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The Abbot

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The rowers obeyed, and began to pull vigorously.

"Why did ye not muffle the oars?" said Roland Graeme; "the dash must
awaken the sentinel--Row, lads, and get out of reach of shot; for had
not old Hildebrand, the warder, supped upon poppy-porridge, this
whispering must have waked him."

"It was all thine own delay," said Seyton; "thou shalt reckon, with me
hereafter for that and other matters."

But Roland's apprehension was verified too instantly to permit him to
reply. The sentinel, whose slumbering had withstood the whispering,
was alarmed by the dash of the oars. His challenge was instantly
heard. "A boat---a boat!--bring to, or I shoot!" And, as they
continued to ply their oars, he called aloud, "Treason! treason!" rung
the bell of the castle, and discharged his harquebuss at the boat. The
ladies crowded on each other like startled wild foul, at the flash and
report of the piece, while the men urged the rowers to the utmost
speed. They heard more than one ball whiz along the surface of the
lake, at no great distance from their little bark; and from the
lights, which glanced like meteors from window to window, it was
evident the whole castle was alarmed, and their escape discovered.

"Pull!" again exclaimed Seyton; "stretch to your oars, or I will spur
you to the task with my dagger--they will launch a boat immediately."

"That is cared for," said Roland; "I locked gate and wicket on them
when I went back, and no boat will stir from the island this night, if
doors of good oak and bolts of iron can keep men within
stone-walls.--And now I resign my office of porter of Lochleven, and
give the keys to the Kelpie's keeping."

As the heavy keys plunged in the lake, the Abbot,--who till then had
been repeating his prayers, exclaimed, "Now, bless thee, my son! for
thy ready prudence puts shame on us all."

[Footnote: It is well known that the escape of Queen Mary from
Lochleven was effected by George Douglas, the youngest brother of Sir
William Douglas, the lord of the castle; but the minute circumstances
of the event have been a good deal confused, owing to two agents
having been concerned in it who bore the same name. It has been
always supposed that George Douglas was induced to abet Mary's escape
by the ambitions hope that, by such service, he might merit her hand.
But his purpose was discovered by his brother Sir William, and he was
expelled from the castle. He continued, notwithstanding, to hover in
the neighbourhood, and maintain a correspondence with the royal
prisoner and others in the fortress.

If we believe the English ambassador Drury, the Queen was grateful to
George Douglas, and even proposed a marriage with him; a scheme which
could hardly be serious, since she was still the wife of Bothwell, but
which, if suggested at all, might be with a purpose of gratifying the
Regent Murray's ambition, and propitiating his favour; since he was,
it must be remembered, the brother uterine of George Douglas, for whom
such high honour was said to be designed.

The proposal, if seriously made, was treated as inadmissible, and Mary
again resumed her purpose of escape. Her failure in her first attempt
has some picturesque particulars, which might have been advantageously
introduced in fictitious narrative. Drury sends Cecil the following
account of the matter:--

"But after, upon the 25th of the last, (April 1567,) she interprised
an escape, and was the rather near effect, through her accustomed long
lying in bed all the morning. The manner of it was thus: there cometh
in to her the laundress early as other times before she was wanted,
and the Queen according to such a secret practice putteth on her the
hood of the laundress, and so with the fardel of clothes and the
muffler upon her face, passeth, out and entereth the boat to pass the
Loch; which, after some space, one of them that rowed said merrily,
'Let us see what manner of dame this is,' and therewith offered to
pull down her muffler, which to defend, she put up her hands, which
they spied to be very fair and white; wherewith they entered into
suspicion whom she was, beginning to wonder at her enterprise. Whereat
she was little dismayed, but charged them, upon danger of their lives,
to row her over to the shore, which they nothing regarded, but
eftsoons rowed her back again, promising her it should be secreted,
and especially from the lord of the house, under whose guard she
lyeth. It seemeth she knew her refuge, and--where to have found it if
she had once landed; for there did, and yet do linger, at a little
village called Kinross, hard at the Loch side, the same George
Douglas, one Sempel and one Beton, the which two were sometime her
trusty servants, and, as yet appeareth, they mind her no less
affection."--_Bishop Keith's History of the Affairs of Church and
State in Scotland_, p. 490.

