Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume X Part 15

Soon after the royal marriage, preparations were made for the queen's coronation (King David having been crowned when he ascended the throne), and the royal pair, with the court, proceeded to Scone Palace for that purpose.

It was a fine morning in the month of July when the party set out, and the dawn was beautiful. Before them lay the great Frith of Forth, rolling down in the bright sunshine from the mountains of the west, its sh.o.r.es teeming with fertility and natural loveliness. Along the banks the mists were rising from the verdant cones and waving woods of Innergellie, Lochton, and Balcomie. It was a s.p.a.cious prospect of flowering meadow and ripening corn-field--of foliaged coppice and flowing ocean--of rising eminence and busy burgh town--of ships and fishing-boats at anchor or under sail, with the glorious sunshine beaming over all, and everything was full of life, of light, and of happiness around them. The road from Crail pa.s.sed through Airdrie Woods, by the back of Kellie-law, and thence through the muirs to Falkland.[12]

Here the royal party stopped and partook of refreshments, and thereafter proceeded on their journey to the Palace of Scone.

[Footnote 12: It is still open, and of great breadth in various parts of the line, and retains the name of the King's Cadgers' Road, because the fish carriers from Crail travelled along it with fish from that royal burgh to supply the king's table when resident at Falkland Palace].

The mode in which the ceremony of Queen Matilda's coronation was performed is strikingly ill.u.s.trative of the manners of the age. The Bishops of St Andrews and Dunkeld, with the Abbot of Scone, attended to officiate. The Bishop of St Andrews explained to her majesty the respective oaths, which were to be taken first in Latin, and afterwards in Norman French. They then conducted her to the regal chair or sacred stone of Scone, which stood before the cross in the eastern division of the chapel. Upon this she sat; the crown was placed on her head; she was invested with the royal mantle, and the n.o.bility kneeling in homage threw their robes beneath her feet. A Highland bard or sennachy, clothed in a scarlet mantle, with hair venerably white, then advanced from the crowd, and bending before the throne, repeated in his native tongue the genealogy of the youthful queen.

Many years pa.s.s. Maude is dead; and our fancy, under a spell, leads us to Crail Church. The usual service has not yet commenced, and consequently neither the king, his family, nor attendants, have entered the church; but it is whispered that they may be looked for every moment, as his majesty was scrupulously punctual at prayers.

There was soon a large congregation a.s.sembled, certainly not less than a thousand persons, drawn hither by loyalty and curiosity, and in compliment to the royal birth-day. A soft and solemn strain of music now rose from the organ, and time is given, during the voluntary, to collect the distracted thoughts, and to compose them into calmness and order suitable to the occasion. There now ran a m.u.f.fled whisper of "The King!

the King!" and a vista being opened in front, his majesty is seen quite distinctly. He is a venerable old man, h.o.a.ry and furrowed--no grandeur, no majesty, no a.s.sumption of princely dignity. Shading his dim eyes with one hand, he reverently knelt down, and inwardly breathed his composing aspiration to the Throne of Grace. The other hand rested on the shoulder of the fair-haired child who stood by his side, his little grand-daughter, whom he had led in his hand to the place of worship.

All this had pa.s.sed in a few seconds: and there was now a deep hush, for the priests were in their places. The staring and whispering were suspended; the service commenced, and the aged monarch, bareheaded, his thin, trembling hands fervently clasped, his eyes uplifted as it were to the place to which all his earnest thoughts were now directed, in the att.i.tude of intense, absorbing devotion--presented a picture of devotion of a character so solemn and impressive, that anything more striking could rarely be witnessed or imagined.

Here, then, is an end to all our previous dreams of royal splendour, for there stands the pious monarch, David, King of Scotland,

"His staff his sceptre, his grey hairs his crown,"

trembling in presence of his G.o.d, breathing the general confession of his sins with the beings of the same kindred and frail nature as himself that stood around him.

THE LEGEND OF THE CHURCH OF ABERCROMBIE.

From authentic doc.u.ments referred to by Sir John Connel in his "History of t.i.thes," Abercrombie, or Abercromlin, appears to have been a parish as far back as 1174. How long that character pertained to this portion of Fife we cannot say, but the church is obviously of very great antiquity. Having become so ruinous as to be unfit for a place of worship, it was abandoned in 1646, and since that time the parishes of Abercrombie and St Monans have been united, and the old church of St Monans, situated on the sea-sh.o.r.e, has served for the use of both.

