Beware! beware! of the black Friar,
He still retains his sway,
For he is yet the Church's heir by right,
Whoever may be the lay.
Amundeville is lord by day,
But the monk is lord by night,
Nor wine nor wassel could raise a vassal
To question that friar's right.
Don Juan, CANTO XVII.
The minstrel made no vain boast of the skill which he possessed in the
use of pen and ink. In fact, no priest of the time could have produced
his little scroll more speedily, more neatly composed, or more fairly
written, than were the lines addressed "To the youth called Augustine,
son of Bertram the Minstrel."
"I have not folded this letter," said he, "nor tied it with silk, for
it is not expressed so as to explain the mystery to you; nor, to speak
frankly, do I think that it can convey to you any intelligence; but it
may be satisfactory to show you what the letter does not contain, and
that it is written from and to a person, who both mean kindly towards
you and your garrison."
"That," said the governor, "is a deception which is easily practised;
it tends, however, to show, though not with certainty, that you are
disposed to act upon good faith; and until the contrary appear, I shall
consider it a point of duty to treat you with as much gentleness as the
matter admits of. Meantime, I will myself ride to the Abbey of Saint
Bride, and in person examine the young prisoner; and as you say he has
the power, so I pray to Heaven he may have the will, to read this
riddle, which seems to throw us all into confusion." So saying, he
ordered his horse, and while it was getting ready, he perused with
great composure the minstrel's letter. Its contents ran thus:--
"DEAR AUGUSTINE,
"Sir John de Walton, the governor of this castle, has conceived those
suspicions which I pointed out as likely to be the consequence of our
coming to this country without an avowed errand. I at least am seized,
and threatened with examination under torture, to force me to tell the
purpose of our journey; but they shall tear the flesh from my bones,
ere they force me to break the oath which I have taken. And the purport
of this letter is to apprize you of the danger in which you stand of
being placed in similar circumstances, unless you are disposed to
authorize me to make the discovery to this knight; but on this subject
you are only to express your own wishes, being assured they shall be in
every respect attended to by your devoted
"BERTRAM."
This letter did not throw the smallest light upon the mystery of the
writer. The governor read it more than once, and turned it repeatedly
in his hand, as if he had hoped by that mechanical process to draw
something from the missive, which at a first view the words did not
express; but as no result of this sort appeared, De Walton retired to
the hall, where he informed Sir Aymer de Valence, that he was going
abroad as far as the Abbey of Saint Bride, and that he would be obliged
by his taking upon him the duties of governor during his absence. Sir
Aymer, of course, intimated his acquiescence in the charge; and the
state of disunion in which they stood to each other, permitted no
further explanation.
Upon the arrival of Sir John de Walton at the dilapidated shrine, the
abbot, with trembling haste, made it his business immediately to attend
the commander of the English garrison, upon whom for the present, their
house depended for every indulgence they experienced, as well as for
the subsistence and protection necessary to them in so perilous a
period. Having interrogated this old man respecting the youth residing
in the Abbey, De Walton was informed that he had been indisposed since
left there by his father, Bertram, a minstrel. It appeared to the
abbot, that his indisposition might be of that contagious kind which,
at that period, ravaged the English Borders, and made some incursions
into Scotland, where it afterwards worked a fearful progress. After
some farther conversation, Sir John de Walton put into the abbot's hand
the letter to the young person under his roof, on delivering which to
Augustine, the reverend father was charged with a message to the
English governor, so bold, that he was afraid to be the bearer of it.
It signified, that the youth could not, and would not, at that moment,
receive the English knight; but that, if he came back on the morrow
after mass, it was probable he might learn something of what was
requested.
"This is not an answer," said Sir John de Walton, "to be sent by a boy
like this to a person in my charge; and me thinks, Father Abbot, you
consult your own safety but slenderly in delivering such an insolent
message."
The abbot trembled under the folds of his large coarse habit; and De
Walton, imagining that his discomposure was the consequence of guilty
fear, called upon him to remember the duties which he owed to England,
the benefits which he had received from himself, and the probable
consequence of taking part in a pert boy's insolent defiance of the
power of the governor of the province.
The abbot vindicated himself from these charges with the utmost
anxiety. He pledged his sacred word, that the inconsiderate character
of the boy's message was owing to the waywardness arising from
indisposition. He reminded the governor that, as a Christian and an
Englishman, he had duties to observe towards the community of Saint
Bride, which had never given the English government the least subject
of complaint. As he spoke, the churchman seemed to gather courage from
the immunities of his order. He said he could not permit a sick boy who
had taken refuge within the sanctuary of the Church, to be seized or
subjected to any species of force, unless he was accused of a specific
crime, capable of being immediately proved. The Douglasses, a
headstrong race, had, in former days, uniformly respected the sanctuary
of Saint Bride, and it was not to be supposed that the king of England,
the dutiful and obedient child of the Church of Rome, would act with
less veneration for her rights, than the followers of a usurper,
homicide, and excommunicated person like Robert Bruce.
