THE MERCAT CROSS 137
SIR WILLIAM KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE
_I._ THE KIRKCALDYS
IN the parish of Kinghorn, on the northern shore of the Firth of Forth,
a farm-house known as the Grange still marks the spot where, three
centuries ago, the ancestral seat of the Kirkcaldys stood. The greater
part of the present structure is comparatively modern; yet it bears
a look of antiquity which indicates that its transformation has been
gradual and fragmentary, and not wholly uninfluenced by the design
of the original builder. The only date to be seen about it figures,
accompanied with an illegible monogram, on the lintel of what is now
an inner door, and commemorates some addition or alteration made in
1687. Two portions, however, show traces of even greater age, and may,
with some plausibility, be looked upon as relics of the old baronial
mansion. They are a dovecot, and a flanking tower of solid masonry. A
low recess, near the foot of the latter, is traditionally believed to
have been the entrance to a subterranean passage leading down to the
shore, beneath the village which the cottages of the dependents of the
family formed, and on the site of which a few dwellings still cluster
together. That, in the days when the prosperity of the Lairds of Grange
was at its height, this village was of some size and importance, may be
inferred from the fact that it possessed a chapel of its own, dedicated
to St Mary, and used as a burial-place for the family.
The Kirkcaldys, who took their territorial appellation from their
estate of Grange, and who probably derived their name from the ancient
town near which that baronial seat was situated, were amongst the
oldest and most influential families in the county of Fife. As early as
the thirteenth century, Sir William de Kirkcaldy is mentioned amongst
the nobles on whom the fortune of war imposed temporary submission
to Edward I., and who were compelled solemnly to take the oath of
allegiance to him, on the Gospels, in presence of his Commissioners. In
1440, the name of Sir George de Kirkcaldy appears in a charter which
made over to him one half of the lands of Seafield and of Tyrie.
About the middle of the sixteenth century, the family of Kirkcaldy
was represented by Sir James, who, having married Janet, daughter
of his neighbour Sir John Melville of Raith, was introduced by his
father-in-law to the court and service of King James V. He was first
appointed to be a simple Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, but was soon
afterwards advanced to the more important and responsible post of
Treasurer. The confidence and favour with which he was honoured by his
royal master excited the jealousy and the fear of Cardinal Beaton, to
whom he was opposed in religion, as an adherent to the doctrines of
the Reformation, and in politics, as an ardent advocate of an alliance
with England. All the efforts of his rival to bring about his fall
proved ineffectual as long as the King lived. Under the regency of the
Earl of Arran, however, the influence of the Churchman prevailed; and
the Treasurer was set aside to make room for John Hamilton, abbot of
Paisley.
Contemporary chronicles testify to the important part played by Sir
James Kirkcaldy during the troubled days of his tenure of office. He
is described by Melville as ‘a stout bold man, who always offered
by single combat, and at the point of the sword, to maintain what
he spoke.’ That, in those turbulent times, the fiery and rather
overbearing temper of which these words are only a veiled and too
partial description, should have brought trouble upon him, was but
a natural consequence; and it is not surprising to learn from the
evidence of a remission granted him in 1538, that respect for law and
order did not always guide his conduct. A few years later, the energy
of his character showed itself in the prompt and decisive action which
he took under circumstances as critical for the State as they were
dangerous to his liberty, and even to his life. It was he who, with Sir
Thomas Erskine and Sir James Learmonth, on the authority of a verbal
message brought to him by a youth, and with the King’s ring for his
sole warrant, ordered the arrest of Sir James Hamilton, the powerful
and notorious Bastard of Arran, lodged him in the Castle, brought him
to immediate trial on a charge of being in secret intelligence with the
banished Earl of Angus, the Douglasses, and other declared enemies of
the realm, and of having formed a plot to break into the King’s chamber
to slay him, and sent him to a traitor’s doom before influence could
be brought to bear upon the fickle monarch in favour of his former
favourite.
It was to the Treasurer that the delicate negotiations between James
V. and his uncle Henry VIII. were entrusted; and it was owing to his
influence that, whilst the King of England was at Pomfret, during his
northern progress, ‘one of the King of Scots’ most secret councillors’
appeared at the Court, to arrange a meeting between the sovereigns.
Unfortunately for Sir James’s scheme, his opponents discovered it at
the critical moment. For the purpose of bringing him into discredit,
they accused him of favouring the new creed, as in truth he did, though
he had not yet made public profession of it; and they put his name on
a list of noblemen whom they urged the King to burn as heretics. But
inconstant though he was, James was not so easily to be turned against
his Treasurer, for he believed him to be loyal, trustworthy, and
thoroughly devoted to his sovereign’s interests. At their next meeting,
he showed Sir James the black roll, and jestingly, or perhaps only half
jestingly, asked him what objection he could raise to the Churchmen’s
suggestions. Having thus been invited to plead his cause, Kirkcaldy
availed himself to the utmost of the opportunity which the King’s
good-nature afforded him. Not only did he draw a glowing picture of
the advantages which would accrue to both sovereign and people from an
alliance with England, and warningly point out the danger of rejecting
King Henry’s friendly advances, he also denounced the selfish policy
of his opponents, represented the gross abuses of the Roman Church,
inveighed against the ungodly and scandalous lives of the prelates,
and advised the King, not indeed to send the Cardinal and his bishops
to the stake, as they wished to do by their enemies, but, if he would
be well and rich, to take home again to the profit of the Crown all
vacant benefices, by little and little, as they fell by the death of
each prelate. The proposal to turn the tables on the Churchmen, besides
holding out a promise of much-needed pecuniary help, contained an
element of grim humour, which, for the time at least, caught the King’s
fancy; and his resolve to adopt it was so far sincere, that it led to a
characteristic scene at his next conference with the Cardinal and his
prelates at Holyrood. Gradually working himself into a passion as he
rebuked them for their treacherous and cruel advice, he disconcerted
them by his indignant words and impetuous threats of violence.
‘Wherefore,’ he asked, ‘gave my predecessors so many lands and rents to
the Kirk? Was it to maintain hawks, dogs, and concubines, to a number
of idle priests? Pack, you javells! Get you to your charges, and reform
your own lives; and be not instruments of discord betwixt my nobility
and me, or else, I vow to God, I shall reform you, not as the King of
Denmark doth, by imprisonment, nor yet as the King of England doth,
by hanging and heading, but by sharper punishments; if ever I hear
such a motion made by you again, I shall stick you with this whingar!’
And as he drew his dagger to emphasize his meaning, the terrified
priests, more careful of their personal safety than of their dignity,
precipitately fled from his presence.
This temporary check did not discourage the Treasurer’s opponents. As
a proof that they, too, were actuated by disinterested and patriotic
motives, they offered to make the King an annual grant of fifty
thousand crowns, out of the rents of the Church, for the maintenance
of hired soldiers, in case King Henry should levy war against him
because of his refusal to keep his promise with regard to a personal
interview at York. Even this bribe might have failed to win James over
to their views but for a circumstance which deprived him for a while
of the counsel and support of the Treasurer. He had lately sanctioned
the betrothal of Helen Leslie, heiress of Kellie, who was a ward of
the Crown, to Kirkcaldy’s second son; and Sir James found it necessary
to go over into Angus on business connected with this advantageous
matrimonial alliance. His rivals did not neglect to make the most of
the opportunity which his absence from Court afforded. They renewed
the charge of heresy against him, basing it on the fact that he always
carried an English version of the New Testament about with him in his
pocket; they complained of the haughtiness and arrogance which had
characterized his conduct ever since he thought himself secure in
the King’s favour; they denounced his greed, of which his anxiety to
marry his son to an heiress with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds
was adduced as a proof; and they questioned his fitness, in point of
honesty, for the responsible position to which he had been raised.
Seeing that James was wholly unmoved by accusations which he knew to
be prompted by malice and envy, and which he met by unhesitatingly
declaring his esteem and affection for Kirkcaldy, to whom, if he had
not done it already, he would willingly entrust the fortune of his
ward, they insidiously changed their tactics, and directed their attack
against what they well knew to be the weakest point in the dissolute
monarch’s character. ‘Sir,’ said the Prior of Pittenweem, himself a
notorious and unscrupulous libertine, ‘the heiress of Kellie is a
lusty, fair lass, and I dare pledge my life that, if your Majesty will
send for her presently, the Treasurer shall refuse to send her to
you.’ On this point, too, James asserted his absolute confidence in
Kirkcaldy’s fidelity and devotedness; nevertheless he so far yielded to
the tempters as to consent to their putting him to the test. The plan
devised by them was, that a letter should be written and entrusted to
the Prior of Pittenweem, who was to deliver it in person, and, if the
Treasurer obeyed the order contained in it, to bring Helen Leslie to
the King.
The event was precisely such as had been anticipated when choice
was made of an agent who, to his evil reputation joined the further
qualification of being at deadly enmity with the Laird of Grange. Sir
James refused to entrust his son’s intended bride to the unprincipled
messenger, at whom he did not hesitate to cast the plain and vigorous
epithets which his flagrant licentiousness deserved, and which the
blunt and unconventional language of the time justified. Rejoicing in
the failure of his mission and the success of his scheme, the Prior
hastened back to Edinburgh. On hearing his carefully and craftily
framed report of what had taken place, the King flew into a violent
passion, and in the heat of it, consented to the issue of a warrant for
the arrest of Sir James as soon as he returned.
When the Treasurer, who had no difficulty in penetrating the designs of
his enemies, and who consequently followed close on the Prior’s heels,
presented himself at Holyrood, he was refused admittance. Disregarding
the prohibition, however, he made his way to the presence of the King,
who was just then at supper; but only to be received with ominous
silence by the angry monarch. This did not awe him into a passive
submission, which would have been interpreted into a confession of
guilt. Respectfully, yet firmly, addressing his sovereign, he begged
to be told what offence he had committed, and why he had suddenly been
deprived of the favour with which he had so lately been honoured.
The reply was such as he expected it would be. ‘Why,’ asked James,
‘why did you refuse to send me the maiden whom I wrote for, and give
despiteful language to him I sent for her?’ Put in this form, the
charge was easy to meet. Kirkcaldy dared anyone present to accuse him
of disobedience to the King’s command. He had, he admitted, declined
to give Helen Leslie into the Prior’s keeping; but his refusal was
justified by the messenger’s too well-known character--a character
which he did not veil his words to denounce. Moreover, as he had stated
at the time, he considered himself the fittest person to accompany the
young lady to Court; and, in proof that he had never been unwilling to
yield compliance to the King’s wishes, he was able to answer in the
affirmative when asked whether he had brought the gentlewoman with him.
