Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
Remember a poor soldier."--_Auchindrane_, Act I.
We have now the events of only one night to relate, but these events
are of the most varied description.
Father St. Bernard, the kind and philanthropic old clergyman, had
prayed fervently that the cardinal, among the multitude of public
matters that weighed upon his master-mind, would remember his
promise; and as earnestly had he implored Providence to inspire the
heart of James with more than his usual mercy, that a pardon might be
granted to his poor penitent, for so a confessor always termed those
under his care in the olden time.
Every hour after the cardinal's departure he had sought Sir James
Riddel, in the hope that tidings had arrived from Falkland: but hour
after hour passed; two weary days, and two still more weary nights
elapsed; but no tidings came of the pardon, and no messenger.
Could the cardinal have forgotten his promise? or had he failed in
his purpose? The poor friar racked his invention with suggestions,
but hope died as the evening of the fatal 25th drew on; and Father
St. Bernard was forced to confess to himself that she was lost; for
the hour at which the ferry-boat usually arrived at Leith was long
since passed. From the rampart of David's Tower he had seen it pass
the Beacon Rock and enter the harbour, and with a beating heart he
waited, but Leslie never came.
He saw the people already gathering in groups and crowds to witness
the frightful execution, and the old man wept as he sought the
knightly governor of the fortress for the last time, and turned away
hopeless.
"Thou good and pious priest!" said Sir James Riddel, touched by the
old man's grief, and warmed into a betrayal of his own religious
opinions, "why art thou not, as I am, a Protestant?"
"Thou good and valiant soldier! why art thou not, as thy father was
before thee, a pious Catholic and true?" asked the prebend, in the
same tone, as he descended from the citadel towards the gate of King
David's Tower, to visit Jane Seton for the last time. At that moment
the great copper bell of the fortress, which swung at the gable of a
tower called the Gunhouse, tolled the hour of nine.
She was to die at twelve.
Among all the snares laid for the destruction of Leslie, and to
obtain the document he carried, Birrel had reserved unto himself the
last, and, failing others (which he scarcely believed could fail),
the surest, and perhaps most deadly plan for his death.
The road between Edinburgh and Leith was then a lonely, and (after
dusk) unfrequented place. Between the monastery of Greenside, which
lay at the foot of the Calton Hill, and almost in the very gorge that
descends to the foot of Leith Wynd and the Port St. Anthony, there
was not a house or edifice save a little wayside oratory; and thus
between the Loch and village of Restalrig on the east, and the old
house of Roystoun, near the shore, on the west, all the country was
open pasture-land, links, or muir, with here and there a small
farm-cot at its boundaries, with a kailyard and oxgang of arable
land, watered by the runnels that ran into the river Leith, which
then was twice, and in some places four times its present breadth,
covering great pieces of holm-land at Comely-bank, and the
Canon-mills, where the old scaurs that overhung its margin are still
visible.
The few persons who traversed Leith Loan on the 25th July, 1537,
could not have failed to remark a man wearing the well-known garb of
a Bluegown, one of the privileged mendicants of the charitable olden
time. These received a new cassock on every anniversary of the
king's birth, together with a penny for every year of his age. The
Bluegowns of the Stuart times seldom received much, as the monarchs
of that gallant race were generally cut off in early life by war or
misfortune; but the Bluegowns of later years, when kings have been
more economical of their persons, have been wont to hail the day of
his birth with joy; and those of George III. drew more shillings
Scots than ever did other beadsmen since the society was instituted.
With a black cross sewed on the breast of his long blue cassock, as
an emblem of sorrow for the late queen's death, and his face
concealed in his hood, the beggar, who appeared lame in his left, and
also lacked the right hand, which was hidden in the folds of his
ample garment, sat by the wayside; and whenever a person passed
(which was very seldom) he either begged for alms in a low peevish
voice, or repeated an Ave to show how very good and pious he was,
notwithstanding the hardness and humility of his lot in life.
This beggar was no other than Nichol Birrel. The hood concealed his
yellow visage, his cunning eyes, and matted beard, as the blue gown
did a shirt of mail, a belt full of daggers and pistolettes, and his
right hand, which grasped a dague, loaded with two brass bullets.
Being certain that Leslie could not escape all the ambuscades
prepared for him in Fife--where Dobbie and Trotter, with fifteen
troopers from Redhall, John of Clatto, with his lawless men, Lindesay
of Bandon, with _his_ ruffians, and lastly, Kincavil, a deadly fencer
and professed duellist, were all induced, under various instigations,
and from various motives, to beset his path--Birrel kept but a
careless watch, looking upon Leslie as one whom he had not the least
expectation of seeing.
It was one of those beautiful evenings which are common to July; and,
at a part of the road which afforded him a view of St. Anthony's
Port, he lay on a grassy bank, where a thicket of hawthorn overhung
the roadway, which was then but a narrow, deep, and rugged
bridle-path.
Behind lay Lochend and the house of the Logans, perched on a rock;
before him stretched the level muir and pasture-land which joined the
Firth at the New Haven, which had been constructed by James IV., all
an open and unenclosed prairie; and across it shone the hot rays of
the sun, then sinking towards the dark peaks of the Ochil mountains.
The air was close and still; there was no sound but the casual rustle
of a leaf, or the "drowsy hum" of the mountain bees as they floated
over the verdant grass, and the air was filled with the perfume of
the fragrant hawthorn.
