Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XV Part 2

So far as the world could judge, they seemed to live happily together, and Peggy made an exemplary wife; but there was always like a quiet settled melancholy on her countenance. Their farm was too dear taken, and about a year after they were married, it became the property of Johnny Grippy. Ye have already heard what sort of man he was, reaping where he had not sown. He exacted his rent to the last farthing, or without ceremony paid himself double from the stock upon the farm.

Peggy's husband became unable, though he struggled early and late, to make up his rent, and having fought until his strength was exhausted, and his health and heart broken, he sank down upon his bed, a dying man; and Johnny, causing the sheriff's-officer to seize all that was upon the farm, made them seize also the very bed upon which the dying man lay. He in fact died in their hands; and Peggy was turned out upon the world, a friendless widow, with two helpless infants at her knee; and a sore, sore fight she has had to get the bite and the sup for them, poor things, from that day to this.

"But," replied the stranger, with emotion, "there is one left who will provide for her and her children."

"Who may that be?" inquired the patriarch.

"William Archbold," answered the other.

"Preserve us!" said the old man, in surprise; "I daresay I have been blind not to have recognised ye before--ye are William!"

"I am," replied the other--"Blithe Willie, as you once termed me.

Peggy's cutting and just rebuke roused my pride, and filled me with self-abas.e.m.e.nt at the same instant. In a state of mind bordering on madness, I left the village, where I considered my character to be blasted for ever. I went to London, and there engaged to go out to India. I was there fortunate in business, and in a few years became rich. I there, some years ago, discovered Alexander Elliot (the son of my old companion), whose regiment had gone to the East, and not to the West Indies, as you supposed. I purchased his discharge, and employed him as a clerk. He requested permission to visit this country, and it was granted; but I knew not the deadly nature of his errand. It was during that visit that he so fatally avenged the ruin of poor Esther. He is again in India, and prospering. But you say that Peggy has been married--that she is a widow--a widow!"

"Yes; a widow, sir," answered the patriarch; "and if ye be single, I think ye canna do better than make her a wife."

"No, no!" said William, drawing his hand across his eyes; "I cannot; I will not glean where another has reaped. But here is a bank-order for five hundred pounds; let it be conveyed to her; but let her never know the hand from whence it came."

"Hoots! nonsense, Maister William!" said the old man. "See her again, for auld langsyne, at ony rate, and gie her it yersel."

What course William Archbold would have adopted I cannot tell; but at that moment Peggy pa.s.sed down the street, and spoke to the old man as she pa.s.sed. William started to his feet, he stretched out his hand, he exclaimed, "Peggy!"

She was speechless--tears gushed into her eyes. Old love, it is said, soon kindles again. Be this as it may, within six weeks Peggy left the village in a coach as the wife of William Archbold, and her children accompanied her.

THE OLD CHRONICLER'S TALES.

THE DEATH OF JAMES I.

The scrupulous, we might almost say affected, regard for what they conceive to be historical truth, on the part of many historians, leading them to admit nothing into their veritable histories but what has been "proven," and proven in such a manner as to please themselves, has been productive of at least this effect--that many a fact in history has been consigned to the regions of fable and romance, because supported only by that evidence which has hanged millions of G.o.d's creatures--namely, the testimony of witnesses. The weight of tradition, often the very best and truest evidence, in so far as it combines experience and faith, is, in the estimation of historiographers, overbalanced by a fragment of paper, provided it be written upon, and the writing be formed after some old court-hand or black-letter style; though, after all, the valued antiquarian sc.r.a.p, formed by the operation of one goose quill, moved by one hand, and that hand impelled by the mind of one frail mortal, may be merely a distorted relic of that very tradition which is so much despised. We do not profess to be fastidious in the selection of authorities. Tradition, in our opinion, ought to be tested by the experience of mankind: where it stands that test, it ought to be received as a part of veritable history; and sure we are that, if by this mode anything may be thought to be lost in point of strict truth, it will be well balanced by what is gained in point of amus.e.m.e.nt. It is upon these principles we have selected, and now lay before our readers, an account of a well-known catastrophe of Scottish history, much more full in its details than any that has yet been offered to the public.

In the beginning of the winter 1436, Sir Robert Graham (whose nephew, Patrick Graham, had been married to the daughter of David, Earl of Strathearn, and who himself bore that dignity) appeared at the royal residence of Walter Stuart, Duke of Athol, his kinsman (the latter being uncle to Patrick, Earl of Strathearn's wife), in a state of disguise.

