on horses, like so many sacks of corn, each before a mounted man.
Armstrong sprung upon his horse and led his men from the high road
into the forest, his followers numbering something like a score.
The captives, from their agonising position on the horses, could
see nothing of the way they were being taken, except that they
journeyed on and on through dense woodland. They lost all knowledge
of direction, and, by and by, came to the margin of a brawling
stream, arriving at last, much to their relief, at a stronghold of
vast extent, situated on a beetling rock that overhung the river. Here
the three were placed on their feet again, and chattering women and
children crowded round them, but, in no case, was there a word of
pity or an expression of sympathy for their plight.
The striking feature of the castle was a tall square tower, which
might be anything from seventy to a hundred feet in height; and
connected with it were several stone buildings, some two stories and
some three stories high. Round the castle, in a wide, irregular
circle, had been built a stout stone wall, perhaps twenty feet high,
wide enough on the top for half a dozen men to walk abreast. The space
enclosed was tolerably flat, and large enough for a small army to
exercise in. Leaning against the inside of this wall was an array of
sheds, which provided stabling for the horses, and numerous stalls in
which many cattle were lowing. The contour of the wall was broken by a
gateway, through which the troop and their captives had entered. The
inlet could be closed by a massive gate, which now stood open, and by
a stout portcullis that hung ready to drop when a lever was pulled.
But the most gruesome feature of this robber's lair was a stout beam
of timber, which projected horizontally from the highest open window
of the square tower. Attached to the further end of the beam was a
thick rope, the looped end of which encircled the drawn neck of a man,
whose lifeless body swayed like a leaden pendulum, helpless in the
strong breeze. Seeing the eyes of the three directed to this pitiful
object, Armstrong said to one of his men,--
"Just slip that fellow's head from the noose, Peter; we may need the
rope again to-night." Then turning to his prisoners, Armstrong spoke
like a courteous host anxious to exhibit to a welcome guest the
striking features of his domain.
"That's but a grisly sight, gentlemen, to contemplate on a lowering
evening."
The day was darkening to its close, and a storm, coming up out of the
west, was bringing the night quicker than the hour sanctioned.
"But here is an ingenious contrivance," continued the freebooter,
cheerfully, "which has commanded the admiration of many a man we were
compelled to hang. You see there are so many meddlesome bodies in this
world that a person like myself, who wishes to live in peace with all
his fellows, must sometimes give the interferers a sharp bit lesson."
"I can well believe it," answered the king.
"An Englishman of great ingenuity had a plan for capturing us, but, as
it stands, we captured him; and being a merciful man, always loth to
hang, when anything else can be done, I set him at work here, and
this is one of his constructions. As it's growing dark, come nearer
that you may see how it works."
At the bottom of the tower, and close to it, there lay a wooden
platform which afforded standing room for six or seven men. Peter got
up on this platform and pulled a cord, which opened a concealed
sluice-gate and resulted in a roar of pouring water. Gradually the
platform lifted, and the king saw that it was placed on top of a tall
pine-tree that had been cut in the form of a screw, the gigantic
threads of which were well oiled. A whirling horizontal water-wheel,
through the centre of which the big screw came slowly upwards, with
Peter on the gradually elevating platform, formed the motive power of
the contrivance.
"You understand the mechanism?" said Armstrong. "By pulling one cord,
the water comes in on this side of the wheel and the platform ascends.
Another cord closes the sluice and everything is stationary. A third
cord opens the gate which lets the water drive the wheel in the
opposite direction and then the platform descends. You see, I have
taken away the old lower stairway that was originally built for the
tower, and this is the only means of getting up and down from the top
story. It does not, if you will notice, go entirely to the top, but
stops at that door, fifty feet from the rock, into which Peter is now
entering."
"It is a most ingenious invention," admitted the king. "I never saw
anything like it before."
"It would be very useful in a place like Stirling," said Johnny,
looking hard at his prisoner.
"I suppose it would," replied the king, in a tone indicating that it
was no affair of his, "but you see I'm not a Stirling man myself. I
belong rather to all Scotland; a man of the world, as you might say."
