THE PLOT AND THE INCIDENT
The suspicions which Montrose had managed to allay for a time in the
field, now broke out against him with renewed force when arms once
more gave place to diplomacy. While the Scots lay in garrison at
Newcastle, letters passed freely between them and the English camp.
Before crossing the Tweed a general order had been issued by Leslie
that no communication should be held with the enemy except under
his warrant. Anything in the nature of a secret correspondence was
declared treasonable, and he who held it liable to the punishment
of a traitor. With this offence Montrose was now charged. While
the negotiations for the Treaty of Ripon were proceeding, word was
brought to Leslie that a letter had gone from Montrose to the King
which had never passed under the eyes of the Committee. How the
secret was discovered is not clear. It may have been, as Wishart and
other contemporaries have maintained, through the treachery of some
member of the King's own household. It may have been through sheer
accident, according to Burnet's story. The manner of the discovery is
unimportant; the fact of the letter is certain. When taxed with it
before the Committee, Montrose made no attempt at denial or excuse.
At once and boldly avowing what he had done, he challenged any man
present to say that he had done wrong. He had written to the King,
professing his obedience and loyalty. What then? Had they not all,
but the other day, signed a humble petition to his majesty in the
character of his most loyal and obedient subjects? Their articles of
war forbade all secret correspondence with the enemy. What man among
them would venture to call his sovereign an enemy? Did not the same
articles declare that, "If any man shall open his mouth against the
King's majesty's person or authority, or shall presume to touch his
sacred person, he shall be punished as a traitor"? The Committee
was in a strait. They knew that Montrose was fooling them, but they
could not gainsay him. Leslie indeed, more apt at war than council
and impatient of such nice distinctions, muttered that he had known
princes lose their heads for less faults. But his colleagues dared
not accept the alternative Montrose offered them. They could not deny
the letter of their own law, and they did not feel strong enough to
refuse his wide interpretation of its spirit. They were in truth in
the uncomfortable position of being caught in their own snare.
But though victory was for the time with Montrose, it was but a
momentary gleam. His enemies were ever on the watch to catch him
tripping, and they soon found graver matter against him. In the
following November the young Lord Boyd, Montrose's relation and one
of the signatories of the Cumbernauld Bond, lay dying of a malignant
fever. In his delirium he uttered some rambling words about a secret
which, reported to Argyll, were enough to put those quick wits on
the track. Almond was then at his house at Callendar on leave from
Newcastle, and from him Argyll soon contrived to learn all about
the Bond and who had signed it. Montrose was at once summoned to
Edinburgh to answer this new accusation of treason. He took the same
course before the Estates that he had taken before the Committee at
Newcastle. He avowed what he had done, and justified it by the dangers
then threatening Scotland and the Covenant. There was hot debate, and
some, especially among the clergymen, would have made it a capital
offence. But Argyll knew that his party was not yet strong enough
to carry matters with so high a hand. Montrose did not stand alone.
Some good Covenanters had shared in his treason, Almond and Mar and
Marischal. And there were others whom half Leslie's army would have
marched on the capital to save or revenge. Montrose himself was quite
as much feared as he was hated by his accusers. They knew he had many
friends among the Covenanters, and suspected he might have more than
they knew. He must be separated from them before it would be safe to
proceed to extremities against him. Moreover there were some who still
thought it might not be too late to win this high spirit and ready
genius to their side. He was ambitious, and events might so shape
their course that the Covenant would be able to feed his ambition more
liberally than the King. So this offence too was passed over. The Bond
was surrendered and burned: the subscribers signed a declaration that
they had meant nothing by it against the common weal; and once again
the Covenant was outwardly at peace with itself.
