Chapter VIII: Act II: Scene I

_The Council Chamber._

LORD DUNBAR, SIR ALEXANDER SETON, _and_ SIR ALEXANDER RAMSAY, _in
conversation. Attendants in waiting in the back-ground._

[_Flourish of Drums and Trumpets._

_Enter_ HERALD.

HERALD.

In name of puissant Edward, King of England,
The Lord of Ireland, Duke of Aquatine,
I summon thee to render town and castle,
Ceded to us by John of Scotland, king,
In recompense for ancient services
Done to your country by our gracious sovereign.

DUNBAR.

We know no services your king has rendered
To this devoted land, unless ’tis service
To stir her factious nobles up to strife,
Then slay them in detail. Call ye this service?
We own no prince but David; here we stand
Receiving daily succour, and determined
To hold out while we may.

HERALD.

Enough, great baron!
Who estimatest an action by its success,
Not by its moral worth. Whence blows the wind,
The wavering wind of thy state politics? [_Aside._
My purport is to tell thee, England’s king
Has sworn procrastination’s at an end,
He hates thy evasive measures. In the name
Of England I defy thee; as a token
I throw my gauntlet thus upon the ground.
[RAMSAY, _unable to conceal his rage, kicks it away_.
Thank ye, sir knight! We will not starve you out,
But beat you out by force. Should still your gates
Remain shut up against our monarch’s mercy,
Wo be within your walls.

RAMSAY.

Sooner than yield,
I’ll fight until the walls become my monument;
Sooner than starve, I’ll plough the unpaved streets,
And wait till spring shall whiten them with grain.

SETON.

Peace, gentle Ramsay!

RAMSAY.

No!—war to the hilt!
O for the Douglas now to lead you on!
[_Exit_ RAMSAY.

SETON.

My worthy Herald, tell your puissant lord,
We crave delay, in terms of the truce,
Till Sir William Keith’s return.

DUNBAR.

’Tis meet we wait despatches from the Regent.

HERALD.

Wo be within your walls—wo to your matrons;
For high in air, like scarecrows, each young hostage
Shall teach obedience to my royal master.

SETON.

If heavenly truth remains the brightest gem
In the king’s crown; (for prince’s words are sacred,)
I crave delay in terms of the truce.
O tell your master, as he hopes for mercy
In the great day, so he will spare our feelings!

DUNBAR.

Tell king Edward,
Should not two hundred men by break of day
Break through the English host, we pay him homage.

HERALD.

Again I give defiance, and take leave,
For in my person ye’ve insulted England;
The ultimatum is, lend ears and hear,
Should ye hold out till vesper-bell be rung,
Sir Alexander Seton’s son is hung. [_Exit_ HERALD.

DUNBAR.

There goes a puppet! I should like, by heaven,
To have him in my castle’s massy Keep;
I’d wring politeness from him. Let us now
Prepare for war; but, Seton, be of cheer,
For Heaven will help, and Keith will soon be here.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Room in the Governor’s House._

SETON (_solus_.)

This fearful conflict, with paternal love
And duty to my country, is most dreadful;
Sure my poor heart will break, or burst the steel
That laces it. I’ve somewhere read of men
Who died for friendship; of a judge who pass’d
Sentence on his own son; but I have ne’er
Heard of that man who sacrificed his child
To save his country. It is horrible!
Bury me, earth; for what were fame, promotion,
To live the murderer—is there in our language
A term so unnatural—live the murderer
Of one’s own child! Good Heaven! I’d better live
A life of wo, an outcast from society,
Than be the death of one so young and gentle,
Who holds a charter, drawn on me by nature,
Of preservation. Ha! I see even now
My boy down on his knees, begging his life!
Asking his father not to shed his blood.
I am a monster, that with sad delay
Pass sentence on my son. These eyes behold
His tongue choked up and palsied with the halter;
That tongue—whose parting accents blest its father!
Here comes a sorry comforter, poor lady!
She walks like Melancholy; and I dread
The sternness of her dull perturbed look.
_Enter_ LADY SETON.
Hail, gentle Christian! I am sick at heart;
The want of sleep, and fearful dreams, have thrown
A languor o’er my spirits.

LADY SETON.

What news from Tweedmouth?
Does the royal tyrant, with his gilded banners
That mock the sun, intend to blast our sight,
Till Scottish mists do rot his silk pavilions,
Or Scottish earth receive his rotten heart?

SETON.

I fear thy first surmise resolves to truth,
Unless kind Heaven doth send us speedy aid;
He is no idle, no inglorious foe
Goaded by youth, ambition, rival factions;
And like his father, whom that faction duped,
Too lofty-minded for his subjects’ weal.
Had not rich France, the lion lured aside,
He’d mounced us long ere now. Alas! alas!
I can unfold no more.

LADY SETON.

Alas! I know
What ye would say. Heaven’s sovereign will be done!
But oft when storms look darkest on the Cheviot
A wandering sunbeam cheers the face of nature.
The event lies hid in dark futurity;
Whate’er the issue, Seton will not violate
His country’s trust—its safety—and his honour!
Though every pledge of mine were naked laid
Before the sabre’s edge! our weakness ne’er
Shall shade the rising glories of the war.

