The citizens looked on each other with faces of blank disappointment.
They had persuaded themselves of Eviot's guilt, and their suspicions
had been confirmed by his irresolute manner. Their surprise at his
escape was therefore extreme. The other followers of Ramorny took
heart, and advanced to take the oath with a boldness which increased
as one by one they performed the ordeal, and were declared, by the
voice of the judges, free and innocent of every suspicion attaching
to them on account of the death of Oliver Proudfute.

But there was one individual who did not partake that increasing
confidence. The name of "Bonthron--Bonthron!" sounded three times
through the aisles of the church; but he who owned it acknowledged
the call no otherwise than by a sort of shuffling motion with his
feet, as if he had been suddenly affected with a fit of the palsy.

"Speak, dog," whispered Eviot, "or prepare for a dog's death!"

But the murderer's brain was so much disturbed by the sight before
him, that the judges, beholding his deportment, doubted whether to
ordain him to be dragged before the bier or to pronounce judgment
in default; and it was not until he was asked for the last time
whether he would submit to the ordeal, that he answered, with his
usual brevity:

"I will not; what do I know what juggling tricks may be practised
to take a poor man's life? I offer the combat to any man who says
I harmed that dead body."

And, according to usual form, he threw his glove upon the floor of
the church.

Henry Smith stepped forward, amidst the murmured applauses of his
fellow citizens, which even the august presence could not entirely
suppress; and, lifting the ruffian's glove, which he placed in his
bonnet, laid down his own in the usual form, as a gage of battle.
But Bonthron raised it not.

"He is no match for me," growled the savage, "nor fit to lift my
glove. I follow the Prince of Scotland, in attending on his master
of horse. This fellow is a wretched mechanic."

Here the Prince interrupted him. "Thou follow me, caitiff! I discharge
thee from my service on the spot. Take him in hand, Smith, and beat
him as thou didst never thump anvil! The villain is both guilty
and recreant. It sickens me even to look at him; and if my royal
father will be ruled by me, he will give the parties two handsome
Scottish axes, and we will see which of them turns out the best
fellow before the day is half an hour older."

This was readily assented to by the Earl of Crawford and Sir Patrick
Charteris, the godfathers of the parties, who, as the combatants
were men of inferior rank, agreed that they should fight in steel
caps, buff jackets, and with axes, and that as soon as they could
be prepared for the combat.

The lists were appointed in the Skinners' Yards--a neighbouring
space of ground, occupied by the corporation from which it had
the name, and who quickly cleared a space of about thirty feet
by twenty-five for the combatants. Thither thronged the nobles,
priests, and commons--all excepting the old King, who, detesting
such scenes of blood, retired to his residence, and devolved the
charge of the field upon the Earl of Errol, Lord High Constable,
to whose office it more particularly belonged. The Duke of Albany
watched the whole proceeding with a close and wary eye. His nephew
gave the scene the heedless degree of notice which corresponded
with his character.

When the combatants appeared in the lists, nothing could be more
striking than the contrast betwixt the manly, cheerful countenance
of the smith, whose sparkling bright eye seemed already beaming
with the victory he hoped for, and the sullen, downcast aspect of
the brutal Bonthron, who looked as if he were some obscene bird,
driven into sunshine out of the shelter of its darksome haunts.
They made oath severally, each to the truth of his quarrel--a
ceremony which Henry Gow performed with serene and manly confidence,
Bonthron with a dogged resolution, which induced the Duke of Rothsay
to say to the High Constable: "Didst thou ever, my dear Errol,
behold such a mixture of malignity, cruelty, and I think fear, as
in that fellow's countenance?"

"He is not comely," said the Earl, "but a powerful knave as I have
seen."

"I'll gage a hogshead of wine with you, my good lord, that he
loses the day. Henry the armourer is as strong as he, and much more
active; and then look at his bold bearing! There is something in
that other fellow that is loathsome to look upon. Let them yoke
presently, my dear Constable, for I am sick of beholding him."

The High Constable then addressed the widow, who, in her deep weeds,
and having her children still beside her, occupied a chair within
the lists: "Woman, do you willingly accept of this man, Henry the
Smith, to do battle as your champion in this cause?"

"I do--I do, most willingly," answered Magdalen Proudfute; "and
may the blessing of God and St. John give him strength and fortune,
since he strikes for the orphan and fatherless!"

"Then I pronounce this a fenced field of battle," said the Constable
aloud. "Let no one dare, upon peril of his life, to interrupt
this combat by word, speech, or look. Sound trumpets, and fight,
combatants!"

The trumpets flourished, and the combatants, advancing from the
opposite ends of the lists, with a steady and even pace, looked at
each other attentively, well skilled in judging from the motion of
the eye the direction in which a blow was meditated. They halted
opposite to, and within reach of, each other, and in turn made
more than one feint to strike, in order to ascertain the activity
and vigilance of the opponent. At length, whether weary of these
manoeuvres, or fearing lest in a contest so conducted his unwieldy
strength would be foiled by the activity of the smith, Bonthron
heaved up his axe for a downright blow, adding the whole strength
of his sturdy arms to the weight of the weapon in its descent. The
smith, however, avoided the stroke by stepping aside; for it was
too forcible to be controlled by any guard which he could have
interposed. Ere Bonthron recovered guard, Henry struck him a sidelong
blow on the steel headpiece, which prostrated him on the ground.