But even after these two warnings Montrose could not keep quiet. The
very opposite to Argyll on every side of his character, while the
latter bided the time that he foresaw must come with eyes and ears
ever open and tongue ever still, Montrose roamed restlessly about the
country between the army at Newcastle and his own home, talking wildly
to whomsoever would listen. The purpose of the burned Bond, Argyll's
dictatorship, his meditated attack on the royal authority,--he poured
all these dangerous secrets out to his comrade of the hour, careless
who he might be. Once he talked in this strain in the presence of
no less a person than old Leslie himself, as they were riding from
Chester to Newcastle with a Colonel Cochrane. The prudent Colonel did
not care for such talk in such company, and begged his rash lordship
to change the subject. There might have been more dangerous listeners
than Leslie, who was an honest man not given to making mischief, and,
so long as his pay was safe and he did his duty by his soldiers,
caring as little for one faction as the other. But it had been all
one with Montrose who was by to hear him. Everything was going wrong.
He could no longer trust the Covenant; he could not yet trust the
King. His associates in the Bond, with one or two exceptions, had made
their peace with the enemy. The Bond itself had been promptly burned,
and the wildest stories circulated of its language and purpose.[9]
Even among the more moderate Covenanters there were many who believed
these stories, and looked askance at Montrose as an ambitious,
unscrupulous, designing man, careless of his country and intent only
on his own ends. Conscious of the popular suspicions, chafing against
a false position from which he saw no present means of escape, uneasy,
discontented, doubtful where to turn and whom to trust--there could
be but one issue to the struggle between such a man in such a mood
and Argyll. Nor could the issue be far distant. Argyll had but to sit
still and wait. He could not play his game better than his rival was
playing it for him.
In the spring of 1641, while the Scottish army still lay at
Newcastle and their commissioners still wrangled in London over the
price of their return, a family party of four used to meet almost
daily in Edinburgh at Montrose's lodgings in the Canongate, or at
Napier's old house of Merchiston on the Borough Moor. Besides the
two brothers-in-law there were their nephew Sir George Stirling of
Keir, and Sir Archibald Stewart of Blackhall who had married Keir's
sister. Of course the talk ran on the old lines. How was this unhappy
country to be saved, and who could save it? It was agreed that the
only possible saviour was the King. He must come to Edinburgh when
the Parliament met in the summer, and satisfy his Scottish subjects
that he meant fairly by them, as these four had satisfied themselves
he could and would. To establish their religion and liberties would
be to establish his own authority; the people would rally to the
Throne when they recognised that only under the shadow of the Throne
could they hope to enjoy the blessings of a settled government,
just laws, and a free religion. "For they assured themselves" (so
runs Montrose's vindication) "that the King giving God His due,
and the people theirs, they would give Cæsar that which was his."
It was necessary to communicate with Charles, and most necessary to
find a trusty messenger. They fixed upon a certain Walter Stewart
of Traquair, who was on the eve of journeying to London on his own
business, and whom, from his name, they conceived likely to get easy
access to the Court. It was decided to approach the King through his
cousin the Duke of Lennox, who was in high favour with his majesty,
and had been employed in a similar capacity by the supplicants of 1637
to plead their grievances against Laud's prayer-book. There exists a
paper in Napier's handwriting,--but evidently, from its similarity to
the discourse on sovereign power mentioned in the last chapter, in
great part, if not wholly, Montrose's composition,--which is believed
to be the substance of the letter sent to Charles, and the tenor of
his answer to Montrose strengthens the belief. All things, the King
is told, depend on his personal presence in Scotland, the success of
his affairs, the security of his authority, the peace and happiness of
his subjects. It is useless to send a commissioner, no matter whom; he
must come in person. The people bear him no ill-will, nor the Throne,
nor will they suffer any attack to be made on it; their religion, as
chosen by themselves, and their liberties as settled by the law of
the land, are all they want. Let what they ask, if it be for their
good, be granted, for that which tends to their good will assuredly
include his own. But though the people should be justly treated and
reasonably indulged, they should not be suffered to dispute his power.