Walton was considerably shaken with this remonstrance. He knew that, in
the circumstances of the times, the Pope had great power in every
controversy in which it was his pleasure to interfere. He knew that
even in the dispute respecting the supremacy of Scotland, his Holiness
had set up a claim to the kingdom which, in the temper of the times,
might perhaps have been deemed superior both to that of Robert Bruce,
and that of Edward of England, and he conceived his monarch would give
him little thanks for any fresh embroilment which might take place with
the Church. Moreover, It was easy to place a watch, so as to prevent
Augustine from escaping during the night; and on the following morning
he would be still as effectually in the power of the English governor
as if he were seized on by open force at the present moment. Sir John
de Walton, however, so far exerted his authority over the abbot, that
he engaged, in consideration of the sanctuary being respected for this
space of time, that, when it expired, he would be aiding and assisting
with his spiritual authority to surrender the youth, should he not
allege a sufficient reason to the contrary. This arrangement, which
appeared still to flatter the governor with the prospect of an easy
termination of this troublesome dispute, induced him to grant the delay
which Augustine rather demanded than petitioned for.
"At your request, Father Abbot, whom I have hitherto found a true man,
I will indulge this youth with the grace he asks, before taking him
into custody, understanding that he shall not be permitted to leave
this place; and thou art to be responsible to this effect, giving thee,
as is reasonable, power to command our little, garrison at Hazelside,
to which I will send a reinforcement on my return to the Castle, in
case it should be necessary to use the strong hand, or circumstances
impose upon me other measures."
"Worthy Sir Knight," replied the Abbot, "I have no idea that the
frowardness of this youth will render any course necessary, saving that
of persuasion; and I venture to say, that you yourself will in the
highest degree approve of the method in which I shall acquit myself of
my present trust."
The abbot went through the duties of hospitality, enumerating what
simple cheer the cloister of the convent permitted him to offer to the
English knight. Sir John de Walton declined the offer of refreshment,
however--took a courteous leave of the churchman, and did not spare his
horse until the noble animal had brought him again before the Castle of
Douglas. Sir Aymer De Valence met him on the drawbridge, and reported
the state of the garrison to be the same in winch he had left it,
excepting that intimation had been received that twelve or fifteen men
were expected on their way to the town of Lanark; and being on march
from the neighbourhood of Ayr, would that night take up their quarters
at the outpost of Hazelside.
"I am glad of it," replied the governor; "I was about to strengthen
that detachment. This stripling, the son of Bertram the minstrel, or
whoever he is, has engaged to deliver himself up for examination in the
morning. As this party of soldiers are followers of your uncle, Lord
Pembroke, may I request you will ride to meet them, and command them to
remain at Hazelside until you make farther enquiries about this youth,
who has still to clear up the mystery which hangs about him, and reply
to a letter which I delivered with my own hand to the Abbot of Saint
Bride. I have shown too much forbearance in this matter, and I trust to
your looking to the security of this young man, and conveying him
hither, with all due care and attention, as being a prisoner of some
importance."
"Certainly, Sir John," answered Sir Aymer; "your orders shall be
obeyed, since you have none of greater importance for one who hath the
honour to be second only to yourself in this place."
"I crave your mercy, Sir Aymer," returned the governor, "if the
commission be in any degree beneath your dignity; but it is our
misfortune to misunderstand each other, when we endeavour to be most
intelligible."
"But what am I to do," said Sir Aymer--"no way disputing your command,
but only asking for information--what am I to do, if the Abbot of Saint
Bride offers opposition?"
"How!" answered Sir John de Walton; "with the reinforcement from. my
Lord of Pembroke, you will command at least twenty war-men, with bow
and spear, against five or six timid old monks, with only gown and,
hood."
"True," said Sir Aymer, "but ban and excommunication are sometimes; In
the present day, too hard for the mail coat, and I would not willingly
be thrown out of the pale of the Christian Church."
"Well, then, thou very suspicious and scrupulous young man," replied De
Walton, "know that if this youth does not deliver himself up to thee of
his own accord, the abbot has promised to put him into thy hands."
There was no farther answer to be made, and De Valence, though still
thinking himself unnecessarily harassed with the charge of a petty
commission, took the sort of half arms which were always used when the
knights stirred, beyond the walls of the garrison, and proceeded to
execute the commands of De Walton. A horseman or two, together with his
squire Fabian, accompanied him.
