or even England,
at his back. When they had fully realised their unsatisfactory victory
they marched to Edinburgh, with the Prince always among them and a chill
horror about them, unaware what way to look for news of the King. The
rush of the people to watch their return with their drooping banners and
faces full of consternation, and wonder at the unaccustomed sight of the
young Prince which yet was not exciting enough to counterbalance the
anxiety, the wonder, the perpetual question what had become of the
King--must have been as a menace the more to the perplexed leaders, who
knew that a fierce mob might surge up into warfare at any moment, or a
rally from the castle cut off their discouraged and weary troops. Where
was the King? Had he perhaps got before them to Edinburgh? was he there
on that height, misty with smoke and sunshine, turning against them the
great gun, which had been forged for use against the Douglas: or ready
to appear from over the Firth terrible with a new army; or in the ships,
most likely of all, with the great admiral who lay there watching, ready
to carry off a royal fugitive or bring back strange allies to revenge
the scorn that had been done to the King? The lords decided to take
their dispirited and broken array to Leith instead of going to Holyrood,
and there collected together to hold a council of war. Among the
confused reports brought to them of what one man and another had seen or
heard was one, more likely than the rest, of boats which had been seen
to steal down Forth and make for the _Yellow Carvel_ lying in the
estuary, with apparently wounded men on board. They sent accordingly to
summon Sir Andrew Wood to their presence. The sailor probably cared
nothing about politics any further than that he held for the King--and
furious with the Lords who had withstood his Majesty declined to come
unless hostages were sent for his safety. When this was accorded, the
old sea-lion, the first admiral of Scotland, came gruffly from his ships
to answer their questions. Whether there was any resemblance between the
two men, as he stood with his cloak wrapped round him defiant before the
rebel lords, or if the Prince had, as is possible, been so long absent
from his father that the vague outline of a man enveloped and muffled
deceived him, it is impossible to say. But there is a tone of
penetrating reality in the "Sir, are ye my father?" of the troubled boy,
perhaps only then aroused to a full comprehe