James understood from his Treasurer’s undaunted manner, no less than
from his straightforward explanation, that a faithful servant had been
falsely accused and unjustly condemned; but if he could recall the
warrant which had been extorted from him, he could not prevent the
consequences of a more momentous step which he had also been induced
to take. Beaton and his party had prevailed on him to adopt their
policy, and decisively to reject the proffered alliance with England--a
slight to Henry, which that imperious monarch was not slow to resent,
and which was the immediate cause of one of the most disastrous and
humiliating defeats ever inflicted on Scotland.
Once again Sir James Kirkcaldy figures in connection with the
sovereign whom his advice, had it not been so petulantly neglected,
might have saved from the closing disaster of his career. After the
ill-fated battle of Solway Moss, when King James wandered aimlessly
and hopelessly into Fifeshire, ashamed to look any man in the face,
it was to Halyards, one of the Laird of Grange’s estates, that he
came for rest and shelter. The Treasurer was absent at the time, but
the unfortunate and broken-hearted monarch was received with loyal
affection by Lady Janet, an ‘auncient and godlie matron,’ and waited
upon during his brief stay by her eldest son, William Kirkcaldy. The
youth was destined to behold many a sorrowful scene in after years,
yet few so pathetic and so impressive as that of which he was a silent
spectator on the memorable evening of the King’s stay. At supper,
James sat pensive and dejected, unable to realise the full extent of
the disaster that had fallen upon him, and inwardly repeating his
‘continuall regrate’: ‘Oh! Oh! Fled Oliver? Is Oliver taken? Oh! Fled
Oliver?’ Lady Grange, in a kindly attempt to comfort him, begged him
to take the work of God in good part. But his incoherent answer showed
how little he had understood her meaning. ‘My portion of this world is
short,’ he said, ‘for I will not be with you fifteen days.’
To break the distressing silence which followed the gloomy reply,
one of the attendants inquired where his Majesty wished preparation
to be made for celebrating Christmas, which was near at hand. With a
‘disdainful countenance,’ as though the matter were one with which he
had no concern, ‘I cannot tell,’ he answered, ‘choose you the place.
But this I can tell you; before Christmas you will be masterless, and
the realm without a king.’ And he seemed so convinced of the truth of
his prediction that, although there was no sign of approaching death
about him, none dared contradict him for fear of his anger.
Next day the wretched King left Halyards, accompanied by young
Kirkcaldy. The Treasurer himself joined them a little later; and both
father and son were amongst the attendants who stood about the dying
monarch in the palace of Falkland, on the 13th of December 1542, and
vainly strove to soothe the mighty grief which found expression in the
one despairing cry: ‘Fie! fie! Is Oliver fled--and taken? Then all is
lost--all is lost!’
_II._ THE TRAGEDY AT ST ANDREWS
WILLIAM KIRKCALDY, who makes his first appearance in the pages of
history as the attendant of James V. during the brief interval between
the shameful rout of Solway Moss and the last melancholy scene at
Falkland, is usually represented as being but a child at the time. No
record indicates the year of his birth; but it is assumed to have taken
place about 1530. That, however, does not seem to tally with the known
dates of several events in which he and other members of his family
bore a part.
In the first place, if it be not impossible, it may be looked upon as
at least improbable, that a lad of twelve was given to James as an
attendant, under the peculiar circumstances of his visit to Halyards.
It is still less likely that, whether the will attributed to James V.
be genuine, or fraudulent, as was afterwards maintained, such a mere
child should figure amongst the witnesses to it, and should, as the
document, under any circumstances, fully establishes, have been allowed
to be present at the King’s last moments. Nor does it agree with the
description of Lady Grange as ‘an ancient matron,’ that the eldest of
her nine children should have been so young at the time.
As we have already seen, it is mentioned by Melville that, as early as
1542, a younger brother, James Kirkcaldy, had obtained ‘the ward and
marriage of Kellie in Angus,’ and that his father, the Treasurer, had
‘gone there to take possession thereof’ whilst the negotiations with
Henry VIII. were still pending. The difficulty of believing that the
betrothal of James Kirkcaldy--if, indeed, the passage do not actually
refer, as some have thought, to his marriage--took place when he
was at most but eleven years old, naturally suggests doubts as to
the accuracy of the date assigned to his elder brother’s birth. Such
early matrimonial engagements were not, it is true, unknown, or even
uncommon, in those days; but that the intended bride, at least, was
no longer in her girlhood may fairly be inferred from the details of
the discreditable plot against the Treasurer, in which the Prior of
Pittenweem made her play a part.
All that can be ascertained with regard to Kirkcaldy’s education is
supplied by a letter, in which Randolph, the English agent, writing
to him, makes allusion to their early acquaintance, as students, in
France, at the time that the University of Paris was presided over by
the Cardinal of Lorraine. As Randolph was born in 1523, he would have
been Kirkcaldy’s senior by seven years, a disparity of age which still
further diminishes the plausibility of the theory that the latter
was born in 1530. Yet another objection to it may be gathered from a
passage in _Master Randolph’s Fantasy_, a poem recording the events of
what is known as the Round About Raid, in 1566. Sir William Kirkcaldy
is mentioned in it, amongst the rebellious nobles; and the special
reference to his ‘horye head’ would unquestionably seem to imply that
he was more than thirty-six years old at the time. Finally, it is known
that Kirkcaldy’s only daughter, Janet, was married to the Laird of St
Colme’s Inch at the beginning of the year 1561; and it is assuredly not
easy to make that fact accord with the assumed date of her father’s
birth.
Such are the difficulties in the way of accepting Grant’s opinion,
that Kirkcaldy’s birth ‘probably took place about the year 1530,’ or
Froude’s later statement that ‘the Treasurer’s eldest son’ was ‘a boy
of about seventeen,’ in the year 1546. None of the arguments adduced
may be convincing if considered singly; but, when all are taken
together, they assume sufficient weight to justify the supposition that
Kirkcaldy was at least as old as his fellow-student, Thomas Randolph;
that he was a young man of over twenty when he accompanied his King
from Halyards to Falkland; and that he was, not a lad of sixteen or
seventeen, but a man approaching his thirtieth year at the time of
the important event which has now to be chronicled as the next in his
career, and in which he was destined to play important parts that would
scarcely have been entrusted to a ‘boy.’
It is possibly owing to his absence on the Continent, for the
prosecution of his studies, that, after James V.’s death, young
Kirkcaldy’s name disappears for a time from the chronicles of the age.
When mention of him is again made, it is in connection with an event
which, even in those troubled days, when men were but too familiar
with deeds of violence, sent a thrill of terror through the land, and
which still stands out in terrible prominence amongst the most striking
examples of the lawlessness of our forefathers, of the contempt which
they displayed for human life in the furtherance of their political
schemes, and of the disregard for the fundamental precepts of morality
which, by a strange inconsistency, they were able to reconcile with an
earnest zeal for religion. It is as one of the assassins of Cardinal
Beaton that William Kirkcaldy first takes an active part in the
political and religious struggle in which he was destined to figure so
conspicuously.
By what means Beaton had risen to power, with what uncompromising
fixity of purpose, and in what cause he wielded it, there is no
necessity for recalling. Neither would it serve any good purpose to
re-open the controversy which has raged about his memory. Even if it
were possible to attempt an impartial and unbiased estimate of his work
and character without being confronted at the outset by the difficulty
of obtaining any evidence, either for impeachment or for defence,
but that of witnesses whose avowed partisanship at once marks them
as untrustworthy, there would be but little prospect of a definitive
settlement of the vexed question so long as one side endorses the
sentiments of him who wrote ‘merrily’ of the ‘godly fact’ of his
murder, whilst another holds him up to veneration as a martyr.
In 1546, the Cardinal had attained a position of almost absolute
authority in the kingdom; but he had also incurred the hatred of
powerful and determined men, by whom his death was resolved upon, and
who were only waiting for a favourable opportunity to carry out their
desperate designs. Foremost amongst them were the Kirkcaldys. Whatever
may have been the motives by which the other conspirators were swayed,
it seems impossible to doubt that the late Treasurer and his family
were actuated by a desire to be revenged, rather upon the Statesman who
had thwarted their policy than upon the Churchman who opposed their
religion. As early as 1544, long before the execution of Wishart had
occurred to lend a semblance of wild justice to the plot against the
Cardinal, it had been reported by the Earl of Hertford to Henry VIII.,
that ‘the Larde of Grange, late Thesaurer of Scotland, wolde attempt
eyther to apprehend or slee him at some time when he sholde goe through
the Fyfeland, and, in case he colde so apprehend him, wolde delyver him
unto His Majesty.’
Owing to various circumstances, amongst which, however, cannot be
included any special precautions taken by the intended victim, who,
according to his enemies, had reached that point of infatuated security
which fatally precedes destruction, the ‘manie purposes devysed how
to cutt off’ Beaton, all failed till Friday the 28th of May 1546. On
the evening of that day, Norman Lesley, Master of Rothes, with five
companions, came to St Andrews, which William Kirkcaldy had entered
before him. John Lesley, who was better known, and whose very presence
would have caused alarm, did not venture to join them until darkness
had set in. Early on the Saturday morning, the conspirators proceeded,
in small parties, to the abbey churchyard, in close proximity to
Beaton’s castle. As soon as the gates of the stronghold were opened and
the drawbridge let down, for the purpose of admitting workmen with the
materials necessary for carrying on the new works undertaken by the
prelate, William Kirkcaldy, with six accomplices, made his appearance,
and entered into conversation with the unsuspecting porter, inquiring
of him whether the Cardinal were yet awake, whilst the others pretended
to be engrossed in watching the masons at their work. During the
short dialogue which followed, the Master of Rothes and three other
conspirators came forward. As it was important that no alarm should
yet be raised, they passed on without appearing to notice Kirkcaldy
or his party, and, with assumed carelessness, took up their position
in the middle of the courtyard. Immediately after this, a third band
of conspirators, amongst whom was the impetuous Lesley, hastily made
for the gate. Startled at their appearance--for, more careless or more
eager than those who had preceded them, they pressed forward ‘somewhat
rudelie’--and recognizing a man who was known to have sworn the death
of the Cardinal, the porter ran to the chain, and endeavoured to raise
the drawbridge. In another moment he would have succeeded in keeping
out the fiercest of the conspirators, but, as the bridge was slowly
rising, Lesley cleared the gap with one bold spring, and leaped into
the courtyard. As a prelude to the bloody work, the porter was felled
to the ground, the keys were snatched from him, and the senseless body
was cast into the moat.
