 CHAPTER IX The Course which Mary pursued after her liberation from Dunbar in yielding to Bothwell's wishes, pardoning his violence, receiving him again into favour and becoming his wife, is one of the most extraordinary instances of the infatuation produced by love that has ever occurred. If the story had been fiction instead of truth, it would have been pronounced extravagant and impossible. As it was, the whole country was astonished and confounded at such a rapid succession of desperate and unaccountable crimes. Mary herself seems to have been hurried through these terrible scenes in a sort of delirium of excitement, produced by the strange circumstances of the case, and the wild and uncontrollable agitations to which they gave rise. Such was, however, at the time, and such continues to be still the feeling of interest in Mary's character and misfortunes, that but few open and direct censures of her conduct were then, or have been since, expressed. People excrated Bothwell, but they were silent with respect to Mary. It was soon plain, however, that she had greatly sunk in their regard, and that the more they reflected upon the circumstances of the case, the deeper she was sinking. When the excitement, too, began to pass away from her own mind, it left behind it annoying inquietude and sense of guilt, which grew gradually more and more intense, until at length she sunk under the stings of remorse and despair. Her sufferings were increased by the evidences which were continually coming to her mind, of the strong degree of disapprobation with which her conduct began soon everywhere to be regarded. Wherever Scotchmen traveled they found themselves reproached with the deeds of violence and crime of which their country had been the scene. Mary's relatives and friends in France wrote to her, expressing their surprise and grief at such proceedings. The King of France had sent, a short time before, a special ambassador for the purpose of doing something, if possible, to discover and punish the murderers of Darnley. His name was La Croque. He was an aged and venerable man of great prudence and discretion, well qualified to discover and pursue the way of escape from the difficulties in which Mary had involved herself, if any such way could be found. He arrived before the day of Mary's marriage, but he refused to take any part, or even be present at the ceremony. In the meantime, Bothwell continued at Anbury Castle for a while, under the protection of a strong guard. People considered this guard as intended to prevent Mary's escape, and many thought that she was detained, after all, against her will, and that her admissions that she was free were only made at the instigation of Bothwell, and from fear of his terrible power. The other nobles and the people of Scotland began to grow more and more uneasy. The fear of Bothwell began to be changed into hatred, and the more powerful nobles commenced forming plans for combining together and rescuing, as they said, Mary out of his power. Bothwell made no attempts to conciliate them. He assumed an air and tone of defiance. He increased his forces. He conceived the plan of going to Stirling Castle to seize the young prince, who was residing there, under the charge of persons to whom his education had been entrusted. He said to his followers that James should never do anything to avenge his father's death, if he could once get him into his hands. The other nobles formed a league to counteract these designs. They began to assemble their forces, and everything threatened an outbreak of civil war. The marriage took place about the middle of May, and within a fortnight of that time the lines began to be pretty definitely drawn between the two great parties, the Queen and Bothwell on one side, and the insurgent nobles on the other, each party claiming to be the friends of the Queen. Whatever was done on Bothwell's side was, of course, in the Queen's name, though it is very doubtful how far she was responsible for what was done, or how far, on the other hand, she merely aided, under the influence of a species of compulsion, in carrying into execution Bothwell's measures. We must say, in narrating the history, that the Queen did this and that, and must leave the reader to judge whether it was herself, or Bothwell acting through her, who was the real agent in the transactions described. Sterling Castle, where the young Prince was residing, is north-west of Edinburgh. The Confederate lords were assembling in that vicinity. The border country between England and Scotland is, of course, south. In the midst of this border country is the ancient town of Melrose, where there was, in former days, a very rich and magnificent abbey, the ruins of which to this day form one of the most attractive objects of interest in the whole island of Great Britain. The region is now the abode of peace and quietness and plenty, though in Mary's day it was the scene of continual turmoil and war. It is now the favorite retreat of poets and philosophers, who seek their residences there on account of its stillness and peace. Sir Walter Scott's Abbotsford is a few miles from Melrose. About a fortnight after Mary's marriage, she issued a proclamation ordering the military chiefs in her kingdom to assemble at Melrose, with their followers, to accompany her on an expedition through the border country, to suppress some disorders there. The nobles considered this as only a scheme of Bothwell's to draw them away from the neighborhood of Stirling, so that he might go and get possession of the young Prince. Rumors of this spread around the country, and the forces, instead of proceeding to Melrose, began to assemble in the neighborhood of Stirling for the protection of the Prince. The lords under whose banners they gathered assumed the name of the Prince's lords, and they called upon the people to take up arms in defense of young James's person and rights. The Prince's lords soon began to concentrate their forces about Edinburgh, and Bothwell was alarmed for his safety. He had reason to fear that the Governor of Edinburgh Castle was on their side, and that he might suddenly sally forth with the body of his forces down the high street to Holy Road, and take him prisoner. He accordingly began to think it necessary to retreat. Now, Bothwell had, among his other possessions, a certain castle called Borthwick Castle, a few miles south of Edinburgh. It was situated on a little swell of land in a beautiful valley. It was surrounded with groves of trees, and from the windows and walls of the castle there was an extended view over the beautiful and fertile fields of the valley. This castle was extensive and strong. It consisted of one great square tower, surrounded and protected by walls and bastions, and was approached by a drawbridge. In the sudden emergency in which Bothwell found himself placed, this fortress seemed to be the most convenient and the surest retreat. On the 6th of June he accordingly left Edinburgh with as large a force as he had at command, and rode rapidly across the country with the Queen, and established himself at Borthwick. The Prince's lords, taking fresh courage from the evidence of Bothwell's weakness and fear, immediately marched from Stirling, passed by Edinburgh, and almost immediately after Bothwell and the Queen had got safely, as they imagined, established in the place of their retreat, they found their castle surrounded and hemmed in on all sides by hostile forces, which filled the whole valley. The castle was strong, but not strong enough to withstand a siege from such an army. Bothwell accordingly determined to retreat to his castle of Dunbar, which being on a rocky promontory, jutting into the sea, and more remote from the heart of the country, was less accessible, and more safe than Borthwick. He contrived, though with great difficulty, to make his escape with the Queen through the ranks of his enemies. It is said that the Queen was disguised in male attire. At any rate they made their escape, they reached Dunbar, and Mary, or Bothwell in her name, immediately issued a proclamation, calling upon all her faithful subjects to assemble in arms to deliver her from her dangers. At the same time the Prince's lords issued their proclamation, calling upon all faithful subjects to assemble with them to aid them in delivering the Queen from the tyrant who held her captive. The faithful subjects were at a loss which proclamation to obey. By far the greater number joined the insurgents. Some thousands, however, went to Dunbar. With this force the Queen and Bothwell sallied forth about the middle of June to meet the Prince's lords, or the insurgents as they called them, to settle the question at issue by the kind of ballot with which such questions were generally settled in those days. Mary had, a proclamation read at the head of her army, now that she had supposed she was on the eve of battle, in which she explained the causes of the quarrel. The proclamation stated that the marriage was Mary s free act, and that, although it was in some respects an extraordinary one, still the circumstances were such that she could not do otherwise than she had done. For ten days she had been in Bothwell s power in his castle at Dunbar, and not an arm had been raised for her deliverance. Her subjects ought to have interposed then, if they were intending really to rescue her from Bothwell s power. They had done nothing then, but now, when she had been compelled by the cruel circumstances of her condition to marry Bothwell, when the act was done and could no longer be recalled, they had taken up arms against her and compelled her to take the field in her own defence. The army of the Prince's lords, with Mary s most determined enemies at their head, advanced to meet the Queen s forces. The Queen finally took her post on an elevated piece of ground called Carberry Hill. Carberry is an old Scotch name for Gooseberry. Carberry Hill is a few miles to the eastward of Edinburgh, near Dalkeith. Here the two armies were drawn up, opposite to each other, in hostile array. La Croque, the aged and venerable French ambassador, made a great effort to effect an accommodation and prevent a battle. He first went to the Queen and obtained authority from her to offer terms of peace, and then went to the camp of the Prince s lords and proposed that they should lay down their arms and submit to the Queen s authority, and that she would forgive and forget what they had done. They replied that they had done no wrong and asked for no pardon, that they were not in arms against the Queen s authority, but in favour of it. They sought only to deliver her from the endurance in which she was held, and to bring to punishment the murderers of her husband, whoever they might be. La Croque went back and forth several times, vainly endeavouring to effect an accommodation, and finally, giving up in despair, he returned to Edinburgh, leaving the contending parties to settle the contest in their own way. Bothwell now sent a herald to the camp of his enemies, challenging any one of them to meet him, and settled the question of his guilt or innocence by single combat. This proposition was not quite so absurd in those days as it would be now, for it was not an uncommon thing in the Middle Ages to try in this way questions of crime. Many negotiations ensued on Bothwell's proposal. One or two persons expressed themselves ready to accept the challenge. Bothwell objected to them on account of their rank being inferior