The evening closed in with one of those Scottish mists which are
commonly said to be equal to the showers of happier climates; the path
became more and more dark, the hills more wreathed in vapours, and more
difficult to traverse; and all the little petty inconveniences which
rendered travelling through the district slow and uncertain, were
augmented by the density of the fog which overhung every thing.
Sir Aymer, therefore, occasionally mended his pace, and often incurred
the fate of one who is over-late, delaying himself by his efforts to
make greater expedition. The knight bethought himself that he would get
into a straight road by passing through the almost deserted town of
Douglas--the inhabitants of which had been treated so severely by the
English, in the course of those fierce troubles, that most of them who
were capable of bearing arms had left it, and withdrawn themselves to
different parts of the country. This almost deserted place was defended
by a rude palisade, and a ruder drawbridge, which gave entrance into
streets so narrow, as to admit with difficulty three horses abreast,
and evincing with what strictness the ancient lords of the village
adhered to their prejudice against fortifications, and their opinion in
favour of keeping the field, so quaintly expressed in the well-known
proverb of the family,--"It is better to hear the lark sing than the
mouse cheep." The streets, or rather the lanes, were dark, but for a
shifting gleam of moonlight, which, as that planet began to rise, was
now and then visible upon some steep and narrow gable. No sound of
domestic industry, or domestic festivity, was heard, and no ray of
candle or firelight glanced from the windows of the houses; the ancient
ordinance called the curfew, which the Conqueror had introduced into
England, was at this time in full force in such parts of Scotland as
were thought doubtful, and likely to rebel; under which description it
need not be said the ancient possessions of the Douglas were most
especially regarded. The Church, whose Gothic monuments were of a
magnificent character, had been, as far as possible, destroyed by fire;
but the ruins, held together by the weight of the massive stones of
which they were composed, still sufficiently evinced the greatness of
the family at whose cost it had been raised, and whose bones, from
immemorial time, had been entombed in its crypts.
Paying little attention to these relics of departed splendour, Sir
Aymer de Valence advanced with his small detachment, and had passed the
scattered fragments of the cemetery of the Douglasses, when to his
surprise, the noise of his horse's feet was seemingly replied to by
sounds which rung like those of another knightly steed advancing
heavily up the street, as if it were to meet him. Valence was unable to
conjecture what might be the cause of these warlike sounds; the ring
and the clang of armour was distinct, and the heavy tramp of a
war-horse was not to be mistaken by the ear of a warrior. The
difficulty of keeping soldiers from straying out of quarters by night,
would have sufficiently accounted for the appearance of a straggling
foot-soldier; but it was more difficult to account for a mounted
horseman, in full armour; and such was the apparition which a
peculiarly bright glimpse of moonlight now showed at the bottom of the
causewayed hill. Perhaps the unknown warrior obtained at the same time
a glance of Aymer de Valence and his armed followers--at least each of
them shouted "Who goes there?"--the alarm of the times; and on the
instant the deep answers of "St. George!" on the one side, and "The
Douglas!" on the other, awakened the still echoes of the small and
ruinous street, and the silent arches of the dilapidated church.
Astonished at a war-cry with which so many recollections were
connected, the English knight spurred his horse at full gallop down the
steep and broken descent leading out at the south or south-east gate of
the town; and it was the work of an instant to call out, "Ho! Saint
George! upon the insolent villain all of you!--To the gate, Fabian, and
cut him off from flight! --Saint George! I say, for England! Bows and
bills!--bows and bills!" At the same time Aymer de Valence laid in rest
his own long lance, which he snatched from the squire by whom it was
carried. But the light was seen and gone in an instant, and though De
Valence concluded that the hostile warrior had hardly room to avoid his
career, yet he could take no aim for the encounter, unless by mere
guess, and continued to plunge down the dark declivity, among shattered
stones and other encumbrances, without groping out with his lance the
object of his pursuit. He rode, in short, at a broken gallop, a descent
of about fifty or sixty yards, without having any reason to suppose
that he had met the figure which had appeared to him, although the
narrowness of the street scarcely admitted his having passed him,
unless both horse and horseman could have melted at the moment of
encounter like an air-bubble. The riders of his suite, meanwhile, were
struck with a feeling like supernatural terror, which a number of
singular adventures, had caused most of them to attach to the name of
Douglas; and when he reached the gate by which the broken street was
terminated, there was none close behind him but Fabian, in whose head
no suggestions of a timorous nature could outlive the sound of his dear
master's voice.
Here there were a post of English, archers, who were turning out in
considerable alarm, when De Valence and his page rode in amongst them.
"Villains!" shouted De Valence, "why were you not upon your duty? Who
was it passed through your post even now, with the traitorous cry of
Douglas?"