The sovereign power, he is warned, in words almost identical with
those addressed to Montrose's Noble Sir, "is an instrument never
subject yet handled well." A king's authority should be maintained to
the height allowed by the law of God and Nature, and the fundamental
laws of the country. If not it sinks into contempt; and "weak and
miserable is that people whose prince hath not power sufficient to
punish oppression, and to maintain peace and justice." On the other
hand, he is warned not to aim at absoluteness, which of all people the
Scots will least endure. "Practice, sir, the temperate government.
It fitteth the humour and disposition of the nation best. It is most
strong, most powerful, and most durable of any. It gladdeth the hearts
of your subjects, and then they erect a throne for you to reign." He
is bid to beware of Rehoboam's counsellors: "they are flatterers,
and therefore cannot be friends; they follow your fortune and love
not your person." Finally, he is urged to settle the high offices
of State upon men chosen by himself according to his own knowledge
of their ability and honesty. Men who owe their preferment to the
recommendation of others will not serve him well if it must be to
the prejudice of their patrons. Whether this wise and liberal letter
was the only letter entrusted to Stewart by the Plotters, as they
soon came to be called, is not clearly known, but of that hereafter.
For the present, having seen his messenger safely off on his journey
south, Montrose himself left Edinburgh on a visit to Lord Stormont at
Scone Abbey.
It was an unfortunate visit. The company gathered to welcome Montrose
was the worst he could have met in his present temper. Stormont had
himself been a subscriber to the Bond, and was one of the few who
had not made his peace with the enemy. There too was Athole, still
smarting under the indignities suffered at Argyll's hands, and with
Athole was his faithful henchman, John Stewart of Ladywell, Commissary
of Dunkeld. It is easy to guess what were the subjects of conversation
among such spirits. Unfortunately Montrose was not content with
unburdening his sore mind to his friends. Some Covenanting ministers
in the neighbourhood came ostensibly to pay their respects to him,
and doubtless also to learn what such an ominous conjunction of
malcontents might mean, and Montrose must needs also talk to them.
He knew them all personally. They were John Graham of Auchterarder
hard by his own castle of Kincardine, John Robertson of Perth, and
Robert Murray of Methven. To the latter he was particularly anxious to
explain himself, as one of the chief instruments of his subscription
to the Covenant whose interests he was now accused of having sold.
All the secret history of the Bond was accordingly poured into
Murray's curious ears, of the treason it was designed to thwart,
of the Dictatorship and the Triumvirate, of his intention to clear
himself by challenging Argyll to his face before Parliament. It was
known that Murray had been talking to Montrose, and his colleagues
were not long in extracting from him all he had to tell. This was
reported, doubtless with some embellishments, at the next meeting of
the Presbytery at Auchterarder, and of course at once carried down to
Argyll. Graham, when summoned to answer for his words, quoted Murray:
Murray quoted Montrose; and so at last the long-gathering storm burst.
Never in any crisis of his life was Montrose slow to accept the
consequences of his own acts. He frankly owned that Argyll, whom
Murray had not dared to name before the Committee, was the man he
aimed at; that he had done so partly on his own knowledge, partly on
the authority of others who would bear him out; and he concluded by a
direct appeal to Argyll to say what he knew of the business. Argyll
swore that he had never heard of it before, and that the man who said
he had ever uttered treason against the King was a base liar. Montrose
then named his witnesses. Lord Lindsay of the Byres, he said, had
spoken to him of the Dictatorship. The man who had reported the talk
against the King was John Stewart of Ladywell. For the Triumvirate,
he referred the Committee to Argyll's proposed colleagues, Cassillis
and Mar, and to others, also named, who were present when the plan was
framed.