The night was far advanced when he arrived, and the duke was called from his bed to see the visiter, who had been for some time under the ban of the stern authority of his sovereign, James I. The duke knew well what was the main object of the knight, though he was entirely ignorant of the special intelligence that the latter had to communicate to him. They met in the large wainscoted hall, which in brighter days had resounded to the merry sounds of the wa.s.sail of King Robert's sons, but which, ever since the accession of the reigning king, had echoed nothing but the sighs and groans of the persecuted victims of James' vengeance against all the relatives and supporters of the unfortunate house of Albany. The duke and the knight were now both old men, though the former was much in advance of the latter; they were both grandfathers--the grandson of the duke being Sir Robert Stuart, chamberlain to the king, and the grandson of the latter being Malise Graham, who had been disinherited of his Earldom of Strathearn by the unwise policy of the monarch; but old and grey-headed as they were, they, true to the character of the age in which they lived, retained that fierce spirit of vengeance which was held one of the cardinal virtues of the creed of n.o.bility and knighthood of that extraordinary period.

As the duke entered the hall, which was lighted only by a small lamp that stood on the oaken table at which the inhabitants of the castle dined, he required to use well both his eyes and his ears, obtuse as his external senses had become by age, before he was apprised of the situation occupied by the knight, who, musing over his schemes of revenge, did not observe the duke enter. He was roused from his reverie by the hand of his old friend, applied by way of slap to his shoulder, as if for the purpose of wakening him from sleep--a power that seldom overcomes the restless spirit of vengeance.

"The arm of King James," said the duke, "reaches farther than mine, and a smaller light than that glimmering taper, that twinkles so mournfully in this ancient hall of the Stuarts, enables him to see farther than is now permitted to these old eyes; and yet you are here on the very borders of the Lowlands, and within a score miles of the court, where the enemy of our families holds undisputed sway. Are you not afraid of the Heading-hill of Stirling, which still shows the marks of the blood of the murdered Stuarts?"

"I have come from the fastnesses of the north," said Graham, as he took off his plaid, which was covered with snow, to shake it, and exhibited a belt well stored with daggers and hunting-knives--"I have come from my residence among the eagles, like one of the old grey-headed birds with which I am become familiar, to warm the cold blood of a mountain life with some of the warm stream that nerves the arms of my enemies of the valley."

"Or rather," replied the duke, smiling, "you have come to ask an old fox, with a head greyer than that of an eagle, to hunt with you, and guide you to the caves of your foes; but you have destroyed your scheme of vengeance, by advising your princ.i.p.al enemy of your intention. Why, speaking seriously, did you write such an epistle to the king? You have lived among your grey-headed friends to little purpose, when you have used one of their feathers as an instrument for telling your victim that another is to fledge the arrow that is to seek his heart's blood. Such an act may be said to be n.o.ble, when the avenger is to give his enemy a fair chance for his life; but that you do not intend to do, for your vengeance (which must be glutted in secret, if it is to be glutted at all) is not to be stayed by the forms of the laws of chivalry. James is now on his guard. You have told him you intend to slay him--and slay him now if you can!"

"And, by the arms of the Grahams of Kincardine, I _will_, Athol--I _will_, I _shall_! Is it your grace who would dissuade me from my purpose of revenge, merely because the fire is so furious that it sent forth a gleam on the victim that is destined to feel its scorching heat?--you, who have within these few minutes brought up to our burning imaginations the b.l.o.o.d.y scene of the Heading-hill of Stirling, whereon perished so many of your kinsmen--you, whose dukedom has been first wrested from you, and then bestowed on you in _liferent_, because you are _old_--you who should" (here he spoke into the ear of the duke) "be _king_!"--pausing. "Who does not know that Robert III., your brother, was born out of lawful wedlock? His father never married Elizabeth More; but who could doubt that Euphemia Ross, your mother, the widow of the famous Randolph, was joined to him in lawful wedlock? The people of Scotland know this, and they are sick of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d on the throne"--pausing again, and looking earnestly at the duke through the gloom of the large hall. "Is it to be tolerated that legitimacy is to be longer trampled under foot by b.a.s.t.a.r.dy? Too long have you overlooked your right of blood; but it is not yet too late for ample amends. The usurper has done all in his power, by oppressing you and slaying your friends, to force you to a.s.sert and vindicate your indefeasible right, and gratify a legitimate revenge. In these veins," seizing the old man's shrivelled wrist, "runs the blood of _the Bruce_! What a thought is that!--what heart could resist its impulse? what brain its fire?"

