Title: The Three Perils of Man, Vol. 1 (of 3) - or, War, Women, and Witchcraft
Author: Hogg, James, 1770-1835
Language: English
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    THE

    THREE PERILS OF MAN:

    _A BORDER ROMANCE_.



    THE
    THREE PERILS OF MAN;

    OR,
    War, Women, and Witchcraft.

    _A BORDER ROMANCE._


    BY JAMES HOGG,
    AUTHOR OF "WINTER-EVENING TALES," "BROWNIE OF
    BODSBECK," "QUEEN'S WAKE," _&c._ _&c._


    IN THREE VOLUMES.

    VOL. I.


    Beshrew me if I dare open it.
        FLETCHER.


    LONDON:
    LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
    PATERNOSTER-ROW.

    1822.



    JOHN MOIR, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.



    TO
    WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ.
    AS A SMALL MEMORIAL
    OF
    _YARROW_,
    AND
    THE SHEPHERD'S HUMBLE SHEIL,
    THIS WORK
    IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
    BY
    THE AUTHOR.



THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN.



CHAPTER I.

    There was a king, and a courteous king,
      And he had a daughter sae bonnie;
    And he lo'ed that maiden aboon a' thing
      I' the bonnie, bonnie halls o' Binnorie.

           *       *       *       *       *

    But wae be to thee, thou warlock wight,
      My malison come o'er thee,
    For thou hast undone the bravest knight,
      That ever brak bread i' Binnorie!

        _Old Song._


The days of the Stuarts, kings of Scotland, were the days of
chivalry and romance. The long and bloody contest that the nation
maintained against the whole power of England, for the recovery of its
independence,--of those rights which had been most unwarrantably wrested
from our fathers by the greatest and most treacherous sovereign of that
age, with the successful and glorious issue of the war, laid the
foundation for this spirit of heroism, which appears to have been at its
zenith about the time that the Stuarts first acquired the sovereignty of
the realm. The deeds of the Douglasses, the Randolphs, and other border
barons of that day, are not to be equalled by any recorded in our
annals; while the reprisals that they made upon the English, in
retaliation for former injuries, enriched both them and their followers,
and rendered their appearance splendid and imposing to a degree that
would scarcely now gain credit. It was no uncommon thing for a Scottish
earl then to visit the Court at the head of a thousand horsemen, all
splendidly mounted in their military accoutrements; and many of these
gentlemen of rank and family. In court and camp, feats of arms were the
topic of conversation, and the only die that stamped the character of a
man of renown, either with the fair, the monarch, or the chiefs of the
land. No gentleman of noble blood would pay his addresses to his
mistress, until he had broken a spear with the knights of the rival
nation, surprised a strong-hold, or driven a prey from the kinsmen of
the Piercies, the Musgraves, or the Howards. As in all other things that
run to a fashionable extremity, the fair sex took the lead in
encouraging these deeds of chivalry, till it came to have the appearance
of a national mania. There were tournaments at the castle of every
feudal baron and knight. The ploughmen and drivers were often
discovered, on returning from the fields, hotly engaged in a tilting
bout with their goads and plough-staves; and even the little boys and
maidens on the village green, each well mounted on a crooked stick, were
daily engaged in the combat, and riding rank and file against each
other, breaking their tiny weapons in the furious onset, while the mimic
fire flashed from their eyes. Then was the play of _Scots and English_
begun, a favourite one on the school green to this day. Such was the
spirit of the age, not only in Scotland, but over all the countries of
southern Europe, when the romantic incidents occurred on which the
following tale is founded. It was taken down from the manuscript of an
old Curate, who had spent the latter part of his life in the village of
Mireton, and was given to the present Editor by one of those tenants who
now till the valley where stood the richest city of this realm.

There were once a noble king and queen of Scotland, as many in that land
have been.--In this notable tell-tale manner, does old Isaac, the
curate, begin his narrative. It will be seen in the sequel, that this
king and queen were Robert the Second and his consort.--They were
beloved by all their subjects, (continues he,) and loved and favoured
them in return; and the country enjoyed happiness and peace, all save a
part adjoining to the borders of England. The strong castle of Roxburgh,
which was the key of that country, had been five times taken by the
English, and three times by the Scots, in less than seventeen months,
and was then held by the gallant Lord Musgrave for Richard king of
England.

Our worthy king had one daughter, of exquisite beauty and
accomplishments; the flower of all Scotland, and her name was Margaret.
This princess was courted by many of the principal nobility of the land,
who all eagerly sought an alliance with the royal family, not only for
the additional honour and power which it conferred on them and their
posterity, but for the personal charms of the lady, which were of that
high eminence, that no man could look on her without admiration. This
emulation of the lords kept the court of King Robert full of bustle,
homage, and splendour. All were anxious to frustrate the designs of
their opponents, and to forward their own; so that high jealousies were
often apparent in the sharp retorts, stern looks, and nodding plumes of
the rival wooers; and as the princess had never disclosed her partiality
for one above another, it was judged that Robert scarcely dared openly
to give the preference to any of them. A circumstance, however, soon
occurred, which brought the matter fairly to the test.

It happened on a lovely summer day, at the end of July, that three and
twenty noble rivals for the hand of the beauteous princess were all
assembled at the palace of Linlithgow; but the usual gaiety, mirth, and
repartee did not prevail; for the king had received bad tidings that
day, and he sat gloomy and sad.

Musgrave had issued from the castle of Roxburgh, had surprised the
castle of Jedburgh, and taken prisoner William, brother to the lord of
Galloway; slain many loyal Scottish subjects, and wasted Teviotdale with
fire and sword. The conversation turned wholly on the state of affairs
on the border, and the misery to which that country was exposed by the
castle of Roxburgh remaining in the hands of the English; and at length
the king enquired impatiently, how it came that Sir Philip Musgrave had
surprised the castle this last time, when his subjects were so well
aware of their danger.

The earl of Hume made answer, that it was wholly an affair of chivalry,
and one of the bravest and noblest acts that ever was performed.
Musgrave's mistress, the lady Jane Howard, of the blood royal, and the
greatest heiress of the north of England, had refused to see him, unless
he gained back his honour by the retaking of that perilous castle, and
keeping it against all force, intercession, or guile, till the end of
the Christmas holidays. That he had accomplished the former in the most
gallant stile; and, from the measures that he had adopted, and the
additional fortifications that he had raised, there was every
possibility that he would achieve the latter.

"What," said the king, "must the spirit of chivalry then be confined to
the country of our enemies? Have our noble dames of Scotland less
heroism in their constitutions than those of the south? Have they fewer
of the charms of beauty, or have their lovers less spirit to fulfil
their commands? By this sceptre in my right hand, I will give my
daughter, the princess Margaret, to the knight who shall take that
castle of Roxburgh out of the hands of the English before the expiry of
the Christmas holidays."

Every lord and knight was instantly on his feet to accept the proposal,
and every one had his hand stretched towards the royal chair for
audience, when Margaret arose herself, from the king's left hand, where
she was seated, and flinging her left arm backward, on which swung a
scarf of gold, and stretching her right, that gleamed with bracelets of
rubies and diamonds, along the festive board, "Hold, my noble lords,"
said she; "I am too deeply interested here not to have a word to say.
The grandchild of the great Bruce must not be given away to every
adventurer without her own approval. Who among you will venture his
honour and his life for me?" Every knight waved his right hand aloft and
dashed it on the hilt of his sword, eyeing the graceful attitude and
dignified form of the princess with raptures of delight. "It is well,"
continued she, "the spirit of chivalry _has not_ deserted the Scottish
nation--hear me then: My father's vow shall stand; I will give my hand
in marriage to the knight who shall take that castle for the king, my
father, before the expiry of the Christmas holidays, and rid our border
of that nest of reavers; but with this proviso only, that, in case of
his attempting and failing in the undertaking, he shall forfeit all his
lands, castles, towns, and towers to me, which shall form a part of my
marriage-portion to his rival. Is it fit that the daughter of a king
should be given up or won as circumstances may suit, or that the risk
should all be on one side? Who would be so unreasonable as expect it?
This, then, with the concurrence of my lord and father, is my
determination, and by it will I stand."

The conditions were grievously hard, and had a damping and dismal effect
on the courtly circle. The light of every eye deadened into a dim and
sullen scowl. It was a deed that promised glory and renown to adventure
their blood for such a dame,--to win such a lady as the Princess of
Scotland: But, to give up their broad lands and castles to enrich a
hated rival, was an obnoxious consideration, and what in all likelihood
was to be the issue. When all the forces of the land had been unable to
take the castle by storm, where was the probability that any of them was
now to succeed? None accepted the conditions. Some remained silent; some
shook their heads, and muttered incoherent mumblings; others strode
about the room, as if in private consultation.

"My honoured liege," said Lady Margaret, "none of the lords or knights
of your court have the spirit to accept of my conditions. Be pleased
then to grant me a sufficient force. I shall choose the officers for
them myself, and I engage to take the castle of Roxburgh before
Christmas. I will disappoint the bloody Musgrave of his bride; and the
world shall see whether the charms of Lady Jane Howard or those of
Margaret Stuart shall rouse their admirers to deeds of the most
desperate valour. Before the Christmas bells have tolled, that shall be
tried on the rocks, in the rivers, in the air, and the bowels of the
earth. In the event of my enterprise proving succesful, all the guerdon
that I ask is, the full and free liberty of giving my hand to whom I
will. It shall be to no one that is here." And so saying she struck it
upon the table, and again took her seat at the king's left hand.

Every foot rung on the floor with a furious tramp, in unison with that
stroke of the princess's hand. The taunt was not to be brooked. Nor was
it. The haughty blood of the Douglasses could bear it no longer. James,
the gallant earl of Douglas and Mar, stepped forward from the circle.
"My honoured liege, and master," said he, "I have not declined the
princess's offer,--beshrew my heart if ever it embraced such a purpose.
But the stake is deep, and a moment's consideration excusable. I have
considered, and likewise decided. I accept the lady's proposals. With my
own vassals alone, and at my own sole charge, will I rescue the castle
from the hands of our enemies, or perish in the attempt. The odds are
high against me. But it is now a Douglas or a Musgrave: God prosper the
bravest!"

"Spoken like yourself, noble Douglas," said the king, "The higher the
stake the greater the honour. The task be yours, and may the issue add
another laurel to the heroic name."

"James of Douglas," said Lady Margaret, "dost thou indeed accept of
these hard conditions for my sake? Then the hand of thy royal mistress
shall buckle on the armour in which thou goest to the field, but never
shall unloose it, unless from a victor or a corse!" And with that she
stretched forth her hand, which Douglas, as he kneeled with one knee on
the ground, took and pressed to his lips.

Every one of the nobles shook Douglas by the hand, and wished him
success. Does any man believe that there was one among them that indeed
wished it? No, there was not a chief present that would not have
rejoiced to have seen him led to the gallows. His power was too high
already, and they dreaded that now it might be higher than ever; and,
moreover, they saw themselves outdone by him in heroism, and felt
degraded by the contract thus concluded.

The standard of the Douglas was reared, and the bloody heart flew far
over many a lowland dale. The subordinate gentlemen rose with their
vassals, and followed the banner of their chief; but the more powerful
kept aloof, or sent ambiguous answers. They deemed the service
undertaken little better than the frenzy of a madman.

There was at that time a powerful border baron, nicknamed Sir Ringan
Redhough, by which name alone he was distinguished all the rest of his
life. He was warden of the middle marches, and head of the most warlike
and adventurous sept in all that country. The answer which this hero
gave to his own cousin, Thomas Middlemas, who came to expostulate with
him from Douglas, is still preserved verbatim: "What, man, are a' my
brave lads to lie in bloody claes that the Douglas may lie i' snaw-white
sheets wi' a bonny bedfellow? Will that keep the braid border for the
king, my master? Tell him to keep their hands fu', an' their haunches
toom, an' they'll soon be blythe to leave the lass an' loup at the
ladle; an' the fient ae cloot shall cross the border to gar their pots
play brown atween Dirdan-head and Cocket-fell. Tell him this, an' tell
him that Redhough said it. If he dinna work by wiles he'll never pouch
the profit. But if he canna do it, an' owns that he canna do it, let him
send word to me, an' I'll tak' it for him."

With these words he turned his back, and abruptly left his cousin, who
returned to Douglas, ill satisfied with the success of his message, but,
nevertheless, delivered it faithfully. "That curst carle," said the
Douglas, "is a thorn in my thigh, as well as a buckler on my arm. He's
as cunning as a fox, as stubborn as an oak, and as fierce as a lion. I
must temporize for the present, as I cannot do without his support, but
the time may come that he may be humbled, and made to know his betters;
since one endeavour has failed, we must try another, and, if that do not
succeed, another still."

The day after that, as Sir Ringan was walking out at his own gate, an
old man, with a cowl, and a long grey beard, accosted him. "May the
great spirit of the elements shield thee, and be thy protector,
knight," said he.

"An' wha may he be, carle, an it be your will?" said Ringan; "An' wha
may ye be that gie me sic a sachless benediction? As to my shield and
protection, look ye here!" and with that he touched his two-handed
sword, and a sheaf of arrows that was swung at his shoulder; "an' what
are all your saints and lang nebbit spirits to me?"

"It was a random salutation, knight," said the old man, seeing his mood
and temper; "I am not a priest but a prophet. I come not to load you
with blessings, curses, nor homilies, all equally unavailing, but to
tell you what shall be in the times that are to come. I have had visions
of futurity that have torn up the tendrils of my spirit by the roots.
Would you like to know what is to befal you and your house in the times
that are to come?"

"I never believe a word that you warlocks say," replied the knight;
"but I like aye to hear what you _will_ say about matters; though
it is merely to laugh at ye, for I dinna gie credit to ane o' your
predictions. Sin' the Rhymer's days, the spirit o' true warlockry is
gane. He foretauld muckle that has turned out true; an' something that I
hope _will_ turn out true: But ye're a' bairns to him."

"Knight," said the stranger, "I can tell you more than ever the Rhymer
conceived, or thought upon; and, moreover, I can explain the words of
True Thomas, which neither you nor those to whom they relate in the
smallest degree comprehend. Knowest thou the prophecy of the Hart and
the Deer, as it is called?

    'Quhere the hearte heavit in het blude over hill and howe,
    There shall the dinke deire droule for the dowe:
    Two fleite footyde maydenis shall tredde the greine,
    And the mone and the starre shall flashe betweine.
    Quhere the proude hiche halde and heveye hande beire
    Ane frenauch shall feide on ane faderis frene feire,
    In dinging at the starris the D shall doupe down,
    But the S shall be S quhane the heide S is gone.'"

"I hae heard the reide often and often," said the knight, "but the man's
unborn that can understand that. Though the prophecies and the legends
of the Rhymer take the lead i' my lear, I hae always been obliged to
make that a passover."

"There is not one of all his sayings that relates as much to you and
your house, knight. It foretels that the arms of your family shall
supersede those of Douglas, which you know are the bloody heart; and
that in endeavouring to exalt himself to the stars, the D, that is the
Douglas, shall fall, but that your house and name shall remain when the
Stuarts are no more."

"By the horned beasts of Old England, my father's portion, and my son's
undiminished hope," exclaimed the knight,--"Thou art a cunning man! I
now see the bearing o' the prophecy as plainly as I see the hill of
Mountcomyn before my e'e; and, as I know Thomas never is wrong, I
believe it. Now is the time, auld warlock,--now is the time; he's
ettling at a king's daughter, but his neck lies in wad, and the forfeit
will be his undoing."

"The time is not yet come, valiant knight; nevertheless the prophecy is
true. Has thy horse's hoof ever trode, or thine eye journeyed, over the
Nine Glens of Niddisdale?"

"I hae whiles gotten a glisk o' them."

"They are extensive, rich, and beautiful."

"They're nae less, auld carle; they're nae less. They can send nine
thousand leel men an' stout to the field in a pinch."

"It is recorded in the book of fate,--it is written there--"

"The devil it is, auld carle; that's mair than I thought o'."

"Hold thy peace: lay thine hand upon thy mouth, and be silent till I
explain: I say I have seen it in the visions of the night,--I have seen
it in the stars of heaven"--

"What? the Nine Glens o' Niddisdale amang the starns o' heaven! by hoof
and horn, it was rarely seen, warlock."

"I say that I have seen it,--they are all to belong to thy house."

"Niddisdale a' to pertain to my house!"

"All."

"Carle, I gie nae credit to sic forbodings; but I have heard something
like this afore. Will ye stay till I bring my son Robin, the young
Master of Mountcomyn, and let him hear it? For aince a man takes a mark
on his way, I wadna hae him to tine sight o't. Mony a time has the tail
o' the king's elwand pointed me the way to Cumberland; an' as often has
the ee o' the Charlie-wain blinkit me hame again. A man's nae the waur
o' a bit beacon o' some kind,--a bit hope set afore him, auld carle; an'
the Nine Glens o' Niddisdale are nae Willie-an-the-Wisp in a lad's ee."

"From Roxburgh castle to the tower of Sark,"--

"What's the auld-warld birkie saying?"

"From the Deadwater-fell to the Linns of Cannoby,--from the Linns of
Cannoby to the heights of Manor and the Deuchar-swire,--shall thy son,
and the representatives of thy house, ride on their own lands."

"May ane look at your foot, carle? Take off that huge wooden sandal, an
it be your will."

"Wherefore should I, knight?"

"Because I dread ye are either the devil or Master Michael Scott."

"Whoever I am, I am a friend to you and to yours, and have told you the
words of truth. I have but one word more to say:--Act always in concert
with the Douglasses, while they act in concert with the king your
master,--not a day, nor an hour, nor a moment longer. It is thus, and
thus alone, that you must rise and the Douglas fall. Remember the words
of True Thomas,--

    'Quhane the wingit hors at his maistere sal wince,
    'Let wyse men cheat the chevysance.'"

"There is something mair about you than other folk, auld man. If ye be
my kinsman, Michael Scott the warlock, I crave your pardon, Master; but
if you are that dreadfu' carle--I mean that learned and wonderfu' man,
why you are welcome to my castle. But you are not to turn my auld wife
into a hare, Master, an' hunt her up an' down the hills wi' my ain
grews; nor my callants into naigs to scamper about on i' the night-time
when they hae ither occupations to mind. There is naething i' my tower
that isna at your command; for, troth, I wad rather brow a' the Ha's and
the Howard's afore I beardit you."

"I set no foot in your halls, knight. This night is a night among many
to me; and wo would be to me if any thing canopied my head save the cope
of heaven. There are horoscopes to be read this night for a thousand
years to come. One cake of your bread and one cup of your wine is all
that the old wizard requests of you, and that he must have."

The knight turned back and led the seer into the inner-court, and fed
him with bread and wine, and every good thing; but well he noted that he
asked no holy benediction on them like the palmers and priors that
wandered about the country; and, therefore, he had some lurking dread of
the old man. He did not thank the knight for his courtesy, but, wiping
his snowy beard, he turned abruptly away, and strode out at the gate of
the castle. Sir Ringan kept an eye on him privately till he saw him
reach the top of Blake Law, a small dark hill immediately above the
castle. There he stopped and looked around him, and taking two green
sods, he placed the one above the other, and laid himself down on his
back, resting his head upon the two sods,--his body half raised, and his
eyes fixed on heaven. The knight was almost frightened to look at him;
but sliding into the cleuch, he ran secretly down to the tower to bring
his lady to see this wonderful old warlock. When they came back he was
gone, and no trace of him to be seen, nor saw they him any more at that
time.



CHAPTER II.

    This man's the devil's fellow commoner,
    A verie cloake-bag of iniquitie.
    His butteries and his craboun he deschargeth
    Flasche, not by airt or reule. Is it meet
    A Ploydenist should be a _cedant arma togae_,
    Mounted on a trapt palfrey; with a dishe
    Of velvatte on his heide, to keepe the brothe
    Of his wit warm? The devil, my maisteris,
    There is no dame in Venice shall indure itt.

        _Old Play._


Whilst the knight and his lady were looking about in amazement for
their mysterious guest, the tower-warder sounded the great bugle, a
tremendous horn that lay on a shelf in the balcony where he kept watch.
"One--two--three," said the knight, counting the three distinct
notes,--a signal of which he well knew the language,--"What can that
mean? I am wanted, it would appear: another messenger from the Douglas,
I warrant."

"Sir Ringan, keep by that is your own," said the lady--"I say, mind your
own concerns, and let the Douglas mind his."

"Dame," said the chief, "I hae gotten some mair insight into that affair
than you; an' we maun talk about it by an' by. In the meantime let us
haste home, and see who is arrived."

As they descended from the hill hand in hand, (for none walked arm in
arm in those days,) they saw Richard Dodds, a landward laird, coming to
meet them. "Oh," said Sir Ringan, "this is my officious cousin, Dickie
o' Dryhope; what business can he be come upon? It will be something that
he deems of great importance."

"I hate that old fawning, flattering sycophant," said the lady; "and
cannot divine what is the cause of your partiality for him."

"It is his attachment to our house that I admire, and his perfect
devotion to my service and interests," said the knight.

"Mere sound," exclaimed the lady bitterly: "Mere waste of superfluous
breath! I tell you, Sir Ringan, that, for all your bravery, candour, and
kindness, you are a mere novice in the affairs of life, and know less
of men and of things than ever knight did."

"It is a great fault in women," said the knight, making his observation
general, "that they will aye be meddling wi' things they ken nought
about. They think they ken every thing, an' wad gar ane trow that they
can see an inch into a fir deal.--Gude help them! It is just as
unfeasible to hear a lady discussing the merits of warriors an' yeomen,
as it wad be to see me sitting nursing a wench-bairn."

"Foh, what an uncourtly term!" said the lady; "What would King Robert
think if he heard you speaking in that uncouth stile?"

"I speak muckle better than him, wi' his short clippit Highland tongue,"
said the chief: "But hush, here comes the redoubted Dickie o' Dryhope."

No sooner were the knight and his lady's eyes turned so as to meet
Dickie's, than he whipped off his bonnet with a graceful swing, and made
a low bow, his thin gray locks waving as he bowed. Dickie was a tall,
lean, toothless, old bachelor, whose whole soul and body were
devoted to the fair sex and the house of his chief. These two mighty
concerns divided his attention, and often mingled with one another;
his enthusiasm for the one, by any sudden change of subjects or
concatenation of ideas, being frequently transferred to the other.
Dickie approached with his bonnet in his hand, bowing every time the
knight and lady lifted their eyes. When they met, Sir Ringan shook him
heartily by the hand, and welcomed him to the castle of Mountcomyn.

"Oh, you are so good and so kind, Sir Ringan, bless you, bless you,
bless you, noble sir; how do you thrive, Sir Ringan? bless you, bless
you. And my excellent and noble lady Mountcomyn, how is my noble dame?"

"Thank you," said the lady coldly.

Dickie looked as if he would have shaken hands with her, or embraced
her, as the custom then was, but she made no proffer of either the one
or the other, and he was obliged to keep his distance; but this had no
effect in checking his adulations. "I am so glad that my excellent lady
is well, and the young squires and maidens all brisk and whole I hope?"

"All well, cousin," said the chief.

"Eh! all well?" reiterated Dickie, "Oh the dear, delightful, darling
souls, O bless them! If they be but as well as I wish them, and as good
as I wish--If the squires be but half so brave as their father, and the
noble young sweet dames half so beautiful as their lady mother--oh bless
them, bless them." "And half so independent and honest as their cousin,"
said the lady, with a rebuking sneer.

"Very pleasant! very pleasant, indeed!" simpered Dickie, without daring
to take his lips far asunder, lest his toothless gums should be seen.

"Such babyish flummery!" rejoined the lady with great emphasis. Dickie
was somewhat abashed. His eyes, that were kindled with a glow of filial
rapture, appeared as with flattened pupils; nevertheless the benignant
smile did not altogether desert his features. The knight gave a short
look off at one side to his lady. "It is a great fault in ladies,
cousin," said he, "that they will always be breaking their jokes on
those that they like best, and always pretending to keep at a distance
from them. My lady thinks to blind my een, as many a dame has done to
her husband afore this time; but I ken, an' some mae ken too, that if
there's ane o' a' my kin that I durstna trust my lady wi' when my back's
turned, that ane's Dickie o' Dryhope."

"H'm, h'm, h'm," neighed Dickie, laughing with his lips shut; "My lady's
so pleasant, and so kind, but--Oh--no, no--you wrong her, knight; h'm,
h'm, h'm! But, all joking and gibing aside--my lady's very pleasant. I
came express to inform you, Sir Ringan, that the Douglasses are up."

"I knew it."

"And the Maxwells--and the Gordons--and the hurkle-backed Hendersons."

"Well."

"And Sir Christopher Seton is up--and the Elliots and the Laird of
Tibbers is up."

"Well, well."

"I came expressly to inform you--"

"Came with piper's news," said the lady, "which the fiddler has told
before you."

"That _is very_ good," said Dickie; "My lady is so delightfully
pleasant--I thought Sir Ringan would be going to rise with the rest, and
came for directions as to raising my men."

"How many men can the powerful Laird of Dryhope muster in support of the
warden?" said Lady Mountcomyn.

"Mine are all at his command; my worthy lady knows that," said Dickie,
bowing: "Every one at his command."

"I think," said she, "that at the battle of Blakehope you furnished only
two, who were so famished with hunger that they could not bear arms, far
less fight."

"Very pleasant, in sooth; h'm, h'm! I declare I am delighted with my
lady's good humour."

"You may, however, keep your couple of scare-crows at home for the
present, and give them something to eat," continued she; "the warden has
other matters to mind than wasting his vassals that the Douglas may
wive."

"Very true, and excellent good sense," said Dickie.

"We'll talk of that anon," said Sir Ringan. And with that they went into
the castle, and sat down to dinner. There were twelve gentlemen and nine
maidens present, exclusive of the knight's own family, and they took
their places on each side as the lady named them. When Sir Ringan
lifted up his eyes and saw the station that Dickie occupied, he was
dissatisfied, but instantly found a remedy. "Davie's Pate," said he to
the lad that waited behind him, "mak that bowiefu' o' cauld plovers
change places wi' yon saut-faut instantly, before meat be put to mouth."
The order was no sooner given than obeyed, and the new arrangement
placed Dickie fairly above the salt.

The dining apparatus at the castle of Mountcomyn was homely, but the
fare was abundant. A dozen yeomen stood behind with long knives, and
slashed down the beef and venison into small pieces, which they placed
before the guests in wooden plates, so that there was no knife used at
the dining board. All ate heartily, but none with more industry than
Dickie, who took not even time all the while to make the complaisant
observation, that "my lady was so pleasant."

Dinner being over, the younger branches of the family retired, and all
the kinsmen not of the first rank, pretending some business that called
them away, likewise disappeared; so that none were left with the knight
and his lady save six. The lady tried the effect of several broad hints
on Dickie, but he took them all in good part, and declared that he never
saw his lady so pleasant in his life. And now a serious consultation
ensued, on the propriety of lending assistance to the Douglas. Sir
Ringan first put the question to his friends, without any observation.
The lady took up the argument, and reasoned strongly against the
measure. Dickie was in raptures with his lady's good sense, and declared
her arguments unanswerable. Most of the gentlemen seemed to acquiesce in
the same measure, on the ground that, as matters stood, they could not
rise at the Douglas' call on that occasion, without being considered as
a subordinate family, which neither the king nor the Douglas had any
right to suppose them; and so strongly and warmly ran the argument on
that side, that it was likely to be decided on, without the chief having
said a word on the subject. Simon of Gemelscleuch alone ventured to
dissent; "I have only to remark, my gallant kinsmen," said he, "that our
decision in this matter is likely to prove highly eventful. Without our
aid the force of the Douglas is incompetent to the task, and the castle
will then remain in the hands of the English, than which nothing can be
more grievously against our interest. If he be defeated, and forfeit his
lands, the power of the Border will then remain with us; but should he
succeed without our assistance, and become the king's son-in-law, it
will be a hard game with us to keep the footing that we have. I
conceive, therefore, that in withdrawing our support we risk every
thing,--in lending it, we risk nothing but blows." All the kinsmen were
silent. Dickie looked at my Lady Mountcomyn.

"It is well known that there is an old prophecy existing," said she,
"that a Scot shall sit in the Douglas' chair, and be lord of all his
domains. Well would it be for the country if that were so. But to
support the overgrown power of that house is not the way to accomplish
so desirable an object."

"That is true," said Dickie; "I'll defy any man to go beyond what my
lady says, or indeed whatever she says."

"Have we not had instances of their jealousy already?" continued she.

"We have had instances of their jealousy already," said Dickie,
interrupting her.

"And should we raise him to be the king's son-in-law, he would kick us
for our pains," rejoined she.

"Ay, he would kick us for our pains," said Dickie; "think of that."

"Either please to drop your responses, Sir," said she, sternly, "or
leave the hall. I would rather hear a raven croak on my turret in the
day of battle, than the tongue of a flatterer or sycophant."

"That is very good indeed," said Dickie; "My lady is so pleasant; h'm,
h'm, h'm! Excellent! h'm, h'm, h'm!"

Sir Ringan saw his lady drawing herself up in high indignation; and
dreading that his poor kinsman would bring on himself such a rebuke as
would banish him the hall for ever, he interposed. "Cousin," said he,
"it's a great fault in women that they canna bide interruption, an' the
mair they stand in need o't they take it the waur. But I have not told
you all yet: a very singular circumstance has happened to me this day.
Who do you think I found waylaying me at my gate, but our kinsman, the
powerful old warlock, Master Michael Scott."

"Master Michael Scott!" exclaimed the whole circle, every one holding up
his hands, "has he ventured to be seen by man once more? Then there is
something uncommon to befal, or, perhaps, the world is coming to an
end."

"God forbid!" said Redhough: "It is true that, for seven years, he has
been pent up in his enchanted tower at Aikwood, without speaking to any
one save his spirits; but though I do not know him, this must have been
he, for he has told me such things as will astonish you; and, moreover,
when he left me, he laid himself down on the top of the Little Law on
his back, and the devils carried him away bodily through the air, or
down through the earth, and I saw no more of him."

All agreed that it had been the great magician Master Michael Scott. Sir
Ringan then rehearsed the conversation that had passed between the
wizard and himself. All the circle heard this with astonishment; some
with suspense, and others with conviction, but Dickie with raptures of
delight. "He assured me," said Redhough, "that my son should ride on his
own land from Roxburgh to the Deadwater-fell."

"From Roxburgh to the Deadwater-fell!" cried Dickie, "think of that! all
the links of the bonny Teviot and Slitterick, ha, ha, lads, think of
that!" and he clapped his hands aloud without daring to turn his eyes
to the head of the table.

"And from the Deadwater-fell to the tower o' Sark," rejoined the knight.

"To the tower of Sark!" exclaimed Dickie. "H-- have a care of us! think
of that! All the dales of Liddel, and Ewes, and the fertile fields of
Cannobie! Who will be king of the Border, then, my lads? who will be
king of the Border then? ha, ha, ha!"

"And from the fords of Sark to the Deuchar-swire," added Sir Ringan.

Dickie sprang to his feet, and seizing a huge timber trencher, he waved
it round his head. The chief beckoned for silence; but Dickie's eyes
were glistening with raprures, and it was with great difficulty he
repressed his vociferations.

"And over the Nine Glens of Niddisdale beside," said Sir Ringan.

Dickie could be restrained no longer. He brayed out, "Hurrah, hurrah!"
and waved his trencher round his head.

"All the Esk, and the braid Forest, and the Nine Glens o' Niddisdale!
Hurrah! Hurrah! Mountcomyn for ever! The warden for ever! hu, hu! hu!"

The knight and his friends were obliged to smile at Dickie's outrageous
joy; but the lady rose and went out in high dudgeon. Dickie then gave
full vent to his rapture without any mitigation of voice, adding, "My
lady for ever!" to the former two; and so shouting, he danced around,
waving his immense wooden plate.

The frolic did not take, and Sir Ringan was obliged to call him to
order. "You do not consider, cousin," said the warden, "that what a
woman accounts excellent sport at one time is at another high offence.
See, now, you have driven my lady away from our consultation, on whose
advice I have a strong reliance; and I am afraid we will scarcely
prevail on her to come back."

"Oh! there's no fear of my lady and me," said Dickie; "we understand one
another. My lady is a kind, generous, noble soul, and so pleasant!

"For as pleasant and kind as she is, I am deceived if she is easily
reconciled to you. Ye dinna ken Kate Dunbar, cousin.--Boy, tell your
lady that we lack her counsel, and expect that she will lend us it for a
short space."

The boy did as he was ordered, but returned with an answer, that unless
Dickie was dismissed she did not choose to be of the party.

"I am sorry for it," said Sir Ringan; "but you may tell her that she may
then remain where she is, for I can't spare my cousin Dickie now, nor
any day these five months." And with that he began and discussed the
merits of the case _pro_ and _con_ with his kinsmen, as if nothing had
happened; and in the end it was resolved, that, with a thousand
horsemen, they would scour the east border to intercept all the supplies
that should be sent out of England, and thus enrich themselves, while,
at at the same time, they would appear to countenance the mad
undertaking of Douglas.



CHAPTER III.

     "Come, come, my hearts of flint; modestly; decently; soberly; and
     handsomely.--No man afore his leader.--Ding down the enemy
     to-morrow,--ye shall not come into the field like beggars.--Lord
     have mercy upon me, what a world this is!--Well, I'll give an
     hundred pence for as many good feathers, and a hundred more for as
     many scarts:--wounds, dogs, to set you out withal! Frost and snow,
     a man cannot fight till he be brave! I say down with the enemy to
     morrow!"

         _Sir John Oldcastle._


The castle of Roxburgh was beleaguered by seven thousand men in armour,
but never before had it been so well manned, or rendered so formidable
in its butresses; and to endeavour to scale it, appeared as vain an
attempt as that of scaling the moon.

There was a great deal of parading, and noise went on, as that of
beating drums, and sounding of trumpets and bugles, every day; and
scarcely did there one pass on which there were not tilting bouts
between the parties, and in these the English generally had the
advantage. Never was there, perhaps, a more chivalrous host than that
which Musgrave had under his command within the walls of Roxburgh; the
enthusiasm, the gallantry, and the fire of the captain, were
communicated to all the train.

Their horses were much superior to those of the Scots; and, in place of
the latter being able to make any impression on the besieged, they could
not, with all the vigilance they were able to use, prevent their posts
from being surprised by the English, on which the most desperate
encounters sometimes took place. At first the English generally
prevailed, but the Scots at length became inured to it, and stood the
shocks of the cavalry more firmly. They took care always at the first
onset to cut the bridle reins with their broad-swords, and by that means
they disordered the ranks of their enemies, and often drove them in
confusion back to their strong-hold.

Thus months flew on in this dashing sort of warfare, and no impression
was made on the fortress, nor did any appear practicable; and every one
at court began to calculate on the failure and utter ruin of the
Douglas. Piercy of Northumberland proffered to raise the country, and
lead an army to the relief of the castle; but this interference Musgrave
would in nowise admit, it being an infringement of the task imposed on
him by his mistress.

Moreover, he said, he cared not if all the men of Scotland lay around
the castle, for he would defy them to win it. He farther bade the
messenger charge Piercy and Howard to have an army ready at the expiry
of the Christmas holidays, wherewith to relieve him, and clear the
Border, but to take no care nor concern about him till then.

About this time an incident, right common in that day, brought a number
of noble young adventurers to the camp of Douglas. It chanced, in an
encounter between two small rival parties at the back of the convent of
Maisondieu, which stood on the south side of the Teviot, that Sir Thomas
de Somerville of Carnwath engaged hand to hand with an English knight,
named Sir Comes de Moubray, who, after a desperate encounter, unhorsed
and wounded him. The affair was seen from the walls of Roxburgh, as well
as by a part of the Scottish army which was encamped on a rising ground
to the south, that overlooked the plain; and, of course, like all other
chivalrous feats, became the subject of general conversation. Somerville
was greatly mortified; and, not finding any other way to recover his
honour, he sent a challenge to Moubray to fight him again before the
gate of Roxburgh, in sight of both armies. Moubray was too gallant to
refuse. There was not a knight in the castle who would have declined
such a chance of earning fame, and recommending himself to his mistress
and the fair in general. The challenge was joyfully accepted, and the
two knights met in the midst of a circle of gentlemen appointed by both
armies, on the castle green, that lay betwixt the moat and the river,
immediately under the walls of the castle. Never was there a more
gallant combat seen. They rode nine times against each other with full
force, twice with lances and seven times with swords, yet always managed
with such dexterity that neither were unhorsed, nor yet materially
wounded. But at the tenth charge, by a most strenuous exertion, Sir
Thomas disarmed and threw his opponent out of his saddle, with his
sword-arm dislocated. Somerville gained great renown, and his fame was
sounded in court and in camp. Other challenges were soon sent from both
sides, and as readily accepted; and some of the best blood both of
Scotland and England was shed in these mad chivalrous exploits. The
ambition of the young Scottish nobles was roused, and many of them
flocked as volunteers to the standard of Douglas. Among these were some
of the retainers of Redhough, who could not resist such an opportunity
of trying their swords with some rivals with whom they had erst
exchanged sharp blows on the marches. Simon of Gemelscleuch, his cousin
John of Howpasley, and the Laird of Yard-bire, all arrived in the camp
of Douglas in one night, in order to distinguish themselves in these
tilting bouts. Earl Douglas himself challenged Musgrave, hoping thereby
to gain his end, and the prize for which he fought; but the knight, true
to his engagement, sent him for answer, that he would first see the
beginning of a new year, and then he should fight either him or any of
his name, but that till then he had undertaken a charge to which all
others must be subordinate.