This first deed of violence and murder is, by Froude, attributed to
William Kirkcaldy. His assertion, however, is only deduced from the
description given by the chroniclers of the respective positions taken
up by the conspirators, and not actually based on their actual words.
That Kirkcaldy, who, but a few moments earlier, was in conversation
with the porter, had a better opportunity for attacking the man than
any of the accomplices within the gates, scarcely admits of denial.
It may even be granted that, being a willing party to the desperate
enterprise of killing the Cardinal, he would have felt but little
hesitation in preventing the gate-keeper from marring the whole plot.
On the other hand, however, it is quite as natural to suppose, with
Grant, that Lesley, in his fierce rush, made directly for the warder,
and that it was by him that the unfortunate man’s ‘heid was brokin’
as he ‘maid him for defence.’ The point, it may be thought, is but a
trifling one. Yet, considering the bloodless part taken by Kirkcaldy
in the subsequent proceedings, his biographer may be allowed to dwell
on it for a moment, not, indeed, with the intention of showing him to
have been less guilty, morally, than any of his associates, but rather
for the purpose of clearing him from the charge of having, with his own
hand, shed a fellow-creature’s blood on that terrible day.
Though numbering but sixteen, the conspirators were resolute and armed;
and, it was an easy task for them to overawe the peaceful workmen who,
though they had run forward to ascertain the cause of the tumult,
manifested no inclination to interfere on either side, but quietly
allowed themselves to be ‘put forth at the wicket gate.’ As soon as
this was accomplished, William Kirkcaldy made for the postern, where he
took up his position in order to prevent the ‘fox’ from escaping. His
confederates, in the meantime, entered the Castle, and proceeding to
the apartments of the gentlemen of the household, of whom there were no
less than fifty, obliged them, by threats of immediate death if they
offered any resistance, to depart as peacefully as the workmen had
done.
By this time, the conspirators, feeling themselves secure, had thrown
away all restraint; and their shouts of exultation, as they ran from
room to room, awakened the Cardinal who, as it was only ‘betwixt
four and fyve hours,’ was still in bed when his castle was invaded.
Opening his window to inquire the cause of the unwonted noise, he
was informed that Norman Lesley had taken possession of the place.
His first endeavour was to seek safety in flight. He ran towards the
postern at which Kirkcaldy was stationed; but perceiving the way to be
barred, he at once returned to his apartments, seized his two-handed
sword, and ordered his page to barricade the door with ‘kists and
other impediments.’ Scarcely had the furniture been piled up when
John Lesley, with James Melville of Carnbee and Peter Carmichael,
arrived and demanded to be let in. ‘Who calls?’ asked Beaton.--‘My
name is Lesley,’ was the reply.--‘Is that Norman?’ again inquired
the Cardinal.--‘Nay,’ he was told, ‘my name is John.’--‘I will have
Norman,’ he continued, ‘for he is my friend.’--‘Content yourself with
such as are here,’ said the implacable Lesley, ‘for other shall ye get
none.’
There was a pause, during which Beaton hastily thrust a box of gold
under a heap of coals that was kept in a hidden recess of the room,
whilst the assailants were fruitlessly endeavouring to burst the
massive door. Resuming the interrupted parley, the Cardinal called
out, ‘Will ye save my life?’--It was John Lesley that replied: ‘It
may be that we will.’--‘Nay,’ returned Beaton, hesitating to trust so
ambiguous a promise, ‘swear unto me, by God’s wounds, and I will open
unto you.’--‘Then,’ cried Lesley, ‘that which was said is unsaid,’ and
he ordered live coals to be brought for the purpose of burning down
the wooden barricade. Such, at least, is the account given by Knox;
but Lindsay of Pitscottie only says that the question from within
was, ‘Will ye slay me?’ and the answer from without an unconditional
‘No.’ Both agree that, at this moment, the door was thrown open--a
circumstance which seems to point to the accuracy of the latter’s
narrative.
The assassins rushed in, whilst the doomed Cardinal, sinking into a
chair, exclaimed, ‘I am a priest! I am a priest! Ye will not slay me!’
But he appealed to men who knew no mercy. ‘According to his former
vows,’ John Lesley struck him repeatedly with his whingar, and was
seconded by Carmichael in the work of death. But Melville, ‘a man
of nature most gentle and most modest’--such is Knox’s account of
him--seeing that they were both under the influence of strong passion,
thrust them aside rebukingly. ‘This work and judgment of God, although
it be secret,’ he said, ‘ought to be done with greater gravity.’
Then, drawing his sword, and turning the point of it towards the
terror-stricken Cardinal, he spoke the stern words: ‘Repent thee of
thy former wicked life, but especially of the shedding of the blood
of that notable servant of God, Mr George Wishart, which, albeit the
flame of fire hath consumed it before men, yet crieth it for vengeance
upon thee, and we from God are sent to revenge it. For here, before my
God I protest, that neither the hatred of thy person, the love of thy
riches, nor the fear of any trouble thou couldst have wrought to me
in particular, moved or moveth me to strike at thee, but only because
thou hast been, and remainest, an obstinate enemy against Christ
Jesus and his Holy Gospel.’ Then, with his hunting-knife, he ran the
shrinking victim again and again through the body. Mangled and bathed
in his life-blood, the Cardinal sank from his chair to the floor, his
dying lips repeating the protest which had only excited his murderers
to greater ferocity: ‘I am a priest! I am a priest! Fie, fie! All is
gone!’
_III._ THE CONSPIRATORS AT BAY
THE men who had so deliberately planned and so boldly perpetrated the
murder of Cardinal Beaton, were fully conscious of the gravity of the
situation in which they now found themselves. They knew that the crime
which they had committed in slaying the Chancellor of the Realm bore
with it the guilt of high treason, and that, if they refused to give
themselves up, they would be declared rebels, and dealt with as such.
But they had gone too far to retreat. If safety were to be secured, it
could only be by union amongst themselves; and instead of separating,
to wander as outlaws through the country or to shut themselves up
singly in their fortalices, they determined to maintain themselves
in the stronghold which they had captured. Its very position seemed
to suggest and to justify such a course. Situated on a rock-bound
headland a little to the north of the city of St Andrews, the imposing
castle which Bishop Roger, son of the Earl of Leicester, ‘founded and
gart bigged be,’ in the year 1200, was guarded on two sides by the
sea, and, whilst practically inaccessible to a hostile fleet, might,
with comparative ease, keep up communication with a friendly force,
and receive supplies from it. A deep moat and strongly fortified
walls protected it from the attack of a land army, and had more than
once before enabled it to hold out against superior numbers. Food
and ammunition had been abundantly provided by Beaton himself, as a
precaution against a possible attempt on the part of the English; and,
within the walls which had been known to give accommodation to guests
whose mounted attendants alone numbered four hundred and twenty, there
was ample room for quartering the partisans by whom they expected to be
joined.
To the advantages which the natural position and elaborate defences of
the fortress afforded, chance added another, which, though of a very
different kind, might be depended upon to operate strongly in favour of
the conspirators, and which may, very probably, have exercised a not
unappreciable influence upon their decision. It happened that, at the
time when Cardinal Beaton’s castle was seized upon, James Hamilton,
the Earl of Arran’s eldest son, was residing with him. Instead of
being sent away, as were the other gentlemen of the household, he was
retained by the captors as a hostage. It was thought that consideration
for his son’s safety would hamper the Regent’s action; and not only
prevent him from having recourse to measures of extreme severity in the
course of the unavoidable siege, but also affect the conditions to be
granted, if the garrison were eventually forced to surrender.
Nor was that all. A scheme of Arran’s own, for the marriage of his
heir with the young Queen of Scots, was thought to be at the bottom
of his opposition to the alliance by which the King of England hoped
to unite the two Crowns. In the eyes of Henry, James Hamilton was
a rival to his own son Edward; and they who had it in their power
to hand over the youth to his safe keeping, possessed a further
claim upon the protection and assistance which his share in the plot
for Beaton’s destruction led them to expect from him. Under the
special circumstances of the case, there was, therefore, as much
wisdom as daring in what might, at first sight, appear the desperate
determination of holding the Castle.
The first to throw in his lot with the sixteen, was one who had not, it
is true, figured so prominently and actively as they in the slaughter
of the Cardinal, but who was too much implicated in their action, and
could too easily be proved to be in actual fact their accomplice,
to expect anything but the severest treatment at the hands of the
avengers. Before the day was out, Sir James Kirkcaldy, with his
sons and brothers, arrived in St Andrews, and was admitted into the
Castle. Some more of the Melvilles followed soon after; and by gradual
accessions to its strength, as the news of what had been done at St
Andrews spread through the country, the rebel garrison increased to
about one hundred and fifty fighting men. The names of those connected
with the murder either as ‘first interprisers,’ or as ‘part takers,
maintainers, defenders, victuallers, assisters, and counsel givers,’
numbered thirty-five. They were set forth in the proclamation, issued
thirteen days after the death of Beaton, which was publicly read, at
the Market Cross of Cupar, by John Paterson, Carrick Pursuivant, and
which summoned the persons mentioned in it to appear within six days
at the bar of Parliament, under pain of being declared rebels. Amongst
them were eight Kirkcaldys and four Melvilles. That the majority of
those who had taken refuge at St Andrews, because they ‘suspected
themselves to be borne at evil will,’ were not mistaken as to the
sentiments entertained towards them by the party of which the Cardinal
had been the head, was proved by ‘letters and memorials’ which were
discovered amongst Beaton’s papers, and which disclosed a project,
formed by him, and sanctioned by the Council, for their treacherous and
summary removal, by death or imprisonment, on the Monday following.
Amongst others, whom sympathy with its garrison drew to St Andrews,
mention is made by the chroniclers of John Knox and his three
pupils--George and Francis Douglas, and Alexander Cockburn--of John
Rough, a Reformed Preacher, whom Bonner subsequently sent to the stake,
as a heretic; of Henry Balneaves of Halhill, who had occupied the
position of Clerk-Treasurer under Sir James Kirkcaldy; and of Sir David
Lindsay, who found the subject of a poem in the tragedy that had been
enacted in the Castle, and gave expression to the sentiments of the
less fanatical section of his party in the well-known lines:--
‘As for the Cardinal, I grant
He was the man we well might want;
God will forgive it soon.
But of a truth, the sooth to say,
Although the loon be well away,
The deed was foully done.’