The whirr of the nut-brown partridge, as it rose from among the long
grass; the voice of the blackbird and thrush, as they sang joyously
among the gnarled branches of an aged thorn-tree; the solitude of
that place, though it lay between a fortified capital and its
thriving seaport, had no charm for the disguised ruffian, nor could
they wile him from his deadly purpose.
Thrice that day had horsemen left the Port St. Anthony, and thrice
had the assassin grasped his weapon with the fellest intent. The
first was the young Lord Lindesay, and he dashed up the Loan with all
his feathers waving, and embroidery glittering in the sun. He had
not gone to Falkland, because the Lady Margaret Beaton remained at
her father's archiepiscopal palace. The second rider was a knight of
Torpichen, in his black mantle, with its white cross; and the third
was Sir Andrew Preston, of Gourtoun. None of these were in armour,
as Birrel knew Leslie was sure to be, so, at their approach, his hand
three times relinquished the pommel-butt of his dague. Each, as he
passed, threw arms to the supposed beadsman, and disappeared in the
gorge that led towards the city.
Mid-day passed, and heavily the still sultry afternoon lagged on.
The Bluegown took from his wallet some bread and cheese, a roasted
fowl, and flask of usquebaugh, and proceeded to dine under the bower
of sweet hawthorn.
While engaged in this pleasing occupation, the sound of voices and
hoofs arrested his attention; he looked up, and beheld a young lady,
with several attendants on foot and on horseback, dashing straight
towards him across the level muir, from the east, and continued a
rapid gallop until she gained the opposite bank of the roadway, where
she reigned up her horse, and looked hurriedly around.
She was a tall and stately-looking girl, with bright blue eyes, a
blooming complexion, and a profusion of flaxen-coloured hair, that
fell in heavy ringlets from under her scarlet velvet hood. She was
richly attired; and as no one could then be completely dressed for
company, for riding, or promenading, without a leather glove, with a
hawk sitting thereon, she bore one on her right hand, while her left
grasped the reins of her fiery and spirited horse. The bold and
beautiful girl was Marion Logan of Restalrig.
A cloud rested on the usually happy aspect of her broad fair brow,
and her sunny smile was gone, for her thoughts were full of the
misfortunes that encircled her friend Jane Seton. Two men on foot
ran after this party with all their speed; strapped over his
shoulders, each had a square frame of green-painted wood, on the
spars of which sat a number of hawks of various breeds, accoutred
with plumed hoods, through which their fierce red eyes were glancing,
and having little silver bells, which jangled with every motion.
Around their necks were silver collars, whereon was engraved the
legend--"Zis gudelie hawk belangis vnto ye Knicht, Schyr Robert Logan
of Restalrig and zat ilk."
"Dost thou see nothing of my father?" asked the young lady of her
attendants.
"I see nocht, madam," replied an armed horseman, who wore the Logans'
livery, and had their crest embroidered on the sleeve of his pyne
doublet, "but this auld Blewgoon may. Harkee, puir body," he added,
addressing the disguised Birrel; "saw ye oucht o' a gentleman in a
suit o' plum-coloured taffeta, wi' a white ostrich feather in his
bonnet?"
"Had he a blue mantle?"
"Yes."
"Laced wi' siller pasements?"
"Yes--the very same."
"Riding----"
"A roan-coloured horse."
"With siller bells at his bridle?"
"Yes--yes!"
"Well, then, I havena seen oucht o' him."
"God confound thee! thou wordy carle, dost laugh at us?" said a
falconer, angrily, as he shook his long pole threateningly towards
Birrel, whose natural insolence could not omit this opportunity of
indulging itself a little.
"'Twas an evil day this to come forth hawking," said the young lady;
"the day on which my dearest friend is to die----"
"Now haud ye, Lady Marion," said the white-haired falconer,
cautiously; "for ken ye not, that noble though that lady be, it's far
frae being safe or wise to claim friendship wi' her at the present
time. If Sir Robert turned towards the Corstorphine marshes----"
"I hope not, for they are both dangerous and deep," said the young
lady, looking westward, and shading her large blue eyes with an
ungloved hand, that was white as the hawthorn blossom. "God knoweth
how sadly and unwillingly I came forth this day; and it was but to
please him that I forsook our little oratory for the saddle. Thou
knowest my father, Steenie----?"
"Aye, the auld knicht winna thole steerin," replied the old falconer,
as he also shaded his sunburned face with a large brown hand, and
scanned the glowing west.
"'Tis very strange, Steenie--where was my father seen last?"
"Galloping over the mains, after his favourite hawk, madam," replied
a servitor, touching his bonnet.
"Mercy! if he should have mistaken the way, and fallen, into the moss
of Craigcrook."
"Toots, bairn!" replied the falconer; "he kens owre well the dreich
hole where, last Lammastide, we saw young Adamson o' Craigcrook gae
down in the floe, baith horse and man, till even the point o' his
lance vanished; and there they lie yet!"
"Look, Steenie; is not yonder bird a hawk? See how it ascends from
Pilrig--up and up!"
The tramp of a horse arrested their attention.
A man on horseback, who left the gate of St. Anthony, came galloping
from Leith; his armour flashed in the setting sun, and a cloud of