"We know of no such," said the captain of the watch.
"That is to say, you besotted villains," answered the young knight,
"you have been drinking, and have slept?"
The men protested the contrary, but in a confused manner, which was far
from overcoming De Valence's suspicions. He called loudly to bring
cressets, torches, and candles; and a few remaining inhabitants began
to make their unwilling appearance, with such various means of giving
light as they chanced to possess. They heard the story of the young
English knight with wonder; nor, although it was confirmed by all his
retinue, did they give credit to the recital, more than that the
Englishmen wished somehow or other to pick a quarrel with the people of
the palace, under the pretence of their having admitted a retainer of
their ancient lord by night into the town. They protested, therefore,
their innocence of the cause of tumult, and endeavoured to seem active
in hastening from house to house, and corner to corner, with their
torches, in order to discover the invisible cavalier. The English
suspected them no less of treachery, than the Scottish imagined the
whole matter a pretext for bringing an accusation, on the part of the
young knight, against the citizens. The women, however, who now began
to issue from the houses, had a key for the solution of the apparition,
which at that time was believed of efficacy sufficient to solve any
mystery. "The devil," they said, "must have appeared visibly amongst
them," an explanation which had already occurred to the followers of
the young knight; for that a living man and horse, both as it seemed,
of a gigantic size, could be conjured in the twinkling of an eye, and
appear in a street secured at one end by the best of the archers, and
at the other by the horsemen under Valence himself, was altogether, it
seemed, a thing impossible. The inhabitants did not venture to put
their thoughts on the subject into language, for fear of giving
offence, and only indicated by a passing word to each other the secret
degree of pleasure which they felt in the confusion and embarrassment
of the English garrison. Still, however, they continued to affect a
great deal of interest in the alarm which De Valence had received, and
the anxiety which he expressed to discover the cause.
At length a female voice spoke above the Babel of confused sounds,
saying, "Where is the Southern Knight? I am sure that I can tell him
where he can find the only person who can help him out of his present
difficulty."
"And who is that, good woman?" said Aymer de Valence, who was growing
every moment more impatient at the loss of time, which was flying fast,
in an investigation which had something vexatious in it, and even
ridiculous. At the same time, the sight of an armed partisan of the
Douglasses, in their own native town, seemed to bode too serious
consequences, if it should be suffered to pass without being probed to
the bottom.
"Come hither to me," said the female voice, "and I will name to you the
only person who can explain all matters of this kind that chance in
this country." On this the knight snatched a torch from some of those
who were present, and holding it up, descried the person who spoke, a
tall woman, who evidently endeavoured to render herself remarkable.
When he approached her, she communicated her intelligence in a grave
and sententious tone of voice.
"We had once wise men, that could have answered any parables which
might have been put to them for explanation in this country side.
Whether you yourselves, gentlemen, have not had some hand in weeding
them out, good troth, it is not for the like of me to say; at any rate,
good counsel is not so easy come by as it was in this Douglas country,
nor, may be, is it a safe thing to pretend to the power of giving it."
"Good woman," said De Valence, "if you will give me an explanation of
this mystery, I will owe you a kirtle of the best raploch grey."
"It is not I," said the old woman, "that pretend to possess the
knowledge which may assist you; but I would fain know that the man whom
I shall name to you shall be skaithless and harmless. Upon your
knighthood and your honour, will you promise to me so much?"
"Assuredly," said De Valence, "such a person shall even have thanks and
reward, if he is a faithful informer; ay, and pardon, moreover,
although he may have listened to any dangerous practices, or been
concerned in any plots."
"Oh! not he," replied the female; "it is old Goodman Powheid, who has
the charge of the muniments," (meaning probably monuments,) "that is,
such part of them as you English have left standing; I mean the old
sexton of the kirk of Douglas, who can tell more stories of these old
folk, whom your honour is not very fond of hearing named, than would
last us from this day to Yule."
"Does anybody," said the knight, "know whom it is that this old woman
means?"
"I conjecture," replied Fabian, "that she speaks of an old dotard, who
is, I think, the general referee concerning the history and antiquities
of this old town, and of the savage family that lived here perhaps
before the flood."
"And who, I dare say," said the knight, "knows as much about the matter
as she herself does. But where is this man? a sexton is he? He may be
acquainted with places of concealment, which are often fabricated in
Gothic buildings, and known to those whose business calls them to
frequent them. Come, my good old dame, bring this man to me; or, what
may be better, I will go to him, for we have already spent too much
time."
"Time!" replied the old woman,--"is time an object with your honour? I
am sure I can hardly get so much for mine as will hold soul and body
together. You are not far from the old man's house."
