And now the adventures of the far-famed Saint Andrew of Scotland claim
our attention, after he quitted the brazen pillar, followed by his
faithful Squire, Murdoch McAlpine of that ilk. On he travelled
eastward, in the face of the rays of the glittering sun, which sparkled
on his shield and casque with dazzling brightness, and so astonished all
beholders that they fled dismayed before him, till he crossed the wild
territories of Russia, and entered the wilder deserts of Siberia. Then,
turning north, he found himself in a region where, for many weary
months, the sun never rose, and he and the faithful Murdoch had to
discover their way by poking before them with their spears, every moment
expecting to meet with some huge monster with whom they might be called
to combat. Nor did they expect in vain, for suddenly a loud growl
assailed their ears, and the moon, just then rising, exhibited to them a
whole army of bears, prepared to dispute their onward progress.
"Draw your broad-sword, mon, and follow me," cried Saint Andrew, shaking
his spear.
The Squire, tucking up his plaid carefully, that it might not be torn or
soiled, with loud shouts obeyed, and soon both were dashing and slashing
away among the infuriated brutes. The heads of numbers rolled upon the
snow, which for miles round was ensanguined with their blood.
"Few creatures are more difficult to get rid of than bears," observed
the Knight, charging again. "On, Murdoch, on, we'll do it if it is to
be done, for what men dare they can do!"
Thus shouting and slaying, the Knight and his Squire fought on for many
hours, till the survivors of the bears, discovering that they were
likely to get the worst of it in the end, took to flight, and stopped
not till they reached the North Pole, where they stopped only because
they could go no further, and where Saint Andrew agreed that it was not
worth while following them.
His next encounter was with a nation of people with heads like foxes,
from whose cunning arts and guiles he had the greatest difficulty in
escaping. Although conquered by the power of his arms, they still
appeared with fresh tricks to entrap him. When, at length, he had
fought his way out from among them, he found himself in a dismal vale,
the air still dark as Erebus, where he heard the blowing of unseen
furnaces, the boiling of cauldrons, the rattling or armour, the
trampling of horses, the jingling of chains, the roaring of wild beasts,
the hissing of serpents, and the cries of unearthly spirits, and such
like dreadful sounds, which would have made any other hearts than those
of Saint Andrew of Scotland, and of his faithful squire, Murdoch
McAlpine of that ilk, quake and tremble with fear; but passing calmly
amid them, and undergoing hardships incredible, under which knights and
squires, born in more southern climes, would have sunk exhausted, they
arrived in the kingdom of Georgia, nor rested till they reached the foot
of the mountain on which stood the castle within whose iron walls the
six fair daughters of the King were still held in durance, in the shape
of swans, with golden crowns upon their heads.
When the valiant Champion of Scotland beheld the lofty situation of the
castle, and the invincible strength it seemed to be of, he suspected
some strange adventure to befall him; so, buckling close his armour,
which, on account of the heat he had loosened, and drawing his sword, he
climbed the mountain, when he espied, on a craggy rock, the headless
body of the Giant, on which the ravens and other birds of prey were
feeding. Then he approached the castle gate, when, what was his
astonishment to see a long procession of mourners come forth, with the
King of Georgia at their head; and, on inquiry, was told that the old
man mourned for his six daughters, whom he could by no means get changed
back into their natural shapes.
Saint Andrew, on hearing this strange tale, expressed his firm belief,
in language somewhat strong, that such things could not be.
Whereon the King and all his courtiers were highly indignant, and
numberless knights stepped forth, and challenged the stranger to mortal
combat. The lists were quickly prepared. Then the valiant Champion of
Christendom entered the arena, when the King, in company with many
Georgian lords, was present to behold the contest. Thrice had Saint
Andrew traced his war-steed up and down the lists, flourishing his
lance, at the top whereof hung a pendant of gold, on which, in silver
letters, was traced, "This day a martyr or a conqueror!" Whereon there
entered a knight in exceeding bright armour, mounted on a courser as
white as snow, whose caparison was the colour of the elements.
A fierce encounter followed; but the Georgian was defeated, and retired
in disgrace from the lists.
Then entered a knight in green armour, his steed an iron grey. Loud
rang their spears against their shields, fierce clashed their swords,
and clanged their battle-axes, till the Georgian warrior fairly took to
flight.
The third knight who entered wore a black corselet, and his huge
war-horse was covered with a veil of sable silk. In his hand he bore a
baton of mighty weight, and bound round with iron; but no sooner did the
champions meet than their lances shivered in pieces from the furious
shock, and flew high up into the air, when, alighting from their steeds,
they resumed the combat with their keen-edged falchions, the sparks
flying from their helmets as from a blacksmith's anvil.
The faithful Murdoch meantime looked on with anxious gaze, when he was
accosted by a little old woman of mean aspect, who had in vain tried to
obtain information from the other bystanders.
"Why is it you want to know, Mother?" he asked, careful not to give a
hurried answer, though he bowed politely.