The Laird of Yardbire, the strongest man of the Border, fought three
combats with English squires of the same degree, two on horseback and
one on foot, and in all proved victorious. For one whole month the siege
presented nothing new save these tiltings, which began at certain hours
every day, and always became more obstinate, often proving fatal; and
the eagerness of the young gentry of both parties to engage in them grew
into a kind of mania: But an event happened which put an end to them at
once.

There was a combat one day between two knights of the first degree, who
were surrounded as usual by twenty lancers from each army, all the rest
of both parties being kept at a distance, the English on the tops of
their walls, and the Scots on the heights behind, both to the east and
west; for there was one division of the army stationed on the hill of
Barns and at the head of the Sick-man's Path, and another on the rising
ground between the city and castle. The two gentlemen were equally
matched, and the issue was doubtful, when the attendant Scottish guards
perceived, or thought they perceived, in the bearing of the English
knight, some breach of the rules of chivalry; on which with one voice
they called out "foul play." The English answered, "No, no, none." The
two judges called to order, on which the spearmen stood still and
listened, and hearing that the judges too were of different opinions,
they took up the matter themselves, the Scots insisting that the knight
should be disarmed and turned from the lists in disgrace, and the
English refusing to acquiesce. The judges, dreading some fatal
conclusion, gave their joint orders that both parties should retire in
peace, and let the matter be judged of afterwards; on which the English
prepared to quit the ground with a kind of exultation, for it appeared
that they were not certain with regard to the propriety of their hero's
conduct. Unluckily, it so happened that the redoubted Charlie Scott of
Yard-bire headed the Scottish pikemen on the lists that day, a very
devil for blood and battery, and of strength much beyond that generally
allotted to man. When he saw that the insidious knight was going to be
conducted off in a sort of triumph, and in a manner so different from
what he deemed to suit his demerits, he clenched the handle of his sword
with his right hand, and screwed down his eyebrows till they almost
touched the top of his nose. "What now, muckle Charlie?" said one that
stood by him. "What now!" repeated Charlie, growling like a wolf-dog,
and confining the words almost within his own breast, "The deil sal bake
me into a ker-cake to gust his gab wi', afore I see that saucy tike
ta'en off in sic a way." And with that he dropt his pike, drew his
sword, and rushing through the group he seized the knight's horse by the
bridle with his left hand, thinking to lead both him and his master away
prisoners. The knight struck at him with all his might, but for this
Charlie was prepared; he warded the blow most dexterously, and in wrath,
by the help of a huge curb-bridle, he threw the horse backward, first on
his hams, and then on his back, with his rider under him. "Tak ye that,
master, for whistling o' Sundays," said the intrepid borderer, and began
to lay about him at the English, who now attacked him on both sides.

Charlie's first break at the English knight was the watch-word for a
general attack. The Scots flew to the combat, in perfect silence, and
determined hatred, and they were received by the other party in the same
manner. Not so the onlookers of both hosts,--they rent the air with loud
and reiterated shouts. The English poured forth in a small narrow column
from the east gate along the draw-bridge, but the Scottish horsemen, who
were all ready mounted, the better to see the encounter from their
stations, scoured down from the heights like lightning, so that they
prevailed at first, before the English could issue forth in numbers
sufficient to oppose them. The brave Sir Richard Musgrave, the captain's
younger brother, led the English, he having rushed out at their head on
the first breaking out of the affray; but, notwithstanding all his
bravery, he with his party were driven with their backs to the moat, and
hard pressed, Douglas, with a strong body of horse, having got betwixt
them and the castle-gate. The English were so anxious to relieve their
young hero that they rushed to the gate in crowds. Douglas suffered a
part to issue, and then attacking them furiously with the cavalry, he
drove them back in such confusion, that he got possession of the
draw-bridge for several minutes, and would in all likelihood have
entered with the crowd, had it not been for the portcullis, the
machinery of which the Scots did not understand, nor had they the means
of counteracting it; so that just when they were in the hottest and most
sanguine part of their enterprize, down it came with a clattering noise
louder than thunder, separating a few of the most forward from their
brethren, who were soon every one cut down, as they refused to yield.

In the meantime it fared hard with Richard, who was overpowered by
numbers; and though the English archers galled the Scottish cavalry
grievously from the walls, he and all that were with him being forced
backward, they plunged into the moat, and were every one of them either
slain or taken prisoners. The younger Musgrave was among the latter,
which grieved his brother Sir Philip exceedingly, as it gave Douglas an
undue advantage over him, and he knew that, in the desperate state of
his undertaking, he would go any lengths to over-reach him. From that
day forth, all challenges or accepting of challenges was prohibited by
Musgrave, under pain of death; and a proclamation was issued, stating,
that all who entered the castle should be stripped naked, searched, and
examined, on what pretence soever they came, and if any suspicious
circumstances appeared against them, they were to be hanged upon a post
erected for the purpose, on the top of the wall, in sight of both
armies. He was determined to spare no vigilance, and constantly said he
would hold Douglas at defiance.

There was only one thing that the besieged had to dread, and it was
haply, too, the only thing in which the Scots placed any degree of hope,
and that was the total failure of provisions within the castle.
Musgrave's plan, of getting small supplies at a time from England by
night, was discovered by Sir Ringan Redhough, and completely cut off:
and as Douglas hanged every messenger that fell into his hands, no new
plan could be established; and so closely were the English beleaguered,
that any attempt at sending additional supplies to those they had proved
of no avail. The rival armies always grew more and more inveterate
against each other, and the most sharp and deadly measures were
exercised by both. Matters went on in this manner till near the end of
October, when the nights grew cold, long, and dark. There was nothing
but the perils of that castle on the Border talked of over all Scotland
and England. Every one, man, maid, and child, became interested in it.
It may well be conceived that the two sovereign beauties, the Lady Jane
Howard and Princess Margaret of Scotland, were not the least so; and
both of them prepared, at the same time, in the true spirit of the age,
to take some active part in the matter before it came to a final issue.
One of them seemed destined to lose her hero, but both had put on the
resolution of performing something worthy of the knights that were
enduring so much for their sakes.



CHAPTER IV.

    And O that pegis weste is slymme,
    And his ee wald garr the daye luke dymme;
    His broue is brente, his brestis fayre,
    And the deemonde lurkis in hys revan hayre.
    Alake for thilke bonnye boye sae leile
    That lyes withe oure Kynge in the hie-lande shiele!

        _Old Rhyme._

    I winna gang in, I darena gang in,
      Nor sleep i' your arms ava;
    Fu' laithly wad a fair may sleep
      Atween you an' the wa'.
    War I to lie wi' a belted knight,
      In a land that's no my ain,
    Fu' dear wad be my courtesye,
      An' dreich wad be my pain.

        _Old Ballad._


One cold biting evening, at the beginning of November, Patrick Chisholm
of Castleweary, an old yeoman in the upper part of Teviotdale, sat
conversing with his family all in a merry and cheerful mood. They were
placed in a circle round a blazing hearth fire, on which hung a huge
caldron, boiling and bubbling like the pool at the foot of a cataract.
The lid was suspended by a rope to the iron crook on which this lordly
machine was hung, to intercept somewhat the showers of soot that now and
then descended from the rafters. These appeared as if they had been
covered with pitch or black japanning; and so violently was the kettle
boiling, that it made the roof of Pate Chisholm's bigging all to shiver.
Notwithstanding these showers of soot, Pate and his four goodly sons
eyed the boiling caldron with looks of great satisfaction,--for ever and
anon the hough of an immense leg of beef was to be seen cutting its
capers in the boil, or coming with a graceful semicircular sweep from
one lip of the pot to the other.

"Is it true, callants," said Pate, "that Howard is gaun to make a
diversion, as they ca't, in the west border, to draw off the warden frae
the Cheviots?"

"As muckle is said, an' as muckle expectit," said Dan, his first born, a
goodly youth, who, with his three brethren, sat in armour. They had come
home to their father's house that night with their share of a rich prey
that the warden had kidnapped while just collecting to send to Roxburgh
under a guard of five thousand men. But Sir Ringan, getting intelligence
of it, took possession of the drove before it was placed under the
charge of those intended to guard it.

"As muckle is said, an' as muckle is expectit," said Dan; "but the west
border will never turn out sae weel to us as the east has done. It's
o'er near the Johnstones, and the Jardines, and the hurkle-backit
Hendersons."

Pate looked from under his bonnet at the hough of beef.--"The Cheviot
hills hae turned weel out for the warden," continued Dan; "Redhough an'
his lads hae been as weel scrieving o'er law and dale as lying getting
hard pelts round the stane wa's o' Roxburgh, an' muckle mair gude has he
done; for gin they dinna hunger them out o' their hauddin, they'll keep
it. Ye'll draw an Englishman by the gab easier than drive him wi' an
airn gaud. I wad ride fifty miles to see ony ane o' the bonny dames that
a' this pelting an' peching is about."

"Twa wanton glaikit gillies, I'll uphaud," said Pate, looking at the
restless hough; "o'er muckle marth i' the back, an' meldar i' the
brusket. Gin I had the heffing o' them, I sude tak a staup out
o' their bickers.--Whisht, I thought I heard the clanking o' horse
heels.--Callant, clap the lid down on the pat; what hae they't hinging
geaving up there for?"

The clattering of the horses approached, but apparently with caution;
and at length a voice called at the door in an English accent, "Hollo,
who holds here?" "Leel men, an' for the Scots," answered Dan, starting
to his feet, and laying his hand on his sword. "For the knight of
Mountcomyn, the Scottish warden?"--inquired the horseman without. "For
the same," was the answer. "It is toward his castle that we are bound.
Can any of you direct us the way?"

"Troth, that I can," said old Pate, groping to satisfy himself that the
lid was close down on the pot, and then running to the door; "I can tell
you every fit o' the road, masters: You maun gang by the Fanesh,
you see; it lies yon way, you see; an' then up the Brown rig, as
straight as a line through Philhope-head, an' into Borthwick; then up
Aitas-burn,--round the Crib-law,--an' wheel to the right; then the burn
that ye come to there, ye maun cross that, and three miles farther on
you come to the castle of Mountcomyn.--Braw cheer there lads!"

"I am afraid, friend," said the English trooper, "we will make nothing
of this direction. Is it far to this same castle of the Scottish
warden?"

"O no, naething but a step, some three Scots miles."

"And how is the road?"

"A prime road, man; no a step in't a' wad tak your horse to the brusket;
only there's nae track; ye maun just take an ettle. Keep an ee on the
tail o' Charlie's wain, an' ye'll no gang far wrang."

"Our young lord and master is much fatigued," said the trooper; "I am
afraid we shall scarcely make it out. Pray, sir, could you spare us a
guide?"

Dan, who was listening behind, now stepped forward, and addressed them:
"My masters, as the night is o' darkness, I could hardly ride to
Mountcomyn mysel, an', far or near, I couldna win there afore day. Gin
ye dought accept o' my father's humble cheer the night--"

"The callant's bewiddied, an' waur than bewiddied," said Pate: "We haena
cheer for oursels, let abe for a byking o' English lords an' squires!"

"I would gladly accept of any accommodation," said a sweet delicate
voice, like that of a boy; "for the path has been so dreadful that I am
almost dead, and unable to proceed further. I have a safe-conduct to the
Scottish court, signed by all the wardens of the marches, and every
knight, yeoman, and vassal is obliged to give me furtherance."

"I dinna ken muckle about conducks an' signatures," said Pate, "but I
trow there winna be mony syllables in some o' the names if a' the
wardens hae signed your libelt; for I ken weel there's ane o' them whase
edication brak aff at the letter G, an' never gat farrer. But I'm no
ca'ing ye a leear, southron lord, ye may be a vera honest man; an' as
your errand may be something unco express, ye had better post on."

"It sal never be casten up to me neither in camp nor ha," said Dan,
"that a stranger was cawed frae my auld father's door at this time o'
the night. Light down, light down, southron lord, ye are a privileged
man; an', as I like to see the meaning o' things, I'll ride wi' ye mysel
the morn, fit for fit, to the castle o' Mountcomyn."

The strangers were soon all on their feet, and ushered into the family
circle, for there was no fire-place in the house but that one. They
consisted of five stout troopers, well armed, a page, and a young
nobleman, having the appearance of a youth about seventeen or eighteen
years of age. Every eye was instantly turned on him, there was something
so extraordinary in his appearance. Instead of a steel helmet, he wore a
velvet cap, shaped like a crown, striped with belts, bars, and crosses
of gold wire, and manifestly more for ornament than use. His fair
ringlets were peeping in curls out from below his cap, and his face
and bright blue eyes were lovely as the dawn of a summer's morning.

They were not well seated till a noise of the tread of horses was again
heard.

"The warld be a-wastle us!" cried old Pate, "wha's that now? I think
fouk will be eaten up wi' fouk, an' naething for folk's pains but dry
thanks;--thanks winna feed the cat--"

He was stopped in his regretful soliloquy by a rough voice at the door:
"Ho, wha bauds the house?" The same answer was given as to the former
party, and in a minute the strangers entered without law or leave.

"Ye travel unco late, maisters," said old Pate: "How far may ye be for
the night?"

"We meant to have reached the tower of Gorranberry to-night," said one
of the strangers, "but we have been benighted, and were drawn hither by
the light in your hole. I fear we must draw on your hospitality till
day."

"Callant Peter, gang an' stap a wisp i' that bole," said Pate; "it
seems to be the beacon light to a' the clanjaumphry i' the hale country.
I tauld ye aye to big it up; but no ane o' ye heeds what I say. I hae
seen houses that _some_ fouk whiles gaed by. But, my maisters, its nae
gate ava to Gorranberry,--a mere haut-stride-and-loup. I'll send a guide
to Bilhope-head wi' ye; for troth we hae neither meat nor drink,
house-room nor stabling, mair about the toun. We're but poor yeomen, an'
haud our mailin for hard service. We hae tholed a foray the night
already, an' a double ane wad herrie us out o' house an' hauld. The
warld be a' wastle us! I think a' the mosstroopers be abraid the night!
Bairns, swee that bouking o' claes aff the fire; ye'll burn it i' the
boiling."

The new comers paid little attention to this address of the old man;
they saw that he was superannuated, and had all the narrow selfishness
that too generally clings to that last miserable stage of human
exisence; but drawing nigh they began to eye the southron party with
looks of dark suspicion, if not of fierceness.

"I see what maks ye sae frightet at our entrance here," said the first
Scots trooper, ye hae some southron spies amang ye--Gudeman, ye sal
answer to the king for this, an' to the Douglas too, whilk ye'll find a
waur job."

"Ken where ye are, an' wha ye're speaking to," said Dan, stepping
forward and browing the last speaker face to face: "If either the ae
party or the ither be spies, or aught else but leel men, ye shall find,
ere ye gang far, whase land ye are on, an' whase kipples ye are under.
That auld man's my father, an,' doitet as he is, the man amang ye that
says a saucy word to him I'll gar sleep in his shoon a fit shorter than
he rase i' the morning. Wha are ye, sir, or where do you travel by night
on my master the warden's bounds?"

"Sir," answered another trooper, who seemed to be rather a more polished
man, "I applaud your spirit, and will answer your demand. We go with our
lord and master, Prince Alexander Stuart of Scotland, on a mission to a
noble English family. Here is the king's seal as well as a pass signed
by the English warden. We are leel men and true."

"Where is the prince?" said Dan: "A prince of Scotland i' my father's
house? Which is he?"

A slender elegant stripling stept forward. "Here he is, brave yeoman,"
said the youth: "No ceremony--Regard me as your fellow and companion for
this night."

Dan whipped off his bonnet and clapped his foot upon it, and bowing low
and awkwardly to his prince he expressed his humble respect as well as
he could, and then presented the prince to his father. The title sounded
high in the old man's ears, he pulled off his bonnet and looked with an
unsteady gaze, as if uncertain on whom to fix it--"A prince! Eh?--Is he
a prince o' Scotland? Ay, ay!" said he, "Then he'll maybe hae some say
wi' our head men--Dan--I say, Dan"--and with that he pulled Dan's
sleeve, and said in a whisper loud enough to be heard over all the
house,--"I say, Dan, man, gin he wad but speak to the warden to let us
hae a' the land west the length o' the Frosty lair. O it wad lie weel
into ours." "It wad, father, and I daresay we may get it; but hush just
now." "Eh? do you think we may get it?" enquired the old man eagerly in
the same whispering tremulous voice, "O man, it wad lie weel in; an' sae
wad Couter's-cleuch. It's no perfect wanting that too. An' we wad be a
great deal the better o' twa or three rigs aff Skelfhill for a bit
downfa' to the south--See if ye can speak to the lad."

Dan shook his father's hand, and nodded to him by way of acquiescence.
The old man brightened up: "Whar is your titty Bessy, Dan? Whar are a'
the idle hizzies? Gar them get something set down to the princely lad:
I'se warrant he's e'en hungry. Ye'll no be used til siccan roads as
thir, Sir? Na, na. They're unco roads for a prince.--Dan, I say, come
this way; I want to speak to you--I say," (whispering very low aside) "I
wadna let them ken o' the beef, or they'll just gang wi't. Gie them milk
an' bread, an' cheese, an' a drap o' the broo; it will do weel aneuch.
Hunger's good sauce. But, Dan,--I say, could ye no contrive to get quat
o' thae English? I doubt there will be little made of them:--They're but
a wheen gillie-gaupies at the best, an nae freends to us.--Fouk sude ay
bow to the bush they get bield frae."

"It's a' true that ye say, father; but we surely needna grudge an
Englishman a piece o' an English cow's hip.--The beef didna cost you
dear, an' there's mair where it cam frae."

The old man would not give up his point, but persisted in saying it was
a dangerous experiment, and an unprofitable waste. However, in spite of
his remonstrances, the board was loaded with six wooden bickers filled
with beef broth, plenty of bear-meal bannocks, and a full quarter of
English ox beef, to which the travellers did all manner of justice. The
prince, as he called himself, was placed at the head of the table, and
the young English nobleman by his side. Their eyes were scarcely ever
turned from one another's faces, unless in a casual hasty glance to see
how others were regarding the same face. The prince had dark raven hair
that parted on a brow of snow, a black liquid eye, and round lips,
purer than the cherry about to fall from the tree with ripeness. He was
also a degree taller than the English lord; but both of them, as well as
their two pages, were lovelier than it became men to be. The troopers
who attended them seemed disposed to contradict every thing that came
from the adverse party, and, if possible, to broach a quarrel, had it
not been for the two knights, who were all suavity, good breeding, and
kindness to each other, and seemed to have formed an attachment at first
sight. At length Prince Alexander inquired of his new associate his
name, and business at the Scottish court, provided, he said, that it did
not require strict secrecy. The other said, he would tell him every
thing truly, on condition that he would do the same: which being agreed
to, the young English nobleman proceeded as follows:

"My name is Lord Jasper Tudor, second son to the Earl of Pembroke. I am
nearly related to the throne of England, and in high favour with the
king. The wars on the Borders have greatly harassed the English
dalesmen for these many years, and matters being still getting worse
between the nations, the king, my cousin, has proposed to me to
marry the Princess Margaret of Scotland, and obtain as her dowry a
confirmation of these border lands and castles, so that a permanent
peace may be established between the nations, and this bloody and
desperate work cease. I am on my way to the Scottish court to see
the princess, your sister; and if I find her to be as lovely and
accomplished as fame speaks her, I intend to comply with the king's
request, and marry her forthwith."

This speech affected the prince so much that all the guests wondered. He
started to his feet, and smiling in astonishment said, "What, you? you
marry m--m--my sister Margaret? She is very much beholden to you, and on
my word she will see a becoming youth. But are you sure that she will
accept of you for a husband?" "I have little to fear on that head," said
the Lord Jasper Tudor jeeringly; "Maids are in general not much averse
to marriage; and, if I am well informed, your lovely sister is as
little averse to it as any of her contemporaries."

The prince blushed deep at this character of his sister, but had not a
word to say.

"Pray," continued Tudor, "is she like you? If she is, I think I shall
love her,--I would not have her just like you neither."

"I believe," said the prince, "there is a strong family likeness; but
tell me in what features you would wish her to differ from me, and I
will describe her minutely to you."

"In the first place," said the amorous and blue-ey'd Tudor, "I should
like her to be a little stouter, and more manly of frame than you, and,
at least, to have some appearance of a beard."

All the circle stared. "The devil you would, my lord," said Dan; "Wad ye
like your wife to hae a beard, in earnest? Gude faith, an your ain war
like mine, ye wad think ye had eneuch o't foreby your wife's." The
prince held up his hands in astonishment, and the young English lord
blushed deeper than it behoved a knight to do; but at length he tried to
laugh it by, pretending that he had unwittingly said one thing when he
meant the very contrary, for he wished her to be more feminine, and have
less beard."--"I think that will hardly be possible," said Dan; "but
perhaps there may be a hair here an' there on my lord the prince's chin,
when ane comes near it. I wadna disparage ony man, far less my king's
son."

"Well, my noble lord," said the prince, "your tale has not a little
surprised me, as well it may. Our meeting here in like circumstances is
the most curious rencounter I ever knew; for, to tell you the plain
truth, I am likewise on an errand of the same import, being thus far on
my way to see and court the lady Jane Howard, in order that all her wide
domains may be attached to my father's kingdom, and peace and amity
thereby established on the border."

"Gracious heaven!" said young Lord Tudor, "can this that I hear be true?
You? Are you on your way to my cousin, the lady Jane Howard? Why, do you
not know that she is already affianced to Lord Musgrave?"

"Yes, it is certain I do; but that is one of my principal inducements to
gain her from him; that is quite in the true spirit of gallantry; but,
save her great riches, I am told she has little else to recommend her,"
said the prince.

"And, pray, how does fame report of my cousin Jane?" said Tudor.

"As of a shrew and a coquette," answered the prince; "a wicked minx,
that is intemperate in all her passions."

"It is a manifest falsehood," said Tudor, his face glowing with
resentment, "I never knew a young lady so moderate and chastened in
every passion of the female heart. Her most private thoughts are pure as
purity itself, and her--."

"But, begging your pardon, my lord, how can you possibly know all this?"
said the prince.

"I do know it," said the other, "it is no matter how: I cannot hear my
fair cousin wronged; and I know that she will remain true to Musgrave,
and have nothing to do with you."

"I will bet an earldom on that head, said the prince, "if I chuse to
lay siege to her."

"Done!" said the other, and they joined hands on the bargain; but they
had no sooner laid their hands into one another's than they hastily
withdrew them, with a sort of trepidation, that none of the lookers on,
save the two pages, who kept close by their masters, appeared to
comprehend. They, too, were both mistaken in the real cause; but of that
it does not behove to speak at present.

"I will let you see," said the prince, recovering himself, "that this
celebrated cousin of yours shall not be so ill to win as the castle of
Roxburgh; and I'll let Musgrave see for how much truth and virgin
fidelity he has put his life in his hand; and when I have her I'll cage
her, for I don't like her. I would give that same earldom to have her in
my power to-night."

The young Lord Tudor looked about as if he meditated an escape to
another part of the table; but, after a touch that his page gave him on
the sleeve, he sat still, and mustered up courage for a reply.

"And pray, sir prince, what would you do with her if you had her in your
power to-night?"

"Something very different from what I would do with you, my lord. But
please describe her to me, for my very heart is yearning to behold
her,--describe every point of her form, and lineament of her features."

"She is esteemed as very beautiful; for my part I think her but so so,"
said Tudor: "She has fair hair, light full blue eyes, and ruddy cheeks;
and her brow, I believe, is as fine and as white as any brow can be."

"O frightful! what a description! what an ugly minx it must be! Fair
hair! red, I suppose, or dirty dull yellow! Light blue eyes! mostly
white I fancy? Ah, what a frightful immodest ape it must be! I could
spit upon the huzzy!"

"Mary shield us!" exclaimed young Tudor, moving farther away from the
prince, and striking lightly with his hand on his doublet as if
something unclean had been squirted on it. "Mary shield us! What does
the saucy Scot mean?"

Every one of the troopers put his hand to his sword, and watched the eye
of his master. The prince beckoned to the Scots to be quiet; but Lord
Tudor did no such thing, for he was flustered and wroth.

"Pardon me, my lord," said the prince, "I may perhaps suffer enough from
the beauty and perfections of your fair cousin after I see her; you may
surely allow me to deride them now. I am trying to depreciate the charms
I dread. But I do not like the description of her. Tell me seriously do
you not think her very intolerable?"

"I tell you, prince, I think quite otherwise. I believe Jane to be fifty
times more lovely than any dame in Scotland; and a hundred times more
beautiful than your tawny virago of a sister, whom I shall rejoice to
tame like a spaniel. The haughty, vain, conceited, swart venom, that she
should lay her commands on the Douglas to conquer or die for her! A fine
presumption, forsooth! But the world shall see whether the charms of my
cousin, Lady Jane Howard, or those of your grim and tawdry princess,
have most power."

"Yes, they shall, my lord," said the prince: "In the mean time let us
drop the subject. I see I have given you offence, not knowing that you
were in love with Lady Jane, which now I clearly see to be the case.
Nevertheless, go on with the description, for I am anxious to hear all
about her, and I promise to approve if there be a bare possibility of
it."

"Her manner is engaging, and her deportment graceful and easy; her waist
is slim, and her limbs slender and elegant beyond any thing you ever
saw," said Lord Tudor.

"O shocking!" exclaimed the prince, quite forgetting himself: "Worst of
all! I declare I have no patience with the creature. After such a
description, who can doubt the truth of the reports about the extreme
levity of her conduct? Confess now, my lord, that she is very free of
her favours, and that the reason why so many young gentlemen visit her
is now pretty obvious."

High offence was now manifest in Lord Jasper Tudor's look. He rose from
his seat, and said in great indignation, "I did not ween I should be
insulted in this guise by the meanest peasant in Scotland, far less by
one of its courtiers, and least of all by a prince of the blood royal.
Yeomen, I will not, I cannot suffer this degradation. These ruffian
Scots are intruders on us,--here I desire that you will expel them the
house."

The Prince of Scotland was at the head of the table, Tudor was at his
right hand; the rest of the English were all on that side, the Scots on
the other,--their numbers were equal. Dan and his three brethren sat at
the bottom of the board around the old man, who had been plying at the
beef with no ordinary degree of perseverance, nor did he cease when the
fray began. Every one of the two adverse parties was instantly on his
feet, with his sword gleaming in his hand; but finding that the benches
from which they had arisen hampered them, they with one accord sprung on
the tops of these, and crossed their swords. The pages screamed like
women. The two noble adventurers seemed scarcely to know the use of
their weapons, but looked on with astonishment. At length the prince,
somewhat collecting himself, drew out his shabby whanger, and brandished
it in a most unwarlike guise, on which the blue-eyed Tudor retreated
behind his attendants, holding up his hands, but still apparently intent
on revenge for the vile obloquy thrown on the character of _his cousin_,
Lady Jane Howard. "Tis just pe te shance she vantit," said the Scot next
to the prince.

"My certy, man, we'll get a paick at the louns now," said the second.

"Fat te teel's ta'en 'e bits o' vee laddies to flee a' eet abeet 'er
buts o' wheers? I wudnae hae my feet i' their sheen for three plucks an
a beedle," said the third.

"Thou's a' i' the wrang buox now, chaps," said the fourth. These were
all said with one breath; and before the Englishmen had time to reply,
clash went the swords across the table, and the third Scot, the true
Aberdonian, was wounded, as were also two of the Englishmen, at the very
first pass.

These matters are much sooner done than described. All this was the
work of a few seconds, and done before advice could either be given or
attended to. Dan now interfered with all the spirit and authority that
he was master of. He came dashing along the middle of the board in his
great war boots, striking up their swords as he came, and interposing
his boardly frame between the combatants. "D--n ye a' for a wheen
madcaps!" cried Dan as loud as he could bawl: "What the muckle deil's
fa'en a bobbing at your midriffs now? Ye're a' my father's guests an'
mine; an', by the shin-banes o' Sant Peter, the first side that lifts a
sword, or says a misbehadden word, my three brethren and I will tak' the
tother side, an' smoor the transgressors like as mony moor-poots."

"Keep your feet aff the meat, fool," said old Pate.

"Gude sauff us!" continued Dan, "What has been said to gie ony offence?
What though the young gentlewoman dis tak a stown jink o' a' chap that's
her ain sweet-heart whiles? Where's the harm in that? There's little
doubt o' the thing. An' for my part, gin she didna"--

Here Dan was interrupted in his elegant harangue by a wrathful hysteric
scream from young Tudor, who pulled out his whinyard, and ran at Dan,
boring at him in awkward but most angry sort, crying all the while, "I
will not bear this insult! Will my followers hear me traduced to my
face?"

"Deil's i' e' wee but steepid laddie," said Buchan the Aberdonian; "it
thinks 'at 'er preeving it to be a wheer 'e sel o't!"

Dan lifted up his heavy sword in high choler to cleave the stripling,
and he would have cloven him to the belt, but curbing his wrath, he only
struck his sword, which he made fly into pieces and jingle against the
rafters of the house; then seizing the young adventurer by the shoulder,
he snatched him up to him on the board, where he still stood, and,
taking his head below his arm, he held him fast with the one hand,
making signs with the other to his brethren to join the Scots, and
disarm the English, who were the aggressors both times. In the meantime,
he was saying to Tudor, "Hout, hout, young master, ye hae never been
o'er the Border afore; ye sude hae stayed at hame, an' wantit a wife
till ye gathered mair rummelgumption."

The five English squires, now seeing themselves set upon by nine,
yielded, and suffered themselves to be disarmed.

When Tudor came to himself, he appeared to be exceedingly grieved at his
imprudence, and ready to make any acknowledgment, while the prince
treated him with still more and more attention; yet these attentions
were ever and anon mixed with a teazing curiosity, and a great many
inquiries, that the young nobleman could not bear, and did not chuse to
answer.

It now became necessary to make some arrangement for the parties passing
the night. Patrick Chisholm's house had but one fire-place in an
apartment which served for kitchen and hall; but it had a kind of _ben
end_, as it was then, and is always to this day, denominated in that
part of the country. There was scarcely room to move a foot in it; for,
besides two oaken beds with rowan-tree bars, it contained five huge
chests belonging to the father and his sons, that held their clothes
and warlike accoutrements. The daughters of yeomen in these days did not
sit at table with the men. They were the household servants. Two of
Pate's daughters, who had been bustling about all the evening, conducted
the two noble youths into this apartment, together with their two pages.
The one bed was neatly made down with clean clothes, and the other in a
more common way. "Now," said one of the landward lasses, "You twa
masters are to sleep thegither in here,--in o' this gude bed, ye see,
an' the twa lads in o' this ane." The two young noblemen were standing
close together, as behoved in such a room. On the girl addressing them
thus, their eyes met each other's, but were as instantly withdrawn and
fixed on the floor, while a blush of the deepest tint suffused the
cheeks of both, spreading over the chin and neck of each. The pages
contemplated each other in the same way, but not with the same degree of
timidity. The English stripling seemed rather to approve of the
arrangement, or at least pretended to do so; for he frankly took the
other by the hand, and said in a sweet voice, but broad dialect, "Weall,
yuong Scuot, daghest thou lig woth mey?" The young Caledonian withdrew
his hand, and held down his head: "I always lie at my master's feet,"
said he.

"And so shall you do to-night, Colin," said the prince, "for I will
share this bed with you, and let my lord take the good one." "I cannot
go to bed to-night," said Tudor, "I will rest me on this chest; I am
resolved I sha'n't go to bed, nor throw off my clothes to-night."

"Ye winna?" said May Chisholm, who visibly wanted a romp with the young
blooming chief,--"Ye winna gang til nae bed, will ye nae, and me has
been at sic pains making it up til ye? Bess, come here an' help me, we
sal soon see whether he's gang til his bed or no, an' that no wi' his
braw claes on neither." So saying, the two frolicsome queans seized the
rosy stripling, and in a moment had him stretched on the bed, and,
making his doublet fly open all at one rude pull, they were proceeding
to undress him, giggling and laughing all the while. Prince Alexander,
from a momentary congenial feeling of delicacy, put his hand hastily
across to keep the lapels of Tudor's vesture together, without the
motion having been perceived by any one in the hurry, and that moment
the page flung himself across his master's breast, and reproved the
lasses so sharply that they desisted, and left them to settle the matter
as they chose.

The prince had, however, made a discovery that astonished him
exceedingly; for a few minutes his head was almost turned,--but the
truth soon began to dawn on his mind, and every reflection, every
coincidence, every word that had been said, and offence that had been
taken, tended to confirm it: so he determined, not for farther trial,
but for the joke's sake, to press matters a little further.

When quietness was again restored, and when the blush and the frown had
several times taken alternate sway of the young lord's face, the prince
said to him, "After all, my lord, I believe we must take share of the
same bed together for this one night. It is more proper and becoming
than to sleep with our pages. Besides, I see the bed is good and clean,
and I have many things to talk to you about our two countries, and about
our two intended brides, or sweet-hearts let us call them in the
meantime."

"Oh no, no, prince," said Tudor, "indeed I cannot, I may not, I would
not sleep in the same bed with another gentleman--No--I never
did--never."

"Do not say so, my dear lord, for, on my word, I am going to insist on
it," said the prince, coming close up to him, his eyes beaming with joy
at the discovery he had made. "You shall sleep by my side to-night: nay,
I will even take you in my bosom and caress you as if you were my own
sweet dear Lady Jane Howard." Tudor was now totally confounded, and knew
neither what to say for himself, nor what he did say when he spoke. He
held out both his hands, and cried, "Do not, prince, do not--I beg--I
implore do not; for I cannot, cannot consent. I never slept even in the
same apartment with a man in all my life."

"What, have you always slept in a room by yourself?" asked the teazing
prince.

"No, never, but always with ladies--yes, always!" was the passionate and
sincere reply.

Here the prince held up his hands, and turned up his eyes. "What a young
profligate!" exclaimed he, "Mary shield us! Have you no conscience with
regard to the fair sex that you have begun so wicked a course, and that
so early? Little did I know why you took a joke on your cousin so
heinously amiss! I see it now, truth will out! Ah, you are such a youth!
I will not go a foot further to see Lady Jane. What a wicked degraded
imp she must be! Do not kindle into a passion again, my dear lord. I can
well excuse your feigned wrath, it is highly honourable. I hate the
knight that blabs the favours he enjoys from the fair. He is bound to
defend the honour that has stooped to him; even though (as in the
present instance I suppose) it have stooped to half a dozen more
besides."

A great deal of taunting and ill humour prevailed between these
capricious and inexperienced striplings, and sorely was Tudor pressed
to take share of a bed with the prince, but in vain--his feelings
recoiled from it; and the other, being in possession of a secret of
which the English lord was not aware, took that advantage of teazing and
tormenting him almost beyond sufferance. After all, it was decided that
each should sleep with his own page; a decision that did not seem to go
well down at all with the Yorkshire boy, who once ventured to
expostulate with his lord, but was silenced with a look of angry
disdain.



CHAPTER V.

    He set her on his milk-white steed,
      Himself lap on behind her,
    And they are o'er the Highland hills;
      Her friends they cannot find her.

    As they rode over hill and dale
      This lady often fainted,
    And cried, "Wo to my cursed moneye,
      That this road to me invented."

        _Ballad of Rob Roy._

    O cam ye here to fight, young man,
      Or cam ye here to flee?
    Or cam ye out o' the wally west
      Our bonnie bride to see?