Notwithstanding this disappointment, little spoke of by historians,
Mary renewed her attempts to escape. There was in the Castle of
Lochleven a lad, named William Douglas, some relation probably of the
baron, and about eighteen years old. This youth proved as accessible
to Queen Mary's prayers and promises, as was the brother of his
patron, George Douglas, from whom this William must be carefully kept
distinct. It was young William who played the part commonly assigned
to his superior, George, stealing the keys of the castle from the
table on which they lay, while his lord was at supper. He let the
Queen and a waiting woman out of the apartment where they were
secured, and out of the tower itself, embarked with them in a small
skiff, and rowed them to the shore. To prevent instant pursuit, he,
for precaution's sake, locked the iron grated door of the tower, and
threw the keys into the lake. They found George Douglas and the
Queen's servant, Beton, waiting for them, and Lord Seyton and James
Hamilton of Orbeiston in attendance, at the head of a party of
faithful followers, with whom they fled to Niddrie Castle, and from
thence to Hamilton.

In narrating this romantic story, both history and tradition confuse
the two Douglasses together, and confer on George the successful
execution of the escape from the castle, the merit of which belongs,
in reality, to the boy called William, or, more frequently, the Little
Douglas, either from his youth or his slight stature. The reader will
observe, that in the romance, the part of the Little Douglas has been
assigned to Roland Graeme. In another case, it would be tedious to
point out in a work of amusement such minute points of historical
fact; but the general interest taken in the fate of Queen Mary,
renders every thing of consequence which connects itself with her
misfortunes. ]

"I knew," said Mary, drawing her breath more freely, as they were now
out of reach of the musketry--"I knew my squire's truth, promptitude,
and sagacity.--I must have him my dear friends--with my no less true
knights, Douglas and Seyton--but where, then, is Douglas?"

"Here, madam," answered the deep and melancholy voice of the boatman
who sat next her, and who acted as steersman.

"Alas! was it you who stretched your body before me," said the Queen,
"when the balls were raining around us?"

"Believe you," said he, in a low tone, "that Douglas would have
resigned to any one the chance of protecting his Queen's life with his
own?"

The dialogue was here interrupted by a shot or two from one of those
small pieces of artillery called falconets, then used in defending
castles. The shot was too vague to have any effect, but the broader
flash, the deeper sound, the louder return which was made by the
midnight echoes of Bennarty, terrified and imposed silence on the
liberated prisoners. The boat was alongside of a rude quay or landing
place, running out from a garden of considerable extent, ere any of
them again attempted to speak. They landed, and while the Abbot
returned thanks aloud to Heaven,--which had thus far favoured their
enterprise, Douglas enjoyed the best reward of his desperate
undertaking, in conducting the Queen to the house of the gardener.

Yet, not unmindful of Roland Graeme even in that moment of terror and
exhaustion, Mary expressly commanded Seyton to give his assistance to
Fleming, while Catherine voluntarily, and without bidding, took the
arm of the page. Seyton presently resigned Lady Fleming to the care of
the Abbot, alleging, he must look after their horses; and his
attendants, disencumbering themselves of their boat-cloaks, hastened
to assist him.

While Mary spent in the gardener's cottage the few minutes which were
necessary to prepare the steeds for their departure, she perceived, in
a corner, the old man to whom the garden belonged, and called him to
approach. He came as it were with reluctance.

"How, brother," said the Abbot, "so slow to welcome thy royal Queen
and mistress to liberty and to her kingdom!"

The old man, thus admonished, came forward, and, in good terms of
speech, gave her Grace joy of her deliverance. The Queen returned him
thanks in the most gracious manner, and added, "It will remain to us
to offer some immediate reward for your fidelity, for we wot well your
house has been long the refuge in which our trusty servants have met
to concert measures for our freedom." So saying, she offered gold, and
added, "We will consider your services more fully hereafter."

"Kneel, brother," said the Abbot, "kneel instantly, and thank her
Grace's kindness,"

"Good brother, that wert once a few steps under me, and art still many
years younger," replied the gardener, pettishly, "let me do mine
acknowledgments in my own way. Queens have knelt to me ere now, and in
truth my knees are too old and stiff to bend even to this lovely-faced
lady. May it please your Grace, if your Grace's servants have occupied
my house, so that I could not call it mine own--if they have trodden
down my flowers in the zeal of their midnight comings and goings, and
destroyed the hope of the fruit season, by bringing their war-horses
into my garden, I do but crave of your Grace in requital, that you
will choose your residence as far from me as possible. I am an old man
who would willingly creep to my grave as easily as I can, in peace,
good-will, and quiet labour."

