every evening translating into the language of Skye, the poem which
had been considered so good in Stirling, and MacDonald was to recite
it for him at the contest. But this Homeric competition was endangered
by disquieting news brought to the island by the fishermen. They
reported that a powerful fleet had been seen rounding the northern
coast of Scotland, and was now making towards the south. This
unexpected intelligence seemed to change instantaneously the attitude
of the islanders towards their two guests. Suspicion electrified the
air. The news of the sighting of the fleet, coming so quickly on the
advent of two strangers, who apparently had no particular business on
the island, caused them to be looked upon as spies, and for a day or
two they were in danger of being treated as such. The king's alertness
of mind saved the situation. He had brought with him from Stirling, in
case of emergencies, several sheets of blank parchment, each bearing
the Great Seal of Scotland. Once more the useful MacDonald was his
amanuensis. A proclamation in Gaelic was written and the signature of
James the Fifth inscribed thereon. This document was enclosed with a
communication, containing directions to the admiral of the fleet, and
MacDonald entrusted the packet to one of his gillies, with orders
that sail should be set for Loch Torridon, and the message given to
the officer in command.
Three days later the ferment on the island was immeasurably increased
when the guard on the headland reported that a ship of war was making
direct for the harbour. A horseman was despatched full gallop to
Dunvegan Castle to inform the head of the clan of the mysterious visit
of the two men, followed so soon by the approach of a belligerent
vessel. But before the messenger was ten miles on his way, the
ceremony was over and done with. The big ship sailed majestically
through the narrows, cast anchor and fired a salute. A well-manned
boat was lowered and rowed to the shore. There stepped from the boat
an officer in a splendid uniform, followed by a lieutenant and half a
dozen men, one of whom carried the flag of Scotland. This company
marched to the cross, which stood in the centre of the village, and
the crowd sullenly followed, with Malcolm MacLeod at their head, not
knowing what the action of the naval officer might portend, and in
absence of definite orders from their chief, hesitating to oppose this
inland march. Many of those on the fleet were Highlanders, and the
second in command was one of them. This man mounted the three steps at
the foot of the cross and stood with his back against the upright
stone. His chief handed him a roll of parchment, and the subordinate
officer in a loud voice, and in excellent Gaelic, cried,--
"A Proclamation from His Most Excellent Majesty, James the Fifth of
Scotland! God save the King!"
At this the chief officer raised his sword in salute, and his men sent
up a cheer, but the aggregation was not seconded by any of the large
concourse there gathered together. Undaunted by this frigid reception
the officer unrolled the manuscript and read its contents in a voice
that reached to the furthest outskirts of the crowd:
"I, James of Scotland, lawful King of this realm, do
proclaim to all loyal subjects, that the safety and liberty
of my land depends on an unconquerable fleet, and that the
merit of the fleet consists in stout well-built ships,
therefore the man whom I, the King, delight to honour is he
whose skill produces the best sea-going craft, so I hereon
inscribe the name of Malcolm MacLeod, master shipbuilder, a
man who has designed and constructed a boat of which all
Scotland has reason to be proud. The King's barge of
twenty-six oars, planned by Malcolm MacLeod and built for
him by the people of Skye, will be used as a model for all
ship-builders in the Scottish navy."
The reader now looked up from his parchment and gazed over the
assemblage.
"Is Malcolm MacLeod here?" he asked. "Let him step forward."
The giant, somewhat dazed, walking like a man in a dream, approached
the foot of the cross. The officer rolled the proclamation and
presented it to the shipbuilder, saying:--
"From the hand of the king, to the hand of Malcolm MacLeod."
Malcolm accepted it, muttering half with a smile, half with a frown,--
"E-god, the king knows a good boat when he gets it."
Then the officer uplifted his sword and cried,--
"God save the king;" and now the hills around re-echoed with the
cheering.
The little company without another word retraced their steps to the
small boat, and made for the ship which was now facing outward, anchor
hoisted and sails spread once more, so the watching Highlanders had a
view of a large vessel superbly managed, as the west wind which
brought her into the harbour took her safely out again.