        _Ballad called Foul Play._


It is by this time needless to inform my readers, that these two young
adventurers were no other than the rival beauties of the two nations,
for whose charms all this bloody coil was carried on at Roxburgh; and
who, without seeing, had hated each other as cordially as any woman is
capable of hating her rival in beauty or favour. So much had the siege
and the perils of Roxburgh become the subject of conversation, that the
ears of the two maidens had long listened to nothing else, and each of
them deemed her honour embarked in the success of her lover. Each of
them had set out with the intent of visiting the camp in disguise; and
having enough of interest to secure protections for feigned names, each
determined to see her rival in the first place, the journey not being
far; and neither of them it is supposed went with any kind intent. Each
of them had a maid dressed in boy's clothes with her, and five stout
troopers, all of whom were utterly ignorant of the secret. The princess
had by chance found out her rival's sex; but the Scottish lady and her
attendant being both taller and of darker complexions than the other
two, no suspicions were entertained against them detrimental to their
enterprise. The princess never closed an eye, but lay meditating on the
course she should take. She was convinced that she had her rival in her
power, and she determined, not over generously, to take advantage of her
good fortune. The time drew nigh that Roxburgh must be lost or won, and
well she knew that, whichever side succeeded, according to the romantic
ideas of that age, the charms of the lady would have all the honour,
while she whose hero lost would be degraded,--considerations which no
woman laying claim to superior and all-powerful charms could withstand.

Next morning Dan was aroused at an early hour by his supposed prince,
who said to him, "Brave yeoman, from a long conversation that I have had
last night with these English strangers, I am convinced that they are
despatched on some traitorous mission; and as the warden is in
Northumberland, I propose conveying them straight to Douglas' camp,
there to be tried for their lives. If you will engage to take charge of
them, and deliver them safely to the captain before night, you shall
have a high reward; but if you fail, and suffer any of them to escape,
your neck shall answer for it. How many men can you raise for this
service?"

"Our men are maistly up already," said Dan; "but muckle Charlie o'
Yardbire gaed hame last night wi' twa or three kye, like oursels. Gin
Charlie an' his lads come, I sal answer for the English chaps, if they
war twa to ane. I hae mysel an' my three billies, deil a shank mae; but
an Charlie come he's as gude as some three, an' his backman's nae
bean-swaup neither."

"Then," said the counterfeit prince, "I shall leave all my attendants to
assist you save my page,--we two must pursue our journey with all
expedition. All that is required of you is to deliver the prisoners safe
to the Douglas. I will despatch a message to him by the way, apprising
him of the circumstances."

The Lady Margaret and her page then mounted their palfreys and rode off
without delay; but, instead of taking the road by Gorranberry, as they
had proposed over night, they scoured away at a light gallop down the
side of the Teviot. At the town of Hawick she caused her page, who was
her chief waiting-maid and confidant, likewise in boy's clothes, to cut
out her beautiful fleece of black hair, that glittered like the wing of
the raven, being determined to attend in disguise the issue of the
contest. She then procured a red curled wig, and dressing herself in a
Highland garb, with a plumed bonnet, tartan jacket and trowsers, and
Highland hose and brogues, her appearance was so completely altered,
that even no one who had seen her the day before, in the character of
the prince her brother, could possibly have known her to be the same
person; and leaving her page near the camp to await her private orders,
she rode straight up to head-quarters by herself.

Being examined as she passed the outposts, she said she brought a
message to Douglas of the greatest importance, and that it was from the
court; and her address being of such a superior cast, every one
furthered her progress till she came to the captain's tent. Scarcely did
she know him,--care, anxiety, and watching had so worn him down; and her
heart was melted when she saw his appearance. Never, perhaps, could she
have been said to have loved him till that moment; but seeing what he
had suffered for her sake, the great stake he had ventured, and the
almost hopeless uncertainty that appeared in every line of his face,
raised in her heart a feeling unknown to her before; and highly did that
heart exult at the signal advantage that her good fortune had given him
over his rival. Yet she determined on trying the state of his affections
and hopes. Before leaving Hawick, she had written a a letter to him,
inclosing a lock of her hair neatly plaited; but this letter she kept
back in order to sound her lover first without its influence. He asked
her name and her business. She had much business, she said, but not a
word save for his private ear. Douglas was struck with the youth's
courtly manner, and looked at him with a dark searching eye,--"I have no
secrets," said he, "with these my kinsmen: I desire, before them, to
know your name and business."

"My name," said the princess pertly, "is Colin Roy M'Alpin,--I care not
who knows my name; but no word further of my message do I disclose save
to yourself."

"I must humour this pert stripling," said he, turning to his friends;
"if his errand turns out to be one of a trivial nature, and that does
not require all this ceremony, I shall have him horse-whipped."

With that the rest of the gentlemen went away, and left the two by
themselves. Colin, as we must now, for brevity's sake, term the
princess, was at first somewhat abashed before the dark eye of Douglas,
but soon displayed all the effrontery that his assumed character
warranted, if not three times more.

"Well now, my saucy little master, Colin Roy M'Alpin, please condescend
so far as to tell me whence you are, and what is your business
here,--this secret business, of such vast importance."

"I am from court, my lor'; from the Scottish court, an't please
you, my lor'; but not directly as a body may say,--my lor'; not
directly--here--there--south--west--precipitately, incontrovertibly,
ascertaining the scope and bearing of the progressive advance of the
discomfiture and gradual wreck of your most flagrant and preposterous
undertaking."

"The devil confound the impertinent puppy!"

"Hold, hold, my lor', I mean your presumptuous and foolhardy enterprise,
first in presuming to the hand of my mistress, the king's daughter,--my
lovely and queenly mistress; and then in foolhardily running your head
against the walls of Roxburgh to attain this, and your wit and manhood
against the superior generalship of a Musgrave."

"By the pock-net of St Peter, I will cause every bone in your body to be
basted to powder, you incorrigible pedant and puppy!" said the Douglas;
and seizing him by the collar of the coat, he was about to drag him to
the tent-door and throw him into the air.

"Hold, my lor'; please keep off your rough uncourtly hands till I
deliver the credentials of my mistress."

"Did you say that you were page to the Princess Margaret? Yes, surely
you are, I have erst seen that face, and heard that same flippant
tongue. Pray, what word or token does my dear and sovereign lady send
me?"

"She bade me say, that she does not approve of you at all, my
lor':--that, for her sake, you ought to have taken this castle many days
ago. And she bade me ask you why you don't enter the castle by the gate,
or over the wall, or under the hill, which is only a sand one, and hang
up all the Englishmen by the necks, and send the head of Philip Musgrave
to his saucy dame?--She bade me ask you why you don't, my lor'?"

"Women will always be women," said Douglas surlily to himself: "I
thought the princess superior to her sex, but--"

"But! but what, my lor'? Has she not good occasion for displeasure? She
bade me tell you that you don't like her;--that you don't like her half
so well as Musgrave does his mistress,--else why don't you do as much
for her? He took the castle for the sake of his mistress, and for her
sake he keeps it in spite of you. Therefore she bade me tell you, that
you must _go in_ and beat the English, and take the castle from them;
for she will not suffer it that Lady Jane Howard shall triumph over
her."

"Tell her in return," said Douglas, "that I will do what man can do; and
when that is done, she shall find that I neither will be slack in
requiring the fulfilment of her engagement, nor in performing my own. If
that womanish tattling be all that you have to say,--begone: the rank of
your employer protects you."

"Hold, my lor', she bade me look well, and tell her what you were like,
and if I thought you changed since I waited on you at court. On my
conscience you look very ill. These are hard ungainly features of yours.
I'll tell her you look very shabby, and very surly, and that you have
lost all heart. But oh, my lor', I forgot she bade me tell you, that if
you found you were clearly beat, it would be as well to draw off your
men and abandon the siege; and that she would, perhaps, in pity, give
you a moiety of your lands again."

"I have no patience with the impertinence of a puppy, even though the
messenger of her I love and esteem above all the world. Get you hence."

"Oh, my lor', I have not third done yet. But, stay, here is a letter I
had almost forgot."

Douglas opened the letter. Well he knew the hand; there were but few in
Scotland who could write, and none could write like the princess. It
contained a gold ring set with rubies, and a lock of her hair. He kissed
them both; and tried the ring first on the one little finger, and then
on the other, but it would scarcely go over the nail; so he kissed them
again, and put them in his bosom. He then read to himself as follows:

     "MY GOOD LORD,--I enclose you two love-tokens of my troth; let them
     be as beacons to your heart to guide it to deeds of glory and
     renown. For my sake put down these English. Margaret shall ever
     pray for your success. Retain my page Colin near your person. He is
     true-hearted, and his flippancy affected. Whatever you communicate
     to him will be safely transmitted to

         "MARGARET."

It may well be supposed how Colin watched the emotions of Douglas while
reading this heroic epistle; and, in the true spirit of the age, they
were abundantly extravagant. He kissed the letter, hugged it in his
bosom, and vowed to six or seven saints to do such deeds for his adored
and divine princess as never were heard or read of.

"Now, my good lor," said the page, "you must inform me punctually what
hopes you have of success, and if there is any thing wanting that the
kingdom can afford you."

"My ranks are too thin," replied the Douglas; "and I have engaged to
take it with my own vassals. The warden is too proud to join his forces
to mine on that footing, but keeps scouring the borders, on pretence of
preventing supplies, and thus assisting me, but in truth for enriching
himself and his followers. If I could have induced him and his whole
force to have joined the camp, famine would have compelled the enemy to
yield a month agone. But I have now the captain's brother prisoner; and
I have already given him to know, that if he does not deliver up the
castle to me in four days, I will hang the young knight up before his
eyes,--I have sworn to do it, and I swear again to keep my oath."

"I will convey all this to my mistress," said Colin. "So then you have
his only brother in your hold? My lor', the victory is your own, and the
princess, my mistress, beside. In a few hours will be placed in your
hands the primal cause and fomentor of this cruel and bloody war, the
Lady Jane Howard."

The Douglas started like one aroused from slumber, or a state of
lethargy, by a sudden wound. "What did you say, boy?" said he. "Either I
heard amiss, or you are dreaming. I have offered estates, nay, I have
offered an earldom, to any hardy adventurer who would bring me that
imperious dame; but the project has been abandoned as quite
impracticable."

"Rest content, said Colin: "I have secured her, and she will be
delivered into your hands before night. She has safe passports with her
to the Scottish court, but they are in favour of Jasper Tudor, son to
the Earl of Pembroke; so that the discovery of her sex proves her an
impostor, and subjects her to martial law, which I request, for my
mistress' sake, you will execute on her. My lady the princess, with all
her beauty, and high accomplishments, is a very woman; and I know there
is nothing on earth she so much dreads as the triumph of Lady Jane over
her. Besides, it is evident she was bound to the Scottish court either
to poison the princess, or inveigle her into the hands of her enemies.
All her attendants are ignorant of her sex, save her page, who is said
to be a blooming English country maiden. The Prince Alexander bade me
charge you never to mention by what means she came into your hands, but
to give it out that she was brought to you by a miracle, by witchcraft,
or by the power of a mighty magician." "It is well thought of, boy,"
said the Douglas, greatly elevated--"I have been obliged to have
recourse to such means already--this will confirm all. The princess your
mistress desired that you should remain with me. You shall be my right
hand page, I will love and favour you; you shall be fed with the bread
and wine, and shall sleep in my tent, and I will trust you with all my
secrets for the welcome tidings you have brought, and for the sake of
the angelic dame that recommends you to me; for she is my beloved, my
adored mistress, and for her will I either conquer or die! My sword is
her's--my life is her's--Nay, my very soul is the right of my beloved!"
Poor Colin dropped a tear on hearing this passionate nonsense. Women
love extravagance in such matters, but in those days it had no bounds.

It was not long till the prisoners arrived, under the care of muckle
Charlie Scott of Yardbire and Dan Chisholm, with their troopers, guarded
in a very original manner. When Charlie arrived at old Chisholm's house,
and learned that a _prince_ had been there, and had given such charges
about the prisoners, he determined to make sure work; and as he had
always most trust to put in himself, he took the charge of the young
English nobleman and his squire, as he supposed them to be. The page he
took on his huge black horse behind him, lashing him to his body with
strong belts cut from a cow's raw hide. His ancles were moreover
fastened to the straps at the tops of Charlie's great war boots; so that
the English maiden must have had a very uncomfortable ride. But the
other he held on before him, keeping her all the way in his arms,
exactly as a countryman holds up a child in the church to be christened.

The Lady Jane Howard had plenty of the spirit of romance about her, but
she neither had the frame nor the energy of mind requisite for carrying
her wild dreams of female heroism into effect. She was an only child--a
spoiled one; having been bred up without perhaps ever being controlled,
till she fell into the hands of these border mosstroopers. Her
displeasure was excessive.--She complained bitterly of her detainment,
and much more of being sent a prisoner to the camp. When she found
herself in muckle Charlie Scott's arms, borne away to be given up to the
man whom of all the world she had most reason to dread, she even forgot
herself so far as to burst into tears. Charlie, with all his inordinate
strength and prowess, had a heart so soft, that, as he said himself, "a
laverock might hae laired in't;" and he farther added, that when he saw
"the bit bonny English callan', that was comed o' sic grand blude, grow
sae desperately wae, an' fa' a blirting and greeting, the deil a bit but
his heart was like to come out at his mouth." This was no lie, for his
comrades beheld him two or three times come across his eyes with his
mailed sleeve--a right uncouth handkerchief: and then he tried to
comfort the youth with the following speech: "Troth, man, but I'm unco
wae for ye, ye're sae young an' sae bonny, an' no' a fit man at a' to
send out i' thir crabbit times. But tak good heart, an' dinna be
dauntit, for it will soon be over w' ye. Ye'll neither hae muckle to
thole nor lang time to dree't, for our captain will hang ye directly.
He hangs a' spies an' messengers aff hand; sae it's no worth naebody's
while to greet. Short wark's aye best i' sic cases."

"He cannot, he dares not injure a hair of my head," said Lady Jane
passionately.

"_Canna!_" said Charlie, "Gude faith, ye ken that's nonsense. He can as
easily hang ye, or do ought else w' ye, as I can wipe my beard. An' as
for the thing that the Douglas _darena_ do, gude faith, ye ken, I never
saw it yet. But I'm sure I wish ye _may_ be safe, for it wad do little
good to me to see your bit pease-weep neck rackit."

"It was most unfair, as well as most ungenerous in your prince to detain
me," said she, "as my business required urgency. I had regular signed
warrandice, and went on the kindest intent; besides, I have a great
aversion to be put into the hands of Douglas. How many cows and ewes
would you take to set me at liberty?"

"Whisht, whisht, Sir!" said Charlie; "Gudesake haud your tongue! That's
kittle ground. Never speak o' sic a thing. But how many could ye afford
to gie, an I _were_ to set you at liberty?"

"In the first place, I will give you five hundred head of good English
nolt," said Lady Jane.

"Eh? What?" said Charlie, holding his horse still, and turning his ear
close round to the lady's face, that he might hear with perfect
distinctness the extraordinary proffer. It was repeated. Charlie was
almost electrified with astonishment. "Five hunder head o' nout!"
exclaimed he: "But d'ye mean their heads by theirsels?--cuttit aff,
like?"

"No, no; five hundred good live cattle."

"Mercy on us! Gude faith, they wad stock a' Yardbire--an' Raeburn,"
added he, after a pause, putting his horse again slowly in motion; "an'
Watkerrick into the bargain," added he, with a full drawn sigh, putting
the spurs to his beast, that he might go quicker to carry him away from
the danger. "For troth, d' ye ken, my lord, we're no that scarce o'
grund in Scotland; we can get plenty o' that for little thing, gin we
could get ought to lay on't. But it's hard to get beasts, an' kittle to
keep them i' our country. Five hunder head o' black cattle! Hech! an
Charlie Scott had a' thae, how mony braw lads could he tak at his back
o'er Craikcorse to join his master the warden! But come, come, it canna
be. War somebody a Scots lord, as he's an English ane, an i' the same
danger, I wad risk muckle to set him free. But come, Corby, my fine
naig, ye hae carried me into mony a scrape, ye maun carry me out o' this
ane, or, gude faith, your master's gane. Ha, lad, ye never had sic a
back-fu' i' your life! Ye hae five hunder head o' black cattle on't, ye
dog, an' ye're carrying them a' away frae your master an' Yardbire wi'
as little ceremony as he took you frae Squire Weir o' Cockermouth. Ah,
Corby, ye're gayan like your master, ye hae a lang free kind o'
conscience, ye tike!"

"But, my dear Sir," said Lady Jane, "you have not heard the half of my
proffer. You seem to be a generous, sensible, and good natured
gentleman."

"Do I?" said Charlie," Thanks t' ye, my lord."

"Now," continued she, "if you will either set me and my page safely down
on English ground, or within the ports of Edinborough, I'll add five
thousand sheep to the proffer I have already made you."

"Are ye no joking?" said Charlie, again stopping his horse.

"On my honour I am not," was the answer.

"They'll stock a' Blake-Esk-head an' the Garald-Grains," said Charlie:
"Hae ye a free passport to the Scottish court?"

"Yes, I have, and signed with the warden's name."

"Na, na, haud your tongue there; my master has nae name," said Charlie:
"He has a good speaking name, an' ane he disna think shame o', but nae
name for black an' white."

"I'll show you it," said Lady Jane.

"Na, ye needna fash," said Charlie; "I fear it wad be unmannerly in me
to doubt a lord's word."

"How soon could you carry us to Edinborough?" inquired Lady Jane,
anxious to keep muckle Charlie in the humour of taking her any where
save into the hands of Douglas.

"That's rather a question to speer at Corby than me," said Charlie; "but
I think if we miss drowning i' Tweed, an' breaking our necks o'er the
Red-brae, an' sinking out o' sight i' Soutra-flow, that I could tak in
hand to hae ye in Edinborough afore twal o'clock at night.--Bad things
for you, Corby."

"Never say another word about it then," said Lady Jane; "the rest are
quite gone before us, and out of sight. Turn to the left, and ride for
Edinborough. Think of the five hundred cows and five thousand sheep."

"Oh, that last beats a'!" said Charlie. "Five thousand sheep! how mony
is that? Five score's a hunder--I'm sure o' that. Every hunder's five
score; then--and how mony hunder maks a thousand?"--

"Ten," said the page, who was forced to laugh at Charlie's arithmetic.

"Ten?" repeated Charlie. "Then ten times five hunder that maks but ae
thousand; an' other ten times five hunder--D--n me if I ken how mony is
o' them ava. What does it signify for a man to hae mair gear than he can
count? I fancy we had better jogg on the gate we're gaun, Corby."

"I am sure, friend, ye never had such a chance of being rich," said Lady
Jane, "and may never, in all likelihood, have such a chance again."

"That is a' true ye're saying, my lord, an' a sair heart it has gi'en
me," said Charlie; "but your offer's ower muckle, an' that maks me dread
there's something at the bottom o't that I dinna comprehend. Gude faith,
an the warden war to suffer danger or disgrace for my greed o' siller,
it wad be a bonny story! Corby, straight on, ye dog: ding the brains out
o' the gutters, clear for the camp, ye hellicat of an English hound.
What are ye snoring an' cocking your lugs at? Od an ye get company like
yoursel, ye carena what mischief ye carry your master into. Get on, I
say, an' dinna gie me time to hear another word or think about this
business again."

The young lady began here to lose heart, seeing that Charlie had plucked
up a determination. But her companion attacked him in her turn with all
the flattery and fair promises she could think of, till Charlie found
his heart again beginning to waver and calculate; so that he had no
other shift but to croon a border war-song, that he might not hear this
dangerous conversation. Still the page persevered, till Charlie, losing
all patience, cried out as loud and as bitterly as he could, "Haud your
tongue, ye slee-gabbit limb o' the auld ane. D--n ye, d'ye think a man's
conscience is to be hadden abreed like the mou' of a sack, an' crammed
fu' o' beef an' mutton whether he will or no? Corby, another nicker an'
another snore, lad, an' we'll soon see you aff at the gallop."

Thus ended the trying colloquy between muckle Charlie Scott o' Yardbire
and his two prisoners; the rest of his conversation was to Corby, whom
he forthwith pushed on by spur and flattery to the camp.

When the truth came to be discovered, many puzzled themselves
endeavouring to guess what Charlie would actually have done had he known
by the way what a treasure he had in his arms,--the greatest beauty, and
the greatest heiress in England;--for Charlie was as notable for
kindness and generosity as he was for bodily strength; and, besides, he
was poor, as he frankly acknowledged; but then he only wished for
riches to be able to keep more men for the service of his chief. Some
thought he would have turned his horse round without further ceremony,
and carried her straight to Yardbire, on purpose to keep her there for a
wife; others thought he would have risked his neck, honour, and every
thing, and restored her again to her friends. But it was impossible for
any of them to guess what he would have done, as it was proved
afterwards that Charlie could not guess himself. When the truth came to
be divulged, and was first told to him, his mouth, besides becoming
amazingly extended in its dimensions, actually grew four-square with
astonishment; and when asked what he would have done had he known, he
smacked his lips, and wiped them with the back of his hand as if his
teeth had been watering--and, laughing to himself with a chuckling
sound, like a moor-cock, he turned about his back to conceal his looks,
and only answered with these emphatic words: "Gude faith, it was as weel
I didna ken."



CHAPTER VI.

    Some write of preclair conquerouris,
    And some of vallyeant emperouris,
    And some of nobill mychtie kingis,
    That royally did reull the ringis;
    And some of squyris douchty deidis,
    That wonderis wrocht in weirly weidis;
    Sa I intand the best I can
    Descryve the deidis and the man.

        SIR DAV. LINDSAYE.

    Wald God I war now in Pitcary!
      Becass I haif bene se ill deidy.
    Adew! I dar na langer tairy,
      I dreid I waif intill ane widdy.

        _Ibid._


In the same grotesque guise as formerly described, Charlie at length
came with his two prisoners to the outposts of the Scottish army. The
rest of the train had passed by before him, and warned their friends who
was coming, and in what stile; for no one thought it worth his while to
tarry with Charlie and his overloaden horse. When he came near the
soldiers they hurra'd, and waved their bonnets, and gathering about
Charlie in crowds, they would not let him onward. Besides, some fell a
loosing the prisoner behind him, and others holding up their arms to
release him of the one he carried before; and, seeing how impatient he
was, and how determined to keep his hold, they grew still more
importunate in frolic. But it had nearly cost some of them dear; for
Charlie, growing wroth, squeezed the Lady Jane so strait with the left
arm, that she was forced to cry out; and putting his right over his
shoulder, he drew out his tremendous two-hand sword, "Now stand back,
devils," cried Charlie, "or, gude faith, I'll gar Corby ride ower the
taps o' the best o' ye. I hae had ower sair a trial for heart o' flesh
already; but when I stood that, it sanna be the arm o' flesh that takes
them frae me now, till I gie them into the Douglas's ain hands. Stand
back, ye devils; a Scott never gies up his trust as lang as his arm can
dimple at the elbow."

The soldiers flew away from around him like a flight of geese, and with
the same kind of noise too,--every one being giggling and laughing,--and
up rode Charlie to the door of the Douglas' pavilion, where he shouted
aloud for the captain. Douglas, impatient to see his illustrious
prisoner, left the others abruptly, and hasted out at Charlie's call.

"Gude faith, my lord," said Charlie, "I beg your pardon for garring you
come running out that gate; but here's a bit English lord for ye, an'
his henchman,--sic master, sic man, as the saying is. There war terrible
charges gi'en about them, sae I thought I wad secure them, an' gie them
into your ain hands."

"I am much beholden to you, gallant Yardbire," said Douglas: "The care
and pains you have taken shall not be forgotten."

This encouraging Charlie, he spoke to the earl with great freedom, who
was mightily diverted with his manner, as well as with his mode of
securing the prisoners.

"There's his lordship for ye," said Charlie, holding him out like a
small bale of goods: "Mind ye hae gotten him safe off my hand; an'
here's another chap I hae fastened to my back. An a' the English nobles
war like thir twa, I hae been thinking, my lord, that they might tak'
our lasses frae us, but we wadna be ill pinched to tak their kye frae
them; an' it wad be nae hard bargain for us neither." So saying, he cut
his belts and thongs of raw hide, and let the attendant lady, in page's
clothes, free of his body. "He's a little, fine, soft, cozey callan
this," added Charlie, "he has made my hinderlands as warm as they had
been in an oon."

Douglas took Lady Jane off from before the gallant yeoman in his arms.
He observed with what a look she regarded him; and he was sure, from the
first view he got of her features, that the page Colin must have been
right with regard to the sex of the prisoner. He likewise noted the
holes in her ears, from which it was apparent that pendent jewels
had lately been taken; and he hoped the other part of the page's
information might likewise be correct, though how to account for such an
extraordinary piece of good fortune he was wholly at a loss. He led her
into the inner pavilion, and there, in presence of his secretary and
two of his kinsmen, examined her papers and passports. They were found
all correct, and signed by the public functionaries of both nations, in
favour of Jasper Tudor, son to the Earl of Pembroke.

"These are quite sufficient, my young lord," said Douglas; "I see no
cause for detaining you further. You shall have a sufficient guard till
you are out of the range of my army, and safe furtherance to the
Scottish court."

The prisoner's countenance lighted up, and she thanked Douglas in the
most grateful terms, blessing herself that she had fallen into the hands
of so courteous a knight, and urged the necessity of their sudden
departure. Douglas assured her they should be detained no longer than
the necessity of the times required; but that it was absolutely
requisite, for his own safety, the safety of the realm, and the success
of the enterprise in which he was engaged, and so deeply concerned, that
they should submit to a personal search from head to foot, lest some
traitorous correspondence might be secretly conveyed by them.

The countenance of the prisoner again altered at this information. It
became at first pale as a lily, and immediately after blushed as deeply
as the damask rose, while the tears started to her eyes. It was no
wonder, considering the predicament in which she now stood; her delicate
lady form to be searched by the hands of rude warriors, her sex
discovered, and her mission to the Scottish court found out to be a wild
intrigue. She fell instantly on her knees before Douglas, and besought
him in moving accents to dispense with the useless formality of
searching her and her young kinsman and companion, assuring him at the
same time that neither of them had a single scrap of writing that he had
not seen, and adjuring him on his honour and generosity as a knight to
hearken to this request.

"The thing is impossible, my lord," said Douglas;" and, moreover, the
anxiety you manifest about such a trifle argues a consciousness of
guilt. You must submit to be searched on the instant. Chuse of us whom
you will to the office."

"I will never submit to it," said she passionately, "there is not a
knight in England would have refused such a request to you."

"I would never have asked it, my lord," said he; "and it is your utter
inexperience in the customs of war that makes you once think of
objecting to it. I am sorry we must use force. Bring in two of the
guards."

"Hold, hold, my lord," said Lady Jane, "since I must submit to such a
degradation, I will submit to yourself. I will be searched by your own
hands, and yours alone."

They were already in the inner tent. Douglas desired his friends to go
out, which they complied with, and he himself began to search the person
of Lady Jane, with the most careful minuteness, as he pretended, well
aware what was to be the issue of the search. He examined all her
courtly coat, pockets, lining, and sleeves,--he came to her gaudy
doublet, stiff with gold embroidery, and began to unloose it, but she
laid both her hands upon her breast, and looked in his face with eyes so
speaking, and so beseeching, that it was impossible for man to mistake
the import. Douglas did not mistake it, but was bent upon having proof
positive.

"What?" said he, "do you still resist? What is here you would conceal?"

"Oh my Lord," said she, "do you not see?"

"I see nothing," said he; and while she feebly struggled he loosed the
vest, when the fair heaving bosom discovered the sex of his prisoner,
and at the same time, with the struggle, the beautiful light locks had
escaped from their confinement, and hung over her breast in waving
ringlets. The maid stood revealed; and, with the disclosure, all the
tender emotions and restrained feelings of the female heart burst forth
like a river that has been dammed up from running in its natural
channel, and has just got vent anew. She wept and sobbed till her fair
breast was like to rend. She even seized on Douglas' hand, and wet it
with her tears. He, on his part, feigned great amazement.

"How is this?" said he, "A maid!"

"Yes indeed, my lord, you see before you, and in your power, a hapless
maid of noble blood, who set out on a crazy expedition of love, but,
from inexperience, has fallen into your hands."

"Then the whole pretended mission to our Scottish court is, it appears,
a fraud, a deep laid imposition of some most dangerous intent, as the
interest that has been used to accomplish it fully demonstrates. You
have subjected yourself and all your followers to military execution;
and the only method by which you can procure a respite, either for
yourself or them, is to make a full confession of the whole plot."

"Alas, my lord, I have no plot to confess. Mine was merely a romantic
expedition of youthful love, and, as you are a knight, and a lover
yourself, I beg your clemency, that you will pardon my followers and me.
They are innocent; and, save my page, who is likewise a lady, and my own
kinswoman, all the rest are as ignorant who I am, and what I am, as the
child that is unborn."

"If you would entertain any hopes of a reprieve, I say, madam, either
for yourself or them, declare here to me instantly your name, lineage,
and the whole of your business in Scotland, and by whose powerful
interest you got this safe conduct made out, for one who, it seems,
knows nothing of it, or who, perhaps, does not exist."

"Surely you will not be so ungallant as to insist upon a lady exposing
herself and all her relations? No, my lord, whatever become of me, you
must never attain to the knowledge of my name, rank, or titles. I
entrust myself to your mercy: you can have nothing to fear from the
machinations of a love-lorn damsel."

"I am placed in peculiarly hard circumstances, madam; I have enemies
abroad and at home, and have nothing but my own energies to rely on to
save my house and name from utter oblivion, and my dearest hopes from
extinguishment. This expedition of yours, folded as it is in deceit and
forgery, has an ominous and daring appearance. The house of Douglas must
not fall for the tears of a deceitful maiden, the daughter of my enemy.
Without a full disclosure of all that I request, every one of you shall
suffer death in the sight of both armies before the going down of the
sun. I will begin with the meanest of your followers, in hopes, for the
sake of your youth and your sex, that you will relent and make a full
disclosure of your name, and all your motives for such an extraordinary
adventure."

Lady Jane continued positive and peremptory, as did also her attendant,
who had been thoroughly schooled before-hand, in case of their sex being
discovered, never, on any account, to acknowledge who she was, lest it
should put Musgrave wholly in Douglas' power. The latter, therefore, to
keep up the same system of terror and retribution first practised by his
opponent, caused sound the death knell, and hung out the flag of blood,
to apprise those within the fortress that some of their friends were
shortly to be led to execution.

The first that was brought out was a thick-set swarthy yeoman, who said
his name was Edmund Heaton, and that he had been a servant to Belsay,
whom he had followed in the border wars. When told that he was about to
be hanged for a spy and a traitor, he got very angry, even into such a
rage that they could not know what he said, for he had a deep rough burr
in his throat, and spoke a coarse English dialect. "Hang'd? I hang'd?
and fogh whot? Domn your abswoghdity! Hang ane mon fogh deying whot his
meastegh beeds him?"--He was told that he had not two minutes to live,
unless he could discover something of the plot in which his employers
were engaged; that it was found he had been accompanying two ladies in
disguise, on some traitorous mission which they would not reveal; and it
was the law of war that he should suffer for the vile crime in which he
was an accomplice.

"Nobbit, I tell you that won't dey at all;--n-n-nor it sha'n't dey
neithegh. Do you think you aghe to hang eveghy mon that follows ane
woeman? Domn them, I nevegh knew them lead to oughts but eel! If I had
known they had been woemen--Domn them!"--He was hauled up to the
scaffold, for he refused to walk a foot.--"Wh-wh-why, nobbit speak you
now," cried he in utter desperation; "why n-n-nobbit you aghe not
serious, aghe you?" He was told he should soon find to his experience
that they were quite serious.--"Why, cworse the whole geneghation of
you, the thing is nwot to be bwoghn. I wont swoffegh it--that I woll
not. It is dwonright mworder. Oh, ho, ho!" and he wept, crying as loud
as he could, "Oh-oh! ho: mworder! mworder! Domn eveghy Scwot of
you!"--In this mood, kicking, crying, and swearing, was he turned off,
and hanged in sight of both hosts.

The walls of Roxburgh were crowded with spectators. They could not
divine who it was that was suffering; for all kind of communication was
forbid by Musgrave, and it was now become exceedingly difficult. Great
was their wonder and anxiety when they beheld one trooper after another
of their countrymen brought out and hanged like dogs. But it was evident
to every beholder, from the unsettled and perturbed motions of those on
the wall, that something within the fortress was distressing the
besieged. Some hurried to and fro; others stood or moved about in
listless languor; and there were a few that gazed without moving, or
taking their eyes from the spot where they were fixed. Not one flight of
arrows came to disturb the execution, as usual; and it was suspected
that their whole stock of arrows was exhausted. This would have been
good tidings for the Scots, could they have been sure of it, as they
might then have brought their files closer to the walls, and more
effectually ensured a strict blockade.

Lady Jane's followers were all executed, and herself and companion sore
threatened in vain. Douglas, however, meant to reserve them for another
purpose than execution,--to ensure to himself the surrender of the
fortress, namely; but of her squires he was glad to be rid, for fear of
a discovery being made to the English that the lady was in his hands,
which might have brought the whole puissance of the realm upon him;
whereas the generality of the nation viewed the siege merely as an
affair of Border chivalry, in which they were little interested, and
deemed Musgrave free from any danger.

It was on St Leonard's day that these five Englishmen were executed; and
as a retaliation in part, a Scots fisherman was hanged by the English
from the wall of the castle; one who indeed had been the mean of doing
them a great deal of mischief. And thus stood matters at that period of
the siege; namely, the Earl of Douglas and Mar lay before Roxburgh with
eight thousand hardy veterans, all his own vassals. The Redhough kept a
flying army on the borders of Northumberland, chiefly about the
mountains of Cheviot and Cocket-dale, interrupting all supplies and
communications from that quarter, and doing excellent service to himself
and followers, and more to the Douglas than the latter seemed to admit
of. Whenever he found the English gathering to any head, he did not go
and attack them, but, leaving a flying party of horse to watch their
motions, he instantly made a diversion somewhere else, which drew them
off with all expedition. A numerous army, hastily raised, entered
Scotland on the west border, on purpose to draw off the warden; but they
were surprised and defeated by the Laird of Johnston, who raised the
Annandale people, and attacked the English by night. He followed them
into Cumberland, and fought two sharp battles with them there, in both
of which he had the advantage, and he then fell a spoiling the country.
This brought the Northumberland and Durham men into these parts, who
mustered under Sir William Fetherstone to the amount of fifteen thousand
men. Johnston retired, and the Earl of Galloway, to back him, raised
twenty thousand in the west, and came towards the Sarke: So that the
siege of Roxburgh was viewed but as an item in the general convulsion,
though high was the stake for those that played, and ruthless the game
while it lasted. Douglas now looked upon the die as turned in his
favour, as he held pledges that would render the keeping of it of no
avail to his opponent. The lady was in his power at whose fiat Musgrave
had taken and defended the perilous castle so bravely,--but of this no
man knew save the Douglas himself. Sir Richard Musgrave was likewise in
his hand, the captain's youngest, most beloved, and only surviving
brother; and Douglas had threatened, against a certain day, if the keys
of the castle were not surrendered to him, to hang the young hero
publicly, in the view of both hosts; and in all his threats he had never
once broke his word. We must now take a peep within the walls of
Roxburgh, and see how matters are going on there.



CHAPTER VII.

    I cast my net in Largo bay,
      And fishes I caught nine;
    There were three to roast, and three to boil,
      And three to bait the line.

        _Old Song._

    Saw never man so faynt a levand wycht,
    And na ferlye, for ouir excelland lycht
      Corruptis the witt, and garris the blude awail,
      Until the harte, thocht it na dainger aill,
    Quhen it is smorit memberis wirk not rychte,
      The dreadfulle terrour swa did him assaile.

        _Pal. of Hon._


Berwick was then in the hands of the English, and commanded by Sir
Thomas Musgrave, the captain of Roxburgh's cousin; so also was Norham,
and all the forts between, on that side of the river. Notwithstanding of
this, the power of the Scots predominated so much in the open field
during that reign, that this chain of forts proved finally of no avail
to Lord Musgrave, (or Sir Philip Musgrave, as he is generally
denominated,) though he had depended on keeping the communication open,
else in victualling Roxburgh he had calculated basely. The garrison were
already reduced to the greatest extremes; they were feeding on their
horses and on salted hides; and, two or three days previous to this,
their only communication with their countrymen had been cut off, they
could not tell how. It was at best only precarious, being carried on in
the following singular way.--The besieged had two communications with
the river, by secret covered ways from the interior of the fortress. In
each of these they had a small windlass, that winded on and let off a
line nearly a mile in length. The lines were very small, being made of
plaited brass wire; and, putting a buoy on a hook at the end of each one
of these, they let them down the water. Their friends knowing the very
spot where they stopped, watched, and put dispatches on the hooks, with
fish, beef, venison, and every kind of convenience, which they pulled up
below the water, sometimes for a whole night together; and though this
proved but a scanty supply for a whole garrison, it was for a long time
quite regular, and they depended a good deal on it.