By this time Peter had climbed to the highest room of the tower,
worked his way on hands and knees out to the end of the beam, and had
drawn up to him the swaying body. With the deftness of expert
practice, he loosened the noose and the body dropped like a plummet
through the air, disappearing into the chasm below. Peter, taking the
noose with him, crawled backward, like a crab, out of sight, and into
the tower again. Armstrong, from below, had opened the other sluice,
and the empty platform descended as leisurely and as tremblingly as it
had risen. Armstrong himself cut the cords that bound the ankles of
his captives.
"Now, gentlemen," he said, "if you will step on the platform I shall
have the pleasure of showing you to your rooms."
Three armed men and the three prisoners moved upwards together.
"A fine sylvan view you have," said the king.
"Is it not!" exclaimed Armstrong, seemingly delighted that it pleased
his visitor.
After the mechanical device had landed them some fifty feet above the
rocks, they ascended several flights of stairs, a man with a torch
leading the way. The prisoners were conducted to a small room, which
had the roof of the tower for its ceiling. In a corner of the cell
cowered a very abject specimen of the human race, who, when the others
came, seemed anxious to attract as little attention as possible.
Armstrong, again, with his own hands removed the remaining cords from
the prisoners, and the three stretched up their arms, glad to find
them at liberty once more.
"Place the torch in its holder," said Johnny. "Now, gentlemen, that
will last long enough to light you to your supper, which you will find
on the floor behind you. I'm sure you will rest here comfortably for
the night. The air is pure at this height, and I think you'll like
this eagle's nest better than a dungeon under the ground. For my own
part, I abhor a subterranean cell, and goodness knows I've been in
many a one, but we're civilised folk here on the Border and try to
treat our prisoners kindly."
"You must, indeed, earn their fervent gratitude," said the king.
"We should, we should," returned Johnny, "but I'm not certain that we
do. Man is a thrawn beast as a rule. And now, you'll just think over
your situation through the night, and be ready to answer me in the
morning all the questions I'll ask of you. I'll be wanting to know who
sent you here, and what news you have returned to him since you have
been on the Border."
"We will give your request our deep consideration," replied the king.
"I'm glad to hear that. You see, we are such merciful people that we
have but one rope to hang our enemies with, while we should have a
dozen by rights. Still, I think we could manage three at a pinch, if
your answers should happen to displease me. You will excuse the
barring of the door, but the window is open to you if your lodgings
are not to your liking. And so, good-night, the three of you."
"Good-night to you, Mr. Armstrong," said the king.
Peter had drawn in the rope, and its sinister loop lay on the floor,
its further length resting on the window sill, and extending out to
the end of the beam. The cobbler examined it with interest. "Come,"
cried the king, "there is little use letting a supper wait for the
eating merely because we seem to have gone wrong in our inquiries
about the cattle."
Neither the poet nor the cobbler had any appetite for supper, but the
king was young and hungry, and did justice to the hospitality of the
Armstrongs.
"Have you been here long?" he asked of the prisoner in the corner.
"A good while," answered the latter despondently. "I don't know for
how long. They hanged my mate."
"I saw that. Do they hang many here about?"
"I think they do," replied the prisoner. "Some fling themselves down
on the rocks, and others are starved to death. You see, the Armstrongs
go off on a raid, and there's no one here to bring us food, for the
women folk don't like to tamper with that machine that comes to the
lower stair. I doubt if Johnny starves them intentionally, but he's
kept away sometimes longer than he expects."
"Bless me," cried the king, "think of this happening in Scotland. And
now, cobbler, what are we to do?"
"I'm wondering if this man would venture out to the end of the beam
and untie the rope," suggested Flemming.
"Oh, I'll do that, willingly," cried the prisoner. "But what is the
use of it; it's about ten times too short, as the Armstrongs well
know."
"Are we likely to be disturbed here through the night?" asked
Flemming.
"Oh no, nor till late in the day to-morrow; they'll be down there
eating and drinking till all hours, then they sleep long."
"Very well. Untie the other end of the rope, and see you crawl back
here without falling."
As the prisoner obeyed instructions, Flemming rose to his feet and
began feeling in his pockets, drawing forth, at last, a large brown
ball.
"What is your plan, cobbler?" asked the king, with interest.
"Well, you see," replied Flemming, "the rope's short, but it's very
thick."
"I don't see how that is to help us."