Ladywell was instantly summoned, and corroborated all that his word
had been pledged for. Argyll broke into a storm of passionate denial,
but the witness stood firm. "My lord," he said, "I heard you speak
these words in Athole in presence of a great many people, whereof
you are in good memory." Lindsay was next examined. He admitted the
conversation, but persisted that he had not named Argyll. Montrose
could say no more than that if his memory had played him false on
this point, at least the tenor of Lindsay's words had left him in no
doubt at whom they were aimed. This relieved the Committee from an
embarrassing position. Lindsay's admissions, coming on the back of
Ladywell's sworn evidence, had grievously disturbed them. If Montrose
was right, two of their stoutest champions had been dabbling in what
their own articles condemned as treason. But as Montrose had admitted
the possibility of being mistaken in one instance it was open to
assume that he had been mistaken in all. They accordingly reported
to that effect. Lindsay's words, they found, did not bear Montrose's
interpretation.
There still remained Ladywell to deal with. A man cursed with such an
inconvenient memory could not safely be suffered to go at large, and
the unfortunate creature had already been for days under close ward
in the Castle. All good Covenanters were now rejoiced, and probably
not much surprised, to hear that he had confessed to have done Argyll
wrong. The treasonable speeches made in Athole were, he now said,
his own fabrication, and further that he had been persuaded to send
copies of them to the King by Montrose's messenger, Walter Stewart. A
watch was accordingly set for Stewart; he was arrested on his way home
at Cockburnspath, between Berwick and Dunbar, and sent to keep his
namesake company in the Castle.
A man who denies his oath under pressure of fear is not easily
believed, except by those who expect to profit by his denial. But it
is probable that Ladywell's second story was the true one. For, after
all, his confession amounted to no more than this, that Argyll's
conversation had been rather historical than personal; he had spoken
generally of the relation of subjects to their kings, not directly of
Charles and Scotland. This is certainly more consistent with Argyll's
character, who was not wont to let his tongue go too freely in any
company, and would hardly have selected an audience of loyal Ogilvies
and Atholemen for such confidences. Argyll indeed still swore that he
had not broached the subject at all, and brought a crowd of Campbells
to bear him out. But Ladywell's amended version was corroborated by
the only one of his witnesses who was summoned. It seems on the whole
impossible to doubt that Argyll had been making some experiments on
the national temper in the direction of what even his own party was as
yet obliged to call treason. These things were in the air. Clarendon's
report of his conversation with Henry Martin at Westminster shows
what was in many minds at this time, and Argyll's own speeches in
Parliament during the previous year had gone some little way on the
same road. Ladywell's partial recantation did not save him. Perhaps it
was too partial; perhaps his exoneration of Montrose from any share in
his deception disappointed his judges; perhaps they resolved not to
run the risk of a third version. At all events, when he had signed his
confession, he was sent back to prison, tried under that old statute
of leasing-making which had raised such an outcry when revised four
years ago by Charles against Balmerino, found guilty, and executed. To
Guthrie, who attended him on the scaffold, the poor creature asserted
at the last that he had been induced to bear false witness against
himself by promises of pardon and reward. But when a man once begins
to go back on his own words, even his most probable version must be
received cautiously.
The other prisoner, Walter Stewart, proved a more valuable prize. To
clear Argyll was after all no great matter, for Argyll was strong
enough to clear himself. The important point was to convict Montrose.
A letter to him from the King was discovered in the lining of
Stewart's saddle. There was nothing in its language capable of being
turned to his discredit, but it could be construed as an answer to
some previous communication, and it certainly established the fact
of a secret correspondence between the two which was contrary to the
articles of the Covenant. And this was not all. Papers of a more
suspicious nature were discovered--papers in Stewart's own hand,
written in a strange jargon, where letters, phrases, and sometimes the
names of animals were substituted for the names of persons. Stewart
explained these as the heads of certain instructions entrusted to
him by the Plotters to be delivered to the King through the hands of
Lennox and Traquair. The _Elephant_ or _Serpent_ stood for Hamilton,
the _Dromedary_ for Argyll, Montrose himself was the _Genero_, the
letters _A B C_ signified the four conspirators--and so forth. The
papers also contained some suggestions as to the preferment of
Montrose and himself, and a warning that if they were neglected it
would go ill with the King.
