They were conducted by the
butler of the castle, who seemed to perform his office unwillingly,
while they crowded in, thirsty and riotous.
Aware how unequal his single arm would be to contend with such numbers,
Murray, at the first glance of these plunderers, retreated behind a
heap of casks in a remote corner. While the trembling butler was
loading a dozen of the men with flasks for the refreshment of their
masters above, the rest were helping themselves from the adjacent
catacombs. Some left the cellars with their booty, and others remained
to drink it on the spot. Glad to escape the insults of the soldiers
who lay wallowing in the wine, Bothwell's old servant quitted the
cellar with the last company which bore flagons to their comrades above.
Murray listened anxiously, in hopes of hearing from his garrulous
neighbors some intimation of the fate of his uncle and aunt. He
hearkened in vain, for nothing was uttered by these intoxicated
banditti, but loud boastings of the number each had slain in the earl's
apartment; execrations against the Scots for their obstinate
resistance; and a thousand sanguinary wishes, that the nation had but
one neck, to strike off at a blow.
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