to his, but he said he would fight Morton if Morton would accept his challenge. Morton had been his accomplice in the murder of Darnley, but had afterward joined the party of Bothwell's foes. It would have been a singular spectacle to see one of these Confederates in the commission of a crime contending desperately in single combat to settle the question of the guilt or innocence of the other. The combat, however, did not take place. After many negotiations on the subject, the plan was abandoned, each party charging the other with declining the contest. The Queen and Bothwell, in the meantime, found such evidences of strength on the part of their enemies, and felt, probably, in their own hearts, so much of that faintness and misgiving under which human energy almost always sinks when the tide begins to turn against it, after the commission of wrong, that they began to feel disheartened and discouraged. The Queen sent to the opposite camp with a request that a certain personage, the Lord of Grange, in whom all parties had great confidence, should come to her, that she might make one more effort at reconciliation. Grange, after consulting with the Prince's Lords, made a proposition to Mary, which she finally concluded to accept. It was as follows. They proposed that Mary should come over to their camp, not saying very distinctly whether she was to come as their captive or as their queen. The event showed it was in the former capacity that they intended to receive her, though they were probably willing that she should understand it was in the latter. At all events, the proposition itself did not make very clear what her position would be, and the poor Queen, distracted by the difficulties which surrounded her, and overwhelmed with agitation and fear, could not press very strongly for precise stipulations. In respect to Bothwell, they compromised the question by agreeing that, as he was under suspicion in respect to the murder of Darnley, he should not accompany the Queen, but should be dismissed upon the field, that is, allowed to depart, without molestation, wherever he should choose to go. This plan was finally adopted. The Queen bade Bothwell farewell, and he went away reluctantly and in great apparent displeasure. He had, in fact, with his characteristic ferocity, attempted to shoot Grange pending the negotiation. He mounted his horse, and with a few attendants, rode off and sought a retreat once more upon his rock at Dunbar. From all the evidence which has come down to us, it seems impossible to ascertain whether Mary desired to be released from Bothwell's power, and was glad when the release came, or whether she still loved him and was planning a reunion as soon as a reunion should be possible. One party at that time maintained, and a large class of writers and readers since have concurred in the opinion that Mary was in love with Bothwell before Darnley's death, that she connived with him in the plan for Darnley's murder, that she was a consenting party to abduction, and the spending of ten days at Dunbar Castle in his power, that the marriage was the end at which she herself, as well as Bothwell, had been all the time aiming, and then, when at last she surrendered herself to the Prince's lords at Carbury Hill, it was only yielding unwillingly to the necessity of a temporary separation from her lawless husband, with a view of reinstating him in favor and power at the earliest opportunity. Another party, both among her people at the time and among the writers and readers who have since paid attention to her story, think that she never loved Bothwell, and that, though she valued his services as a bold and energetic soldier, she had no collusion with him whatever in respect to Darnley's murder. They think that, though she must have felt in some sense relieved of a burden by Darnley's death, she did not in any degree aid or justify the crime, and that she had no reason for supposing that Bothwell had any share in the commission of it. They think also that her consenting to marry Bothwell is to be accounted for by her natural desire to seek shelter, under some wing or other, from the terrible storms which were raging around her, and being deserted, as she thought, by everybody else, and moved by his passionate love and devotion, she imprudently gave herself to him. That she lamented the act as soon as it was done, but that it was then too late to retrieve the step, and that, harassed and in despair, she knew not what to do, but that she hailed the rising of her nobles as affording the only promise of deliverance, and came forth from Dunbar to meet them with the secret purpose of delivering herself into their hands. The question which of these two suppositions is the correct one has been discussed a great deal, without the possibility of arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. A parcel of letters were produced by Mary's enemies some time after this, which they said were Mary's letters to Bothwell before her husband Darnley's death. They say they took the letters from a man named Doglish, one of Bothwell's servants, who was carrying them from Holy Road to Dunbar Castle, just after Mary and Bothwell fled to Borthick. They were contained in a small gilded box or coffer with the letter F upon it, under a crown, which Mark naturally suggests to our minds Mary's first husband, Francis the King of France. Doglish said that Bothwell sent him for this box, charging him to convey it with all care to Dunbar Castle. The letters purported to be from Mary to Bothwell, and to have been written before Darnley's death. They have ensured a strong affection for the person to whom they are addressed, and seem conclusively to prove the unlawful attachment between the parties, provided that their genuineness is acknowledged. But this genuineness is denied. Mary's friends maintain that they are forgeries, prepared by her enemies to justify their own wrong. Many volumes have been written on the question of the genuineness of these love letters, as they are called, and there is perhaps now no probability that the question will ever be settled. Whatever doubt there may be about these things, there is none about the events which followed. After Mary had surrendered herself to her nobles, they took her to the camp, she herself riding on horseback, and Grange walking by her side. As she advanced to meet the nobles who had combined against her, she said to them that she had concluded to come over to them, not from fear or from doubt what the issue would have been if she had fought the battle, but only because she wanted to spare the effusion of Christian blood, especially the blood of her own subjects. She had therefore decided to submit herself to their councils, trusting that they would treat her as their rightful queen. The nobles made little reply to this address, but prepared to return to Edinburgh with their prize. The people of Edinburgh, who had heard what turn the affair had taken, flocked out upon the rose to see the queen return. They lined the way sides to gaze upon the great cavalcade as it passed. The nobles who conducted Mary thus back toward her capital had a banner prepared, or a loud one to be prepared, on which was a painting representing the dead body of Darnley, and the young Prince James kneeling near him, and calling on God to avenge his cause. Mary came on in the procession after this symbol. They might perhaps say that it was not intended to wound her feelings, and was not of a nature to do it, unless she considered herself as taking sides with the murderers of her husband. She, however, knew very well that she was so regarded by great numbers of the populace assembled, and that the effect of such an effigy carried before her was to hold her up to public oboequi. The populace did in fact taunt and reproach her as she proceeded, and she rode into Edinburgh, evincing all the way extreme mental suffering by her agitation and her tears. She expected that they were at least to take her to Holy Road, but no, they turned at the gate to enter the city. Mary protested earnestly against this, and called half frantic on all who heard her to come to her rescue, but no one interfered. They took her to the provost's house, and lodged her there for the night, and the crowd which had assembled to observe these proceedings gradually dispersed. There seemed, however, in a day or two, to be some symptoms of a reaction in favour of the fallen queen, and, to guard against the possibility of a rescue, the lords took Mary to Holy Road again, and began immediately to make a rangements for some more safe place of confinement still. In the meantime, Bothwell went from Carberry Hill to his castle at Dunbar, revolving moodily in his mind his altered fortunes. After some time he found himself not safe in this place of refuge, and so he retreated to the north to some estates he had there in the remote highlands. A detachment of forces was sent in pursuit of him. Now there are, north of Scotland, some groups of dismal islands, the summits of submerged mountains and rocks, rising in dark and sublime but gloomy grandeur from the midst of cold and tempestuous seas. Bothwell, finding himself pursued, undertook to escape by ship to these islands. His pursuers, headed by Grange, who had negotiated at Carberry for the surrender of the queen, embarked in other vessels and pressed on after him. At one time they almost overtook him, and would have captured him and all his company, were it not that they got entangled among some shoals. Grange's sailors said they must not proceed. Grange, eager to seize his prey, insisted on their making sail and pressing forward. The consequence was, they ran the vessels aground, and Bothwell escaped in a small boat. As it was, however, they seized some of his accomplices and brought them back to Edinburgh. These men were afterward tried, and some of them were executed, and it was at their trial and through the confessions they made that the facts were brought to light which have been related in this narrative. Bothwell, now a fugitive and an exile, but still retaining his desperate and lawless character, became a pirate, and attempted to live by robbing the commerce of the German Ocean. Rumour is the only historian in ordinary cases to record the events in the life of a pirate, and she, in this case, sent word from time to time to Scotland of the robberies and murders that this desperado committed, of an expedition fitted out against him by the King of Denmark, of his being taken and carried into a Danish port, of his being held in imprisonment for a long period there, in a gloomy dungeon, of his restless spirit chafing itself in useless struggles against his fate, and sinking gradually, at last, under the burdens of remorse for past crimes, and a spare of any earthly deliverance, of his insanity, and finally of his miserable end. CHAPTER X. LOCLAVEN CASEL. Grange, or as he is sometimes called, Cercaldi, his title in full being Grange of Cercaldi, was a man of integrity and honour, and he, having been the negotiator through whose intervention Mary gave herself up, felt himself bound to see that the stipulations on the part of the nobles should be honourably fulfilled. He did all in his power to protect Mary from insult on the journey, and he struck with his sword and drove away some of the populace who were addressing her with taunts and reproaches. When he found that the nobles were confining her and treating her so much more like a captive than like