or twice, then folded them across his breast, making no motion however
to remove his plumed bonnet, although every one else in the room
except himself and his men were uncovered.
"You have come in from the country," began the king, a suspicion of a
smile hovering about his lips, "to enjoy the metropolitan delights of
Stirling. How are you satisfied with your reception?"
The big Highlandman made no reply, but frowned heavily, and bestowed a
savage glance on several of the courtiers, among whom a light ripple
of laughter had run after the king put his question.
"These savages," suggested Sir Donald, "do not understand anything but
the Gaelic. Is it your majesty's pleasure that the interpreter be
called?"
"Yes, bring him in."
When the interpreter arrived, the king said,--
"Ask this man if his action is the forefront of a Highland invasion of
the Lowlands, or merely a little private attempt on his own part to
take the castle by assault?"
The interpreter put the question in Gaelic, and was answered with
gruff brevity by the marauder. The interpreter, bowing low to the
king, said smoothly,--
"This man humbly begs to inform your majesty--"
"Speak truth, MacPherson!" cautioned the king. "Translate faithfully
exactly what he says. Our friend here, by the look of him, does not
do anything humbly, or fawn or beg. Translate accurately. What does he
say?"
The polite MacPherson was taken aback by this reproof, but answered,--
"He says, your majesty, he will hold no communication with me, because
I am of an inferior clan, which is untrue. The MacPhersons were a
civilised clan centuries ago, which the MacNabs are not to this day,
so please your majesty."
The MacNab's hand darted to his left side, but finding no sword to his
grasp, it fell away again.
"You are a liar!" cried the chief in very passable English which was
not to be misunderstood. "The MacPhersons are no clan, but an
insignificant branch of the Chattan. 'Touch not the Cat' is your
motto, and a good one, for a MacPherson can scratch but he cannot
handle the broadsword."
MacPherson drew himself up, his face reddening with anger. His hand
also sought instinctively the hilt of his sword, but the presence in
which he stood restricted him.
"It is quite safe," he said with something like the spit of a cat,
"for a heathen to insult a Christian in the presence of his king, and
the MacNabs have ever shown a taste for the cautious cause."
"Tut, tut," cried the king with impatience, "am I to find myself
involved in a Highland feud in my own hall? MacPherson, it seems this
man does not require your interpreting, so perhaps it will further the
peace of our realm if you withdraw quietly."
MacPherson with a low obeisance, did so; then to MacNab the king
spoke,--
"Sir, as it appears you are acquainted with our language, why did you
not reply to the question I put to you?"
"Because I would have you know it was not the proper kind of question
to ask the like of me. I am a descendant of kings."
"Well, as far as that goes, I am a descendant of kings myself, though
sorry I should be to defend all their actions."
"Your family only began with Robert the Bruce; mine was old ere he
came to the throne."
"That may well be, still you must admit that what Robert lacked in
ancestry, he furnished forth in ability."
"But the Clan MacNab defeated him at the battle of Del Rhi."
"True, with some assistance, which you ignore, from Alexander of
Argyll. However, if this discussion is to become a competition in
history, for the benefit of our ignorant courtiers, I may be allowed
to add that my good ancestor, Robert, did not forget the actions of
the MacNabs at Del Rhi, and later overran their country, dismantled
their fortresses, leaving the clan in a more sane and chastened
condition than that in which he found it. But what has all this to do
with your coming storming into a peaceable town like Stirling?"
"In truth, your majesty," whispered Sir David Lyndsay, "I think they
must have come to replenish their wardrobe, and in that they are not a
moment too soon."
"I came," said the chief, who had not heard this last remark, "because
of the foray you have mentioned. I came because Robert the Bruce
desolated our country."
"By my good sword!" cried James, "speaking as one king to another,
your revenge is somewhat belated, a lapse of two centuries should have
outlawed the debt. Did you expect then to take Stirling with twenty
men?"
"I expected King James the Fifth to rectify the wrong done by King
Robert the First."
"Your expectation does honour to my reputation as a just man, but I
have already disclaimed responsibility for the deeds of ancestors less
remote than good King Robert."