SETON.

O woman! to such fate canst thou abandon
The fruit of thine own womb,—that fed upon
The juices of your breast,—whose little eyes
Beam’d pleasure when they first beheld thy face!
Can ye abandon him whose latest accents
Lisp’d a farewell with tears, and blest his mother
For her maternal love; and can ye now
Forget the dearest part of woman’s nature?
Speak but the word: I render up the town.

LADY SETON.

Nay, talk not thus; let Heaven’s will be done,
Since we must suffer ill that good may follow.
God gave us children, and the Lord shall take
His own in his good time. The blessed book
Tells me of many saints in ancient times,
(When faith was nurtured on a richer soil
Than in these latter days,) who gave themselves
A sacrifice to God; and next to God’s
Our native land. “Did not the prophet Daniel
“Banquet with lions, and escaped unhurt
“From out their hungry maws, while the poor heathen
“Lay mangled round? And did not Machobee,
“With her seven sons, rather than break the laws
“By eating swine’s flesh, suffer dreadful torment?
“And did not the three children glad prefer
“The seven times heated furnace rather than bow
“The knee to idol-worship? and shall we
“Grudge God a sacrifice? forbid it, Heaven!”[6]
Remember Abram; I will not offend
Your ears with samples ta’en from writs profane;
But, see! come forth unto the battlements,
And view a scene will rouse your drooping spirits,
St Cuthbert! joy, their navy is in flames. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_The Ramparts—The English Ships in the offing appear in flames._

LADY SETON.

Behold yon Fleming
Bears down amidst the smoke; and, like King David,
Grapples with a Goliath. Ha! he sinks!
The English giant drowns!

SETON.

My eyes pursue
The well-known pennon, where my William’s prow
Bears on the gun-brig. Now, they board, they board!
I hear the clash of swords,—I must away
And open the battery’s mouth; for yon corvette
Lies underneath its jaws. My love, retire.

LADY SETON.

Nay, I will tarry till yon boat approaches
The shore with tidings, which I long to hear,
Yet dread their import; for methought I saw
A gallant youth slip down between the ships!
Oh, that the slumbering heavens would rise in wrath
And rouse its eastern gales, until their navy
Lay anchor’d on our rocks,—but not in safety.

SETON.

My love, it is not safe to linger here,
Retire till I return.
_Enter_ LIEUTENANT.
Make haste and speak;
For if the face bears index of the mind
You bring no pleasant news.

LIEUTENANT.

I am, indeed, the messenger of wo;
In the sea-fight, when the two vessels closed
In mortal enmity, your gallant son
The first to board, slipt down between the ships,
And sunk to rise no more, amidst the cheers
Of victory!

SETON.

O woman! earth is reeling,
Help, help, oh!
[_While the Lady supports_ SIR ALEXANDER _sobbing; the
Attendants enter_.

LADY SETON.

O dear-bought victory, at such a price!

SETON (_recovering_.)

Bear me unto my couch. What! do I live?
Have they destroy’d my boy; methought even now
He call’d me murderer! Do I rave? Hell, hell!
Strike your red daggers hilt-deep in the tyrant,
Whose frozen heart ne’er melted with compassion!
I feel my sickness gone! away, away!
For I had need of rest. [_Exit_ SETON, _with Attendants_.

LADY SETON.

Heaven grant I meet affliction as becomes
The daughter of a Cheyne, who bears the cross
Upon his shield—itself the best of shields!
Mary, support me now! [_Exit._

SCENE IV.

_A Room in the Governor’s House._

LORD DUNBAR _and_ SIR ALEXANDER SETON _in conversation_.

_Enter_ OFFICER.

DUNBAR.

What news from Bamburgh?

OFFICER.

My lord, Sir William Keith has just arrived,
And craves admittance.

DUNBAR.

Usher his excellency in.

_Enter_ KEITH.

SETON.

Heaven brightens now! thrice welcome, gallant knight,
I weary to give up my charge to one
More fitted for the office, in these times
When men need Roman hearts. What news from England?

KEITH.

My gallant friends,
The siege is raised at Bamburgh, and the Regent
Comes with a powerful host in aid of Berwick,
That he may lure the royal beast aside,
And save us from his claws.

DUNBAR.

’Tis well!—[_Aside._] I fear
That this manœuvre will exalt his rage
To some rash act.

SETON.

O God! I dread, I fear
My boy will suffer. Oh, ’tis very sad
To be a father in the day of sorrow,
And lose a favourite child. It makes a gap
In life, which fate or time can ne’er restore.

KEITH.

Be firm, while I, De Prendergest and Gray,
Try what yet may be done. I leave this place
In noble hands, the brave Dunbar and Ramsay.
[_Exit_ KEITH.

SETON.

My Lord Dunbar, I stand in need of counsel;
Edward, I dread, will execute his threat,
Unless we render this fair town and castle;
Alas! alas! my gentle boy has fallen
In the sea-fight, and now I dread his brother,
Before another sun shall shine on Berwick,
Will be hung up to appease the tyrant’s rage!

DUNBAR.

