While the cloud of troubles, whereof I have spoken in the foregoing
chapter was thickening and darkening over the land, the event of the
King's dreadful death came to pass; the which, though in its birth most
foul and monstrous, filling the hearts of all men with consternation and
horror, was yet a mean in the hands of Providence, as shall hereafter
appear, whereby the kingdom of THE LORD was established in Scotland.
Concerning that fearful treason, my grandfather never spoke without
taking off his bonnet, and praying inwardly with such solemnity of
countenance that none could behold him unmoved. Of all the remarkable
passages of his long life it was indeed the most remarkable; and he has
been heard to say that he could not well acquit himself of the actual
sin of disobedience in not obeying an admonition of the Spirit which was
vouchsafed to him on that occasion.
For some time there had been a great variance between the King and
Queen. He had given himself over to loose and low companions; and though
she kept her state and pride, ill was said of her, if in her walk and
conversation she was more sensible of her high dignity. All at once,
however, when he was lying ill at Glasgow of a malady, which many
scrupled not to say was engendered by a malignant medicine, there was a
singular demonstration of returning affection on her part, the more
remarkable and the more heeded of the commonality, on account of its
suddenness, and the events that ensued; for while he was at the worst
she minded not his condition, but took her delights and pastimes in
divers parts of the country. No sooner, however, had his strength
overcome the disease, than she was seized with this fond sympathy, and
came flying with her endearments, seemingly to foster his recovery with
caresses and love. The which excessive affection was afterwards ascribed
to a guilty hypocrisy; for in the sequel it came to light that, while
she was practising all those winning blandishments, which few knew the
art of better, and with which she regained his confidence, she was at
the same time engaged in unconjugal correspondence with the Earl of
Bothwell. The King, however, was won by her kindness, and consented to
be removed from among the friends of his family at Glasgow to Edinburgh,
in order that he might there enjoy the benefits of her soft cares and
the salutary attendance of the physicians of the capital. The house of
the provost of Kirk o' Field, which stood not far from the spot where
the buildings of the college now stand, was accordingly prepared for his
reception, on account of the advantages which it afforded for the free
and open air of a rising ground; but it was also a solitary place--a fit
haunt for midnight conspirators and the dark purposes of mysterious
crime.
There, for some time, the Queen lavished upon him all the endearing
gentleness of a true and loving wife, being seldom absent by day, and
sleeping near his sick-chamber at night. The land was blithened with
such assurances of their reconciliation; and the King himself, with the
frank ardour of flattered youth, was contrite for his faults, and
promised her the fondest devotion of all his future days. In this sweet
cordiality, on Sunday, the 9th of February, A.D. 1567, she parted from
him to be present at a masquing in the palace; for the Reformation had
not so penetrated into the habits and business of men as to hallow the
Sabbath in the way it has since done amongst us. But before proceeding
farther, it is proper to resume the thread of my grandfather's story.
He had passed that evening, as he was wont to tell, in pleasant gospel
conversation with several acquaintances in the house of one Raphael
Doquet, a pious lawyer in the Canongate; for even many writers in those
days were smitten with the love of godliness; and as he was returning to
his dry lodgings in an entry now called Baron Grant's Close, he
encountered Winterton, who, after an end had been put to David Rizzio,
became a retainer in the riotous household of the Earl of Bothwell. This
happened a short way aboon the Netherbow, and my grandfather stopped to
speak with him; but there was a haste and confusion in his manner which
made him rather eschew this civility. My grandfather at the time,
however, did not much remark it; but scarcely had they parted ten paces
when a sudden jealousy of some unknown guilt or danger, wherein
Winterton was concerned, came into his mind like a flash of fire, and he
felt as it were an invisible power constraining him to dog his steps, in
so much that he actually did turn back. But on reaching the Bow he was
obligated to stop, for the ward was changing; and observing that the
soldiers then posting were of the Queen's French guard, his thoughts
began to run on the rumour that was bruited of a league among the papist
princes to cut off all the Reformed with one universal sweep of the
scythe of persecution, and he felt himself moved and incited to go to
some of the Lords and leaders of the Congregation to warn them of what
he feared; but, considering that he had only a vague and unaccountable
suspicion for his thought, he wavered, and finally returned home. Thus,
though manifestly and marvellously instructed of the fruition of some
bloody business in hand that night, he was yet overruled by the wisdom
which is of this world to suppress and refuse obedience to the
promptings of the inspiration.