But one night it so chanced that an old fisherman, who fished for the
monastery, had gone out with his coble by night to spear salmon in the
river. He had a huge blaze flaming in a grate that stood exalted over
the prow of his wherry; and with the light of that he pricked the salmon
out of their deep recesses with great acuteness. As he was plying his
task he perceived a fish of a very uncommon size and form scouring up
the river with no ordinary swiftness. At first he started, thinking he
had seen the devil: but a fisher generally strikes at every thing he
sees in the water. He struck it with his barbed spear, called on Tweed a
_leister_, and in a moment had it into his boat. It was an excellent
sirloin of beef. The man was in utter amazement, for it was dead, and
lay without moving, like other butcher meat; yet he was sure he saw it
running up the water at full speed. He never observed the tiny line of
plaited wire, nor the hook, which indeed was buried in the lire; and we
may judge with what surprise he looked on this wonderful fish,--this
phenomenon of all aquatic productions. However, as it seemed to lie
peaceably enough, and looked very well as a piece of beef, he resolved
to let it remain, and betake himself again to his business. Never was
there an old man so bewildered as he was, when he again looked into the
river,--never either on Tweed or any other river on earth. Instead of
being floating _down_ the river peaceably in his boat, as one naturally
expects to do, he discovered that he was running straight against the
stream. He expected to have missed about fifty yards of the river by his
adventure with the beef; but--no!--instead of that he was about the same
distance advanced in his return up the stream. The windlass at the
castle, and the invisible wire line, of which he had no conception,
having been still dragging him gradually up. "Saint Mary, the mother of
God, protect and defend poor Sandy Yellowlees!" cried he; "What can be
the meaning of this? Is the world turned upside down? Aha! our auld
friend, Michael Scott, has some hand i' this! He's no to cree legs wi':
I's be quits wi' him." With that he tumbled his beef again into the
water, which held on its course with great rapidity straight up the
stream, while he and his boat returned quietly in the contrary and
natural direction.

"Aye, there it goes," cried Sandy, "straight on for Aikwood! I's warrant
that's for the warlock's an' the deil's dinner the morn. God be praised
I'm free o't, or I should soon have been there too!"

Old Sandy fished down the river, but he could kill no more salmon that
night,--for his nerves had got a shock with this new species of fishing
that he could not overcome. He missed one; wounded another on the tail;
and struck a third on the rig-back, where no leister can pierce a fish,
till he made him spring above water. Sandy grew chagrined at himself and
the warlock, Michael Scott, too--for this last was what he called "a
real prime fish," Sandy gripped the leister a little firmer, clenched
his teeth, and drew his bonnet over his eyes to shield them from the
violence of his blaze. He then banned the wizard into himself, and
determined to kill the next fish that made his appearance. But, just as
he was keeping watch in this guise, he perceived another fish something
like the former, but differing in some degree, coming swagging up the
river full speed. "My heart laup to my teeth," said Sandy, "when I saw
it coming, and I heaved the leister, but durstna strike; but I lookit
weel, an' saw plainly that it was either a side o' mutton or venison, I
couldna tell whilk. But I loot it gang, an' shook my head. 'Aha,
Michael, lad,' quo' I, 'ye hae countit afore your host for aince! Auld
Sandy has beguiled ye. But ye weel expeckit to gie him a canter to hell
the night.' I rowed my boat to the side, an' made a' the haste hame I
could, for I thought auld Michael had taen the water to himsel that
night."

Sandy took home his few fish, and went to sleep, for all was quiet about
the abbey and the cloisters of his friends, the monks; and when he awoke
next morning he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses,
regarding what he had seen during the night. He arose and examined his
fishes, and could see nothing about them that was not about other
salmon. Still he strongly suspected they too might be some connections
of Michael's,--something illusory, if not worse; and took care to eat
none of them himself, delivering them all to the cook of the monastery.
The monks ate them, and throve very well; and as Sandy had come by no
bodily harm, he determined to try the fishing once again, and if he met
with any more such fish of passage to examine them a little better. He
went out with his boat, light, and fish-spear as usual; and scarcely had
he taken his station, when he perceived one of a very uncommon nature
approaching. He did not strike at it, but only put his leister-grains
before it as if to stop its course, when he found the pressure against
the leister very strong. On pulling the leister towards him, one of the
barbs laid hold of the line by which the phenomenon was led; and not
being able to get rid of it, he was obliged to pull it into the boat. It
was a small cask of Malmsey wine; and at once, owing to the way it was
drawn out, he discovered the hook and line fastened to the end of it.
These he disengaged with some difficulty, the pull being so strong and
constant; and the mystery was thus found out. In a few minutes
afterwards he seized a large sheaf of arrows; and some time after, at
considerable intervals, a number of excellent sides of beef and venison.

Sandy Yellowlees saw that he could now fish to some purpose, and formed
a resolution of being the last man in the world to tell his countrymen
of this resource that the enemy had. The thing of which he was most
afraid was a discovery. He knew that the articles would soon be missed,
and that his light would betray him; and then a flight of arrows, or
even a single one, from a lurking foe at the side of the river, would
put an end to his fishing for ever. Such an opportunity was not to be
given up, notwithstanding of this danger; so, after much prying, both by
day and by night, Sanders found that at an abrupt crook in the water,
whatever the line brought up came close to the side, and when the water
was low it even trailed them over a point of level sand-bed quite dry.
This was a joyous discovery for Sandy. He had nothing ado but to sail
down in his boat when it grew dark, and lie lurking at this crook in the
water, and make a prey of whatever came within his reach. The very first
night he filled his boat half full of valuable stuff. There was a
necessity for disposing of a part of this, and Sandy was obliged to aver
that he had discovered a hidden store belonging to the English; and,
moreover, he hinted that he could supply the towns of Kelso and
Roxburgh, the abbey of the one and the priory of the other, for some
time to come. Great was the search that was made about the banks of the
river, but no one could find the store; yet Sanders Yellowlees continued
to supply the market with luxuries, tho' no one knew how. Intelligence
was sent down the stream, with the buoys, of the seizure of the
provisions, and of the place where they were taken off, which they knew
from the failure of the weight they were pulling to be always at the
same place. The news also spread of Sandy's stores, and both reached the
secret friends of the English, from whom the provisions were nightly
sent to their besieged friends and benefactors, with all the caution and
secrecy possible, it being given them to understand that on that supply
alone depended the holding out of the fortress.

Many schemes were now tried to entrap Sandy, but all without effect; for
the Scots had a strong post surrounding that very point where Sandy
caught all his spoil. It was impossible to reach it but by a boat; and
no boat was allowed on the river but that one that belonged to the
abbey. At length an English trooper undertook to seize this old
depredator. Accordingly, in the dead of the night, when the lines came
down, he seized them both, twisted them into one, and walked silently up
the side of the river until he came nigh to the spot where the Scots
lines on each side joined the stream. He then put the two hooks into his
buff belt, and committing himself to the water, was dragged in silence
and perfect safety up the pool between the outposts.

The first turn above that was the point where Sandy lay watching. He had
only seized one prey that night, and that was of no great value,--for
they had given over sending up victuals to enrich an old Scots rascal,
as they termed honest Sanders. He was glad when he saw the wake of a
heavy burden coming slowly towards him. "This is a sack o' sweet-meats,"
said he to himself: "It must be currans an' raisins, an' sic fine things
as are na injured by the fresh water. I shall get a swinging price from
the abbey-men for them, to help wi' their Christmas pies."

No sooner did this huge load touch the land, than Sandy seized it with
all expedition; but, to his inexpressible horror, the sack of sweetmeats
seized him in its turn, and that with such potence that he was
instantaneously overpowered. He uttered one piercing cry, and no more,
before the trooper gagged and pinioned him. The Scottish lines were
alarmed, and all in motion, and the troops on both sides were crowding
to the bank of the stream. A party was approaching the spot where the
twain were engaged in the unequal struggle. To return down the stream
with his prisoner, as he intended, was impracticable; so the trooper had
no alternative left but that of throwing himself into Sandy's boat, with
its owner in his arms, shoving her from the side into the deep, and
trusting himself to the strength of the wire-lines. As the windlasses
were made always to exert the same force and no more, by resisting that
they could be stopped; so by pushing the boat from the side in the
direction of the castle, the line being slackened, that again set them
agoing with great velocity; and though they soon slackened in swiftness,
the trooper escaped with his prisoner undiscovered, and, by degrees, was
dragged up to the mouth of the covered way that led through or under the
hill on which the castle stood; and there was poor Sanders Yellowlees
delivered into the hands of his incensed and half-famished enemies. It
was he that was hanged over the wall of the castle on the day that the
five English yeomen were executed.[1]

[1] As there can be no doubt of the authenticity of this part of the
Curate's tale, these secret passages must have been carried under ground
all the way from the castle to the junction of the two rivers; and it is
said that a tradition still exists on the spot, that these vaulted paths
have often been discovered by former inhabitants.

The English now conceived that their secret was undiscovered, and that
their sufferings would forthwith be mitigated by the supply drawn by
their lines. They commenced briskly and successfully; but, alas! their
success was of short duration. Sanders' secret became known to the Scots
army. The night-watchers had often seen the old man's boat leaning on
the shore at that point at all hours of the night; for he was always
free to go about plodding for fish when he pleased. His cry was heard at
that spot, and the boat was now missing: the place was watched, and in
two days the Englishmen's secret, on which they so much relied, was
discovered, and quite cut off; and that powerful garrison was now left
with absolute famine staring them in the face.

As in all cases of utter privation, the men grew ungovernable. Their
passions were chafed, and foamed like the ocean before the commencement
of a tempest, foreboding nothing but anarchy and commotion. Parties were
formed of the most desperate opposition to one another, and every one
grew suspicious of his neighbour. Amid all this tempest of passion a
mutiny broke out:--a strong party set themselves to deliver up the
fortress to the Scots. But through such a medley of jarring opinions
what project could succeed? The plot was soon discovered, the
ring-leaders secured, and Sir Stephen Vernon, Musgrave's most tried and
intimate friend, found to be at the head of it. No pen can do justice to
the astonishment manifested by Musgrave when the treachery of his dear
friend was fully proven. His whole frame and mind received a shock as by
electricity, and he gazed around him in moody madness, as not knowing
whom to trust, and as if he deemed those around him were going to be his
assassins.

"Wretch that I am!" cried he, "What is there more to afflict and rend
this heart? Do I breathe the same air? Do I live among the same men? Do
I partake of the same nature and feelings as I was wont? My own friend
and brother Vernon, has he indeed lifted up his hand against me, and
become one with my enemies? Whom now shall I trust? Must my dearest
hopes--my honour, and the honour of my country, be sacrificed to
disaffection and treachery? Oh Vernon--my brother Vernon, how art thou
fallen!"

"I confess my crime," said Vernon; and I submit to my fate, since a
crime it must be deemed. But it was out of love and affection to you,
that your honour might not stoop to our haughty enemies. To hold out the
fortress is impossible, and to persevere in the attempt utter depravity.
Suppose you feed on one another, before the termination of the Christmas
holidays, the remnant that will be left will not be able to guard the
sallying ports, even though the ramparts are left unmanned. In a few
days I shall see my brave young friend and companion in arms, your
brother, disgracefully put down, and ere long the triumphant Scots
enter, treading over the feeble remains of this yet gallant army. I may
bide a traitor's blame, and be branded with a traitor's name, but it was
to save my friends that I strove; for I tell you, and some of you will
live to see it, to hold out the castle is impossible."

"It is false!" cried Musgrave. "It is false! It is false!" cried every
voice present in the judgment-hall, with frantic rage; and all the
people, great and small, flew on the culprit to tear him to pieces; for
their inveteracy against the Scots still grew with their distress.

"It is false! It is false!" shouted they. "Down with the traitor! sooner
shall we eat the flesh from our own bones than deliver up the fortress
to the Scots! Down with the false knave! down with the traitor!"--and,
in the midst of a tumult that was quite irresistible, Vernon was borne
up on their shoulders, and hurried to execution, smiling with derision
at their madness, and repeating their frantic cries in mockery. It was
in vain that the commander strove to save his friend,--as well might he
have attempted to have stemmed the river in its irresistible course
single-handed. Vernon and his associates were hanged like dogs, amid
shouts of execration, and their bodies flung into a pit. When this was
accomplished, the soldiers waved their caps, and cried out, "So fare it
with all who take part with our hateful enemies!"

Musgrave shed tears at the fate of his brave companion, and
thenceforward was seized with gloomy despondency; for he saw that
subordination hung by a thread so brittle that the least concussion
would snap it asunder, and involve all in inextricable confusion. His
countenance and manner underwent a visible change, and he often started
on the approach of any one toward him, and laid his hand on his sword.
The day appointed by the Douglas for the execution of Sir Richard,
provided the castle was not delivered up before that period, was fast
approaching,--an event that Musgrave could not look forward to without
distraction; and it was too evident to his associates that his brave
mind was so torn by conflicting passions, that it stood in great danger
of being rooted up for ever.

It is probable that at this time he would willingly have complied with
the dictates of nature, and saved the life of his brother; but to have
talked of yielding up the fortress to the Scots at that period would
only have been the prelude to his being torn in pieces. It was no more
their captain's affair of love and chivalry that influenced them, but
desperate animosity against their besiegers; and every one called aloud
for succours. Communication with their friends was impracticable, but
they hoped that their condition was known, and that succours would soon
appear.--Alas, their friends in Northumberland had enough ado to defend
themselves, nor could they do it so effectually but that their lands
were sometimes harried to their very doors. The warden, with his hardy
mountaineers, was indefatigable; and the English garrison were now so
closely beleaguered, that all chance of driving a prey from the country
faded from their hopes. Never was the portcullis drawn up, nor the
draw-bridge at either end let down, that intelligence was not
communicated by blast of bugle to the whole Scottish army, who were
instantly on the alert. The latter fared sumptuously, while those within
the walls were famishing; and at length the day appointed for the
execution of Sir Richard drew so near that three days only were to run.

It had been customary for the English, whenever the Scots sent out a
herald, bearing the flag of truce, to make any proposal whatsoever, to
salute him with a flight of arrows; all communication or listening to
proposals being strictly forbidden by the captain, on pain of death.
However, that day, when the Douglas' herald appeared on the rising
ground, called the Hill of Barns, Musgrave caused answer him by a
corresponding flag, hoping it might be some proposal of a ransom for the
life of his beloved brother, on which the heralds had an interchange of
words at the draw-bridge. The Scottish herald made demand of the castle
in his captain's name, and added, that the Douglas requested it might be
done instantly, to save the life of a brave and noble youth, whom he
would gladly spare, but could not break his word and his oath that he
should suffer. He farther assured the English captain, that it was in
vain for him to sacrifice his brother, for that he had the means in his
power to bring him under subjection the day following, if he chose.

A council of the gentlemen in the castle was called. Every one spoke in
anger, and treated the demand with derision. Musgrave spoke not a word;
but, with a look of unstable attention on every one that spoke,
collected their verdicts, and in a few minutes this answer was returned
to the requisition of the Scots.

"If Sir Philip Musgrave himself, and every English knight and gentleman
in the castle were now in the hands of the Douglas, and doomed to the
same fate of their brave young friend, still the Douglas should not
gain his point,--the castle would not be delivered up. The garrison
scorn his proposals, they despise his threats, and they hold his power
at defiance. Such tender mercies as he bestows, such shall he
experience. He shall only take the castle by treading over the breasts
of the last six men that remain alive in it."

This was the general answer for the garrison--in the meantime Musgrave
requested, as a personal favour of the Douglas, that he might see and
condole with his brother one hour before his fatal exit. The request was
readily complied with, and every assurance of safe conduct and
protection added. The Douglas' pavilion stood on the rising ground,
between the castle and the then splendid city of Roxburgh, a position
from which he had a view of both rivers, and all that passed around the
castle, and in the town; but, since the commencement of winter he had
lodged over night in a tower that stood in the middle of the High-town,
called the King's House, that had prisons underneath, and was strongly
guarded; but during the day he continued at the pavilion, in order to
keep an eye over the siege.

To this pavilion, therefore, Musgrave was suffered to pass, with only
one knight attendant; and all the way from the draw-bridge to the tent
they passed between two files of armed soldiers, whose features, forms,
and armour exhibited a strange contrast. The one rank was made up of Mar
Highlanders, men short of stature, with red locks, high cheek bones, and
looks that indicated a ferocity of nature; the other was composed of
Lowlanders from the dales of the south and the west; men clothed in
grey, with sedate looks, strong athletic frames, and faces of blunt and
honest bravery. Musgrave weened himself passing between the ranks of two
different nations, instead of the vassals of one Scottish nobleman. At
the pavilion, the state, splendour, and number of attendant knights and
squires amazed him; but by them all he was received with the most
courteous respect.

Sir Richard was brought up from the vaults of the King's House to the
tent, as the most convenient place for the meeting with his brother, and
for the guards to be stationed around them; and there, being placed in
one of the apartments of the pavilion, his brother was ushered in to
him. No one was present at the meeting; but, from an inner apartment,
all that passed between them was overheard. Musgrave clasped his younger
brother in his arms; the other could not return the embrace, for his
chains were not taken off; but their meeting was passionately affecting,
as the last meeting between two brothers must always be. When the elder
retired a step, that they might gaze on each other, what a difference in
appearance!--what a contrast they exhibited to each other! The man in
chains, doomed to instant death, had looks of blooming health, and manly
fortitude: The free man, the renowned Lord Musgrave, governor of the
impregnable but perilous castle of Roxburgh, and the affianced lord and
husband to the richest and most beautiful lady in England, was the
picture of haggard despair and misfortune. He appeared but the remnant,
the skeleton of the hero he had lately been; and a sullen instability
of mind flashed loweringly in his dark eye. His brother was almost
terrified at his looks, for he regarded him sometimes as with dark
suspicion, and as if he dreaded him to be an incendiary.

"My dear brother," said Sir Richard, "what is it that hangs upon your
mind, and discomposes you so much? You are indeed an altered man since I
had the misfortune to be taken from you. Tell me, how fares all within
the castle?"

"Oh, very well; quite well, brother. All perfectly secure--quite well
within the castle." But as he said this he strode rapidly backward and
forward across the small apartment, and eyed the canvass on each side
with a grin of rage, as if he suspected that it concealed listeners; nor
was he wrong in his conjecture, though it was only caused by the frenzy
of habitual distrust. "But, how can I be otherwise than discomposed,
brother," continued he, "when I am in so short a time to see you
sacrificed in the prime of youth and vigour, to my own obstinacy and
pride, perhaps."

"I beg that you will not think of it, or take it at all to heart," said
the youth; "I have made up my mind, and can look death in the face
without unbecoming dismay. I should have preferred dying on the field of
honour, with my sword in my hand, rather than being hanged up between
the hosts, like a spy, or common malefactor. But let the tears that are
shed for Richard be other than salt brine from the eyes of the
Englishmen. Let them be the drops of purple blood from the hearts of our
enemies. I charge you, by the spirits of our fathers, whom I am so
shortly to join, and by the blessed Trinity, that you act in this trying
dilemma as the son of the house you represent. Shed not a tear for me,
but revenge my death on the haughty house of Douglas."

"There is my hand! Here is my sword! But the vital motion, or the light
of reason, who shall ensure to me till these things are fulfilled. Nay,
who shall ensure them to this wasted frame for one moment? I am not the
man I have been, brother: But here I will swear to you, by all the host
of heaven, to revenge your death, or die in the fulfilment of my vow.
Yes, fully will I revenge it! I will waste! waste! waste! and the fire
that is begun within shall be quenched, and no tongue shall utter it!
Ha! ha, ha! shall it not be so, brother?"

"This is mere raving, brother; I have nothing from this."

"No, it is not; for there is a fire that you wot not of. But I will
quench it, though with my own blood. Brother, there is one thing I wish
to know, and for that purpose did I come hither. Do you think it behoves
me to suffer you to perish in this affair?"

"That depends entirely upon your internal means of defence," answered
Richard. "If there is a certainty, or even a probability, that the
castle can hold until relieved by our friends, which will not likely be
previous to the time you have appointed for them to attempt it; why,
then, I would put no account on the life of one man. Were I in your
place, I would retain my integrity in opposition to the views of
Douglas; but if it is apparent to you, who know all your own resources,
that the castle must yield, it is needless to throw away the life of
your brother, sacrificing it to the pride of opposition for a day or a
week."

Musgrave seemed to be paying no regard to this heroic and disinterested
reasoning,--for he was still pacing to and fro, gnawing his lip; and if
he was reasoning, or thinking at all, was following out the train of his
own unstable mind.--"Because, if I were sure," said he, "that you felt
that I was acting unkindly or unnaturally by you, by the Rood, I would
carve the man into fragments that would oppose my submission to save my
brother. I would teach them that Musgrave was not to be thwarted in his
command of the castle that was taken by his own might and device, and to
the government of which his sovereign appointed him. If a dog should
dare to bay at me in opposition to my will, whatever it were, I would
muzzle the hound, and make him repent his audacity."

"My noble brother," said Richard, "what is the meaning of this frenzy?
No one is opposing your will, and I well believe no one within the
castle will attempt it--"

"Because they dare not!" said he, furiously, interrupting his brother:
"They dare not, I tell you! But if they durst, what do you think I would
do? Ha, ha, ha!"

Douglas overheard all this, and judging it a fit time to interfere,
immediately a knight opened the door of the apartment where the two
brothers conversed, and announced the Lord Douglas. Musgrave composed
himself with wonderful alacrity; and the greeting between the two great
chiefs, though dignified, was courteous and apparently free of rancour
or jealousy. Douglas first addressed his rival as follows:

"I crave pardon, knights, for thus interrupting you. I will again leave
you to yourselves; but I judged it incumbent on me, as a warrior and a
knight of honour, to come, before you settled finally on your mode of
procedure, and conjure you, Lord Philip Musgrave, to save the life of
your brother--"

"Certainly you will not put down my brave brother, Lord Douglas?" said
Musgrave, interrupting him.

"As certainly," returned he, "as you put down my two kinsmen, Cleland
and Douglas of Rowlaw, in mere spite and wanton cruelty, because they
were beloved and respected by me. I am blameless, as it was yourself who
began this unwarrantable system, and my word is passed. Sir Richard must
die, unless the keys of the castle are delivered to me before Friday at
noon. But I shall be blameless in any thing further. I conjure you to
save him; and as an inducement, assure you, by the honour of knighthood,
that your resistance is not only unnatural, but totally useless; for I
have the means of commanding your submission when I please."

"Lord Douglas, I defy thee!" answered Musgrave. "You hold the life in
your hand that I hold dearest on earth, save one. For these two would I
live or die: but, since thy inveterate enmity will not be satisfied
with ought short of the life of my only brother, take it; and may my
curse, and the curse of heaven, be your guerdon. It shall only render
the other doubly dear to me; and, for her sake, will I withstand your
proud pretensions; and, as she enjoined me, hold this castle, with all
its perils, till the expiry of the Christmas holidays, in spite of you.
I defy your might and your ire. Let your cruel nature have its full
sway. Let it be gorged with the blood of my kinsfolk; it shall only
serve to make my opposition the stronger and more determined. For the
sake of her whom I serve, the mistress of my heart and soul, I will hold
my resolution.--Do your worst!"

"So be it!" said Douglas. "Remember that I do not, like you, fight only
in the enthusiasm of love and chivalry, but for the very being of my
house. I will stick at no means of retaliating the injuries you have
done to me and mine, however unjustifiable these may appear to some,--no
act of cruelty, to attain the prize for which I contend. Little do you
know what you are doomed to suffer, and that in a short space of time.
I again conjure you to save the life of your brother, by yielding up to
me your ill-got right, and your conditions shall be as liberal as you
can desire."

"I will yield you my estate to save my brother, but not the castle of
Roxburgh. Name any other ransom but that, and I will treat with you. Ask
what I can grant with honour, and command it."

"Would you give up the life of a brave only brother to gratify the
vanity and whim of a romantic girl, who, if present herself, would plead
for the life of Sir Richard, maugre all other considerations, else she
has not the feelings of woman? What would you give, Lord Musgrave, to
see that lady, and hear her sentiments on the subject."

"I would give much to see her. But, rather than see her in this place, I
would give all the world and my life's blood into the bargain. But of
that I need not have any fear. You have conjurors among you, it is said,
and witches that can raise up the dead, but their power extends not to
the living, else who of my race would have been left?"

"I have more power than you divine; and I will here give you a simple
specimen of it, to convince you how vain it is to contend with me. You
are waging war with your own vain imagination, and suffer all this
wretchedness for a thing that has neither being nor name."

Douglas then lifted a small gilded bugle that hung always at his sword
belt, the language of which was well known to all the army; and on that
he gave two blasts not louder than a common whistle, when instantly the
door of the apartment opened, and there entered Lady Jane Howard,
leaning on her female attendant, dressed in attire of princely
magnificence. "Lady Jane Howard!" exclaimed Sir Richard, starting up,
and struggling with his fettered arms to embrace her. But when the
vision met the eyes of Lord Musgrave, he uttered a shuddering cry of
horror, and sprung with a convulsive leap back into the corner of the
tent. There he stood, like the statue of distraction, with his raised
hands pressed to each side of his helmet, as if he had been strenuously
holding his head from splitting asunder.

"So! Friend and foe have combined against me!" cried he wildly. "Earth
and hell have joined their forces in opposition to one impotent human
thing! And what his crime? He presumed on no more than what he did, and
could have done; but who can stand against the powers of darkness, and
the unjust decrees of heaven? Yes; unjust! I say unjust! Down with all
decrees to the centre! There's no truth in heaven! I weened there was,
but it is as false as the rest! I say as false!--falser than both!--I'll
brave all the three! Ha, ha, ha!"

Douglas had brought Lady Jane the apparel, and commanded her to dress in
it; and, perceiving the stern, authoritative nature of the chief, she
judged it meet to comply. At first she entered with a languid dejected
look, for she had been given to understand something of the rueful
nature of the meeting she was called on to attend. But when she heard
the above infuriated rhapsody, and turned her eyes in terror to look on
the speaker, whose voice she well knew, she uttered a scream and
fainted. Douglas supported her in his arms; and Sir Richard, whose arms
were in fetters, stood and wept over her. But Musgrave himself only
strode to and fro over the floor of the pavilion, and uttered now and
then a frantic laugh. "That is well!--That is well!" exclaimed he; "Just
as it should be! I hope she will not recover. Surely she will not?" and
then bending himself back, and clasping his hands together, he cried
fervently: "O mother of God, take her to thyself while she is yet pure
and uncontaminated, or what heart of flesh can endure the prospect? What
a wreck in nature that lovely form will soon be! Oh-oh-oh!"

The lady's swoon was temporary. She soon began to revive, and cast
unsettled looks around in search of the object that had so overpowered
her; and, at the request of Sir Richard, who perceived his brother's
intemperate mood, she was removed. She was so struck with the altered
features, looks, and deportment of the knight, who in her imagination
was every thing that was courteous, comely, and noble, and whom she had
long considered as destined to be her own, that her heart was unable to
stand the shock, and her removal from his presence was an act of
humanity.

She was supported out of the tent by Douglas and her female relation;
but when Musgrave saw them leading her away, he stepped rapidly in
before them and interposed; and, with a twist of his body, put his hand
two or three times to the place where the handle of his sword should
have been. The lady lifted her eyes to him, but there was no conception
in that look, and her lovely face was as pale as if the hand of death
had passed over it.

Any one would have thought that such a look from the lady of his love,
in such a forlorn situation, and in the hands of his mortal enemy, would
have totally uprooted the last fibres of his distempered mind. But who
can calculate on the medicine suited to a diseased spirit? The cures
even of some bodily diseases are those that would poison a healthy
frame. So did it prove in this mental one. He lifted his hand from his
left side, where he had thrust it convulsively in search of his sword,
and clapping it on his forehead, he seemed to resume the command of
himself at once, and looked as calm and serene as in the most collected
moments of his life.

When they were gone, he said to Sir Richard, in the hearing of the
guards: "Brother, what is the meaning of this? What English traitor has
betrayed that angelic maid into the hands of our enemy?"

"To me it is incomprehensible," said Sir Richard: "I was told of it by
my keeper last night, but paid no regard to the information, judging it
a piece of wanton barbarity; but now my soul shudders at the rest of the
information that he added."

"What more did the dog say?" said Musgrave.

"He said he had heard that it was resolved by the Douglasses, that, if
you did not yield up the fortress and citadel freely, on or before the
day of the conception of the Blessed Virgin, on that day at noon the
lady of your heart should be exhibited in a state not to be named on a
stage erected on the top of the Bush-law, that faces the western tower,
and is divided from it only by the moat; and there before your eyes, and
in sight of both hosts, compelled to yield to that disgrace which
barbarians only could have conceived; and then to have her nose cut off,
her eyes put out, and her beauteous frame otherwise disfigured."

"He dares not for his soul's salvation do such a deed!" said Musgrave:
"No; there's not a bloodhound that ever mouthed the air of his cursed
country durst do a deed like that. And though every Douglas is a hound
confest, where is the mongrel among them that durst but howl of such an
outrage in nature? Why, the most absolute fiend would shrink from it:
Hell would disown it; and do you think the earth would bear it?"

"Brother, suspend your passion, and listen to the voice of reason and of
nature. Your cause is lost, but not your honour. You took, and have kept
that fortress, to the astonishment of the world. But for what do you
now fight? or what can your opposition avail? Let me beseech you not to
throw away the lives of those you love most on earth thus wantonly, but
capitulate on honourable terms, and rescue your betrothed bride and your
only brother from the irritated Scots. Trust not that they will stick at
any outrage to accomplish their aim. Loth would I be to know our name
were dishonoured by any pusillanimity on the part of my brother; but
desperate obstinacy is not bravery. I, therefore, conjure you to save
me, and her in whom all your hopes of future felicity are bound up."

Musgrave was deeply affected; and, at that instant, before he had time
to reply, Douglas re-entered.

"Scots lord, you have overcome me," said he, with a pathos that could
not be exceeded: "Yes you have conquered, but not with your sword. Not
on the field, nor on the wall, have ye turned the glaive of Musgrave;
but either by some infernal power, or else by chicanery and guile, the
everlasting resources of your cursed nation. It boots not me to know how
you came possessed of this last and only remaining pledge of my
submission. It is sufficient you have it. I yield myself your prisoner;
let me live or die with those two already in your power."

"No, knight, that must not be," replied Douglas. "You are here on safe
conduct and protection; my honour is pledged, and must not be forfeited.
You shall return in safety to your kinsmen and soldiers, and act by
their counsel. It is not prisoners I want, but the castle of Roxburgh,
which is the right of my sovereign and my nation,--clandestinely taken,
and wrongously held by you. I am neither cruel nor severe beyond the
small range that points to that attainment; but that fortress I will
have,--else wo be to you, and all who advise withholding it, as well as
all their connexions to whom the power of Scotland can extend. If the
castle is not delivered up before Friday at noon, your brother shall
suffer,--that you already know. But at the same hour on the day of the
Conception, if it is still madly and wantonly detained, there shall be
such a scene transacted before your eyes as shall blur the annals of the
Border for ever."

"If you allude to any injury intended to the lady who is your prisoner,"
said Musgrave, "the cruellest fiend in hell could not have the heart to
hurt such angelic purity and loveliness; and it would degrade the honour
of knighthood for ever to suffer it. Cruel as you are, you dare not
injure a hair of her head."

"Talk not of cruelty in me," said Douglas: "If the knight who is her
lover will not save her, how should I? You have it in your power, and
certainly it is you that behove to do it; even granting that the stakes
for which we fought were equal, the task of redemption and the blame
would rest solely with you. And how wide is the difference between the
prizes for which we contend? I for my love, my honour, and the very
existence of my house and name; and you for you know not what,--the
miserable pride of opposition. Take your measures, my lord. I will not
be mocked."

Douglas left the apartment. Musgrave also arose and embraced his
brother, and, as he parted from him, he spoke these ominous words:
"Farewell, my dear Richard. May the angels that watch over honour be
your guardians in the hour of trial. You know not what I have to endure
from tormentors without and within. But hence we meet not again in this
state of existence. The ties of love must be broken, and the bands of
brotherly love burst asunder,--nevertheless I will save you--A long
farewell my brother."

Musgrave was then conducted back to the draw-bridge, between two long
files of soldiers as before, while all the musicians that belonged
either to the army or the city were ranked up in a line behind them, on
the top of the great precipice that over-hangs the Teviot, playing, on
all manner of instruments, "_Turn the Blue Bonnets wha can, wha can_,"
with such a tremendous din that one would have thought every stone in
the walls of Roxburgh was singing out the bravado.



CHAPTER VIII.

    Qnhat weywerde elfin thynge is thaten boie,
    That hyngethe still upon myne gaire, as doeth
    My synne of harte? And quhome rychte loth; I lofe
    With not les hauckerynge. His locent eyne,
    And his tungis maiter comethe on myne sense
    Lyke a remembourance; or lyke ane dreime
    That had delytis in it. Quhen I wolde say
    "Begone;" lo then my tung mistakethe quyte,
    Or fanceyinge not the terme, it sayethe "Come hidder,
    Come hidder, crabbed boie, unto myne syde."

        _Old Play._


That evening, after the departure of the noble and distressed Musgrave,
Douglas was sitting all alone musing in a secret apartment of the
pavilion, when he heard a gentle tap at the door. "Who's there?"
inquired he surlily: "It is I, my lor'," said a petulant treble voice
without. "Aha! my excellent nondescript little fellow, Colin Roy, is it
you? Why, you may come in." Colin entered dressed in a most elegant and
whimsical livery, and, forgetting himself, made the Douglas two or three
graceful courtesies instead of bows.

"Aye, hem," said he, "that's very well for the page of a princess. I
suppose you have been studying the graces from your accomplished
mistress? But where have you been all this while? I have felt the loss
of you from my hand grievously."

"I have been waiting on my royal mistress, my lor', informing her of all
that is going on at the siege, and of your good fortune in the late
captures you have made, wherein she rejoices exceedingly, and wishes you
all good fortune and forward success; and, in token of kind remembrance,
she sends you this heart of ruby set in gold and diamonds,--a gem that
befits your lordship well to wear. And many more matters she has given
me in charge, my lor'."

Douglas kissed the locket, and put it in his bosom, and then uttered
abundance of the extravagant bombast peculiar to that age. He called her
his guardian angel, his altar of incense, and the saint of his devotion,
the buckler of his arm, the sword in his hand, and the jewel of his
heart. "Do you think, Colin," added he, "that ever there was a maiden
born like this royal lady of my love?"

"Why, my lor', I am not much skilled in these matters, but I believe the
wench, my mistress, is well enough;--that is, she is well formed. And
yet she is but so so."

"How dare you, you piece of unparalleled impudence, talk of your royal
mistress in that strain? Or where did you ever see a form or features so
elegant, and so bewitchingly lovely?"

"Do you think so?--Well, I'm glad of it. I think she is coarse and
masculine. Where did I ever see such a form, indeed! Yes I have seen a
much finer limb, and an arm, and a hand too! What think you of that for
a hand, my lor'?"--(and with that the urchin clapped his hand on the
green table, first turning up the one side of it and then the
other.)--"I say if that hand were as well kept, and that arm as well
loaden with bracelets, and the fingers with diamond rings, it would be
as handsome as your princess's, of which you boast so much,--aye, and
handsomer too."

"You are a privileged boy, Colin, otherwise I would kick you heartily,
and, moreover, cause you to be whipped by the hand of the common
executioner. However, you are a confidant,--all is well from you; and,
to say the truth, yours is a very handsome hand for a boy's hand,--so is
your arm. But what are they to those of my lovely and royal
Margaret?--mere deformity! the husk to the wheat!"

"Indeed, my lor', you have an excellent taste, and a no less gifted
discernment!"

"I cannot conceive of any earthly being equalling my beauteous princess,
whether in the qualifications of body or mind."

"I rejoice to hear it. How blind love is! Why, in sober reality, there
is the Lady Jane Howard. Is there any comparison between the princess
and that lady in beauty?"

"She is, I confess, a most exquisite creature, Colin, even though rival
to my adorable lady; in justice it must be acknowledged she is _almost_
peerless in beauty. I do not wonder at Musgrave's valour when I see the
object of it. But why do you redden as with anger, boy, to hear my
commendations of that hapless lady?"

