158 SCOTLAND ILLUSTRATED. 



point of crossing the Bannock-burn, at the village of Milltown, about a mile from 

 the field, a woman happened to be drawing water, and, being alarmed at the sight 

 of a man in full armour galloping towards her, hastUy flung away the pitcher and 

 ran off. Startled by this sudden manoeuvre, the horse sprang aside and threw his 

 rider, who was so bruised by his fall, and the weight of his armour, and so over- 

 come by terror, that he fainted away. Being carried into the cottage and 

 somewhat recovered, he asked for a priest, to whom, as a dying mati, he might 

 make his confession. Being asked who he was,—" Alas," he replied, " I was your 

 king this morning '."—Some of the rebels who had observed his flight now came 

 up, and were passing on, when the miller's wife, wringing her hands, entreated 

 that if there were a priest in company, he would stop and confess his majesty. 

 " I am a priest," said one of them — " lead me to him." Being introduced 

 forthwith, he found the king lying in a corner of the mill, covered with a coarse 

 coverlet, and, approaching on his knees under pretext of reverence, he asked him 

 whether his majesty thought he could recover if skilfully treated? James 

 replied in the affirmative; when the remorseless ruffian, dravtdng a dagger, 

 stabbed the unfortunate sovereign to the heart.* 



The prince, who before the battle had given strict charge regarding his 

 father's safety, heard the rumour of his death wdth emotions of poignant sorrow 

 and remorse. The truth, however, did not reach him till some days after; 

 for if the fact was known among the confederate lords, it was carefully sup- 

 pressed, and a story substituted that Uie king had taken refuge on board the 

 fleet, and was safe. But the admiral, on being called before the young king, 

 declared that he had seen nothing of his late master. So Httle, it is said, had 

 the prince been accustomed to the society of his father, that when Wood 

 appeared before him, struck by the stately appearance of the veteran, or by 

 some possible resemblance—" Sir," he eagerly inquired, " are you my father?" 

 To which the admiral, bursting into tears, repUed, " I am not your father, but 

 I was your father's true servant." 



But, resuming our notice of the Castle of Stirling, it appears to have acquired 

 most of its artificial embelhshment from the taste and munificence of James V. 

 who, as well as his Daughter, was crowned here, and built the royal palace— a 

 square building of hevra stone, with much statuary and sculpture, surrounding 

 a small court where the king's lions are said to have been kept, still familiarly 



• The place of this tragedy is known by the name of Beaton's Mill, and although somewhat mutilated 

 and converted into a dwelling house, its identity is still so sufficiently preserved as to render it an object of 

 popular attraction. In detailing the circumstances we have followed the popular version, which difl'ers in 

 no important particular from that of the most accredited historians. 