After whispering, with great earnestness, this speech into the ear of the old duke, Graham paused again, and looked at him. The words had produced the effect which they might have been expected to produce on the mind of one who had long dreamed over the same thoughts and purposes, and been fired by the same feelings, but who had been prevented, by unmanly fears, from obeying the dictates of his judgment, the call of his ambition, and the spur of revenge. The energetic manner in which the old fancies had been roused by the wily Graham threw him into a reverie, the result of which the knight did not think fit to wait. He had already, to a certain extent, succeeded in stimulating the lethargy of age, and sending through the shrivelled veins of the scion of royalty the blood that owned the influence of the pa.s.sion-struck heart; it was now his purpose to keep the ground he had gained, and push for more; and as the duke still stood m.u.f.fled up in his morning-gown, and his chin upon his folded arms, the tempter proceeded--

"Your grace has often declared to me," he continued, "that you have faith in our Highland seers, and believe the sounds of the _taisch_, as given forth by the inspired visionary."

"Who can doubt these things?" replied the old duke, looking seriously, and continuing his musing position. "I certainly never had the hardihood. I have seen too many instances of their verification, to be sceptical on that head. The fate of the family of Albany was foretold by a seer many months before the execution of Duke Murdoch and his sons.

But what has this to do with my persecution, or with my being king of Scotland? G.o.d knows, I have at this moment visions enough!--your remarks have roused my sleeping mind; yet I could almost say I dream."

"This dark hall, that little flickering lamp, and my presence at this late hour, may well produce an illusion; but I deal in no fancies. I have only truths to tell, and deeds to do--ay, and such deeds as may well cross the rapt eyes of the seer; Scotland has not seen such for many a day, sad and sorrowful as have been the fates of her kings. Will your grace hear _your_ fate from the lips of a seer?"

"I would rather hear that of my enemy, who rules this kingdom with a rod of iron," replied the duke.

"You will hear the fates and fortunes of both," said Graham--"ay, even as is seen the scales of justice, which, as the beam moves, lifts one, only to depress the other. If you will accompany me to a shepherd's hut, back among your own hills of Athol, you will hear what time has in store for you and King James."

"I will," replied the duke, anxiously; "but age requires rest. I was hunting all day, and feel weary. Let us postpone our visit till to-morrow evening."

"Ah!" cried Graham, "the _hunter_ may say he is wearied, but the _hunted_ has no t.i.tle to speak the language of nature. If we go at all, we must go _now_. The visions of the seer come on him during night. At the solemn hour of midnight, futurity is revealed to him--to the hunted outlaw, whose bed is among the heather, there is not vouchsafed the ordinary certainty of seeing even another sun. Come, dress--I will lead your grace's horse through the hills. We have no time to lose--the old enemy is beforehand with us, and our grizzled locks mock the tardiness of our revenge. Come!"

"My weakness leaves me under the charm of your words, Graham," said the old duke. "Tell Malcolm to get my horse in readiness; meanwhile, I will dress, and be presently with you."

The duke went up to his bedroom, and Graham sought the servant, who proceeded to obey his directions. He came again back to the hall, and folding his arms, walked to and fro, muttering to himself, stopping at times, and raising his hand in a menacing att.i.tude, as if he were wholly engrossed by one feeling of revenge, and then resuming his musing att.i.tude. The duke, dressed, belted, and m.u.f.fled up in a large riding-cloak, again roused him from his reverie. They proceeded to the courtyard, where the duke mounted, and Graham, taking the bridle into his hand, took the horse away into a by-path that led to the hills.

After proceeding forward for about an hour in the dark, they observed a small light glimmering in the distance, and coming apparently from the window of some cottage. For this Graham made as directly as the unevenness of the ground would permit; and in a short time they arrived at the door of the small dwelling, from the window of which the beam of light shot out amongst the darkness, suggesting the idea of life, and probably some of its comforts (at least a fire), amidst the dead stillness of a winter night in so dreary a situation.

At the door of this cottage, Graham rapped in a peculiar manner; and without a word being spoken, it was opened by a young man clad in the Highland garb. The two friends entered. The scene presented to them was the ordinary appearance of a mountain hut in those days: a small fire of peats burned in the middle of the apartment, and sent out the light which, beaming through the small aperture in place of a window, had attracted the eyes of the guests. In a corner, a small truckle-bed stuffed with heather, part of which protruded at the side and end, and covered with a coa.r.s.e blanket or two, contained an old woman, with a clear, active eye, which twinkled in the light of the fire, and moved with great rapidity as she scanned narrowly the persons of the guests.

In another corner was the bed of the young Highlander, composed simply of a collection of heather, and without blanket or covering of any kind.

The guests seated themselves on two coa.r.s.e stools that stood by the fire; holding their hands over the flame, to receive as much as possible of the heat to thaw their limbs, which the freezing night air, co-operating with their advanced years, had stiffened and benumbed.