"Confess, or die," said the victor, placing his foot on the body
of the vanquished, and holding to his throat the point of the axe,
which terminated in a spike or poniard.

"I will confess," said the villain, glaring wildly upwards on the
sky. "Let me rise."

"Not till you have yielded," said Harry Smith.

"I do yield," again murmured Bonthron, and Henry proclaimed aloud
that his antagonist was defeated.

The Dukes of Rothsay and Albany, the High Constable, and the
Dominican prior now entered the lists, and, addressing Bonthron,
demanded if he acknowledged himself vanquished.

"I do," answered the miscreant.

"And guilty of the murder of Oliver Proudfute?"

"I am; but I mistook him for another."

"And whom didst thou intend to slay?" said the prior. "Confess, my
son, and merit thy pardon in another world for with this thou hast
little more to do."

"I took the slain man," answered the discomfited combatant, "for
him whose hand has struck me down, whose foot now presses me."

"Blessed be the saints!" said the prior; "now all those who
doubt the virtue of the holy ordeal may have their eyes opened to
their error. Lo, he is trapped in the snare which he laid for the
guiltless."

"I scarce ever saw the man," said the smith. "I never did wrong
to him or his. Ask him, an it please your reverence, why he should
have thought of slaying me treacherously."

"It is a fitting question," answered the prior. "Give glory where
it is due, my son, even though it is manifested by thy shame. For
what reason wouldst thou have waylaid this armourer, who says he
never wronged thee?"

"He had wronged him whom I served," answered Bonthron, "and I
meditated the deed by his command."

"By whose command?" asked the prior.

Bonthron was silent for an instant, then growled out: "He is too
mighty for me to name."

"Hearken, my son," said the churchman; "tarry but a brief hour, and
the mighty and the mean of this earth shall to thee alike be empty
sounds. The sledge is even now preparing to drag thee to the place
of execution. Therefore, son, once more I charge thee to consult
thy soul's weal by glorifying Heaven, and speaking the truth. Was
it thy master, Sir John Ramorny, that stirred thee to so foul a
deed?"

"No," answered the prostrate villain, "it was a greater than he."
And at the same time he pointed with his finger to the Prince.

"Wretch!" said the astonished Duke of Rothsay; "do you dare to hint
that I was your instigator?"

"You yourself, my lord," answered the unblushing ruffian.

"Die in thy falsehood, accursed slave!" said the Prince; and,
drawing his sword, he would have pierced his calumniator, had not
the Lord High Constable interposed with word and action.

"Your Grace must forgive my discharging mine office: this caitiff
must be delivered into the hands of the executioner. He is unfit
to be dealt with by any other, much less by your Highness."

"What! noble earl," said Albany aloud, and with much real or affected
emotion, "would you let the dog pass alive from hence, to poison
the people's ears with false accusations against the Prince of
Scotland? I say, cut him to mammocks upon the spot!"

"Your Highness will pardon me," said the Earl of Errol; "I must
protect him till his doom is executed."

"Then let him be gagged instantly," said Albany. "And you, my
royal nephew, why stand you there fixed in astonishment? Call your
resolution up--speak to the prisoner--swear--protest by all
that is sacred that you knew not of this felon deed. See how the
people look on each other and whisper apart! My life on't that
this lie spreads faster than any Gospel truth. Speak to them, royal
kinsman, no matter what you say, so you be constant in denial."

"What, sir," said Rothsay, starting from his pause of surprise and
mortification, and turning haughtily towards his uncle; "would you
have me gage my royal word against that of an abject recreant? Let
those who can believe the son of their sovereign, the descendant
of Bruce, capable of laying ambush for the life of a poor mechanic,
enjoy the pleasure of thinking the villain's tale true."

"That will not I for one," said the smith, bluntly. "I never
did aught but what was in honour towards his royal Grace the Duke
of Rothsay, and never received unkindness from him in word, look,
or deed; and I cannot think he would have given aim to such base
practice."

"Was it in honour that you threw his Highness from the ladder in
Curfew Street upon Fastern's [St. Valentine's] Even?" said Bonthron;
"or think you the favour was received kindly or unkindly?"

This was so boldly said, and seemed so plausible, that it shook
the smith's opinion of the Prince's innocence.

"Alas, my lord," said he, looking sorrowfully towards Rothsay,
"could your Highness seek an innocent fellow's life for doing his
duty by a helpless maiden? I would rather have died in these lists
than live to hear it said of the Bruce's heir!"

"Thou art a good fellow, Smith," said the Prince; "but I cannot expect
thee to judge more wisely than others. Away with that convict to
the gallows, and gibbet him alive an you will, that he may speak
falsehood and spread scandal on us to the last prolonged moment of
his existence!"

So saying, the Prince turned away from the lists, disdaining to
notice the gloomy looks cast towards him, as the crowd made slow
and reluctant way for him to pass, and expressing neither surprise
nor displeasure at a deep, hollow murmur, or groan, which accompanied
his retreat. Only a few of his own immediate followers attended
him from the field, though various persons of distinction had come
there in his train. Even the lower class of citizens ceased to
follow the unhappy Prince, whose former indifferent reputation had
exposed him to so many charges of impropriety and levity, and around
whom there seemed now darkening suspicions of the most atrocious
nature.

