It was clear that these terms must be complied with or they must fight; and it was soon perceived that the soldiers of the queen's army began to show symptoms of disaffection. Bothwell, therefore, rode forward, and defied any one who dared to accuse him of the king's murder. His challenge was accepted by James Murray of Tullibardine, the baron who was said to have charged Bothwell with the murder, in a placard affixed to the Tolbooth gate. Bothwell declined to enter the lists with Murray, on the plea that he was not his peer, whereupon Lord Lindsay of the Byres offered himself and was accepted, but at the moment of action the queen forbade the fight. By this time the defection in the queen's army became so conspicuous that Mary rode among her men to encourage them, assuring them of victory; but her voice had lost its charm, and the soldiers refused to fight in defence of the alleged murderer of the king. Whilst this was passing, it was observed that Kirkaldy of Grange was wheeling his forces round the hill to turn their flank, and the panic becoming general, the queen and Bothwell found themselves abandoned by all but about sixty gentlemen and the band of hackbutters.
To prevent Kirkaldy from advancing his troops so as to cut off their retreat towards Dunbar, the queen demanded a parley, which was granted. Kirkaldy went forward and assured the queen that they were all prepared to obey her authority, provided she put away the man who stood by her side stained with the blood of the king. The queen promised to acquiesce, and she held a moment's conversation with Bothwell, gave him her hand, and followed Kirkaldy; Bothwell turning his horse's head and riding off to Dunbar. This brutal and unheroic man afterwards became a rover in the North Sea, and died in prison in Denmark in 1578. Mary did not follow Kirkaldy of Grange far till she saw Bothwell out of danger, when she reminded him that she relied on the assurances of the lords, on which Grange, kissing her Majesty's hand, took her horse by the rein, and led her towards the camp. On reaching the lines, the confederate lords received the queen on their knees, and vowed to obey and defend her as loyally as ever the nobility of the realm did her ancestors; but they very soon showed the hollowness of these professions, and the common soldiers assailed her ears with the most opprobrious language.
MARY SIGNING THE DEED OF ABDICATION IN LOCHLEVEN CASTLE. (See p. 273.)
The unfortunate but guilty queen at every step learned more plainly her real situation, and the faith which she was to put in these nobles. She was conducted like a captive into Edinburgh, the soldiers constantly waving before her eyes the banner on which was painted the murdered king. The mob was crowding round in thousands, shouting and yelling in execration, and the women heaped on her all the coarsest epithets of adulteress and murderess. On arriving in the city, instead of conducting her to her own palace, the patriot nobles shut her up as a solitary prisoner in the house of the Provost, not even allowing her to have her women to attend her; and in the morning she was greeted by a repetition of the scenes of the previous day—the same hideous banner was hung out opposite her window, and the yells of the mob were furious. Driven to actual delirium by this treatment, she rent the clothes from her person, and almost naked attempted to speak to the raving populace. This shocking spectacle roused the sympathy of the better class of citizens, and they determined on a rescue of the insulted queen, when the watchful nobles removed her to Holyrood. There they held a Council, and concluded to send her prisoner to Lochleven Castle, at Kinross, under the stern guardianship of Lindsay and the savage Ruthven. While there she was persuaded (July 23, 1567), to resign in favour of her baby, and Murray, who was summoned home, became Regent.
The queen, seeing herself destined by Murray to perpetual captivity, resolved to exert every faculty to effect her escape. After several unsuccessful efforts, she succeeded in May, 1568, through the ingenuity of a page called Little Douglas. The news of Mary's escape flew like lightning in every direction; the people, forgetting her crimes in her beauty and her sufferings, gathered to her standard; and she who a few days before was a deserted captive, now beheld herself at the head of 6,000 men. Many of the nobility, and some of those who had sinned deeply against her, now flocked around her. Murray, on the first news of their movement, marched out of Glasgow, and took possession of a small hamlet called Langside, surrounded by gardens and orchards, which occupied each side of a steep narrow lane directly in the way of the queen's army. Instead of avoiding this position, and making their way to Dumbarton by another course, Lord Claud Hamilton charged the troops there posted with his cavalry, 2,000 strong, in perfect confidence of driving them thence; but the hackbutters, who had screened themselves behind walls and trees, poured in on the cavalry a deadly fire which threw them into confusion. Lord Claud cheered them on to renew the charge, and with great valour they pushed forward and drove the enemy before them. But, pursuing them up the steep hill, they suddenly found themselves face to face with Murray's advance, composed of the finest body of Border pikemen, and commanded by Morton, Home, Ker of Cessford, and the barons of the Merse, all fighting on foot at the heads of their divisions.
The battle was unequal, for the troops of Murray were fresh, while those of the queen were out of breath with their up-hill fight. Notwithstanding, the main body of the queen's forces coming up, there was a severe struggle, and the right of the Regent's army began to give way. Grange, who was watching the field from above, quickly brought up reinforcements from the main body, and made so furious a charge on the queen's left as to scatter it into fragments; and Murray, who had waited with the reserve for the decisive moment, rushed forward with so much impetuosity, that the main battle of the queen was broken, and the flight became general (May 13, 1568). Mary, who had surveyed the conflict from the castle of Crookston, on a neighbouring height, about four miles from Paisley, beholding the rout of her army, turned her horse and fled, and never drew bit till she reached the abbey of Dundrennan, in Galloway. She then set sail in a boat, and landed at Workington, in Cumberland. Here she wrote to Elizabeth, expressing her strong confidence that Elizabeth would receive her and protect her against her rebellious subjects. She concluded her letter with these words:—"It is my earnest request that your majesty will send for me as soon as possible, for my condition is pitiable, not to say for a queen, but even for a simple gentlewoman. I have no other dress than that in which I escaped from the field. My first day's ride was sixty miles across the country, and I have not since dared to travel except by night."
CHAPTER XIII.
REIGN OF ELIZABETH (continued).