While they were engaged in this preliminary but indispensable operation, the young man, who appeared restless and confused, placed another stool before the bed of the old woman, so that, when seated upon it, his back would be supported by the side of the bed, and his face in some degree concealed from the gaze of the guests, who, being on the other side of the peat fire, could, through the ascending smoke, see him only indistinctly and at intervals.

With the exception of a few words that had pa.s.sed between the young Highlander and Graham--and which, being in Gaelic, were not understood by the royal duke, who, though formerly Lord of Brechin, and resident in the north, had been too long in leaving the royal residence of his father, Robert II., to acquire the language--there was nothing for some time said. The guests continued their manual applications to the peat fire, and the young Gael, who had for some time been seated on his stool, threw himself occasionally back on the fore part of the bed, then brought himself forward again, and at intervals muttered quickly some words in Gaelic, accompanied with sounds of wonder and surprise, from all which he suddenly relapsed into quietness and silence. While these strange operations were going on, Graham directed the attention of the duke to the uncouth actor, and whispered something in his ear which had the effect of rousing him, and making him look anxiously through the smoke, to get a better view of the strange gestures of the youth. The old woman in the bed made, in the meantime, efforts as if she intended to speak; but these were repressed by a sudden motion of the youth, whose hand, slipped back, was applied as secretly as possible to her mouth, and then, in a menacing att.i.tude, clenched and shaken in her face.

"Is your hour come yet, Allan?" said Graham, in a deep and serious voice.

"He says no," answered the old woman, with a sharp, clear voice, from the bed, translating the Gaelic response of the youth; "but he sees signs o' an oncome."

"Is it to be a mute vision, Allan?" again said Graham; "or see you any signs of a _taisch_?"

"He thinks," said the woman again, as translator, "he will see again the face and feir o' a dead king, wha will speak wi' sobs and granes o' him wha will come after him, and sit in the browden and burniest ha' o'

Scone's auld palace, whar he will be crowned."

Silence again succeeded the clear notes of the woman's voice; the young man's movements and gestures recommenced; and the old duke's attention was riveted by the strange proceedings which, to an absolute believer in the powers of the seer, were fraught with intense interest. The prophetic paroxysm seemed to approach more near: the body of the seer was bent stiffly back, and leaned on the bed; his eyes were wide open, and fixed upon a mental object; his hands were extended forth; his lips were apart; and every gesture indicated that state of the mind when, under the influence of a rapt vision, it takes from the body its nervous energy, and leaves the limbs as if under the power of a trance.

He remained in this condition for fully five minutes; and then, throwing his arms about, he cried out some quickly-uttered words in Gaelic, which the old woman translated into--"It comes! it comes!" After a pause of a few minutes, during which the most death-like silence prevailed throughout the cottage, he began to move his hands slowly through the air, from right to left, as if he were following the progress of a pa.s.sing creation of the mind; and, as he continued this movement, he spoke, in a deep, tremulous voice, with a kind of mournful, singing cadence, the Gaelic words, which were continually translated by the old woman.

"There comes slowly, as if frae the womb o' a cloud o' mountain mist, the seim o' a turreted abbey, wi' the tomb o' the Bruce and the monuments o' other kings, amang which a new grave, wi' the moul o'

centuries o' rotten banes lying on its edge, and mixed wi' the skulls o'

dead kings, and arm-banes that ance bore the sceptre o' Scotland!--It is gane!--the seim has vanished, and my eye is again darkened!"

A deep silence succeeded, and lasted for several minutes. The speaker's hands again began to move from right to left, and slowly-uttered words again came from his lips!

"The cloud throws back its misty faulds, and shows the wraith o' a gowd-graithit bier, movin to the wast; the Scotch lion is on the lid, and a s.h.i.+nin halbrik, owre whilk waves the royal pennon o' Scotland, begirt wi' gowd, is carried afore, by the king-at-arms. A warlock, auld and shrivelled, wi' a white beard, touches wi' his wand the coffin; the lid lifts, and the head o' a king, wi' a leaden crown, rises frae the bier! A _taisch_! a _taisch_!--hark! the lips o' the dead open and move, and he speaks the weird that never deceives! '_Hail, Walter, King o' the Scots!_'"

This extraordinary statement was accompanied by a kind of yell or scream, that rung through the cottage, and pierced the ears of the listeners. Silence again followed, and lasted several minutes, during which the seer was quiet. The duke was apparently entranced, and Graham looked wonder and surprise. The seer began again to move his hands, and speak as before.