She led the way accordingly, blundering over heaps of rubbish, and
encountering all the embarrassments of a ruinous street, in lighting
the way to Sir Aymer, who, giving his horse to one of his attendants,
and desiring Fabian to be ready at a call, scrambled after as well as
the slowness of his guide would permit.
Both were soon involved in the remains of the old church, much
dilapidated as it had been by wanton damage done to it by the soldiery,
and so much impeded by rubbish, that the knight marvelled how the old
woman could find the way. She kept talking all the while as she
stumbled onward. Sometimes she called out in a screeching tone,
"Powheid! Lazarus Powheid!"--and then muttered---"Ay, ay, the old man
will be busy with some of his duties, as he calls them; I wonder he
fashes wi' them in these times. But never mind, I warrant they will
last for his day and for mine; and the times, Lord help us! for all
that I can see, are well enough for those that are to live in them."
"Are you sure, good woman," replied the knight, "that there is any
inhabitant in these ruins? For my part, I should rather suppose that
you are taking me to the charnel-house of the dead."
"Maybe you are right," said the old woman, with a ghastly laugh;
"carles and carlines agree weel with funeral vaults and charnel-houses,
and when an auld bedral dwells near the dead, he is living, ye ken,
among his customers--Halloo! Powheid! Lazarus Powheid! there is a
gentleman would speak with you;" and she added, with some sort of
emphasis, "an. English noble gentleman---one of the honourable
garrison."
An old man's step was now heard advancing, so slowly that the
glimmering light which he held in his hand was visible on the ruined
walls of the vault some time before it showed the person who bore it.
The shadow of the old man was also projected upon the illuminated wall
ere his person came in view; his dress was in considerable confusion,
owing to his having been roused from his bed; and since artificial
light was forbidden by the regulations of the garrison, the natives of
Douglas Dale spent in sleep the time that they could not very well get
rid of by any other means. The sexton was a tall thin man, emaciated by
years and by privations; his body was bent habitually by his occupation
of grave-digging, and his eye naturally inclined downward to the scene
of his labours. His hand sustained the cruise or little lamp, which he
held so as to throw light upon his visitant; at the same time it
displayed to the young knight the features of the person with whom he
was now confronted, which, though neither handsome nor pleasing, were
strongly marked, sagacious, and venerable, indicating, at the same
time, a certain air of dignity, which age, even mere poverty, may be
found occasionally to bestow, as conferring that last melancholy
species of independence proper to those whose situation can hardly by
any imaginable means, be rendered much worse than years and fortune
have already made it. The habit of a lay brother added somewhat of
religious importance to his appearance.
"What would you with me, young man?" said the sexton. "Your youthful
features, and your gay dress, bespeak one who stands in need of my
ministry neither for himself nor for others."
"I am indeed," replied the knight, "a living man, and therefore need
not either shovel or pick-axe for my own behoof. I am not, as you see,
attired in mourning, and therefore need not your offices in behalf of
any friend; I would only ask you a few questions."
"What you would have done must needs be done, you being at present one
of our rulers, and, as I think, a man of authority," replied the
sexton; "follow me this way into my poor habitation; I have had a
better in my day; and yet, Heaven knows, it is good enough for me, when
many men of much greater consequence must perforce content themselves
with worse."
He opened a lowly door, which was fitted, though irregularly, to serve
as the entrance of a vaulted apartment, where it appeared that the old
man held, apart from the living world, his wretched and solitary
dwelling. [Footnote: [This is a most graphic and accurate description
of the present state of the ruin. Its being occupied by the sexton as a
dwelling-place, and the whole scene of the old man's interview with De
Valence, may be classed with our illustrious author's most felicitous
imaginings._--Note by the Rev. Mr. Stewart of Douglas._]] The floor,
composed of paving stones, laid together with some accuracy, and here
and there inscribed with letters and hieroglyphics, as if they had once
upon a time served to distinguish sepulchres, was indifferently well
swept, and a fire at the upper end directed its smoke into a hole which
served for a chimney. The spade and pick-axe, (with other tools,) which
the chamberlain of mortality makes use of, lay scattered about the
apartment, and, with a rude stool or two, and a table, where some
inexperienced hand had unquestionably supplied the labours of the
joiner, were nearly the only furniture, if we include the old man's bed
of straw, lying in a corner, and discomposed, as if he had been just
raised from it. At the lower end of the apartment, the wall was almost
entirely covered by a large escutcheon, such as is usually hung over
the graves of men of very high rank, having the appropriate quarters,
to the number of sixteen, each properly blazoned and distinct, placed
as ornaments around the principal armorial coat itself.
"Let us sit," said the old man; "the posture will better enable my
failing ears to apprehend your meaning, and the asthma will deal with
me more mercifully in permitting me to make you understand mine."