a queen, he remonstrated with them. They silenced him by showing him a letter, which they said had been intercepted on its way from Mary to Bothwell. It was written, they said, on the night of Mary's arrival at Edinburgh. It assured Bothwell that she retained an unaltered affection for him, that her consenting to be separated from him at Carberry Hill was a matter of mere necessity, and that she should rejoin him as soon as it was in her power to do so. This letter showed, they said, that after all Mary was not, as they had supposed, Bothwell's captive and victim, but that she was his accomplice and friend, and that now that they had discovered their mistake, they must treat Mary as well as Bothwell as an enemy, and take effectual means to protect themselves from the one as well as from the other. Mary's friends maintained that this letter was a forgery. They accordingly took Mary, as has been already stated, from the Provost's house in Edinburgh down to Holy Road House, which was just without the city. This, however, was only a temporary change. That night they came into the palace and directed Mary to rise and put on a travelling dress which they brought her. They did not tell her where she was to go, but simply ordered her to follow them. It was midnight. They took her forth from the palace, mounted her upon a horse, and, with Ruthven and Lindsay, two of the murderers of Rizio for an escort, they rode away. They travelled all night, crossed the river forth, and arrived in the morning at the castle of Lucklavin. The castle of Lucklavin is on a small island in the middle of the lock. It is nearly north from Edinburgh. The castle buildings covered, at that time, about one half of the island, the water coming up to the walls on three sides. On the other side was a little land, which was cultivated as a garden. The buildings enclosed a considerable area. There was a great square tower marked on the plan below, which was the residence of the family. It consisted of four or five rooms, one over the other. The cellar, or rather what would be the cellar in other cases, was a dungeon for such prisoners as were to be kept in close confinement. The only entrance to this building was through a window in the second story, by means of a ladder which was raised and let down by a chain. This was over the point marked E on the plan. The chain was worked at a window in the story above. There were various other apartments and structures about the square, and among them there was a small octagonal tower in the corner, which consisted within of one room over another for three stories, and a flat roof with battlements above. In the second story there was a window, W, looking upon the water. This was the only window having an external aspect in the whole fortress, all the other openings in the exterior walls being mere loopholes and embrasures. This castle was in possession of a certain personage-styled Lady Douglas. She was the mother of the Lord James, afterwards the Earl of Murray, who has figured so conspicuously in this history as Mary's half-brother, and at first her friend and counselor, though afterwards her foe. Lady Douglas was commonly called the Lady of Lucklavin. She maintained that she had been lawfully married to James the Fifth, Mary's father, and that consequently her son, and not Mary, was the rightful heir to the crown. Of course she was Mary's natural enemy. They selected her castle as the place of Mary's confinement partly on this account, and partly on account of its inaccessible position in the midst of the waters of the lake. They delivered the captive queen, interestingly, to the Lady Douglas and her husband, charging them to keep her safely. The Lady Douglas received her, and locked her up in the octagonal tower with the window looking out upon the water. In the meantime, all Scotland took sides for or against the queen. The strongest party were against her, and the church was against her, on account of their hostility to the Catholic religion. A sort of provisional government was instituted, which assumed the management of public affairs. Mary had, however, some friends, and they soon began to assemble in order to see what could be done for her cause. Their rendezvous was at the Palace of Hamilton. This palace was situated on a plain in the midst of a beautiful park near the river Clyde, a few miles from Glasgow. The Duke of Hamilton was prominent among the supporters of the Queen, and this made his house their headquarters. They were often called, from this circumstance, the Hamilton Lords. On the other hand, the party opposed to Mary made the castle sterling their headquarters, because the young Prince was there, in whose name they were proposing soon to assume the government. Their plan was to depose Mary, or induce her to abdicate the throne, and then make Mary regent, to govern the country in the name of the Prince until the Prince should become of age. During all this time, Mary had been absent in France, but they now sent urgent messages to him to return. He obeyed the summons and turned his face towards Scotland. In the meantime, Mary continued in confinement in her little tower. She was not treated like a common prisoner, but had, in some degree, the attention due to her rank. There were five or six female and about as many male attendants, though if the rooms which are exhibited to visitors at the present day as the apartments which she occupied are really such, her quarters were very contracted. They consist of small apartments of an octagonal form, one over the other, with tortuous and narrow staircases in the solid wall to ascend from one to the other. The roof and the floors of the tower are gone, but the stairways, the capacious fireplaces, the loop holes, and the one window remain, enabling the visitor to reconstruct the dwelling and imagination, and even to fancy Mary herself there again, seated on the stone seat by the window, looking over the water at the distant hills, and sighing to be free. The Hamilton lords were not strong enough to attempt her rescue. The weight of influence and power throughout the country went gradually and irresistibly to the other scale. There were great debates among the authorities of government as to what should be done. The Hamilton lords made proposals in behalf of Mary which the government could not accede to. Other proposals were made by different parties in the councils of the insurgent nobles, some more and some less hard for the captive queen. The conclusion, however, finally was to urge Mary to resign her crown in favor of her son, and to appoint Murray, when he should return, to act as regent till the prince should be of age. They accordingly sent commissioners to Loc Levin to propose these measures to the queen. There were three instruments of abdication prepared for her to sign. By one she resigned the crown in favor of her son. By the second she appointed Murray to be regent as soon as he should return from France. By the third she appointed commissioners to govern the country until Murray should return. They knew that Murray would be extremely unwilling to sign these papers, and yet that they must contrive in some way to obtain her signature without any open violence, for the signature to be of legal force must be in some sense her voluntary act. The two commissioners whom they sent to her were Melville and Lindsay. Melville was a thoughtful and reasonable man who had long been in Mary's service and who possessed a great share of her confidence in goodwill. Lindsay was, on the other hand, of an overbearing and violent temper, of very rude speech and demeanor, and was known to be unfriendly to the queen. They hoped that Mary would be induced to sign the papers by Melville's gentle persuasions. If not, Lindsay was to see what he could do by denunciations and threats. When the two commissioners arrived at the castle, Melville alone went first into the presence of the queen. He opened the subject to her in a gentle and respectful manner. He laid before her the distracted state of Scotland, the uncertain and vague suspicions floating in the public mind on the subject of Darnley's murder, and the irretrievable shade which had been thrown over her position by the unhappy marriage with Bothwell, and he urged her to consent to the proposed measures as the only way now left to restore peace to the land. Mary heard him patiently, but replied that she could not consent to his proposal. By doing so she should not only sacrifice her own rights and degrade herself from the position she was entitled to occupy, but she should in some sense acknowledge herself guilty of the charges brought against her and justify her enemies. Melville, finding that his efforts were in vain, called Lindsay in. He entered with a fierce and determined air. Mary was reminded of the terrible night when he and Ruthven broke into her little supper room at Holy Road in Quest of Rizio. She was agitated and alarmed. Lindsay assailed her with denunciations and threats of the most violent character. They're ensued a scene of the most rough and ferocious passion on the one side, and of anguish, terror, and despair on the other, which is said to have made this day the most wretched of all the wretched days of Mary's life. Sometimes she sat pale, motionless, and almost stupefied. At others she was overwhelmed with sorrow and tears. She finally yielded, and taking the pen she signed the papers. Lindsay and Melville took them, left the castle gate, entered their boat, and were rode away to the shore. This was on the twenty-fifth of July, fifteen-sixty-seven, and four days afterward the young prince was crowned at the crowning. His title was James the Sixth. Lindsay made oath at the coronation that he was a witness of Mary's abdication of the crown in favor of her son, and that it was her own free and voluntary act. James was about one year old. The coronation took place in the chapel where Mary had been crowned in her infancy about twenty-five years before. Mary herself, though unconscious of her own coronation, mourned bitterly over that of her son. Lindsay's mother, how little she was aware, when her heart was filled with joy and gladness at his birth, that in one short year his mere existence would furnish to her enemies the means of consummating and sealing her ruin. On returning from the chapel to the state apartments of the castle after the coronation, the nobleman by whom the infant had been crowned walked in solemn procession, bearing the badges and insignia of the newly invested royalty. One carried the crown. Morton, who was to exercise the government until Mary should return, followed with the scepter, and a third bore the infant king, who gazed about unconsciously upon the scene, regardless alike of his mother's lonely wretchedness and of his own new scepter and crown. In the meantime, Mary was drawing near towards the confines of Scotland. He was somewhat uncertain how to act. Having been absent for some time in France and on the continent, he was not certain how far the people of Scotland were really and cordially in favor of the revolution which had been affected. Mary's friends might claim that her acts of abdication, having been obtained while she was under duress, were null and void, and if they were strong enough they might attempt to reinstate her upon the throne. In this case it would be better for him not to have acted with the insurgent government at all. To gain information on these points, Mary sent to Melville to