The measures taken by the Regent with a view to the punishment of the
rebels did not bear evidence of much zeal or energy on his part. Nearly
three months had elapsed since the murder of Beaton when, on the 21st
of August, a proclamation was issued, calling upon the vassals of the
Crown to assemble within a week for the purpose of forcing the garrison
of St Andrews into submission. But, even that does not appear to have
been followed by any very strenuous exertions. A body of troops was,
it is true, sent against the rebels; but the military operations must
have been conducted in a very inadequate manner, for, at Martinmas,
according to Pitscottie, ‘all men cryed out and desired the Governour
to punisch sick injuries done within the realme; and also the Queine
perswadit the Governour to put remeid heirto.’
It was mainly by the Catholic clergy that pressure was brought to bear
upon Arran. By voluntarily undertaking to contribute £2000 monthly
towards the support of the royal troops, as long as the siege of
the Castle should last, the prelates gave practical proof of their
determination not to allow the assassins of their religious and
political leader, the Cardinal, to escape with impunity. Then, at
length, ‘an army’ marched into Fifeshire, to invest the stronghold in
real earnest; and ‘tua gritt cannones, to wit Cruik Mow and the Deafe
Meg,’ were brought to bear upon it. The massive defences, it is true,
suffered but slight injury from the lead-cased stone shot which the
primitive artillery of the time discharged against them; but the mere
fact of its being cut off from all communication on the land-side
gradually began to tell on the garrison; and the leaders found
themselves obliged to make urgent appeal for assistance to their friend
and protector, Henry VIII. As early as the beginning of September, in
consequence of the proclamation which the Regent had issued shortly
before, and which indicated the commencement of hostilities, they had
sent letters to the English Council; and on the seventeenth of that
month the King was advised to send ‘at least some small force, which
should not onely appeare a comfort to them, but be a defence against
the Scottis on the sees.’ The immediate effect of this recommendation
was the dispatch of eight ships, with the ‘Maister of Wark of Ingland,’
whose object, according to the Diurnal of Occurrents, was ‘to spy’
the Castle. It may be doubted whether this first squadron brought any
material assistance to the besieged; for, when it returned, about the
end of October, ‘William Kirkcaldy of Grange, younger, past to Ingland,
for supplie,’ with it, accompanied by Henry Balneaves of Halhill and
John Lesley.
On their arrival in London, the envoys lost no time in informing Henry
of the object of their mission. Nor does the King, on his side, appear
to have acted less expeditiously. Before the end of the month, he wrote
to Admiral Tyrrell, informing him that he had ‘been moved to send forth
presently to the sees the number of six ships furnished for the wars,
that is to say, the _Pauncey_, the _Mynyon_, the _Hart_, the _Jennet_,
the _Dragon_, and the _Lyon_,’ and had appointed him to the command.
According to further instructions, Tyrrell, on reaching the Firth, was
to land parties at unprotected points on either shore, ‘to spoil and
burn small villages and houses,’ and thus, not only strike terror into
the population, but also create a diversion in favour of the Castle,
from the siege of which forces would probably be withdrawn, and sent
to check the progress of the English raiders. The Master of Rothes
and the Laird of Grange were to be told that his Majesty was ‘sorry
to understand their care and trouble for their defence,’ and that
‘conforme to the request of Mr Kirkcaldy to helpe them with some vitail
and munition,’ one of the six ships was laden with supplies, which were
to be handed over in such quantity as the Admiral might judge necessary.
Another paragraph in the same letter explains one of the reasons of
the King’s liberality, and shows on what condition Kirkcaldy had been
able to secure help from England. ‘And, because the sayd Mr Kirkcaldy,
who is sone and heire to the Lard of Grange aforesaid, at his late
beeing with us, signifyed by his letters, on the behalf of the Master
of Rothes and his father, that for a token of their service and goode
wille to us, they wold delyver in hostage the sonne of the Erle of
Arran, ye shal cause request to be made, in our name, for him, setting
forth that besides the performance therby of the promesse of the sayd
Kirkcaldy, and the confirmation of our credit and estimation of them,
they shal doo a thing so much to our contentation, as shal give us
occasion the nerer to stykk unto them, and temploye our force to the
repulse of their enemyes the more willingly.’
Whilst Henry Balneaves and John Lesley remained in England ‘for forming
and perfyting all contracts betwixt the defenders and King Henrie,’
Kirkcaldy returned to St Andrews. The besieged had not yet been able
to make that ‘plaine passage by an yron gate, through the east wall to
the sea, which greetly releeved them’ at a later stage of the blockade;
and, when the English ships arrived, there was consequently some
difficulty in effecting communication with them. Ultimately, however,
Kirkcaldy succeeded in landing with the supplies; but it was ‘not
without some losse of men.’
On the side of the besiegers, Kirkcaldy’s departure which, according
to the Diurnal of Occurrents, took place on the 26th of October, had
filliped the leaders into a display of energy. On the Tuesday following
it, the Governor and the Lords with him, anxious to put an end to the
siege before the arrival of supplies from England, sent to offer the
rebels the restitution of their lands, heritages, tacks, benefices and
moveables, on condition that they should surrender the Castle and give
up young Hamilton. The proposal was met with a curt refusal. Three days
later preparation was made for a vigorous attack; and four cannons, a
battering culverin, two smaller culverins, and some double falcons were
sent to the west trenches for the purpose of battering the sea-tower
that stood at the north-west, and also the west wall. Then, when all
this artillery had been brought into position, the cannonade began
from two sides at once. On the first day it lasted without cessation
from seven in the morning till four in the afternoon. The fire was
unusually effective. That from the new battery brought down all the
battlements and the top-storey of the sea-tower, and the whole roof of
the apartments overlooking the shore. On the land-side the feathered
bolts shot from the balistæ at the hall and chapel, broke in the roof,
and drove those of the garrison who were stationed at that point to
the safer shelter of the inner walls. Nor were the besieged inactive.
Pointing their own cannon at the attacking artillery they retaliated by
killing ‘John Borthwick, principal gunner, and sundry of the soldiers
and men of war,’ and by wounding the Earl of Argyle’s master-gunner so
seriously that he was reported to be still bedfast nearly two months
later. On the morrow the Governor’s artillery again opened its fire,
and kept it up as vigorously, though not more murderously, than the
day before. Further damage was done to the high parts and roof, but
the garrison once more escaped serious injury. The assailants were
less fortunate, for they again lost a gunner, James Law, and three
other men with him. Such ‘great slaughter made upon their gunners’
disheartened the leaders of the royal troops; and tacitly recognising
their inability to take the Castle by open force, ‘they gave up further
shooting with great artillery, and continued the siege with blockading
and small fire arms.’
The provisions which Kirkcaldy had obtained and brought from England
afforded but brief relief to the beleaguered garrison. From the 22nd
of November to the 10th of December there was no flesh-meat within
the Castle; and the other supplies gradually dwindled down to ten
boles of meal and five puncheons of wine. But the desperate defenders
showed no sign of wavering. As a result of their great watching and
waking, of the want of flesh, and of the bad quality of the fish which
had become their chief diet, Walter Melville--one of the leaders--and
twenty men were stricken with a deadly sickness; but this only moved
their comrades to use greater exertions and, in the words of one of
them, daily to make slaughter of their enemies. Nor were their efforts
limited to that. Whilst some were fighting others were working at the
construction of a postern door, and of a trench leading from it to a
rock lying off the kitchen tower. When this was at length completed
two men were able to set out nightly in a small boat, and, landing at
Tentsmuir, to obtain a scant supply of flesh and flour from a secret
friend, the Laird of Montquhanny.
About the middle of December the besieged were reduced to such
extremities that a well-conducted and vigorous attack could scarcely
have failed to give Arran possession of the Castle. Fortunately for
them, however, he was not fully aware of their desperate condition,
whilst, on the other hand, the circumstances in which he was himself
placed made him long for the termination of the protracted siege. A
violent pestilence that broke out in St Andrews and threatened to
spread through the beleaguering army, gave him a plausible excuse for
opening negotiations without appearing to be driven to it either by the
obstinacy of the rebels or by the repeated protests addressed to him
and his Council by Henry VIII. on their behalf.
On the 17th of December, Lyon Herald approached the walls and sounded
a parley. That no undue haste on their part should reveal how anxious
they themselves were for a cessation of hostilities, the leaders
did not condescend to notice him, and he was obliged to return to
the Governor and the Council with the report that he could not
obtain speech of them. Later on in the day a second attempt was more
successful; and consent was obtained to an interview between the rebel
leaders and two envoys from the camp--the Justice-Clerk and the Provost
of Aberdeen. The assumed indifference of those within the Castle
caused the negotiations to drag on slowly through several days; and,
at the very last moment, the demand that William Kirkcaldy should be
handed over as a hostage, was on the point of making them fall through
altogether. Finally, however, on the 22nd of December, a truce was
agreed upon. The conditions were that the garrison should retain the
Castle until the Regent obtained from the Pope absolution for all who
had been concerned in the murder of Cardinal Beaton; that they, their
friends, families, servants, and others pertaining to them, should
never be pursued by law, but should enjoy all the privileges, spiritual
and temporal, of which they had been in possession before the murder,
‘even as if it had never beene committed;’ and that, whilst James
Hamilton was still kept as a hostage on the one side, David and James
Kirkcaldy should be delivered to the Regent on the other, as pledges to
insure the surrender of the Castle when the papal absolution arrived.
As soon as the royal army had been withdrawn, those who had held the
Castle so valiantly came forth in great exultation. The lawless conduct
of some of them was wholly unworthy of the brave men they had shown
themselves to be. ‘They became so proud,’ says Pitscottie, ‘that no
man might live besyd thame, for they would isch out and ryd throche
the countrie quhen they pleased, and sumtymes raise fyre and burne,
and vtherwhylles ravisch vomen, and vse thair bodie as they pleased.
And some godlie men in the castell, that thought not thair lyffe nor
conversatioun honest, reproved them sharplie, thairfoir, saying, if
they left not aff, it could not be bot God would punisch thame for
the same quhen they luiket least for it. Notwithstanding of thir
admonitiounes, they continwed still in thair former doeingis the space
of thrie quarteris of are yeir thaireftir.’
As might almost be inferred from the conditions of the armistice,
neither besiegers nor besieged really looked upon it as a decisive step
towards the termination of the struggle. The object on either side
was merely to gain time and to make preparation for greater efforts.
