wynd, "our poor king, after beating to windward all his
life against the dark current of adversity, perhaps is gone now, as
his grandsire went before him--sain him God! And though I will
rather scuttle the old frigate than lower my colours or vail my
topsails to those sharks of barons, yet thou seest, messmate, we must
e'en bear up before this civil tempest, and scud under bare poles,
for fear of losing all; but were I sure that the king was in life, by
the bones of St. Rule, I would not lift tack or sheet to humour the
best lord in the land!"
"But then the English fleet?"
"Ay, true, there thou hast the weathergage of me; yes, we must fight
in honour and conscience, whether lord, earl, or laird, king or
chancellor commanded us or not; ship your oars, my lads, and shove
off for the ship," he cried, as they sprang on board the barge, just
in time to prevent a violent collision between some of her crew and
the Angus spearmen, who had been provoked by the taunts and abuse of
Cuddie Clewline the coxswain. This "ancient mariner," whose
weatherbeaten visage was puckered up like a knot on an oak tree,
possessed a vocabulary of abuse that was pretty extensive; and he had
been perambulating the pier, spitting on his hard horny hands, and
throwing mortal defiances right and left among the vassals of the
Lord of Galloway, boasting that he did not value "their steel
trappings or iron jacks a ropes-end or a brass bodle."
As the barge, with its colour waving, shot out of the sunny harbour,
the crews of the merchant craft and Hanse traders gave the well-known
admiral a hearty cheer, and his oarsmen, as they bent to their task
and almost lifted their light craft out of the water, sung that merry
old Scottish sea-song, which is mentioned in the prologues of Bishop
Gawain Douglas--
"The ship sails owre ye saut sea faem,
Yat rowes on ye rocks o' our native hame;"
while Cuddie sat in the prow, flourishing his boat hook in defiance
to the soldiers on the bridge and pier.
Ere the last notes of the song and the plash of the oars had been
lost in the boom of the surf that broke on the reefs then known as
the Musselcape and Beacon Rock, Sir Patrick Gray rushed down St.
Nicholas Wynd, crossed the bridge, and hurried to the Kirkgate,
where, in the _Bell of St. Anthony_, a well-known hostel, he found
his minion, Sir Hew Borthwick, whom he scarcely knew, so splendidly
was he attired; for the price of James's signet-ring (long since
transmitted by the Governor of Berwick to London) had lined his
pockets with something better than pebbles, and enabled him to ruin
all the pages, pimps, and bullies about the prince's court at
tric-trac and shovel-board.
"Ride, Borthwick, ride," said Gray, breathlessly, as he roughly drew
him into a corner; "for death and life ride to Dunbar; here is
money--six half lions (about thirty shillings); get thee a skiff, and
seek the English Captain Howard. Warn him that Wood is putting to
sea--say his fleet is overwhelming. Anathema! Oh, the fool, the
half-witted English lurdane, to be loitering yet in Scottish waters
with that devilish damsel in his possession! If she is taken, her
tongue will destroy us all; she must be flung overboard, with all the
ciphers of Quentin Kraft, if the _Harry_ is captured; see to this on
your life, Hew Borthwick, see to it! Away, while there is yet
time--away!"
In ten minutes after this the regicide, well mounted, left Leith by
the Porte St. Anthony, and crossing the Links, struck eastward by the
dreary Figgate Muir, riding at headlong speed towards Dunbar.
It was about four o'clock in the evening, and as these "Scottish
worthies" separated, each mentally bequeathed the other to the
infernal shades.