FOR KING OR COVENANT
Montrose had returned to Scotland at a critical time. Eleven years
earlier, while he was still reading Seneca with his tutor at Glasgow,
the heralds had proclaimed from the city-cross at Edinburgh a royal
edict destined to set not Scotland only but the whole kingdom in a
blaze. By the Act of Revocation, as it was called, Charles, before he
had been a year upon his throne, succeeded in doing what his father
through nearly forty years of meddling had been careful to leave
undone. The blast of his heralds' trumpets had woke to life again
that long feud between the Crown and the aristocracy which had marked
the course of Scottish history during the two previous centuries, but
which had been gradually declining since Murray scattered his sister's
power to the winds at Langside.
It would be hard, at this distance of time and without his excuse,
to say in our haste with Knox that there was not one righteous man
among the Lords of the Congregation who had assisted him to establish
the reformed religion in Scotland; but it is certain that the large
majority looked only to the fat revenues of the old Church, and
remembered only her insolence in the day of her power. For a century
and a half she had been enriched and strengthened by successive
sovereigns as a bulwark against the fiercest and most independent
aristocracy in Europe. Under James the Fifth her haughty and dissolute
prelates had filled the highest offices of State, while the nobles
were despoiled, imprisoned, and banished at their will. The hour of
reckoning had now come, and it was to be exacted to the uttermost
farthing. But though the reformers were allowed to indulge their pious
zeal unchecked in the work of destruction, they were soon made aware
that their dangerous allies had no mind to see a new ecclesiastical
tyranny set up in the place of the old one. Within less than a year
of the establishment of the reformed religion the greater part of
the estates of the Catholic Church (estimated at rather more than
one-third of the whole wealth of the kingdom) had passed by various
and mostly violent ways into the hands of the aristocracy. This was
their paramount idea of the Reformation, an idea by which they were
determined to stand fast, though all the pulpits in the kingdom should
cry shame on them. Murray and Morton, those strong sons of Zeruiah,
treated the arguments and the anger of Knox with the same contemptuous
indifference, while the astute and mocking Maitland laughed in his
face at his scheme of Church government as at "a devout imagination."
A miserable pittance doled out of the share of the plunder allotted
to the Crown was all that the great Reformer could secure for the
maintenance of his new Church. Well might he cry, in the bitterness of
his disappointment, "I see two parts freely given to the devil, and
the third must be divided betwixt God and the devil." During Mary's
short reign, and under the regents who succeeded her, the wealth and
influence of the nobles had risen still higher at the expense of the
Crown when not at the expense of the Church. James, on attaining
his majority, had indeed done something to better the position of
the former, and when more firmly seated on his throne he had done
something to better the position of the latter. But, in his own homely
phraseology, he knew the stomach of his people too well to put a high
hand to these delicate matters. His Act of Annexation only applied
to so much of the old Church lands as still remained unalienated,
while it practically gave the sanction of Parliament to the titles of
those on which the nobles had already laid arbitrary hands. Even of
the property then resumed to the Crown he made throughout his reign
many and large grants to his favourites. The tithes he did not touch,
and it was by the tithes that his son's offence was to come. However
much, therefore, he might exasperate the Presbyterian clergy by his
Episcopalian proclivities, so long as he left the nobles' property
alone he was safe. They had no particular dislike either to the office
or style of bishop. With modified powers and under another name
bishops had indeed formed a part of Knox's original polity; and so far
as they tended to keep the clergy in order and confine them to their
proper business, their restoration was not unwelcome to a considerable
body outside the Church, and even to some of the less pugnacious
spirits within it. All the nobles took thought for was to prevent the
creation of a new spiritual aristocracy, that might come in time to be
as rich and powerful as the old Catholic hierarchy they had crushed
and despoiled. And of that, so long as they retained the mastery of
the funds which alone could make such an aristocracy possible, they
had little fear. Probably at no period since the accession of James
the First had there been such peace between a Scottish king and his
nobles as there was while James the Sixth sat on the English throne.
