Kirkcaldy of Grange

by Louis A. Barbé

Sir James Kirkcaldy was also informed of his son’s intention; but he appears to have given the bold scheme but scant encouragement. He feared that, even if it proved successful, those who still remained in captivity would be more harshly treated; and it was out of deference to him that Knox so earnestly deprecated any recourse to violent measures.

To venture across the quicksands alone would have been courting death; and as a first step towards the execution of their daring project, the prisoners had to secure the assistance of a guide. In that, they do not appear to have encountered any serious difficulty. One of the young men engaged in an inferior position about the Castle, in all probability the same who had enabled them to communicate with their friends, undertook to show them a safe way to the mainland if they should succeed in eluding the vigilance of their keepers. For many months circumstances prevented the carrying out of a plan which the restrictions imposed by Knox, and accepted by the four captives, rendered particularly hazardous and difficult; and the second winter since their departure from Scotland still found them fretting for liberty on the isolated rock. At length, however, their knowledge of the customs of those amongst whom they were living told them that the time for action was approaching. In those days, even more than at present, and particularly in Normandy, where it is still widely celebrated, the festival of the Three Kings—le Jour des Rois—as the Epiphany is called, was kept as a popular holiday, with much merry-making and carousing. The nature of the quaint ceremonial which formed a part of the feast, led to even more than the customary indulgence on the part of the revellers. Every time that the mock monarch of the evening, elected by favour of the bean hidden in the Twelfth-Night cake, put his goblet to his lips, the cry was raised, ‘le Roi boit! le Roi boit!’ and all his faithful subjects showed their loyalty, and their appreciation of his liberality, by draining their own cups. Even with no stronger beverage than the cider of the country, such repeated potations could not be indulged in with impunity. From their experience of the preceding year, Kirkcaldy and his friends knew that, when the feast closed, the garrison and the household were in no condition to give much attention to their prisoners. They laid their plan accordingly. To abstain from joining in festivities which, though purely social, were intimately connected with a religious feast, they could put forward the same reason that had stood them in good stead before—their utter contempt for popish mummeries; and could, therefore, retain the full possession of their mental and physical energies whilst their keepers were sinking into helpless intoxication. Although the account given by Knox is regrettably bare of details, it suggests that the garrison of Mont Saint-Michel was reduced to its lowest strength; and this circumstance very materially increased the Scotsmen’s chances of success.

When the carousing was over in the common hall, and when the revellers had retired to their several quarters, Kirkcaldy and his three friends sallied forth on their perilous expedition. Silently and stealthily making their way to the rooms where the soldiers were sunk in a heavy sleep they first gagged and bound them securely, and then locked the doors on them to prevent pursuit, even if the alarm were given. But the only means of exit from the fortress was closed by three gates, of which the keys were with the Governor; and if these could not be got, the whole enterprise was doomed to failure, in spite of the success with which the daring of the four Scotsmen had so far been favoured. To respect the conditions which Knox had imposed upon them, and impressed with such earnestness as to lead them to look upon them as absolutely essential to the accomplishment of their design, it was necessary for them to deal with the captain as they had done with the guards, not to dispatch him with the weapons that now lay at their disposal, but to overpower him by a sudden attack, and to bind him before he could offer any resistance. In this, too, their desperate determination secured them against failure. Favoured by the darkness, they reached the Logis du Roi, which formed a part of the machicolated inner gate, and contained the apartments assigned to the military guardian of the stronghold. When they left it, the Governor was as helpless as his men; and the keys were in their power. After raising the portcullis, they opened and relocked the second gate, passed into the Cour du Lion, and came to the outer barrier of the barbacan. The massive bolts and bars of the Bavole were hastily pushed back, and the fugitives were outside the walls of the grim prison, secure for a while from pursuit, but with the dangerous journey across the sands still before them. That, too, was performed without untoward accident. So far their guide proved faithful, for their safety was his; and before the rising tide had spread over the vast stretch of sand, and again isolated the Mount, they had reached the mainland, at a point sufficiently distant from Pontorson to insure their being unnoticed by the sentries. Here the guide left them, but not without turning against them the treachery and the unscrupulous greed which had made him their tool. By some means, which the chroniclers unfortunately leave unexplained, but which was doubtless supplied by their need of rest and sleep, as well as by the necessity for concealment, when they got to the shore in the early morning, he succeeded in getting possession of the little stock of money with which they had provided themselves. When the time came for them to resume their flight, they found themselves reduced to the necessity of depending on the charity of the country folk. That alone, even apart from considerations of prudence, made it advisable for the friends to part. The two Lesleys started together in one direction, and ultimately reached a place which Calderwood calls ‘Roan,’ but which can scarcely have been the inland town of Rohan, as some later writers have thought. It is more natural to suppose that, in their ignorance of the country, they made for Rouen, the port at which they had landed.

William Kirkcaldy and Carmichael proceeded westwards. As soon as the news of their escape became known, diligent search was made for them throughout the district. Disguised as poor mariners, they were, however, able to elude their pursuers; and they slowly and cautiously trudged from one seaport to another, in the hope of finding a friendly ship that would give them passage to England or to Scotland. But all along the coast persistent ill-luck followed them. Saint-Malo, Saint-Brieuc, Morlaix, Roscoff, Brest, were vainly tried in the course of their weary search, which lasted through thirteen weeks; and the fugitives came to the little town of Le Conquet, at the furthest extremity of the peninsula of Finistère, without finding a favourable opportunity to leave the country where, if their identity were revealed, any of the fortresses which they passed might become their prison. There, at length, their wanderings came to a close. In the diminutive harbour, to which, in spite of the dangerous rocks and reefs that stretch between the coast and the wind-swept island of Ushant, Scottish mariners sometimes steered their course, they found a ship and a skipper willing to take them back to their own country.