"I promise you fairly, good man," said the Queen, "I will not make
yonder castle my residence again, if I can help it. But let me press
on you this money--it will make some amends for the havoc we have made
in your little garden and orchard."

"I thank your Grace, but it will make me not the least amends," said
the old man. "The ruined labours of a whole year are not so easily
replaced to him who has perchance but that one year to live; and
besides, they tell me I must leave this place and become a wanderer in
mine old age--I that have nothing on earth saving these fruit-trees,
and a few old parchments and family secrets not worth knowing. As for
gold, if I had loved it, I might have remained Lord Abbot of St.
Mary's--and yet, I wot not--for, if Abbot Boniface be but the poor
peasant Blinkhoolie, his successor, the Abbot Ambrosius, is still
transmuted for the worse into the guise of a sword-and-buckler-man."

"Is this indeed the Abbot Boniface of whom I have heard?" said the
Queen. "It is indeed I who should have bent the knee for your
blessing, good Father."

"Bend no knee to me, Lady! The blessing of an old man, who is no
longer an Abbot, go with you over dale and down--I hear the trampling
of your horses."

"Farewell, Father," said the Queen. "When we are once more seated at
Holyrood, we will neither forget thee nor thine injured garden."

"Forget us both," said the Ex-Abbot Boniface, "and may God be with
you!"

As they hurried out of the house, they heard the old man talking and
muttering to himself, as he hastily drew bolt and bar behind them.

"The revenge of the Douglasses will reach the poor old man," said the
Queen. "God help me, I ruin every one whom I approach!"

"His safety is cared for," said Seyton; "he must not remain here, but
will be privately conducted to a place of greater security. But I
would your Grace were in the saddle.--To horse! to horse!"

The party of Seyton and of Douglas were increased to about ten by
those attendants who had remained with the horses. The Queen and her
ladies, with all the rest who came from the boat, were instantly
mounted; and holding aloof from the village, which was already alarmed
by the firing from the castle, with Douglas acting as their guide,
they soon reached the open ground and began to ride as fast as was
consistent with keeping together in good order.




Chapter the Thirty-Sixth.


He mounted himself on a coal-black steed,
And her on a freckled gray,
With a bugelet horn hung down from his side,
And roundly they rode away.
OLD BALLAD.

The influence of the free air, the rushing of the horses over high and
low, the ringing of the bridles, the excitation at once arising from a
sense of freedom and of rapid motion, gradually dispelled the confused
and dejected sort of stupefaction by which Queen Mary was at first
overwhelmed. She could not at last conceal the change of her feelings
to the person who rode at her rein, and who she doubted not was the
Father Ambrosius; for Seyton, with all the heady impetuosity of a
youth, proud, and justly so, of his first successful adventure,
assumed all the bustle and importance of commander of the little
party, which escorted, in the language of the time, the Fortune of
Scotland. He now led the van, now checked his bounding steed till the
rear had come up, exhorted the leaders to keep a steady, though rapid
pace, and commanded those who were hindmost of the party to use their
spurs, and allow no interval to take place in their line of march; and
anon he was beside the Queen, or her ladies, inquiring how they
brooked the hasty journey, and whether they had any commands for him.
But while Seyton thus busied himself in the general cause with some
advantage to the regular order of the march, and a good deal of
personal ostentation, the horseman who rode beside the Queen gave her
his full and undivided attention, as if he had been waiting upon some
superior being. When the road was rugged and dangerous, he abandoned
almost entirely the care of his own horse, and kept his hand
constantly upon the Queen's bridle; if a river or larger brook
traversed their course, his left arm retained her in the saddle, while
his right held her palfrey's rein.

"I had not thought, reverend Father," said the Queen, when they
reached the other bank, "that the convent bred such good
horsemen."--The person she addressed sighed, but made no other
answer.--"I know not how it is," said Queen Mary, "but either the
sense of freedom, or the pleasure of my favourite exercise, from which
I have been so long debarred, or both combined, seem to have given
wings to me--no fish ever shot through the water, no bird through the
air, with the hurried feeling of liberty and rapture with which I
sweep through, this night-wind, and over these wolds. Nay, such is the
magic of feeling myself once more in the saddle, that I could almost
swear I am at this moment mounted on my own favourite Rosabelle, who
was never matched in Scotland for swiftness, for ease of motion, and
for sureness of foot."