In a romantic and beautiful situation within the grounds now forming part of the domain of Sir Ralph Abercrombie Anstruther of Balcaskie, Baronet, and in the old burying-place, still used as a cemetery by the Balcaskie family, stands the remains of the old grey parish church of Abercrombie, with its encircling lime-trees and its green ivy garment duskily investing its aged walls.

Dedicated to St Mary and St Margaret, tradition has deduced the origin of Abercrombie Church from the piety and wealth of two sisters similarly named.

About the middle of the twelfth century, the broad lands and swelling coffers of Sir Humphrey Abercrombie (failing male issue) devolved upon two maiden sisters, Mary and Margaret, only children of the baronet; and as both were young, and of unimpeachable descent--the true Norman blood mantling in every vein--the heiresses early became objects of absorbing interest in the eyes of such of the surrounding knights and thanes as could advance pretensions to as clear a shield and pure a lineage as their own.

Educated within the walls of the convent at Haddington, the sisters'

limited experience and unripe notions of the world would have inadequately fitted them for the duties entailed upon them by their new position, were it not that nature had beneficently gifted the elder with a certain strength and self-reliance of character, imperfectly developed in the cloister, but daily expanding and maturing in a broader sphere, in proportion as circ.u.mstances seemed to call it into action, and demand its vigorous exercise.

The younger was a graceful, gentle girl, gifted with rare beauty, and with a disposition as femininely soft and placid as the mild and dove-like eyes through which her soul looked out upon a world but newly revealed to her enfranchised gaze.

How was it, then, that thus differing--thus unlike in mind and feature--the high-souled Mary and the shrinking, soft-eyed Margaret should, almost simultaneously, have set their hearts on one object? Was it that, under the handsome exterior of her soldier-cousin, Philip de Candela, the elder sister recognised a spirit similar to her own? And was it that the pliant mind of Margaret, putting forth a host of tendrils--impulses, affections, sympathies--craved some object for support, something to cling to and weave themselves around, encircling what they garlanded? Was it in the harder nature of the soldier these budding tendrils found, as it were, a ma.s.sive trunk wooing their embrace and strengthening their growth? Was it that the elder loved him for the perils he had undergone in Palestine and in France, the exciting scenes in which he had conspicuously borne a brave man's part, and for the spirit of daring and adventure by which he had been influenced in his busy brief career? We may know that it was so; that continued intercourse confirmed and ripened love; that Mary's ears were seldom regaled with tales of war and chivalry, while the songs of Provence were carolled with a frequency and fervour most gratifying, it would seem, to the happy, hopeful Margaret; and that, in short, the soldier and his soft-eyed cousin plighted their troth, and then irrevocably sealed it with a sacred union. The ceremonial was performed by St Monan, a hermit or religious recluse belonging to the Monastery of Pittenweem, which was sheltered in a recess amongst the banks, walls, and crevices at the west end of the village of the same name, with a dusky-coloured ma.s.s of hard whinstone overhanging it behind, and a stair or gully winding past it in front. Haste and secresy could be purchased then as now, and Philip and his bride were ferried across the frith, and landed at North Berwick, hours ere their lengthened absence had been noted by the elder sister as an unusual circ.u.mstance.

How fierce and violent a storm of pa.s.sion then swelled within the disappointed sister's breast--how from her heart she cursed them bitterly, bridegroom and bride--how vowed an unmitigable hatred to them both--how every soft and womanly feeling seemed utterly extinct--how in their stead arose an intense, consuming thirst to be avenged--how, in fact, her whole nature seemed changed, and how she moodily immured herself within her Castle of Abercrombie, day after day, week after week, brooding upon the scornful slight which had been put upon her love, and upon the cunning, as she deemed it, of the sister who had supplanted her--it were a charity to the infirmities of our common nature to touch upon but lightly, and so pa.s.s on to after incidents.

Six months had scarcely run their course after the marriage, when the war broke out between Stephen, the unpopular usurper of the English throne, and his fair relative and compet.i.tor, Maude. Margaret's husband was among the first to join the standard of King David, and to fling himself within the ranks of those who opposed Stephen. Alas! he was among the first also to fall a victim to that sanguinary strife, being slain in a mere chance skirmish, into which his zeal and well-known bravery had unhappily led him.

