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.