Kirkcaldy and his companion landed on the west coast of Scotland in the spring of 1549. But they were not in safety yet. It was only across the Border that they could consider themselves beyond the reach of their enemies. The short journey southwards, however, presented but slight difficulties as compared with what they had already gone through; and before long they found a refuge in Berwick. There they saw John Knox, who had been released that winter; and within a few months they were able to meet others of their friends in England; for the Scottish captives were being gradually liberated, and by the month of July 1550 a general amnesty had opened the gates of the French prisons for the last of the St Andrews rebels.

Nothing is known as to the length of Kirkcaldy’s stay in England; but there is evidence of his again being in France before the close of 1550. In that year Sir John Mason, writing from Blois to the English Council, informed it that the secret agent had arrived two days before, but being afraid for his personal safety, had resolved to return at once. He had found a substitute in Kirkcaldy who had promised to communicate to Mason all that he could learn. In future correspondence he was to be referred to as Coraxe. His services were accepted, and he received in payment for them a yearly pension, which he continued to draw during the whole of Edward VI.’s reign.

Kirkcaldy’s questionable loyalty to the country which afforded him hospitality did not prevent him from performing his duty with conspicuous bravery as a soldier in her army. Henry II. was at that time waging war against the Emperor of Germany, and was glad to avail himself of the services of the Scots. Two of these in particular distinguished themselves by their impetuous courage no less than by their military skill. They were Norman Lesley and William Kirkcaldy. To the former of these the campaign was destined to prove fatal; and the brief but graphic description of the skirmish in which he was mortally wounded, cannot, even at this distance of time, be read without sympathy and admiration. He had gone with the cavalry under the command of the Connétable to harass and impede the progress of the army which the Emperor was bringing to the relief of Renti, besieged by the French. The relative positions of the forces were not equal; for whilst those of Charles were advancing along a commanding height, Henry’s horsemen were in the plain below, and were consequently at the disadvantage of having to ride up hill to attack the enemy. Regardless of the odds the Scottish captain, mounted upon ‘a fair gray gelding,’ fearlessly headed a charge of thirty of his own countrymen. The incident is best given in the words of another Scot—Sir James Melville—who writes with the authority of an eye-witness. ‘He had above his coat of black velvet his coat of armour with two broad white crosses, the one before, and the other behind, with sleeves of mail, and a red bonnet upon his head, whereby he was known and seen afar off by the Constable, the Duke of Enghien, and the Prince of Condé: where, with his thirty, he charged upon sixty of their horsemen with culverines, followed but with seven of his number. He, in our sight, struck five of them from their horses with his spear before it brake: then he drew his sword, and ran in among them, not valuing their continual shooting, to the admiration of the beholders. He slew divers of them, and at length when he saw a company of spearmen coming down against him, he gave his horse the spurs, who carried him to the Constable, and there fell down dead; for he had many shots: and worthy Norman was also shot in divers parts, whereof he died fifteen days after. He was first carried to the King’s own tent, where the Duke of Enghien and Prince of Condé told his Majesty, that Hector of Troy was not more valiant than the said Norman: whom the said King would see dressed by his own chirurgeons, and made great moan for him. So did the Constable, and all the rest of the Princes.’

By none was the valiant Master of Rothes more deeply and more sincerely regretted than by his companion in many a perilous adventure—William Kirkcaldy. He had been given the command of a hundred light horsemen; and with these he had been sent out on a secret expedition, from which he did not return till the day after the fatal skirmish. Within a few hours, the battle of Renti afforded him and his Scots an opportunity of avenging their countryman. That he who was ‘like a lion in the field’ did not spare the enemy may well be assumed. Unfortunately, however, there is no record of his exploits either on that day, or, indeed, on any of the occasions when he did ‘such notable service in France.’ We only know that his conduct won the warmest praise from such men as Vendôme, Condé, and Aumale; that the famous Connétable would never allow him to stand bare-headed in his presence, and that, in the hearing of Melville, who records the flattering incident, King Henry II., pointing to him said, ‘Yonder is one of the most valiant men of our age.’

Nor was it in battle only that Kirkcaldy won distinction. He showed to equal advantage at the polished court of the Valois, and always figured amongst the foremost in the sports which the King favoured, and in which he himself took a leading part. So openly, indeed, did Henry show his admiration of the Scottish captain, that ‘he chose him commonly upon his side in all pastimes he went to.’

But, at the height of his fortunes, Kirkcaldy did not forget his own country, or abandon the policy which he conscientiously believed to be for her advantage. As a soldier, he was ready to serve the French King against his continental enemies; but, as a politician, he did not hesitate or scruple to thwart his schemes by all the means in his power when their object seemed to be the subjection of Scotland to the rule of France—the erection of the land into a province, as Melville forcibly puts it. With this object in view he had thought himself justified in acting as a secret agent, and supplying the English Government with such information as might enable it to follow the negotiations between the French party in Edinburgh and their friends in Paris. But his services had been dispensed with when Queen Mary succeeded her half-brother Edward on the throne. It was no loftier sense of honour, but rather a narrow spirit of intolerance that led to the step; and the reason assigned for the withdrawal of the secret service money, which had enabled Kirkcaldy to obtain, and to supply intelligence to England, was simply that ‘no Catholic Power should pay or maintain the murderers of a Catholic Cardinal.’