"You have made proclamation in the Highlands that the chieftains must
bring you proof of their right to occupy their lands."
"I have, and some have preferred to me their deeds of tenure, others
prepared to fight; the cases have been settled in both instances. To
which of these two classes do you belong, Chief of the Clan MacNab?"
"To neither. I cannot submit to you our parchments because Robert,
your ancestor, destroyed them. I cannot fight the army of the Lowlands
because my clan is small, therefore I, Finlay MacNab, fifth of my
name, as you are fifth of yours, come to you in peace, asking you to
repair the wrong done by your ancestor."
"Indeed!" cried the king. "If the present advent typifies your idea of
a peaceful visit, then God forfend that I should ever meet you in
anger."
"I came in peace and have been shamefully used."
"You must not hold that against us," said James. "Look you now, if I
had come storming at your castle door, sword in hand, how would you
have treated me, Finlay the Fifth?"
"If you had come with only twenty men behind you, I should treat you
with all the hospitality of Glendochart, which far exceeds that of
Stirling or any other part of your money-making Lowlands, where gold
coin is valued more than a steel blade."
"It has all been a mistake," said the king with great cordiality.
"The parchment you seek shall be given you, and I trust that your
generosity, Lord of Glendochart, will allow me to amend your opinion
of Stirling hospitality. I shall take it kindly if you will be my
guests in the castle until my officers of law repair the harshness of
my ancestor, Robert." Then, turning to the guard the king continued,--
"Unbind these gentlemen, and return to them their arms."
While the loosening of the men was rapidly being accomplished, the
captain of the guard brought the chief his sword, and would have
presented it to him, but the king himself rose and took the weapon in
his own hand, tendering it to its owner. The chieftain accepted the
sword and rested its point on the floor, then in dignified native
courtesy, he doffed his broad, feathered bonnet.
"Sire," he said, with slow deliberation, "Scotland has a king that
this good blade shall ever be proud to serve."
For three days, the MacNabs were the guests of the king in the
castle, while the legal documents were being prepared. King and
chieftain walked the town together, and all that Stirling had to show,
MacNab beheld. The king was desirous of costuming, at his own expense,
the portion of the clan that was now in his castle, whose disarray was
largely due to his own soldiers, but he feared the proposal might
offend the pride of Finlay the Fifth.
James's tact, however, overcame the difficulty.
"When I visit you, MacNab, over by Loch Tay, there is one favour I
must ask; I want your tailors to make for me and the men of my
following, suits of kilts in the MacNab tartan."
"Surely, surely," replied the chief, "and a better weaving you will
get nowhere in the Highlands."
"I like the colour of it," continued the king. "There is a royal red
in it that pleases me. Now there is a good deal of red in the Stuart
tartan, and I should be greatly gratified if you would permit your men
to wear my colours, as my men shall wear yours. My tailors here will
be proud to boast that they have made costumes for the Clan MacNab.
You know what tradesmen bodies are, they're pleased when we take a
little notice of them."
"Surely," again replied MacNab, more dubiously, "and I shall send them
the money for it when I get home."
"Indeed," said the king, "if you think I am going to have a full purse
when I'm in the MacNab country, you're mistaken."
"I never suggested such a thing," replied the chief indignantly.
"You'll count nane o' yer ain bawbees when you are with me."
"Ah, well," rejoined the king, "that's right, and so you will just
leave me to settle with my own tailors here."
Thus the re-costuming came about, and all in all it was just as well
that MacNab did not insist on his own tartan, for there was none of it
in Stirling, while of the Stuart plaid there was a sufficiency to
clothe a regiment.