The old woman, who was in reality a good fairy, replied, "Because I have
come here to do some good; but while a scene of mortal strife is taking
place I cannot employ my power."
Then Murdoch told her all he knew about the matter; whereon she advised
him to hurry to his master when the present combat should be over, and
to bid him declare his belief that the account was true, and to offer to
bring the Princesses forth in their proper shapes.
Meantime the combat between the Scottish Champion and the Black Knight
continued with unabated fury. Any advantage gained by one was foiled by
the other, till at length Saint Andrew, uttering his battle-cry, struck
so mighty a blow with his battle-axe, that he clave the Georgian's
burgonet, and his head beneath, from his crown to his shoulders, and his
body fell lifeless on the ground.
This so enraged the King that he would have ordered the Scottish Knight
to have been slain, when Murdoch rushed forward and gave the fairy's
message.
The Champion spoke as she had directed, when the King, who was of a
placable disposition, though somewhat hasty, consented to his request.
"Swear, most noble King, upon my sword, that you will not attempt any
foul treachery to me or my follower, on account of the Champion I have
slain, until I have accomplished the task I have now undertaken."
On this the old King, descending from his throne, bent over the gallant
Saint Andrew's sword, and swore as he desired.
The Knight entered the castle, and repaired to the garden, when, instead
of finding an ugly old woman, he beheld a lady of radiant beauty, for
such was indeed the Fairy.
"You see yonder six swans," said she; "as they approach strike boldly
with your sword six strokes, nor fear the consequences."
The Knight stood by the side of the crystal lake, and as he stood, his
glittering falchion in his hand, the six swans swam gracefully up. Six
times he struck, and each time the head of one of the swans flew up; but
in its stead appeared, wonderful to relate, a beautiful maiden, whom the
Knight handed with true courtesy off her liquid pedestal on to dry land.
Thus, in a few minutes, the Champion was surrounded by six of the most
lovely damsels the world ever saw, habited in green hunting-suits, each
almost equal to Diana herself, going forth armed for the chase.
"You have done well, noble Champion," said the Fairy. "You did not
despise me, or my words, when I appeared old and ugly, and from
henceforth you will find me ever ready to aid and protect you, as you
travel on in search of those heroic adventures after which your heart
pants. I bid you farewell; though, remember, that I will come when you
summon me;" saying this the Fairy mounted a golden chariot drawn by
peacocks, and, rapidly gliding through the air, disappeared amid the
clouds which floated round the sides of that lofty mountain. Scarcely
had she gone, and the six ladies were pouring forth their thanks to the
noble Knight who had delivered them from their cruel bondage, when the
King of Georgia, followed by all his knights and courtiers, entered the
garden of the castle to ascertain what had become of the strange Knight.
Nothing could exceed his astonishment, and delight, and gratitude, when
Saint Andrew presented to him his six daughters in their proper forms.
"You deserve them all," exclaimed the Monarch, in the warmth of his
emotion. To which the Scottish Knight, with true modesty, replied, that
he considered one far more than he deserved, and that as yet he felt
inclined to remain a bachelor.
The next day, after a sumptuous banquet which the King's cooks prepared
in the Giant's castle, the whole party marched back to the palace of the
Georgian Monarch with banners streaming, cymbals clashing, and drums and
trumpets sounding joyful melody. When, however, sad to relate, the King
inquired for his eldest daughter, he found that she had fled away with
the Champion of Italy.
This event, so grievous to the heart of the King, made him defer all the
triumphant arrangements which were forming to do honour to the Scottish
Knight and to his six fair daughters.
When, also, Saint Andrew heard that one of his noble comrades was so
near at hand, calling Murdoch to his side, he bade him prepare for their
departure. Wishing to avoid the pain of parting with the six
Princesses, and, lest their honoured sire might renew his generous
offer, Saint Andrew, without bidding farewell to the King of Georgia, or
to his chief councillors and ministers of state, and other great lords
of the realm, set off from the capital in pursuit of Saint Anthony of
Italy and the fair Rosalinde.
The next day, when the six Princesses heard of the departure of the
Knight they so much admired, providing themselves with sufficient
treasure and habiliments suited for travelling, they left by stealth
their father's palace, mounted on six white palfreys, and attended by
six maidens on asses, intending to find out the victorious and renowned
Champion of Scotland, or to end their lives in single blessedness in
some pious retirement in a foreign land.
No sooner did the news of his daughters' flight reach the King of
Georgia, than attiring himself in homely russet, like a pilgrim, with an
ebony staff in his hand, tipped with silver, he took his departure, all
alone, from his palace, resolved to recover his beloved children, or to
lay his bones to rest in some unknown spot, where, forgotten, he might
rest at peace.
When his councillors, ministers of state, and other great lords heard of
his sudden and secret departure, grief intolerable struck their hearts,
the palace gates were covered with sable cloth, all pleasures were at an
end, and ladies and courtly dames sat sighing in their chambers; where,
for the present, we will leave them to speak of other themes.