"There are nine or ten strands that have gone to the making of it, and
I'm thinking that each of those strands will bear a man. Luckily, I
have got a ball of my cobbler's wax here, and that will strengthen
the strands, keep the knots from slipping, and make it easier to climb
down."
"Cobbler!" cried the king, "if that lets us escape, I'll knight you."
"I care little for knighthood," returned the cobbler, "but I don't
want to be benighted here."
"After such a remark as that, your majesty," exclaimed the poet, "I
think you should have him beheaded, if he doesn't get us out of this
safely."
"Indeed, Sir David," said the cobbler, as he unwound the rope, "if I
don't get you out of here, the Armstrongs will save his majesty all
trouble on the score of decapitation."
There was silence now as the three watched the deft hands of the
cobbler, hurrying to make the most of the last rays of the flickering
torch in the wall. He tested the strands and proved them strong,
then ran each along the ball of wax, thus cementing their loose
thread together. He knotted the ends with extreme care, tried their
resistance thoroughly, and waxed them unsparingly. It was a business
of breathless interest, but at last the snake-like length of thin rope
lay on the floor at his disposal. He tied an end securely to the beam
just outside the window-sill so that there would be no sharp edge to
cut the cord, then he paid out the line into the darkness, slowly and
carefully that it might not became entangled.
"There," he said at last, with a sigh of satisfaction, "who's first
for the rope. We three await your majesty's commands."
"Do you know the country hereabout?" asked the king of the man who had
been prisoner longest.
"Every inch of it."
"Can you guide us safely to the north in the darkness?"
"Oh, yes, once I am down by the stream."
"Then," said the king, "go down by the stream. When you are on firm
footing say no word, but shake the rope. If you prove a true guide to
us this night we will pay you well."
"I shall be well paid with my liberty," replied the prisoner, crawling
cautiously over the stone sill and disappearing in the darkness. The
cobbler held the taut line in his hand. No man spoke, they hardly
seemed to breathe until the cobbler said:
"He's safe. Your majesty should go next."
"The captain is the last to leave the ship," said the king; "over you
go, Flemming." After the cobbler, Sir David descended, followed by
the king; and they found at the bottom of the ravine some yards of
line to spare.
Their adventures through that wild night and the next day, until they
came to a village where they could purchase horses, form a story in
themselves.
When the king reached Stirling, and was dressed once more in a costume
more suited to his station than that which had been torn by the
brambles of the Border, he called to him the chief minister of his
realm.
"You will arrest immediately," he said, "Cockburn of Henderland, and
Adam Scott of Tushielaw, and have them beheaded."
"Without trial, your majesty?" asked the minister in amazement.
"Certainly not without trial, but see that the trial is as short as
possible. Their crime is treason; the witnesses as many as you like to
choose from our last council meeting. I love and adhere to the
processes of law, but see that there is no mistake about the block
being at the end of your trial." The minister made a note of this and
awaited further instructions. "Place the Earl of Bothwell in the
strongest room that Edinburgh Castle has vacant. Imprison Lord Maxwell
and Lord Home and the Lairds of Fairniherst, Johnston and Buccleuch,
in whatever stronghold is most convenient. Let these orders be carried
out as speedily as possible."
The next man called into the royal presence was Sir Donald Sinclair.
"Have you five hundred mounted men ready for the road, Sir Donald?"
"Yes, your majesty, a thousand if you want them."
"Very well, a thousand I shall have, and I shall ride with you to the
Border."
Nevertheless, when the king came to the inn where he had been
captured, there were but twenty troopers with him. Sir Donald was the
spokesman on that occasion. He said to the landlord, whose roving eye
was taking count of the number of horses,--
"Go to Johnny Armstrong and tell him that the king, with twenty
mounted men at his back, commands his presence here, and see that he
comes quickly."
Johnny was not slow in replying to the invitation, and forty troopers
rode behind him. The king sat on his horse, a little in advance of his
squadron. As a mounted man, James looked well, and there was but
little resemblance between him and the unfortunate drover, who had
been taken prisoner at that spot two short weeks before.
"I have come promptly in answer to your majesty's call," said
Armstrong, politely removing his bonnet, but making no motion to pay
further deference to the King of Scotland.
"It gives me great pleasure to see you," replied the king, suavely.
"You travel with a large escort, Mr. Armstrong?"