By the Act of Revocation the scene was changed in a moment. The
purpose of the Act was indeed both just and politic. Those writers who
will allow no virtue in Charles may claim that his real design was
but to increase the revenue and the prerogative of the Crown, and to
provide funds for the complete restoration of Episcopacy in Scotland,
without any thought for the interests of his oppressed subjects. But
his own revenues were not increased; the prerogative of the Crown was
strengthened only against an unruly and grasping aristocracy; the
oppressed were relieved from a grinding tyranny equal to the worst
exercise of the old feudal lordship. The right of tithe, where tithe
was levied in kind, gave those who held it absolute power over those
who had to pay it. It placed the small landowners and farmers, who
were now gradually forming in Scotland a middle class analogous to
the English yeomen, at the mercy of men who were, to say the least,
not famous for exercising it. The Catholic clergy, it was declared,
had been hard masters, but the little fingers of the Protestant
nobles were thicker than the loins of the Catholic clergy. The tenant
could not gather his harvest until the landlord had taken his tithe;
and the landlord took his tithe when it pleased him, regardless of
the interest or convenience of the tenant. It is not to be supposed
that all landlords pushed their rights to extremities, but it is
certain that there was much harsh dealing and much distress. The bare
existence of such rights, moreover, was subversive of the very essence
of the Constitution. They gave one class of the community despotic
authority over another class, and both Crown and Parliament were as
powerless to protect the latter as it was to protect itself. The
duties of the sovereign, no less than the liberty of the subject, made
a change imperative.
But as usual Charles began unwisely. All Church property held by
laymen, in tithe or land, was to be resumed to the Crown on the
ground of illegalities in the original concession. The opposition
was of course immediate and violent. It was headed by the Chancellor
himself, Sir George Hay, afterwards Earl of Kinnoull, an irritable,
obstinate old man, and included the greater part of the Privy
Council. A deputation was sent to remonstrate with the King; reports
were industriously circulated among the people that it was their
religion he was really aiming at; his commissioner for carrying
out the revocation was threatened with violence. For once Charles
was wise with a good grace. The obnoxious Act was withdrawn and a
commission known as the Commission of Surrender of Superiorities and
Tithes issued in its stead. The terms on which the commissioners
were empowered to treat are now unanimously allowed to have been as
conciliatory and liberal as was compatible with the redress of a
grievance to which sixty years of sufferance had perhaps given some
title of respect. Lord Napier was one of the commissioners, and
has recorded his emphatic opinion of the wisdom and justice of the
scheme. He has also recorded not less emphatically the factious and
dishonest nature of an opposition which was still, though less openly,
maintained by the discontented nobles.[4] Simultaneously with this
commission a proclamation was issued exempting from their operation
all ministers who had been ordained before the Articles of Perth
became law, and granting a general amnesty to all who were suffering
from their transgression.
Had Charles been content to stop here, Scotland at least could have
had no quarrel with him. Even the nobles, when the first heat of their
discontent had cooled, must have recognised that their property,
though slightly diminished, was now secured to them by an inalienable
title, and would be no longer a source of danger to themselves or to
the kingdom. The tithe-payers were freed from an unjust and oppressive
burden. The clergy were secured both in the receipt of their income
and in what the most tolerant of them at any rate considered the
reasonable exercise of their conscience. Could the King go on as he
had begun, he was likely to prove the strongest and most popular
ruler Scotland had known since his ancestor fell at Flodden. But when
any part of the body politic is sick it needs a wise and vigorous
physician to keep the infection from spreading. There was a dangerous
sickness rife in England, and it was not in the interests of those
who had determined on the cure to see it wrought by other means. If
one-half of the kingdom were sound, it could be used as an effectual
cure for the unsound half. The discontent in Scotland was therefore
assiduously fomented from England; and the unfortunate King, neither
wise nor vigorous himself, had in Laud an adviser whose vigour was
rarely on the side of wisdom.