Scarcely was the truce signed when the rebel leaders wrote to their
agent, Balneaves, instructing him ‘to solicit the King’s Majesty
to write to the Emperor, to write to the Pope for the stopping and
hindering’ of their absolution. He was further to impress on Henry the
absolute need in which they stood of ‘support and aid of money.’ This
money was to be sent by sea; and the greatest precautions were to be
taken to avoid exciting suspicion. A ship was to come to St Andrews and
to put out a boat, for the ostensible purpose of opening negotiations
with the Castle, but, in reality, to hand over the money. After its
departure the Governor was to be informed that its object had been to
offer victuals, but that they had been refused. Nor was that all. The
subsidy was not to be in English currency, of which a sudden influx
would necessarily be noticed, but was to consist of the coins of
France and other countries. This money, which would be accounted for
as proceeding from the Cardinal’s coffers, was to be used partly for
the revictualing of the Castle, and partly for distribution amongst
friends, so that they might be ready, when his Majesty’s force came,
to do such things as his Majesty might command them. In answer to this
appeal Henry sent at least two remittances of money--one of £1180, and
another of £1300. This was for pay to the garrison, which consisted
of eighty foot and forty horse, and of which each man received eight
pence a day. The Council Books show that further sums were transmitted
for the leading men; that Norman Lesley’s share was £280; and that Sir
James Kirkcaldy got £200 as his.
Whilst Balneaves was soliciting help from England, Panter, on behalf
of the Regent, was appealing to France. On the strength of the old
alliance between the two countries, Francis was requested to send
supplies, not only of money, but also of arms, and to place some of his
own experienced military leaders at the disposal of Scotland.
About the middle of June 1547, the papal bull upon which so much had
been made to depend, reached Scotland, and was communicated to the
rebel leaders, together with a summons that they should surrender the
Castle, in accordance with the promise given by them the previous
December. On making themselves acquainted with the document, they found
it contained a remarkable clause, in which Paul III. professed to remit
the crime that could not be remitted, ‘_Remittimus irremissibile_.’
It was, in all probability, nothing more than a theological conceit,
in the Italian taste. But those whom it most nearly concerned read
it otherwise. It was not, they declared, the sure and sufficient
absolution which the Governor and his Council had undertaken to
procure for them, but merely a trap set for their destruction. They
consequently refused to give up the Castle, alleging that the condition
upon which they had agreed to do so had not been fulfilled.
When the little garrison thus resolved once more to defy the Regent’s
power, the armament upon which he depended to force them into
subjection, was ready to set sail, if it had not already left the
French port. On the 29th of June, a fleet consisting, according to some
chroniclers of twenty-one galleys, according to others, of six galleys
and two great ships, appeared in sight of St Andrews. Leo Strozzi,
who was in command, at once disposed his vessels in such fashion that
their artillery should command all the outworks of the Castle, and
early next day sent another summons to the garrison to surrender. The
bold defenders replied that he had no lawful authority over them, and
that they consequently declined to obey his orders. That was the signal
for the commencement of active operations on the part of the French
squadron. Two days’ firing, however, produced no further effect on
the fortress than the demolition of portions of the roof; whilst the
defenders inflicted serious injuries on the assailants, and besides
killing several rowers and soldiers, completely crippled one galley.
Strozzi, by this time, had recognized the futility of continuing the
siege from the sea alone, and at once began to make preparation to
attack it from the land side as well. The measures which he took showed
that he meant more serious work, and that he understood his business
better than the Scottish engineers who had conducted operations the
summer before. Indeed, he did not hesitate to express his contempt for
them as ‘unexpert men of war,’ to whom it had not occurred to mount
batteries on the steeples and all the high places that overlooked the
Castle. Nor did he think much better of the besieged for not bringing
down the steeples to prevent such advantage being taken of them.
In getting his own batteries into position, Strozzi’s ingenuity was
put to the test. His guns had to be taken through streets completely
exposed to the fire of the enemy; and if men were employed to transport
them, there would necessarily be very heavy losses amongst them. To
avoid this, he set up powerful windlasses at the extremity of each
street, and by their means was able to draw his cumbrous guns along
without sacrificing the life of a single soldier. When this was noticed
from the Castle by the Italian engineer, who had been sent from England
to assist the garrison, he was not slow in realising the danger of the
situation. ‘Defend yourselves, Masters,’ he exclaimed, ‘for now you
have to deal with men of war who are very skilful and subtle, for they
work their cannons without any men near them.’ But the confederates had
dared too much to be intimidated by this new device, and they answered
resolutely that they should hold the Castle to the last against the
united forces of Scotland and France.
The laborious task of raising heavy guns on to the tower of the Abbey
Church and the steeple of Saint Salvator’s College must have taken a
considerable time, for the 24th of July is given as the date of the
beginning of the siege from the land side. It had now become evident
that the end could not be far off. From their high position the
besiegers commanded even the courtyard of the Castle; and it was only
with the greatest danger that the besieged could make their way from
one point to another. The persistent cannonade drove them first from
the block-house, then from the sea-tower, and finally effected a breach
in the wall, of which a large portion came crushing down, with a mighty
noise. A tremendous storm that broke out checked the progress of the
assailants for a few hours, and probably saved the garrison from the
slaughter which must inevitably have taken place if the breach had been
stormed and the Castle captured by force. Even at this last extremity,
there were some within the walls who counselled a last effort, and
urged that the whole available force should join in a sortie. But the
desperate proposal though discussed was not adopted; and when the storm
abated and preparation was again being made for a final assault, a flag
of truce announced that, for the first time, the rebel leaders demanded
a parley with a view to the surrender of the fortress. But, not even
yet was their spirit so utterly crushed that they were ready to consent
without demur to any terms. Neither with the Governor nor with any of
their own countrymen would they condescend to negotiate, for these had
deserted them, ‘Which, I am assured,’ said the Laird of Grange, ‘God
shall revenge ere it be long.’ It was to Strozzi himself that they
surrendered. According to Knox the terms of the capitulation were: That
the lives of all that were within the Castle, as well of the English as
of the Scots, should be saved; that they should be safely transported
to France; that, at the King of France’s expense they should be safely
conveyed to any country they might desire, other than Scotland, in case
that, upon conditions which should be offered by the King of France
unto them, they could not be content to remain in service and freedom
there.
Thus, on the 30th of July, 1547, ended the siege of the famous Castle.
Entering it at once, the French ‘spoylled verrie rigorouslie.’
According to Pitscottie, ‘they gott both gold, silver, cloathing,
bedding, meitt and drink, with all veapones, artaillie, and victuallis,
and all vther plenisching, and left nothing behind thame that they
might gett carried away in thair gallies.’ The ‘Diurnal of Occurrents’
estimates the value of the spoil at one hundred thousand pounds. By
command of the Governor and Council, the Castle itself was razed to
the ground. ‘Whether this was to fulfil their law, which commandeth
places where cardinals are slain so to be used, or for fear that
England should have taken it, as they did Broughty rock, we are
uncertain,’ says Calderwood, who reports the fact.
_IV._ IN FRANCE
TO Arran and his Council, the terms obtained from Strozzi by the rebel
garrison seemed to be far too lenient; and they accordingly sent John
Hamilton of Milburne to the King of France, who was now Henry II., and
to the powerful Cardinal of Lorraine, urging them to repudiate the
Captain-General’s action, and, in spite of the promises by which they
had finally been induced to surrender, to handle the prisoners sharply.
Owing to circumstances which the chroniclers do not explain, the
journey to France appears to have been unusually protracted; for,
although Strozzi is said to have sailed from St Andrews about the
middle of August, it was not till November that the galleys are
reported to have reached Rouen. On his arrival, the six score Scotsmen
whom he brought with him, learned that they were not to be given the
option of entering into the service of France, or of passing, at the
King’s expense, into any other country they might choose; and that the
murder of Cardinal Beaton, and the subsequent rebellious defiance of
the royal authority were not to be allowed to go unpunished. John Knox
and Balfour, together with the prisoners of lower degree, were kept on
the galleys as slaves, and sent to work on the Loire. Their fate was
commemorated in the doggerel couplet given by Calderwood as the ‘song
of triumph’ of the Papists:--
‘Preests, content you now; preests, content you now,
For Norman and his companie hath filled the galeyes fow.’
In reality, however, Norman Lesley, with the Laird of Pitmillie, and
the Laird of Grange for his companions, was conveyed to Cherbourg.
Henry Balneaves was imprisoned in Rouen itself, where he spent his
enforced leisure in writing a ‘comfortable treatise’ on Justification
by Faith without Works. James Melville was relegated to the Castle of
Brest, but very shortly after ‘departed from the miseries of this life.’
To William Kirkcaldy, Peter Carmichael, Robert and William Lesley, what
was then one of the most formidable fortresses in the kingdom, was
assigned as a place of confinement.
Built on a huge rock of granite, in the blue, savage Norman Bay,
there stood the imposing structure upon which the admiration of the
Middle-Ages bestowed the name of the Wonder of the West. Situated some
four miles from the nearest point of the mainland, it was guarded
by the sea at high water, but became more inaccessible still when,
for a couple of hours each day, the ebbing tide left nothing but a
wide expanse of treacherous quicksands between it and the coast.
This was the abbey-fortress of Mont Saint-Michel, that ‘wonderfully
strong place upon the sea-shore,’ which had proved the bulwark of
Normandy during the long struggle between England and France, and in
which insignificant garrisons of determined men had, time and again,
successfully held out against the assaults of beleaguering thousands.
Here it was that the four Scottish prisoners were destined to spend
many months of captivity. But the very fastness of their isolated
prison was not without advantage for them. It inspired the Governor
with such confidence that he deemed it unnecessary to deprive them of
the restricted liberty that the rock afforded. The only annoyance to
which they were submitted, was one which affected them through their
religious opinions, and which they shared in common with the Scottish
prisoners in other parts of the country. Knox relates that those who
were in the galleys were threatened with torments if they would not
give reverence to the Mass, and that they would have been compelled
to kiss a statue of the Virgin, if one of them had not seized it and
cast it into the Loire. At Cherbourg, too, the governor of the castle
did his utmost to induce Sir James Kirkcaldy and his companions to
attend Mass with him. When they refused to do so, he threatened to
compel them; but they warned him that, if he chose to adopt such a
course, they would, by their irreverent behaviour, let all present know
their contempt for the ceremony. William Kirkcaldy, with his three
fellow-captives, was subjected to the same importunities by the captain
to whose keeping he had been entrusted at Mont Saint-Michel. With equal
firmness, though in a more bantering tone, he replied for himself and
for them, that ‘they would not only hear Mass every day but also help
to say it, providing they might stick the priests; otherwise not.’
