Life of Mary Queen of Scots, Volume II (of 2)

istance of those ready ministers of crime, who are always to be found at the beck of a wealthy and depraved patron. There were eight unfortunate men whom he thus used as tools with whic

ken.[31] The other four who were at the "deed-doing," were persons of somewhat more consequence. They were small landed proprietors or lairds, who had squandered their patrimony in idleness and dissipation, and were willing to run the chance of retrieving their ruined fortunes at any risk. They were the Laird of Ormiston, Hob Ormiston his uncle, "or father's brother," as he is called, John Hepburn of

ly lay in the same apartment with him, and there were always one or two in the adjoining room, who might have resisted or escaped, and afterwards have been able to identify the criminals. After much deliberation, it at length occurred that gunpowder might be used with effect; and that, if the whole premises were blown up, they were likely to bury in their ruins every thing that could fix the suspicion on the parties concerned. Powder was therefore secretly brought into Edinburgh from the Castle of Dunbar, of which Bothwell had the lordship, and was carried to his own lodgings in the immediate vicinity of Holyrood

was himself to sup between seven and eight at a banquet given to the Queen by the Bishop of Argyle, but he desired them to be in readiness as soon as the company should break up, when he promised to join them.[37] The Queen dined at Holyrood, and went from thence to the house of Mr John Balfour, where the Bishop lodged. She rose from the supper-table about nine o'clock, and, accompanied by the Earls of Argyle, Huntly, and Cassils, she went to visit her husband at the Kirk-of-Field. Bothwell,

r of these menials had seen Bothwell, for he kept at a distance, walking up and down the Cowgate, until the others received and deposited the powder. A large empty barrel had been concealed, by his orders, in the Convent gardens, and into it they intended to have put all the bags; and the barrel was then to have been carried in at the lower back door of Darnley's house, and placed in the Queen's bedroom, which, it will be remembered, was immediately under that of the King. Paris, as the Queen's valet-de-chambre, kept the keys of the lower flat, and was now in Mary's apartment ready to receive the powder. But some delay occurred in consequence of the barrel turning out to be so large that it could not be taken in by the back door; and it became necessary therefore to carry the bags one by

l, however, whether this is Buchanan's meaning. He certainly mentions, in his own insidious manner, that Mary endeavoured to divert all suspicions from herself, by paying frequent visits to her husband, by staying with him many hours at a time, by talking lovingly with him, by paying every attention to his health, by kissing him, and making him a present of a ring; but he does not expressly say that a kiss and ring were given upon the occasion of her parting with Darnley for the last time.[43] It is not at all unlikely, that the fact may have been as Buchanan is

hman, who had neither the courage nor the cunning necessary to carry him through such a deed of villany, retired in a melancholy mood to a corner, and stood by himself wrapt in a profound reverie. Bothwell, observing him, and fearing that his conduct might excite observation, went up to him, and angrily demanded why he looked so sad, telling him in a whisper, that if he retained that lugubrious countenance before the Queen, he should be made to suffer for it. Paris answered despondingly, that he did not care what became of himself, if he could only get permission to go home to bed, for he was ill. "No," said Bothwell, "you must remain with me; would you leave those two gentlemen, Hay and Hepburn, locked up where they now are?"-"Alas!" answered Paris, "what more must I do this night? I have no heart for this business." Bothwell put an end to the conversation, by ordering Paris to follow him immediately.[46

he Netherbow Port, or lower gate of the city, which was shut. They called to the porter, John Galloway, and desired him to open to friends of my Lord Bothwell. Galloway was not well pleased to be raised at so late an hour, and he kept them waiting for some time. As they entered, he asked, "What they did out of their beds at that time of night?" but they gave him no answer. As soon as they got into the town, they called at Ormiston's lodgings, who lived in a house, called Bassyntine's house, a short way up the High Street, on the south side; but they were told that he was not at home. They went without him, down a close below the Blackfriars Wynd, till they came to the gate of the Convent Gardens already mentioned. They entered, and, crossing the gardens, they stopped at the back wall,

immons, and a boy, lay in the gallery, or servant's apartment, on the same floor, and nearer the town-wall. Bothwell must have been quite aware, that from the mode of death he had chosen for Darnley, there wa

upon the earth. Bothwell himself, though "a bold, bad man," confessed a momentary panic. "I have been at many important enterprises," said he, "but I never felt before as I do now." Without waiting to ascertain the full extent of the catastrophe, he and his accomplices left the scene of their guilt with all expedition. They went out at the Convent-gate, and, having passed down to the Cowgate, they there separated, and went up by different roads to the Netherbow-Port. They were very desirous to avoid disturbing the porter again, lest they should excite his suspicion. They therefore went down a close, which still exists, on the north side of the High Street, immediately above the city gate, expecting that they would be able to drop from the wall into Leith Wynd; but Both

ccident having reached her. They disclosed the whole melancholy truth as gradually and gently as possible, attributing Darnley's death either to the accidental explosion of some gunpowder in the neighbourhood, or to the effects of lightning. Mary's distress knew no bounds; and seeing that it was hopeless to reason with her in the first anguish of her feelings, Bothwell and the other Lords left her just as day began to break, and proceeded to the Kirk-of-Field.[49] There they found every thing in a state of confusion;-the edifice in ruins, and the town's-people gathered round it in dismay. Of the five persons who were in the house at the time of the explosion, one only was saved. Darnley, and his servan

sent instance; and various theories were invented, none of which were so simple or so true, as that which accords with the facts now established. It is the depositions already quoted that set the matter at rest; for, having confessed so much of the truth, there could have been no reason for concealing any other part of it. Hepburn declared expressly, that "he knew nothing but that Darnley was blown into the air, for he was handled with no men's hands that he saw;" and Hay deponed that Bothwell, some time afterwards, said to him, "What thought ye when ye saw him blown into the air?" Hay answered,-"Alas! my Lord, why speak ye of that, for whenever I hear such a thing, the words wound me to death, as they ought to do you."[51] There is nothing wond

wn to a stable, where they suffocated him by stopping a napkin into his mouth; or, as that still more ridiculous story alluded to by Sanderson, that the Earl of Dunbar, and Sir Roger Aston, an Englishman, who chose to hoax his countrymen, by telling them that he lodged in the King's chamber that night, "having smelt the fire of a match, leapt both out at a window into the garden; and that the King catching hold of his sword, and suspecting treason, not only against himself, but the Queen and the young Prince, who was then at Holyrood House with his mother, desired him (Sir Roge

ualities. "He is said to have been one of the tallest and handsomest young men of the age; that he had a comely face and pleasant countenance; that he was a most dexterous horseman, and exceedingly well skilled in all genteel exercises, prompt and ready for all games and sports, much given to the diversions of hawking and hunting, to horse-racing and music, especially playing on the lute; he could speak and write well, and was bountiful and liberal enough. But, then, to balance these good natural qualifications, he was much addicted to intemperance, to base and unmanly pleasures; he was haughty and proud, and so very weak in mind, as to be a prey to all that came about him; he was inconstant, credulous, and facile, unable to abide by any resolutions, capable to be imposed upon by designing men, and could conceal no secret, let it tend ever