He took his slow and thoughtful way to the church of the Dominicans;
but the ill news, which flies proverbially fast, had reached his
father's place of retirement before he himself appeared. On entering
the palace and inquiring for the King, the Duke of Rothsay was
surprised to be informed that he was in deep consultation with the
Duke of Albany, who, mounting on horseback as the Prince left the
lists, had reached the convent before him. He was about to use
the privilege of his rank and birth to enter the royal apartment,
when MacLouis, the commander of the guard of Brandanes, gave him
to understand, in the most respectful terms, that he had special
instructions which forbade his admittance.

"Go at least, MacLouis, and let them know that I wait their
pleasure," said the Prince. "If my uncle desires to have the credit
of shutting the father's apartment against the son, it will gratify
him to know that I am attending in the outer hall like a lackey."

"May it please you," said MacLouis, with hesitation, "if your
Highness would consent to retire just now, and to wait awhile in
patience, I will send to acquaint you when the Duke of Albany goes;
and I doubt not that his Majesty will then admit your Grace to his
presence. At present, your Highness must forgive me, it is impossible
you can have access."

"I understand you, MacLouis; but go, nevertheless, and obey my
commands."

The officer went accordingly, and returned with a message that the
King was indisposed, and on the point of retiring to his private
chamber; but that the Duke of Albany would presently wait upon the
Prince of Scotland.

It was, however, a full half hour ere the Duke of Albany appeared
--a period of time which Rothsay spent partly in moody silence,
and partly in idle talk with MacLouis and the Brandanes, as the
levity or irritability of his temper obtained the ascendant.

At length the Duke came, and with him the lord High Constable,
whose countenance expressed much sorrow and embarrassment.

"Fair kinsman," said the Duke of Albany, "I grieve to say that it
is my royal brother's opinion that it will be best, for the honour
of the royal family, that your Royal Highness do restrict yourself
for a time to the seclusion of the High Constable's lodgings, and
accept of the noble Earl here present for your principal, if not
sole, companion until the scandals which have been this day spread
abroad shall be refuted or forgotten."

"How is this, my lord of Errol?" said the Prince in astonishment.
"Is your house to be my jail, and is your lordship to be my jailer?"

"The saints forbid, my lord," said the Earl of Errol "but it is my
unhappy duty to obey the commands of your father, by considering
your Royal Highness for some time as being under my ward."

"The Prince--the heir of Scotland, under the ward of the High
Constable! What reason can be given for this? is the blighting
speech of a convicted recreant of strength sufficient to tarnish
my royal escutcheon?"

"While such accusations are not refuted and denied, my kinsman,"
said the Duke of Albany, "they will contaminate that of a monarch."

"Denied, my lord!" exclaimed the Prince; "by whom are they asserted,
save by a wretch too infamous, even by his own confession, to be
credited for a moment, though a beggar's character, not a prince's,
were impeached? Fetch him hither, let the rack be shown to him;
you will soon hear him retract the calumny which he dared to assert!"

"The gibbet has done its work too surely to leave Bonthron sensible
to the rack," said the Duke of Albany. "He has been executed an
hour since."

"And why such haste, my lord?" said the Prince; "know you it looks
as if there were practice in it to bring a stain on my name?"

"The custom is universal, the defeated combatant in the ordeal
of battle is instantly transferred from the lists to the gallows.
And yet, fair kinsman," continued the Duke of Albany, "if you had
boldly and strongly denied the imputation, I would have judged
right to keep the wretch alive for further investigation; but as
your Highness was silent, I deemed it best to stifle the scandal
in the breath of him that uttered it."

"St. Mary, my lord, but this is too insulting! Do you, my uncle
and kinsman, suppose me guilty of prompting such an useless and.
unworthy action as that which the slave confessed?"

"It is not for me to bandy question with your Highness, otherwise
I would ask whether you also mean to deny the scarce less unworthy,
though less bloody, attack upon the house in Couvrefew Street? Be
not angry with me, kinsman; but, indeed, your sequestering yourself
for some brief space from the court, were it only during the King's
residence in this city, where so much offence has been given, is
imperiously demanded."

Rothsay paused when he heard this exhortation, and, looking at the
Duke in a very marked manner, replied:

"Uncle, you are a good huntsman. You have pitched your toils with
much skill, but you would have been foiled, not withstanding, had
not the stag rushed among the nets of free will. God speed you, and
may you have the profit by this matter which your measures deserve.
Say to my father, I obey his arrest. My Lord High Constable, I wait
only your pleasure to attend you to your lodgings. Since I am to
lie in ward, I could not have desired a kinder or more courteous
warden."

The interview between the uncle and nephew being thus concluded,
the Prince retired with the Earl of Errol to his apartments; the
citizens whom they met in the streets passing to the further side
when they observed the Duke of Rothsay, to escape the necessity of
saluting one whom they had been taught to consider as a ferocious
as well as unprincipled libertine. The Constable's lodgings received
the owner and his princely guest, both glad to leave the streets,
yet neither feeling easy in the situation which they occupied with
regard to each other within doors.