On the last night, there was a banquet given which was the best that
Stirling could bestow, in honour of the Clan MacNab. The great hall
was decorated with the colours of the clan, and at the further end had
been painted the arms of the MacNab--the open boat, with its oars, on
the sea proper, the head of the savage, the two supporting figures and
the Latin motto underneath, "Timor omnis abseto". Five pipers of the
king's court had learned the Salute to the Chief, and now, headed
by MacNab's own, they paced up and down the long room, making it
ring with their war-like music. The king and the chieftain came in
together, and as the latter took his place at his host's right hand,
his impassive face betrayed no surprise at the splendid preparations
which had been made for his reception. Indeed, the Highlanders all
acted as if they had been accustomed to sit down to such a banquet
every night. Many dainties were placed on the ample board cunningly
prepared by foreign cooks, the like of which the Highlanders had never
before tasted; but the mountaineers ate stolidly whatever was set in
front of them, and if unusual flavours saluted their palates, the
strangers made no sign of approval or the reverse. The red wine of
Burgundy, grown old in the king's cellars, was new to most of them,
and they drank it like water, emptying their tankards as fast as the
attendant could refill them. Soon the ruddy fluid, whose potency had
been under-estimated, began to have its effect, and the dinner table
became noisy as the meal progressed, songs bursting forth now and
then, with strange shouts and cries more familiar to the hills of
Loch Tay than to the rafters of Stirling. The chief himself, lost the
solemn dignity which had at first characterised him, and as he emptied
flagon after flagon he boasted loudly of the prowess of his clan;
foretold what he would do in future fields now that he was allied with
the King of Scotland. Often forgetting himself, he fell into the
Gaelic, roaring forth a torrent of words that had no meaning for many
there present, then remembering the king did not understand the
language, he expressed his pity for a man in such condition, saying
the Gaelic was the oldest tongue in existence, and the first spoken
by human lips upon this earth. It was much more expressive, he said,
than the dialect of the Lowlands, and the only language that could
fittingly describe war and battle, just as the pibroch was the only
music suitable to strife, to all of which the smiling king nodded
approval. At last MacNab sprang to his feet, holding aloft his
brimming flagon, which literally rained Burgundy down upon him, and
called for cheers for the King of Scotland, a worthy prince who knew
well how to entertain a brother prince. Repeating this in Gaelic, his
men, who had also risen with their chief, now sprang upon the benches,
where standing unsteadily, they raised a series of yells so wild that
a shudder of fear passed through many of the courtiers there present.
The chief, calling to his piper, commanded him instantly to compose a
pibroch for the king, and that ready musician, swelling with pride,
marched up and down and round and round the great hall pouring forth
a triumphal quickstep, with many wonderful flourishes and variations.
Then at a word from the chief, each man placed his flagon on the
table, whipped out his sword, swung it overhead, to the amazement of
the courtiers, for it is not in accord with etiquette to show cold
steel to the eyes of the king. Down came the blades instantly and
together, each man splitting in two the goblet he had drunk from.
[Illustration: "AT LAST MACNAB SPRANG TO HIS FEET, HOLDING ALOFT HIS
BRIMMING FLAGON."]
"You must all come to Loch Tay," cried the chief, "and I will show you
a banqueting hall in honour of James the Fifth, such as you have never
before seen." Then to the horror of the courtiers, he suddenly smote
the king on the back with his open palm and cried, "Jamie, my lad,
you'll come and visit me at Loch Tay?"
The smitten king laughed heartily and replied,--
"Yes, Finlay, I will."
The next day the MacNabs marched from the castle and down through the
town of Stirling with much pomp and circumstance. They were escorted
by the king's own guard, and this time the populace made no sneering
remarks but thronged the windows and the roofs, cheering heartily,
while the Highlanders kept proud step to the shrill music of the
pipes. And thus the clansmen set faces towards the north on their long
tramp home.
"What proud 'deevils' they are," said Sir David Lyndsay to the king
after the northern company had departed. "I have been through the
MacNab country from one end of it to the other, and there is not a
decent hut on the hillside, let alone a castle fit to entertain a
king, yet the chief gives an invitation in the heat of wine, and when
he is sobered, he is too proud to admit that he cannot make good the
words he has uttered."
"That very thing is troubling me," replied the king, "but it's a long
time till July, and between now and then we will make him some excuse
for not returning his visit, and thus avoid putting the old man to
shame."
"But that too will offend him beyond repair," objected the poet.
"Well, we must just lay our heads together, Davie," answered the
king, "and think of some way that will neither be an insult nor a
humiliation. It might not be a bad plan for me to put on disguise and
visit Finlay alone."
"Would you trust yourself, unaccompanied, among those wild caterans?