"And if the horse which bears so dear a burden could speak," answered
the deep voice of the melancholy George of Douglas, "would she not
reply, who but Rosabelle ought at such an emergence as this to serve
her beloved mistress, or who but Douglas ought to hold her
bridle-rein?"

Queen Mary started; she foresaw at once all the evils like to arise to
herself and him from the deep enthusiastic passion of this youth; but
her feelings as a woman, grateful at once and compassionate, prevented
her assuming the dignity of a Queen, and she endeavoured to continue
the conversation in an indifferent tone.

"Methought," she said, "I heard that, at the division of my spoils,
Rosabelle had become the property of Lord Morton's paramour and
ladye-love Alice."

"The noble palfrey had indeed been destined to so base a lot,"
answered Douglas; "she was kept under four keys, and under the charge
of a numerous crew of grooms and domestics--but Queen Mary needed
Rosabelle, and Rosabelle is here."

"And was it well, Douglas," said Queen Mary, "when such fearful risks
of various kinds must needs be encountered, that you should augment
their perils to yourself for a subject of so little moment as a
palfrey?"

"Do you call that of little moment," answered Douglas, "which has
afforded you a moment's pleasure?--Did you not start with joy when I
first said you were mounted on Rosabelle?--And to purchase you that
pleasure, though it were to last no longer than the flash of lightning
doth, would not Douglas have risked his life a thousand times?"

"Oh, peace, Douglas, peace," said the Queen, "this is unfitting
language; and, besides, I would speak," said she, recollecting
herself, "with the Abbot of Saint Mary's--Nay, Douglas, I will not let
you quit my rein in displeasure."

"Displeasure, lady!" answered Douglas: "alas! sorrow is all that I can
feel for your well-warranted contempt--I should be as soon displeased
with Heaven for refusing the wildest wish which mortal can form."

"Abide by my rein, however," said Mary, "there is room for my Lord
Abbot on the other side; and, besides, I doubt if his assistance would
be so useful to Rosabelle and me as yours has been, should the road
again require it."

The Abbot came up on the other side, and she immediately opened a
conversation with him on the topic of the state of parties, and the
plan fittest for her to pursue inconsequence of her deliverance. In
this conversation Douglas took little share, and never but when
directly applied to by the Queen, while, as before, his attention
seemed entirely engrossed by the care of Mary's personal safety. She
learned, however, she had a new obligation to him, since, by his
contrivance, the Abbot, whom he had furnished with the family
pass-word, was introduced into the castle as one of the garrison.

Long before daybreak they ended their hasty and perilous journey
before the gates of Niddrie, a castle in West Lothian, belonging to
Lord Seyton. When the Queen was about to alight, Henry Seyton,
preventing Douglas, received her in his arms, and, kneeling down,
prayed her Majesty to enter the house of his father, her faithful
servant.

"Your Grace," he added, "may repose yourself here in perfect safety--
it is already garrisoned with good men for your protection; and I have
sent a post to my father, whose instant arrival, at the head of five
hundred men, may be looked for. Do not dismay yourself, therefore,
should your sleep be broken by the trampling of horse; but only think
that here are some scores more of the saucy Seytons come to attend
you."

"And by better friends than the Saucy Seytons, a Scottish Queen cannot
be guarded," replied Mary. "Rosabelle went fleet as the summer breeze,
and well-nigh as easy; but it is long since I have been a traveller,
and I feel that repose will be welcome.--Catherine, _ma mignone_,
you must sleep in my apartment to-night, and bid me welcome to your
noble father's castle.--Thanks, thanks to all my kind deliverers--
thanks, and a good night is all I can now offer; but if I climb once
more to the upper side of Fortune's wheel, I will not have her
bandage. Mary Stewart will keep her eyes open, and distinguish her
friends.--Seyton, I need scarcely recommend the venerable Abbot, the
Douglas, and my page, to your honour able care and hospitality."

Henry Seyton bowed, and Catherine and Lady Fleming attended the Queen
to her apartment; where, acknowledging to them that she should have
found it difficult in that moment to keep her promise of holding her
eyes open, she resigned herself to repose, and awakened not till the
morning was advanced.

Mary's first feeling when she awoke, was the doubt of her freedom; and
the impulse prompted her to start from bed, and hastily throwing her
mantle over her shoulders, to look out at the casement of her
apartment. Oh, sight of joy! instead of the crystal sheet of
Lochleven, unaltered save by the influence of the wind, a landscape of
wood and moorland lay before her, and the park around the castle was
occupied by the troops of her most faithful and most favourite nobles.