Stewart, like his namesake, did not keep to one story. He altered
much, added something, contradicted himself many times. Traquair,
who was then in London, flatly denied all knowledge of the papers,
nor would he believe that Montrose or any man of sense, if minded
to play such a dangerous game, would have taken into his confidence
a timorous half-witted fool like Stewart. The King wrote in his own
hand to Argyll one of his ambiguous letters, committing himself to
nothing beyond a declaration that his journey to Scotland had not been
prompted by Montrose or Traquair to their own ends, but was intended
solely to settle all disputes on the terms of the new treaty, and
that he had given no promises of office to any man. He avowed his
letter to Montrose as one fit to be written by a king to a good
subject. Finally, he requested Argyll to do him right in this matter,
and not permit him to be unjustly suspected. The day before this
letter reached Edinburgh the four Plotters were arrested and sent as
prisoners to the Castle.
Stewart's story, or stories, unquestionably rested on some foundation
of truth, but on how much no man can tell. The accused, with the
exception of Montrose, confessed to have talked with Stewart, but
denied all knowledge of his hieroglyphics. Keir, indeed, owned to have
been shown a paper by him containing some general propositions on
public affairs which he understood to have been submitted to Charles
by Lennox, and the King's answers. He gave a copy of it to Napier, but
nothing seems to have been said either then or afterwards as to the
author. Beyond this we cannot go. From this point of view Argyll and
his faction were of course justified in regarding Montrose and his
friends as conspirators. They were conspiring against Argyll, whom
they believed to be the worst enemy of their country no less than of
the King. Under his rule the Covenant had sunk to a mere faction, in
which no honest patriot could any longer bear part or lot. They had
persuaded themselves that salvation could come only by the King. He
had promised all that a reasonable people could expect from him, and
if he would hesitate no more nor go back again upon his word all would
be well. While Argyll was carrying all before him, they could only
work for their country's good in secret. So far they were undoubtedly
conspirators. Napier would have been soon set free at an early stage
of the proceedings. He was an old man, much respected and liked by
all parties. But he would not accept a favour which would imply, he
said, a tacit confession of his guilt. Whatever their crime might be,
they all shared it equally. Montrose refused, always courteously but
persistently refused, to answer any questions before the Committee.
If he was guilty, he said, let him be brought to a public trial. He
was declared contumacious, and an order issued to make search for
further evidence of treason against him. His servants were examined,
his houses ransacked, his cabinets broken open, and his private papers
read; but only one document was found that could by any ingenuity
be turned against him. This was a defence of the Cumbernauld Bond,
written, he assured the Committee, for his own private satisfaction
only, now that the Bond had been burned and the whole affair, as
he had supposed, laid for ever to rest. The Covenanting historians
have described it as an "infamous and scurvey libel, full of vain
humanities, magnifying to the skies his own courses, and debasing
to hell his opposites." But as they have omitted to allow posterity
the means of determining the justice of their description, and as
Montrose's public writings and speeches certainly do not justify
it, we may conclude that party feeling had something to do with
these tremendous epithets. The Covenanters had in truth a profound
belief in the wisdom of the advice embodied at a later day in the
well-known formula, _Give your judgment, but never give your reasons_.
They burned the Bond, they burned its justification, and then they
thundered against both in safety. And they took the same prudent
course in another matter. In one of Montrose's cabinets were found
some letters written in earlier and happier years by ladies with whom
the young gallant had danced and exchanged compliments in the flowery
fashion of the time. Their contents were never made public, but evil
things were freely circulated of them to the edification of the
sterner sort of Puritans; though others held that Lord Sinclair, who
had been entrusted with the search, had played no honourable part in
chattering of such private matters.