Poor Margaret might well be overwhelmed by such a fearful and unlooked-for bereavement. Reason almost gave way; and during the time that partial delirium deprived her of consciousness, her husband's kinsmen mercifully consigned the gashed and ghastly corpse to its last home, that the widow's eye might never look with agony upon the loved and distorted features of her slaughtered soldier.

When the elder sister heard of this sudden sharp calamity, her heart melted within her. In the presence of death, anger and hate, and jealousy, and wounded love, and baffled hope, stood solemnly rebuked.

The cause of their disunion no longer found a place within their memory; but a more unclouded past, childhood and girlhood, the recollections of an era teeming with thoughts and images of love and tenderness--of a time when they two nestled their soft cheeks upon the same pillow, wove the same woof, shared the same rambles to Kellie-law and Kilconquhar Loch, to Macduff's Cave and Balcarras Craig--cherished the same dear rose-tree, wept and laughed, grew pale or crimson, sad or merry, as the same feelings swayed the hearts of both--came thronging to her mind; and as the past brought with it such gentle harmonising influences, why should they not renew it in the future? They had been too long widely and unwisely severed. Henceforth they would have, as they had had of yore, but one home and one heart.

Borne down, indeed, still almost distraught with grief, the younger yet could find a solace and a mitigation of her sorrow in her reunion with her elder sister; and when the latter fell upon the widow's bosom, and brokenly sobbed out her sorrow for the past, her grief for this last heavy stroke, and spoke of hope for better days, when suffering should be softened down by time, and submission soothe regret, her dark eyes kindled through her tears, and a faint smile, like a ray of fleeting sunshine gilding the blackness of the storm, played momentarily upon her compressed and pallid lips.

So the old Castle of Abercrombie received them once again, linked together by a closer tie--wiser and sadder both--the joyousness of youth displaced by thoughts of a graver, if not gloomier, texture, as though a few short months had done the work of years, and prematurely stamped the feelings of a later epoch upon their youthful minds. Perhaps the solitude in which they lived, disposing them to ponder on the after destination of the soul, or perhaps the converse of a priestly adviser, anxious to aggrandise the church (for there was only _one_ church then, and for three hundred years after there was no other, namely, the Church of Rome) of which he was a member; or perhaps that natural revulsion of the mind from matters of momentary to matters of imperishable importance, which results from worldly disappointment and domestic calamities, influenced them in coming to the determination to which they came; but whatever may have been the influences which operated on them, this alone is certain--that the sisters mutually resolved to _found a church_, and dedicate it to the service of the Almighty, in token of their reconciliation; purposing likewise to endow it at their decease with the personal wealth of which they were possessed.

At that time the whole surrounding country, or at least the muirland portion of it, was little better than a leafy wilderness, intersected by numerous bridle-ways, with here and there a broader track, offering a pa.s.sage for the slow and c.u.mbrous carts and sledges of those rude days.

At scattered intervals large clearances had been made; and out of the old primeval trees, and with the aid of turf taken from the soil, and rushes gathered from the margin of the burns, rivulets, and lochs, groups of cottages were framed, windowless and chimneyless--a miserable shelter for the hardy cottars who tenanted them. A frank tenementer's more commodious abode, a smithy, or perhaps a huckster's store, were the only tenements that varied that otherwise uniform aspect of these primitive clachans. Wherever the ground swelled into anything like a reasonable eminence, the stronghold of a baron might be observed perched on the summit, while the circ.u.mjacent hollow would exhibit its irregularly-cl.u.s.tered hovels, overlooked by the more ma.s.sive and enduring residence of the rural magnate. Such churches, too, as then existed, were mostly built upon a rising ground, and seemed to serve as landmarks in that wild untravelled breadth of muir-moss and forest-land.

It may be readily conceived, therefore, that at such a time, and in such a district, the rumour of the meditated erection in the first instance, and afterwards the commencement, continued progress, and completion of the sacred structure, were regarded as the gradual evolution of an event peculiarly important.