We must return to the lists after the combat had ceased, and when
the nobles had withdrawn. The crowds were now separated into two
distinct bodies. That which made the smallest in number was at the
same time the most distinguished for respectability, consisting of
the better class of inhabitants of Perth, who were congratulating the
successful champion and each other upon the triumphant conclusion
to which they had brought their feud with the courtiers. The
magistrates were so much elated on the occasion, that they entreated
Sir Patrick Charteris's acceptance of a collation in the town hall.
To this Henry, the hero of the day, was of course invited, or he
was rather commanded to attend. He listened to the summons with
great embarrassment, for it may be readily believed his heart was
with Catharine Glover. But the advice of his father Simon decided
him. That veteran citizen had a natural and becoming deference for
the magistracy of the Fair City; he entertained a high estimation
of all honours which flowed from such a source, and thought that
his intended son in law would do wrong not to receive them with
gratitude.

"Thou must not think to absent thyself from such a solemn occasion,
son Henry," was his advice. "Sir Patrick Charteris is to be there
himself, and I think it will be a rare occasion for thee to gain
his goodwill. It is like he may order of thee a new suit of harness;
and I myself heard worthy Bailie Craigdallie say there was a talk
of furbishing up the city's armoury. Thou must not neglect the good
trade, now that thou takest on thee an expensive family."

"Tush, father Glover," answered the embarrassed victor, "I lack no
custom; and thou knowest there is Catharine, who may wonder at my
absence, and have her ear abused once more by tales of glee maidens
and I wot not what."

"Fear not for that," said the glover, "but go, like an obedient
burgess, where thy betters desire to have thee. I do not deny that
it will cost thee some trouble to make thy peace with Catharine
about this duel; for she thinks herself wiser in such matters than
king and council, kirk and canons, provost and bailies. But I will
take up the quarrel with her myself, and will so work for thee, that,
though she may receive thee tomorrow with somewhat of a chiding,
it shall melt into tears and smiles, like an April morning, that
begins with a mild shower. Away with thee, then, my son, and be
constant to the time, tomorrow morning after mass."

The smith, though reluctantly, was obliged to defer to the reasoning
of his proposed father in law, and, once determined to accept the
honour destined for him by the fathers of the city, he extricated
himself from the crowd, and hastened home to put on his best
apparel; in which he presently afterwards repaired to the council
house, where the ponderous oak table seemed to bend under the massy
dishes of choice Tay salmon and delicious sea fish from Dundee,
being the dainties which the fasting season permitted, whilst
neither wine, ale, nor metheglin were wanting to wash them down.
The waits, or minstrels of the burgh, played during the repast,
and in the intervals of the music one of them recited With great
emphasis a long poetical account of the battle of Blackearnside,
fought by Sir William Wallace and his redoubted captain and friend,
Thomas of Longueville, against the English general Seward--a
theme perfectly familiar to all the guests, who, nevertheless, more
tolerant than their descendants, listened as if it had all the zest
of novelty. It was complimentary to the ancestor of the Knight of
Kinfauns, doubtless, and to other Perthshire families, in passages
which the audience applauded vociferously, whilst they pledged
each other in mighty draughts to the memory of the heroes who had
fought by the side of the Champion of Scotland. The health of Henry
Wynd was quaffed with repeated shouts, and the provost announced
publicly, that the magistrates were consulting how they might best
invest him with some distinguished privilege or honorary reward, to
show how highly his fellow citizens valued his courageous exertions.

"Nay, take it not thus, an it like your worships," said the smith,
with his usual blunt manner, "lest men say that valour must be
rare in Perth when they reward a man for fighting for the right of
a forlorn widow. I am sure there are many scores of stout burghers
in the town who would have done this day's dargue as well or better
than I. For, in good sooth, I ought to have cracked yonder fellow's
head piece like an earthen pipkin--ay, and would have done it,
too, if it had not been one which I myself tempered for Sir John
Ramorny. But, an the Fair City think my service of any worth, I
will conceive it far more than acquitted by any aid which you may
afford from the common good to the support of the widow Magdalen
and her poor orphans."

"That may well be done," said Sir Patrick Charteris, "and yet leave
the Fair City rich enough to pay her debts to Henry Wynd, of which
every man of us is a better judge than him self, who is blinded with
an unavailing nicety, which men call modesty. And if the burgh be
too poor for this, the provost will bear his share. The Rover's
golden angels have not all taken flight yet."

The beakers were now circulated, under the name of a cup of comfort
to the widow, and anon flowed around once more to the happy memory
of the murdered Oliver, now so bravely avenged. In short, it was
a feast so jovial that all agreed nothing was wanting to render
it perfect but the presence of the bonnet maker himself, whose
calamity had occasioned the meeting, and who had usually furnished
the standing jest at such festive assemblies. Had his attendance
been possible, it was drily observed by Bailie Craigdallie, he
would certainly have claimed the success of the day, and vouched
himself the avenger of his own murder.

At the sound of the vesper bell the company broke up, some of the
graver sort going to evening prayers, where, with half shut eyes
and shining countenances, they made a most orthodox and edifying
portion of a Lenten congregation; others to their own homes, to tell
over the occurrences of the fight and feast, for the information
of the family circle; and some, doubtless, to the licensed freedoms
of some tavern, the door of which Lent did not keep so close shut
as the forms of the church required. Henry returned to the wynd,
warm with the good wine and the applause of his fellow citizens,
and fell asleep to dream of perfect happiness and Catharine Glover.