One doesn't know what they might do."
"I wish I were as safe in Stirling as I should be among the MacNabs,"
replied the king.
However, affairs of state did not permit the carrying out of the
king's intention. Embassies came from various countries, and the king
must entertain the foreigners in a manner becoming their importance.
This, however, gave James the valid excuse he required, and so he sent
a commission to the chief of the MacNabs. "His majesty," said the head
commissioner, "is entertaining the ambassadors from Spain and from
France, and likewise a legate from the Pope. If he came north, he must
at least bring with him these great noblemen with their retinues; and
while he would have been glad to visit you with some of his own men,
he could not impose upon the hospitality thus generously tendered, by
bringing also a large number of strangers and foreigners."
"Tell his majesty," replied MacNab with dignity, "that whether he
bring with him the King of Spain, the Emperor of France, or even the
Pope himself, none of these princes is, in the estimation of MacNab,
superior to James the Fifth, of Scotland. The entertainment therefore,
which the king graciously condescends to accept, is certainly good
enough for any foreigners that may accompany him, be their nobility
ever so high."
When this reply was reported to the king he first smiled and then
sighed.
"I can do nothing further," he said. "Return to MacNab and tell him
that the Pope's legate desires to visit the Priory on Loch Tay.
Tell the chief that we will take the boat along the lake on the day
arranged. Say that the foreigners are anxious to taste the venison of
the hills, and that nothing could be better than to give us a dinner
under the trees. Tell him that he need not be at any trouble to
provide us lodging, for we shall return to the Island Priory and there
sleep."
In the early morning the king and his followers, the ambassadors and
their train embarked on boats that had been brought overland for their
accommodation, and sailed from the Island Priory the length of the
beautiful lake; the numerous craft being driven through the water by
strong northern oarsmen, their wild chaunting choruses echoing back
from the picturesque mountains as they bent to their work. The evening
before, horses for the party had been led through forests, over the
hills, and along the strand, to the meeting-place at the other end of
the lake. Here they were greeted by the MacNabs, pipers and all, and
mounting the horses the gay cavalcade was led up the valley. The king
had warned their foreign Highnesses that they were not to expect in
this wilderness the niceties of Rome, Paris or Madrid, and each of the
ambassadors expressed his delight at the prospect of an outing certain
to contain so much that was novel and unusual to them.
A summer haze hung in the valley, and when the king came in sight of
the stronghold of the MacNabs he rubbed his eyes in wonder, thinking
the misty uncertainty of the atmosphere was playing wizard tricks with
his vision. There, before them, stood the most bulky edifice, the most
extraordinary pile he had ever beheld. Tremendous in extent, it seemed
to have embodied every marked feature of a mediaeval castle. At one end
a great square keep arose, its amazing height looming gigantically in
the gauze-like magic of the mist. A high wall, machicolated at the
top, connected this keep with a small octagonal tower, whose twin was
placed some distance to the left, leaving an opening between for a
wide entrance. The two octagonal towers formed a sort of frame for a
roaring waterfall in the background. From the second octagonal tower
another extended lofty wall connected it with a round peel as high as
the keep. This castle of a size so enormous that it made all others
its beholders had ever seen shrink into comparative insignificance,
was surrounded by a bailey wall; outside of that was a moat which
proved to be a foaming river, fed by the volume of water which came
down the precipice behind the castle. The lashing current and the
snow-white cascade formed a striking contrast to the deep moss-green
hue of the castle itself.
"We have many great strongholds in Italy," said the Pope's legate,
"but never have I seen anything to compare with this."
"Oh," said MacNab slightingly, "we are but a small clan; you should
see the Highland castles further north; they are of stone; indeed our
own fortresses, which are further inland, are also of stone. This is
merely our pleasure-house built of pine-trees."
"A castle of logs!" exclaimed the Pope's legate. "I never before heard
of such a thing."
They crossed the bridge, passed between the two octagonal towers and
entered the extensive courtyard, surrounded by the castle itself; a
courtyard broad enough to afford manoevring ground for an army. The
interior walls were as attractive as the outside was grim and
forbidding. Balconies ran around three sides of the enclosure, tall
thin, straight pine poles, rising three stories high, supporting them,
each pole fluttering a flag at the top. The balconies were all
festooned with branches of living green.