"I, my lord? How should I redden with anger? On my honour, craving my
Lord Douglas' pardon, I am highly pleased. I think she is much more
beautiful than you have said, and that, you should have spoken of her in
a more superlative degree, and confessed frankly that you would
willingly exchange your betrothed lady for her. I cannot chuse but think
her very beautiful; too beautiful, indeed, with her blue eyes, white
teeth, and ruddy lips. I dont like such bright blue eyes. I could almost
find in my heart to scratch them out, she is so like a wanton. So you
don't wonder at Lord Musgrave's valour, after having seen his mistress?
Well, I advise your lordship, your captainship, and your besiegership,
that there are some who wonder very much at your want of valour. I tell
you this in confidence. My mistress thinks you hold her charms only at a
small avail, that you have not _gone into_ that castle long ago, and
turned out these Englishmen, or hung them up by the necks if they
refused. Musgrave went in and took it at once, for the favour of his
mistress; because, forsooth, he deemed her worthy of the honour of such
a bold emprize. Why, then, do not you do the same? My mistress, to be
sure, is a woman,--a very woman; but she says this, that it is
superabundantly ungallant of you not to have _gone in_ and taken
possession of the castle long ago. Do you know that (poor kind
creature!) she has retired to a convent, where she continues in a state
of sufferance, using daily invocations at the shrines of saints for your
success. And she has, moreover, made a vow not to braid her hair, nor
dress herself in princely apparel until the day of your final success.
Surely, my lor', you ought _to take that castle_, and relieve my dear
mistress from this durance. I almost weep when I think of her, and must
say with her that she has been shabbily used, and that she has reason to
envy Lady Jane Howard even in her captivity."

"Colin, you are abundantly impertinent: but there is no stopping of
your tongue once it is set a-going. As to the taking of castles, these
things come not under the cognizance of boys or women. But indeed I knew
not that my sovereign lady the princess had absconded from the courtly
circle of her father's palace, and betaken herself to a convent on my
account. Every thing that I hear of that jewel endears her to me the
more."

"What? even her orders for you _to go into the castle_, and put out the
English? I assure you, my lor', she insists upon it. Whether it is her
impatience to be your bride, I know not, but she positively will not be
satisfied unless you very soon _go into that castle_, and put the
Englishmen all to the outside of it, where you are now; or hang them,
and bury them out of sight before she visits the place to congratulate
you."

"Boy, I have no patience with you. Cease your prating, and inform me
where my beloved mistress is, that I may instantly visit her."

"No; not for the Douglas' estate, which is now in the fire, and may
soon be brought to the anvil, will I inform you of that. But, my lor',
you know I must execute my commission. And I tell you again, unless you
take this castle very soon, you will not only lose the favour of my
mistress, but you will absolutely break her heart. Nothing less will
satisfy her. I told her, there was a great moat, more than a hundred
feet deep, and as many wide, that surrounded the castle, and flowed up
to the base of its walls; that there was a large river on each side of
it, and that they were both dammed and appeared like two standing
seas--but all availed nought. 'There is a moat,' said I; 'But let him go
over that,' said she; 'let him swim it, or put a float on it. What is it
to cross a pool a hundred feet wide? How did Lord Musgrave pass over
it?' 'There are strong walls on the other side,' said I: 'But let him go
over these,' said she, 'or break a hole through them and go in. Men
built the walls, why may not men pull them down? How did Musgrave get
over them?' 'There are armed men within,' said I: 'But they are only
Englishmen,' said she; 'Let Douglas' men put their swords into them,
and make them stand back. How did Musgrave get in when it was defended
by gallant Scots? Douglas is either no lover, or else no warrior,' added
she; 'or perhaps he is neither the one nor the other.'"

"Peace, sapling," said Douglas, frowning and stamping with his foot,
"Peace, and leave the pavilion instantly." Colin went away visibly
repressing a laugh, which irritated Douglas still the more; and as the
urchin went, he muttered in a crying whine, "My mistress is very
shabbily used!--very shabbily! To have promised herself to a knight if
he will but take a castle for her, and to have fasted, and prayed, and
vowed vows for him, and yet he dares not go in and take it. And I am
shabbily used too; and that I'll tell her! Turned out before I get half
her message delivered! But I must inform you, my lor', before I go, that
since you are making no better use of the advantage given you, I demand
the prisoners back that I lodged in your hand in my lady mistress' name,
and by her orders."

"I will do no such thing to the whim of a teasing impertinent stripling,
without my lady princess's hand and seal for it," said Douglas.

"You shall not long want that," said Colin; and pulling a letter out
from below his sash, he gave it to him. It was the princess's hand and
seal,--it being an easy matter for Colin to get what letters he listed.
Douglas opened it, and read as follows:

     "LORD DOUGLAS,--In token of my best wishes for your success, I send
     you these, with greeting. I hope you will take immediate advantage
     of the high superiority afforded you in this contest, by putting
     some indelible mark, or public stain, on the lusty dame I put into
     your hands. If Musgrave be a knight of any gallantry he will never
     permit it, but yield. As I cannot attend personally, I request that
     the mode and degree of punishment you inflict may be left to my
     page Colin. That you have not been successful by such means
     already, hath much surprised

         MARGARET."

"This is not a requisition to give you up the prisoners," said Douglas,
"but merely a request that the punishment inflicted may be left to you,
a request which must not be denied to the lady of my heart. Now, pray,
Master Colin Roy MacAlpin, what punishment do you decree for the Lady
Jane Howard? For my part, though I intended to threaten the most
obnoxious treatment, to induce my opponent to yield, I could not for my
dearest interests injure the person of that exquisite lady."

"You could not, in good troth? I suppose my mistress has good reason to
be jealous of you two. But since the power is left with me I shall
prevent that; I shall see her punished as she deserves: I'll have no
shameful exposures of a woman, even were she the meanest plebeian, but
I'll mar her beauty that she thinks so much of, and that _you_ think so
much of. I'll have have her nose cut off; and two of her fore teeth
drawn; and her cheeks and brow scolloped. I'll spoil the indecent
brightness of her gloss! She shall not sparkle with such brilliance
again, nor shall the men gloat, feasting their intolerable eyes on her,
as they do at present."

"Saint Duthoe buckler me!" exclaimed the Douglas,--"what an unnatural
tyger cat it is! I have heard that such feelings were sometimes
entertained by one sovereign beauty toward another of the same sex; but
that a sprightly youth, of an amorous complexion, with bright blushing
features and carroty locks, should so depreciate female beauty, and
thirst to deface it, surpasses any thing I have witnessed in the nature
of man. Go to, you are a perverse boy, but shall be humoured as far as
my honour and character as a captain and warrior will admit."

Colin paced lightly away, making a slight and graceful courtesy to the
Douglas as he glided out. "What an extraordinary, wayward, and
accomplished youth that is!" said the chief to himself. "Is it not
strange that I should converse so long with a page, as if he were my
equal? There is something in his manner and voice that overcomes me;
and though he teazes me beyond endurance, there is a sort of enchantment
about him, that I cannot give him the check. Ah me! all who submit
themselves to women, to be swayed by them or their delegates, will find
themselves crossed in every action of importance. I am resolved that no
woman shall sway me. I can love, but have not learned to submit."

Colin retired to his little apartment in the pavilion; it was close to
the apartment that Douglas occupied while he remained there, and not
much longer or broader than the beautiful and romantic inhabitant. Yet
there he constantly abode when not employed about his lord, and never
mixed or conversed with the other pages. Douglas retired down to the
tower, or King's House, as it was called (from king Edward having
occupied it,) at even tide,--but Colin Roy remained in his apartment at
the pavilion. Alas! that Douglas did not know the value of the life he
left exposed in such a place!

On the return of Musgrave into the castle, a council of all the
gentlemen in the fortress was called, and with eager readiness they
attended in the hall of the great western tower. The governor related to
them the heart-rending intelligence of his mistress being in the hands
of their enemies, and of the horrid fate that awaited her, as well as
his only brother, provided the garrison stood out. Every one present
perceived that Musgrave inclined to capitulate; and, as they all admired
him, they pitied his woeful plight. But no one ventured a remark. There
they sat, a silent circle, in bitter and obstinate rumination. Their
brows were plaited down, so as almost to cover their eyes; their under
lips were bent upward, and every mouth shaped like a curve, and their
arms were crossed on their breasts, while every man's right hand
instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword.

Musgrave had taken his measures, whichever way the tide should run. In
consequence of this he appeared more calm and collected at this meeting
than he had done for many a day. "I do not, my friends, and soldiers,
propose any alternative," said he,--"I merely state to you the
circumstances in which we are placed; and according to your sentiments I
mean to conduct myself."

"It is nobly said, brave captain," said Collingwood: "Our case is indeed
a hard one, but not desperate. The Scots cannot take the castle from us,
and shall any one life, or any fifty lives, induce us to yield them the
triumph, and all our skill, our bravery, and our sufferings go for
nought?"

"We have nothing to eat," said Musgrave.

"I'll eat the one arm, and defend the draw-bridge with the other, before
the Scots shall set a foot in the castle," said a young man, named Henry
Clavering. "So will I," said another. "So will I; so will we all!"
echoed through the hall, while a wild gleam of ferocity fired every
haggard countenance. It was evident that the demon of animosity and
revenge was now conjured up, which to lay was not in the power of man.

"What then do you propose as our mode of action in this grievous
dilemma?" said Musgrave.

"I, for my part, would propose decision and ample retaliation," said
Clavering. "Do you not perceive that there has been a great storm in the
uplands last night and this morning, and that the Tweed and Teviot are
roaring like two whirlpools of the ocean, so that neither man nor beast
can cross them? There is no communication between the two great
divisions of the Scottish army to night, save by that narrow passage
betwixt the moat and the river. Let us issue forth at the deepest hour
of midnight, secure that narrow neck of land by a strong guard, while
the rest proceed sword in hand to the eastern camp, surround the
pavilion of Douglas, and take him and all his associates prisoners, and
then see who is most forward in using the rope!"

"It is gallantly proposed, my brave young friend," said Musgrave; "I
will lead the onset myself. I do not only ween the scheme practicable,
but highly promising; and if we can make good that narrow neck of land
against our enemies on the first alarm, I see not why we may not cut off
every man in the eastern division of their army; and haply, from the
camp and city, secure to ourselves a good supply of provisions before
the break of the day."

These were inducements not to be withstood, and there was not one
dissenting voice. A gloomy satisfaction rested on every brow, and
pervaded every look, taking place of dark and hideous incertitude. Like
a winter day that has threatened a tempest from the break of the
morning, but becomes at last no longer doubtful, as the storm descends
on the mountain tops, so was the scene at the breaking up of that
meeting--and all was activity and preparation within the castle during
the remainder of the day.

The evening at last came; but it was no ordinary evening. The storm had
increased in a tenfold degree. The north-west wind roared like thunder.
The sleet descended in torrents, and was driven with an impetuosity that
no living creature could withstand. The rivers foamed from bank to
brae; and the darkness was such as if the heavens had been sealed up.
The sound of the great abbey bell, that rung for vespers, was borne away
on the tempest; so that nothing was heard, save once or twice a solemn
melancholy sound, apparently at a great distance, as if a spirit had
been moaning in the eastern sky.

Animal nature cowered beneath the blast. The hind left not her den in
the wood, nor broke her fast, until the dawning. The flocks crowded
together for shelter in the small hollows of the mountains, and the
cattle lowed and bellowed in the shade. The Scottish soldiers dozed
under their plaids, or rested on their arms within the shelter of their
tents and trenches. Even the outer sentinels, on whose vigilance all
depended, crept into some retreat or other that was next to hand, to
shield them from the violence of the storm. The army was quite
secure,--for they had the garrison so entirely cooped up within their
walls, that no attempt had been made to sally forth for a whole month.
Indeed, ever since the English were fairly dislodged from the city, the
Bush-law, and all the other outworks, the attempt was no more dreaded;
for the heaving up of the portcullis, and the letting down of the
draw-bridge, made such a noise as at once alarmed the Scottish watchers,
and all were instantly on the alert. Besides, the gates and draw-bridges
(for there were two gates and one draw-bridge at each end) were so
narrow, that it took a long time for an enemy to pass in any force; and
thus it proved an easy matter to prevent them. But, that night, the
storm howling in such majesty, and the constant jangling of chains and
pullies swinging to its force, with the roaring of the two rivers over
the dams, formed altogether such a hellish concert, that fifty
portcullises might have been raised, and as many draw-bridges let down,
and the prostrate shivering sentinels of the Scottish army have
distinguished no additional chord or octave in the infernal bravura.

At midnight the English issued forth with all possible silence. Two
hundred, under the command of Grey and Collingwood, were posted on the
castle-green, that is, the narrow valley between the moat and the river
Tweed, to prevent the junction of the two armies on the first alarm
being given. The rest were parted into two divisions; and, under the
command of Musgrave and Henry Clavering, went down the side of each
river so as to avoid the strongest part of the Scottish lines, and the
ramparts raised on the height. Clavering led his division down by the
side of the Teviot, along the bottom of the great precipice, and, owing
to the mingled din of the flood and the storm, was never perceived till
fairly in the rear of the Scottish lines. Musgrave was not so fortunate,
as the main trench ran close to the Tweed. He was obliged to force it
with his first column, which he did with a rapidity which nothing could
equal. The Englishmen threw themselves over the mound of the great
trench, hurling in above their enemies sword in hand, and overpowering
them with great ease; then over one breastwork after another, spreading
consternation before them and carnage behind. Clavering heard nothing
of this turmoil, so intemperate was the night. He stood with impatience,
his men drawn up in order, within half a bow-shot of Douglas's pavilion,
waiting for the signal agreed on; for their whole energy was to be bent
against the tent of the commander, in hopes, not only to capture the
Douglas himself, and all his near kinsmen, but likewise their own
prisoners. At length, among other sounds that began to swell around,
Clavering heard the welcome cry of "DUDDOE'S AWAY!" which was as readily
answered with "DUDDOE'S HERE!" and at one moment the main camp was
attacked on both sides. The flyers from the lines had spread the alarm.
The captain's tent was surrounded by a triple circle of lesser tents,
all full of armed men, who instantly grasped their weapons, and stood on
the defensive. Many rough blows were exchanged at the first onset, and
many of the first ranks of the assailants met their death. But though
those within fought with valour, they fought without system; whereas the
English had arranged every thing previously; and each of them had a
white linen belt, of which the Scots knew nothing; and in the hurry and
terror that ensued, some parties attacked each other, and fell by the
hands of their brethren. Finding soon that the battle raged before and
behind them, they fled with precipitation toward the city; but there
they were waylaid by a strong party, and many of them captured and
slain. The English would have slain every man that fell into their
power, had it not been for the hopes of taking Douglas, or some of his
near kinsmen, and by that means redeeming the precious pledges that the
Scots held, so much to their detriment, and by which all their motions
were paralyzed. Clavering, with a part of the troops under his command,
pursued the flyers that escaped as far as the head of the Market-street,
and put the great Douglas himself into no little dismay; for he found it
next to impossible to rally his men amid the storm and darkness, such a
panic had seized them by this forthbreaking of their enemies. Clavering
would, doubtless, have rifled a part of the city, if not totally ruined
that division of the Scottish army, had he not been suddenly called back
to oppose a more dangerous inroad behind.

When Musgrave first broke through the right wing of the Scottish lines,
the noise and uproar spread amain, as may well be conceived. The warders
on the heights then sounded the alarm incessantly: and a most incongrous
thing it was to hear them sounding the alarm with such vigour at their
posts, after the enemy had passed quietly by them, and at that time were
working havoc in the middle of their camp. They knew not what was astir,
but they made plenty of din with their cow-horns, leaving those that
they alarmed to find out the cause the best way they could.

The Scottish army that beleaguered the castle to the westward caught the
alarm, and rushed to the support of their brethren and commander. The
infantry being first in readiness, were first put in motion, but, on the
narrowest part of the castle green, they fell in with the firm set
phalanx of the English, who received them on the point of their lances,
and, in a few seconds, made them give way. The English could not however
pursue, their orders being to keep by the spot where they were, and
stand firm; so that the Scots had nothing ado but to rally at the head
of the green, and return to the charge. Still it was with no better
success than before. The English stood their ground, and again made them
reel and retreat. But, by this time, the horsemen were got ready, and
descended to the charge at a sharp trot. They were clad in armour, and
had heavy swords by their sides, and long spears like halberds in their
hands. The English lines could not withstand the shock given by these,
for the men were famishing with hunger and benumbed with cold, the wind
blowing with all its fury straight in their faces. They gave way; but
they were neither broken nor dispersed. Reduced as they were, they were
all veterans, and retreated fighting till they came to the barriers
before the draw-bridge; and there, having the advantage of situation,
they stood their ground.

The horsemen passed on to the scene of confusion in the camp, and came
upon the rear of the English host, encumbered with prisoners and spoil.

When Clavering was called back, Douglas, who had now rallied about one
hundred and forty men around him, wheeled about, and followed Clavering
in the rear; so that the English found themselves in the same
predicament that the Scots were in about an hour before,--beset before
and behind,--and that principally by horsemen, which placed them under a
manifest disadvantage.

It is impossible to give any adequate idea of the uproar and desperate
affray that now ensued. The English formed on both sides to defend
themselves; but the prisoners being numerous detained a great part of
the men from the combat. A cry arose to kill the prisoners; from whom it
first issued no one knew, but it no sooner past than the men began to
put it into execution. The order was easier to give than perform:
in half a minute every one of the guards had a prisoner at his
throat,--the battle became general,--every one being particularly
engaged through all the interior of the host, many of them struggling in
pairs on the earth, who to get uppermost, and have the mastery. It was
all for life, and no exertion was withheld; but, whenever these single
combats ended in close gripes, the Scots had the mastery, their bodies
being in so much better condition. They made a great noise, both
individually and in their files, but the English scarcely opened their
mouths; like bred mastiffs, when desperately engaged, they only aimed at
the vital parts of their opponents, without letting their voices be
heard.

It is vain at this period to attempt giving a better description of the
scenes of that night, for the men that were present in the affray could
give no account of it next day. But, after a hard encounter and heavy
loss, the English fought their way up to their friends before the
ramparts, who had all the while been engaged in skirmishing with the
foot of the western division, whom they had kept at bay, and thus
preserved the entrance clear to themselves and brethren; but ere the
rear had got over the half-moon before the bridge, it was heaped full of
slain.

There were more of the Scots slain during the conflict of that hideous
night than of the English; but by far the greater number of prisoners
remained with the former, and several of them were men of note; but such
care was taken to conceal rank and titles, after falling into the hands
of their enemies, that they could only be guessed at. De Gray was slain,
and Collingwood was wounded and taken; so that on taking a muster next
day, the English found themselves losers by their heroic sally.

They had, however, taken one prize, of which, had they known the value,
it would have proved a counterbalance, for all their losses, and all the
distinguished prisoners that formerly told against them. This was no
other than the pretended page, Colin Roy, of whose sex and quality the
reader has been formerly apprised, and whom they found concealed among
some baggage in the Douglas' tent. Grievous was that page's plight when
he found himself thrust into a vault below the castle of Roxburgh, among
forty rude soldiers, many of them wounded, and others half-naked, and
nothing given them to subsist on. Concealment of his true sex for any
length of time was now impossible, and to divulge the secret certain
ruin to himself and the cause of Douglas.

Next day he pleaded hard for an audience of Musgrave, on pretence of
giving him some information that deeply concerned himself; and he
pleaded with such eloquence that the guards listened to him, and
informed the commander, who ordered the stripling to be brought before
him. The next day following was that appointed for the execution of Sir
Richard Musgrave. Colin informed the governor that, if he would give him
his liberty, he would procure a reprieve for his brother, at least until
the day of the Conception, during which period something might occur
that would save the life of so brave a youth; that he was the only man
on earth who had the power to alter the purpose of Douglas in that
instance; and that he would answer with his head for the success,--only
the charm required immediate application.

Musgrave said it was a coward's trick to preserve his own life,--for how
could he answer to him for his success when he was at liberty? But that
no chance might be lost for saving his brother's life, he would cause
him to be conducted to Douglas under a strong guard, allow him what time
he required to proffer his suit, and have him brought back to prison
till the day of the Conception was over, and if he succeeded he should
then have his liberty. This was not exactly what Colin wanted: However,
he was obliged to accept of the terms, and proceeded to the gate under a
guard of ten men. The Scots officer of the advanced guard refused to let
any Englishman pass, but answered with his honour to conduct the
stripling in safety to his commander, and in two hours return him back
to the English at the draw-bridge. No more was required; and he was
conducted accordingly to the door of Douglas' tent, which, as he
desired, he was suffered to enter, the men keeping guard at the door.

In the confusion of that morning, Douglas never had missed the page, nor
knew he that he was taken prisoner; and when the boy entered from his
own little apartment, he judged him to be in attendance as usual. He had
a bundle below his arm tied up in a lady's scarf, and a look that
manifested great hurry and alarm. The Douglas, who was busily engaged
with two knights, could not help noting his appearance, at which he
smiled.

"My lord," said the boy, "I have an engagement of great importance
to-day, and the time is at hand. I cannot get out at the door by reason
of the crowd, who must not see this. Will it please you to let me pass
by your own private door into the city?"

Douglas cursed him for a troublesome imp, and forthwith opened the door
into the concealed way; and as all who came from that door passed
unquestioned, the page quickly vanished in the suburbs of the city.

The officer and his guard waited and waited until the time was on the
point of expiring, and at last grew quite impatient, wondering what the
boy could be doing so long with the commander. But at length, to their
mortal astonishment, they beheld the stripling coming swaggering up from
the high street of the city behind them, putting a number of new and
ridiculous airs in practice, and quite unlike one going to be delivered
up to enemies to be thrown into a dungeon, or perhaps hanged like a dog
in a day or two.

The officer knew nothing of the concealed door and passage, and was lost
in amazement how the page should have escaped from them all without
being visible; but he wondered still more how the elf, being once at
liberty, should have thought of coming strutting back to deliver himself
up again.

"Where the devil have you been, master, an it be your will?" said the
officer.

"Eh? What d'ye say, mun?" said the unaccountable puppy. "What do I say
mun!" replied the officer, quite unable to account either for the
behaviour of the prisoner or his address; "I say I trow ye hae seen sic
a man as Michael Scott some time in your days? Ye hae gi'en me the
glaiks aince by turning invisible; but be ye deil, be ye fairy, I sal
secure ye now. Ye hae nearly gart me brik my pledge o' honour, whilk I
wadna hae done for ten sic necks as yours."

"Your pledge o' honour? What's that, mun? Is that your bit sword? Stand
back out o' my gate."

"Shakel my knackers," said the officer laughing, "if I do not crack thy
fool's pate! What does the green-kail-worm mean? You, sir, I suppose are
presuming to transact a character? You are playing a part in order to
get off, but your silly stratagem will fail you. Pray, my young master,
what character do you at present appear in?"

"Character me no characters!" said the page,--it is not with you that I
transact--nor such as you! Do not you see who I am, and what commission
I bear? Bide a great way back out o' my gate an ye please; and show me
where I am to deliver this."

"And who is that bald epistle for, master Quipes? Please to open your
sweet mouth, and read me the inscription."

"Do you not see, saucy axe-man? Cannot you spell it? 'To James, Earl of
Douglas and Mar, with greeting, These.' Herald me to your commander,
nadkin; but keep your distance--due proportioned distance, if you
please."

"No, no, my little crab cherry; you cheated me by escaping from the tent
invisible before, but shall not do it again. We'll get your message done
for you; your time is expired, and some more to boot, I fear; come along
with us."--And forthwith one of their number waited on the chief with
the letter, while the rest hauled off the unfortunate page, and
delivered him back to the English.



CHAPTER IX.

    His doublet was sae trim and neat,
      Wi' reid goud to the chin,
    Ye wad hae sworn, had ye been there,
      That a maiden stood within.
    The tears they trickled to his chin,
      And fell down on his knee;
    O had he wist before he kissed,
      That the boy was a fair ladye.

        _Song of May Marley._

    Who's she, this dame that comes in such a guise,
    Such lace of import, and unwonted speech?
    Tell me, Cornaro. For methinks I see
    Some traits of hell about her.

        _Trag. of The Prioress._


In this perilous situation were placed the two most beautiful ladies of
England and Scotland, at the close of that memorable year; and in this
situation stood the two chiefs with relation to those they valued
dearest in life; the one quite unconscious of the misery that awaited
him, but the other prepared to stand the severest of trials. Success had
for some time past made a show of favouring the Scots, but she had not
yet declared herself, and matters with them soon began to look worse. As
a commencement of their misfortunes, on that very night the battle took
place, the English received a supply of thirty horse-loads of
provisions, with assurances that Sir Thomas Musgrave, the governor of
Berwick, was setting out with a strong army to their succour.

The supply was received in this way. There was a bridge over the Teviot,
which communicated only with the castle, the north end of it being
within the draw-bridge, and that bridge the English kept possession of
all the time of the siege. It being of no avail to the Scots, they
contented themselves by keeping a guard at the convent of Maisondieu, to
prevent any communication between the fortress and the Border. But the
English barons to the eastward, whose castles lay contiguous to the
Tweed, taking advantage of the great flood, came with a strong body of
men, and attacking this post by surprise, they beat them, and, chasing
them a considerable way up the river, got the convoy along the bridge
into the castle.

This temporary relief raised the spirits of the English, or rather
cheered their prospects, for higher in inveterate opposition their
spirits could not be raised. On the day following, likewise, a flying
party of Sir Thomas Musgrave's horse made their appearance on the height
above Hume castle, and blew their horns, and tossed their banners abroad
on the wind, that the besieged might see them, and understand that their
friends were astir to make a diversion in their favour.

On the same day a new gibbet was erected on the top of the Bush-law,
with a shifting wooden battery, to protect the executioners; and all
within the castle feared that the stern and unyielding Douglas was going
to put his threat respecting the life of Sir Richard Musgrave into
execution. Therefore, to prevent their captain from seeing the scene,
and, if possible, his mind from recurring to it, they contrived to get a
council of war called, at which they intentionally argued and contended
about matters of importance, in order to detain him until the sufferings
of his brother were past.

The Bush-law, on which the Scots had a strong fortification, rises
abruptly over against the western tower of the castle of Roxburgh; they
were separated only by the moat, and, though at a great height, were so
near each other, that men could with ease converse across, and see
distinctly what was done. On the top of this battery was the new gibbet
erected, the more to gall the English by witnessing the death of their
friends.

At noon, the Scots, to the number of two hundred, came in procession up
from the city, with their prisoner dressed in his knightly robes; and,
as they went by, they flouted the English that looked on from the
walls,--but the latter answered them not, either good or bad. By a
circular rout to the westward they reached the height, where they
exposed the prisoner to the view of the garrison on a semicircular
platform, for a few minutes, until a herald made proclamation, that
unless the keys of the castle were instantly delivered at the
draw-bridge, the life of the noble prisoner was forfeited, and the
sentence would momently be put in execution; and then he concluded by
calling, in a louder voice, "Answer, Yes or no--once--twice." He paused
for the space of twenty seconds, and then repeated slowly, and
apparently with reluctance, "Once--twice--_thrice_,"--and the platform
folding down, the victim was launched into eternity.

The English returned no answer to the herald, as no command or order had
been given. In moody silence they stood till they witnessed the fatal
catastrophe, and then a loud groan, or rather growl of abhorrence and
vengeance, burst from the troops on the wall, which was answered by the
exulting shouts of the Scots. At that fatal moment Musgrave stepped on
the battlement, to witness the last dying throes of his loved brother.
By some casualty, the day of the week and month happening to be
mentioned in the council hall, in the midst of his confused and
abstracted ideas, that brought to his remembrance the fate with which
his brother had been threatened. Still he had hopes that it would have
been postponed; for, as a drowning man will catch violently at floating
stubble, so had he trusted to the page's mediation. He had examined the
stripling on his return to the dungeon, but the imp proved froward and
incommunicative, attaching to himself an importance of which the captain
could not perceive the propriety; yet, though he had nothing to depend
on the tender mercies of Douglas, as indeed he had no right, he
nevertheless trusted to his policy for the saving of his brother alive;
knowing that, in his life, he held a bond round his heart which it was
not his interest to snap.

As he left the hall of council, which was in the great western tower,
and in the immediate vicinity of the scene then transacting, the murmurs
of the one host and the shouts of the other drew him to the battlement,
whence his eye momently embraced the heart-rending cause of the tumult.
He started, and contracted every muscle of his whole frame, shrinking
downward, and looking madly on each hand of him. He seemed in act to
make a spring over the wall; and the soldiers around him perceiving
this, and haply misjudging the intent of his motion, seized on him to
restrain him by main force. But scarcely did he seem to feel that he was
held; he stretched out his hands toward his brother, and uttered a loud
cry of furious despair, and then in a softer tone cried, "Oh! my
brother! my brother!--So you would not warn me, you dog?--Nor you?--Nor
you?--No, you are all combined against me. That was a sight to gratify
you, was it not? My curse on you, and all that have combined against the
life of that matchless youth!" and with that he struggled to shake them
from him. "My lord! my lord!" was all that the soldiers uttered, as they
restrained him.

At that instant Clavering rushed on the battlement. "Unhand the
captain!" cried he: "Dare you, for the lives that are not your own,
presume to lay violent restraint on him, and that in the full view of
your enemies?"

"I will have vengeance, Clavering!" cried Musgrave,--"ample and
uncontrolled vengeance! Where is the deceitful and impertinent stripling
that promised so solemnly to gain a reprieve for my brother, and
proffered the forfeit of his life if he failed?"

"In the dungeon, my lord, fast and secure."

"He is a favourite parasite of the Douglas; bring him forth that I may
see vengeance executed on him the first of them all. I will hang every
Scot in our custody; but go and bring him the first. It is a base
deceitful cub, and shall dangle opposite to that noble and now lifeless
form. It is a poor revenge indeed,--but I will sacrifice every Scot of
them. Why don't you go and bring the gilded moth, you kennel knaves?
Know you to whom you thus scruple obedience?"

Clavering was silent, and the soldiers durst not disobey, though they
obeyed with reluctance, knowing the advantages that the Scots possessed
over them, both in the numbers and rank of their prisoners. They went
into the vaults, and, without ceremony or intimation of their intent,
lifted the gaudy page in their arms, and carried him to the battlement
of the western tower, from whence, sans farther ceremony, he was
suspended from a beam's end.

Douglas could not believe the testimony of his own senses when he saw
what had occurred. Till that moment he never knew that his page was a
prisoner. Indeed, how could he conceive he was, when he had seen him in
his tent the day after the night engagement? His grief was of a cutting
and sharp kind, but went not to the heart; for though the boy had
maintained a sort of influence over him, even more than he could account
to himself for, yet still he was teasing and impertinent, and it was not
the sort of influence he desired.

"I wish it been our blessed Lady's will to have averted this," said he
to himself: "But the mischances of war often light upon those least
concerned in the event. Poor Colin! thy beauty, playfulness, and
flippancy of speech deserved a better guerdon. How shall I account to my
royal mistress for the cruel fate of her favourite?"

With all this partial regret, Douglas felt that, by the loss of this
officious page of the princess, he would be freed from the controul of
petticoat-government. He perceived that the princess lived in
concealment somewhere in the neighbourhood,--kept an eye over all his
actions and movements,--and, by this her agent, checked or upbraided him
according to her whimsical inexperience. Douglas was ambitious of having
the beautiful princess for his spouse,--of being son-in-law to his
sovereign,--and the first man in the realm; but he liked not to have his
counsels impeded, or his arms checked, by a froward and romantic girl,
however high her lineage or her endowments might soar. So that, upon the
whole, though he regretted the death of Colin Roy MacAlpin, he felt like
one released from a slight bondage. Alas, noble chief! little didst thou
know of the pang that was awaiting thee!

It will be recollected that, when the Lady Margaret first arrived in
the campin the character of Colin her own page, she lodged her maid
in the city of Roxburgh, disguised likewise as a boy. With her she
communicated every day, and contrived to forward such letters to the
Court as satisfied her royal mother with regard to the motives of her
absence,--though these letters were, like many others of the sex, any
thing but the direct truth. The king was at this period living in
retirement at his castle of Logie in Athol, on pretence of ill health.

The name of the maiden of honour thus disguised was Mary Kirkmichael,
the daughter of a knight in the shire of Fife. She was a lady of great
beauty, and elegant address,--shrewd, sly, and enterprising.

Two days after the rueful catastrophe above related, word was brought to
Douglas, while engaged in his pavilion, that a lady at the door begged
earnestly to see him. "Some petitioner for the life of a prisoner," said
he: "What other lady can have business with me? Tell her I have neither
leisure nor inclination at present to listen to the complaints and
petitions of women."

"I have told her so already," said the knight in waiting; "but she
refuses to go away till she speak with you in private; and says that she
has something to communicate that deeply concerns your welfare. She is
veiled; but seems a beautiful, accomplished, and courtly dame."

At these words the Douglas started to his feet. He had no doubt that it
was the princess, emerged from her concealment in the priory or convent,
and come to make inquiries after her favourite, and perhaps establish
some other mode of communication with himself. He laid his account with
complaints and upbraidings, and, upon the whole, boded no great good
from this domiciliary visit. However, he determined to receive his royal
mistress with some appearance of form; and, in a few seconds, at a given
word, squires, yeomen, and grooms, to the amount of seventy, were
arranged in due order, every one in his proper place; and up a lane
formed of these was the lady conducted to the captain, who received her
standing and uncovered; but, after exchanging courtesies with her, and
perceiving that it was not the princess, jealous of his dignity, he put
on his plumed bonnet, and waited with stately mien the developement of
her rank and errand.

It was Mary Kirkmichael.

"My noble lord," said she, "I have a word for your private ear, and
deeply doth it concern you and all this realm."

Douglas beckoned to his friends and attendants, who withdrew and left
him alone with the dame, who began thus with great earnestness of
manner: "My lord of Douglas, I have but one question to ask, and, if
satisfied with the answer, will not detain you a moment. What is become
of the page Colin that attended your hand of late?" Douglas hesitated,
deeming the lady to be some agent of the princess Margaret's. "Where is
he?" continued she, raising her voice, and advancing a step nearer to
the captain. "Tell me, as you would wish your soul to thrive. Is he
well? Is he safe?"

"He is sped on a long journey, lady, and you may not expect to meet him
again for a season."

"Sped on a long journey! Not see him again for a season! What does this
answer mean? Captain, on that youth's well-being hang the safety, the
nobility, and the honour of your house. Say but to me he is well, and
not exposed to any danger in the message on which he is gone."

"Of his well-being I have no doubt; and the message on which he is gone
is a safe one. He is under protection from all danger, commotion, or
strife."

"It is well you can say so, else wo would have fallen to your lot, to
mine, and to that of our nation."

"I know he was a page of court, and in the confidence of my sovereign
and adored Lady Margaret. But how could any misfortune attending a page
prove of such overwhelming import?"

"_Was_ a page of court, my lord? What do you infer by that _was_? Pray
what is he now? I entreat of you to be more explicit."

"The plain truth of the matter is shortly this: The boy fell into the
hands of our enemies that night of the late fierce engagement."

At this the lady uttered a scream; and Douglas, dreading she would fall
into hysterics, stretched out his arms to support her. "I pity you,
gentle maiden," said he, "for I perceive you two have been lovers."

She withdrew herself, shunning his profered support, and, looking him
wildly in the face, said in a passionate voice, "In the hands of the
English? O Douglas, haste to redeem him! Give up all the prisoners you
have for that page's ransom; and if these will not suffice, give up all
the lands of Douglas and Mar; and if all these are still judged
inadequate, give up yourself. But, by your fealty, your honour, your
nobility, I charge you, and, in the name of the Blessed Virgin, I
conjure you to lose no time in redeeming that youth."

Douglas could scarcely contain his gravity at this rhapsody, weening it
the frantic remonstrance of a love-sick maid; but she, perceiving the
bent and tenor of his disposition, held up her hand as a check to his
ill-timed levity. "Unhappy chief!" exclaimed she, "Little art thou aware
what a gulf of misery and despair thou art suspended over, and that by a
single thread within reach of the flame, and liable every moment to
snap, and hurl thee into inevitable ruin. Know, and to thyself alone be
it known, that that page was no other than the princess of Scotland
herself; who, impelled by romantic affection, came in that disguise to
attend thee in all thy perils, undertaken for her sake. It was she
herself who seized her rival, and placed her in your hands, thus giving
you an advantage which force could not bestow. And from time to time has
she laid such injunctions on you, written and delivered by her own hand,
as she judged conducive to your honour or advantage. If you suffer that
inestimable lady to lye in durance, or one hair of her head to fall to
the ground, after so many marks of affection and concern for you, you
are unworthy of lady's esteem, of the titles you bear, or the honour of
knighthood."