come and meet him on the border. Melville came. The result of their conference was that Mary resolved to visit Mary in her tower before he adopted any decisive course. Mary accordingly journeyed northward to Loch Levin, and embarking in the boat which plied between the castle and the shore, he crossed the sheet of water and was admitted into the fortress. He had a long interview with Mary alone. At the side of her long absent brother, who had been her friend and guide in her early days of prosperity and happiness, and who had accompanied her through so many changing scenes, and who now returned after his long separation from her to find her a lonely and wretched captive involved in an irretrievable ruin, if not an acknowledged guilt, she was entirely overcome by her emotions. She burst into tears and could not speak. What further passed at this interview was never precisely known. They parted tolerably good friends, however, and yet Mary immediately assumed the government, by which it is supposed that he succeeded in persuading Mary that such a step was now best for her sake, as well as for that of all others concerned. Mary, however, did not fail to warn her, as he himself states, in a very serious manner, against any attempt to change her situation. Madam, said he, I will plainly declare to you what the sources of danger are from which I think you have most to apprehend. First, any attempt of whatever kind that you may make to create disturbance in the country, through friends that may still adhere to your cause, and to interfere with the government of your son. Secondly, devising or attempting any plan of escape from this island. Thirdly, taking any measures for inducing the Queen of England or the French King to come to your aid. And lastly, persisting in your attachment to Earl Bothwell. He warned Mary solemnly against any and all of these, and then took his leave. He was soon after proclaimed regent. A parliament was assembled to sanction all their proceedings, and the new government was established, apparently upon a firm foundation. Mary remained during the winter in captivity, earnestly desiring, however, notwithstanding Murray's warning, to find some way of escape. She knew that there must be many who had remained friends to her cause. She thought that if she could once make her escape from her prison, these friends would rally around her, and that she could thus perhaps regain her throne again. But strictly washed as she was, and in a prison which was surrounded by the waters of a lake, all hope of escape seemed to be taken away. Now there were, in the family of the Lord Douglas at the castle, two young men, George and William Douglas. The oldest, George, was about twenty-five years of age, and the youngest was seventeen. George was the son of Lord and Lady Douglas who kept the castle. William was an orphan boy, a relative who, having no home, had been received into the family. These young men soon began to feel a strong interest in the beautiful captive confined in their father's castle, and before many months this interest became so strong that they began to feel willing to incur the dangers and responsibilities of aiding her and affecting her escape. They had secret conferences with Mary on the subject. They went to the shore on various pretexts and contrived to make their plans known to Mary's friends that they might be ready to receive her in case they should succeed. The plan at length was right for execution. It was arranged thus. The castle not being large there was not space within its walls for all the accommodations required for its inmates, which was done on the shore, where there was quite a little village of attendance and dependence pertaining to the castle. This little village has since grown into a flourishing manufacturing town where a great variety of plaids and tartans and other scotch fabrics are made. Its name is Kinross. Communication with this part of the shore was then as now kept up by boats, which generally then belonged to the castle, though now to the town. On the day when Mary was to attempt her escape, a servant woman was brought by one of the castle boats from the shore with a bundle of clothes for Mary. Mary, whose health and strength had been impaired by her confinement and sufferings, was often in her bed. She was so at this time, though perhaps she was feigning now more feebleness than she really felt. The servant woman came into her apartment and undressed herself, while Mary rose, took the dress which she laid aside and put it on as a disguise. The woman took Mary's place in bed. Mary covered her face with a muffler, and taking another bundle in her hand to assist in her disguise, she passed across the court, issued from the castle gate, went to the landing stairs, and stepped into the boat for the men to row her to the shore. The oarsmen, who belonged to the castle, supposing that all was right, pushed off, and began to row toward the land. As they were crossing the water, however, they observed that their passenger was very particular to keep her face covered, and attempted to pull away the muffler, saying, Let us see what kind of a looking damsel this is. Mary, in alarm, put up her hands to her face to hold the muffler there. The smooth, white, and delicate fingers revealed to the men at once that they were carrying away a lady in disguise. Mary, finding that concealment was no longer possible, dropped her muffler, looked upon the men with composure and dignity, told them that she was their queen, that they were bound by their allegiance to her to obey her commands, and she commanded them to go on and row her to the shore. The men decided, however, that their allegiance was due to the lord of the castle rather than to the helpless captive trying to escape from it. They told her that they must return. Mary was not only disappointed at the failure of her plans, but she was now anxious lest her friends, the young Douglas's, should be implicated in the attempt, and should suffer in consequence of it. The men, however, solemnly promised her that if she would quietly return they would not make the circumstances known. The secret, however, was too great a secret to be kept. In a few days it all came to light. Lord and Lady Douglas were very angry with their son, and banished him, together with two of Mary's servants from the castle. Whatever share young William Douglas had in the scheme was not found out, and he was suffered to remain. George Douglas went only to Kinross. He remained there watching for another opportunity to help Mary to her freedom. In the meantime, the watch and ward held over Mary was more strict and rigorous than ever, her keepers being resolved to double their vigilance, while George and William, on the other hand, resolved to redouble their exertions to find some means to circumvent it. William, who was only a boy of seventeen, and who remained within the castle, acted his part in a very sagacious and admirable manner. He was silent and assumed a thoughtless and unconcerned manner in his general deportment, which put everyone off their guard in respect to him. George, who was at Kinross, held frequent communications with the Hamilton Lords, encouraging them to hope for Mary's escape, and leading them to continue in combination and to be ready to act at a moment's warning. They communicated with each other, too, by secret means, across the lake, and with Mary in her solitary tower. It is said that George, wishing to make Mary understand that their plans for rescuing her were not abandoned, and not having the opportunity to do so directly, sent her a picture of the mouse liberating the line from his snares, hoping that she would draw from the picture the inference which she intended. At length the time arrived for another attempt. It was about the first of May. There was a window in Mary's tower looking out over the water. George Douglas's plan was to bring a boat up to this window in the night, and take Mary down the wall into it. The place of egress by which Mary escaped is called in some of the accounts a poster and gate, and yet tradition at the castle says that it was through this window. It is not improbable that this window might have been intended to be used sometimes as a poster and gate, and that the iron grating with which it was guarded was made to open and shut, the key being kept with the other keys of the castle. The time for the attempt was fixed upon for Sunday night on the 2nd of May. George Douglas was ready with the boat early in the evening. When it was dark he rode cautiously across the water and took his position under Mary's window. William Douglas was in the meantime at supper in the great square tower with his father and mother. The keys were lying upon the table. He contrived to get them into his possession and then cautiously stole away. He locked the tower as he came out, went across the court to Mary's room, liberated her through the poster and window, and descended with her into the boat. One of her maids, whose name was Jane Kennedy, was to have accompanied her, but in their eagerness to make sure of Mary they forgot or neglected her and she had to leap down after them, which beat she accomplished without any serious injury. The boat pushed off immediately and the Douglasses began to pull hard for the shore. They threw the keys of the castle into the lake, as if the impossibility of recovering them, in that case, made the imprisonment of the family more secure. The whole party were, of course, in the highest state of excitement and agitation. Jane Kennedy helped to row and it is said that even Mary applied her strength to one of the oars. They landed safely on the south side of the lock, far from Kinross. Several of the Hamilton lords were ready there to receive the fugitive. They mounted her on horseback and galloped away. There was a strong party to escort her. They rode hard all night and the next morning they arrived safely at Hamilton. Now, said Mary, I am once more a queen. It was true. She was again a queen. Popular feeling ebbs and flows with prodigious force and the change from one state to the other depends sometimes on very accidental causes. The news of Mary's escape spread rapidly over the land. Her friends were encouraged and emboldened. Sympathies, long dormant and inert, were awakened in her favor. She issued a proclamation declaring that her abdication had been forced upon her and as such was null and void. She summoned Mary to surrender his powers as regent and to come and receive orders from her. She called upon all her faithful subject to take up arms and gather around her standard. Mary refused to obey, but large masses of the people gave in their adhesion to their liberated queen and flocked to Hamilton to enter into her service. In a week Mary found herself at the head of an army of six thousand men. The castle of Loch Lavin is now a solitary ruin. The waters of the Loch have been lowered by means of an excavation of the outlet and a portion of land has been left bare around the walls which the proprietor has planted with trees. Visitors are taken from Kinross in a boat to review the scene. The square tower, though roofless and desolate, still stands. The window in the second story, which served as the entrance and the one above where the chain was worked with the deep furrows in the sill cut by its friction, are shown by the guide. The courtyard is overgrown with weeds and encumbered with fallen stones and old foundations. The chapel is gone though its outline may still be traced in the ruins of its walls. The octagonal tower which Mary occupied remains, and the visitors climbing up by the narrow stone stairs in the wall, look out the window over the waters of the Loch and the distant hills, and try to recreate in imagination the scene which the apartment presented when the unhappy occupant was there. End of Chapter 10. Chapter 11 of Mary Queen of Scots. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org recording by Nelson Farrell Mallory. Mary Queen of Scots by Jacob Abbott. Chapter 11. A Long Captivity. Hamilton, which had been thus far the Queen's place of rendezvous was a palace rather than a castle, and therefore not a place of defense. It was situated as has been already stated on the river Clyde above Glasgow, that is towards the southeast of it. The river Clyde flowing towards the northwest. Castle Dunbarton, which has already been mentioned as a place from which Mary embarked for France in an early childhood, was below Glasgow. On the northern shore of the river, it stands there still in good repair, and is well garrisoned. The crowns are rocked which rises abruptly from the midst of a comparatively level country smiling the villages and cultivated fields, and frowns sternly upon the peaceful steamers and merchant ships, which are continually gliding along under its guns, up and down the Clyde. Queen Mary concluded to move forward to Dunbarton, it being a place of greater safety than Hamilton. Mary gathered his forces to intercept her march. The two armies met near Glasgow, as the Queen was moving westward down the river. There was a piece of rising ground between them, which each party was eager to ascend before the other should reach it. The leader of the forces on Mary's side ordered every horseman to take up a foot soldier behind him, and ride with all speed to the top of the hill. By this means, the great body of Marais troops were put in possession of the vantage ground. The Queen's forces took post on another rising ground, less favourable, at a little distance. The place was called Langside. A commanding was soon commenced, and a general battle ensued. Mary watched the progress of it with intense emotions. Her forces began soon to give way, and before many hours, they were retreating in all directions. The whole country being soon covered with the awful spectacles which are afforded by one terrified and panic-stricken army flying before the furious and triumphant rage of another. Mary gazed on the scene in an agony of grief and despair. A few faithful friends kept near her side, and told her that she must hurry away. They turned to the southward and rode away from the ground. They pressed on as rapidly as possible towards the southern coast, thinking that the only safety for Mary now was for her to make her escape from the country altogether, and go either to England or to France, in hopes of obtaining foreign aid to enable her to recover her throne. They at length reached the sea coast. Mary was received into an abbey called Bundrenen, not far from the English frontier. Here she remained with a few nobles and a small body of attendance for two days, spending the time in anxious consultations to determine what should be done. Mary herself was in favor of going to England and appealing to Elizabeth for protection and help. Her friends and advisors, knowing Elizabeth perhaps better than Mary did, recommended that she should sail for France in hopes of awakening sympathy there. But Mary, as you might naturally have expected, considering the circumstances under which she left that country, found herself extremely unwilling to go there as a fugitive and a supplement. It was decided finally to go to England. The nearest stronghold in England was Carlyle Castle, which was not very far from the frontier. The boundary between the two kingdoms is formed here by the Solway Frith, a broad arm of the sea. Bundrenen Abbey, to which Mary had retreated, was near the town of Kurt Kuprecht, which is of course on the northern side of the Frith. It is also near the sea. Carlyle is further up the Frith, near where the river Solway empties into it, and is 20 or 30 miles from the shore. Mary sent the messenger to the governor of the castle at Carlyle to inquire whether he would receive and protect her. She could not, however, wait for an answer to this message, as the country was all in commotion, and she was exposed to an attack at any time from erased forces, in which case, even if they should not succeed in taking her captive, they might effectually cut off her retreat from Scottish ground. She accordingly determined to proceed immediately and received the answer from the governor of the castle on the way. She set out on the 16th of May, 18 or 20 persons constituted her train. This was all that remained to her of her army of 6,000 men. She proceeded to the shore. They provided a fishing boat for the voyage, furnishing it as comfortably for her as the circumstances would admit. She embarked and sailed along the coast, eastward, up the frist, for about 18 miles, gazing onefully upon the receding shore of her native land, receding in fact now from her view forever. They landed at the most convenient port for reaching Carlyle, intending to take the remainder of the journey by land. In the meantime, the messenger on his arrival at Carlyle found that the governor had gone to London. His second rank, whom he had left in command, immediately sent off and expressed after him to inform him of the event. The name of this lieutenant governor was Lother. Loaded it all in Mary's favor that it was in his power to do. He directed the messenger to inform her that he had sent to London for instructions from Elizabeth, but that in the meantime she would be a welcomed guest in his castle and that he would defend her there from all her enemies. He then sent around to all the nobles of men of distinction in the neighborhood informing them of the arrival of the distinguished visitor and having assembled them, they proceeded to get it towards the coast to meet and receive the unhappy fugitive with the honors becoming her rank. Though such honors must have seen little else than a mockery in her present condition, Mary was received at the castle as an honored guest. It is however a curious circumstance that in respect to the reception of princes and queens in royal castles there is little or no distinction between the ceremonies which mark the honored guest and those which attend the helpless captive. Mary had a great many friends at first who came out of Scotland to visit her. The authorities ordered repairs to be commenced upon the castle to fit it most suitably for so distinguished an inmate and in consequence of the making of these repairs they found it inconvenient to admit visitors. Of course Mary being a mere guest could not complain. She wanted to take a walk beyond the limits of the castle upon a green to which there was access to a posturing gate. Certainly the governor made no objections to such a walk but sent 20 or 30 armed men to accompany her. They might be considered either as an honorary escort or as a guard to watch her movements to prevent her escape and to secure her return. At one time she proposed to go a hunting. They allowed her to go properly attended. On her return however the officer reported to his superior that she was so admirable in her horsemanship and could ride with so much fearlessness and speed that he thought it might be possible for a body of her friends to come and carry her off on some such occasion back across the frontier. So they determined to tell Mary when she wished to hunt again that they thought it not safe for her to go out on such excursions as her enemies might make a sudden invasion and carry her away. The precautions would be just the same to protect Mary from her enemies as to keep her from her friends. Elizabeth sent her captive cousin very kind of consoling messages dispatching however by the same messenger stringent orders to the commander of the castle to be sure to keep her safely. Mary asked for an interview with Elizabeth. Elizabeth's officers replied that she could not properly admit Mary to a personal interview until she had been in some way or other cleared of suspicion which attended to her in respect to the murder of Donley. They proposed moreover that Mary should consent to have that question examined before some sort of court which Elizabeth might constitute for this purpose. Now what is a special point of honor among all sovereign kings and queens throughout the civilized world that they can technically do no wrong, that they cannot in any way be brought to trial and especially that they cannot be by any means or in any way amenable to each other. Mary refused to acknowledge any English jurisdiction whatever in respect to any charges brought against her sovereign Queen of Scotland. Elizabeth removed her prisoner to another castle further from the frontier than Carlisle in order to place her in a situation where she would be more safe from her enemies. It was not convenient to lodge so many of her attendants at these new quarters as in the other fortress and several were dismissed. Additional obstructions were thrown in the way of her seeing friends and visitors from Scotland. Mary found her situation growing every day more and more helpless and desolate. Elizabeth urged continually upon her the necessity of having the points that issue between herself and Marie examined by a commissioner artfully putting it on the ground not of a trial of Mary but a calling of Marie to account by Mary for his usurpation. At last harassed and worn down and finding no ray of hope coming to her from any quarter she consented. Elizabeth constituted such a court which was to meet at York a large and ancient city in the north of England. Marie was to appear there in person with other lords associated with him. Mary appointed commissioners to appear for her and the two parties went into court each thinking that it was the other which was accused and on trial. The court assembled and after being opened with great parade and ceremony commenced the investigation of the questions that issue which led of course to endless criminations and recriminations the ground covering the whole history of Mary's career in Scotland. They went on for some weeks in this hopeless labyrinth until at length Marie produced the famous letters alleged to have been written by Mary to Boswell before Donnelly's murder as a part of the evidence and charged Mary on the strength of this evidence with having been in the better in the murder. Elizabeth finding that the affair was becoming as in fact she wished it to become more and more involved and wishing to get Mary more and more entangled in it and to draw her still further into her power ordered the conference as the court was called to be adjourned to London. Here things took such a turn that Mary complained that she was herself treated in so unjust a manner and Marie in his cause or allowed so many unfair advantages that she could not allow the discussion on her part to continue. The conference was accordingly broken up each party charging the other with being the cause of the interruption. Marie returned to Scotland to resume his government there. Mary was held the closer captive than ever. She sent to Elizabeth asking her to remove these restraints and allow her to depart either to her own country or to France. Elizabeth replied that she could