"Rise, rise, Catherine," cried the enraptured Princess; "arise and
come hither!--here are swords and spears in true hands, and glittering
armour on loyal breasts. Here are banners, my girl, floating in the
wind, as lightly as summer clouds--Great God! what pleasure to my
weary eyes to trace their devices--thine own brave father's--the
princely Hamilton's--the faithful Fleming's--See--see--they have
caught a glimpse of me, and throng towards the window!"

She flung the casement open, and with her bare head, from which the
tresses flew back loose and dishevelled, her fair arm slenderly veiled
by her mantle, returned by motion and sign the exulting shouts of the
warriors, which echoed for many a furlong around. When the first burst
of ecstatic joy was over, she recollected how lightly she was dressed,
and, putting her hands to her face, which was covered with blushes at
the recollection, withdrew abruptly from the window. The cause of her
retreat was easily conjectured, and increased the general enthusiasm
for a Princess, who had forgotten her rank in her haste to acknowledge
the services of her subjects. The unadorned beauties of the lovely
woman, too, moved the military spectators more than the highest
display of her regal state might; and what might have seemed too free
in her mode of appearing before them, was more than atoned for by the
enthusiasm of the moment and by the delicacy evinced in her hasty
retreat. Often as the shouts died away, as often were they renewed,
till wood and hill rung again; and many a deep path was made that
morning on the cross of the sword, that the hand should not part with
the weapon, till Mary Stewart was restored to her rights. But what
are promises, what the hopes of mortals? In ten days, these gallant
and devoted votaries were slain, were captives, or had fled.

Mary flung herself into the nearest seat, and still blushing, yet half
smiling, exclaimed, "_Ma mignone_, what will they think of
me?--to show myself to them with my bare feet hastily thrust into the
slippers--only this loose mantle about me--my hair loose on my
shoulders--my arms and neck so bare--Oh, the best they can suppose is,
that her abode in yonder dungeon has turned their Queen's brain! But
my rebel subjects saw me exposed when I was in the depth of
affliction, why should I hold colder ceremony with these faithful and
loyal men?--Call Fleming, however--I trust she has not forgotten the
little mail with my apparel--We must be as brave as we can,
_mignóne_."

"Nay, madam, our good Lady Fleming was in no case to remember any
thing."

"You jest, Catherine," said the Queen, somewhat offended; "it is not
in her nature surely, to forget her duty so far as to leave us without
a change of apparel?"

"Roland Graeme, madam, took care of that," answered Catherine; "for he
threw the mail, with your highness's clothes and jewels, into the
boat, ere he ran back to lock the gate--I never saw so awkward a page
as that youth--the packet well-nigh fell on my head."

"He shall make thy heart amends, my girl," said Queen Mary, laughing,
"for that and all other offences given. But call Fleming, and let us
put ourselves into apparel to meet our faithful lords."

Such had been the preparations, and such was the skill of Lady
Fleming, that the Queen appeared before her assembled nobles in such
attire as became, though it could not enhance, her natural dignity.
With the most winning courtesy, she expressed to each individual her
grateful thanks, and dignified not only every noble, but many of the
lesser barons by her particular attention.

"And whither now, my lords?" she said; "what way do your counsels
determine for us?"

"To Draphane Castle," replied Lord Arbroath, "if your Majesty is so
pleased; and thence to Dunbarton, to place your Grace's person in
safety, after which we long to prove if these traitors will abide us
in the field."

"And when do we journey?"

"We propose," said Lord Seyton, "if your Grace's fatigue will permit,
to take horse after the morning's meal."

"Your pleasure, my Lords, is mine," replied the Queen; "we will rule
our journey by your wisdom now, and hope hereafter to have the
advantage of governing by it our kingdom.--You will permit my ladies
and me, my good lords, to break our fasts along with you--We must be
half soldiers ourselves, and set state apart."

Low bowed many a helmeted head at this gracious proffer, when the
Queen, glancing her eyes through the assembled leaders, missed both
Douglas and Roland Graeme, and inquired for them in a whisper to
Catherine Seyton.

"They are in yonder oratory, madam, sad enough," replied Catherine;
and the Queen observed that her favourite's eyes were red with
weeping.

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