Meanwhile the nobles waited. Though they could harass and delay the
Tithes Commission, they were powerless to resist it seriously. The
constitution of the Scottish Parliament rendered all opposition to the
Crown practically useless unless it was unanimous; and they knew well
that the general sympathies of the nation, lay and cleric alike, were
in this case on the side of the King. But they knew also that if he
made one step more along the dangerous path of religious innovation
their time would come. The concession in the matter of the Articles
of Perth, and the relief to be obtained from the resettlement of the
tithes, had not laid the suspicions of the clergy to sleep. They, too,
like the nobles, were waiting, and, unlike the nobles, their religion
was more to them than lands, and houses, and goods. The Protestantism
of the Presbyterian was sensitive above that of all other Protestants,
and there went along with it a deep-rooted national jealousy of
English interference. Even those who had no aversion to a moderate
form of Episcopacy, and were heartily disgusted with the intolerance
and pugnacity of the extreme Presbyterians, thought that it would
be best to let well alone, and that any further innovation would be
impolitic and dangerous. But all parties had a very shrewd suspicion,
which the English malcontents took care to keep alive, that the King
would not be content to leave well alone, and that there would soon
be further innovations. Then would come the time of the nobles.
When dissatisfied men gather together they do not pause to ask the
nature of each other's dissatisfaction. The cave of Adullam was the
rallying-ground of every one that was in distress, and every one that
was in debt, and every one that was discontented.
They had not long to wait. In the summer of 1633 Charles came to
Scotland to be crowned, and Laud came with him. He entered Edinburgh
on June 15th, and on the 18th the mischief began. The ceremonies of
the coronation confirmed the worst suspicions. A table decked in the
fashion of an altar was set up in the chapel of Holyrood; behind it
was hung a curtain of tapestry enwrought with a crucifix; the bishops
engaged in the service wore white rochets and copes embroidered
with gold, and each time they passed before the crucifix they bowed
their heads. Even the most loyal whispered to each other that it all
smelled sadly of Popery. The Tithes Bill was of course passed, but not
without an unseemly wrangle between Charles and his Parliament, over
which the Scottish law allowed the sovereign to preside in person.
Through the year following the King's return to England affairs grew
steadily worse. The creation of a see of Edinburgh, the appointment
of Archbishop Spottiswoode to the Chancellorship, and of many of his
bishops to the Privy Council,--a step odious to all the aristocracy
alike, to the tolerant and loyal Napier no less than to the mutinous
Loudon,--the Book of Ecclesiastical Canons, the foolish prosecution
of Lord Balmerino, all inflamed the rising temper of a nation jealous
above all other nations of established customs, and that had ever
shown itself quick to dispute the divine right of its kings to do
wrong. Last of all, as a torch to this fatal pyre, came Laud's new
prayer-book.
Everything, then, was ready for the explosion when Montrose returned
to Scotland in 1636. Which side was a young man of his rank, position,
and temper likely to take in the approaching conflict? That question
has been variously answered, and is still, if no longer the object of
controversy, at least a stumbling-block to many who regard him as the
Abdiel of that faithless time. That his character should have in some
degree suffered from a contrast which all can discern, and few have
been at the pains to examine, was inevitable. Between the champion of
the Throne who sealed his loyalty with his life and the leader of men
in arms against their sovereign, there must surely be a gulf which no
explanation or apology can bridge.
Both in joining and leaving the party of the Covenant Montrose has
been represented as influenced solely by wounded vanity. Disappointed
by the coldness of his first reception at court, he flung himself
into the arms of the Covenanters; disappointed by the ascendency
of Argyll in their councils, he flung himself into the arms of the
Cavaliers. On the other hand, his action has in both cases been
represented as the result of one uniform policy. After long and
careful deliberation he formed the conclusion, which was sanctioned if
not actually recommended by the most trusted of his friends, the wise
and impartial Napier, that the Covenant of 1638 was, in the spirit in
which he interpreted it and believed it to have been framed, the one
and only plan for redressing the grievances of the Scottish nation
without violating the lawful prerogative of the Crown. So long as he
believed this to be the true purpose and scope of the movement, so
long did he honestly endeavour to advance it. When he found that other
counsels were prevailing, and that the constitutional authority of the
Crown was to give place to the self-appointed authority of a handful
of its subjects--when he found, in short, that the Covenant of 1638
was ripening into the Solemn League and Covenant of 1643--he at once
transferred his allegiance to the King, whose best interests as the
appointed and hereditary ruler of his country he had always desired to
serve, and had hitherto believed himself to be serving. The truth, as
usual, lies somewhere between the two extremes; and this can surely be
allowed without casting any stain upon the good faith of Montrose.