not considering all the circumstances of the case allow her to leave England but that if she would give up all claims to the government of Scotland to her son young prince she might remain in peace in England. Mary replied that she would suffer death a thousand times rather than dishonor herself in the eyes of the world by abandoning in such a way her right as a sovereign. The last words which she should speak she said should be those of the Queen of Scotland. Elizabeth therefore considered that she had no alternative left but to keep Mary a prisoner. She cordially retained her for some time in confinement but she soon found that such charge was a serious encumbrance to her and one not unattended with danger. The disaffected in her own realm were beginning to form plots and to consider whether they could not in some way or other make use of Mary's claims to the English crown to aid them. Finally Elizabeth came to the conclusion when she had become a little satiated with a feeling at first so delightful of having Mary in her power that after all it would be quite as convenient to have her imprisoned in Scotland and she opened a negotiation with Marie for delivering Mary into his hands. He was on his part to agree to save her life and to keep her a close prisoner and he was to deliver hostages to Elizabeth as security for the fulfillment of these obligations. Various difficulties however occurred in the way of the accomplishment of these plans and before the arrangement was finally completed it was cut suddenly short by Marie's miserable end. One of the Hamilton's who had been with Mary at Langside was taken prisoner after the battle. Marie who of course as the legally constituted regent in the name of James considered himself as representing the royal authority of the kingdom regarded these prisoners as rebels taken in the act of insurrection against the sovereign. They were condemned to death but finally were pardoned at the place of execution. Their estates were however confiscated and given to the followers and favorites of Marie. One of these men in taking possession of House of Hamilton with a crude brutality characteristic of the times turned Hamilton's family out abruptly in a cold night perhaps exasperated by resistance which he may have encountered. The wife of Hamilton is said was sent out naked but the expression means probably very insufficiently clothed for such an exposure. At any rate the unhappy outcast wondered about half frantic with anger and terror until before morning she was wholefully frantic and insane. To have such a calamity brought upon him in consequence merely of a fidelity to his queen was as the bereaved and wretched husband thought an injury not to be borne. He considered Marie the responsible author of these miseries and silently and calmly resolved on a parable revenge. Marie was making a progress through the country traveling in state with a great revenue and was to pass through Lulithgau. There was a town of that name close by the palace. Hamilton provided himself with a room in one of the houses on the principal street through which he knew that Marie must pass. He had a fleet horse ready for him at the back door. The front door was barricaded. There was a sort of balcony or gallery projecting towards the street with a window in it. He stationed himself here having carefully taken every precaution to prevent his being seen from the street or overheard in his movements. Marie lodged in the town during the night and Hamilton posted himself in his ambush gate the next morning armed with a gun. The town was thronged and Marie on issuing from his lodging escorted by his cavalcade found the streets crowded with spectators. He made his way slowly on account of the throng. When he arrived at the proper point Hamilton took his aim in a cool and deliberate manner screened from observation by black cloth with which he had darkened his hiding place. He fired. A ball passed through the body of the regent and Pence descending as it went killed a horse on the other side of him. Marie fell. There was a universal outcry of surprise and fear. They made an onset upon the house from which the shot had been fired. The door was strongly barricaded. Before they could get the means to force an entrance Hamilton was on his horse and far away. The regent was carried to his lodgings and died that night. Marie was Queen Mary's half-brother and the connection of his fortunes with hers considered in respect to its intimacy and the length of its duration was on the whole greater than that of any other individual. He may be said to have governed Scotland in reality during the whole of Mary's nominal reign first as her minister and friend and afterward as her competitor in foe. He was at any rate during most of her life her nearest relative and her most constant companion and Mary mourned his death with many tears. There was a great nobleman in England named the Duke of Norfolk who had vast estates and was regarded as the greatest subject in the realm. He was a Catholic among the other countless schemes and plots to which Mary's presence in England gave rise. He formed the plan of marrying her and through her claimed to the crown and by the help of the Catholics to overturn the government of Elizabeth. He entered into negotiations with Mary and she consented to become his wife without however as she says being a party to his political schemes. His plots were discovered. He was imprisoned tried and beheaded. Mary was accused of sharing the guilt of his treason. She denied this. She was not very vigorously proceeded against but she suffered in the event of the affair another sad disappointment in her hopes of liberty and her confinement became more strict and absolute than ever. Still she had quite a numerous retinue of attendance. Many of her former friends were allowed to continue with her. Jane Kenzie who had escaped with her from Loch Lavin remained in her service. She was removed from castle to castle at Elizabeth's orders to diminish the probability of the forming and maturing a plan to escape. She amused herself sometimes in embroidery and similar pursuits and sometimes she pine and languished under the pressure of her sorrows and woes. Sixteen or eighteen years passed away in this manner. She was almost forgotten. Very exciting public events were taking place in England and in Scotland and the name of the poor captive queen at length seemed to pass from men's minds except so far as it was whispered secretly in plots and intrigues. End of Chapter 11 The Long Captivity Recording by Nelson Farrell Mallory Hortland, Maine Queen of Scots This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alana Jordan Mary Queen of Scots by Jacob Abbott Mary did not always discourage the plots and intrigues with which her name was connected. She, of course, longed for deliverance from the thralldom in which Elizabeth held her and was ready to embrace any opportunity which promised release. She thus seems to have listened from time to time to the overtures which were made to her and involved herself, in Elizabeth's opinion, more or less, in the responsibility which attached to them. Elizabeth did not, however, in such cases do anything more than to increase somewhat the rigors of her imprisonment. She was afraid to proceed to extremities with her, partly perhaps, for fear that she might, by doing so, awaken the hostility of France whose king was Mary's cousin or of Scotland whose monarch was her son. At length, however, in the year 1586, about eighteen years from the commencement of Mary's captivity, a plot was formed in which she became so seriously involved as to subject herself to the charge of aiding and abetting in the high treason of which the leaders of the plot were proved to be guilty. This plot is known in history by the name of Babbington's conspiracy. Babbington was a young gentleman of fortune who lived in the heart of England. He was inspired with a strong degree of interest in Mary's fate and wished to rescue her from her captivity. He joined himself with a large party of influential individuals of the Catholic faith. The conspirators opened negotiations with the courts of France and Spain for aid. They planned an insurrection, the assassination of Elizabeth, the rescue of Mary, and a general revolution. They maintained a correspondence with Mary. This correspondence was managed very secretly, the letters being placed by a confidential messenger in a certain hole in the castle wall where Queen Mary was confined. One day, when Mary was going out to ride, just as she was entering her carriage, officers suddenly arrived from London. They told her that the plot in which she had been engaged had been discovered that fourteen of the principal conspirators had been hung, seven on each of two consecutive days, and that they had come to arrest some of her attendants and to seize her papers. They accordingly went into her apartments, opened all her desks, trunks, and cabinets, seized her papers, and took them to London. Mary sat down in the scene of desolation and disorder which they left and wept bitterly. The papers which were seized were taken to London, and Elizabeth's government began seriously to agitate the question of bringing Mary herself to trial. One would have thought that, in her forlorn and desolate condition, she would have looked to her son for sympathy and aid. But rival claimants to a crown can have little kind feeling to each other, even if they are mother and son. James, as he gradually approached toward maturity, took sides against his mother. In fact, all Scotland was divided and was for many years in a state of civil war. Those who advocated Mary's right to the crown on one side and James's adherence on the other. They were called Kingsmen and Queensmen. James, of course, was brought up in hostility to his mother, and he wrote to her about a year before Babbington's conspiracy in terms so hostile and so devoid of filial love that his ingratitude stung her to the heart. Was it for this, she said, that I made so many sacrifices and endured so many trials on his account in his early years? I have made it the whole business of my life to protect and secure his rights and to open before him a prospect of future power and glory, and this is the return. The English government, under Elizabeth's direction, concluded to bring Mary to a public trial. They removed her, accordingly, to the castle of Fatheringay. Fatheringay is in Northamptonshire, which is, in the very heart of England, Northampton, the Shiretown, being about 60 miles northwest of London. Fatheringay Castle was on the banks of the River Nen, or Avon, which flows northwest from Northampton to the sea. A few miles below the castle is the ancient town of Peterborough, where there was a monastery and a great cathedral church. The monastery had been built a thousand years before. They moved Mary to Fatheringay Castle for her trial, and lawyers, councillors, commissions, and officers of state began to assemble there from all quarters. The castle was a spacious structure. It was surrounded with two modes and with double walls and was strongly fortified. It contained numerous and spacious apartments and it had especially one large hall which was well adapted to the purposes of this great trial. The preparations for the Salamore deal through which Mary was now to pass brought her forth from the obscurity in which she had so long been lost to the eyes of mankind and made her the universal object