Edinburgh Castle (7)

So, having just written about the Half Moon Battery and the tower that preceded it, it might be worth including the tale of why David's Tower is no longer visible. The drawing above is a contemporary depiction of the Lang Siege, which started in May 1571 and ended in 1573. The castle (obviously) is in the centre, with the town stretching away to the right. Three of the four Scottish Saltire flags are shown in the castle, including one in the triangular hornwork that stood in front of the castle at that time, known as The Spur.

 

Outside the castle, a barricade has been built to separate the castle from the town and is defended by infantry and two batteries of artillery. A further five artillery batteries are shown around the castle, mostly marked by English flags, but one with another saltire flag - the reason for which will be explained in the following story:-

 

The Last Stand for Queen Mary A.D. 1573.

 

BOOM!

 

It was six o'clock on New Year's morning 1573, and the citizens of Edinburgh roused themselves from their sleep as one of the Castle guns sounded out this warning note. If any did not understand its meaning they soon learned, for after a brief pause there followed the discharge not of a single gun but of a whole battery, and leaden messengers came whistling down the Lawnmarket, crashing into the barricades which had there been recently erected. It was the signal to all that the brief truce had ended, and the final act in the great siege had begun. The long fight between Queen's men and King's men was now to be fought to a finish.

 

In the Castle the last stand was being made for Queen Mary. Five years had passed away since, fleeing from the disastrous field of Langside, Mary had sought refuge in England only to find a prison; and though for a time her Scottish supporters, ever hoping for her return, had striven to maintain her cause, little by little their numbers had lessened, their enthusiasm had languished, and the cause had grown more desperate, until now, on this New Year's day, there remained in all Scotland only one spot where the Queen's flag was still unfurled and the Queen's liegemen still were true. But that spot was the central citadel of the land, the Castle of Edinburgh, and on the brave men who held it for their Queen the eyes of Scotland, England, and France alike were fixed.

 

To all appearance it was a hopeless struggle they were maintaining; yet in war many a cause that has looked hopeless has come out victorious in the end, and there were not wanting grounds for hoping for such an issue here. There were first and chiefly the men themselves, a brave band of the best fighting material Scotland held, with, at their head, Kirkaldy of Grange, the first soldier of his day, and Maitland, of Lethington, unrivalled as a statesman, a man with a keen mind and "a fell tongue," one who was ever ready for any emergency. Then there was the well-nigh impregnable position of the Castle, against which all assaults that Scotland could bring had hitherto proved vain. And there was, last of all, the encouraging experience of the past two years. For ever since April 1571 when Kirkaldy had closed the gates and declared for Queen Mary, the Castle had been more or less besieged. But all attempts to take it had failed; and not only so, but the garrison had routed the besiegers, and had made themselves the masters of the city. King's men and leading citizens of the Reforming party had fled to Leith, and the gay life of pre-Reformation times had been resumed. With experiences like these behind them, it was permissible for the garrison to hope against hope, and not altogether inexcusable that they should keep up the fight as long as ever they could. One never knew when something might happen in the outside world that would alter the whole aspect of affairs; it needed only the death of an English queen or a Scottish king or regent, and then, if the Castle still were held in her name, Queen Mary would the more readily come to her own again. So they fought on.

 

But their task was now much harder than it had been, for they had an abler foe to fight against. In the previous November the Earl of Morton had been chosen Regent, one of the most feared and least loved men in Scotland, and not without cause, but none the less a man of strength and ability and relentless determination in gaining his end; and the end he set before himself now was the capture of the Castle and the ruin of Mary's cause.

 

At first he tried to gain his purpose by negotiations, but as these involved the complete abandonment of the Queen, Kirkaldy, backed by Maitland, rejected his proposals with disdain. Equal non-success attended overtures which were put forth in a different spirit by one whose every deed is of interest to Scotsmen John Knox. The aged Reformer was dying, and as in the old days Kirkaldy had been his friend, he sent him from his sick-bed a touching message.

 

"Go," he said to Mr David Lindsay, the minister of Leith, "to yonder man in the Castle, whom you know I have loved so dearly, and tell him that I have sent you yet once more to warn him, in the name of God, to leave that evil cause and give over that Castle; and if he will not, neither the scraggy rock in which he miserably confides, nor the carnal prudence of that man (Lethington) whom he esteems a demi-god, nor the assistance of strangers shall preserve him, but he shall be disgracefully dragged fra his nest to punishment, and hung on a gallows against the face of the sun."

 

But the stern though well-meant message failed. " Weill," said Knox when he was told, "I have been earnest with my God anent they twa men. For the ane I am sorry that so it should befall him, yet God assures me that there is mercy for his soul; for that other I haif na warrand that ever he sal be weill." Neither old friendship nor prophetic warning, any more than political intrigue, could move the gallant leaders in the Castle from their loyalty to their exiled Queen. So the siege went on to the bitter end.

 

The closing act of the long conflict was marked by two stages, the first of which lasted for three months. From January to March Morton put forth every effort in his power to take the Castle, but there was not in Scotland the necessary artillery to ensure success, and without that the bravest assault was fruitless. The honours remained with the besieged garrison, at whose hand, both by fire and shot, the city suffered severely, and it became abundantly clear that against such force as Scotland could bring, the Castle was impregnable. So England’s aid was asked - and granted. Not over-willingly indeed, for it involved a breach of the law of nations, which forbade one power to interfere in the domestic broils of another, but Elizabeth's hostility to Mary bore down all scruples, and the fate of the Castle was sealed.