The royal young man had a striking lesson on the fickleness of the
populace. Heretofore as MacDonald had truly said, no one had a good
word to say for the king; now it was evident that James V. of Scotland
was the greatest and wisest monarch that ever sat on a throne.
Malcolm MacLeod had been always so proud of his skill that this
proclamation could hardly augment his self-esteem, but it suddenly
changed his views regarding his august overlord. In conversation ever
after it became, "I and the king," and he was almost willing to admit
that James was very nearly as great a man as Alexander MacLeod of
Dunvegan.
The enthusiasm was so great that several bards composed special poems
in honour of the king of Scotland, and next day the effusions were to
be heard at the cross, and the prizes awarded. The first thing done,
however, after the departure of the ship, was to send another mounted
messenger to Dunvegan Castle, so that the lord of the island might
learn that no invasion was to be feared from the fleet. The parchment
proclamation was sent on to the chief, ostensibly in explanation of
the ship's visit, but probably because Malcolm was not loth to let
the head of the clan know what the head of the country thought of his
workmanship.
It was early next morning that the reading and reciting of the poems
began, and so lengthy were these effusions that it was well past noon
before the last had been heard. To the chagrin of James he found
himself fifteenth on the list when the honours were awarded.
MacDonald, endeavouring to keep a straight face, told the king of the
judges' decision, adding,--
"It will be as well not to let Davie Lyndsay know of this."
"Oh, you may tell whom you please," cried the king. "I was sure you
would bungle it in the Gaelic."
The king was pacing up and down the room in no very good humour, so
the young Highlander thought it best not to reply. He was saved
however, from the embarrassment of silence by the entrance of Malcolm
MacLeod.
"You are in great good fortune," said Malcolm. "The messengers have
returned with a score of horsemen at their backs, and Dunvegan himself
invites you to the castle."
MacDonald seemed in no way jubilant over what his host considered the
utmost honour that could be bestowed upon two strangers.
"What does he say?" demanded the king.
"He says that MacLeod of Dunvegan has invited us to his castle."
"Well, we will go then. I suppose we can get horses here, or shall we
journey round by boat?"
"I understand," replied MacDonald, "that the chief has sent horses for
us, and furthermore an escort of a score of men, so I'm thinking we
have very little choice about the matter."
"Very well," returned the king with a shrug of indifference, "let us
be off and see our new host. I wonder if he will be as easily
flattered as the one we are leaving."
"I doubt it," said MacDonald seriously.
THE KING DRINKS
The two young men mounted the small shaggy horses that had been
provided for them by the forethought of their future host, MacLeod of
Dunvegan. Apparently the king had forgotten all about his crushing
defeat in the poetical contest of the day before, for he was blithe
and gay, the most cheerful of those assembled, adventuring now and
then scraps of Gaelic that he had picked up, and his pronunciation
contributed much to the hilarity of the occasion.
MacDonald, on the other hand, was gloomy and taciturn, as if already
some premonition of the fate that awaited him at Dunvegan cast its
shadow before. The news of the great condescension of the laird in
inviting two strangers to his castle had spread through all the land,
and, early as was the hour, the whole population of the district had
gathered to wish the travellers a cordial farewell. The escort, as the
king called the score of men, who were to act as convoy from one port
to the other; or the guard, as MacDonald termed them, sat on their
horses in silence, awaiting the word of command to set forth.
At last this word was given, and the procession began its march amidst
the cheers of the people and a skirling of the pipes. The distance was
little more than seven leagues over a wild uninviting country.
MacDonald sat his horse dejected and silent, for the prospect
confronting him was far from alluring. The king was incognito, he was
not; and he had begun to doubt the wisdom of having given his actual
designation to the people of Skye, for the relations between this
island and the mainland were at that time far from being of the most
cordial description.
[Illustration: "THE KING, HOWEVER, APPEARED TO HAVE NO FOREBODINGS,
BUT TROTTED ALONG WITH GREAT COMPLACENCY."]
Dunvegan Castle was a grim stronghold in which the MacLeods sat so
secure that all the efforts of all the MacDonalds, even if they were
for once united, could not dislodge them. It was one of the most
remote inhabited places in all Scotland, its next neighbour to the
west being that new land of America discovered not yet fifty years.
