he said, “and in the name of the good cause, I will see it out myself.— Hark thee, friend,” (to Bothwell,) “wilt thou wrestle a fall with me?”
“With my whole spirit, beloved,” answered Bothwell; “yea I will strive with thee, to the downfall of one or both.”
“Then, as my trust is in Him that can help,” retorted his antagonist, “I will forthwith make thee an example to all such railing Rabshakehs”
With that he dropped his coarse grey horseman’s coat from his shoulders, and, extending his strong brawny arms with a look of determined resolution, he offered himself to the contest. The soldier was nothing abashed by the muscular frame, broad chest, square shoulders, and hardy look of his antagonist, but, whistling with great composure, unbuckled his belt, and laid aside his military coat. The company stood round them, anxious for the event.
In the first struggle the trooper seemed to have some advantage, and also in the second, though neither could be considered as decisive. But it was plain he had put his whole strength too suddenly forth, against an antagonist possessed of great endurance, skill, vigour, and length of wind. In the third close, the countryman lifted his opponent fairly from the floor, and hurled him to the ground with such violence, that he lay for an instant stunned and motionless. His comrade Halliday immediately drew his sword; “You have killed my sergeant,” he exclaimed to the victorious wrestler, “and by all that is sacred you shall answer it!”
“Stand back!” cried Morton and his companions, “it was all fair play; your comrade sought a fall, and he has got it.”
“That is true enough,” said Bothwell, as he slowly rose; “put up your bilbo, Tom. I did not think there was a crop-ear of them all could have laid the best cap and feather in the King’s Life-Guards on the floor of a rascally change-house.— Hark ye, friend, give me your hand.” The stranger held out his hand. “I promise you,” said Bothwell, squeezing his hand very hard, “that the time will come when we shall meet again, and try this game over in a more earnest manner.”
“And I’ll promise you,” said the stranger, returning the grasp with equal firmness, “that when we next meet, I will lay your head as low as it lay even now, when you shall lack the power to lift it up again.”
“Well, beloved,” answered Bothwell, “if thou be’st a whig, thou art a stout and a brave one, and so good even to thee — Hadst best take thy nag before the Cornet makes the round; for, I promise thee, he has stay’d less suspicious-looking persons.”
The stranger seemed to think that the hint was not to be neglected; he flung down his reckoning, and going into the stable, saddled and brought out a powerful black horse, now recruited by rest and forage, and turning to Morton, observed, “I ride towards Milnwood, which I hear is your home; will you give me the advantage and protection of your company?”
“Certainly,” said Morton; although there was something of gloomy and relentless severity in the man’s manner from which his mind recoiled. His companions, after a courteous good-night, broke up and went off in different directions, some keeping them company for about a mile, until they dropped off one by one, and the travellers were left alone.
The company had not long left the Howff, as Blane’s public-house was called, when the trumpets and kettle-drums sounded. The troopers got under arms in the market-place at this unexpected summons, while, with faces of anxiety and earnestness, Cornet Grahame, a kinsman of Claverhouse, and the Provost of the borough, followed by half-a-dozen soldiers, and town-officers with halberts, entered the apartment of Niel Blane.
“Guard the doors!” were the first words which the Cornet spoke; “let no man leave the house.— So, Bothwell, how comes this? Did you not hear them sound boot and saddle?”
“He was just going to quarters, sir,” said his comrade; “he has had a bad fall.”
“In a fray, I suppose?” said Grahame. “If you neglect duty in this way, your royal blood will hardly protect you.”
“How have I neglected duty?” said Bothwell, sulkily.
“You should have been at quarters, Sergeant Bothwell,” replied the officer; “you have lost a golden opportunity. Here are news come that the Archbishop of St Andrews has been strangely and foully assassinated by a body of the rebel whigs, who pursued and stopped his carriage on Magus-Muir, near the town of St Andrews, dragged him out, and dispatched him with their swords and daggers.” 4
All stood aghast at the intelligence.
“Here are their descriptions,” continued the Cornet, pulling out a proclamation, “the reward of a thousand merks is on each of their heads.”
“The test, the test, and the qualification!” said Bothwell to Halliday; “I know the meaning now — Zounds, that we should not have stopt him! Go saddle our horses, Halliday.— Was there one of the men, Cornet, very stout and square-made, double-chested, thin in the flanks, hawk-nosed?”
“Stay, stay,” said Cornet Grahame, “let me look at the paper.— Hackston of Rathillet, tall, thin, black-haired.”
“That is not my man,” said Bothwell.
“John Balfour, called Burley, aquiline nose, red-haired, five feet eight inches in height”—“It is he — it is the very man!” said Bothwell,—“skellies fearfully with one eye?”
“Right,” continued Grahame, “rode a strong black horse, taken from the primate at the time of the murder.”
“The very man,” exclaimed Bothwell, “and the very horse! he was in this room not a quarter of an hour since.”
A few hasty enquiries tended still more to confirm the opinion, that the reserved and stern stranger was Balfour of Burley, the actual commander of the band of assassins, who, in the fury of misguided zeal, had murdered the primate, whom they accidentally met, as they were searching for another person against whom they bore enmity. 5 In their excited imagination the casual rencounter had the appearance of a providential interference, and they put to death the archbishop, with circumstances of great and cold-blooded cruelty, under the belief, that the Lord, as they expressed it, had delivered him into their hands. 6
“Horse, horse, and pursue, my lads!” exclaimed Cornet Grahame; “the murdering dog’s head is worth its weight in gold.”
3 Sergeant Bothwell. The history of the restless and ambitious Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, makes a considerable figure in the reign of James VI. of Scotland, and First of England. After being repeatedly pardoned for acts of treason, he was at length obliged to retire abroad, where he died in great misery. Great part of his forfeited estate was bestowed on Walter Scott, first Lord of Buccleuch, and on the first Earl of Roxburghe.
Francis Stewart, son of the forfeited Earl, obtained from the favour of Charles I. a decreet-arbitral, appointing the two noblemen, grantees of his father’s estate, to restore the same, or make some compensation for retaining it. The barony of Crichton, with its beautiful castle, was surrendered by the curators of Francis, Earl of Buccleuch, but he retained the far more extensive property in Liddesdale. James Stewart also, as appears from writings in the author’s possession, made an advantageous composition with the Earl of Roxburghe. “But,”
