Just as James had uttered this wish, the usher of the presence-chamber approached Stuart, and whispered in his ear that an old woman, wrapped up in a red cloak, was at the door, and requested permission to see and speak with the king. The guilty chamberlain, who was on the point of giving the fatal signal, heard the statement with horror, and recoiled back from the usher; but the die was cast, and even the powers of heaven were disregarded amidst the turmoil of wild thoughts that were then careering through his excited mind. "Bid her begone—thrust her from the door!" he whispered in the ear of the usher, and applied himself again to the dreadful work in which he was engaged.
Soon after this, the king called for the parting cup, and the company dispersed—Athol and Stuart being the last to leave the apartment. With the view of going to bed, James and his queen now retired to the sleeping chamber, where the merry monarch, still under the influence of high spirits, stood before the fire in his night-gown, talking gaily with those around him. At that moment, a clang of arms was heard, and a blaze of torches was seen in the court of the monastery. The quick mind of the king saw his danger in an instant; a suspicion of treason, and a dread of his bloodthirsty enemy, Graham, were his first thoughts. Alarm was now the prevailing power; and the ladies of the bedchamber, rushing into the sleeping room, cried that treason was abroad. The queen and her attendants flew to secure the doors; the locks were useless; and the certainty of having been betrayed by his chamberlain now occupied the mind of the king. Yet, though he saw his destruction resolved on, he did not lose presence of mind. He called to his queen and ladies to obstruct all entrance as long as they could, and rushed to the windows. They were firmly secured by iron bars, and all escape in that way was impossible. The clang of arms increased; and the sounds of the approach of armed men along the passages came every instant nearer and nearer. The ladies screamed, and held the doors; the king was in despair; and, seizing a pair of tongs from the fireplace, with unexampled force wrenched up the boards of the floor, and descended into a vault below, while the ladies replaced the covering.
A slight hope was now entertained that he might escape. The vault communicated with the outer court; but, unfortunately, the passage had been, shortly before, by the king's own orders, built up, to prevent the tennis-balls of the players in the tennis-court, to which the passage led, from rolling into the vault (as they had often done), and being lost. There was, therefore, no escape. Meanwhile, Graham and his caterans rushed towards the bedchamber, and having slain Walter Straiton, a page they met in the passage, began to force open the door, amidst the shrieks of the women, who still, though weakly, attempted to barricade it. An extraordinary circumstance here occurred: Catherine Douglas, with the heroic resolution of her family, thrust her arm into the staple from which the bolt had been taken by the traitors, and in an instant it was snapped asunder. The conspirators, yelling like fiends, and with bloody daggers and knives in their hands, now rushed into the room, and cowardly stabbed some of the defenceless ladies, as they fled screaming round the apartment, or trying vainly to hide themselves in its corners and beneath the bed. The queen herself never moved: horror had thrown its cataleptic power over her frame; she stood rooted to the floor, a striking spectacle—her hair hanging over her shoulders, and nothing on her but her kirtle and mantle. In this situation, she was stabbed by one of the conspirators, and was only saved from the knives of others and death itself, by a son of Graham, who, impatient for the life of the king, commanded the men to leave such work for that which was more important. The king was not to be found; and a suspicion gained ground that he had escaped from the sleeping room by the door. A search was therefore made throughout the whole monastery, in all the outer rooms along the corridor, and in the court; and had it not been that Stuart assured them that it was impossible the king could have escaped beyond the walls, the search would have been relinquished in despair.
Meanwhile, the citizens and the nobles who were quartered in the town heard the tumult, and were hastening to the spot. The king might yet be saved; for his place of escape had not been discovered, and rescue was at hand. Alas! his own impatience brought on his head the ruin that seemed to be averted. Hearing all quiet, he fancied that the traitors had relinquished the search, and called up from the vault to the ladies, to bring the sheets from the bed and draw him up again into the apartment. In attempting this, one of the ladies, Elizabeth Douglas, fell down into the vault. The noise recalled the murderers. Thomas Chambers, who knew all the holes and recesses of the monastery, suddenly remembered the small vault, and concluded that James must be concealed there. He therefore returned; the torn floor caught his eye; the planks were again lifted, and a blazing torch was soon held down into the dark hole. The king and the unfortunate lady, who lay apparently breathless beside him, were seen; and, glorying in his discovery, the relentless ruffian shouted aloud with savage merriment, and called his companions back; "for," as he said, "the bride was found for whom they had sought and carolled all night." A dreadful scene was now enacted in the vault, in the hearing of the queen, who, with her attendants, was still in the apartment. Sir John Hall first leaped down; but James, strong in his agony, throttled him, and flung him beneath his feet. Hall's brother next descended, and met the same fate; and now came the arch-enemy, Sir Robert Graham. Like a roaring tiger, he threw himself into the hole, and James, bleeding sore from the wounds of the Halls' knives, was overcome, and fell, with the stern murderer over him. The wretched monarch implored mercy, and begged his life, should it be at the price of half his kingdom.
"Thou cruel tyrant!" said Graham, "never hadst thou compassion on thine own noble kindred; therefore expect none from me."
"At least," cried James, "let me have a confessor, for the good of my soul."
"None," replied Graham, "but this sword!" Upon which he stabbed him in a vital part; but the king continued to implore so piteously for mercy, that even Graham's nerves were shaken, and he felt inclined to fly from the dreadful scene.
His companions above noticed this change; and, as he was scrambling up, leaving the king still breathing, they threatened him with death, if he did not complete the work. He at last obeyed, and struck the king many times, till he died.
The story of the Highland woman who appeared to King James, which to historians has so long been a subject of mystery, is thus, by our chronicle, cleared up. We may afterwards do the same good office to other curious and doubtful parts of Scottish history; but, in the meantime, as it may be satisfactory to know the fate of those bold conspirators who executed so desperate a purpose as that we have narrated, we may mention that the queen never rested till she had brought them all to justice. Never was retribution so certain, so ample, so merited, and so satisfactory to a whole nation; for James's alleged harshness was confined to the nobles, and never extended to the people, who loved the royal poet, and revered their king. Sir Robert Stuart and Thomas Chambers were first taken; and, upon a confession of their guilt, were beheaded on a high scaffold raised in the market-place, and their heads fixed on the gates of Perth. Athol next suffered; and, as he had sighed for a crown, his head, when it was severed from his body, was encompassed by an iron one. Graham was next seized; and, after the manner of the times, was tortured before his execution in a manner which we cannot describe. Hall and all the others suffered a similar fate; and it was alleged that not a single individual who had a hand in the terrible tragedy was allowed to escape—thus justifying the ways of God, where vengeance, though sometimes concealed, sooner or later overtakes those who contravene His laws.