We have said that, when the combat was decided, the spectators
were divided into two bodies. Of these, when the more respectable
portion attended the victor in joyous procession, much the greater
number, or what might be termed the rabble, waited upon the subdued
and sentenced Bonthron, who was travelling in a different direction,
and for a very opposite purpose. Whatever may be thought of the
comparative attractions of the house of mourning and of feasting
under other circumstances, there can be little doubt which will
draw most visitors, when the question is, whether we would witness
miseries which we are not to share, or festivities of which we are
not to partake. Accordingly, the tumbril in which the criminal was
conveyed to execution was attended by far the greater proportion
of the inhabitants of Perth.

A friar was seated in the same car with the murderer, to whom he
did not hesitate to repeat, under the seal of confession, the same
false asseveration which he had made upon the place of combat, which
charged the Duke of Rothsay with being director of the ambuscade by
which the unfortunate bonnet maker had suffered. The same falsehood
he disseminated among the crowd, averring, with unblushing effrontery,
to those who were nighest to the car, that he owed his death to
his having been willing to execute the Duke of Rothsay's pleasure.
For a time he repeated these words, sullenly and doggedly, in the
manner of one reciting a task, or a liar who endeavours by reiteration
to obtain a credit for his words which he is internally sensible
they do not deserve. But when he lifted up his eyes, and beheld
in the distance the black outline of a gallows, at least forty
feet high, with its ladder and its fatal cord, rising against the
horizon, he became suddenly silent, and the friar could observe
that he trembled very much.

"Be comforted, my son," said the good priest, "you have confessed
the truth, and received absolution. Your penitence will be accepted
according to your sincerity; and though you have been a man of bloody
hands and cruel heart, yet, by the church's prayers, you shall be
in due time assoilzied from the penal fires of purgatory."

These assurances were calculated rather to augment than to diminish
the terrors of the culprit, who was agitated by doubts whether the
mode suggested for his preservation from death would to a certainty
be effectual, and some suspicion whether there was really any
purpose of employing them in his favour, for he knew his master
well enough to be aware of the indifference with which he would
sacrifice one who might on some future occasion be a dangerous
evidence against him.

His doom, however, was sealed, and there was no escaping from it.
They slowly approached the fatal tree, which was erected on a bank
by the river's side, about half a mile from the walls of the city
--a site chosen that the body of the wretch, which was to remain
food for the carrion crows, might be seen from a distance in every
direction. Here the priest delivered Bonthron to the executioner,
by whom he was assisted up the ladder, and to all appearance despatched
according to the usual forms of the law. He seemed to struggle for
life for a minute, but soon after hung still and inanimate. The
executioner, after remaining upon duty for more than half an hour,
as if to permit the last spark of life to be extinguished, announced
to the admirers of such spectacles that the irons for the permanent
suspension of the carcass not having been got ready, the concluding
ceremony of disembowelling the dead body and attaching it finally
to the gibbet would be deferred till the next morning at sunrise.

Notwithstanding the early hour which he had named, Master Smotherwell
had a reasonable attendance of rabble at the place of execution,
to see the final proceedings of justice with its victim. But great
was the astonishment and resentment of these amateurs to find that
the dead body had been removed from the gibbet. They were not,
however, long at a loss to guess the cause of its disappearance.
Bonthron had been the follower of a baron whose estates lay in Fife,
and was himself a native of that province. What was more natural
than that some of the Fife men, whose boats were frequently plying
on the river, should have clandestinely removed the body of their
countryman from the place of public shame? The crowd vented their
rage against Smotherwell for not completing his job on the preceding
evening; and had not he and his assistant betaken themselves to
a boat, and escaped across the Tay, they would have run some risk
of being pelted to death. The event, however, was too much in the
spirit of the times to be much wondered at. Its real cause we shall
explain in the following chapter.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Let gallows gape for dogs, let men go free.

Henry V.


The incidents of a narrative of this kind must be adapted to each
other, as the wards of a key must tally accurately with those of
the lock to which it belongs. The reader, however gentle, will not
hold himself obliged to rest satisfied with the mere fact that such
and such occurrences took place, which is, generally speaking, all
that in ordinary life he can know of what is passing around him;
but he is desirous, while reading for amusement, of knowing the
interior movements occasioning the course of events. This is a
legitimate and reasonable curiosity; for every man hath a right to
open and examine the mechanism of his own watch, put together for
his proper use, although he is not permitted to pry into the interior
of the timepiece which, for general information, is displayed on
the town steeple.

It would be, therefore, uncourteous to leave my readers under any
doubt concerning the agency which removed the assassin Bonthron from
the gallows--an event which some of the Perth citizens ascribed
to the foul fiend himself, while others were content to lay it
upon the natural dislike of Bonthron's countrymen of Fife to see
him hanging on the river side, as a spectacle dishonourable to
their province.

About midnight succeeding the day when the execution had taken place,
and while the inhabitants of Perth were deeply buried in slumber,
three men muffled in their cloaks, and bearing a dark lantern,
descended the alleys of a garden which led from the house occupied
by Sir John Ramorny to the banks of the Tay, where a small boat
lay moored to a landing place, or little projecting pier. The wind
howled in a low and melancholy manner through the leafless shrubs
and bushes; and a pale moon "waded," as it is termed in Scotland,
amongst drifting clouds, which seemed to threaten rain. The three
individuals entered the boat with great precaution to escape
observation. One of them was a tall, powerful man; another short
and bent downwards; the third middle sized, and apparently younger
than his companions, well made, and active. Thus much the imperfect
light could discover. They seated themselves in the boat and unmoored
it from the pier.