It was an event, moreover, that was regarded with the utmost satisfaction by the Romish Church, upon whose dignitaries, in due time, devolved the task of formally consecrating the edifice to the sacred object for which it was intended, and who purposed to lavish in the ceremonial all those advent.i.tious aids by which the Church of Rome imparted a character of such imposing grandeur to every rite and ceremonial to which she lent her countenance, or in which she bore a part: and hence the consecration of this edifice, followed, or rather accompanied, by a solemn presentation of the sisters at the altar, in token of compunction for dissensions past, and thankfulness for love restored, was marked by features of such rare magnificence, by such impressive pomp, and such professional display, and witnessed by such a mult.i.tude of wondering spectators, gathered from far and near, that both the solemnity itself, and its strange issue, lived in the memories of succeeding generations for centuries afterwards.

On that solemnity we need not tarry to comment; our legend has reference to _its issue_ only. As the sisters knelt before the altar, thus by a formal act to ratify their reconciliation in the sight of G.o.d and man, and the venerable diocesan, Bishop Arnold of St Andrews, bent down to give his benediction on them both, a flash of vivid lightning on a sudden filled the sacred edifice with a ruddy light, and a rattling peal of thunder rolled, as it were, along the very roof of the building.

There was a hush--a silence that was almost audible--a deep, dead calm reigning for a s.p.a.ce in every portion of the holy pile. Most of the congregation lay prostrate on the pavement; the sisters knelt upon the altar steps, with buried heads and clasped hands; the old prelate stood alone erect, and folding his hands upon his breast, with eyes uplifted and serene, at length emphatically said, "Thy will be done!" A thousand voices as by one impulse, blending into chaos, made response, "Amen, amen!"

And then the good old bishop, gently touching the kneeling sisters, bade them rise; but neither speech nor motion answered him, for still they knelt, with heads bowed low and fingers intertwined--with mute lips and eyelids drooping heavily. Again and yet again he would have them raised from their kneeling posture; but there was neither word nor sign; and then awe fell upon the hearts of all present, for they knew that _death_ was there! The spirits of the sisters, forgiving and forgiven, had pa.s.sed away, and doubtless angels and redeemed spirits had heralded them to the mansions of the blessed.

THE ROMANCE OF THE MAY.

The Isle of May, which lies at the mouth of the Forth, is about six miles from Crail, and is about a mile in length, and three-quarters in breadth. It has a well of excellent water, a small loch, and affords the finest pasturage for sheep.[13] The island contained a religious house and chapel dedicated to St Adrian, who was murdered by the Danes in 872, and buried at Anstruther-Wester, where his stone coffin is yet to be seen. The island belonged to the crown; King David afterwards presented it to the abbot and convent of Reading in Berkshire; and from this and many other valuable benefactions to the church, King James I., when he visited his tomb, three hundred years after, called him "a sair saint to the crown." From Prynne's records it appears that the abbot afterwards unwarrantably sold the island to William Lamberton, Bishop of St Andrews. It afterwards came into the possession of General Scott of Balcombie, whose daughter, the d.u.c.h.ess of Portland, sold it to the Commissioners of Northern Lights.

[Footnote 13: Two-year-old May wether mutton is said to be a feast worthy of the G.o.ds, if they would admit anything more substantial than ambrosia.]

Some remarkable events are connected with this island. The first we shall advert to is the "Battle of the May."

Our readers have all doubtless heard or read of Sir Andrew Wood of Largo, a famous Scottish admiral in the reign of James III. In the year 1490, King Henry, the English monarch, mortified at the defeat of some of his ships by Admiral Wood the previous year, a.s.sembled his officers, and offered rewards to any of them who should take the sea against Sir Andrew, and bring him to him dead or alive. One Stephen Bull, a London merchantman, who, like Sir Andrew Wood, combined the pursuits of warfare and commerce, accepted the offer, and with three large ships set sail for the Frith of Forth, in order to get between Admiral Wood and the land on his return from Flanders, to which he had escorted a fleet of merchantmen.

The English ships anch.o.r.ed under shelter of the Isle of May; and Bull, having captured some sailors, compelled them to give him intelligence about Sir Andrew's movements.