Being allowed free intercourse with the soldiers of the garrison and
with the other inmates of the fortress, Kirkcaldy and his friends
succeeded in buying the services of a messenger, by whose help they
were able to hold communication with the other prisoners, from whom
they had been separated at Rouen. Availing himself of the means thus
afforded, Kirkcaldy wrote to John Knox, to ask his advice with regard
to a matter about which it seems difficult to understand that he
should have entertained any doubt or felt any scruple. He wished to
know whether he and those with him might, with a safe conscience,
break their prison. Knox replied that they would incur no moral guilt
by embracing any opportunity which God should offer them to regain
their liberty, providing they used no unlawful means, and, above all,
refrained from shedding blood in the attempt.
Sir James Kirkcaldy was also informed of his son’s intention; but
he appears to have given the bold scheme but scant encouragement. He
feared that, even if it proved successful, those who still remained in
captivity would be more harshly treated; and it was out of deference to
him that Knox so earnestly deprecated any recourse to violent measures.
To venture across the quicksands alone would have been courting death;
and as a first step towards the execution of their daring project,
the prisoners had to secure the assistance of a guide. In that, they
do not appear to have encountered any serious difficulty. One of the
young men engaged in an inferior position about the Castle, in all
probability the same who had enabled them to communicate with their
friends, undertook to show them a safe way to the mainland if they
should succeed in eluding the vigilance of their keepers. For many
months circumstances prevented the carrying out of a plan which the
restrictions imposed by Knox, and accepted by the four captives,
rendered particularly hazardous and difficult; and the second winter
since their departure from Scotland still found them fretting for
liberty on the isolated rock. At length, however, their knowledge of
the customs of those amongst whom they were living told them that
the time for action was approaching. In those days, even more than
at present, and particularly in Normandy, where it is still widely
celebrated, the festival of the Three Kings--_le Jour des Rois_--as
the Epiphany is called, was kept as a popular holiday, with much
merry-making and carousing. The nature of the quaint ceremonial which
formed a part of the feast, led to even more than the customary
indulgence on the part of the revellers. Every time that the mock
monarch of the evening, elected by favour of the bean hidden in the
Twelfth-Night cake, put his goblet to his lips, the cry was raised,
‘_le Roi boit! le Roi boit!_’ and all his faithful subjects showed
their loyalty, and their appreciation of his liberality, by draining
their own cups. Even with no stronger beverage than the cider of
the country, such repeated potations could not be indulged in with
impunity. From their experience of the preceding year, Kirkcaldy
and his friends knew that, when the feast closed, the garrison and
the household were in no condition to give much attention to their
prisoners. They laid their plan accordingly. To abstain from joining
in festivities which, though purely social, were intimately connected
with a religious feast, they could put forward the same reason that
had stood them in good stead before--their utter contempt for popish
mummeries; and could, therefore, retain the full possession of their
mental and physical energies whilst their keepers were sinking
into helpless intoxication. Although the account given by Knox is
regrettably bare of details, it suggests that the garrison of Mont
Saint-Michel was reduced to its lowest strength; and this circumstance
very materially increased the Scotsmen’s chances of success.
When the carousing was over in the common hall, and when the revellers
had retired to their several quarters, Kirkcaldy and his three friends
sallied forth on their perilous expedition. Silently and stealthily
making their way to the rooms where the soldiers were sunk in a heavy
sleep they first gagged and bound them securely, and then locked the
doors on them to prevent pursuit, even if the alarm were given. But
the only means of exit from the fortress was closed by three gates, of
which the keys were with the Governor; and if these could not be got,
the whole enterprise was doomed to failure, in spite of the success
with which the daring of the four Scotsmen had so far been favoured. To
respect the conditions which Knox had imposed upon them, and impressed
with such earnestness as to lead them to look upon them as absolutely
essential to the accomplishment of their design, it was necessary for
them to deal with the captain as they had done with the guards, not
to dispatch him with the weapons that now lay at their disposal, but
to overpower him by a sudden attack, and to bind him before he could
offer any resistance. In this, too, their desperate determination
secured them against failure. Favoured by the darkness, they reached
the _Logis du Roi_, which formed a part of the machicolated inner gate,
and contained the apartments assigned to the military guardian of the
stronghold. When they left it, the Governor was as helpless as his men;
and the keys were in their power. After raising the portcullis, they
opened and relocked the second gate, passed into the _Cour du Lion_,
and came to the outer barrier of the barbacan. The massive bolts and
bars of the _Bavole_ were hastily pushed back, and the fugitives were
outside the walls of the grim prison, secure for a while from pursuit,
but with the dangerous journey across the sands still before them.
That, too, was performed without untoward accident. So far their guide
proved faithful, for their safety was his; and before the rising tide
had spread over the vast stretch of sand, and again isolated the Mount,
they had reached the mainland, at a point sufficiently distant from
Pontorson to insure their being unnoticed by the sentries. Here the
guide left them, but not without turning against them the treachery
and the unscrupulous greed which had made him their tool. By some
means, which the chroniclers unfortunately leave unexplained, but which
was doubtless supplied by their need of rest and sleep, as well as
by the necessity for concealment, when they got to the shore in the
early morning, he succeeded in getting possession of the little stock
of money with which they had provided themselves. When the time came
for them to resume their flight, they found themselves reduced to the
necessity of depending on the charity of the country folk. That alone,
even apart from considerations of prudence, made it advisable for the
friends to part. The two Lesleys started together in one direction,
and ultimately reached a place which Calderwood calls ‘Roan,’ but which
can scarcely have been the inland town of Rohan, as some later writers
have thought. It is more natural to suppose that, in their ignorance of
the country, they made for Rouen, the port at which they had landed.
William Kirkcaldy and Carmichael proceeded westwards. As soon as
the news of their escape became known, diligent search was made for
them throughout the district. Disguised as poor mariners, they were,
however, able to elude their pursuers; and they slowly and cautiously
trudged from one seaport to another, in the hope of finding a friendly
ship that would give them passage to England or to Scotland. But
all along the coast persistent ill-luck followed them. Saint-Malo,
Saint-Brieuc, Morlaix, Roscoff, Brest, were vainly tried in the course
of their weary search, which lasted through thirteen weeks; and the
fugitives came to the little town of Le Conquet, at the furthest
extremity of the peninsula of Finistère, without finding a favourable
opportunity to leave the country where, if their identity were
revealed, any of the fortresses which they passed might become their
prison. There, at length, their wanderings came to a close. In the
diminutive harbour, to which, in spite of the dangerous rocks and reefs
that stretch between the coast and the wind-swept island of Ushant,
Scottish mariners sometimes steered their course, they found a ship and
a skipper willing to take them back to their own country.
Kirkcaldy and his companion landed on the west coast of Scotland in the
spring of 1549. But they were not in safety yet. It was only across the
Border that they could consider themselves beyond the reach of their
enemies. The short journey southwards, however, presented but slight
difficulties as compared with what they had already gone through; and
before long they found a refuge in Berwick. There they saw John Knox,
who had been released that winter; and within a few months they were
able to meet others of their friends in England; for the Scottish
captives were being gradually liberated, and by the month of July 1550
a general amnesty had opened the gates of the French prisons for the
last of the St Andrews rebels.
Nothing is known as to the length of Kirkcaldy’s stay in England; but
there is evidence of his again being in France before the close of
1550. In that year Sir John Mason, writing from Blois to the English
Council, informed it that the secret agent had arrived two days before,
but being afraid for his personal safety, had resolved to return at
once. He had found a substitute in Kirkcaldy who had promised to
communicate to Mason all that he could learn. In future correspondence
he was to be referred to as _Coraxe_. His services were accepted, and
he received in payment for them a yearly pension, which he continued to
draw during the whole of Edward VI.’s reign.
Kirkcaldy’s questionable loyalty to the country which afforded
him hospitality did not prevent him from performing his duty with
conspicuous bravery as a soldier in her army. Henry II. was at that
time waging war against the Emperor of Germany, and was glad to avail
himself of the services of the Scots. Two of these in particular
distinguished themselves by their impetuous courage no less than by
their military skill. They were Norman Lesley and William Kirkcaldy.
To the former of these the campaign was destined to prove fatal; and
the brief but graphic description of the skirmish in which he was
mortally wounded, cannot, even at this distance of time, be read
without sympathy and admiration. He had gone with the cavalry under
the command of the Connétable to harass and impede the progress of the
army which the Emperor was bringing to the relief of Renti, besieged
by the French. The relative positions of the forces were not equal;
for whilst those of Charles were advancing along a commanding height,
Henry’s horsemen were in the plain below, and were consequently at
the disadvantage of having to ride up hill to attack the enemy.
Regardless of the odds the Scottish captain, mounted upon ‘a fair gray
gelding,’ fearlessly headed a charge of thirty of his own countrymen.
The incident is best given in the words of another Scot--Sir James
Melville--who writes with the authority of an eye-witness. ‘He had
above his coat of black velvet his coat of armour with two broad
white crosses, the one before, and the other behind, with sleeves of
mail, and a red bonnet upon his head, whereby he was known and seen
afar off by the Constable, the Duke of Enghien, and the Prince of
Condé: where, with his thirty, he charged upon sixty of their horsemen
with culverines, followed but with seven of his number. He, in our
sight, struck five of them from their horses with his spear before
it brake: then he drew his sword, and ran in among them, not valuing
their continual shooting, to the admiration of the beholders. He slew
divers of them, and at length when he saw a company of spearmen coming
down against him, he gave his horse the spurs, who carried him to the
Constable, and there fell down dead; for he had many shots: and worthy
Norman was also shot in divers parts, whereof he died fifteen days
after. He was first carried to the King’s own tent, where the Duke of
Enghien and Prince of Condé told his Majesty, that Hector of Troy was
not more valiant than the said Norman: whom the said King would see
dressed by his own chirurgeons, and made great moan for him. So did the
Constable, and all the rest of the Princes.’
By none was the valiant Master of Rothes more deeply and more sincerely
regretted than by his companion in many a perilous adventure--William
Kirkcaldy. He had been given the command of a hundred light horsemen;
and with these he had been sent out on a secret expedition, from which
he did not return till the day after the fatal skirmish. Within a few
hours, the battle of Renti afforded him and his Scots an opportunity
of avenging their countryman. That he who was ‘like a lion in the
field’ did not spare the enemy may well be assumed. Unfortunately,
however, there is no record of his exploits either on that day, or,
indeed, on any of the occasions when he did ‘such notable service in
France.’ We only know that his conduct won the warmest praise from such
men as Vendôme, Condé, and Aumale; that the famous Connétable would
never allow him to stand bare-headed in his presence, and that, in the
hearing of Melville, who records the flattering incident, King Henry
II., pointing to him said, ‘Yonder is one of the most valiant men of
our age.’