"Yes, your majesty, I am a sociable man and I like good company. The
more stout fellows that are at my back, the better I am pleased."
"In this respect we are very much alike, Mr. Armstrong, as you will
admit if you but cast your eyes to the rear of your little company."
At this, Johnny Armstrong violated a strict rule of royal etiquette
and turned the back of his head to his king. He saw the forest alive
with mounted men, their circle closing in upon him. He muttered the
word: "Trapped!" and struck the spurs into his horse's flank. The
stung steed pranced in a semi-circle answering his master's rein, but
the fence of mounted steel was complete, every drawn sword a picket.
Again Armstrong, laughing uneasily, faced the king, who still stood
motionless.
"Your majesty has certainly the advantage of me as far as escort is
concerned."
"It would seem so," replied James. "You travel with twoscore of men; I
with a thousand."
"I have ever been a loyal subject of your majesty," said Armstrong,
moistening his dry lips. "I hope I am to take no scathe for coming
promptly and cordially to welcome your majesty to my poor district."
"You will be better able to answer your own question when you have
replied to a few of mine. Have you ever met me before, Mr. Armstrong?"
The robber looked intently at the king.
"I think not," he said.
"Have you ever seen this man before?" and James motioned Sir David
Lyndsay from the troop at his side.
Armstrong drew the back of his hand across his brow.
"I seem to remember him," he said, "but cannot tell where I have met
him."
"Perhaps this third man will quicken your memory," and the cobbler
came forward, dressed as he had been the night he was captured.
Armstrong gasped, and a greenish pallor overspread his face.
[Illustration: "THE FORTY-ONE TREES BORE THEIR BURDEN."]
"What is your answer, Armstrong?" asked the king.
"I and my forty men will serve your majesty faithfully in your army if
you grant us our lives."
"No thieves ride with any of Scotland's brigade, Armstrong."
"I will load your stoutest horse with gold until he cannot walk, if
you spare our lives."
"The revenues of Scotland are sufficient as they are, Armstrong,"
replied the king.
"Harry of England will be glad to hear that the King of Scotland has
destroyed twoscore of his stoutest warriors."
"The King of England is my relative, and I shall be happy to please
him. The defence of Scotland is my care, and I have honest men enough
in my army to see that it is secure. Have you anything further to say,
Armstrong?"
"It is folly to seek grace at a graceless face. If we are for the
tree, then to the tree with us. But if you make this fair forest bear
such woeful fruit, you shall see the day when you shall die for lack
of stout hearts like ours to follow you, as sure as this day is the
fatal thirteenth."
The forty-one trees bore their burden, and thirteen years from that
time the outlaw's prophecy was fulfilled.
THE KING'S GOLD
It is strange to record that the first serious difficulty which
James encountered with the nobles who supported him, arose not
over a question of State, but through the machinations of a foreign
mountebank. The issue came to a point where, if the king had proceeded
to punish the intriguer, his majesty might have stood alone while the
lords of his court would have ranged themselves in support of the
charlatan--a most serious state of things, the like of which has
before now overturned a throne. In dealing with this unexpected
crisis, the young king acted with a wisdom scarcely to be expected
from his years. He directed the nobility as a skilful rider manages a
mettlesome horse, sparing curb and spur when the use of the one might
have unseated him, or the use of the other resulted in a frenzied
bolt. Thus the judicious horseman keeps his saddle, yet arrives at the
destination he has marked out from the beginning.
In the dusk of the evening, James went down the high street of
Stirling, keeping close to the wall as was his custom when about to
pay a visit to his friend the cobbler, for although several members of
the court knew that he had a liking for low company, the king was well
aware of the haughty disdain with which the nobles regarded those of
the mechanical or trading classes. So he thought it best not to run
counter to a prejudice so deeply rooted, and for this reason he
restricted the knowledge of his visits to a few of his more intimate
friends.
As the king was about to turn out of the main street he ran suddenly
into the arms of a man coming from the shop of a clothier who made
costumes for the court. As each started back from the unexpected
encounter, the light from the mercer's shop window lit up the face of
his majesty's opponent, and the latter saw that he had before him his
old friend, Sir David Lyndsay.
"Ha, Davie!" cried the king, "it's surely late in the day to choose
the colours for a new jacket."