’Twere barbarous!
But since too much approved in time of war
Men are not nice in means to serve their purpose,
I have a varlet here who owes me service,
And he will render it in gratitude,
Seeing my lady’s brother saved his life
At Roxburgh’s bridge, and gave himself in lieu
Rather against his will. This soldier, school’d
In deeds of stratagem by the Black Douglas,
Will beard the royal lion in his den,
And stay or mar his purpose.

SETON.

Be it so!—
Although in calmer hours my soul would shrink
From such an act; but being thus pursued
I can but strike, be the blow foul or fair;
And, surely, if in jeopardy the drowner
Destroys the arm that saves him, well may I
Strike down the monster who devours my flesh.

DUNBAR.

It does not merit thought; ho, Golding, here!

_Enter_ GOLDING, _in a Minstrel’s Habit_.

GOLDING.

I wait your lordship.

DUNBAR.

Thank thee, valiant man;
Speed, Golding, speed, and in thy minstrel habit
Sue for admittance to the royal tent.
Tell that there’s treason here; that ere the morrow
The castle is surrender’d; should ye fail
Signal of smoke shall show; so may ye save
The beardless hostages; so Berwick’s wives
Will bless and glad reward thee.

GOLDING.

With a kiss!
But, by the rood, should this same emprise fail—
Should I return without a draught of vengeance!
I forfeit life, and at St Mary’s Port
Dub me a traitor; your reward reserve,
As I shall prosper, so shall I deserve.
[_Exit_ GOLDING.

DUNBAR.

There goes a resolute soldier—would to Heaven
My Agnes had a dozen such at present.
Dunbar too soon will feel the brunt of war! [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_The Interior of a Hovel._

_Enter_ AMBROSE _and_ MAGGY.

AMBROSE.

Well, Maggy, it’s just what I said: these great people care no more for their children than a he-cat. The governor will not open the gates to the English to save his own son, and the upshot will be, that all the young lads will be hanged without benefit of clergy. Ay, ay, I dread much all will soon be over; for no doubt the young king carries his father’s bones in his doublet, and wherever the old rascal’s bones are, the Scots will be defeated, if we may believe the soothsayers.

MAGGY.

Woes me! and there’s my lady ranging about the town like a mad-cap, encouraging the men to fight. It were more wise that she were down on her bare knees like me in the peat-cellar.

AMBROSE.

’Tis very savage-hearted, Maggy, but every one is no gifted with the treasure of humanity like you and me. They are just like the cannibal Romans, who were never so happy as when their children were massacred in battle.

MAGGY.

You are deep learned, Ambrose; but I often praise God that you are a town-fiddler and not a general!

AMBROSE.

But an officer of the town-guard, Maggy, were both safe and honourable, except on extraordinary occasions. Sieges do not happen every day.

MAGGY.

If you set your heart to that, Ambrose, I will not oppose you. I’ll neither advise you for or against it, since I know my advice would not be taken.

AMBROSE.

Then the salary is so handsome, Maggy; and you would go drest like a lady!

MAGGY.

I’m not envious, Ambrose; “for pride gangs before, and shame follows;” but we cannot help good luck if it comes to us whether we will or no.

AMBROSE.

I’m not ambitious, Maggy; every man is not born with a silver ladle in his mouth; but if a man is gifted with talents, it were sinful to abuse them and not use them. Ye know that old Rome was saved by the cackle of geese.

MAGGY.

And if Rome was saved by the cackle of geese, may not Berwick, haply, be saved by the town-fiddler?

AMBROSE.

Doubtless, Maggy; but I have a secret which I may not venture to tell you.

MAGGY.

And why would you keep a secret from me, Ambrose?

AMBROSE.

Because I promised on my _honour_ not to divulge it.

MAGGY.

O, in that case, all’s right!—I’ll not press ye, Ambrose; but was I, who am your born wife, included in the bargain?

AMBROSE.

All, and every one, Maggy.

MAGGY.

Then seeing, that being part of thee, I am consequently nobody, do please tell me.

AMBROSE (_whispering_.)

I’ve been with a billet from the Mayor to the Governor. Lady Seton is afraid of the vengeance of the King of England, and wishes to make her escape in disguise.

MAGGY.

Oh, Ambrose! try and get me included in her train, were it only to carry her farthingales off the causeway; for I long to leave this place; and might be useful to my lady as a maid of honour.

AMBROSE.

It were desirable, Maggy. I shall proffer your services, which, if accepted, may hitch us both a yard higher up the ladder of preferment. Meanwhile clap your thumb on what I have told you. Keep your eyes open, but your mouth shut, as the cook said to the careless scullion.

MAGGY.

As I am a woman, so shall I keep your secret: but I must go, for the pork is frying, and I don’t wish the hungry neighbourhood to smell it. [_Exit_ MAGGY.

AMBROSE.

Well thought; for they would fight like racoons to devour it; and would make as much fuss about it as Symy and his lad Lowrie did for Cowkelbie’s sow. Oh! I long to see Ambrose Carmichael, town-fiddler, promoted to a captaincy in the town-guard, for important services rendered to his king and country.

[_Exit_ AMBROSE.