When the lady first came out with the fatal secret, and mentioned the
princess's name, Douglas strode hastily across the floor of the
pavilion, as if he would have run out at the door, or rather fallen
against it; but the motion was involuntary; he stopped short, and again
turned round to the speaker, gazing on her as if only half comprehending
what she said. The truth of the assertion opened to him by degrees; and,
it may well be supposed, the intelligence acted upon his mind and frame
like a shock of electricity. He would fain have disbelieved it, had he
been able to lay hold of a plausible pretext to doubt it; but every
recollected circumstance coincided in the establishment of the unwelcome
fact. All that he could say to the lady, as he stood like a statue
gazing her in the face, was, "Who art thou?"

"I am Mary Kirkmichael of Balmedie," said she, "and I came with the
princess, disguised as her attendant. I am her friend and confidant, and
we held communication every day, till of late that my dear mistress
discontinued her visits. O captain, tell me if it is in your power to
save her!"

Douglas flung himself on a form in the corner of the tent, and hid his
face with his hand, and at the same time groaned as if every throb
would have burst his heart's casement. He had seen his royal, his
affectionate, and adored mistress swung from the enemy's battlements,
without one effort to save her, and without a tear wetting his cheek;
and his agony of mind became so extreme that he paid no more regard to
the lady, who was still standing over him, adding the bitterest censure
to lamentation. Yet he told her not of her mistress's melancholy
fate,--he could not tell her; but the ejaculatory words that he uttered
from time to time too plainly informed Mary Kirkmichael that the life of
her royal mistress was either in jeopardy or irretrievably lost.

The Douglas saw the lady no more, nor regarded her. He rushed from
the tent, and gave such orders as quite confounded his warriors,
one part being quite incompatible with another; and, in the confusion,
Mary glided quietly away from the scene without farther notice. All
the motions of Douglas, for two days subsequent to this piece of
information, were like those of a drunken man; he was enraged without
cause, and acted without consistency; but the only point towards which
all these jarring and discordant passions constantly turned was revenge
on the English--deadly and insatiable revenge. When he looked towards
the ramparts of the castle, his dark eye would change its colour, and
sink deeper under his brow, while his brown cheeks would appear as if
furrowed across, and his teeth ground and jarred against one another.
His counsels, however, were not, at this time, of a nature suited to
accomplish any thing material against his rivals. He meditated the most
deadly retaliation, but was prevented before he could put it in
practice.

On the following evening, when the disturbance of his mind had somewhat
subsided, and appeared to be settling into a sullen depression of
spirit, or rather a softened melancholy, he was accosted by a monk, who
had craved and obtained admittance--for a deference to all that these
people said or did was a leading feature of that age. Douglas scarcely
regarded him on his first entrance, and to his address only deigned to
answer by a slight motion of his head; for the monk's whole appearance
augured little beyond contempt. He was of a diminutive stature, had a
slight, starved make, and a weak treble voice. His conversation,
nevertheless, proved of that sort that soon drew the attention of the
chief.

"May the blessed Virgin, the mother of God, bless and shield you,
captain!"

"Humph!" returned the Douglas, noding his head.

"May Saint Withold be your helmet and buckler in the day of battle--"

"Amen!" said the Douglas, interrupting him, and taking a searching look
of the tiny being that spoke, as if there were something in the tones of
his voice that struck him with emotion.

--"And withhold your weapon from the blood of the good," added the monk,
"from the breast of the professor of our holy religion, and dispose your
heart to peace and amity, that the land may have rest, and the humble
servants of the Cross protection. Why don't you say 'Amen' to this,
knight? Is your profession of Christianity a mere form? and are the
blessed tenets which it enjoins, strangers to thy turbulent bosom?"

"Humph!" said Douglas: "With reverence be it spoken, monk, but you holy
brethren have got a way of chattering about things that you do not
understand. Adhere to your books and your beads. I am a soldier, and
must stick by my profession, bearing arms for my king and country."

"I am a soldier too," rejoined the monk, "and bear arms and suffer in a
better cause. But enough of this. I have a strange message for you,
captain. You must know that, a few weeks ago, a beautiful youth came to
our monastery seeking supply of writing materials, which he could not
otherwise procure. He was a kind and ingenious youth. I supplied him,
for I loved him; and I have since seen him sundry times in my cell. But
last night, as I was sitting alone, a little before midnight--I am
afraid you will not believe me, captain, for the matter of my message
is so strange--I had gone over my breviary, and was sitting with the
cross pressed to my lips, when behold the youth entered. I arose to
receive him; but he beckoned me to keep away from his person, and glided
backward. I then recollected that he must be a spirit, else he could not
have got in; and, though I do not recollect all that he said, the
purport of his message was to the following effect:

"'Benjamin,' said he, 'arise and go to the captain of the Scottish army,
whom you will find in great perplexity of mind, and meditating schemes
of cruelty and retaliation, which would be disgraceful to himself and to
his country. But let him beware; for there be some at his hand that he
does not see; and if he dare in the slightest instance disobey the
injunctions which you shall from time to time lay on him, his sight
shall be withered by a visitant from another world, whose face he shall
too well recognize ever again to find rest under a consciousness of her
presence. Monk Benjamin, I was not what I seemed. A few days ago I was a
lady in the prime of youth and hope. I loved that captain, and was
betrothed to him. For his sake I ventured my life, and lost it without a
single effort on his part to save me. But his fate is in my hand, and I
will use the power. It is given to me to control or further his efforts
as I see meet,--to turn his sword in the day of battle,--or to redouble
the strength of his and his warriors' arms. My behests shall be made
known to him; and if he would avoid distraction of mind, as well as
utter ruin, let him tremble to disobey. In the first place, then, you
will find him pondering on a scheme for the recovery of my lifeless
body,--a scheme of madness which cannot and may not succeed; therefore,
charge him from me to desist. You will find him farther preparing an
embassy to my father and mother to inform them of the circumstances of
my death, and that not in the words of truth. But let him take care to
keep that a secret, as he would take care of his life and honour, for on
that depends his ultimate success. Tell him farther, from me, to revenge
my death, but not on the helpless beings that are already in his power;
to pursue with steady aim his primary object,--and his reward shall be
greater than he can conceive.'

"Strange as this story may appear, captain, it is strictly according to
truth. You yourself may judge whether it was a true or lying spirit that
spoke to me."

"Are you not some demon or spirit yourself," said the Douglas, "who know
such things as these? Tell me, are you a thing of flesh and blood, that
you can thus tell me the thoughts and purposes of my heart?"

"I am a being such as yourself," said the monk,--"a poor brother of the
Cistertian order, and of the cloister adjoining to this; and I only
speak what I was enjoined to speak, without knowing whether it is true
or false. I was threatened with trouble and dismay if I declined the
commission; and I advise you, captain, for your own peace of mind, to
attend to this warning."

Douglas promised that he would, at least for a time; and the monk,
taking his leave, left the earl in the utmost consternation. The monk's
tale was so simple and unmasked, there was no doubting the truth of
it,--for without such a communication it was impossible he could have
known the things he uttered; and the assurance that a disembodied being
should have such a power over him, though it somewhat staggered the
Douglas' faith, created an unwonted sensation within his breast--a
sensation of wonder and awe; for none of that age were exempt from the
sway of an overpowering superstition.



CHAPTER X.

    What a brave group we have! That fellow there,
    He with the cushion, would outprate the cricket;
    The babble of the brook is not more constant,
    Or syllabled with such monotony,
    Than the eternal tingle of his tongue.

      _Cor._ I'll bid him silence, master;
    Or do him so, which likes you.

        _The Prioress._


We must now leave the two commanders in plights more dismal than ever
commanders were before, and return to our warden, the bold baron of
Mountcomyn, whose feats form a more pleasant and diverting subject. His
warfare all this while was of a predatory nature,--for that his warriors
were peculiarly fitted, and at this time they did not fail to avail
themselves well of the troubles on the border, and the prevailing power
of the Scots alongst its line. The warden pretended still to be acting
in concert with Douglas, but his operations were all according to the
purposes of his own heart. He cared nothing for the success or the
aggrandisement of Douglas; but he had a particular eye to the
advancement of his own house, and the honour of his kinsmen. It was
therefore a matter of daily consultation with him and his friends, how
they should act in conformity with this ruling principle. The
probability was against Douglas, that he would ultimately fail in his
undertaking, and be stripped of all his dominions. Viewing the matter in
that light, it was high time for the Redhough to be providing for
himself. On the other hand, should Douglas succeed in his enterprize,
and become the king's son-in-law, there was no other way by which the
warden could hold his own, save by a certain species of subordination, a
submission in effect, though not by acknowledgment. Such matters were
perfectly understood by the chiefs in these times, and all who proved
refractory were taught in silence to feel the grounds on which they
stood, This was, therefore, a most critical period for Sir Ringan. The
future advancement of his house depended on every turn of his hand.
During all the former part of the siege he had conducted himself with an
eye to Douglas' failure, to which he was partly incited by the
prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer, and those of his kinsman, Master
Michael Scott of Oakwood, whom he believed the most powerful wizard, and
the greatest prophet, that ever had arisen since the Rhymer's days.

But, on the return of Charlie of Yardbire and Dan Chisholm from the
beleaguering army, the warden got the extraordinary intelligence, that
the Lady Jane Howard had fallen into the hands of the Douglas, as well
as Musgrave's only brother. These things changed Sir Ringan's prospects
of the future in a very material degree, and he pondered on changing his
mode of operations. Before doing so, however, he called a council of his
kinsmen, and brought the matter again before them. Most of them
counselled the continuance of the predatory warfare in which they had
been engaged; it had served to enrich them, and had proved, as they
reasoned, of more service to the Douglas than if they had joined his
host. That it proved of more service to himself and his kinsmen than if
they had joined the host, the warden was well aware; but he was not
satisfied that the Douglas viewed their mountain warfare as of great
consequence to him; and he farther knew, that services were always
repaid, not according to the toil and exertion undergone, but according
as they were estimated, while that estimation was ever and anon modelled
by the apparent motives of the performer.

After much slow and inanimate reasoning on the matter, Sir Ringan
chanced, after a minute's deep thought, to say, "What would I not give
to know the events that are to happen at Roxburgh between this time and
the end of the Christmas holidays?"

"Auld Michael Scott will ken brawly," said Charlie of Yardbire.

"Then, what for shoudna we ken too?" said the knight.

"Aye, what for shoudna we ken too?" said Dickie o' Dryhope.

"They might get a kittle cast that meddled wi' him, an' nae the wiser
after a'," said Robert of Howpasley.

"When he was at pains to come a' the way to the castle of Mountcomyn,"
said Simon Longspeare, "a matter o' five Scots miles ower the moor, to
warn our captain, the warden, how to row his bowls, he surely winna
refuse to tell him what's to be the final issue o' this daft contest."

"Ane wad think he wadna spare a cantrip or twa," said Sir Ringan; "him
that has spirits at his ca', an' canna get them hadden i' wark. It wad
be an easy matter for him; an' blood's aye thicker than water."

"Ay, that's a true tale," said Dickie o' Dryhope; "It wad be an easy
matter for him, we a' ken that; an' blood's aye thicker than water!"

"If I were to gang wi' a gallant retinue," said Sir Ringan, "he surely
wadna refuse to gie me some answer."

"He wad refuse the king o' France," said Robert of Howpasley, "if he
warna i' the key for human conversation, an' maybe gar his familiar
spirits carry you away, and thraw ye into the sea, or set you down i'
some faraway land, for a piece o' employment to them, and amusement to
himsel'. He has served mony ane that gate afore now."

"Od I'll defy him," said muckle Charlie of Yardbire. "If my master, the
warden, likes to tak me wi' him for his elbowman, I'll answer for him
against a' the monkey spirits that auld Michael has."

"Spoke like yourself, honest Charlie!" said the baron; "and if it is
judged meet by my friends that I should go, you shall be one that shall
attend me. Certes, it would be of incalculable benefit to me, for all
your sakes, to know even by a small hint what is to be the upshot of
this business--But should I be taken away or detained--"

"Ay, should he be taken away or detained, gentlemen: think of that,
gentlemen," said Dickie o' Dryhope.

"I approve highly of the mission," said Simon Longspeare; "for I believe
there is nothing too hard for that old wizard to do, and no event so
closely sealed up in futurity, but that he can calculate with a good
deal of certainty on the issue. I see that our all depends on our
knowledge of the event; but I disapprove of our chief attending on the
wizard in person--for in his absence who is to be our commander? And,
should any sudden rising of our foes take place, of which we are every
hour uncertain, we may lose more by the want of him one hour than we
could ever regain."

"Ay, think of that, gentlemen," said Dickie: "My cousin Longspeare
speaks good sense. What could we do wanting Sir Ringan. We're all
children to him, and little better without him."

"And old children are the worst of all children," said the warden; "I
would rather be deaved with the teething yammer than the toothless
chatter. Prithee, peace, and let us hear out our cousin Simon's
proposal."

The circle of the gallant kinsmen did not like ill to hear this snub on
old Dickie. They could not account for the chief's partiality to him;
and they were even afraid that, being the oldest man, he should be
nominated to the command in the knight's absence. It was however noted
by all, that Dickie was not half so great a man in field or foray as he
was at board in the castle of Mountcomyn. Only a very few men of
experience discerned the bottom of this. The truth was, that Sir Ringan
did not care a doit either for Dickie's counsels or his arm, but he saw
that his lady abhorred him, and therefore he would not yield to cast him
off. His lady was of a high spirit and proud unyielding temper, and the
knight could not stand his own with her at all times and seasons; but
before his kinsmen warriors he was particularly jealous of his dignity,
and would not yield to the encroachment on it of a single item. It was
by this kind of elemental opposition, if it may be so termed, that
Dickie maintained his consequence at the warden's castle. In the field
he was nothing more than a foolish vain old kinsman.

"I propose," said Longspeare," that we send a deputation of our _notable
men_ to the warlock, of whom we have some of the first that perhaps ever
the world produced. As a bard, or minstrel, we can send Colley Carol, a
man that is fit to charm the spirits out of the heart of the earth, or
the bowels of the cloud, without the aid of old Michael. As a man of
crabbed wit and endless absurdity, we can send the Deil's Tam: As a true
natural and moral philosopher, the Laird o' the Peatstacknowe: As one
versed in all the mysteries of religion, and many mysteries beside, or
some tell lies, we can send the gospel friar. All these are men of
spirit, and can handle the sword and the bow either less or more: And as
a man of unequalled strength and courage, and a guard and captain over
all the rest, we can send Charlie o' Yardbire--and I will defy all the
kingdoms of Europe to send out sic another quorum either to emperor,
Turk, wizard, or the devil himself."

Every one applauded Simon Longspeare's motion, and declared the
deputation worthy of being sent out, if it were for nothing but its own
unrivalled excellence. Never, they said, since the mind of man was
framed, was there such a combination of rare talent in so small a
circle. There was none of those nominated for the mission present
excepting muckle Charlie Scott. Charlie scratched his head, and
said:--"Gude faith, callans, I hae a queer bike to gang wi! he-he-he! I
fear we'll get mae to laugh at us than gie us ought: The Deil's
Tam an' the metre poet! the fat gospel friar, and the laird o' the
Peatstacknowe! I never gaed out on sic a foray as this afore, an' little
do I wot how we'll come on. He-he-he! A wheen queer chaps, faith!"

The jocund kinsmen then shouted to Gibby Jordan of the Peatstacknowe to
come into the circle, that they might hear what he had to say about
going on this celebrated embassy. This gentleman's name had erst been
Gordon: By some mistake, either in spelling, or falling into some foul
tub by night, for some grounded it both ways, it had been changed on him
to Jordan, and, as he had no resource, he was obliged to admit it as
legitimate. He was a man of education, and could read, write, and cast
up accounts. But his figure, features, and the nasal twine with which he
pronounced every word that he spoke, rendered his discourse irresistibly
ludicrous. Every one was so ready to give Jordan the information, that
he was chosen as one to go on a deputation to Master Michael Scott the
warlock, that the laird for a long time could not get a word said; but
stood and looked about him, turning always round his long nose to the
speaker that was loudest, or him that was poking him most forcibly to
obtain attention.

"Gentlemen," said Gibby Jordan, "you mind me of a story that I have
heard about a paddock that was lying on the plowed land, an' by comes
the harrows, an' they gangs out ower the tap o' the poor paddock, an'
every tooth gae her a tite an' a turn ower. 'What's the matter wi' you
the day, Mrs Paddock?' says the goodman: 'Naething ava, but rather ower
mony masters this morning,' quo' the paddock; 'I wish I were safe i' my
hole again, an' let them ring on.' Sae master's, I'll tak the paddock's
hint, an' wish ye a' a good morning."

There was no such escape for the honest laird; they surrounded him, and
insisted on hearing his sentiments at full length, teasing him till he
began to lose his temper, a thing in which they delighted, for the more
mischief the better sport for these wild border moss-troopers. But
muckle Charlie perceiving this, came up to his side. "Callants, I'm
appointit Gibby's guard," said he, "an' his guard I'll be. What the deil
has ony o' you to say to him?"

"Only to hear what he thinks o' the journey," was repeated on all sides.

"Gentlemen," said Gibby, "the hale affair brings me a-mind of a story
that I hae heard about a wife that had a batch o' chickens. But then, ye
maun mind, gentlemen, she had a very great deal o' chickens, I daresay
nae fewer than a hunner, for she had sax great cleckings; an' she was
unco feared that the gled wad tak them away; sae she wales out a wheen
o' the fattest an' the best, an' she sends them out to the cock, that he
might herd an' tak care o' them. 'The cock will fleg away the gleds,'
quo she, 'an' gar them keep their distance, an' I'll get my braw birds
a' saved.' But by comes the greedy gled; an' when the cock saw him he
croups an' he currs; an' blithe to keep his ain skin hale, he staps his
head in a hole, an' the gled carried off the hale o' his bit charge.
Weel, the gled, he fand them sae fat an' sae gusty, that he never linned
till he had taen away every chicken that the wife had."

"Where is the moral of that story, laird?" cried they: "We see no
coincidence."

"Because ye're blind," said Jordan: "Dinna ye see that Michael's the
cock, the deil's the gled, an' ye're the birds. He'll get us first; an'
he'll find out that we're sic a wheen rare chaps, that he'll never blin'
till he hae ye ilk ane, an' that will be the end o' your daft embassy."

All the rest of the nominated members being sent for expressly from
their different posts, they soon arrived, but they seemed every one to
be averse to the mission, except Colley the minstrel, who was elevated
with the idea of being introduced to the celebrated Master, anticipating
something highly romantic, and precisely in his own way. As for Thomas
Craik, better known by the singular appellation of the Deil's Tam, he
cared not much about any thing, provided he got plenty of drink,
mischief, and breaking of heads.

They got all that day to prepare themselves, while Sir Ringan and his
friends were considering what they should send as a present to the
illustrious necromancer. They weened he despised riches, believing that
he could turn small slates to gold by touching them; and, after much
consultation, it was resolved to send him a captive maiden and boy, as
they had two in the camp, of exquisite loveliness. The maid was the
reputed daughter of Sir Anthony Hall, an inveterate enemy to the baron
of Mountcomyn, who had burned his castles and plundered his lands; but
the warden at length engaging with him hand to hand at the battle of
Blaikhope, slew him, and having discomfited his army, he plundered and
harried all that pertained to him, at which time he took this beautiful
maiden prisoner, whom he treated kindly, and kept as an handmaiden. Her
name was Delany; and so lovely was she become in person, and so amiable
in her manners, that several of the knight's kinsmen had asked her in
marriage. These applications he had uniformly put off, on pretence of
his friends degrading themselves by marrying a captive Englishwoman, a
term that never sounded in a Scot's ear but with disgust. But, in fact,
the warden did not choose that any of them should be so closely
connected with an old respectable Northumberland family.

The boy was called Elias, and was the property of Jock o' Gilmanscleuch,
having been taken by him in a night foray at Rothbury. When the warden
applied to Jock for him, bidding him name his ransom, he answered, that
if he wist "Michael wad either mak a warlock o' him, or tak out his
harigalds to be a sacrifice to the deil, he wadna gie him up for a' the
lands o' Newburgh an' Birkendely." Being pacified on these points as
well as matters would bear, the two captives were dressed in elegant
robes, and delivered to the embassy; Charlie was deputed their captain
and leader; the rest were all to be equals, on the same footing, and to
choose their own speakers.

After getting every direction regarding the purport of their mission,
the caution and respect which they were to use toward the Master, and
the questions they were to get answered, they departed; every one well
mounted on an English horse, the friar on his own substantial mule, and
such provision with them as they judged necessary. Carol, the bard, had
a lyre and a flute. Gibby Jordan, ycleped of the Peatstacknowe, had
nothing beside a rusty sword; the friar had an immense wallet below him,
judged to be all implements of enchantment; the others had deer or
goatskin wallets, stuffed with such things as they deemed necessary; and
all of them wore arms, in case of meeting with any unknown interruption.
Several of the gallant kinsmen shed tears on taking leave of Delany;
who, contrary to what they all expected, seemed full of gaiety, and
rather fond of the change than disheartened at it.

Well, away they rode; and, as soon as they were fairly out of sight of
the army, every one began to attach himself to Delany more closely than
his neighbour. The friar talked to her of penances, and the sins of
youth, and the unlimited confidence due to the professors of religion.
The bard chanted his wildest and most amorous ditties. Tam punned and
quibbled on the words of the rest; and Gibby continued to narrate his
long-winded parables, sometimes to one, sometimes to another, as he
found them disposed to listen, and sometimes to none at all. As for
Charlie, he contented himself with laughing at them all alternately, and
occasionally exchanging a word or sentiment with a valued friend of his.

"Corby, what's a' this cocking o' your lugs, an' casting up o' your head
for, lad? Ye're gaun the wrang road for a battle e'en now. An let you
but see the sword an' pree the spur, ye dog, ye wad carry your master to
the deil: an' troth, for ought he kens, ye may be carrying him born-head
to his honour just now, ye unconscionable tike that ye are."

Corby first laid back one ear and then the other, which Charlie took
for a kind answer; and, patting his mane, he continued: "Na, na, Corby;
I ken ye hae nae ill designs; but only ye ken ye like a little mischief,
an' a bit splutter now an' than."

"That minds me o' the story o' Janet Sandilands an' her son Jock," said
Gibby Jordan the philosopher, "when he ruggit her hair, an' raive her
bussing. 'That callant sude hae his hide threshed for lifting his hand
to his mother,' said one: 'Na, na,' quo Janet, 'he maunna be threshed;
Jock has nae ill in his mind, only he likes a tulzie.' She that wad hae
a close cog sude keep a hale laiggen, Yardbire; for as the auld saying
rins, 'Lippen to a Corby, an' he'll pike out your een.'"

"Shame fa' me gin I see the drift o' your philosophy, Peatstacknowe; but
as I'm sure it is weel meant, it sanna be ill ta'en. Corby an' me's twa
auld friends, an' we hae a great deal to lippen to ane another. But I
wish we had this unsonsy job ower, laird--we're gaun on kittle ground."

"It minds me something o' the fisher that ran away after the
Willy-an'-the-wisp," said Jordan: "It's a lang story, but it's weel
wordy the hearing."

"If it be a _very_ lang story, we might as weel crack about something
else," said Charlie. "My heart's unco muckle turned on this daft job o'
prying into the time that's to come, an' on what we're to say to the
warlock. Gude saif us, laird, wha's to be the speaker? I wish that
fleysome job maunna light on you? For you see, gin we set the deil's Tam
to address him, he'll put him mad at the very first. The poet can bring
out naething but rhames o' high flown nonsense; an' for mysel, I'm an
unco plain matter-o'-fact man, an' better at good straiks than good
words. Sae that the matter maun lie atween you an' the friar. What say
you to this, Peatstacknowe?"

"Gude troth, Yardbire, an the task light on either of us, it may weel
bring me in mind o' the laird o' Glencarthon, when he stack i' the
midden at Saint Johnston, an' tint himsel i' the dark entry. The laird,
you see, he comes to the door of a sow-house, an' calls out, 'Good
people within there, can you tell me the way to the Queen's hostlery?'
'Oogh?' cried the auld sow. The laird repeated his question quite
distinctly, which disturbing some o' the pigs, they came to the back o'
the door an' fell a murmuring an' squeaking. 'What do you say?' said the
laird in his turn: 'I'll thank you if you will not just speak so
vehemently.' The pigs went on. 'Oh, I hear you speak Erse in this
house,' said the laird; 'but, no matter: thank you for your information,
I will try to work my way.' Now you see, Yardbire, like draws aye to
like; an' for the friar, wi' his auld warld says, or me, to address the
great Master, it wad be a reversing o' nature an' the very order of
things. I hae nae hope o' our good success at a', an it warna for that
bonnie Delany. If he's a man, an' no just an incarnate deil, he will be
delightit wi' her."

"I wish we had her safely at him, laird," said Charlie; "for, troth, do
ye see, thae chaps hing about her, an' look at her as gin they wadna
care to eat her."

"She brings me amind o' a weelfaurd dink gimmer that wench," said
Jordan, "that I aince saw gaun up Sowerhopeburn. There was a tichel o'
wallidraggle tup hoggs rinning after her, an' plaguing her, till I was
just grieved for the poor beast. At length down there comes a
wheel-horned ram, the king o' the flock, an' he taks up his station by
the side o' the bonny thing, an' than a' the young ranigalds slinkit
away as their noses had been blooding. Then the bonny she thing got
peace, for whenever ony o' the rascallions began to jee up his lug, an'
draw near her, ae glent o' the auld fellow's ee stoppit him short. Now,
Yardbire, I trow it is a shame to see a pretty maid jaumphed an'
jur-mummled in that gate: if you will just ride close up to the tae side
o' her, I'll tak up the tither, an' we'll gar them keep a due distance.
There's nane o' them dares shoulder you aside."

"I doubt, laird, there is something selfish in that plan o' yours," said
Charlie; "ye hae a hankering yonder yourself, but ye darena try to make
your ain way without ye get me to back ye. Fight dog, fight bane,
Peatstacknowe; gin I be to tulzie for a bonny may, I tulzie for my ain
hand."

"It wad be sae weel done to chap them back," said Jordan: "See to the
metre poet how he's capering an' turning up his mou': Yon fat hypocrite,
the warlock friar, is blinking out frae aneath his sanctified ee-brees
like a Barbary ape: An' there's the deil's Tam; od I think he'll hae his
lang coulter nose stappit into her lug."

"Ride up, neighbour," quoth Charlie, "an' tell them that face to face. I
like nae yethering ahint backs. Ane may ward a blow at the breast, but a
prod at the back's no fair. A man wears neither ee nor armour there.
Ride up, ride up, neighbour, gin you winna tell them a' you have said,
I'll e'en tell them mysel."

"Yardbire, I hope ye're no gaen gyte, to breed despite amang the
warden's ambassadors to the deil. Stop till I tell you a queer joke
that's come into my mind by your speaking about armour ahint. Last year,
when the dalesmen were cried out in sic a hurry for the Durham raide,
there was ane o' Fairniehirst's troopers got strong breastplates o'
steel made to defend his heart. There was ane Brogg Paterson in Hawick,
a wag that I kenned weel, was employed to fit the harnessing to the
clothes; and learning that the raide was to be early in the morning, an'
nae leisure for shifting, an' seeing the trooper so intent on protecting
his heart, instead o' putting the steel plates in the inside o' his
doublet, Paterson fastened them in the seat of his trews. After passing
the Tine, the Scots encamped within a half moon of an impervious brake,
and sent out a party of foragers, among whom was this trooper Turnbull.
The party were pursued by a body of English horse, and several of them
slain; but Turnbull reaching the brake, plunged into it, horse and man.
The horse stuck fast, and just as poor Turnbull was trying to extricate
himself, by scrambling over the horse's head, an Englishman came riding
fiercely up, and struck him such a blow with his lance behind as would
have spitted him to the neck,--but hitting right on the steel plate, he
made him fly heels-o'er-head over the brake, and into a place of safety.
A comrade perceiving, came to assist him, and found Turnbull lying
on the ground, repeating to himself these words with the utmost
devotion:--"God bless Brogg Paterson in Hawick! God bless Brogg Paterson
in Hawick!" "Wherefore that?" said the other. "Because," said Turnbull,
"he kend better where my heart lay than I did."

Charlie laughed so heartily at this jocular tale, that he did not expose
Gibby Jordan of the Peatstacknowe to his associates at that time; but
keeping behind with him he held him in conversation, though he saw that
his teeth were watering to be near the fair Delany.

They came that night to a place called Trows, on the English side of the
border, but adjoining to the very ridge of the fells. The name of the
hind who sojourned there was Jock Robson. He had a good stock both of
cows and sheep, being so thoroughly a neutral man that both sides spared
him, and both sides trusted him. He gave a night's grass to the driven
cattle and sheep from each side, and a night's lodging to the drivers;
and for this he exacted kane sheep, or a small cow, which none ever
grudged him, because they found themselves so much at home in his house.
He would assist either party in catching a prey, and either party in
recovering it again, taking rewards from both; and, though both the
English and the Scots knew of this, they never trusted him the less, for
they knew that what he undertook he would fulfil, but no farther; out of
your sight, out of your pay and out of your service with Jock Robson.

At this yeoman's habitation our notable embassy arrived at a late hour,
for, though scarcely five o'clock afternoon, it was pitch dark. They
called at the door, and out came Jock with a light. The first man that
he beheld was the friar.

"Saint Mary's jerkin be about us!" cried Jock Robson, half in sport,
half in earnest, "and defend us from our auld black minny's delegates.
What seeks Lucky Church amang the hills o' Cheviot, wi' her creeds an'
her croons, her trumpery, an' her lang tythes o' sheep an' kye, wild
deer, and weathershaker, barndoor an' blackhag fowls? Nought for Minny
Church an' her bike here, Sir Monk--naething o' our ain breeding--a'
comers an' gangers, like John Nisbet's fat sheep. Howsomever, honest
bedesman, I speir ye the auld question,

    "Come ye as friend, or come ye as fae?
    For sic as ye bring, sic sal ye hae!"

"As thy friends do we come, uncourteous hind," said the monk; "and ask
only a little of thy bread, and thy strong drink, for the refreshment of
our bodies, that are like the grass on the tops of thy mountains, fading
ere it be full grown, and require as thou knowest a supply of earthly
refreshment as these do the showers of heaven; and also we ask of thee
beds whereon we may lie down and rest: and these things thou must not
refuse, for we would not that thou shouldst be to us as the children of
Amalek and Moab, and those of Mount Seir."

"Ye speak like a rational man, Sir Monk; but wait till I tell ye the
truth, that I lurde see the cross on the handle of sword or spear ony
time afore that hanging at the paunch of priest. There's mair honour an'
generosity ahint the tane than the tither. But yet it shall never be
said o' John Robson o' the Trows that he refused a friend quarters on a
dark night. He kens ower weel that the king may come in the beggar's
way. Gin ye be joking, he can stand a joke wi' ony man; but gin ye be
really gaun to hand him as an Amalekite, he wad like to ken what that
is, an' what lengths ye mean to gang."

"Thinkest thou that we will come into thy house to take of thy spoil for
a prey, and thy maid servants for bond-women, and also thy little ones?"
said the friar.

"The deil be there then," cried Jock Robson. "I wadna grudge ye meal an'
maut, but or ye lay a hand on ane o' my lasses, or kidnap away my bits
o' bairnies frae me, ye sal gang ower my breast, an' that wi' a braid
arrow through ilk ane o' you. Be at your shift, bauld priest, here's for
ye."

On saying so, he turned hastily about, and the friar that moment
clapping the spurs to his mule, gallopped round the corner, leaving the
rest to make good their quarters in the best way they could. The mention
of the broad arrow made him think it was high time for him to change his
ground.

"There rides gospel, guts an' a'," cried Tam Craik, laughing aloud.

The laugh was well known to Robson; for the warden's troopers had been
so often there that year, that almost all of them were John Robson's
personal acquaintances.

"What?" cried he, turning back his head, "Isna that the deil's Tam that
I hear?"

"Ay, what for shoudna it, lad? an' how dare ye fright away our chaplain
wi' your bows an' your braid arrows? Gin we had Jock's Marion, the
sow-killer's wife o' Jeddart, at ye, wha wad be crousest then, trow ye?"

"Tam, it is weel kend your tongue is nae scandal; but dinna ye lippen
ower muckle to your privilege; gin ye be come to quarter wi' me, dinna
let me hear sic a hard jibe as that the night again. Come away, however,
the warden's men are welcome, as weel they may be this year. Mony a fat
mart they hae left i' my hire. I hope ye hae brought a bonny kane the
night."

"Ay, by my certie, lad, an' that we hae; here's nae less a kane than
Jock's Marion hersel."

"Ye scawed like bog-stalker! skrinkit, skraeshankit skebeld! dare ye to
speak that gate to me at my ain door stane? I shall lend you a clout an
ye were the king's cousin, an' see if ye dare return the compliment.
Wife, bring the buet an' my piked rung here."

"Peace, in the king's name!" cried Charlie Scott.

"And in the name of St David!" cried the friar, returning to the charge
on hearing Charlie's voice.

"And in my name!" cried Tam Craik;" an' Gibby Jordan o' the
Peatstacknowe's name; and the name o' Jock's Marion, the sow-sticker's
wife o' Jeddart. I say unto thee, look here. Here is the kane will
please a brave yeoman. Look if this be nae Marion hersel"--and with that
he led Delany's palfrey up to the light.

Robson lifted his eyes and saw her, and was so much struck with her
dazzling beauty, that he had not power to address even his beloved
friend Charlie Scott, far less any other of his guests, but lifting the
maiden down in his arms, he led her in to his dame, and said to one of
his lads, "Rin out wi' a light, callant, an' help the troopers to put up
their horses."

The horses were soon put up, for every one seemed more anxious than
another to get first in to the cheek of Jock Robson's ingle, and have
his seat placed next to that of Delany; but the poet being the most
agile, and not the least amorous of the group, effected this greatly to
his satisfaction.



CHAPTER XI.

    The youngest turned him in a path,
      And drew a buirdly brande,
    And fifteen of the foremost slewe,
      Till back the lave couthe stande.

    Then he spurred the grey unto the path,
      Till baith her sides they bledde;
    "Now, grey, if thou carry nae me away
      My life it lies in wedde."

        _Ballad of Auld Maitland._


We must pass over a great part of the conversation that evening, in
order to get forward to the more momentous part of the history of our
embassy. Suffice it to say, that the poet was in high glory, and not
only delivered himself in pure iambics, but sung several love ditties,
and one song of a foray, that pleased Charlie Scott mightily. But Isaac,
the curate, has only given a fragment of it, which runs thus:

    If you will meet me on the Dirdam waste,
      Merry man mint to follow;
    I'll start you the deer, and lead you the chace,
      With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo!
    The deer that you'll see, has horns enow, &c.
    Marked wi' red and merled wi' blue, &c.
    And that deer he will not turn his tail
    For the stoutest hinds that range the dale.
    Come then, driver, in gear bedight;
    Come bold yeoman, and squire, and knight;
    The wind soughs loud on craig and heuch,
    And the linn rowts loud in the Crookside cleuch;
    Nor tramp of steed, nor jingle of spear,
    Will ever be heard by the southern deer:
    The streamer is out, and the moon away,
    And the morning starn will rise or day.
    Then mount to the stirrup, and scour the fell,
      Merry man mint to follow;
    And over the muir, and the dean, and the dell,
      With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo!

    * * * * * * * * * *


"Thy words and thy song, young man," said the friar, "are like sounding
brass and a tinkling cymbal; if laid in the balance, they are lighter
than vanity."

"Yours will not prove so," said the poet, "provided you are laid in with
them; for, as the old song says,--

    'His wit is but weak, father;
      His gifts they are but sma';
    But the bouk that's under his breast bane,
      It grieves me warst of a.'"

"If thou singest this nonsense of me," said the friar, "lo, I will
smite thee upon the mouth; yea, upon the cheek-bone will I smite thee,
till thine eyes shall gush out like two fountains of waters." And so
saying, he began to look about him for some missile weapon to throw at
the bard's face, his breast burning with indignation,--for he loved not
the tenor of the poet's conversation to the maid.

Tam and Jordan encouraged the friar to make the assault, in hopes that
the poet might be dislodged or affronted; but Yardbire restrained the
warmth of the friar, not being aware of his real sentiments, and ordered
peace and good fellowship.

Dame Robson covered the hearth with a huge fire; and her husband
bringing in a leg of beef, set it upon the table, and bade every one
help himself.