Peter Heylin, the chaplain and biographer of Laud, has told a story
which was certainly believed in his time and has been generally
accepted down to our own. According to this story, Montrose on his
return from his travels had hastened to pay his respects to the
King. Charles was never slow to welcome to his court young gentlemen
of good position and repute; Montrose especially, the head of one
powerful family and allied by marriage with two others on which the
royal favour had already been signally bestowed, young, gifted, eager
for distinction, was surely justified in anticipating a gracious
reception. To his surprise and chagrin the King received him with
marked coldness, spoke a few formal words, gave his hand to be kissed,
and then turned away to converse with his courtiers.
This rebuff is attributed by Heylin to the intrigues of Hamilton.
James, Marquis of Hamilton, was then some six years older than
Montrose. From boyhood he had been about the person of Charles, and
was now in his most intimate confidence. Few liked him, and fewer
still trusted him; but with the unfortunate King he was all-powerful,
especially in matters of Scottish policy, on which at this time he
alone was consulted. He had done nothing, that any one could discover,
to merit this position. A few years before this date he had led a
body of troops to the assistance of Gustavus Adolphus, but had reaped
no laurels in that service, though on his return he discoursed so
learnedly on the art of war that he persuaded some people to take him
for a great soldier, just as by his grave look and reserved manner he
persuaded some to take him for a great statesman. He was not without
parts and knowledge of affairs, but incurably shifty; and though never
convicted of downright treachery, was perhaps only saved from it by
his inability to be downright in anything. None of all Charles's evil
counsellors, not even the Queen herself, wrought more mischief; and of
him, if of any man, it may be said that nothing in his life became him
so well as his leaving it.
To this dangerous man Montrose had been advised to pay his court.
Hamilton received him with every appearance of cordiality, but had no
mind to introduce so likely a rival into his master's good graces.
He therefore warned Montrose that the King was at that time much
prejudiced against Scotsmen, adding that only his love for his country
and his hopes to serve her enabled him to endure the indignities to
which he was daily subjected. At the same time he warned the King that
Montrose was a dangerous young man, very ambitious, very powerful and
popular in Scotland, and not unlikely in the event of any national
rising to be set up as king by virtue of an old strain of royal blood
in his family. This last insinuation would not fall on deaf ears.
Hamilton, indeed, had himself been accused of a similar design, for
which his descent from a daughter of James the Second, who had married
the first Lord Hamilton, gave at least as much colour as any that
Montrose's pedigree could supply; and though Charles had refused to
listen to the accusation, and was probably right in refusing, many
people still remembered it, and some in Scotland at any rate believed
it. Moreover, there was a member of the House of Graham whose claims
to the Scottish crown had lately been the subject of much wild
talk. This was William Graham, Earl of Airth and Menteith, a man of
considerable ability who had filled places of high trust in Scotland,
and had been allowed by Charles to resume the older earldom of
Stratherne, which had been cancelled two centuries ago in consequence
of its inconvenient relations with royalty. It is unnecessary to
entangle ourselves in the intricate mazes of Scottish genealogy. It
will be enough to say that the question turned on the legitimacy
of Robert the Second's children by his first wife, Elizabeth Mure,
from whom Charles was descended. Menteith came from the children of
the second wife, Euphemia Ross, about whose birth there could be no
question. All through the two centuries there had lurked a doubt,
sure to be revived whenever the sovereign was in bad favour with his
quarrelsome subjects, that the progeny of Euphemia were the genuine
Stuarts. Menteith, egged on by some unscrupulous men, of whom in these
years there was never any lack among the Scottish aristocracy, had
talked foolishly about his red blood and his "cousin Charles," and
cousin Charles had heard of it. His indiscreet kinsman got a sharp
lesson to keep that unruly tongue of his quiet. He was stripped not
only of all his offices, but of his titles as well; and though he was
almost immediately afterwards re-admitted into the peerage as Earl of
Airth and Menteith, the dangerous title of Stratherne became a thing
of the past for ever, and nothing more was heard of "Elizabeth Mure's
bastard." It can easily then be understood how Hamilton's hint would
be enough to make Charles look coldly on another of these troublesome
Grahams.