of interest and attention in England, Scotland, and France. The people of all these nations looked on with great interest at the spectacle of one queen tried solemnly on a charge of high treason against another. The stories of her beauty, her graces, her misfortunes, which had slumbered for 18 years, were all now revived and everybody felt a warm interest in the poor captive worn down by long confinement and trembling in the hands of what they feared would be a merciless and terrible power. Mary was removed to the castle of Fatheringay toward the end of September 1586. The preparations for the trial proceeded slowly. Everything in which kings and queens or affairs of state were concerned in those days was conducted with great pomp and ceremony. The arrangements of the hall were minutely prescribed. At the head of it a sort of throne was placed with a royal canopy over it for the Queen of England. This, though it was vacant, impressed the court and the spectators as a symbol of royalty and denoted that the sovereignty of Elizabeth was the power before which Mary was arraigned. When the preparations were made Mary refused to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court. She denied that they had any right to arraign or to try her. I am no subject of Elizabeth, said she. I am an independent and sovereign queen as well as she. And I will not consent to anything inconsistent with this my true position. I owe no allegiance to England and I am not in any sense subject to her laws. I came into the realm only to ask assistance from a sister queen. And I have been made a captive and detained many years in an unjust and cruel imprisonment. And though now worn down both in body and mind by my protracted sufferings I am not yet so enfeebled as to forget what is due to myself my ancestors and my country. This refusal of Mary's to plead or to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court caused a new delay. They urged her to abandon her resolution. They told her that if she refused to plead the trial would proceed without her action and by pursuing such a course she would only deprive herself of the means of defense without at all impeding the course of her fate. At length Mary yielded. It would have been better for her to have adhered to her first intention. The commission by which Mary was to be tried consisted of earls, barons, and other persons of rank twenty or thirty in number. They were seated on each side of the room the throne being at the head. In the center was a table where the lawyers by whom the trial was to be conducted were seated. Below this table was a chair for Mary. Behind Mary's chair was a rail dividing off the lower end of the hall from the court and this formed an outer space to which some spectators were admitted. Mary took her place in the seat assigned her and the trial proceeded. They adduced the evidence against her and then asked for her defense. She said substantially that she had a right to make an effort to recover her liberty that after being confined a captive for so long and having lost forever her youth, her health, and her happiness it was not wonderful that she wished to be free but that in endeavoring to obtain her freedom she had formed no plans to injure Elizabeth or to interfere in any way with her rights or prerogatives as queen. The commissioners after devoting some days to hearing evidence and listening to the defense sent Mary back to her apartments and went to London. There had been a final consultation and unanimously agreed in the following decision that Mary, commonly called Queen of Scots and Dowager of France, had been an accessory to Babbington's conspiracy and had compassed the death of Elizabeth, Queen of England. Elizabeth pretended to be very much concerned at this result. She laid the proceedings before Parliament. It was supposed then, and has always been supposed since, that she wished Mary to be beheaded but desired not to take the responsibility of it herself and that she wanted to appear unwilling and to be impelled greatly against her own inclinations by the urgency of others to carry the sentence into execution by any rate Parliament and all the members of the government approved and confirmed the verdict and wished to have it carried into effect. It has always been the custom in modern times to require the solemn act of the supreme magistrate of any state to confirm a decision of a tribunal which condemns a person to death by signing what is called a warrant for the execution. This is done by the king or queen in England and by the governor in one of the United States. This warrant is an order very formally written and sealed with the Great Seal, authorizing the executioner to proceed and carry the sentence into effect. Of course Queen Mary could not be executed unless Elizabeth should first sign the warrant. Elizabeth Wood herself, probably, have been better pleased to have been excused from all direct agency in the affair. But this could not be. She, however, made much delay and affected great unwillingness to proceed. She sent messengers to Mary, telling her what the sentence had been, how sorry she was to hear it and how much she desired to save her life, if it were possible. At the same time she told her that she feared it might not be in her power, and she advised Mary to prepare her mind for the execution of the sentence. Mary wrote the letter to Elizabeth in reply. She said in this letter that she was glad to hear that they had pronounced sentence of death against her, for she was weary of life and had no hope or relief or rest from her miseries but in the grave. She wrote therefore, not to ask any change in the decision, but to make three requests. First, that after her execution her body might be removed to France and be deposited at Rhimes, where the ashes of her mother were reposing. Secondly, that her execution should not be in secret, but that her personal friends might be present to attest to the world that she meant her fate with resignation and fortitude. And thirdly, that her attendants and friends, who had, through their faithful love for her, shared her captivity so long, might be permitted to retire wherever they pleased after her death without any molestation. I hope, said she, in conclusion, you will not refuse me these dying requests, but that you will assure me by a letter under your own hand that you will comply with them and that I shall die as I have lived your affectionate sister-in-prisoner, Mary Queen of Scots. The King of France and James, Mary's son in Scotland, made somewhat vigorous efforts to arrest the execution of the sentence which had been pronounced against Mary. From these and other causes the signing of the warrant was delayed for some months, but at length Elizabeth yielded to the solicitations of her ministers. She affixed her signature to the instrument. The Chancellor put upon it the Great Seal, and the commissioners who were appointed by it to superintend the execution went to Fatheringay. They arrived there on the 7th of February, 1587. After resting and refreshing themselves for a short time from their journey, the commissioners sent word to Mary that they wished for an interview with her. Mary had retired. They said that their business was very important. She rose and prepared to receive them. She assembled all her attendants, fourteen or fifteen in number, in order to receive the commissioners in a manner comporting, so far as the circumstances allowed, with her rank and station. The commissioners were at length, ushered into the apartment. They stood respectfully before her, with their heads uncovered. The foremost then, in language, as forbearing and gentle, as was consistent with the nature of his message, informed her that it had been decided to carry the sentence which had been pronounced against her into effect, and then he requested another of the number to read the warrant for her execution. Mary listened to it calmly and patiently. Her attendants, one after another, were overcome by the mournful and awful solemnity of the scene, and melted into tears. Mary, however, was calm. When the reading of the warrant was ended, she said that she was sorry that her cousin Elizabeth should set the example of taking the life of a sovereign queen but for herself she was willing to die. Life had long ceased to afford her any peace or happiness, and she was ready to exchange it for the prospect of immortality. She then laid her hand on the New Testament, which was near her, of course a Catholic version, and called God to witness that she had never plotted herself or joined in plots with others for the death of Elizabeth. One of the commissioners remarked that her oath being upon a Catholic version of the Bible, they should not consider it valid. She rejoined that it ought to be considered the more sacred and solemn on that account, as that was the version which she regarded as the only one which was authoritative and true. Mary then asked the commissioners several questions, as whether her son James had not expressed any interest in her fate, and whether no foreign princes had interposed to save her. The commissioners answered these and other inquiries, and Mary learned from their answers that her fate was sealed. She then asked them what time was appointed for the execution. They replied that it was to take place at eight o'clock the following morning. Mary had not expected so early an hour to be named. She said it was sudden, and she seemed agitated and distressed. She, however, soon recovered her composure and asked to have a Catholic priest allowed to visit her. The commissioners replied that that could not be permitted. They, however, proposed to send the Dean of Peterborough to visit her. A Dean is the ecclesiastical functionary, presiding over a cathedral church, and, of course, the Dean of Peterborough was the clergyman of the highest rank in that vicinity. He was, however, a Protestant, and Mary did not wish to see him. The commissioners withdrew and left Mary with her friends, when they ensued one of those scenes of anguish and suffering, which those who witnessed them never forget, but carry the gloomy remembrance of them, like a dark shadow in the soul, to the end of their days. Mary was quiet and appeared calm. It may, however, have been the calm of hopeless and absolute despair. Her attendants were overwhelmed with agitation and grief, the expression of which they could not even attempt to control. At last they became more composed, and Mary asked them to kneel with her in prayer, and she prayed for some time fervently and earnestly in the midst of them. She then directed supper to be prepared as usual, and until it was ready she spent her time in dividing the money which she had on hand into separate parcels for her attendants, marking each parcel with the name. She sat down at the table when supper was served, and though she ate but little, she conversed as usual in a cheerful manner and with smiles. Her friends were silent and sad, struggling continually to keep back their tears. At the close of the supper Mary called for a cup of wine and drank to the health of each one of them, and then asked them to drink to her. They took the cup and kneeling before her complied with her request, though as they did it the tears would come to their eyes. Mary then told them that she willingly forgave them for all that they had ever done to displease her, and she thanked them for their long continued fidelity and love. She also asked