A peal of short asthmatic coughs attested the violence of the disorder
which he had last named, and the young knight followed his host's
example, in sitting down on one of the rickety stools by the side of
the fire. The old man brought from one corner of the apartment an
apron, which he occasionally wore, full of broken boards in irregular
pieces, some of which were covered with black cloth, or driven full of
nails, black, as it might happen, or gilded.
"You will find this fresh fuel necessary," said the old man, "to keep
some degree of heat within this waste apartment; nor are the vapours of
mortality, with which this vault is apt to be filled, if the fire is
permitted to become extinct, indifferent to the lungs of the dainty and
the healthy, like your worship, though to me they are become habitual.
The wood will catch fire, although it is some time ere the damps of the
grave are overcome by the drier air, and the warmth of the chimney."
Accordingly, the relics of mortality with which the old man had heaped
his fireplace, began by degrees to send forth a thick unctuous vapour,
which at length leaped to light, and blazing up the aperture, gave a
degree of liveliness to the gloomy scene. The blazonry of the huge
escutcheon met and returned the rays with as brilliant a reflection as
that lugubrious object was capable of, and the whole apartment looked
with a fantastic gaiety, strangely mingled with the gloomy ideas which
its ornaments were calculated to impress upon the imagination.
"You are astonished," said the old man, "and perhaps, Sir Knight, you
have never before seen these relics of the dead applied to the purpose
of rendering the living, in some degree, more comfortable than their
condition would otherwise admit of."
"Comfortable!" returned the Knight of Valence, shrugging his shoulders;
"I should be sorry, old man, to know that I had a dog that was as
indifferently quartered as thou art, whose grey hairs have certainly
seen better days."
"It may be," answered the sexton, "and it may be otherwise; but it was
not, I presume, concerning my own history that your worship seemed
disposed to ask me some questions; and I would venture to enquire,
therefore, to whom they have relation?"
"I will speak plainly to you," replied Sir Aymer, "and you will at once
acknowledge the necessity of giving a short and distinct reply. I have
even now met in the streets of this village a person only shown to me
by a single flash of light, who had the audacity to display the
armorial insignia and utter the war-cry of the Douglasses; nay, if I
could trust a transient glance, this daring cavalier had the features
and the dark complexion proper to the Douglas. I am referred to thee as
to one who possesses means of explaining this extraordinary
circumstance, which, as an English knight, and one holding a charge
under King Edward, I am particularly called upon to make enquiry into."
"Let me make a distinction," said the old man. "The Douglasses of
former generations are my near neighbours, and, according to my
superstitious townsmen, my acquaintances and visitors; I can take it
upon my conscience to be answerable for their good behaviour, and to
become bound that none of the old barons, to whom the roots of that
mighty tree may, it is said, be traced, will again disturb with their
war-cry the towns or villages of their native country--not one will
parade in moonshine the black armour which has long rusted upon their
tombs.
'The knights are dust.
And their good swords are rust;
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.' [Footnote: [The author
has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of
Coleridge:--
"Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan,--
Where may the grave of that good knight be?
By the marge of a brook, on the slope of Helvellyn,
Under the boughs of a young birch tree.
The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear,
That rustled in Autumn all withered and sear,
That whistled and groan'd thro' the Winter alone,
He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,
His good sword is rust;
His spirit is with, the saints, we trust." _Edit_.]]
Look around, Sir Knight, you have above and around you the men of whom
we speak. Beneath us, in a little aisle, (which hath not been opened
since these thin grey locks were thick and brown,) there lies the first
man whom I can name as memorable among those of this mighty line. It is
he whom the Thane of Athol pointed out to the King of Scotland as
Sholto Dhuglass, or the dark iron-coloured man, whose exertions had
gained the battle for his native prince; and who, according to this
legend, bequeathed his name to our dale and town, though others say
that the race assumed the name of Douglass from the stream so called in
unrecorded times, before they had their fastness on its banks. Others,
his descendants, called Eachain, or Hector the first, and Orodh, or
Hugh, William, the first of that name, and Gilmour, the theme of many a
minstrel song, commemorating achievements done under the oriflamme of
Charles the Great, Emperor of France, have all consigned themselves to
their last sleep, nor has their memory been sufficiently preserved from
the waste of time. Something we know concerning their great deeds,
their great power, and, alas! their great crimes. Something we also
know of a Lord of Douglas who sat in a parliament at Forfar, held by
King Malcolm the First, and we are aware that from his attachment to
hunting the wild hart, he built himself a tower called Blackhouse, in
the forest of Ettrick, which perhaps still exists."