Such was the position of affairs when the King arrived in Edinburgh
on the evening of August 14th, 1641. As usual he was received with
every semblance of respect. The nobles thronged to Holyrood to kiss
his hand; Argyll made flattering speeches to him in Parliament; he
was entertained at a splendid banquet, where his health was drunk in
right loyal fashion. He attended the Presbyterian service zealously,
and talked much with Henderson. He drove with Leslie, who had now
brought his army back from England, through the city amid the cheers
of a delighted crowd. But this halcyon weather could not last long.
The time came to fill those vacant offices of State which Montrose
was accused of claiming for himself and his friends; then Argyll put
forth his hand, and the mortified King soon found that it was the hand
which now practically wielded the sceptre of Scotland. An Act was
passed, making the King's choice of his ministers dependent on the
will of Parliament. It was next moved that Parliament should have the
right of submitting their own nominees to the King, and that no one
who had sided with him during the late troubles should be eligible.
These arbitrary measures provoked indeed much discontent among the
nobles, who had not stood up against the King to crouch under Argyll.
"If this be what you call liberty," cried Perth, "God give me the old
slavery again." But under their new Lords of the Articles the nobles,
even if united, could no longer command a majority in Parliament;
each Estate now chose its own lords, and out of the three two almost
to a man followed Argyll. Outside the House, however, they had still
to be reckoned with, and there the clamour against the popular leader
was rising high. For the moment it was aimed even more against
Hamilton, who, with his brother Lanark, was now openly courting
Argyll, as against a renegade who had deserted both his faith and
his friend. Ker, Lord Roxburgh's son, a headstrong young man who had
once quarrelled and fought under the flag of the Covenant, publicly
challenged Hamilton as a traitor. He was forced to apologise before
the House, but he came up the High Street to make his submission
escorted by six hundred armed retainers, and there were many who took
a less tumultuous way of showing their sympathy with his action. Even
Charles now found it a hard matter to keep his belief in the favourite
unshaken.
At this juncture the King received a letter on which, after much
reflection, he determined to take counsel. Twice already had Montrose
written from his prison praying for an interview on matters of the
deepest moment. The King would not see him nor answer his letters;
a man in Montrose's position, he said, would promise much to secure
an audience. Montrose now wrote a third time, no longer vaguely
hinting of danger, but directly offering to prove some one, whom
he did not name, but who was clearly Hamilton, a traitor. It was
impossible to disregard warnings that now began to match so well with
his own suspicions. Charles determined to lay the letter before the
Chancellor, Loudon, and others, including Argyll himself, and to ask
their advice.
Suddenly all Edinburgh broke into uproar. The news spread like
wildfire that a plot had been discovered to murder Argyll, Hamilton,
and Lanark, and that they had fled the city in fear of their lives.
It was true that they had gone. Late on the evening of October 11th,
the evening of the day on which the King had received Montrose's last
letter, the three men had been warned of their danger by Leslie, and
on the next day they left the city. But what was the danger, and from
what quarter did it come? Leslie, when questioned, answered carelessly
that the whole affair was a foolish business not worth talking of.
On the afternoon of the 12th the King went down to Parliament to
declare all he knew of the mystery. All he knew, if he told them all,
was little enough. It really amounted to no more than that Hamilton
had talked strangely to him of plots and calumnies, that he was very
fond of Hamilton, and that it hurt him grievously to find himself
distrusted by his friend. Finally he urged that his own credit, no
less than Hamilton's, demanded an instant and public inquiry before
the whole House. But Parliament insisted on the examination being
conducted by a select committee; and after an unseemly wrangle lasting
over several days, the King had to give way. The truth is that the
Parliament had already begun to make inquiries, and what they had
learned suggested the possibility of some awkward disclosures. The
Earl of Crawford, a fiery old Papist who had learned fighting in the
German wars and had carried Ker's challenge to Hamilton, had already
been arrested, with some lesser men. It was known that Montrose
had been in communication with the King, and they not unreasonably
suspected both of being at least privy to the plot, if not of
favouring it. It is impossible even to guess how much the King knew,
but there can be little doubt that Montrose was in the secret. The
story, first circulated by Clarendon, that he had offered at a private
interview with the King to kill both Hamilton and Argyll, as the
surest and speediest means of bringing a couple of traitors to their
deserts, is now generally and justly discredited. But Clarendon, it
should be remembered, gave two versions of this perplexing affair.