This story of Hamilton's mischief has been told twice by Heylin, with
the addition that Montrose subsequently alleged it to the King as the
cause of his early defection. Heylin was indebted, he says, to Napier
for much information on Scottish affairs, and a man who had talked
much with Napier was not unlikely to hear something of his well-loved
brother-in-law. There is no other authority for supposing that
Montrose ever made such a confession. It is not impossible that he may
have done so at Oxford when trying to convince the King of Hamilton's
treachery. Clarendon makes no mention of it in his account of the
charges then brought against the favourite, nor does Burnet, who sets
out the charges in full and the answers to them. The latter alludes
more than once to the enmity known to exist between the two men,
attributing it to Montrose's suspicion that it was Hamilton who had
betrayed to the Covenanters his secret correspondence with Charles.
But there was common talk of bad blood between them before that date.
Montrose could have had no suspicion at the time of the ill turn
Hamilton had played him, or he would certainly have endeavoured to set
himself right with his sovereign. From a story told in the appendix to
the _Hamilton Papers_, it would appear that he attributed his kinsman
of Menteith's disgrace to the favourite's jealousy. It is clear at
any rate that they bore no goodwill to each other from the first, as
indeed was natural enough, considering the temper of the times and of
the two men. Both were young and both ambitious. Hamilton was cold,
cunning, and jealous; Montrose was eager and impetuous, and jealous
too, though in a more open and generous fashion. When flint and steel
come together the sparks are apt to fly.
Those who discredit this story do so on the ground that it discredits
Montrose. Had he gone straight from the King into the arms of the
malcontents, their argument might be good. But he did not. His
interview with Charles took place some time in 1636, and it was not
till the end of the following year that he first publicly ranged
himself against the Court party. According to Robert Baillie,
assuredly no mean authority in these matters, it was the "canniness,"
or cunning, of Rothes that won Montrose over, though the latter
assigned that doubtful honour to Robert Murray, one of the reverend
agitators deputed to beat up for recruits to the Covenant in the
counties of Perth and Stirling. Rothes, with Loudon and Balmerino, had
been in the forefront of the opposition from its beginning; and it
is said that Charles had been unwise enough to put a public affront
on him in Scotland. He was a clever man, of dissolute life but good
appearance and manners; his religion he could put on and off like
his gloves; "no man could appear more conscientiously transported
when the part he was to act required it," says Clarendon, who also
calls him "the chief architect of the whole machine." The Covenant
was not publicly produced for signature till early in 1638; but ever
since that memorable Sunday in the summer of the previous year,
when the reading of the new prayer-book in St. Giles's Church had
been interrupted by an organised tumult of serving-women, various
supplications and remonstrances had been forwarded to the King, and
various meetings held among the disaffected nobles, clergymen, and
others, from which finally sprang the famous Covenant. At one of
these meetings, held in November 1637, Montrose made his first public
appearance on the side of the malcontents.