For the son of one Highland chieftain to come so completely into the
power of another, his own people knowing practically nothing of his
whereabouts, was a situation that did not commend itself to the
young man. Allaster Crottach was celebrated more for craft than for
violence. He had extended and consolidated his possessions with the
skill of a diplomatist rather than by the arms of his soldiers, and
MacDonald thought it quite likely that a slice of Sleat might be
the ransom for his release. If through any incautious remark of his
comrade the Crottach became aware that he held not only MacDonald
of Sleat but also the King of Scotland, the fates only knew what
might happen. The king, however, appeared to have no forebodings,
but trotted along with great complacency, commenting now and then
on the barrenness of the landscape.
The party had accomplished little more than half the distance, when,
as they fronted a slight elevation, there came to them over the hills
wild pipe music, louder than anything of that kind the king had ever
heard.
"The MacLeod is evidently about to welcome us in state," said his
majesty to MacDonald, "he must have the very monarch of pipers in his
train."
"The MacRimmon," admitted MacDonald, "are acknowledged to be the best
pipers in all the Highlands, and they are hereditary musicians to the
MacLeod. The sounds we hear indicate that a number of pipers are
playing in unison."
On reaching the brow of the hill they found this was indeed the case.
There were from thirty to fifty pipers, but they evidently bore no
greeting to the travellers, for the musical party was marching in the
same direction as themselves, playing vigorously as they swung along.
At the instance of the king, MacDonald made inquiries regarding this
extraordinary spectacle. The taciturn commander of the guard answered
briefly that it was the College of Pipers. The students were marching
back to Bocraig on the other side of Loch Follart, where instruction
in piping was bestowed by the MacRimmon; this excursion over the hills
giving them training in piping and in tramping at the same time. The
musical regiment took its way straight across the moors and so very
soon was lost sight of by the two travellers, who kept to a track
which was more or less of a road.
In due time the cavalcade reached Dunvegan Castle, and even a man
accustomed to so stout a fortress as that of Stirling could not but be
struck by the size, the strength, and the situation of this frowning
stronghold; yet, extensive as it was, its proprietor evidently found
it inadequate for his ambitions, as he was now building a massive
tower which added a further dignity to the structure.
The king and his companion were received at the front entrance by an
old man, whom each at once knew could not be their host, for his back
had originally been straight enough, though now slightly stooped
through age. He led them within, and up a stair direct to the
apartments reserved for them. Their aged conductor spoke no English,
so the burden of conversation fell on MacDonald. As soon as the latter
perceived that he and his friend were to be separated, the king lodged
at one end of the castle, and himself at the other, he protested
against this arrangement, demanding two adjoining rooms. The old man
replied that he was following instructions given, and if the rooms
assigned were not satisfactory, his master would doubtless change them
on the morrow.
"But, my good man," expostulated MacDonald, "we expect to be leaving
the castle to-morrow."
"In that case," replied their cicerone with a scarcely perceptible
shrug of the shoulders, "it makes but little difference for one
night." The king inquiring into the purport of the discussion, quite
agreed with the elderly guide, that the matter was of small moment.
"If our genial innkeeper intends to murder us," he said, "we shall be
quite as helpless together as separate, for he has irresistible force
at his command. If we are in a trap there is little use in snarling at
the bars. By all accounts Dunvegan is a shrewd man, and I can see no
object which he can attain by doing harm to either of us. If he had a
son who was next heir to the position I hold, I confess I might sleep
uneasily to-night; but as he must know that the king's fleet is
hovering about his coast, and that his castle would make a most
excellent target for it, as he cannot transport his house to the hills
should the ships sail up the loch, I don't see what he can gain by
maltreating two men, whom he must suspect of having some connection
with the advent of the fleet."
"Oh, I have no thought," replied MacDonald, "that the Eagle of
Dunvegan would fly so high as you suggest, but there are lowlier
perches on which he may like to fix his talons. He has long cast
covetous eyes across the Sound of Sleat to the mainland, and, whatever
he knows or suspects, he is sure of one thing, which is that he has
the son of the Laird of Sleat safely landed in his own house."
"How distrustful you Highlanders are of each other!" cried the young
monarch laughing. "Bless me, Jamie, no bargain made in durance will
hold; then you must remember you have me behind you, and I have all
the power in Scotland behind me."