that they would forgive her for anything she might ever have done in respect to them which was inconsistent with her duty. They answered the request only with renewal of their tears. Mary spent the evening in writing two letters to her nearest relatives in France and in making her will. The principal object of these letters was to recommend her servants to the attention and care of those to whom they were addressed after she should be gone. She went to bed shortly after midnight and it is said she slept. This would be incredible if anything were incredible in respect to the workings of the human soul in a time of awful trial like this, which so transcends all the ordinary conditions of its existence. At any rate, whether Mary slept or not, the morning soon came. Her friends were around her as soon as she rose. She gave them minute directions about the disposition of her body. She wished to have it taken to France to be interred, as she had requested of Elizabeth, either at Rhimes in the same tomb with the body of her mother or else at St. Denis, an ancient abbey a little north of Paris, where the ashes of a long line of French monarchs were posed. She begged her servants, if possible, not to leave her body till it should reach its final home in one of these places of sepulcher. In the meantime, arrangements had been made for the last act in this dreadful tragedy. In the same great hall where she had been tried, they raised a platform upon the stone floor of the hall large enough to contain those who were to take part in the closing scene. On this platform was a block, a cushion, and a chair. All these things, as well as the platform itself, were covered with a black cloth, giving to the whole scene a mausoleum and funereal expression. The part of the hall containing the scaffold was railed off from the rest. The governor of the castle and a body of guards came in and took their station at the sides of the room. Two executioners, one holding the axe, stood upon the scaffold on one side of the block. Two of the commissioners stood upon the other side. The remaining commissioners and several gentlemen of the neighborhood took their places as spectators without the rail. The number of persons thus assembled was about two hundred. Strange that anyone should have come involuntarily to witness such a scene. When all was ready, a sheriff carrying his white wand of office and attended by some of the commissioners went for Mary. She was at her devotions and she asked a little delay that she might conclude them. Perhaps the shrinking spirit clung at the last moment to life and wished to linger a few minutes longer before taking the final farewell. The request was granted. In a short time Mary signified that she was ready and they began to move toward the hall of execution. Her attendants were going to accompany her. The sheriff said this could not be allowed. She accordingly bade them farewell and they filled the castle with the sound of their shrieks and lamentations. Mary went on, descending the staircase at the foot of which she was joined by one of her attendants from whom she had been separated for some time. His name was Sir Andrew Melville and he was the master of her household. The name of her secretary Melville was James. Sir Andrew kneeled before her, kissed her hand and said that this was the saddest hour of his life. Mary began to give him some last commissions and requests. Say, said she, that I died firm in the faith, that I forgive my enemies, that I feel that I have never disgraced Scotland, my native country, and that I have been always true to France, the land of my happiest years. Tell my son, hear her voice faltered and cease to be heard, and she burst into tears. She struggled to regain her composure. Tell my son, said she, that I thought of him in my last moments and that I have never yielded either by word or deed to anything whatever that might lead to his prejudice. Tell him to cherish the memory of his mother and say that I sincerely hope his life may be happier than mine has been. Then Mary turned to the commissioners who stood by and renewed her request that her attendants who had just been separated from her might come down and see her die. The commissioners objected. They said if these attendants were admitted their anguish and lamentations would only add to her own distress and make the whole scene more painful. Mary, however, urged the request. She said they had been devotedly attached to her all her days, they had shared her captivity and loved and served her faithfully to the end and it was enough if she herself and they desired that they should be present. The commissioners at last yielded and allowed her to name six who should be summoned to attend her. She did so and the six came down. The sad procession then proceeded to the hall. Mary was in full court dress and walked into the apartment with the air and composure of a reigning queen. She leaned on the arm of her physician. Sir Andrew Melville followed bearing the train of her robe. Her dress is described as a gown of black silk bordered with crimson velvet over which was a satin mantle a long veil of white crepe edged with rich lace hung down almost to the ground. Around her neck was an ivory crucifix that is an image of Christ upon the cross which the Catholics use as a memorial of our savers' sufferings and a rosary which is a string of beads of peculiar arrangement often employed by them as an aid in their devotions. Mary meant doubtless by these symbols to show to her enemies and to the world that though she submitted to her fate without resistance yet, so far as the contest of life had been one of religious faith she had no intention of yielding. Mary ascended the platform and took her seat in the chair provided for her. With the exception of stifled sobs here and there to be heard the room was still. An officer then advanced and read the warrant of execution which the executioners listened to as their authority for doing the dreadful work which they were about to perform. The Dean of Peterborough the Protestant ecclesiastic whom Mary had refused to see then came forward to the foot of the platform and most absurdedly commenced an address to her with a view to convert her to the Protestant faith. Mary interrupted him saying that she had been born and lived a Catholic and was resolved so to die and she asked him to spare her his useless reasonings the Dean persisted in going on. Mary turned away from him, kneeled down and began to offer a Latin prayer. The Dean soon brought his ministrations to a close and then Mary prayed for some time in a distinct and fervent voice in English the large company listening with breathless attention. She prayed for her own soul and that she might have comfort from heaven in the agony of death. She implored God's blessing upon France, upon Scotland, upon England, upon Queen Elizabeth and more than all upon her son. During this time she held the ivory crucifix in her hand, clasping it and raising it from time to time toward heaven. When her prayer was ended she rose and with the assistance of her attendance took off her veil and such other parts of her dress as it was necessary to remove in order to leave the neck-bear and then she kneeled forward and laid her head upon the block. The agitation of the assembly became extreme. Some turned away from the scene faint and sick at heart. Some looked more eagerly and intensely at the group upon the scaffold. Some wept and sobbed aloud. The assistant executioner put Mary's two hands together and held them. The other raised his axe and after the hoared sound of two or three successive blows the assistant held up the dissevered head, saying, So perish all, Queen Elizabeth's enemies! The assembly dispersed. The body was taken into an adjoining apartment and prepared for interment. Mary's attendants wish to have it delivered to them that they might comply with her dying request to convey it to France, but they were told they could not be allowed to do so. The body was interred with great pomp and ceremony in the cathedral at Peterborough where it remained in peace for many years. Now that the deed was done the great problem with Elizabeth was, of course, to avert the consequences of the terrible displeasure and thirst for revenge, which she might naturally suppose it would awaken in Scotland and in France, she succeeded very well in accomplishing this. As soon as she heard of the execution of Mary she expressed the utmost surprise, grief, and indignation. She said that she had, indeed, signed the death warrant, but it was not her intention at all to have it executed, and that, when she delivered it to the officer, she charged him not to let it go out of his possession. This the officer denied. Elizabeth insisted and punished the officer by a long imprisonment and perpetual disgrace for his pretended offence. She sent a messenger to James, explaining the terrible accident, as she termed it, which had occurred and deprecating his displeasure. James, though at first filled with indignation and determined to avenge his mother's death, allowed himself to be appeased. About twenty years after this Elizabeth died and the great object of Mary's ambition throughout her whole life was attained by the Union of the Scotch and English Crowns on the head of her son. As soon as Elizabeth ceased to breathe, James the Sixth of Scotland was proclaimed James the First of England. He was, at that time, nearly forty years of age. He was married and had several young children. The circumstances of King James's journey to London, when he went to take possession of his new kingdom, are related in the history of Charles the First, belonging to the Ceres. Though James thus became monarch of both England and Scotland, it must not be supposed that the two kingdoms were combined. They remained separate for many years, two independent kingdoms governed by one king. When James succeeded to the throne, his mother had been dead many years, and whatever feelings of affection may have bound his heart to her in early life, they were now well nigh obliterated by the lapse of time, and by the new ties by which he was connected with his wife and his children. As soon as he was seated on his new throne, however, he ordered the castle of Fatheringay, which had been the scene of his mother's trial and death, to be levelled with the ground, and he transferred her remains to Westminster Abbey, where they still repose. If the lifeless dust had retained its consciousness when it was thus transferred, with what intense emotions of pride and pleasure would the mother's heart have been filled in being thus brought to her final home in that ancient sepulcher of the English kings by her son now at last safely established where she had so long toiled and suffered to instate him in his place in the line. Ambition was the great paramount, ruling principle of Mary's life. Love was, with her, an occasional though perfectly uncontrollable impulse, which came suddenly to interrupt her plans and divert her from her course, leaving her to get back to it again after devious wanderings with great difficulty and through many tears. The love with the consequences which followed from it destroyed her, while the ambition recovering itself after every contest with its rival and holding out perseveringly to the last saved her son so that in the long contest in which her life was spent, though she suffered all the way and at last sacrificed herself, she triumphed in the end.