"We must let her drift with the current till we pass the bridge,
where the burghers still keep guard; and you know the proverb, 'A
Perth arrow hath a perfect flight,'" said the most youthful of the
party, who assumed the office of helmsman, and pushed the boat off
from the pier; whilst the others took the oars, which were muffled,
and rowed with all precaution till they attained the middle of the
river; they then ceased their efforts, lay upon their oars, and
trusted to the steersman for keeping her in mid channel.

In this manner they passed unnoticed or disregarded beneath the
stately Gothic arches of the old bridge, erected by the magnificent
patronage of Robert Bruce in 1329, and carried away by an inundation
in 1621. Although they heard the voices of a civic watch, which,
since these disturbances commenced, had been nightly maintained in
that important pass, no challenge was given; and when they were so
far down the stream as to be out of hearing of these guardians of
the night, they began to row, but still with precaution, and to
converse, though in a low tone.

"You have found a new trade, comrade, since I left you," said one
of the rowers to the other. "I left you engaged in tending a sick
knight, and I find you employed in purloining a dead body from the
gallows."

"A living body, so please your squirehood, Master Buncle, or else
my craft hath failed of its purpose."

"So I am told, Master Pottercarrier; but, saving your clerkship,
unless you tell me your trick, I will take leave to doubt of its
success."

"A simple toy, Master Buncle, not likely to please a genius so acute
as that of your valiancie. Marry, thus it is. This suspension of
the human body, which the vulgar call hanging, operates death by
apoplexia--that is, the blood being unable to return to the heart
by the compression of the veins, it rushes to the brain, and the
man dies. Also, and as an additional cause of dissolution, the
lungs no longer receive the needful supply of the vital air, owing
to the ligature of the cord around the thorax; and hence the patient
perishes."

"I understand that well enough. But how is such a revulsion of
blood to the brain to be prevented, sir mediciner?" said the third
person, who was no other than Ramorny's page, Eviot.

"Marry, then," replied Dwining, "hang me the patient up in such
fashion that the carotid arteries shall not be compressed, and the
blood will not determine to the brain, and apoplexia will not take
place; and again, if there be no ligature around the thorax, the
lungs will be supplied with air, whether the man be hanging in the
middle heaven or standing on the firm earth."

"All this I conceive," said Eviot; "but how these precautions can
be reconciled with the execution of the sentence of hanging is what
my dull brain cannot comprehend."

"Ah! good youth, thy valiancie hath spoiled a fair wit. Hadst thou
studied with me, thou shouldst have learned things more difficult
than this. But here is my trick. I get me certain bandages, made
of the same substance with your young valiancie's horse girths,
having especial care that they are of a kind which will not shrink
on being strained, since that would spoil my experiment. One loop
of this substance is drawn under each foot, and returns up either
side of the leg to a cincture, with which it is united; these
cinctures are connected by divers straps down the breast and back,
in order to divide the weight. And there are sundry other conveniences
for easing the patient, but the chief is this: the straps, or
ligatures, are attached to a broad steel collar, curving outwards,
and having a hook or two, for the better security of the halter,
which the friendly executioner passes around that part of the
machine, instead of applying it to the bare throat of the patient.
Thus, when thrown off from the ladder, the sufferer will find himself
suspended, not by his neck, if it please you, but by the steel
circle, which supports the loops in which his feet are placed, and
on which his weight really rests, diminished a little by similar
supports under each arm. Thus, neither vein nor windpipe being
compressed, the man will breathe as free, and his blood, saving
from fright and novelty of situation, will flow as temperately as
your valiancie's when you stand up in your stirrups to view a field
of battle."

"By my faith, a quaint and rare device!" quoth Buncle.

"Is it not?" pursued the leech, "and well worth being known to such
mounting spirits as your valiancies, since there is no knowing to
what height Sir John Ramorny's pupils may arrive; and if these be
such that it is necessary to descend from them by a rope, you may
find my mode of management more convenient than the common practice.
Marry, but you must be provided with a high collared doublet, to
conceal the ring of steel, and, above all, such a bonus socius as
Smother well to adjust the noose."

"Base poison vender," said Eviot, "men of our calling die on the
field of battle."

"I will save the lesson, however," replied Buncle, "in case of some
pinching occasion. But what a night the bloody hangdog Bonthron
must have had of it, dancing a pavise in mid air to the music of
his own shackles, as the night wind swings him that way and this!"

"It were an alms deed to leave him there," said Eviot; "for his
descent from the gibbet will but encourage him to new murders. He
knows but two elements--drunkenness and bloodshed."

"Perhaps Sir John Ramorny might have been of your opinion," said
Dwining; "but it would first have been necessary to cut out the
rogue's tongue, lest he had told strange tales from his airy height.
And there are other reasons that it concerns not your valiancies
to know. In truth, I myself have been generous in serving him, for
the fellow is built as strong as Edinburgh Castle, and his anatomy
would have matched any that is in the chirurgical hall of Padua.
But tell me, Master Buncle, what news bring you from the doughty
Douglas?"