The air was tremulous with the thunder of the cataract and the
courtyard was cut in two by a rushing torrent, spanned by rustic
bridges. The walls were peopled by cheering clansmen, and nearly a
score of pipers did much to increase the din. Inside, the king and his
men found ample accommodation; their rooms were carpeted with moss and
with flowers, forming a variety of colour and yielding a softness to
the foot which the artificial piles of Eastern looms would have
attempted to rival in vain. Here for three days the royal party was
entertained. Hunting in the forest gave them prodigious appetites, and
there was no criticism of the cooking. The supply of food and drink
was lavish in the extreme; fish from the river and the loch, game from
the moors and venison from the hills.
It was evening of the third day when the cavalcade set out again for
the Priory; the chief, Finlay MacNab, accompanied his guests down the
valley, and when some distance from the castle of logs, James smote
him on the shoulder, copying thus his own astonishing action. "Sir
Finlay," he cried, "a king's hand should be no less potent than a
king's sword, and thus I create thee a knight of my realm, for never
before has monarch been so royally entertained, and now I pause here
to look once more on your castle of pine."
So they all stayed progress and turned their eyes toward the wooden
palace they had left.
"If it were built of stone," said the Pope's legate, "it would be the
strongest house in the world as it is the largest."
"A bulwark of bones is better than a castle of stones," said Sir
Finlay. "That is an old Highland saying with us, which means that a
brave following is the best ward. I will show you my bulwark of
bones."
And with that, bowing to the king as if to ask permission, he raised
his bugle to his lips and blew a blast. Instantly from the corner of
the further bastion a torch flamed forth, and that torch lighted the
one next it, and this its neighbour, so that speedily a line of fire
ran along the outlines of the castle, marking out the square towers
and the round, lining the curtain, the smaller towers, turrets and
parapets. Then at the top of the bailey wall a circle of Highlanders
lit torch after torch, and thus was the whole castle illumined by a
circle of fire. The huge edifice was etched in flame against the
sombre background of the high mountain.
"Confess, legate," cried the king, "that you never saw anything more
beautiful even in fair Italy."
"I am willing to admit as much," replied the Roman.
Another blast from the bugle and all the torches on the castle itself
disappeared, although the fire on the bailey wall remained intact, and
the reason for this soon became apparent. From machicolated tower,
keep, peel and curtain, the nimble Highlanders, torchless, scrambled
down, cheering as they came. It seemed incredible that they could
have attained such speed, picking their precarious way by grasping
protruding branch or stump or limb, or by thrusting hand between the
interstices of the timber, without slipping, falling and breaking
their necks.
For a moment the castle walls were alive with fluttering tartans,
strongly illuminated by the torches from the outer bailey. Each man
held his breath while this perilous acrobatic performance was being
accomplished, and silence reigned over the royal party until suddenly
broken by the Italian.
"Highlander!" he cried, "your castle is on fire."
"Aye," said the Highlander calmly, raising his bugle again to his
lips.
At the next blast those on the bailey wall thrust their torches, still
burning among the chinks of the logs, and swarmed to the ground as
speedily and as safely as those on the main building had done. Now
the lighted torches that had been thrown on the roof of the castle,
disappearing a moment from sight, gave evidence of their existence.
Here and there a long tongue of flame sprung up and died down again.
"Can nothing be done to save the palace?" shouted the excitable
Frenchman. "The waterfall; the waterfall! Let us go back, or the
castle will be destroyed."
"Stand where you are," said the chief, "and you will see a sight worth
coming north for."
Now almost with the suddenness of an explosion, great sheets of flame
rose towering into a mountain of fire, as if this roaring furnace
would emulate in height the wooded hills behind it. The logs
themselves seemed to redden as the light glowed through every crevice
between them. The bastions, the bailey walls, were great wheels of
flame, encircling a palace that had all the vivid radiance of molten
gold. The valley for miles up and down was lighter than the sun ever
made it.
"Chieftain," said the legate in an awed whisper, "is this
conflagration accident or design?"