Early by daybreak, on a fine summer morning, the 10th of August, Sir Andrew's two vessels, the one named "The Flower," and the other "The Yellow Carvel," were observed to come in sight, on which the English commander made preparations for engaging them, and distributed wine amongst his men to raise their courage. With regard to the Scottish admiral, Pitscottie the historian says, "On the other hand, Sir Andrew Wood came pertly forward, knowing no impediment of enemies to be in his gate, till at last he perceived their three ships under sail, and coming fast to them in fier of war. Then Sir Andrew Wood, seeing this, exhorted his men to battle, beseeching them to take courage against their enemies of England, who had sworn and made their vows that they should make us prisoners to the King of England, but, G.o.d willing, they shall fail of their purpose. Therefore set yourselves in order, every man in his own place. Let the gunners charge their artillery and the cors-bows make them ready; with the lyme-pots and fire-b.a.l.l.s in our tops, and twe-handed swords in your fore-arms; and let every man be stout and diligent for his own part and for the honour of Scotland, and thereto he caused fill the wine, and every man drank to other."

The engagement that took place is described as being of the most desperate character. The Scottish admiral contrived to get to windward of the enemy. The fight lasted from sunrise to sunset, and was beheld by an immense crowd of men, women, and children on the coast of Fife. At last the two fleets were parted by the darkness, and drew off from each other, till the daylight next morning again enabled them to see what they were about.

The signal for a renewal of the engagement was then given by blowing of trumpets on both sides, when the two hosts encountered each other again, "and fought so cruely," says our historian, "that neither the skippers or mariners took heed of their ships," but allowed them to drift away with wind and tide till they reached as far as opposite the mouth of the Tay, the crews all the while contending hand to hand. At last the English admiral was compelled to yield, and to give up his sword to Sir Andrew Wood; and his three ships were then towed up to Dundee, where the wounded were landed, and placed under medical care. A few days after, Sir Andrew, our brave countryman, presented the English admiral and his officers to his majesty, James, King of Scotland, who, so far from returning evil for evil, released and sent back Admiral Bull, his officers and men, with their vessels, and with rich gifts as a present to the English king. King Henry of England had thus, in addition to his vexation at this signal defeat, the humiliation of being obliged to acknowledge the generosity and princely bearing of the Scottish king, whom he had insulted and injured without the slightest provocation.

The next occurrence which we shall record is the melancholy accident which took place on the Island of May in January, 1791.

For two evenings no light was exhibited from the lighthouse, and the weather was such as no boat could put off to ascertain the cause. On the third day the storm abated, and a boat was manned from Crail. No sooner had the crew of the boat landed, than they were a.s.sailed by a strong sulphurous smell, and proceeding directly to the lighthouse, they found the door shut, and no one answered their call. Forcing an entrance, they saw the keeper, his wife, and five children, all lying suffocated, and a sixth infant sucking its dead mother. In another room were found two men almost expiring, but who, by the timely a.s.sistance rendered, providentially recovered. It was supposed that this sad accident was occasioned by some burning coals being blown among some cinders and refuse lying at the bottom of the lighthouse.

The last incident to which we shall refer is the boat disaster at the island in 1837.

On the 1st of July, 1837, a skipper and boat-owner belonging to Cellard.y.k.e set sail from that harbour, with a large party, on a pleasure excursion to the Isle of May. The day was fine and wind favourable, and the party, chiefly young men and women, consisting of sixty-five persons, including the crew, were all in high spirits, having music on board, indulging freely in mirth and gaiety, and little thinking of the sad event impending over their heads, by which, in a little half-hour, so many of them were to perish.

Having approached close to the island, on the western side, it was not deemed fitting to land at the place called "the Stand," or "Atterstones," but to proceed round the southern end of the island to the eastern side thereof, with intention to disembark at a creek on the eastern side, called "Kirken Haven." In the attempt to enter this haven, there being a swell of the sea, or surge, setting in from the eastward at the time, the boat became unmanageable, and was violently driven against the sh.o.r.e; the _stem_, in consequence, having stuck fast on the rocks, while the _stern_ floated in deep water, the swell or eddies, and broken water, upset or caused the boat to sink, and a great number of persons belonging to Anstruther, Cellard.y.k.e, and the neighbouring towns, were drowned. Of those, ten were young unmarried women, two married women, and one infant--in all, thirteen persons. One individual lost his wife, his mother, and his child; another, a young man, observing his sister and a young woman to whom he was warmly attached both struggling in the water, and sinking in the midst of furious breakers, boldly plunged into the boiling sea, and made his way to the perishing girls.

And oh what a sight for those on sh.o.r.e, to see the n.o.ble-minded youth risking his life for those he loved! He supports both for some time; he comforts them with hopes of succour; but his strength begins to fail.