"They may tell that know," said Buncle. "I am the dull ass that
bears the message, and kens nought of its purport. The safer for
myself, perhaps. I carried letters from the Duke of Albany and from
Sir John Ramorny to the Douglas, and he looked black as a northern
tempest when he opened them. I brought them answers from the Earl,
at which they smiled like the sun when the harvest storm is closing
over him. Go to your ephemerides, leech, and conjure the meaning
out of that."

"Methinks I can do so without much cost of wit," said the chirurgeon;
"but yonder I see in the pale moonlight our dead alive. Should
he have screamed out to any chance passenger, it were a curious
interruption to a night journey to be hailed from the top of such
a gallows as that. Hark, methinks I do hear his groans amid the
whistling of the wind and the creaking of the chains. So--fair
and softly; make fast the boat with the grappling, and get out the
casket with my matters, we would be better for a little fire, but
the light might bring observation on us. Come on, my men of valour,
march warily, for we are bound for the gallows foot. Follow with
the lantern; I trust the ladder has been left.

"Sing, three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men are we,
Thou on the land, and I on the sand,
And Jack on the gallows tree."

As they advanced to the gibbet, they could plainly hear groans,
though uttered in a low tone. Dwining ventured to give a low cough
once or twice, by way of signal; but receiving no answer, "We had
best make haste," said he to his companions, "for our friend must
be in extremis, as he gives no answer to the signal which announces
the arrival of help. Come, let us to the gear. I will go up the
ladder first and cut the rope. Do you two follow, one after another,
and take fast hold of the body, so that he fall not when the halter
is unloosed. Keep sure gripe, for which the bandages will afford
you convenience. Bethink you that, though he plays an owl's part
tonight, he hath no wings, and to fall out of a halter may be as
dangerous as to fall into one."

While he spoke thus with sneer and gibe, he ascended the ladder,
and having ascertained that the men at arms who followed him had
the body in their hold, he cut the rope, and then gave his aid to
support the almost lifeless form of the criminal.

By a skilful exertion of strength and address, the body of Bonthron
was placed safely on the ground; and the faint yet certain existence
of life having been ascertained, it was thence transported to the
river side, where, shrouded by the bank, the party might be best
concealed from observation, while the leech employed himself in
the necessary means of recalling animation, with which he had taken
care to provide himself.

For this purpose he first freed the recovered person from his
shackles, which the executioner had left unlocked on purpose, and
at the same time disengaged the complicated envelopes and bandages
by which he had been suspended. It was some time ere Dwining's
efforts succeeded; for, in despite of the skill with which his
machine had been constructed, the straps designed to support the
body had stretched so considerably as to occasion the sense of
suffocation becoming extremely overpowering. But the address of
the surgeon triumphed over all obstacles; and, after sneezing and
stretching himself, with one or two brief convulsions, Bonthron
gave decided proofs of reanimation, by arresting the hand of the
operator as it was in the act of dropping strong waters on his
breast and throat, and, directing the bottle which contained them
to his lips, he took, almost perforce, a considerable gulp of the
contents,

"It is spiritual essence double distilled," said the astonished
operator, "and would blister the throat and burn the stomach of
any other man. But this extraordinary beast is so unlike all other
human creatures, that I should not wonder if it brought him to the
complete possession of his faculties."

Bonthron seemed to confirm this: he started with a strong convulsion,
sat up, stared around, and indicated some consciousness of existence.

"Wine--wine," were the first words which he articulated.

The leech gave him a draught of medicated wine, mixed with water.
He rejected it, under the dishonourable epithet of "kennel washings,"
and again uttered the words, "Wine--wine."

"Nay, take it to thee, i' the devil's name," said the leech, "since
none but he can judge of thy constitution."

A draught, long and deep enough to have discomposed the intellects
of any other person, was found effectual in recalling those of
Bonthron to a more perfect state; though he betrayed no recollection
of where he was or what had befallen him, and in his brief and
sullen manner asked why he was brought to the river side at this
time of night.

"Another frolic of the wild Prince, for drenching me as he did
before. Nails and blood, but I would--"

"Hold thy peace," interrupted Eviot, "and be thankful, I pray you,
if you have any thankfulness in you, that thy body is not crow's
meat and thy soul in a place where water is too scarce to duck
thee."

"I begin to bethink me," said the ruffian; and raising the flask
to his mouth, which he saluted with a long and hearty kiss, he set
the empty bottle on the earth, dropped his head on his bosom, and
seemed to muse for the purpose of arranging his confused recollections.

"We can abide the issue of his meditations no longer," said
Dwining; "he will be better after he has slept. Up, sir! you have
been riding the air these some hours; try if the water be not an
easier mode of conveyance. Your valours must lend me a hand. I can
no more lift this mass than I could raise in my arms a slaughtered
bull."

"Stand upright on thine own feet, Bonthron, now we have placed thee
upon them," said Eviot.

"I cannot," answered the patient. "Every drop of blood tingles in
my veins as if it had pinpoints, and my knees refuse to bear their
burden. What can be the meaning of all this? This is some practice
of thine, thou dog leech!"

"Ay--ay, so it is, honest Bonthron," said Dwining--"a practice
thou shalt thank me for when thou comest to learn it. In the mean
while, stretch down in the stern of that boat, and let me wrap this
cloak about thee."

Assisted into the boat accordingly, Bonthron was deposited there
as conveniently as things admitted of. He answered their attentions
with one or two snorts resembling the grunt of a boar who has got
some food particularly agreeable to him.