"The words of thy mouth are exceeding good, and sweet unto the ear,"
said the friar, "as doubtless thy food is to the taste." With that he
rose and helped himself to three nice and extensive slices of raw beef,
and these he roasted on the tongs which he had just lifted to smite the
poet on the head.

In good truth, though every one cooked his own supper, as was the
fashion of that iron time, there was none did it half so nicely as the
friar, nor so bunglingly as Jordan, whose supper, though long behind the
others in being ready, was so unshapely a piece, and so raw on the one
side, that the friar observed, "it was like Ephraim of old, as a cake
unturned." Some roasted their meat on old swords, some on spindles, for
their hosts took no heed how they were fitted, or in what manner they
shifted in these respects; seemingly satisfied that they had plenty for
the cooking, and leaving them to cook it or eat it raw, as they chose.
The poet made haste, and, first of all, cooked two or three nice slices
for the maiden, giving her what she would take before he would taste a
morsel himself. Some commended him for this, and others jeered him;
but the friar, in his grave moral style, said the severest things
of all. From the very commencement of the journey, a jealousy or
misunderstanding began to subsist between these two, which never again
subsided till they came to blows.

The poet answered him again with a song:

    "Keep ye to your books and your beads, goodman,
    Your Ave Marias and creeds, goodman;
        For gin ye end as ye're begun,
    There will be some crack of your deeds, goodman."

At length the party retired to rest, all save Jordan and their worthy
host. The latter never slept in the night; he had always some watching,
walking, or work in hand that suited that season best: and as for Gibby,
he determined to sit up all night to watch that the poet made no
encroachments on the place of Delany's repose. Robson encouraged his
purpose, joined him heartily in conversation, listened to his
long-winded stories with apparent delight, and, when all the rest were
asleep, wormed the whole business of the embassy out of the shallow
laird, who unfortunately testified his fears that they were carrying the
lovely maiden and boy to the old warlock to be a sacrifice to the devil.
Robson appeared terribly confounded at this peace of intelligence,--for
from the time that he heard it he conversed no more with Jordan. About
one in the morning he began to put on his snow-boots, as if preparing
for a journey.

"Where are ye going at this time of night?" enquired the laird.

"I maun gang out an' see how the night wears," said Robson; "I hae sax
score o' Scots queys that are outlyers. If I let the king's ellwand ower
the hill, I'll hae them to seek frae the kips o' Kale."

Gibby accompanied him to the door, hoping the king's ellwand would not
be over the hill, for he had no good will to part with his companion.
But as soon as Robson turned his eye to the sky, "Ha, gude faith, I maun
post away!" said he, "Yonder's the king's ellwand already begun to bore
the hill; ay, there's ane o' the goud knobs out o' sight already, an' I
hear the queys rowting ower the waterfa' o' the height. Gude morrow
t'ye, laird, I'm ower lang here."

Gibby returned in to the blazing fire; and hearing so many persons all
snoring in sleep, he caught the infection, stretched himself upon a
divot seat, and joined the chorus with as much zeal as any of them.

Morning came, and our embassy made ready for proceeding on their
journey; but Robson still was wanting, at which both his dame and
household lads seemed to wonder, otherwise the rest would have taken no
notice of it. Gibby told her about the queys that were outlyers, but she
only answered him with a hem! and a slight shake of the head. Charlie,
who knew his man well, began to smell a rat; and, calling Gibby to the
door, he inquired if he had hinted ought of their business to their
host. The laird at first denied; but Charlie questioned him till he
confessed the whole, at which Charlie was exceedingly angry; and hearing
that he had informed him all about the maiden, and of what family she
was sprung, he called Gibby a worthless inconsiderate being, and said he
had ruined their expedition, for that he knew Robson kept up a
correspondence with the Halls, who were broken men, and many of them
skulking about the border; that Delany had uncles, cousins, and a
brother living, if she was the man's daughter she was supposed to be,
and that these would without fail waylay them, and kill them every man,
for the sake of rescuing her. "Robson," said he, "is altogether selfish,
and has some end to serve; perhaps to get the maid into his own hands,
for he seemed mightily taken with her beauty; and I calculate widely
amiss if we are not watched from this house, and whether we return or
proceed we shall be attacked in the first strait or lonely place that we
come at." Jordan looked exceedingly out of countenance, and every
feature of his face altered. "What had I ado to tell the rascal?"
exclaimed he, "or wha wad hae thought o' him playing us sic a trick?
Twa-faced dog that he is! It wad be weel done to let his liver pree the
taste o' steel!"

Charlie made him promise that he would not mention the circumstance to
one of the party, as it was only a surmise, and might impede their
progress to no purpose; and forthwith they mounted, armed with such
armour as they had, and all, save Gibby Jordan, as cheerful and as
jealous of one another as they were on the preceding day. That worthy
kept close by the side of muckle Charlie, and looked so sharp about him,
that he perceived every shepherd, traveller, and cairn that appeared on
the border fells, always testifying his alarm to his friend that perhaps
yon was one of the Halls watching.

Charlie had resolved to go by Jedburgh straight for Oakwood castle; but
his suspicions of Robson made him resolve to hold more to the eastward,
in order to keep the open road. He knew that if they were watching him,
it would be at the fords of Kale or Oxnam, on the Jedburgh road; and by
taking the east path, he would not only elude them, but, in case of a
pursuit, be near the outposts of the Scottish army.

For a good way they saw nothing, and began to think themselves in
safety; but, in coming down Sowerhope-Middle, a little from the point of
the debated land, three horsemen appeared to the westward of them. "His
presence be about us," said Gibby,--"yonder _are_ the Halls now!"
Charlie said nothing, but kept watch. One of the yeomen vanished in a
twinkling at full speed, the other two came at a brisk canter to our
notable embassy.

"What do they mean?" said Jordan: "Do these two fellows propose to
conquer us all?"

"It wad appear that they do," said Charlie, "for they come on us without
halt or hesitation."

"I hardly think they'll succeed," added Gibby, "although they're twa
dangerous looking chaps. For Godsake, Yardbire, tak care o' their back
strokes; if they bring you down, our chance will be the waur."

Charlie then called to the rest of his cavalcade, "Friends, here are
some strangers come to join us. Tell them nothing either good or bad,
but keep on at a round trot. See, we are not far from the towers of
Roxburgh. Whatever these men may say to you, make them nothing the
wiser."

"I will not so much as say unto them, whence comest thou, or whither art
thou going?" said the friar.

    "I'll sing them a ditty of beauty and love,
    Of the wing of the raven, the eye of the dove,
    And beings all purer than angels above."

said the poet.

"Sic a rhame o' nonsense is there!" said Tam Craik: "If ony o' the dogs
say an impertinent thing to me I'll gar his teeth gang down his throat
like bristled beans."

It was not long before the two moss-troopers joined the party. They were
tall athletic men, armed at all points, and their manner had a dash of
insulting impertinence in it.

"A good morning, and fair grace to you, noble and worthy gentlemen!"
said the foremost: "May we presume to be of the party?"

"You may _presume_," said the deil's Tam, "for that is what befits you;
if you are willing to put up with the presumer's reward."

"You are witty, sir, I suppose," said the trooper; "and pray what may
that reward be?"

"Yes, I am witty," said Tam; "and my wit is sharp when it is not in its
sheath. Do you understand me? As for the reward of presumption, it is in
Scotland to be crankit before and kicked behind."

"The road is at least as free to us as it is to you," said the
mosstrooper; "and of that we intend to avail ourselves for the present.
We go to join the army before Roxburgh, whither are you bound?"

"We follow our noses," said Tam; "but they guide us not to the army
before Roxburgh, and into your rearward they caution us not to enter.
Raw hides and rank bacon, keep your distance."

While Tam Craik and the trooper were thus jangling on before, Charlie
said to Jordan, "Laird, what do think o' yoursel' now? Ye hae played us
a fine pliskie wi' your ill tackit tongue! It is my thought that ere we
ride a mile and a half we'll be attacked by a hale troop o' horse. That
chap that disna speak is ane o' the wale o' the Ha's: I ken him weel for
a' his half visor. The other horseman that left them on the height is
ower to the fords of Kale, and, if I guess right, he'll appear at yon
scroggy bush wi' sae mony at his back that we wad hardly be a mouthfu'
to them, an' that in less time than ane wad gang a mile."

"It is an ill business this," said Gibby: "It brings me in mind o'--o'
mair than I's name. But, gudesake, Yardbire, an ye be sure he is ane o'
the Halls, what for do nae ye rin your sword in at the tae side o' him
an' out at the tither? The sooner a knave like that is put down the
better."

"Fair occasion, an' face to face, Peatstacknowe, an' ye sanna see
Charlie Scott slack; but ye wadna hae me stick a man, or cleave him down
ahint his back, an' that without fair warning and fair arming?"

"Ay, honour an' generosity are braw things, but life's a brawer thing
an' a better thing than ony o' the twa. For my part, I wad never stop.
My very heart flighters when I look at him, an' I amaist think I find
his steel quivering at my midriff. I wish I had a drive at him, wi' a
chance o' a hale head."--And from that time Gibby leaned himself forward
on his saddle, and fixed his large grey eyes on the mosstrooper like a
pointer going to fly on his game; and, in that attitude, he rode
several times close up to his side, or very nearly opposite to him,
laying his hand now and then on his hilt; but Charlie observed that he
never looked his foe in the face with threatening aspect, and, perplexed
as he was, could not help laughing at Gibby.

Yardbire now putting the spurs to Corby, galloped aslant the brae to a
rising ground, whence he could see if any enemy was approaching by the
swire from the fords of Kale, as he suspected. He had not well gained
the height before he saw a dozen horsemen coming at the light gallop,
but one part of the cavalcade considerably behind the others, owing to
their being either worse mounted or worse horsemen.

By this time Charlie's own friends were coming round the bottom of the
hill below him, quarrelling with the strangers so loudly, that Charlie
heard their voices ascending on the gale in most discordant notes. The
deil's Tam and the English trooper had never since their meeting ceased
the jibe and the keen retort; but Tam's words were so provokingly
severe, that the moss-man was driven beyond all further forbearance.
Just when they were at the hottest, the helmets of the front men of the
Northumberland cavalcade began to appear in the swire; a circumstance
that was well noted by their offended kinsman, but of which Tam was
perfectly unconscious.

"Well, now, thou jaundiced looking thief," said the moss-trooper,
turning his horse's head towards Tam's left hand, and making him amble
and curvette with his side foremost; "thou lean, nerveless, and
soul-less jabberer, all tongue and nothing else--I say, what hast thou
to say more?"

The alteration in the man's key of voice somewhat astounded Tam; but his
perverse nature would not let him soften his reply, although he liked as
well to see others fall into a mischief as himself. "Eh? what do I say?"
said he; and with that he turned his horse's head to that of the other,
making their two noses to meet; and caricaturing the Englishman's
capers, he laughed sneeringly and triumphantly in his face. "What do I
say? Eh? what do I say? I say I thought I heard wind, and smelled it a
wee too. Hagg-hiding fox that thou art! Wild tike of the moors, dost
thou think Tam Craik fears thy prancing and thy carrion breath, or ony
o' the bur-throated litter of which thou art the outwale? Nay, an
capering and prancing show ought of a spirit, I can caper and prance
as well as thou. Out on thee, thou bog-thumper, thou base-born
heather-blooter, what do _you_ say? Or what _dare_ you say?"

Tam had by this time drawn his sword completely to cow the Englishman,
and put him to silence;--but he saw what Tam did not see, and knew more
than he.

"I dare both say and do, and that thou shalt find," said the trooper;
and forthwith he attacked Tam with all his prowess, who, not quite
expecting such a thing gave way, and had very nearly been unhorsed; he,
however, fought stoutly, defending himself, though manifestly at the
disadvantage. The brave friar, at the first clash of the swords, wheeled
about his mule, and drawing out a good sword from under his frock, (for
he wore the sword on the one side and the cross on the other,) he
stretched it forth, pointing it as if to thrust it between them. But,
addressing himself to the Englishman, he cried with a loud voice, "Put
up _thy_ sword again into its place, or verily I will smite thee with
the edge of _my_ sword."

The other Englishman, who had never yet opened his mouth, and who had
always kept apart, as if anxious to conceal who he was, now rode briskly
up to the fray; and perceiving the quick approach of his friends,
and judging his party quite secure of victory, he struck up the
friar's sword in apparent derision. But the inveterate laird of the
Peatstacknowe had been watching him all this time, as one colley dog
watches another of which he is afraid, in order to take him at an
advantage, and the moment that his arm was stretched, so that his sword
came in contact with the friar's, Gibby struck him behind, and that with
such violence that the sword ran through his body. The wounded trooper
reined up his steed furiously, in order to turn on his adversary; Gibby
reined his up as quickly to make his escape, but the convulsive force of
the Englishman threw his horse over, and in its fall it tumbled against
the legs of Gibby's horse with such force that it struck them all four
from under him, and both he and his rider fell in a reverse direction,
rolling plump over the wounded warrior and his forlorn encumbered steed,
that was pawing the air at a furious rate. The two horses falling thus
on different sides, their iron-shod hoofs were inter-mixed, and clashing
and rattling away in a tremendous manner, tremendous at least to poor
Gibby, whose leg and thigh being below his charger, he was unable to
extricate himself. "Happ, Davie, happ!" cried he to the steed: "Up you
stupid, awkward floundering thief! Happ, Davie, happ!" Davie could
neither happ nor weynd, but there he lay groaning and kicking above his
master, who was in a most deplorable plight.

Charlie perceiving the commencement of the fray, was all this while
galloping furiously toward the combatants. But the battle was of short
duration; for the English trooper, seeing his comrade fall he wist not
how, and the friar and Tam having both their swords pointed at him,
broke furiously through between them and fled towards his companions,
Tam being only enabled to inflict a deep wound on the hinder part of the
horse as he passed by.

"I have made him to pass away as the stubble that is driven by the
whirlwind," said the friar; "yea, as the chaff before the great wind, so
is he fled from the arm of the mighty. Brother, I say unto thee, that
thou hadst better arise!" continued he, looking upon the disconsolate
Jordan; and passing by on the other side with great _ang froid_, he rode
up to Delany, the boy Elias, and the poet, the latter of whom had not
been engaged, but, drawing his sword manfully, had stood as a guard to
the other two.

Tam Craik pursued his enemy, although apparently not with a fixed design
of overtaking him; and Gibby, being thus left all alone with the two
inverted horses and the incensed moss-trooper, extended his voice to an
amazing pitch, for he knew not what state of health and strength his
opponent retained. This was a horrid consideration; for if he should
disengage himself and get up first, there was an end of him of the
Peatstacknowe. His nasal twine was increased by his dread, and he cried
so vehemently, that his cries grew like the cries of a peacock.

Charlie Scott rode up to the main group, who continued to advance at a
quiet pace, for they knew nothing as yet of the approaching danger. He
also called and made signs to Tam Craik to return; and as soon as he
came up to them he pointed out their pursuers, and charged them to ride
for their lives. "We are betrayed," said he; but the horses of our
enemies are jaded, ours are fresh; therefore, brave lads, in our
master's name, spare neither spur, nor horse-flesh. Haud on your way,
an' never look ower your shoulders: you will find Corby an' me twa gude
back friends."

The friar bent himself forward over the mane of his mule, and opening
his eyes wide abroad, he put the spurs to his steed, and set off "with
the swiftness of the roe-buck or the hart," as he termed it.

The boy pursued hard after him; and the bard, taking hold of Delany's
bridle by both reins below the neck, for fear her steed should stumble
and throw his lovely rider, bade her whip on and fear nothing, and in
this friendly guise they also made good speed. Charlie then galloped
back to see if any life remained in his friend Gibby,--for he only saw
him at a distance go down in the encounter, without being exactly versed
in the circumstances of his overthrow; but he thought he heard one loud
squeak arise from the field after the rest had left it, something like
that sent forth by the small drone of the bagpipe; and, guessing that
the laird was yet alive, he galloped back to see. By the way he met the
deil's Tam, who returned with him, and when they came in view of the
spot where the two prostrate heroes had been left, they saw a very
curious scene, the more curious because it was transacted by our worthy
laird in the presiding belief that he was not seen, for he was too much
concerned in his own affairs to perceive the approach of his friends.
The Englishman's horse making an exertion, by pressing his feet against
the ribs of the laird's Davie, by that means pushed himself forward, and
Gibby perceived plainly that his enemy was to be first released. The
struggles that Gibby then made were enormous. "Happ, Davie, happ!" cried
he: "O mother of God, what shall become of me! Happ, Davie, happ, my
man; happ, happ, happ!" and, as a last resource, he reared up his body
and struck at the Englishman's limb that was above his horse, crying out
to Davie to happ, in bitterness of soul. Davie was not long; for the
next moment after the Englishman's horse rose, he got up also, his feet
then getting to the ground; but the stirrup that had been under him was
crushed together, and there his master's foot remained fixed. Gibby was
worse than ever. "Wo, Davie, wo! Tproo, ye thief!" cried he. Davie,
finding the weight at his side, wheeled about, and dragged the
unfortunate laird round across the breast of the trooper Hall, who
seized him by the neck. "Was there ever a man guidit this gate!" cried
Gibby. "Honest man, an ye please, let gae; it wasna me that hurt ye."
The man answered him not; but Davie being scared by the struggle sprung
aside, and the Englishman keeping his hold, Gilbert's foot was released
by the loss of his boot. He was not long in making a bold effort to
rise, and though Hall hung by his neck a little, it had been in the last
agony of receding life that he had seized him, and he dropped dead on
the green, having both fists clenched on his breast, in the act of still
holding his rival.

When Gibby saw how matters stood, he began to value himself on his
courage. "I's gar ye! I's gar ye!" cried he, lifting up his sword, and
giving the dead man several desperate gashes, and always between every
stroke repeating, "H'm! I's gar ye!" His two friends being now hard
beside him, the sound of their horses' feet made him start; but lifting
his eye, and perceiving who they were, he again repeated his blows, and
continued his threats in a louder key.--"H'm! I's gar ye! I's gar ye,
billy! I's learn you to throttle me!"

"Fy, lay on, laird!" cried Tam; "dinna ye see that the man's no half
dead yet?"

"I think I hae done for him;" said Gibby: "He brings me a-mind o' a wife
that had to kill her cat thrice ower. I's learn the best o' the
haggies-headed Ha's to meddle wi' me!"

"I think he'll do that ane, however, Gibby; if he had e'en the nine
lives o' the wife's cat," said Charlie: "therefore, an ye please, put up
your sword, an' mount your horse. It's no a time now to examine whether
ye hae behaved in a sodger-like manner wi' that bold trooper. If I
wist ye had not, it should be the last hour I should ride in your
company--but mount quick an' ride; for see whar the rest o' the Ha's are
coming across us. Ilk horse an' man do what he can, or dear will be our
raide, an' yours, friend, the dearest of a'."

One look filled Gilbert's eye. He mounted Davie, with the one boot off
and the other on, and there was little occasion to bid him ride. Before
they turned the corner of the hill, their pursuers came so close on
them, that they looked very like cutting off their retreat; but a bog,
around which the English were forced to cast a wide circuit, saved our
three heroes, and gave them the start, by fully a half mile, of their
foes, who still came in a straggling way as their horses could keep up.
After a hard chace of two Scottish miles they came up with the friar,
whose mule being too heavy loaden had begun to fag. When he saw them
gaining on him so hard, he judged that all was over with him, and
spurred on his jaded beast in vain. "O that my flesh were as my armour
or my clothing," cried he, "that I might put it off at will, and escape
from the face of mine enemies. Lo! I shall be left all alone, and
surrounded and taken and slain." As he divined, so it fell out; the
others were soon by him, and he was left the hindermost. Then they heard
him lamenting to himself in his own sublime eastern stile, that he had
not the wings of the eagle or the dove, that he might bear away to the
mountains and the cliffs of the rocky hills, to elude the dreadful
weapons of death, so often reared over his head, and so often warded by
the arm of heaven.

"Poor devil!" said muckle Charlie, the tear standing in his eye; "Od I
canna leave him after a'. Come what will, I for ane shall stand or fa'
wi' him. I whiles think there's mair in that body than we moorland men
wot of,--I canna leave him to be cut in pieces."

"O fy, let him tak his chance," said Tam; "let him bide his weird; he
deserves it a'. What signifies the creature? He's just a thing made up
o' hypocritical rant, empty words, and stuffed paunches. Let him bide
the buffet that fa's to his share."

"Ay, what signifies sic a corpulation?" said Jordan. "It will be lang or
_he_ bring down man an' horse in an encounter. He brings me in mind o' a
capon that claps his wings, but craws nane. Let him tak his chance."

"Na, but callans, troth my heart winna let me," said Charlie: "For his
good deeds, or his ill anes he's answerable to heaven, an' neither to
you nor me. But he's a fellow creature, an' has nane to look to for help
but us at this time. Life's sweet to us a', an' it's unco hard to leave
our master's bedesman just to be sacrificed. Therefore, come what will,
I'll turn an' lend the friar a hand. As for you twa, ride on; the young
couple that are committed to our charge may escape." With that he
wheeled Corby's head about, and rode back to meet the gospel friar.

When he met him, the foremost of the riders had advanced within a bow
shot, and was fast gaining ground. The friar still continued to spur on,
and though his mule likewise continued the motion of one that gallops,
the progress that he made was hardly discernible. He had a sort of up
and down hobble that was right laughable to behold in one riding for his
life. When he saw the dauntless Yardbire return to meet him, with his
large seven feet sword drawn, and heaved over his right shoulder, he
lifted up his voice and wept, and he said unto him;--"Blessed be thou,
my son! The blessing of a man ready to perish light upon thee! And now,
lo, I will draw forth my sword and return with thee to the charge, and
thou shalt see what a poor bedesman can do."

"It is brawly said, good friar,--but gin ye wad save yoursel' an' me,
ride. An we could but mak the end o' the Thief-gate, they should buy our
twa lives dear. If thou wilt but exert man an' beast, father, you an' I
shall fight, flee, or fa' thegither. But see, we are already overtaken,
and in the enemy's hands."

The foremost of the riders was now hard behind them; but, perceiving
Charlie, he reined up his horse and looked back for his comrades. The
friar gave a glance back, and he said, "Lo, thou art a mighty man of
valour, and behold there is but one; do thou fall upon him and smite
him; why should one pursue two?"

"I hae heard waur advices frae mair warlike men," said Charlie; "Ride
ye on, father, an' lose nae time. Gude faith! I sal gie this ane his
breakfast."

Charlie as he said this put the spurs to Corby, and rode full speed
against the pursuer. The trooper set himself firm in his stirrups and
assumed his defence, for he saw from the prowess of Corby that it was
vain to fly. Just as Charlie's mighty sword was descending on his
casque, a check that he gave his horse in the hurry of the moment made
him rear on end, and Charlie's stroke coming down between his ears,
clove his head almost into two halves. The horse reeled and fell; but
how it fared with his rider, Charlie never knew; for before he got his
horse turned, there were other three of the Halls close at hand. Charlie
fled amain. He was nothing afraid of himself, for he knew Corby could
outstrip them by one half of the way; but his heart bled for the poor
friar, whom he saw he would either be obliged to leave, or fight for him
against such odds as it would be madness to withstand. The friar had,
however gained the height, and having now a long sloping descent all the
way to the Thief-gate-end, he was posting on at an improved pace.
Charlie had one sole hope remaining of saving the friar, and that was
the gaining the above-mentioned point before they were overtaken. The
warriors carried no whips in those days, depending altogether on the
ample spur,--therefore Charlie, as a last resource, pulled down a large
branch from a hazel tree, and attacked the hinder parts of the father's
mule with such a torrent of high-sounding strokes, that the animal,
perhaps more sullen than exhausted, seemed to recover new life and
vigour, and fled from the assault like a deer, in the utmost terror and
dismay. Little wonder was it! He heard the sound of every descending
stroke coming on like the gathering tempest; and, clapping his tail
close down between his hips, pricking up his long ears, and looking back
first with the one eye and then with the other, he went at such a rate
that Corby could do little more than keep up with him.

"My swiftness is greater than I can bear," cried the friar, pronouncing
the sentence all in syllables for want of breath; "verily I shall fall
among the cliffs of the rocks by the side of the highway."

His danger increased with his fears; for the mule perceiving that
exertion availed not, and that there was no escaping from the fierceness
of his pursuer's wrath, began to throw up his heels violently at every
stroke, nevertheless continuing to exert himself between these
evolutions. The friar's riding-gear began to get into disorder, and with
great difficulty he retained his seat; therefore he cried out with a
loud voice, "I pray of thee, my son, to desist, for it is better for me
to perish by an enemy's hand than thine; seest thou not my confusion and
despair--verily I shall be dashed in pieces against the stones."

The friar saw nought of Charlie's intent, else he would not have
besought him so earnestly to desist. The Thief-gate-end was now hard at
hand. It is still well known as a long narrow path alongst the verge of
a precipice, and all the bank above it was then a thicket of brushwood
and gorse, so close that the wild beast of the desart could not pass
through it. It was, moreover, shagged with rocks, and bedded with small
stones, and the path itself was so narrow, that two horsemen could
scarcely ride abreast. By such a strenuous manoeuvre on the parts of
Charlie and the mule, the two flyers got into this path, without having
lost any ground of their pursuers. When Charlie saw this, he began to
breathe more freely, and, flinging away his hazel branch, he again
seized his mighty weapon in his right hand.

"Let the chields come as close on us now, an they dare," said he.

The mule still continued to eye him with a great deal of jealousy, and
perceiving the brandish that he gave his long sword when he said this,
he set off again full speed; so that it was a good while before the
friar got time to reply. As soon as he got leisure to speak, he opened
his mouth and said,--"My son, wilt thou lift up thine arm against a
multitude? or canst thou contend with the torrent of the mighty
waters?"

"Well, well, they may perhaps lead that winna drive," said Charlie; and
he went by the friar at a light gallop, leaving him behind, who prayed
to the other not to leave him nor forsake him; but it was a device of
Yardbire's, and a well conceived one. He saw that as long as he kept the
rear guard, and rode behind the friar, the men that pursued them would
not separate on that long narrow path; therefore he vanished among the
bushes, keeping, however, always within hearing of the mule's feet.
Accordingly, at the first turn of the road, the foremost of the English
troopers, seeing the jolly bedesman posting away by himself, put the
spurs to his steed, and made a furious dash at him. The friar cried out
with a loud voice; and, seeing that he would be overtaken, he turned
round and drew his sword to stand on the defensive; and actually not
only bore the first charge of his opponent with considerable firmness,
but had "very nigh smitten him between the joints of the harness," as he
termed it. It happened, moreover, very singularly, from the perversity
of the mule, that in the charge the combatants changed sides, at the
imminent peril of the Englishman; for the mule brushed by his horse with
such violence, and leaned so sore to the one side, that both the horse
and his rider were within an inch of the verge of the precipice.

The friar had no sooner made his way by, than he saw another rider
coming like lightning to meet him in the face; but at the same time he
heard the voice of Charlie Scott behind him, and the rending crash of
his weapon. This cheered the drooping spirits of the brave friar, who
had been on the very point of crying for quarter. "They beset me before
and behind," cried he, "yet shall my hand be avenged. Come on, thou
froward and perverse one." So saying he assumed his guard, and met his
foe face to face, seeing he had no alternative. The Englishman drew a
stroke, but got not time to lay it on; for just as the mule and his tall
horse met, the former, in the bitterness of his ire, rushed between his
opponent and the upper bank, and pressed against his fore counters with
such energy, that he made the leg next him to slacken, and the horse
reared from the other. The intention of the irritated mule was to crush
his master's leg, or, if possible, to rub him from off his back; and
therefore, in spite of the rein he closed with the Englishman's tall
steed in a moment, and almost as swift as lightning. The English
moss-trooper had raised his arm to strike, but seeing his horse shoved
and rearing in that perilous place, he seized the rein with his sword
hand. The mule finding the substance to which he leaned give way,
pressed to it the harder. It was all one to him whether it had been a
tree, a horse, or a rock; he shouldered against it with his side
foremost so strenuously, that in spite of all the trooper could do, the
fore feet of his horse on rearing, alighted within the verge of the
precipice. The noble animal made a spring from his hinder legs, in order
to leap by the obstreperous mongrel; but the latter still coming the
closer, instead of springing by he leaped into the open void, aiming at
the branches of an oak that grew in a horizontal direction from the
cliff. It was an old and stubborn tree, the child of a thousand years;
and when the horse and his rider fell upon its hoary branches, it
yielded far to the weight. But its roots being entwined in the rifted
rock as far as the stomach of the mountain, it sprung upward again with
a prodigious force to regain its primitive position, and tossed the
intruding weight afar into the unfathomed deep. Horse and rider went
down in a rolling motion till they lessened to the eye, and fell on the
rocks and water below with such a shock, that the clash sounded among
the echoes of the linn like the first burst of the artillery of heaven,
or the roar of an earthquake from the depths of the earth.

Charlie Scott gazed on the scene with horror; every feature of his
countenance was changed, and every hair on his great burly head stood on
end. He gave a look to heaven, crossed himself, and said a short prayer,
if a prayer it may be called that consisted only of four syllables. It
consisted merely in the pronunciation of a name, too sacred to be set
down in an idle tale; but he pronounced it with an emphasis that made
it doubly affecting. The friar, on the contrary, astonished at his own
prowess, or rather at that of his mule, beheld the scene with wonder, it
is true, but also with a shade of ostentation. "I have overthrown the
horse and his rider," said he, "and they are sunk down as a stone into
the mighty waters." Corby manifested the fright that he was in, by loud
and reiterated snortings; the mule also was astonied, and, that he might
witness the horrific scene in more perfection, he kept his tail close to
the precipice, and looked back.

"Now, by my honour as a man and a warrior, father," said Charlie, "you
are a man amang ten thousand. I never knew of a bedesman who behaved so
gallantly, nor have I seen a knight behave better. How durst you close
so instantaneously and furiously with both these valiant troopers?"

"Thou hadst better put that question to my mule," said the friar,--"for
it is a truth that he hath that in him that is the ruin of many people,
viz. obstinacy of heart. When he smelleth the battle he disdaineth all
parley or courtesy, as thou beholdest, but rusheth upon his adversary
like one of the bulls of Bashan."

At that moment the friar's eye caught a glance of several horsemen close
upon them, but as they could only come one man rank, they paused at
seeing their enemies in quiet possession of the way, and standing in
peaceful colloquy, apparently about something else.

"By the life of Pharaoh," said the friar, gazing all around, "I had
forgot the man whom I first engaged and smote as he passed by."

"You will see nae mair o' him, father," said Charlie; "I gae him a
deadly wound, but the saddle was locked to the horse, and the man to the
saddle, and the furious animal has escaped away to the forest with the
dead man on its back."

"Thou art indeed a man of valour," said the friar; "and here will we
keep our ground. I will do more in our defence than thou hast yet
witnessed; therefore, be not afraid, my son, for that sword of thine is
a good sword."

"It is a good sword at a straik," returned Charlie; "but it's no very
handy at making a defence. But an I get the first yerk of a chield, I'm
no unco feared for his return. However, father, this sword, sic as it
is, shall be raised in your defence as lang as my arm can wag it. I like
the man that will stand a brush when a pinch comes,--see, thae chaps
darena come on us. But, ill luck to the coward! gin they winna come to
us, we'll gang to them."

"I will certainly go with thee," said the friar; "but I know the nature
of the beast that I bestride, and that it will at the first onset bear
me into the thickest of the battle; therefore, be not thou far from me
in my need, for, though nothing afraid, yet I know it will carry me into
peril. Come, let us go and smite these men with the edge of the sword."

"Gallant friar," said Charlie, "the Thief-road is lang an' narrow, an'
there's hardly a bit o't that they can come on us twa in a breast; stand
ye still; or be chopping on your way, an' I'll let you see yon lads get
a surprise for aince."

"Nay, I will certainly stand with thee in battle," said the friar;
"thinkest thou I will stand and be a looker on, when my preserver is in
jeopardy? Lo, my heart is as thy heart, my arm as thy arm, and--but I
cannot say my horse is as thy horse, for the beast is indeed froward in
his ways, and perverse in all his doings."

Charlie hardly smiled at the phrase of the worthy friar,--for he
meditated an attack on their pursuers, and his eye kindled with his
heart toward the battle. He heaved up his sword-arm twice at its full
stretch, to feel if it was nowise encumbered in the armour, and putting
Corby in motion, he rode deliberately up to the face of his enemies. The
foremost man spoke to him, demanding what he wanted; but he only
answered by heaving his sword a little higher, and making his horse mend
his pace. In one second after that he was engaged with the first man,
and in two seconds the horse and his rider had fallen in the middle of
the path. Charlie listed not coming to close quarter; his sword was so
long and heavy, that it was quite unhandy in warding the blows of a
short and light weapon. His aim, therefore, was always to get the first
stroke, which was as apt to light on the horse as the man, and thus down
both of them went. Springing by the prostrate warrior, he attacked the
second and the third in the same manner, and with the same success,
always either cutting down the trooper or cleaving the head of his horse
at the first stroke. The path was now in the utmost confusion. Owing to
the pause that had taken place, all the riders had come up and crowded
each other behind, some crying, "He is a devil!" and others at a greater
distance shouting out, "Down with the Scot! down with him!" Charlie
regarded not their cries, but laid about him with all his might, till,
after striking down three of the foremost and one horse, those next to
him were glad to turn in order to effect their escape; but the
hindermost on the path refusing for a while to give way, many of their
friends fell a sacrifice to Charlie's wrath. He pursued them for a
space, and might have cut them off every man, had he been sure that all
was safe behind,--but he had rushed by some wounded men and wounded
horses, and knew not how matters stood with the friar.

As he dreaded, so it fell out. Two of the Englishmen who had fallen
perhaps under their horses, had scrambled up the bosky precipice, and,
as he returned, assailed him with large stones, a mode of attack against
which he was unable to make the least resistance. Therefore, it was at
the utmost peril of his life that he made his way back through the
encumbered path to his friend the friar. This latter worthy had found it
impossible to lend his friend any assistance. The beast that he bestrode
was fonder of rubbing shoulders with a living brute, than a mangled or
dead one; so he refused to come nearer the first that fell than about
twice his own length, where he stood firm, turning his tail to the scene
of battle, and looking back. Our two heroes now set off at full speed
after the rest of their party, whom they expected to overtake before
reaching the outposts of the beleaguering army.



CHAPTER XII.

    _Lord Duffus._--I saw the appearance of a mounted warrior.
              Whence did it come, or whither did it go?
              Or whom did it seek here?
                  Hush thee, my lord;
              The apparition spoke not, but passed on.
             'Tis something dreadful; and, I fear me much,
             Betokens evil to this fair array.

        _Trag. of the Prioress._


The rest of our cavalcade continued to advance at a quick pace, not
without anxiety. They were not afraid of their enemies coming behind
them, for they had strong faith in the prowess of their friend, as well
as his horse Corby. But when they came to the end of the narrow path,
called the Thief-gate, there were two roads, and they knew not which of
these to follow. As bad luck would have it, they took the most easterly,
which led towards Yetholm, and left the Scottish army to the westward.
In that path they continued to jog on, turning many a long look behind
them for the approach of Charlie; and, at one time, they thought they
got a view of him coming at a furious pace all alone; but the rider
being at a great space behind them, he was shortly hid from their view
in an intervening hollow, and it was long before they saw him any more.
They judged that the friar was taken or slain, and began to talk of his
loss in a very indifferent manner.

"Alas, how frigid and ungenial must be the hearts of you men in
Scotland," said Delany. "Now, of all the men I have met with since I was
brought from my own country, there is only one whose death I would more
regret than that of the worthy and kind friar. He may have his whims and
his peculiarities, but his manner is pleasing, and his speech has a
strain of grandeur which I love. Where did he acquire that speech?"

"He gets it frae some auld-fashioned beuk," said Tam, "that he has pored
on a' his days, an' translatit out o' other tongues, till he was nearly
hanged for it; and it's weel kend that he is now in hiding wi' our
warden for fear o' his life, and has been these half dozen o' years; and
though he pretends to be only a friar, he was aince a monk o' the first
order of St Benedict, and president of a grand college in France."

"I would like to converse with him," said Delany, "for I have always
thought that he feigned to be something a degree lower than he is."

"You said there was _but one_ you would lament the loss of more," said
the poet: "Pray, who may that _one_ be?"

"Could you not guess?" returned she.

"How can I?" said he; "but this I know, that to be the favoured one I
would dive into the depths of the ocean,--"

"It wad be for fear then," said Tam.