Nor was it in battle only that Kirkcaldy won distinction. He showed to
equal advantage at the polished court of the Valois, and always figured
amongst the foremost in the sports which the King favoured, and in
which he himself took a leading part. So openly, indeed, did Henry show
his admiration of the Scottish captain, that ‘he chose him commonly
upon his side in all pastimes he went to.’
But, at the height of his fortunes, Kirkcaldy did not forget his own
country, or abandon the policy which he conscientiously believed to
be for her advantage. As a soldier, he was ready to serve the French
King against his continental enemies; but, as a politician, he did
not hesitate or scruple to thwart his schemes by all the means in his
power when their object seemed to be the subjection of Scotland to the
rule of France--the erection of the land into a province, as Melville
forcibly puts it. With this object in view he had thought himself
justified in acting as a secret agent, and supplying the English
Government with such information as might enable it to follow the
negotiations between the French party in Edinburgh and their friends
in Paris. But his services had been dispensed with when Queen Mary
succeeded her half-brother Edward on the throne. It was no loftier
sense of honour, but rather a narrow spirit of intolerance that led
to the step; and the reason assigned for the withdrawal of the secret
service money, which had enabled Kirkcaldy to obtain, and to supply
intelligence to England, was simply that ‘no Catholic Power should pay
or maintain the murderers of a Catholic Cardinal.’
As Kirkcaldy was in the receipt of ample pay from Henry II., and as
even his detractors never accused him of avarice or greed--a charge
which it would be difficult to substantiate in the face of the distinct
statement made by Melville, that he never sought payment of the
‘honourable pension’ granted him on his retirement from the French
service--it cannot be supposed that he was actuated by mercenary
motives when, in 1556, he again offered his services to Queen Mary,
through Dr Wotton, promising that she should have ‘good intelligence
of the affairs of Scotland and of France by his intimacy with those of
both nations.’ No answer having been vouchsafed to these overtures,
Kirkcaldy resolved to return to Scotland, where, as his knowledge
of the negotiations carried on with the French Court enabled him to
foresee, important events were about to take place. Before leaving
Paris, however, he again applied to the English Ambassador, Dr Wotton,
from whom he received a letter of introduction to Lord Paget, Lord
Privy-Seal, and Sir William Petre, Secretary of State. It laid special
stress on the bearer’s discontent with the present state of Scotland,
and on his desire to see it delivered from the yoke of the French and
restored to its former liberty. It referred to his English sympathies,
but added a very important and very honourable qualification; for it
was only ‘next to his country’ that he was represented as having ‘a
good mind to England.’
On the 28th of May 1557, Lord Wentworth, writing to Queen Mary,
informed her that Kirkcaldy was then at Dieppe, ‘tarying only the wind
to pass to Scotland.’
_V._ HOME AGAIN
ABOUT the year 1556, Sir James Kirkcaldy closed his chequered career.
The latter years of his life, those subsequent to his return from
captivity, had been spent in retirement and comparative obscurity.
After mentioning his liberation, and the amnesty which put an end to
his exile from Scotland, the chronicles and letters of the period make
no further reference to him; and it is only from an entry in a writ of
Chancery that the approximate date of his death can be determined.
It was as Sir William Kirkcaldy of Grange that his son returned to
his native land. The first incident in which he figures, though
but of slight importance in itself, is too characteristic of his
chivalrous nature and martial spirit to be omitted. It had chanced,
some time previously, that in the course of one of those raids, which
were of constant occurrence on the Border, John Kirkcaldy had been
made prisoner, by a party of Englishmen, belonging to the garrison
of Berwick, of which Lord Evers was governor at the time. According
to the recognised custom of the age, the young Scotsman was kept in
confinement until such time as his friends should pay the ransom
demanded by his captors. But, from the account which he gave after his
release, it appeared that he had been treated with undue harshness by
Lord Evers during his enforced stay within the walls of the English
fortress. John Kirkcaldy himself was not of sufficient rank and
standing to demand satisfaction of the governor. His cousin, however,
was a soldier whose reputation made it no disgrace for the bravest
Englishman to break a lance with him. As his kinsman’s champion, the
Laird of Grange sent a challenge to the Governor of Berwick to meet him
in single combat. But he had not reckoned on the punctiliousness of
the English lord. Evers pleaded no justification of his conduct, nor
did he deny the Scotsmen’s right, according to the established laws of
chivalry, to demand satisfaction; but he would not recognise the simple
Scottish Baron as his equal, and consequently declined the encounter.
To ignore the cartel altogether, would, however, have exposed the
English to taunts too insulting to be borne with equanimity; and for
the honour of his country and of his family, Lord Evers’s brother, Sir
Ralph, gallantly made known his readiness to fight with the Laird of
Grange ‘ane singular combatt upoun horsback with speares.’ To this he
received the reply, that Sir William was ‘verrie weill content thairof,
and to meitt him in ony place he pleised.’ It was accordingly arranged
that the duel should take place at Halidon Hill, in presence of the two
garrisons of Berwick and of Eyemouth, but that under pain of treason,
no man should come within an arrow’s flight of the two champions. Each
of them, however, was allowed to have an attendant to bear his spear.
There were also to be two trumpeters, and two lords ‘to be judges to
see the matter finished.’ On the appointed day, the two knights rode
into the field. Sir Ralph Evers was accompanied by his brother, the
Governor of Berwick, in whose cause he was about to fight, and by
eleven other English knights. With Sir William Kirkcaldy, there were
also twelve gentlemen, of whom one was Monsieur d’Oysel, the King of
France’s lieutenant.
When the judges of the field examined the armour of the two champions,
some difficulty arose by reason of Kirkcaldy’s better equipment.
According to the English annalist Hollinshed, who is as scrupulous in
mentioning the detail as the Scottish chronicler Pitscottie is careful
to overlook it, they objected that ‘Grange was armed in a coat of
plate, and a cuirass aloft upon it,’ whilst Evers ‘was clad onelie in
a single coat of plate, without anie other pieces of armor for defense
of his body.’ The English knight, however, declared himself satisfied;
and the duel was proceeded with. The description given of it by the two
writers who have thought it worthy of record, is very characteristic.
It shows how national sympathies influence them, even in trifling
matters; and may serve to convey some notion of the difficulty which
there is in arriving at the truth with regard to more important events.
Hollinshed is content with the statement that the combatants ‘ran
together, and brake both their staves,’ and that ‘as it fortuned,
Master Evers was hurt in the flank.’ Pitscottie has expanded this into
a picturesque narrative. ‘When all things war put to ordour,’ he says,
‘and the championes horssed, and thair speares in thair handis, then
the trumpetteris soundit, and the heraldis cryed, and the judges leitt
thame goe, and they ran togidder verrie furiouslie on both sydis,
bot the laird of Grange rane his adversar, the Inglisman, throw the
shoulder blaid, and aff his hors, and was woundit deadlie, and in
perrill of his lyff. Bot quhidder he died or leived I cannot tell; but
the laird of Grange wan the victorie that day.’
In spite of the irregular and desultory fighting of which the meeting
between Kirkcaldy and Evers was an incident, Scotland and England were
not actually at war with each other. France, it is true, was using
all its influence to create a diversion in its own favour by inducing
the Queen-Regent to send a Scottish army across the Border; and, in
anticipation of a conflict between the two nations, the restless and
warlike Barons of the Marches were already making inroads into the
country of the prospective enemy. But when Mary, after having assembled
an army at Kelso, announced her intention of declaring war on England,
a powerful party, with Chastelherault, Huntly, Cassilis, and Argyle
at its head, obliged her to desist. With a view to checking the power
of those noblemen, the Regent formed a plan for recalling the Earl of
Lennox from his exile in England. This gave rise to negotiations, in
which Kirkcaldy acted as agent, and of which a cessation of the Border
warfare also appears to have been one of the objects. They were opened
by the Bishop of Caithness, who, on the 10th of November 1557, wrote to
Lord Wharton:--
‘My Lorde; This shall be to chardge and request your Lordshipp in
homelye manner to be so favourable and good for such love and favour
as I do knowe you bear unto my Lorde my brother, and to tayke the
paynes to cause this lytell mass of writings to be wyth all diligence
conveyed unto his Lordshipp, so being that passage cannot be had to
Wyllyam Kyrkaudye, unto whome the said writings are directed, to be
presented by him unto my Laydy’s grace, my sister, trusting that your
Lordshipp will do so moche for myne owne request, tho’ the matter
appertained not unto my Lorde or my Laydy forsayd, whose affaires
I doubte not but your Lordshippe dothe regarde and weigh as your
owne, which movethe me to be the more homely with you at this tyme.
Referring the premisses unto your Lordshipp’s good mynde, and thus
wyth my mooste hartie comendacions unto your good Lordshipp, bid you
mooste hartely to farewell. Of Edenboroughe the xth daye of November
1557, by the hande of
Your Lordshipp’s good Friend in the olde
manner lawfully
ROBARTT, BUSCHOPP of Cathness.’
Three days later, Kirkcaldy, in conformity with the instructions he
had received, wrote the following request for a secret interview with
Wharton:--
‘These shall be to certify your Lordship, this last Fryday, at night,
there came ane speciall friend of my Ladye Margaret Dowglass’s grace,
and of my Lorde her bedfellowe’s, to me with an masse of Letters
dyrected to your Lordship, and because this friend, that hath sent
these letters, knoweth that I have always bene wyllinge to do pleasure
and service to the forsayd Laydye and Lorde, hathe desyred me moost
ernestly to see them delyvered secretely, wythe certaine secrets to
your Lordship, the which I wold gladly do, yf I might be assured to
come quietly unto you, wythoute the knowledge of anye but some sure
friende of your owne, whome yt will pleas your Lordship, if ye think
ye good I come unto you, to cause meet me at Lamertone churche, this
setterday night, halfe an houre after the sunset, where I shall be
with one in company. And for the lesse susspicione, I wold desyre your
Lordship that I might be with you in the fornight, to the ende I might
be come back agayne or daye. Besides all these premisses, I have some
other matters to declare unto your Lordship. Your answer in writing
with expedycion I moost hartely desyre, and so bidd your Lordship
weill fayr. From Haymowth, this Setterday the xiii of November, 1557.
By him whome your Lordship may commaunde
after his pore power
WLLLM. KIRKALDYE.’