"I crave your forgiveness, old man," said the knight, "but I have no
time at present to bestow upon the recitation of the pedigree of the
House of Douglas. A less matter would hold a well-breathed minstrel in
subject for recitation for a calendar month, Sundays and holidays
included."
"What other information can you expect from me," said the sexton, "than
that respecting those heroes, some of whom it has been my lot to
consign to that eternal rest, which will for ever divide the dead from
the duties of this world? I have told you where the race sleep, down to
the reign of the royal Malcolm. I can tell you also of another vault,
in which lie Sir John of Douglas-burn, with his son Lord Archibald, and
a third William, known by an indenture with Lord Abernethy. Lastly, I
can tell you of him to whom that escutcheon, with its appurtenances of
splendour and dignity, justly belong. Do you envy that nobleman, whom,
if death were in the sound, I would not hesitate to term my honourable
patron? and have you any design of dishonouring his remains? It will be
a poor victory! nor does it become a knight and nobleman to come in
person to enjoy such a triumph over the dead, against whom, when he
lived, there were few knights dared spur their horses. He fought in
defence of his country, but he had not the good fortune of most of his
ancestors, to die on the field of battle. Captivity, sickness, and
regret for the misfortunes of his native land, brought his head to the
grave in his prison-house, in the land of the stranger."
The old man's voice here became interrupted by emotion, and the English
knight found it difficult to continue his examination in the stern
fashion which his duty required.
"Old man," he said, "I do not require from thee this detail, which must
be useless to me, as well as painful to thyself. Thou dost but thy duty
in rendering justice to thy ancient lord; but thou hast not yet
explained to me why I have met in this town, this very night, and not
half an hour since, a person in the arms, and bearing the complexion,
of one of the Black Douglasses, who cried his war-cry as if in contempt
of his conquerors."
"Surely," replied the sexton, "it is not my business to explain such a
fancy, otherwise than by supposing that the natural fears of the
Southron will raise the spectre of a Douglas at any time, when he is
within sight of their sepulchre. Methinks, in such a night as this, the
fairest cavalier would wear the complexion of this swarthy race, nor
can I hold it wonderful that the war-cry which was once in the throats
of so many thousands in this country, should issue upon occasion from
the mouth of a single champion."
"You are bold, old man," returned the English knight; "do you consider
that your life is in my power, and that it may, in certain cases, be my
duty to inflict death with that degree of pain at which humanity
shudders?"
The old man rose up slowly in the light of the blazing fire, displaying
his emaciated features, which resembled those ascribed by artists to
Saint Anthony of the desert; and pointing to the feeble lamp, which he
placed upon the coarse table, thus addressed his interrogator, with an
appearance of perfect firmness, and something even resembling dignity:--
"Young knight of England, you see that utensil constructed for the
purpose of dispensing light amid these fatal vaults,--it is as frail as
any thing can well be, whose flame is supplied by living element,
contained in a frame composed of iron. It is doubtless in your power
entirely to end its service, by destroying the frame, or extinguishing
the light. Threaten it with such annihilation, Sir Knight, and see
whether your menace will impress any sense of fear either on the
element or the iron. Know that you have no more power over the frail
mortal whom you threaten with similar annihilation. You may tear from
my body the skin in which it is now swathed, but although my nerves
might glow with agony during the inhuman operation, it would produce no
more impression on me than flaying on the stag which an arrow has
previously pierced through the heart. My age sets me beyond your
cruelty: if you think otherwise, call your agents, and commence your
operations; neither threats nor inflictions will enable you to extort
from me any thing that I am not ready to tell you of my own accord."
"You trifle with me, old man," said De Valence; "you talk as if you
possessed some secret respecting the motions of these Douglasses, who
are to you as gods, yet you communicate no intelligence to me whatever."
"You may soon know," replied the old man, "all that a poor sexton has
to communicate; and it will not increase your knowledge respecting the
living, though it may throw some light upon my proper domains, which
are those of the dead. The spirits of the deceased Douglasses do not
rest in their graves during the dishonour of their monuments, and the
downfall of their house. That, upon death, the greater part of any line
are consigned to the regions of eternal bliss, or of never-ending
misery, religion will not suffer us to believe, and amidst a race who
had so great a share of worldly triumph and prosperity, we must suppose
there have existed many who have been justly subjected to the doom of
an intermediate space of punishment. You have destroyed the
temples--which were built by their posterity to propitiate Heaven for
the welfare of their souls; you have silenced the prayers and stopt the
choirs, by the mediation of which the piety of children had sought to
appease the wrath of Heaven in behalf of their ancestors, subjected to
expiatory fires. Can you wonder that the tormented spirits, thus
deprived of the relief which had been proposed to them, should not,
according to the common phrase, rest in their graves? Can you wonder
they should show themselves like discontented loiterers near to the
places which, but for the manner in which you have prosecuted your
remorseless warfare, might have ere now afforded them rest? Or do you
marvel that these fleshless warriors should interrupt your marches, and
do what else their airy nature may permit to disturb your councils, and
meet as far as they may the hostilities which you make it your boast to
carry on, as well against those who are deceased, as against any who
may yet survive your cruelty?"