It is clear, therefore, that he had ample time for reflection, and
that what he did could not at least have been done in the heat of an
angry moment. Those who reject the idea that he was seduced against
his better judgment by the arguments of Rothes or any other agitator,
lay great stress on the probability of his having been guided by the
advice of Napier. That he and Napier must have talked much over the
evil time they saw coming may be taken for granted. It is certain too
that Napier was as honest and loyal as he was sagacious. He was a
true King's man, but in the constitutional, not in the absolute sense
of the old phrase; an upholder of the monarchy, but of a monarchy
ruling according to the established laws of the country. He was of
no faction. He sympathised with all that was genuine, and, according
to the theories of the Scottish nation, lawful in the Covenant;
but, and it is important to remember this, he would not sign it. The
Covenant of 1638 professed to be no more than a renewal of the old
Covenant, or King's Confession as it was sometimes called, of 1580-81,
which had itself been renewed in 1588, when the fear of the Spaniard
was over all the land. But it contained some notable additions. The
office of bishops and the promotion of churchmen to civil power
were declared to have no scriptural warrant, to be contrary both
to the letter and spirit of the original Covenant, which had been
subscribed by King James as well as by his subjects, to tend to
the re-establishment of Popery, and, in short, to be dangerous to
the religion, laws, and liberties of the nation, and no less so to
the King's honour. Their loyalty the subscribers to this new bond
declared to be unimpeachable, whatever "foul aspersions of rebellion
or combination" might be alleged against them by their adversaries.
The King's authority was so closely joined with the true worship of
God that they must stand or fall together; and as they repudiated all
design of doing anything that might turn to the dishonour of God,
so did they repudiate all design of doing anything that might turn
to the diminution of the King's greatness or authority. "We shall,"
they swore, "to the uttermost of our power, with our means and lives,
stand to the defence of our dread sovereign the King's majesty, his
person and authority, in defence and preservation of the foresaid true
religion, liberties, and laws of the kingdom; as also to the mutual
defence and assistance every one of us of another, in the same cause
of maintaining the true religion and his majesty's authority with our
best counsel, our bodies, means, and whole power, against all sorts
of persons whatsoever; so that whatsoever shall be done to the least
of us for that cause, shall be taken as done to us all in general,
and to every one of us in particular." This document was the work of
Archibald Johnstone of Warriston, a clever, unscrupulous lawyer, and
Alexander Henderson, a Presbyterian minister of more learning and
temper than most of his party. It was subsequently revised by Rothes,
Balmerino, and Loudon, and so took its place in Scottish history
as the Covenant of 1638. In all that related to the appointment of
churchmen to civil power Napier must have heartily agreed. He had
been bred, as Montrose had been bred, in the reformed religion, and
was, as Montrose was, a sincere though not intolerant Presbyterian.
To a moderate form of Episcopacy, which should be confined strictly
to the economy of the Church, he possibly entertained, as many good
Presbyterians from the days of Knox had entertained, no aversion.
"Bishops," Montrose declared with almost his last breath, "I care
not for them. I never intended to advance their interests." That was
probably Napier's attitude to them. It did not seem to him a very
terrible thing that one clergyman should have the power of regulating
the conduct and prescribing the duties of another, whether he was
called Bishop or Moderator. But that a clergyman should be entrusted
with civil power he thought dangerous to all parties, to King, Church,
and State. There still exists in his handwriting a paper bearing
emphatic witness to his sentiments on this head.[5] "That churchmen
have competency," it begins, "is agreeable to the law of God and man.
But to invest them into great estates and principal offices of the
State, is neither convenient for the Church, for the King, nor for
the State. Not for the Church, for the indiscreet zeal and excessive
donations of princes were the first causes of corruption in the Roman
Church, the taste whereof did so inflame the avarice and ambition of
the successors that they have raised themselves above all secular and
sovereign power, and to maintain the same have attended to the world
certain devices of their own for matters of faith. Not to Kings nor
States, for histories witness what troubles have been raised to Kings,
what tragedies among subjects, in all places where churchmen were
great. Our reformed Churches, having reduced religion to the ancient
primitive truth and simplicity, ought to beware that corruption enter
not in their Church at the same gate, which already is open, with
store of attendants thereat to welcome it with pomp and ceremony." Nor
was he likely to dispute the theory that resistance to innovations
dangerous to the peace of the kingdom was compatible with loyalty to
the King, and that to preserve the safety of the one was in effect
to preserve the authority of the other. "For a King and his people,"
he wrote, "make up one political body, whereof the King is the head.