"And now, Buncle," said the chirurgeon, "your valiant squireship
knows your charge. You are to carry this lively cargo by the
river to Newburgh, where you are to dispose of him as you wot of;
meantime, here are his shackles and bandages, the marks of his
confinement and liberation. Bind them up together, and fling them
into the deepest pool you pass over; for, found in your possession,
they might tell tales against us all. This low, light breath of
wind from the west will permit you to use a sail as soon as the
light comes in and you are tired of rowing. Your other valiancie,
Master Page Eviot, must be content to return to Perth with me
afoot, for here severs our fair company. Take with thee the lantern,
Buncle, for thou wilt require it more than we, and see thou send
me back my flasket."

As the pedestrians returned to Perth, Eviot expressed his belief
that Bonthron's understanding would never recover the shock which
terror had inflicted upon it, and which appeared to him to have
disturbed all the faculties of his mind, and in particular his
memory.

"It is not so, an it please your pagehood," said the leech.
"Bonthron's intellect, such as it is, hath a solid character: it
Will but vacillate to and fro like a pendulum which hath been put
in motion, and then will rest in its proper point of gravity. Our
memory is, of all our powers of mind, that which is peculiarly
liable to be suspended. Deep intoxication or sound sleep alike
destroy it, and yet it returns when the drunkard becomes sober or
the sleeper is awakened. Terror sometimes produces the same effect.
I knew at Paris a criminal condemned to die by the halter, who
suffered the sentence accordingly, showing no particular degree
of timidity upon the scaffold, and behaving and expressing himself
as men in the same condition are wont to do. Accident did for him
what a little ingenious practice hath done for our amiable friend
from whom we but now parted. He was cut down and given to his friends
before life was extinct, and I had the good fortune to restore
him. But, though he recovered in other particulars, he remembered
but little of his trial and sentence. Of his confession on the
morning of his execution--he! he! he! (in his usual chuckling
manner)--he remembered him not a word. Neither of leaving the
prison, nor of his passage to the Greve, where he suffered, nor
of the devout speeches with which he--he! he! he!--edified--
he! he! he!--so many good Christians, nor of ascending the fatal
tree, nor of taking the fatal leap, had my revenant the slightest
recollection.' But here we reach the point where we must separate;
for it were unfit, should we meet any of the watch, that we be
found together, and it were also prudent that we enter the city
by different gates. My profession forms an excuse for my going and
coming at all times. Your valiant pagehood will make such explanation
as may seem sufficing."

"I shall make my will a sufficient excuse if I am interrogated,"
said the haughty young man. "Yet I will avoid interruption, if
possible. The moon is quite obscured, and the road as black as a
wolf's mouth."

"Tut," said the physicianer, "let not your valour care for that:
we shall tread darker paths ere it be long."

Without inquiring into the meaning of these evil boding sentences,
and indeed hardly listening to them in the pride and recklessness
of his nature, the page of Ramorny parted from his ingenious and
dangerous companion, and each took his own way.



CHAPTER XXV.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

SHAKSPEARE.


The ominous anxiety of our armourer had not played him false.
When the good glover parted with his intended son in law, after
the judicial combat had been decided, he found what he indeed had
expected, that his fair daughter was in no favourable disposition
towards her lover. But although he perceived that Catharine was
cold, restrained, collected, had cast away the appearance of mortal
passion, and listened with a reserve, implying contempt, to the
most splendid description he could give her of the combat in the
Skinners' Yards, he was determined not to take the least notice
of her altered manner, but to speak of her marriage with his son
Henry as a thing which must of course take place. At length, when
she began, as on a former occasion, to intimate that her attachment
to the armourer did not exceed the bounds of friendship, that she
was resolved never to marry, that the pretended judicial combat
was a mockery of the divine will, and of human laws, the glover
not unnaturally grew angry.

"I cannot read thy thoughts, wench; nor can I pretend to guess under
what wicked delusion it is that you kiss a declared lover, suffer
him to kiss you, run to his house when a report is spread of his
death, and fling yourself into his arms when you find him alone
[alive]. All this shows very well in a girl prepared to obey her
parents in a match sanctioned by her father; but such tokens of
intimacy, bestowed on one whom a young woman cannot esteem, and
is determined not to marry, are uncomely and unmaidenly. You have
already been more bounteous of your favours to Henry Smith than
your mother, whom God assoilzie, ever was to me before I married
her. I tell thee, Catharine, this trifling with the love of an
honest man is what I neither can, will, nor ought to endure. I have
given my consent to the match, and I insist it shall take place
without delay, and that you receive Henry Wynd tomorrow, as a man
whose bride you are to be with all despatch."

"A power more potent than yours, father, will say no," replied
Catharine.

"I will risk it; my power is a lawful one, that of a father over
a child, and an erring child," answered her father. "God and man
allow of my influence."

"Then, may Heaven help us," said Catharine; "for, if you are
obstinate in your purpose, we are all lost."

"We can expect no help from Heaven," said the glover, "when we act
with indiscretion. I am clerk enough myself to know that; and that
your causeless resistance to my will is sinful, every priest will
inform you. Ay, and more than that, you have spoken degradingly of
the blessed appeal to God in the combat of ordeal. Take heed! for
the Holy Church is awakened to watch her sheepfold, and to extirpate
heresy by fire and steel; so much I warn thee of."