"Indeed your majesty is in the right," replied Sir David, "but I was
not selecting cloth; I was merely enacting the part of an honest man,
and liquidating a reckoning of long standing."
"What, a poet with money!" exclaimed the king. "Who ever heard of
such a thing? Man Davie, you might share the knowledge of your
treasure-house with a friend. Kings are always in want of money.
Is your gold mine rich enough for two?"
The king spoke jocularly, placing no particular meaning upon his
words, and if Sir David had answered in kind, James would doubtless
have thought no more about the matter, but the poet stammered and
showed such evident confusion that his majesty's quick suspicions were
at once aroused. He remembered that of late a change had come over the
court. Scottish nobles were too poor to be lavish in dress, and
frequently the somewhat meagre state of their wardrobe had furnished a
subject for jest on the part of ambassadors from France or Spain. But
when other foreigners less privileged than an ambassador had ventured
to make the same theme one for mirth, they speedily found there was no
joke in Scottish steel, which was ever at an opponent's service, even
if gold were not. So those who were wise and fond of life, became
careful not to make invidious comparisons between the gallants of
Edinburgh and Stirling, and those of Paris and Madrid. But of late the
court at Stirling had blossomed out in fine array, and although this
grandeur had attracted the notice of the king and pleased him, he had
given no thought to the origin of the new splendour.
The king instantly changed his mind regarding his visit to the
cobbler, linked arm with the poet, and together they went up the
street. This sudden reversion of direction gave the royal wanderer a
new theme for thought and surmise. It seemed as if all the town was on
the move, acting as surreptitiously as he himself had done a few
moments previously. At first he imagined he had been followed, and the
suspicion angered him. In the gloom he was unable to recognise any of
the wayfarers, and each seemed anxious to avoid detection, passing
hurriedly or slipping quietly down some less frequented alley or lane.
Certain of the figures appeared familiar, but none stopped to question
the king.
"Davie," cried James, pausing in the middle of the street, "you make a
very poor conspirator."
"Indeed, your majesty," replied the poet earnestly, "no one is less of
a conspirator than I."
"Davie, you are hiding something from me."
"That I am not, your majesty. I am quite ready to answer truly any
question your majesty cares to ask."
"The trouble is, Davie, that my majesty has not yet got a clue which
will lead to shrewd questioning, but as a beginning, I ask you, what
is the meaning of all this court stir in the old town of Stirling?"
"How should I know, your majesty?" asked the poet in evident distress.
"There now, Davie, there now! The very first question I propound gets
an evasive answer. The man who did not know would have replied that he
did not. I dislike being juggled with, and for the first time in my
life, Sir David Lyndsay, I am angered with you."
The knight was visibly perturbed, but at last he answered,--
"In this matter I am sworn to secrecy."
"All secrets reveal themselves at the king's command," replied James
sternly. "Speak out; speak fully, and speak quickly."
"There is no guilt in the secret, your majesty. I doubt if any of your
court would hesitate to tell you all, were it not that they fear
ridicule, which is a thing a Scottish noble is loth to put up with
whether from the king or commoner."
"Get on, and waste not so much time in the introduction," said his
majesty shortly.
"Well, there came some time since to Stirling, an Italian chemist, who
took up his abode and set up his shop in the abandoned refectory of
the old Monastery. He is the author of many wonderful inventions, but
none interests the court so much as the compounding of pure gold in a
crucible from the ordinary earth of the fields."
"I can well believe that," cried the king. "I have some stout fighters
in my court who fear neither man nor devil in battle, yet who would
stand with mouth agape before a juggler's tent. But surely, Davie,
you, who have been to the colleges, and have read much from learned
books, are not such a fool as to be deluded by that ancient fallacy,
the transmutation of any other metals into gold?"
Sir David laughed uneasily.
"I did not say I believed it, your majesty, still, a man must place
some credence in what his eye sees done, as well as in what he reads
from books; and after all, the proof of the cudgel is the rap on the
head. I have beheld the contest, beginning with an empty pot and
ending with a bar of gold."
"Doubtless. I have seen a juggler swallow hot iron, but I have never
believed it went down his throttle, although it appeared to have done
so. Did you get any share of the transmuted gold? That's the practical
test, my Davie."