In a politic as in a natural body what is good or ill for one is so
for both, neither can the one subsist without the other, but must go
to ruin with the other." Holding these views, and, according to one
idea, approving if not actually recommending his brother-in-law's
subscription to the Covenant, why, it may be asked, did not Napier
himself subscribe it? The answer may perhaps be found in another
extract from the same document: "They who are pressed with necessity
at home are glad of any occasion or pretext to trouble the public
quiet, and to fish in troubled waters to better their fortunes." The
snare which lured his young hot-headed relative was spread in vain
for the old and cautious Napier. A true Covenanter Montrose called
him before the Assembly at Glasgow. He was so; he was too true to the
spirit of the real Covenant to be caught by its specious copy; too
true a Covenanter to trust himself or his conscience to such keepers
as Rothes, Loudon, and Balmerino. A man of his experience in affairs,
nor less experienced in the temper of his own countrymen and of the
King, cannot but have had a shrewd suspicion whither such a movement
under such guides must inevitably tend. It may then be asked why he
did not use his influence to dissuade his relative from a partnership
he was too prudent himself to join? We do not know that he did not. We
know nothing, save that he did not sign the Covenant and that Montrose
did. But it is not unreasonable in the circumstances to suppose that
his advice may have been given that way, and given in vain. At no time
of his life was Montrose easy to persuade against his own feelings.
Confident in his own abilities, conscious of his own integrity, why
may he not have thought that in him the Covenant would find a leader
able to counteract the selfish view of those who were merely troubling
the waters to better their own fortune, persuasive enough to guide it
into the way it should go, and strong enough to keep it there? And
perhaps Napier too believed him to be such a leader.
There remains then only to consider what share, if any, his alleged
resentment at the King's behaviour may have had in determining his
action. That he joined the Covenant to revenge himself on the King
no one who has studied his character will believe, any more than
they will believe that he joined the King to revenge himself on the
Covenant. But is there anything unreasonable in believing that his
resentment at behaviour for which he was conscious of having given no
cause, and so much the reverse of what he had every right and reason
to expect, may have rendered an ambitious and impulsive young man
more amenable to the plausible arguments and misrepresentations of
artful and interested counsellors? If the story of Hamilton's intrigue
be true--and it is hard to believe there can have been no truth in
it--Montrose had been instructed that the King was ill disposed to
Scotland, and the Scots had received what he could not but consider a
convincing proof of it. With his own eyes he had seen what the King's
disposition was to the religion he had been bred in. Everything that
had happened since his return to Scotland had unfortunately tended to
confirm the original impression of his own reception and Hamilton's
explanation of it. A young man of Montrose's disposition would in such
a frame of mind be easy game for such cunning hunters as Rothes and
his crew. There was nothing in the letter of the Covenant he signed
incompatible with the peculiar nature of Scottish loyalty, which
had never been of that patient, unquestioning, one might almost say
unreasoning, nature which has sometimes marked the English loyalist.
To save the country meant to save the King in spite of himself, in
spite of those evil counsellors who stood ever at his ear to poison
him against his Scottish subjects. It was an enchanting prospect for
an ardent, aspiring young man who had fired his imagination with the
romantic pages of Plutarch. "As Philip's noble son," he had written,
As Philip's noble son did still disdain
All but the dear applause of merited fame,
And nothing harboured in that lofty brain
But how to conquer an eternal name;
So great attempts, heroic ventures, shall
Advance my fortune, or renown my fall.
What greater or more heroic venture could there be than to preserve
the religion, laws, and liberties of his country! Hamilton and the
unconscious King between them had provided the hour; Rothes found the
man.
It is true, therefore, to say that Montrose signed the Covenant
deliberately and on reflection, and with the assurance that in so
doing he was pledging himself only to a constitutional resistance
against an illegal attempt to subvert the religion and liberties of
his country, and in nowise combining to undermine and overthrow the
lawful authority and prerogative of the Crown. But it is not therefore
illogical to believe that various causes conspired to give him that
assurance; and that among those causes the jealousy of Hamilton and
the cunning of Rothes had their place together with the fanaticism of
Laud and the folly of the King.