Wharton at once sent a reply. He readily consented to an interview with
Kirkcaldy, and undertook to observe all the precautions suggested by
his correspondent with a view to insuring the secrecy upon which so
much stress was laid. His courteous note concluded with the expression
of his satisfaction that the Laird of Grange continued his good mind
to my Lady Margaret Lennox and her husband, and with the assurance
that they should be informed of it. The meeting duly took place in the
evening; and the following detailed account of what was discussed at
it was drawn up by Lord Wharton next day, and forwarded to the Privy
Council.
‘Pleaseth it your most honourable Lordships to be advertised that the
13th of this month William Kirkcaldy sent me a letter; and to the
intent to know as I could his meaning or practice, I wrote answer as
your Lordships may perceive by the copies of his letter and mine
answer therein enclosed. The same night he was with me in my chamber;
and first delivered a letter unto me from the Bishop of Caithness,
copy whereof I send also with these unto your Lordships. He delivered
a packet of letters endorsed to my Lady Margaret Lennox, her Grace,
which I have sent with this post towards her and my Lord her husband,
with a letter therein from Kirkcaldy to his Lordship. After this I had
long talk with him that night, and questioned thoroughly that cause
of my Lady Margaret and my Lord of Lennox--from whom the letters were
sent, with whose advice, and who would be their friends in that realm,
I accounting to him their enemies, which were great and many. His
sayings, so near as I could, I gathered as followeth.
‘He saith that the Prior of St Andrews, who is accounted the wisest
of the late King’s base sons, and one of the Council of Scotland, the
Earl of Glencairn and the Bishop of Caithness, did agree to write
the letters in the packet, and that the Dowager is of counsel and
consenting therewith; and that she wrote her letters to Monsieur
d’Oysel, to cause Kirkcaldy make devise to send the letters to me,
that they might pass in haste; and that the Dowager’s letter did meet
d’Oysel beside Dunbar, towards Edinburgh, the 13th of this month.
D’Oysel returned[1] Kirkcaldy, upon the sight of the Dowager’s letter,
with the packet forthwith, who saith to me, it is the Queen and
d’Oysel’s device, and d’Oysel very earnest therewith, with many words
that he hath given to Kirkcaldy of the great displeasure that the Queen
and d’Oysel beareth, especially against the Duke of Chastelherault
and the Earl of Huntly, and against others whom d’Oysel nameth the
feeble and false noblemen of Scotland. Amongst others, he said when
their army retired and their ordnance was to be carried on the water,
d’Oysel sent to the Duke that he would see the ordnance returned over
the water again and that it might be put in safety. The messenger
said to the Duke that d’Oysel was angry with their retire and breach
of their promise, and also not regarding the surety of their ordnance.
The Duke’s answer was, “Let Monsieur d’Oysel gang by his mind, an he
will; for as we, the noblemen of Scotland, have determined and written
to the Queen, so will we do, and let him look to his own charge.” The
messenger told the Duke’s words to d’Oysel, and so was d’Oysel left.
Upon which words, and their manner of dealing, d’Oysel will seek their
displeasure by all the ways and means he can, and so will the Dowager,
as Kirkcaldy saith.
‘In talks with him, I said it was a great matter to enterprise, to
bring into that realm my Lady Margaret Lennox and my Lord her husband,
and that power of noblemen and of others, with houses of strength must
be provided in that realm, and to be in surety thereof before their
coming, for I thought they were personages which would not be sent
forth of this realm into Scotland, to live in danger of their enemies,
now being great. He said, the coming of my Lady to the Dowager, with
their friends there, would order that matter; and said, they might
first have the Castle of Tantallon, which is in the keeping of the Lord
of Craigmillar, and at the Dowager’s order. He speaketh liberally, that
they would have many friends, and also have on their side the authority
that now is. Their friends earnestly desire the hasty sending of
Nesbit, my Lord of Lennox’s servant. This matter, as I think in my poor
opinion, may be wrought for my Lady Margaret and my Lord of Lennox’s
purposes, and to continue the displeasure now standing amongst the
greatest of that realm.
‘After this, Kirkcaldy said, that he marvelled that the communication
between Sir James Crofts and him, for a truce of certain days to have
been made, was not agreed unto; and said the same matter was one of
the occasions of his coming to me, to declare his doings therein;
whom I answered that the same was not like to take effect by his
doings for Scotland, for, they made sundry meetings and countenances
for truce, and when their army was ready, did let the matter fall,
which gave occasion to be thought in this realm not well done. And
after, he revived again that communication, which, without others
calling for, and personages for that realm to have been appointed for
that purpose, he ought to think the same could not take effect. After
this, he asked me, if it could not be brought to a truce yet. I said
I had no commission, nor anything to say therein; what he would say,
I would hear it. And then he desired mine advice. I told him what I
had seen--that Scotland, in war, had sent messages to officers or to
noblemen, and thereupon meetings of commissioners did follow, for
abstinence, which was had, and after, peace. And I making occasion of
other communications, he came to this again, and desired that a herald
should be sent to my Lord of Northumberland, Lord Warden, and to me,
having some prisoners taken by the garrison here, that gentlemen might
be appointed, and treat for the order of prisoners of both realms, as
before they did; and at that meeting, the former sayings of Sir James
Crofts and him to be spoken of, for a truce for certain days, and to be
remembered by the Scots. I asked whom he thought should be appointed
(if meeting were had). He said, the Lord Seaton, Captain Sarlabois--to
be one because he was one before--the Laird of Craigmillar, and the
young Laird of Lethington; or two of them. These are the Dowager’s and
great with her. I told him that I could make him no answer; but said,
if it were his mind, I would make advertisements of his sayings, which
he desired that I would, to my Lords of the King and Queen’s Majesty’s
most Honourable Privy Council. He said that Scotland would agree to an
abstinence for twenty days or for three months; but, always they mind
to have a licence for an especial man to pass through this realm with
the Dowager’s letters to the French King for knowledge of his further
pleasure to their treaties and doings. And I asking him what news
he had, and reasoning of the present state and devices for the order
of their realm, he said, that, on Sunday last, the 7th of November,
there arrived a ship at Leith, with letters and money from the French
King. He said he read a letter written from the said King to d’Oysel,
wherein was that he should have all his desires of men and money; and
that a letter was written from Bettancourt, Master of the Dowager’s
household (who passed from the Dowager to the French King for an aid
in summer last) that he with four ensigns and twelve hundred footmen,
and two hundred horsemen, were dispatched to come into Scotland by
the West Seas, whom continually they look for there. Captain Crayer
and the Englishmen in France are appointed to serve in Scotland as he
saith. He said that it was written that the French King was in the
field with a great army, and intended to besiege St Quentin. He further
said that they have three hundred in garrison in Kelso, and that they
have in Eyemouth and Ayton, nine hundred, besides three hundred Scots
in garrison, and that they mind, having money now come (whereof was
great want), to make a more furniture of five hundred Scotts horsemen,
himself, the Laird of Ormistone, James Stuart, one Livingstone, and a
fifth, whom he could not name, to be their Captains. I told him these
were many hundreds he spoke of, if all might be well paid; and said
that his news and these would give occasion to think that this realm
should not treat of abstinence nor peace. He answered that Monsieur
d’Oysel thought the peace would be made between the King’s Highness
and the French King, and doubteth nothing thereof, except the Duke of
Savoy; and therefore he would that peace should be treated upon here.
‘He saith that they will have a parliament at Saint Andrew’s day to
appoint the marriage of the Queen, which, he saith, will be solemnised
after Christmas, or at Easter, and not to fail. He saith the going of
Monsieur d’Oysel to Edinburgh at this time, is for the order of the
money come, which the Dowager and d’Oysel will keep secret so much as
they can, because the Scotts will be greedy thereof.’
On this incident, which does not appear to have led to any definite
results, Tytler has founded a charge of gross inconsistency against Sir
William Kirkcaldy. Even the fragment of Wharton’s report quoted by him
contains nothing that can be looked upon as supporting the accusation.
An examination of all the documents bearing on the case wholly refutes
it. It makes it clear that the main object of the conference was the
recall of the Earl of Lennox--a scheme to which Kirkcaldy, who, in his
own words, had ‘always been willing to do pleasure and service’ to the
Earl and his wife, might honourably lend himself. With regard to the
informal conversation on the subject of a truce, it was, obviously,
nothing more than the revival of a subject which had already been
openly discussed with Crofts; and whatever construction may be given to
it, there is manifest unfairness in distorting it into the abandonment,
on Kirkcaldy’s part, of the principles which he had formerly professed;
on the contrary, if it can be held to prove anything, that can only be
a wish for the establishment of more friendly relations with England.
As to ‘inviting a French army into the country,’ there is nothing in
Wharton’s report that justifies the assumption that Grange favoured
such a measure. He referred to the expected arrival of troops, simply
in answer to the question asked him, as to the latest news; and the
fact of his communicating such details to an English agent might, with
some plausibility, serve as an argument that he had but little sympathy
with the Dowager’s French policy.
_VI._ THE UPROAR OF RELIGION
THE year 1559 marks one of the most important events in the history
of the Scottish people. In that year began ‘the uproar of religion,’
as Pitscottie quaintly yet vigorously styles it. Instigated by her
brothers, Mary of Guise, the Queen-Regent of Scotland, inaugurated the
unwise and unscrupulous policy by which she and they hoped to check the
growing power of the Protestant party, and to secure the ascendancy of
France. A little before Easter, she issued a proclamation ‘commanding
every man, great and small, to observe the Roman Catholic religion,
to resort daily to the Mass, that all should make confession in the
ear of a priest, and receive the sacrament.’ In addition to that, she
summoned several of the most influential amongst the Protestant Lords,
and, after communicating to them the instructions, ‘mixed with some
threatenings,’ which Bettancourt had brought from the French Court, she
called upon them to abjure the principles and practice of the Reformed
religion. More injudiciously still, she ordered the leaders of the
Reformed clergy to attend a Court of Justice, which was to be held
at Stirling, and before which they would be required to defend their
teaching and their conduct. In the face of this wanton provocation the
‘Professors’ acted with calm and dignified determination. They sent
Alexander, Earl of Glencairn, and Sir Hugh Campbell of Lowdan, Sheriff
of Ayr, to remonstrate with the Queen-Regent, and to beseech her to use
no violent measures against the Protestant ministers, ‘unless any man
were able to convict them of false doctrine.’ To this she replied in
violent and intolerant language: ‘In despite of you, and your ministers
both,’ she said, ‘they shall be banished out of Scotland, albeit they
preached as true as ever did Saint Paul.’