 

The English aid arrived at Edinburgh in March. It was a large force, consisting of 1500 arquebusiers, 140 pikemen, and a great train of artillery, all being under the command of Sir William Drury, a tried and capable soldier. A last summons to surrender was sent to the Castle, but with no result save the hoisting of a red flag of defiance on David's Tower; so the guns were got into position for their deadly work. In all twenty great guns were "stellit" at different points round the doomed citadel. Five were planted on the Castle Hill, five on the other side of the Nor' Loch (where Princes Street now runs), five more near the West Port, and five in Greyfriars Churchyard, this last battery being the special charge of the Regent himself.

 

On the 17th May the guns began to speak, and as the shot crashed against the walls of David's Tower a great shriek went up from the women in the Castle, which told the besiegers that they were not shooting in vain. But the defenders were not idle. Their ammunition was running low, but Mons Meg and the many smaller guns upon the walls gave deadly reply, and for a whole week the firing was incessant. Then, however, the heavier ordnance of the English began to tell. On 23rd May David's Tower that conspicuous feature of the Castle which has never been replaced came crashing down "with a hideous noyse, laying its airy head on the ground, leaving the defendants naked to the enemies' fury." Next day the Gate Tower, the Portcullis, and Wallace's Tower also crumbled into dust. Other portions of the wall followed, and soon the whole fortifications were little else than a mass of ruins, leaving the Castle open to the first vigorous assault.

 

Further defence was hopeless, and recognising that surrender had become imperative, Kirkaldy asked for a brief truce until conditions of surrender should be arranged. All he stipulated for was that the lives of all the garrison be spared. It was not much to ask in view of the heroic defence they had maintained, but it was too much for the Regent. His hour of vengeance had arrived, and he was resolved to use it. All lives, except nine of the leaders, he agreed to spare, but these were doomed. Such terms could not be accepted, and Kirkaldy broke off the negotiations, resolved to fight to the end and die. But his followers were of another mind and refused to second their leader's desperate purpose. Nor can we wonder. They had fought as few men fight. The cause was lost, and they would fight no more. Surrender he must, they told him, and that within six hours, else they would hang the Secretary (Lethington) over the walls as the source of all their misery.

 

There was nothing left for the gallant leader but to yield, and on the morning of the 29th of May he gave up his sword and the Castle, not, however, to the Scottish Regent, but to the English Commander, hoping that as prisoners of a foreign sovereign he and his companions might meet with more honourable treatment than they could look for from the fierce and hated Morton. But the hope proved vain.

 

Prisoners of the English they indeed remained for a short time, and as such were marched down the Castle Hill, surrounded by an English guard, lodged in the quarters of the English general. But Morton's lust for their blood was too keen to go unsatisfied, and the reception which the populace of Edinburgh gave the gallant leaders as they were led down the street showed that Morton's lust was the people's lust too. "Whaur are they?" cried the mob. "Let us see the louns! Staen them! Let them tak' na rest!" Backed by the popular rage, Morton demanded from Elizabeth the lives her general held in trust, and Elizabeth, not strong enough or not anxious enough to resist the demand, gave orders that the shameful surrender should be made. Lethington, fortunately for himself, had died in prison ere the fatal order was received, and so escaped the last humiliation, but the brave Kirkaldy, less fortunate, was handed over into the power of his enemy, and on 3rd August died on the scaffold at the Cross of Edinburgh. Nor did the humiliation end with death, for, following the barbarous custom of the time, his head was severed from his body and impaled for all to see on the walls of the very Castle he had so nobly defended.

 

To Mary, in her English prison, the tidings of the Castle's fall and the death of her loyal supporters were carried by a messenger from Elizabeth. It meant the ruin of her dearest hopes, but she bore the tidings well. "She makes little show of any grief," wrote the one who told the news, "and yet it nips her very near". Truly it did, and we may be sure that though the lips kept a brave silence the heart was crying out all the time. No sorer blow could ever befall her, for it was the final severing of the tie between her and her lost kingdom. Many years of life lay yet before her, and in these there came times of hope as well as of despair, but such hopes were English in their origin, and in England they found their grave. Scotland's interest in her fair and unfortunate Queen largely ceased on that day when the Castle walls crumbled into dust before the English guns, and Mary's flag came fluttering to the ground.

 

To Mary, in her English prison, the tidings of the Castle's fall and the death of her loyal supporters were carried by a messenger from Elizabeth. It meant the ruin of her dearest hopes, but she bore the tidings well. "She makes little show of any grief," wrote the one who told the news, "and yet it nips her very near." Truly it did, and we may be sure that though the lips kept a brave silence the heart was crying out all the time. No sorer blow could ever befall her, for it was the final severing of the tie between her and her lost kingdom. Many years of life lay yet before her, and in these there came times of hope as well as of despair, but such hopes were English in their origin, and in England they found their grave. Scotland's interest in her fair and unfortunate Queen largely ceased on that day when the Castle walls crumbled into dust before the English guns, and Mary's flag came fluttering to the ground.

 

Done