"Or traverse the regions of ice," continued the bard, "or wander
barefoot over burning sands, or--"

"O, alak for your poor feet!" said Delany, interrupting him; "but rest
satisfied you shall not be put to the test: it is not you."

With such kind of chat did they beguile the way, till Elias, looking
back, exclaimed, "Mercy! see what a guise Yardbire is coming in!"

"St Mary protect us!" said the maid; "he must be grievously wounded.
See how he rides!"

Every one turned round his horse and looked at the approaching warrior;
but it was wearing late, and they could not see with distinctness. The
horse was coming rapidly, and with apparent impatience, but Charlie
appeared as if he were riding in his sleep. When the horse came down
hill he bent forward, and on climbing an ascent he bent back, riding
with that sort of motion as if his back or neck were out of joint. The
whole group showed manifest signs of fear at the approach of such a
hideous apparition; and, quite in earnest, though in a pretended frolic,
they wheeled about again, and gallopped away. The ground being uneven,
and the night-fall coming on, they soon lost sight of him; and,
continuing their career as fast as the road would permit, they seemed
inclined to escape from their friend altogether. The maid had just begun
to remonstrate on their unfriendly procedure, when they beheld the same
unaccountable figure coming at the full gallop close behind them. Seeing
that he was determined to be of the party, they suffered him to
overtake them quietly. He came driving furiously up till he was in the
middle of them, and then paused. No one had the courage to speak to him,
for he looked not up, nor regarded any of them. His helmed head nodded
on his breast, and his arms hung loosely down by his side, the steel
armlets rattling on the cuishes. At one time his horse came so near to
that on which Delany rode, that she weened she saw the rider all covered
with blood, and screamed out; yet in the twilight she could not be
certain. The poet, who was never far from her side, and on whom her
voice always acted like electricity, immediately demanded the cause of
her alarm.

"O Carol!" said she, in an agitated whisper, "we are haunted. That is a
dead man that rides in our company."

If the maid was alarmed, the poet was ten times more so. If she had said
that a lion or a bear was in the company, it could not have struck such
a chillness to the poor bard's heart; and, after all, it was no wonder,
for there is something exceedingly appalling in the idea of having a
dead man riding in one's company. The poet felt this in its fullest
measure. He held in his horse and attempted a reply, but a dryness
pervaded his mouth so much that he could not make himself intelligible.
A damp had fallen on the whole party, and a breathless silence
prevailed. Tam put the question, so natural, to him as he passed,
"Charlie, is this you?"--but none answered or regarded. They were riding
up a slanting hill when the bard was first apprised of the nature of
their guest, and shortly after the figure coming between him and the
evening sky, its motions were altogether so hideous, that he roared out
in perfect terror as loud as he could bray, scarce letting one bellow
await another. This was still worse than the dumb appalling uncertainty
in which they were before involved; till at last Tam, losing all
patience, let loose his rage against the poet, calling him a bellowing
beast, and many other opprobrious names. This encouraging Gibbie, who
had the bard at no good will on account of the damsel, he said he
brought him "amind of a story that the fo'k o' Annandale tauld about
Andrew Jardine's bull, that was better at booing than breeding." The boy
Elias now coming in behind them, and having heard what Delany said,
cried softly, "Hush! yeomen! hush! we are haunted; it is a ghost that
rides in our company."

They all turned their eyes to the mysterious figure, which they still
thought resembled their champion Yardbire, as well as the horse did that
which he rode, the redoubted Corby. The horse had started a little
forward at the cries of the poet, but when the rest paused the figure
seemed to wheel his horse around, and made a dead pause also, standing
still with his face toward them, and straight on the path before. Not
one durst proceed. The figure neither moved nor threatened, but stood
nodding its head on the height at every motion of the steed; yet our
party were arrested on their way, nor knew they exactly in what place
they were: But from the length of the way they had come, they were sure
they were near the Scottish army on one side or other, and free from
any danger of the foes they had left behind them on the Border. None of
them were good guides in any case, and a man in fear is neither a fit
guide for himself nor others. Fear had the sway, and fear gave the word
of command without being disputed. The poet was the first to strike from
the beaten path, and it was at no easy pace that he rode. He turned
westward, and the rest all followed with main speed. Their progress was
soon interrupted by a strong cattle fence made of stakes and the
branches of trees interwoven, bespeaking the vicinity of some village,
or place of human habitation. They soon broke through the fence, but by
bad luck did not take time to make up the breach, which they left open,
and posting forward came to a large house amid a number of smaller ones.
The poet called for admittance in a moving and earnest stile, and at
once resolved to take no denial. Before ever he paused, he told them he
and his party had lost their way, and that they had seen a ghost.

"Then you must be some murderers," said the men of the house,--"and here
you remain not to-night."

"We belong to the warden of the marches, the brave baron of Mountcomyn,"
said the poet, "and go on an errand of great import to the army. In that
case we might demand what we only ask as a boon, namely, such lodging as
the house affords."

"You had better keep that part to yourself," said the men of the house:
"Though Sir Ringan is supreme in the middle marches, he is no favourite
here. Our master's name is Ker. He is with the Douglas, but may be home
to-night. Calm sough and kitchen fare, or ride on."

"It brings me in mind o' an auld proverb," said Gibbie, "that beggars
should nae be choisers; sae, honest lads, bring us a light, for our
horses are sair tired an' maun be weel put up."

The party, it will be remembered, consisted only of five, exclusive of
Charlie and the friar. They had draw up their horses close to the hall
door, and were still on horseback when the men turned into the house
for a light. The poet, whose eager eyes were still on the watch,
chancing to look at the heads of his associates between him and the sky,
thought he discovered one too many.

"Surely there are six of us,'said he in a hurried tremulous voice. "Six
of us!" said Tam, as doubting the statement.

"Six of us? No, surely?" said Delany.

At that instant a lad came out with a lanthorn, and held it up to look
at the party. The poet was nearest the door, and the light shone full on
him and the rider that was next him. He cast his eyes on that
rider,--but one glance was enough to bedim his eye-sight, if not to
scare away his reason. It had the appearance of a warrior sheathed in
steel, but all encrusted in a sheet of blood. His mouth was wide open,
and his jaws hanging down upon his breast, while his head seemed to be
cleft asunder. The poet uttered a loud yell of horror, and, flinging
himself from his horse on the side opposite to that on which the phantom
stood, he fell among the mud and stones at the door, yet ceased not to
reiterate his loud cries like one in distraction. Every one jumped from
his horse, and hurried in at the door; the man with the lanthorn also
fled, and with the noise and uproar the horses galloped off, saddled and
bridled as they were. As the guests ran into the hall, every one asked
at all the rest what it was? "What is it?" was all that could be heard;
all asking the question, but none answering it. Even the people of the
house joined in the query, and came all round the strangers, crying,
"What is it?--What is it?"--"I do not know--I do not know, Sir--I do not
know upon my word."

"The people are all delirious," said the housekeeper:"--Can no one tell
us what it was that affrighted you?--St Magdalene be with us! whom have
we here?"

This was no other than the poor bard coming toward the light, creeping
slowly on all-four, and still groaning as he came.

"Here's the chap that began the fray," said Tam, "you may speer at him.
He rather looks as he were at ane mae wi't. For my part, I just did as
the rest did,--ran an' cried as loud as I could. When a dust is fairly
begun, I think aye the mair stour that is raised the better. I'll try
wha will cry loudest again, an ye like,--or rin round the fire wi' ony
o' you, or out through the mids o't either, at a pinch."

Tam turned round his long nose to see if his jest had taken, for he
always fixed his eyes stedfastly on one object when he spoke; but he
found that his jargon had been ill-timed, for no one laughed at it but
himself. The rest were gathered round the bard; some pitying, but more
like to burst with laughter at his forlorn state. He fetched two or
three long-drawn moans, and then raising himself up on his knees, with
his eyes fixed on the light, he rolled over, and fainted.

Delany first stooped to support his head, and was soon assisted by every
female in the house, while the men only stood and looked on. By bathing
his hands and temples with cold water, they soon brought him out of his
faint, but not to his right senses. His looks continued wild and
unstable, and ever and anon they were turned to the door, as if he
expected some other guest to enter. A sober conference at last ensued;
and as no one had seen or heard any thing at this last encounter, save
the man that was taken ill, who a few moments before had been heard to
say _there were six of them_, all began to agree that he had been seized
with some sudden frenzy or delirium; till the lad, who had carried out
the light, thrust in his pale face among the rest, and said,--"Na, na,
my masters, it is nae for naething that the honest man's gane away in a
kink; for, when I held up the bouet, I saw a dead man riding on a horse
close at his side. He was berkened wi' blood off at the taes; and his
mouth was open, and I saw his tongue hinging out."

It may well be conceived what an icy chillness these words distilled
round the heart of every one present. The effect on our travellers was
particularly appalling, from the idea that they were haunted by a
phantom from which they could not escape. The whole group closed around
the fire, and the strangers recounted to the family the singular
occurrence of their having lost two of their number by the way, and
been pursued and overtaken by a phantom resembling one of them, and that
the hideous spectre was, as it seemed, haunting them still. As they all
agreed in the same story, it was not of a nature to be disregarded at a
period when superstition swayed the hearts of men with irresistible
power. The stoutest heart among them was daunted, and no one durst go
out to the vaults to look after his master's cattle, nor to take in our
travellers' horses, that were left to shift for themselves during the
long winter night.

The next morning, between day-light and the sun-rising, the men began to
peep abroad, and the first things they observed were some of the horses
of our travellers going about in a careless, easy manner. This they
looked on as a good omen, knowing that horses were terrified for
spirits; and the men joining in a body, they sallied out to reconnoitre.
The horses had fared well, for they had fed at the laird's stacks of hay
and corn all night; but as the men were going round to see how matters
stood, they perceived a phenomenon, that, if it had not been open
day-light, would have scared them from the habitation. This was the
identical phantom-warrior still sitting unmoved on his horse, that was
helping itself full liberally out of one of the laird's corn-ricks. The
eye of day expels the films of superstition from the human eye. The men,
after a short consultation, ventured to surround the phantom,--to seize
his horse,--(who had given full proof that he at least was flesh and
blood;)--and, after a good deal of trembling astonishment, they found
that he was actually rode by a dead warrior, whose head was cleft
asunder, and his whole body, both within and without the harness,
encrusted in blood.

The mystery was soon cleared up; but none then knew who he was. It had
become customary in that age for warriors, who went to engage others, on
horseback, to lock themselves to the saddle, for fear of being borne out
of their seats by the spears of their opponents in the encounter. This
was the individual trooper who had come foremost in the pursuit of our
party, he whom the friar jostled, and whom Charlie, encountering the
moment after, had slain; but his suit of armour having kept him nearly
upright in his saddle, his horse had run off with him, and followed
after those of our travellers, as every horse will do that is let go on
a high-way and gets his will.

Glad were our travellers at an eclaircissement so fairly within the
bounds of their comprehension; and when the poet saw the gash made in
the helmet, he shook his head, and exclaimed, "Ha! well I wot the mighty
hand of Charlie has been here!"

Gibbie remarked that he himself had "killed one very like him, only he
was sure his wad never mount horse again." But seeing Tam's ill-set eye
fixed on him, he was afraid of something coming out relating to that
encounter which he did not wish to hear blabbed; so he changed his tone,
and, looking wise, said, "The hale business brings me a-mind of a very
good story that happened aince at Allergrain; an' if it be nae true it
is behadden to the maker, for the sin o' the lie lyes nae at my door.
The story, you see, is this.--There was a man, an' he had a wife; an'
they had a son, an' they ca'ed him Jock--"

"Now, d--n your particularity!" said Tam Craik: "think you we have
nought else to do but stand beside the bloody man and listen to a
long-winded tale like that?"

The poet muttered over some old rhyme in unison with what he heard. If
one word spoken chanced to occur in any old rhyme or song that he knew,
he went over the sentence to himself, though it had no farther
connection with it, or resemblance to it, than merely that word. This
made his conversation altogether incomprehensible to those not
acquainted with him, but it was always delightful to himself; a chance
old rhyme brought to his remembrance, would have pleased him almost in
any circumstances, while his words chimed naturally into measure.

Leaving the dead warrior at the house where they lodged for the people
to bury as they liked, they proceeded to the army, in hopes of finding
Charlie and the friar there; for without them they did not know how to
accomplish their mission. These two heroes finding, on asking at a
hamlet, that their friends had not passed on the road to Roxburgh,
suspected what way they had gone, and turning to the south-east they
followed them on the track to Yetholm, but misled them at the house into
which they had been chased by the dead man, and rode searching for them
the greater part of the night. Next morning they again went in search of
them, and came up behind them at the convent of Maisondieu near to the
Teviot, where a detachment of the army was stationed; and, after
conversing two or three hours on the state of the army and garrison,
they proceeded on their journey, and reached the abbey of Melrose that
night. There they were welcomed by the brethren, and lodged comfortably.
There also they got many strange stories told to them about Master
Michael Scott, which made the very hairs of their heads stand on end,
and the hearts of the boldest to palpitate. When the friar heard them,
he seemed wrapt in deep thought; and he opened his mouth, and said: "If
the things that thou hast spoken be according to the light that is in
thee, and the truth that is told among men, then this man is not as
other men, for the spirit of the immortals is in him, and he communeth
with the prince of the power of the air. Nevertheless, I will go unto
him, and I will speak to him face to face, as a man speaketh to his
friend. Peradventure I shall tell him that which he knoweth not."

When it was told to the abbot Lawrence, that the servants of the warden
were come, and that they were accompanied by his chaplain and bedesman,
a learned man in all holy things, the father came to bestow upon them
his benediction,--for the baron of Mountcomyn had conferred many rich
benefices on the abbey. At the first sound of the friar's voice, the
abbot started, as if recollecting him; but on looking at the man his
hope seemed to die away. Every time, however, that he spoke in his
eastern style, the abbot fixed a look on him, as if he would fain have
claimed acquaintance, which the friar perceiving, urged their departure
with all the interest he had; and accordingly, about mid-day, they set
out for Aikwood-castle, the seat of the renowned magician Master Michael
Scott.

Ever since the stern encounter with the English moss-troopers on the
Thief-road, Charlie had attached himself close to the friar, imagining
that he saw his character in a new light, and that he was one who might
either be roused to desperate courage, or impressed with notorious
dread; and when he heard him say that he would speak to the enchanter
face to face, he admired him still the more; for the business of
addressing the Master was that which stuck sorest on the stomach of the
doughty Yardbire. As for the poet, he scarcely seemed himself all that
day. He looked at the mountains, and the wild romantic rivers branching
among them in every direction, with looks of which it was hard to say
whether they were looks of vacancy or affection, for he looked sometimes
as at objects which he was never to see again. His tongue muttered long
rhymes in which his heart had little share; so that Delany was obliged
to detach herself from his society, and make up to the friar, whom she
now addressed with much affection, and some degree of coquetry:--

"Dearest father, why have you neglected me so much on our journey? Ever
since our first stage was got over, you have not deigned to take any
notice of me. What have you seen in my conduct that you have thus
shunned me? It is in sincerity that I assure you there is no man in
whose conversation I so much delight."

"Fairest among maidens!" said the friar, putting his arm gently around
her neck, as her palfrey came close up by his side, "say not so, but
come near me, I will kiss thee with the kisses of my mouth, for thy love
is sweeter to me than the vintage. Behold thou art even like a tower of
alabaster shining from among the cedars of Lebanon. Thy bosom resembleth
two young roes that are twins, and feed among the lilies of the
valley."

"Hold, dear father!" said she, "and do not let your gallantry run away
with your good common sense. Yet would I love to hear that language
spoken to another, for though it be nonsense it is still beautiful. Tell
me, for I long to hear, where, or in what country, you learned to speak
in that stile."

"Daughter of my people," said he, "I have learned that language at home
and in a far country. In youth and in age hath it been my delight. At
noon-tide when the sun shone in his strength, and in the silent watches
of the night hath it been my meditation. In adversity hath it been my
comfort, and in prosperity my joy; so that now it hath become unto me as
my mother tongue, and other language have I none."

"Is it the language of the convent and the priory alone?" said the maid.

"No, thou rose of the desart," said the friar;--"it is not the language
indeed, but the stile of language over one half of the habitable world.
It is the language of all the kingdoms and countries of the east, from
India even unto Ethiopia; and all the way as thou goest down towards
the rising of the sun, yea from the river to the ends of the earth it
prevaileth. But, O thou fairest among the daughters of women! that
language did I not learn in the lands that are watered by the great
river, even the river Euphrates. In Ur of the Chaldees have I not
sojourned; nor on the mountains of Palestine have I lifted up my eyes.
But I learned it from one little book; a book that is of more value to
the children of men than all the gold of Ophir. O maiden, could I but
make known unto thee the treasures of that book, the majesty of its
stile, and the excellency of its precepts, it would make thine heart to
sing for joy. If all the writings of this world, yea, if the world
itself were to be laid in the balance with that book, they would be
found wanting. The mountains may depart, and the seas may pass away, the
stars, and the heavens in which they shine, may be removed, but the
words of that book shall remain for ever and ever! And this language
that I now speak to thee resembleth the words written therein; and I
speak them unto thee that thou mayest hear and love them."

"Dear friar, teach me to read and understand that book, for my breast
yearneth to know more about it. I am, it is true, not my own at present
to give, but I have some forebodings here that tell me I soon shall;
and, father, I will serve thee, and be thy handmaid, if thou wilt teach
me the words and the mysteries of that little book."

"Alas! and wo is me, for the ignorance of my people!" said he, with the
tears streaming over his grim cheek; "they are troubled about that which
availeth them nothing, while the way of life is hid from their eyes.
Their leaders have caused them to err; and I, even I, have been a
dweller in the tabernacles of sin! But the day-star hath shone upon my
soul and my spirit: For that have I been persecuted, and hunted as a
partridge upon the mountains, chased from the habitations of my
brethren, and forced to dwell among a strange and savage people. Yet
there are among them whom I love; and could I be the mean of opening
thine eyes, and turning thee from darkness unto light, then would I know
for what purpose the finger of heaven had pointed out my way to this
barren wilderness. Thou can'st not be a servant or a handmaiden unto one
who is little better than an outcast and a vagabond on the earth. But
better days may come to us both: I am not what I seem; but, maiden, thou
mayest trust me. My love for thee surpasseth the love of women, for it
is with more than an earthly love that I behold and delight in thee.
Come unto me this night, and I will tell thee things that shall make
thine ears tingle. The book of wonders is here with me, and thou mayest
look thereon and be glad."

The poet and his associates listened to this rhapsody apart.

"What book does he mean?" said the poet: "If it is not True Thomas's
book, or the book of Sir Gawin, he must be speaking absolute nonsense. I
could recite these to lovely Delany, word for word; and must this clumsy
old friar wile her from me by any better book than these?"

"You are clean mista'en, maister poeter," said Tam; "I ken mair about
auld Roger than you do, or than ony that's here. It is a book o' black
art that he carries about wi' him, and studies on it night and day. He
gat it at a place they ca' Oxford, where they study nought else but sic
cantrips. They hae tried to hang him, and they hae tried to cut off his
head, and they hae tried to burn him at the stake; but tow wadna hang,
water wadna drown, steel wadna nick, and a' the fire o' the land wadna
singe ae hair o' the auld loun's head."

"Gude forgie me!" said Charlie: "An that be true, Corby, you and I had
maybe mair pith than our ain yon time. I wondered that he rade sae
furiously on the drawn swords of men and armour, the auld warlock.
He-he-he! we'll aiblins try auld Michael at his ain weapons, an that be
the gate."

"Ye maunna lippen ower muckle to a' this," said he of the Peatstacknowe;
"else ye may play like Marion's Jock, when he gaed away to douk in
Commonside loch. 'It is a hard matter,' says Jock to himself, 'that a'
the lave o' Commonside's men can swatter and swim in the loch like sae
mony drakes but me. I am fain either to poutter about the side, or down
I gang. I can neither sink nor swim; for when I try to get to the bottom
to creep, there I stick like a woundit paddock, wagging my arms and my
legs, and can neither get to the top nor the bottom. Just half way,
there stick I. But I's be even hands wi' them an' mair, an' then I'll
laugh at the leishest o' them; for I'll stand, and wade, and gang ower
the waves afore them a', aye, and that wi' my head boonmost.' Jock,
after this grand contrivance, coudna rest, but off he sets to Hawick,
and gets four big blawn bladders; and the next day, when a' the lave
went to bathe, Jock he went to bathe amang the rest; and he gangs slyly
into a bush by himsel', and ties twa o' the bladders to every foot.
'Now,' thinks Jock, 'I'll let them see a trick.' Sae he slips into the
loch, and wades into the deep; but the bladders they aye gart him hobble
and bob up and down, till, faith, he loses the balance, and ower he
coups. Nane o' them kend o' Jock's great plan, and they were a' like to
burst their sides wi' laughing when they saw Jock diving. But when they
saw he wasna like to come up again, they swattered away to the place,
and there was Jock swimming wi' his head straight to the bottom, and his
feet and the four bladders walking a minuay aboon. Now, let me tell ye,
an ye lippen to the friar's warlockry, and his enchantments, and
divinations, ye trust to as mony bladders fu' o' wind, and down gae a'
your heads, and your heels uppermost. Na, na; nane maun try to cope wi'
auld Michael."

"I hae heard, indeed, that he coudna brook ony rivalry," said Charlie;
"and I hae heard waur instances, and waur stories too, than that o'
yours, laird. But let us draw slyly near to the twasome, and make lang
lugs, to try if we can learn ony mair about that same beuk. If the friar
hae ony power o' enchantment, it is my opinion the first glamour he'll
thraw will be ower that bonny wench."

"We ought to keep them asunder by force," said the poet; "it would be a
shame and a disgrace to us, if we were to let the auld rogue seduce
either her person or her morals."

"Morals?" said Charlie; "I dinna ken about them, for I watna weel what
they are; but as to seducing hersel', I think I could answer for auld
Roger the friar. I see there's nae man can help liking a bonny lass; but
the better a good man likes ane he'll be the mair sweer to do her ony
skaith."

"Aye; but then how can an enchanter be a good man?" said the poet.

"That's the thing that puzzles me," said Charlie: "Let us hear what they
are on about sae briskly now."

They then drew near, and heard the following words, while the remarks
that they made were said aside among themselves.

"My fate, you see, has been a strange one, father. I was separated from
my parents so young that I scarcely remember them. But the Scots have
been kind to me, and I have loved them. I have never been unhappy,
except when long confined to a place, which I dislike exceedingly; and
as I have hopes that this change will add somewhat to my freedom, I
rejoice in it, without weighing circumstances. If those fond hopes
should be realised, I promise to you, father, that the first use I will
make of my liberty, shall be to sit at your feet, and learn that
wonderful and mysterious book."

"Do you hear that?" said the poet with great emphasis, but in a half
whisper; "he has gotten her broken already to learn the book of the
black art. Then the deil's bargain and witchcraft comes next; then the
harassing of the whole country side, dancing in kirkyards, and riding on
the wind; and then, mayhap, the stake and the faggot end the matter that
is but just beginning. Alak, and wo is me! I say, in the king's name,
and in the warden's, let them be separated."

"Gude sauf us!" exclaimed Charlie. "There's nae man sure o' his life an
a' this be true! But a' fair play. Nae self amang us. Hist, and let us
hear what he is saying in answer."

"Daughter," said the friar, half crying with joy, "doth not my heart
yearn over thee, even as a mother yearneth over the child of her bosom?
Lo, I will be unto thee as a father, and thou shalt be unto me as a
daughter."

"Hear what the old rascal is saying!" said the poet.

"And behold the fruits of our labours shall spring up into life;"--

"Oh, this is past all sufferance!" said the poet.

--"For, O thou fair one, whose beauty is as the beauty of the morning,
and whose innocence surpasseth that of the kid, or the lamb, or the
young roe, when they are playing upon the mountains,"--

"Gude faith, Mr Carol," said Charlie aside, "it's that auld chap that's
the poet; an' no you."

"Humph! mere fustian!" said the poet.

The friar still went on:--

--"That beauty will decay, as the rose fadeth on the brows of Shinar
or Hermon; and that innocence shall be perverted by the sinful and
regardless people among whom thou sojournest, and shall become, as it
were, betrothed to sin and corruption; yea, and that eye, that shineth
like the dews of the morning, shall be darkened. But, O beloved maiden!
there is that in this little book, yea, I say unto thee, even in this
old, neglected, and despised book, that, unto those who learn it, shall
prove the savour of life unto life; and if thou dost learn and cherish
the things contained in this book thou shalt never die!"

"Ay, billy, that is a yanker!" said Tam aside: "When ane is gaun to tell
a lie, there's naething like telling a plumper at aince, and being done
wi't."

"Now, but hear to the deceitful old rogue," said the poet: "All the
books of black art in the world cannot accomplish that. In the name of
Saint Barnabas, I say let them be separated!"

"It wad be weel done," said Tam, "if ane durst;"--for he wanted to blow
up the poet's wrath, for the sake of a little sport.

"Durst!" said the poet, "durst!--If none other dare, I shall, in spite
of all his hellish arts. Durst! that is a good one,--to be dursted with
an old sackbut!"

They did not hear what answer Delany made to the extraordinary
information, as they took it, that, by learning the little black book,
she was to be redeemed from death; for the fierce jealousy of the
enamoured bard prevented them. But when they listened again so as to
hear distinctly, the friar was still increasing in fervency. All that he
said was in raptures of divine ecstacy; while his associates, who knew
nothing, and cared as little about these things, understood it in
another way.

"For I say unto thee, if thou wilt suffer me to instil these truths into
thee, thou shalt both blossom and bring forth fruit abundantly; yea,
thou shalt shine as the stars in the firmament of heaven. Seest thou yon
sun that walketh above the clouds in majesty and brightness? Beyond yon
sun shall thine habitation be fixed; and the blue arch that encircles
the regions of the air, which thou hast so often seen studded over with
diamonds, shall be unto thee a pavement whereon thou shalt tread. All
this and more shalt thou possess, if thou wilt learn and obey the
things that are written in this book, where it is said by one that
cannot err, 'Lo, I will be always with you, and my arms shall be
underneath and around you, and when you are faint and weary I will hide
you in my bosom.'"

"For the blood that is in your body dare to attempt such a thing!" cried
the enraged poet. "Down with hypocrisy and sensuality together! Hurray
for the combat, and God defend the right!"

So, crying as loud as he could yell, he pulled out his sword, and rode
furiously up between Delany and the friar, shoving the latter rudely as
he passed. The maiden's palfrey sprung away, but the friar's mule only
leaned with all his might to the poet's steed as he pressed against him
in passing; and feeling his prop give way, he leaned round in the same
direction, till his tail was exactly where his head was before; and
then, dreading some abhorred exertion, he set his feet asunder, and
stood immovable. The poet drew up, and wheeled about, and seeing still
the hinder parts of the friar and his beast, he cried, exultingly, "Ay,
you are more ready to seduce an innocent and lovely maiden, than to
answer for the crime! Vile lump of sin and hypocrisy! turn round and
meet me face to face, that I may chastise thee for thy graceless
attempt!"

The friar spurred most furiously, but the mule only dashed his head
downward and his heels in a contrary direction, and kept his position.
All the rest were like to burst with laughter, which still increasing
the bard's insolence, he fumed about enchantments and the black art, and
dared the friar to turn and look him in the face.

What with one provocation, what with another, the friar's angry passions
were roused; and, not being able to make his mule turn round, he drew
out his sword, saying at the same time in a voice of great vehemence,
"God do so to me and more also, if I make not--"

He got no farther with his speech, for the mule interrupted him.
Obstinate as the brute was, the sight of the sword, and the sound of his
master's angry voice operated on him like magic. Perhaps he understood
that all further opposition was vain,--for in one moment he wheeled
around, his eyes gleaming with rage; and pricking up his ears to see
where the storm of his and his master's wrath was to alight, he
perceived the poet on his tall steed, brandishing his dazzling sword,
and forthwith darted at them with the swiftness of an arrow, and a fury
not to be checked. There were no more words nor threatenings passed
between the enraged combatants; for more space of time there was none
before the mule had his shoulder to that of the poet's steed, his teeth
fixed in his flank, and was pushing with the fury of an enraged bull.

On the closing of the two steeds the riders likewise engaged, the poet
coming on with a downward stroke, which the friar received with great
indifference on his sword crossed above his cowl. But knowing well the
nature of his beast, he kept up the poet's sword and arm both, until the
sides of the two animals were jammed together, as the rider of the
mule well knew they would be. By that time the poet's arm was pressed
up straight by his ear, and his sword pointed to heaven; and in
endeavouring to free his elbow from the hilt of the friar's sword, he
lost his balance. At the same instant their feet encountering in the
stirrups, and the friar's being below that of his opponent, he gave him
such a ketch with his right foot and sword-arm together, that he made
him fly from his horse to a great distance, in a sort of arching
direction; and the unfortunate poet, falling on his shoulder and head,
was wofully bruised, and utterly discomfited.

But the combat ended not here. The mule still struggled with his
adversary, which not only kept his ground, but rather began to force the
mule to give way. But the inveterate mongrel was not to be vanquished in
that way. He pressed, struggled, and wrought himself round, till he got
his tail to the horse's shoulder, and then he attacked him furiously
with his iron-heels. The horse being a horse of spirit, and scorning to
yield to his long-eared adversary, applied the same offensive weapons
with very little ceremony, wincing and screaming all the while, and
sometimes making his feet to fly as high as the friar's elbows. The mule
fought with desperate energy, but in profound silence. Not so the rider;
he spurred, struck with his sword, and cried with a loud voice, "Soh!
tproo! thou beast of the pit! sure the spirit of the evil one is in
thee! Lo, I shall be beaten to pieces, for the heels of the horses are
lifted up against me. By the life of Pharaoh, I will smite thee until
thy blood shall be poured out like water,--thou perverse and abominable
beast! I say unto thee go forward!"

The voice of the friar, during this passionate declamation, had arisen
gradually until the last sentence, which was pronounced in his utmost
stile of vehemence. The mule heard this, and saw the uplifted sword; and
not awaiting its descent, he sprang forward with main force, but no man
will guess the issue.

It may well be conceived, that during this desperate combat between the
horse and mule, the onlookers were convulsed with laughter. Charlie
Scott, in particular, laughed with a "Ha-ha-ha!" so loud that he made
all the woods around to ring, and at every breath exclaimed, "Gude
faith, I never saw ought half so grand! Na, never!" Gibbie was advanced
a little before the rest, so as to be near the scene of action, which,
without doubt, was bringing him in mind of some excellent story, for his
mouth was formed like a seam from the one ear to the other. But it is
dangerous putting one's self too forward in life, and that the poor
laird of the Peatstacknowe soon found. It is well known that between
parties so closely connected as the horse and his rider, passion begets
passion. The mule, driven altogether furious by the broil, and the rage
and spurs of his master, either wished to rub himself rid of him, or
deemed that it was to be a battle general; for he no sooner rushed from
one fray than he flew to another, quite open-mouthed on Gibbie, and,
seizing him by the thigh, he separated one limb of his buffskin breeches
and a mouthful of the laird's own skin from their places, in one moment,
and the next had his teeth fixed in the flank of the laird's horse.
Gibbie cried out against the friar, irritated by pain, as well as the
awkward and dangerous situation in which he was thus momently placed.
His horse flung--the mule returned the compliment with hearty good will,
and glad was Gibbie to escape, which he did with great celerity as soon
as he got leisure to use the spurs. The mule ran straight at the next
horse, and then at the next again, but all of them scampered off at his
approach, and left him master of the field; on which he turned two or
three times sullenly round, throwing himself up behind and down before.
The friar's wrath was somewhat diverted by the shouts of laughter from
his scattered compeers, and he only smiled grimly as he said to his
contumacious beast,--"Thou art even a perverse and an evil one;
nevertheless thou hast been to me a beast for these many years, and hast
borne me in distant pilgrimages, through many perils and dangers; and I
will not act the part of the son of Bosor: peradventure thou mayest
amend thy ways and do some credit to old age."

The laird in his escape gallopped by the forlorn poet; who, raising up
his head, and perceiving the plight of the dismayed and unoffensive
wight, scouring off with the one thigh naked and bleeding, burst out
into a hysteric giggle between laughing and crying, and repeated some
scraps of old rhyme no way connected with the incident. The attention of
the party was now turned to him, and the friar's as much as any, who
enquired with great simplicity, "My brother, why was thine arm lifted up
against me?"

The bard was dreadfully abashed, and out of countenance; and he only
answered in rhymes, of which none of them could make any thing:

    "His arm was strong, and his heart was stout,
    And he broke the tower and he got out;
    Then the king he was an angry man,
      And an angry man was he,
    And he said, "Go, lock him in prison strong,
      And hunger him till he dee.

"That was a hard weird, was it not? Ha-ha! there be many such; for

    "He had his wale of seven sisters,
      Of lith, and lire, and limb so fair;
    But the loathly dame of the Hazelrig,
      She ruined his peace for evermair."

"Lo, my son," answered the friar, "thy thoughts are wandering in a
wilderness. I only ask thee wherein I have offended thee. For as mine
hand is, so is mine heart; and, as my soul liveth, I know not in what
respect I have done thee wrong."

    "I have not done thee wrong, fair May,
      I have not done thee wrong,
    But the cup of death has passed my lips,
      And my life will not be long.

"No, no; dame Delany, you need not bathe my temples. I am not raving. I
am not even hurt. The mischievous beast made my horse throw me, but I am
nothing the worse."

The friar, not being able to make any thing of the poet himself, applied
to the rest, and was soon informed by Tam, that "he was overheard trying
to gar the lassie learn the black art, and courting her to nae good; and
the poet grew jealous, and was for being revenged."

The friar uttered a loud groan for the ignorance of his associates; but,
hopeless of making any thing of them at such a period, he only began to
moralise in a general manner. The poet was again gotten to mount; and
shortly after they reached the ancient town of Selkirk, where they
halted and refreshed themselves at the monastery of the Cistertians.
There the laird got his wound dressed, and his dilapidated robes
refitted; and that same evening the party reached the castle of Aikwood,
the residence of the celebrated wizard Master Michael Scott.

END OF VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's Notes


This text is a reproduction of the 1822 edition. It includes many
dialect and archaic words and spellings, as well as many typographical
errors which have not been changed.

On p. 324, the last three letters and comma in "says Jock to himself,"
are not clearly printed and are conjectural.

On p. 328, the comma in "the king's name, and in" is unclear.

The spellings "M'Alpin" and "MacAlpin" are both used.

The spellings "Gibby" and "Gibbie" are both used.

The spellings "lor'" and "lor" are both used.

Consonants are inconsistently doubled in words such as "galloped" or
"galloped".


The text includes many examples of inconsistent hyphenation. The
following are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as two words:

a-going

a-mind

auld-warld

bow-shot

castle-green

half-moon

safe-conduct

to-morrow

to-night

cheek-bone


The following are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as one word:

moss-trooper (or moss-man)

Yard-bire

high-way

sweet-meats


The following are inconsistently printed as one or two words:

d'ye

meantime


The text contains the following apparent errors:

p. 10 mis-spelling "proving succesful"

p. 36 mis-spelling "glistening with raprures"

p. 38 duplicate word in "at at the same time"

p. 61 missing quotation mark in "ye hae some southron spies"

p. 68 extra quotation mark in "less beard.""

p. 69 missing quotation mark in "earldom on that head,"

p. 90 duplicate word in "written a a letter"

p. 98 missing quotation mark in "content, said Colin:"

p. 104 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Charlie," Thanks t' ye,"

p. 115 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Douglas;" and,"

p. 141 missing quotation mark in "and I submit to my fate"

p. 168 mis-spelling "Qnhat"

p. 172 missing apostrophe "I dont like such"

p. 178 Missing first quotation mark in "MARGARET.""

p. 178 Duplicate word in "I'll have have her nose cut off"

p. 190 mis-spelling "most incongrous thing"

p. 200 missing quotation mark in "--it is not with you"

p. 210 missing space in "arrived in the campin"

p. 215 mis-spelling "shunning his profered"

p. 220 mis-spelling "returned the Douglas, noding"

p. 227 comma in place of full stop in "which they stood, This"

p. 233 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Longspeare," that"

p. 249 missing quotation mark in "lay than I did.""

p. 254 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Tam Craik;""

p. 261 mis-spelling "this peace of intelligence"

p. 274 mis-spelling "_ang froid_"

p. 275 missing quotation mark in "but the horses of our enemies"

p. 305 colon in place of full stop in "place they were: But from"

p. 308 single, wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "there are six of
          us,'said"

p. 309 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "housekeeper:"--Can no"

p. 339 missing quotation mark in "hunger him till he dee."





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