On reaching his chamber, he unbuckled his belt, as his custom was, and
laid down his sword and began to undress, when again the same alarm
from on high fell upon him, and the same warning spirit whispered to his
mind's ear unspeakable intimations of dreadful things. Fear came upon
him and trembling, which made all his bones to shake, and he lifted his
sword and again buckled on his belt. But again the prudence of this
world prevailed, and, heeding not the admonition to warn the Lords of
the Congregation, he threw himself on his bed, without, however,
unbuckling his sword, and in that condition fell asleep. But though his
senses were shut, his mind continued awake, and he had fearful visions
of bloody hands and glimmering daggers gleaming over him from behind his
curtains, till in terror he started up, gasping like one that had
struggled with a stronger than himself.
When he had in some degree composed his thoughts, he went to the window
and opened it, to see by the stars how far the night had passed. The
window overlooked the North Loch and the swelling bank beyond, and the
distant frith and the hills of Fife. The skies were calm and clear, and
the air was tempered with a bright frost. The stars in their courses
were reflected in the still waters of the North Loch, as if there had
been an opening through the earth showing the other concave of the
spangled firmament. But the dark outline of the swelling bank on the
northern side was like the awful corpse of some mighty thing prepared
for interment.
As my grandfather stood in contemplation at the window, he heard the
occasional churme of discourse from passengers still abroad, and now and
then the braggart flourish of a trumpet resounded from the royal
masquing at the palace,--breaking upon the holiness of the night with
the harsh dissonance of a discord in some solemn harmony.--And as he was
meditating on many things, and grieving in spirit at the dark fate of
poor Scotland, and the woes with which the children of salvation were
environed, he was startled by the apparition of a great blaze in the
air, which for a moment lighted up all the land with a wild and fiery
light, and he beheld in the glass of the North Loch, reflected from
behind the shadow of the city, a tremendous eruption of burning beams
and rafters burst into the sky, while a horrible crash, as if the
chariots of destruction were themselves breaking down, shook the town
like an earthquake.
He was for an instant astounded; but soon roused by the clangour of an
alarm from the castle; and while a cry rose from all the city, as if the
last trumpet itself was sounding, he rushed into the street, where the
inhabitants, as they had flown from their beds, were running in
consternation like the sheeted dead startled from their graves. Drums
beat to arms;--the bells rang;--some cried the wild cry of fire, and
there was wailing and weeping, and many stood dumb with horror, and
could give no answer to the universal question.--"God of the heavens,
what is this?" Presently a voice was heard crying, "The King, the King!"
and all, as if moved by one spirit, replied, "The King, the King!" Then
for a moment there was a silence stiller than the midnight hour, and
drum, nor bell, nor voice was heard, but a rushing of the multitude
towards St Mary's Port, which leads to the Kirk o' Field.
Among others, my grandfather hastened to the spot by Todrick's Wynd; and
as he was running down towards the postern gate, he came with great
violence against a man who was struggling up through the torrent of the
people, without cap or cloak, and seemingly maddened with terrors. Urged
by some strong instinct, my grandfather grasped him by the throat; for,
by the glimpse of the lights that were then placing at every window, he
saw it was Winterton. But a swirl of the crowd tore them asunder, and he
had only time to cry, "It's ane of Bothwell's men."
The people caught the Earl's name; but instead of seizing the fugitive,
they repeated, "Bothwell, Bothwell, he's the traitor!" and pressed more
eagerly on to the ruins of the house, which were still burning. The
walls were rent, and in many places thrown down; the west gable was
blown clean away, and the very ground, on the side where the King's
chamber had been, was torn as with a hundred ploughshares. Certain trees
that grew hard by were cleft and riven as with a thunderbolt, and stones
were sticking in their timber like wedges and the shot of cannon.
It was thought, that in such a sudden blast of desolation, nothing in
the house could have withstood the shock, but that all therein must have
been shivered to atoms. When, however, the day began to dawn, it was
seen that many things had escaped unblemished by the fire; and the
King's body, with that of the servant who watched in his chamber, was
found in a neighbouring garden, without having suffered any material
change,--the which caused the greater marvelling; for it thereby
appeared that they were the only sufferers in that dark treason, making
the truth plain before the people, that the contrivance and firing
thereof was concerted and brought to maturity by some in authority with
the Queen,--and who that was the people answered by crying as the royal
corpse was carried to the palace, "Bothwell, Lord Bothwell, he is the
traitor!"