"Old man," replied Aymer de Valence, "you cannot expect that I am to
take for answer a story like this, being a fiction too gross to charm
to sleep a schoolboy tormented with the toothache; nevertheless, I
thank God that thy doom does not remain in my hands. My squire and two
archers shall carry thee captive to the worshipful Sir John de Walton,
Governor of the Castle and Valley, that he may deal with thee as seems
meet; nor is he a person to believe in your apparitions and ghosts from
purgatory.--What ho! Fabian! Come hither, and bring with thee two
archers of the guard."
Fabian accordingly, who had waited at the entrance of the ruined
building, now found his way, by the light of the old sexton's lamp, and
the sound of his master's voice, into the singular apartment of the old
man, the strange decorations of which struck the youth with great
surprise, and some horror.
"Take the two archers with thee, Fabian," said the Knight of Valence,
"and, with their assistance, convey this old man, on horseback, or in a
litter, to the presence of the worshipful Sir John de Walton. Tell him
what we have seen, which thou didst witness as well as I; and tell him
that this old sexton, whom I send to be examined by his superior
wisdom, seems to know more than he is willing to disclose respecting
our ghostly cavalier, though he will give us no account of him, except
intimating that he is a spirit of the old Douglasses from purgatory, to
which Sir John de Walton will give what faith he pleases. You may say,
that, for my part, my belief is, either that the sexton is crazed by
age, want, and enthusiasm, or that he is connected with some plot which
the country people are hatching. You may also say that I shall not use
much ceremony with the youth under the care of the Abbot of St. Bride;
there is something suspicious in all the occurrences that are now
passing around us."
Fabian promised obedience; and the knight, pulling him aside, gave him
an additional caution, to behave with attention in this business,
seeing he must recollect that neither the judgment of himself, nor that
of his master, were apparently held in very much esteem by the
governor; and that it would ill become them to make any mistake in a
matter where the safety of the Castle was perhaps concerned.
"Fear me not, worshipful sir," replied the youth; "I am returning to
pure air in the first place, and a good fire in the second, both
acceptable exchanges for this dungeon of suffocating vapours and
execrable smells. You may trust to my making no delay; a very short
time will carry me back to Castle Douglas, even moving with suitable
attention to this old man's bones."
"Use him humanely," answered the knight. "And thou, old man, if thou
art insensible to threats of personal danger in this matter, remember,
that if thou art found paltering with us, thy punishment will perhaps
be more severe than any we can inflict upon thy person."
"Can you administer the torture to the soul?" said the sexton.
"As to thee," answered the knight, "we have that power;--we will
dissolve every monastery or religious establishment held for the souls
of these Douglasses, and will only allow the religious people to hold
their residence there upon condition of their praying for the soul of
King Edward the First of glorious memory, the _malleus Scotorum_; and
if the Douglasses are deprived of the ghostly benefit of the prayers
and services of such shrines, they may term thy obstinacy the cause."
"Such a species of vengeance," answered the old man, in the same bold
unsubdued tone which he had hitherto used, "were more worthy of the
infernal fiends than of Christian men."
The squire raised his hand. The knight interposed: "Forbear him," he
said, "Fabian, he is very old, and perhaps insane.--And you, sexton,
remember that the vengeance threatened is lawfully directed towards a
family which have been the obstinate supporters of the excommunicated
rebel, who murdered the Red Comyn at the High Church in Dumfries."
So saying, Aymer strode out of the ruins, picking his way with much
difficulty--took his horse, which he found at the entrance--repeated a
caution to Fabian, to conduct himself with prudence--and, passing on to
the south-western gate, gave the strongest injunctions concerning the
necessity of keeping a vigilant watch, both by patrols and by
sentinels, intimating, at the same time, that it must have been
neglected during the preceding part of the evening. The men murmured an
apology, the confusion of which seemed to express that there had
existed some occasion for the reprimand.
Sir Aymer then proceeded on his journey to Hazelside, his train
diminished by the absence of Fabian and his assistants. After a hasty,
but not a short journey, the knight alighted at Thomas Dickson's, where
he found the detachment from Ayr had arrived before him, and were
snugly housed for the night. He sent one of the archers to announce his
approach to the Abbot of Saint Bride and his young guest, intimating at
the same time, that the archer must keep sight of the latter until he
himself arrived at the chapel, which would be instantly.