The King, he writes, was warned by certain persons in the confidence
of Montrose that Argyll and Hamilton were playing him false, and his
leave was asked to bring them to justice. The majority of the nobles,
he was told, were on his side, and ready, if he consented, to take
the two traitors out of the reach of their retainers and lodge them
securely in prison to await fair trial. While the King, doubtful of
the chance of bringing their guilt home to such high offenders, was
pondering these things, the two men (Lanark's name is not mentioned
in Clarendon's story) suddenly and secretly left the capital on the
plea that their enemies were plotting to murder them. Then followed a
confused period of debates in Parliament, appointment of committees,
examination of witnesses, charges and counter-charges, after which
the fugitives returned to Edinburgh, acknowledging to the King
that the danger, though assuredly no mere fancy, was perhaps less
pressing than they had been led to believe; and so the trouble passed
gradually away. Such in substance is Clarendon's original version of
what is known in Scottish history as the Incident, and two centuries
of research have enabled us to add little to it. But such is not the
version that first appeared in Clarendon's pages. Twenty years after
he had finished the greater part of the History of the Rebellion,
he began, in banishment at Montpellier, to write the history of his
own life. Many passages were subsequently transferred from the more
private narrative to the pages of the History, and among them one
in which Montrose's share in the Incident takes a new and startling
complexion. He is now directly charged with offering to play the
assassin. No authority is vouchsafed for the new story. For the
old one Charles, and indirectly Montrose himself, stand sponsors.
Clarendon did not live to finally revise the transcript of his
History, and we can only therefore conjecture his reasons for changing
an intelligible, if meagre, narrative of events, matching well with
all that has been subsequently learned concerning them, for a grave
personal charge which there is no tittle of evidence to prove. Such as
it was, however, the History was published with all its imperfections
on its head, nor did the world learn till more than a century later
that there was another version of this strange story, clearing the
memory of a brave and honourable man from an odious imputation.[10]
In this earlier version we probably have the true story of the
Incident in outline. But all attempts to fill the outline in lead
only to confusion. It is certain that there was a strong party among
the nobles violently incensed against Hamilton and Argyll. Some, like
Montrose, were no doubt convinced that these two men were playing
both their king and country false; others were merely jealous of an
influence won and exercised at their expense. The former were bent
only on a fair trial; but to talk of a fair trial was idle while the
culprits went at large with five thousand armed men at their back;
the sole chance of proving their guilt was to render them incapable
of resistance during its proof. Such was probably the original plan
of the Incident, and if not devised by Montrose would assuredly have
found no opposition from him; and such, it is not unreasonable to
suppose, would have been his proposal to the King had his petition for
a private interview been granted. Strange diseases, to borrow Argyll's
own words, need strange remedies; and to enforce justice by violence,
if it could be secured in no other way, would have shocked few
Scotsmen of that day. Such at least, if the witnesses spoke truth, was
the plan as it had shaped itself in Almond's mind, who intended and
would tolerate no more than was needed to ensure the straight course
of the law. But the secret was shared by more unscrupulous spirits
than Montrose or Almond. Carnwath had been heard to say with many
curses that there were now three kings in Scotland, and that two of
them must lose their heads. Crawford, who was to have been entrusted
with the seizure, was reported to have declared that the best way to
bring traitors to justice was to cut their throats. It was probably
through such wild speeches that the plot miscarried. Many a man, and
Montrose among them, had doubtless been well pleased to see Argyll
or Hamilton at his sword's point on a fair field, who would lend no
countenance to stabber's work. But it is not safe to put much reliance
on the evidence of the witnesses. All of them contradicted each other,
and many contradicted themselves. Conspicuous among them was William
Murray, a member of the royal household and high in his master's
confidence, who, unless foully wronged by history, was the most
unconscionable rogue of all that treacherous time. He seems indeed
to have been no better than a spy in the pay both of the Scottish
Covenant and the English Parliament, and he was certainly intriguing
at the same time with both Hamilton and Montrose. But in truth a
suspicion of insincerity hangs over the whole inquiry. The Parliament
were manifestly unwilling to press matters too closely. They would
have been well pleased to prove the plot, could they have selected the
plotters, and they did not want to hear too much about its intended
victims.
