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.