"That is very true, but the power of nothing is behind either of us
if we cannot get word to the outside world. Last night on learning we
were invited to this place, I searched for my gillies, but without
success. My boat and its crew have been taken elsewhere. So you see
there is at least a design to cut our communications. I'm thinking
we'll see more of Loch Follart from this window for a while than of
the field of Bannockburn from Stirling Towers."
"I quite agree with you, Jamie, that we're fairly nabbed, but the old
gentleman who has us in thrall can make nothing by ill-using us.
Sooner or later he must divulge his plan, whatever it is, before he
can benefit from it, and when he does that it will be time enough to
consider what course we are to pursue." Then turning suddenly towards
their guide, who had been standing motionless during this
conversation, the king said sharply in English,--
"Is your master at home?"
The old man made no reply, but looked at MacDonald as if for
translation. The latter repeated the question in Gaelic and received
an affirmative answer.
"He says the laird is at home. He has no English."
"I wasn't just sure of that, so I tested it by an abrupt question,
thus locking the door after the horse was stolen, for we have spoken
rather plainly before him, and so have proved ourselves in the
beginning very poor conspirators. However, I care little what the next
move is so long as it brings us something to eat. Clear your gloomy
brow, Jamie, and tell them in the most culinary Gaelic that this is
not a fast-day with us, and the ride across the moors has increased
our appetites."
MacDonald followed his custodian down the long corridor, and the king
entered the apartment assigned to him.
After sufficient time had elapsed to allow the travellers to remove
the traces of travel from their persons, they were summoned to a small
room where they found a most welcome and substantial meal set out for
them. A generous flagon of wine stood by each trencher; it was the
first the king had had an opportunity of tasting since he left his
capital, and he seized upon the measure with some eagerness.
"Here's to the MacLeod!" he cried.
"I drink to the king, and good luck to him!" said MacDonald.
"I drink to anything, so long as the wine is sound," rejoined his
majesty, enjoying a deep draught. "E-god, Jamie," he cried setting the
flagon down again, "that's better claret than we have in Stirling."
"There is no reason why it shouldn't be excellent," replied MacDonald,
"for the laird's own ships bring it direct from the coast of France to
the coast of Skye, and there's little chance of adulteration between
the two."
When the repast was finished the aged man who had received them at the
door entered and announced that MacLeod of MacLeod was ready to greet
them in his study. They followed him and were ushered into an oblong
room somewhat larger than the one they had left. The king was
astonished to find the walls lined with numerous volumes, some of the
tomes massive in heavy binding. As books were not over-plentiful even
in the realms of civilisation, he had not expected to find them in a
corner of the world so remote.
Allaster the Hunchback sat by the side of a huge oaken table, and he
did not rise from his chair when his visitors were presented to him,
either because he wished the better to conceal the deformity which
gave him his nickname, or because he did not consider his guests of
such importance as to deserve a more courteous reception. He addressed
them in excellent English, and the king constituted himself spokesman
for the occasion, MacDonald standing by taciturn, in spite of the
excellence of the wine, which indeed he had consumed somewhat
sparingly.
"I understand," began MacLeod, "that you have honoured my poor rugged
island of Skye with your presence for some days."
"The honour, sir, has been ours," replied the king with an inclination
of his head. "I was visiting my friend MacDonald in Sleat and heard of
the king's barge, so we came over to see it."
"This is your friend MacDonald of Sleat then?"
"Yes. May I have the pleasure of presenting Mr. James MacDonald to the
MacLeod?"
The two Highlanders, one sitting, one standing, bowed somewhat
distantly to each other as the king, with a flourish of his hand,
made the introduction.
"Perhaps," continued MacLeod suavely, "your friend from Sleat will do
a like obligement for yourself."
"I shall not put him to that trouble," said the king airily. "I am of
such small account that it would be a pity to put upon a Highland
chieftain the task of pronouncing my name. I am called the Guidman of
Ballengeich, very much at your service, sir."
"Guidman, meaning farmer of course?" asked Dunvegan.
"Meaning small farmer," said the king with a graceful inclination of
the head.
