_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."