On one point, however, they were firm. They determined to know the
truth of the correspondence between Montrose and the King. Charles
showed them the last letter, the letter on which he had decided to
ask their advice before the storm of the Incident burst. Nothing was
to be learned from it. It was couched in general terms, promising, if
admitted to an interview, "to acquaint his Majesty with a business
which not only did concern his honour in a high degree, but the
standing and falling of his crown likewise." Montrose was twice
examined on the meaning of these ambiguous words, once in the presence
of the King at Holyrood by a special committee, and again before the
general committee of inquiry. Both examinations were fruitless. Of
the first there is no record; but from the meagre report preserved
of the second Montrose seems to have adhered at both to the literal
text of his letter, and to have declined to commit himself to any
more definite statement. He did not intend, he is reported to have
said, "neither could he, nor would he, wrong any particular person
whatsoever." This answer, it is naïvely added, did not give the House
satisfaction.
It was all the satisfaction they were to get. Wearied with an
examination that would plainly not discover what they wished to
find, and might discover what they wished to conceal, with fresh and
more serious matters for thought in the startling news of the Irish
rising, Parliament suffered the Incident to die a natural death. The
fugitives were welcomed back to the capital with the assurance that
they were honest men, loyal subjects, and good patriots. Argyll on
his return carried all before him. The offices of State were filled
with his nominees. The Privy Council was carefully weeded to make
room for his friends. The unfortunate King, to fill the cup of his
humiliation full, scattered titles with a lavish hand. Argyll was
raised to a marquisate; Almond was created Earl of Callendar; bluff
old Leslie took his seat among the peers of Scotland as Earl of
Leven. To complete the burlesque, Crawford was released from custody
without more ado, at the particular request of the magnanimous heroes
whose throats he was to have cut. Even Montrose and his friends were
suffered to share in the general amnesty, though after a colder
fashion. On November 16th, after an imprisonment of five months
without a trial, and without any specific allegation of offence,
they were discharged with a caution "to carry themselves soberly and
discreetly" for the future, and to appear for trial when required.
Charles bound himself never to employ their services again without the
consent of Parliament, or suffer them to approach his presence; and on
the 18th of November he left Scotland for the last time, a contented
prince, as he professed to believe, taking leave of a contented people.
It was not till the following March that the case against the Plotters
was finally closed. The mockery of their trial was continued at
intervals throughout the winter, but no fresh evidence was found
against them, no report of their examination was ever published, nor
indeed was any formal judgment ever delivered. It had been decided
that sentence should be left to the King. The committee, in short, was
playing the same game that had already proved so successful in the
affairs of the Bond and the Incident. By keeping the inquiry secret
the real weakness of their case was concealed, and by refraining
from a punishment that they could not inflict they acquired an
easy reputation for mercy, while leaving the accused open to every
charge that the imagination of fear or faction could devise. It was
even intimated that the prisoners owed their escape to Argyll's
clemency. Argyll's clemency consisted in refusing to press matters to
an extremity which he foresaw might prove more inconvenient to his
friends than to his enemies. But in truth he could have afforded to
be merciful. For the second time Montrose had challenged him on his
own ground, and for the second time victory, even more signally than
before, had declared for him.