The tones of the MacLeod had not been too cordial from the first, but
they became less so at this confession of low quality on the part of
his visitor.
"You will forgive my ignorance, but where is Ballengeich?"
"It is a little steading near Stirling, but of more value than its
size would indicate, for I am fortunate in possessing the custom of
the court."
"You cater for the castle then?" asked MacLeod frigidly.
"Yes, in various ways."
MacLeod turned from his loquacious guest as if he desired to hold no
further converse with him, and thus, however crafty he might be, he
convinced the king that the castle had no suspicion whom it held.
MacLeod said abruptly to his other visitor, fastening his piercing
eyes upon him,--
"I heard you were prisoner at Stirling?"
"Prisoner, sir!" cried MacDonald angrily, the red colour mounting to
the roots of his hair. But before he could speak further his garrulous
companion struck in.
"What an absurd rumour. MacDonald a prisoner! I assure you he was no
more a prisoner at Stirling Castle than he is at this moment in
Dunvegan Castle."
"Ah," said McLeod turning again to the farmer, his eyes partially
closing, examining the other with more severe scrutiny than had
previously been the case. "He was at liberty to come and go as he
pleased, then?"
"As free as air, sir; otherwise how could he have visited my slight
holding and thus become acquainted with me?"
"I thought perhaps he had met you in the courtyard of Stirling with a
sack of corn on your shoulder."
The king laughed heartily at this.
"I said a _small_ farmer certainly, but I am not quite so unimportant
as you seem to imply. I have a better horse to carry my corn than the
one that to-day carried me to Dunvegan."
The laird ignored this disparagement of his cattle.
"You came to Skye then to see the king's boat, of which you had heard
favourable report? The news of her seems to have travelled very
quickly."
"Indeed and that's true," said the king complacently. "Information
spreads rapidly in the Highlands."
"It seems to spread to the Lowlands as well. You heard the king's
proclamation perhaps?"
"Yes, we heard the pronouncement."
"It's possible you came from the fleet?"
"No. We came overland."
"Had you heard of the fame of Malcolm's boat before you left
Stirling?"
"I did not say we left Stirling. As a matter of fact we left the small
village of Doune some miles to the north of it, and at that time had
heard nothing either of Malcolm or his boat."
"Hum," ejaculated the laird, rummaging among his papers on the table.
The king glancing in the direction of MacLeod's hands saw spread out
the charter which he himself had signed, giving MacLeod tenure of his
land, and beside it, as if this island magnate had been comparing the
signatures was the recent draft of the proclamation commending Malcolm
MacLeod's boat. This document Dunvegan passed to the Guidman of
Ballengeich.
"You know the king's writing perhaps? Will you tell me whether this
is, as I suspect, a forgery?"
James wrinkled his brows and examined the signature with minute care.
"I have seen the writing of his majesty," he said at last, "but
MacDonald here knows it better than I. What do you think of it,
Jamie?" he continued, passing on the parchment to his friend. "Is this
the real Mackay, or is it not?"
"It is," said MacDonald shortly and definitely.
"You say that is the actual signature of the king?" inquired MacLeod.
"I could swear it is as genuine as the one on your charter," replied
MacDonald.
"Well, now," said MacLeod leaning back in his chair, "will you resolve
a mystery for me? How is it likely that James Fifth ever heard of
Malcolm MacLeod's boat? and if he did, do you consider it probable
that an august monarch would compliment a Highland cateran's skill
with the axe?"
"James is a douce body," said the king, "and knows more of what is
going on in his realm than folk who think themselves wiser might
imagine."
"You hint, then," said MacLeod, drawing down his black brows, "that
his majesty may have spies in Skye?"
"Truth to tell, Laird of Dunvegan, it is more than likely," admitted
the king, with an air of great candour.
The frown on MacLeod's countenance deepened, and he said harshly,--
"You two gentlemen probably know the fate of spies when they are
captured. Their fate is a short shrift, and a long rope."
"And quite properly so," rejoined the king promptly.
"I am glad that you are so well informed, and need no instruction from
me," commented the Crottach with menace in his tone.
Suddenly the king's manner changed, and the air of authority which was
natural to him asserted itself.