stomach, and the stranger (who evidently beguiled Andrew to drink more
than the portion that ought to have fallen to him) called for something
to eat, by way of a relish.
"O sir," said Nancy Hewitt, their hostess, "I'm verra sorry an' vexed
that I hae naething in the house that I could gie ye--naething o'
kitchen kind but the haddocks which Andrew left this forenoon; an' I hae
been sae thrang wi' folk gaun back an' forret to Lamberton, that they're
no gutted yet. But if ye could tak them, ye are welcome to them."
"Gut two, then, good dame, and prepare them," said the stranger.
"I doubt, sir, twa winna do," said she, "for they're but sma'--I had
better gut thrie."
"Certainly, _gut thrie_," said Andrew; "I brought the stranger in--and
what is a haddie, or what are they worth?" for Andrew was anxious that
the attention of his companion should be turned to anything, were it
only withdrawn from Janet's face.
"You are a generous-hearted fellow," said the stranger, "and _gut thrie_
shall I call you, if we meet again."
Having therefore partaken of his repast, he proposed that they should
again fill the stoup to friendship's growth; and although Andrew was
wroth and jealous because of the words which he had spoken, and the
attention he had shewn to fair Janet, he was not made of materials to
resist the proposition to have another cup. But while they were yet
drinking it, Andrew's pony, which had repeatedly raised its fore foot
and struck it heavily on the ground, as if calling on its master to
"come," being either scared, or its patience being utterly exhausted,
set off at a canter from the door. He had rushed out without his bonnet,
but, before he reached the road, it was fully forty yards a-head of him,
and the louder he called on it, the nearer did the pony increase its
pace to a gallop.
Andrew had scarce reached the door, when the stranger drew out a
well-lined purse, and, after jerking it in his hand, he again replaced
it in his pocket, and more boldly than before renewed his gallantries to
fair Janet. Emboldened, however, by what he conceived to have been his
recent success, he now overshot the mark; and, as Andrew again reached
the house, he was aroused by the cries of--
"Mother! Mother!--O Andrew! Andrew!"
Old Nancy's voice, too, broke upon his ears at its highest scolding
pitch; but he could only distinguish the word "Scoundrel!"
He rushed into the room, and there he beheld his own Janet struggling in
the embrace of the stranger.
"Villain!" cried Andrew, and the other started round--but with our
fisherman at all times it was but a word and a blow--and his blood,
which before had been heated and fermenting, now boiled--he raised his
hand and dealt a blow at his companion, which, before he could parry it,
laid him prostrate on the floor.
"Base loon!" cried the stranger, starting to his feet, "ye shall rue
that blow." And he flung off his bonnet as if to return it.
"Hooly, billy," said Andrew, "there is as little manliness in fighting
afore women as there was in your conduct to my bit Janet. But naething
will gie me mair satisfaction than a round wi' ye--so wi' a' my
heart--come to the door, and the best man for it."
Blood was issuing from the lips of the stranger, but he seemed nothing
loath to accompany his quondam friend to the door. Janet, however, flung
her arms around Andrew, and the old woman stood between them, and
implored them, for her sake, to keep the peace towards each other.
"O sir!" cried she, "let there be nae such carryings on in my house. My
dochter and me are twa lone women, and the disgrace o' such an
on-carrying, and at such a time, too, when the king an a' the gentry are
in the neighbourhood, might be attended by there's nae saying what
consequences to me and mine. Andrew, man, I wonder that ye haena mair
sense."
"Sense!" returned Andrew, "I hae baith sense and feeling; and had it
been the king himsel that I saw layin a hand upon my Janet, I would hae
served him in the same way that I did that man."
"Ye brag largely and freely, neighbour," said the stranger; throwing
down a noble upon the table to pay for his entertainment; "but we shall
meet again, where there are no women to interfere."
"Tak up your gowd, sir," replied Andrew, "for though I can boast o' nae
sic siller, coppers will pay for a' that we have had. I brought you in
here to treat ye, and our quarrel shall make nae difference as to that.
Sae put up your gowd again; and as to meeting ye--I will meet ye the
night, the morn, at ony place, or at ony time."
"I shall ask ye to meet me before ye dare," said the stranger; and
leaving the coin upon the table as he left the house, "the gowd," added
he, "will buy a gown and a bodice for the bosom of bonny Janet."
"I insist, sir, that you tak back the siller," cried Andrew.
"Dearsake, Andrew," said old Nancy, "he's no offering it to you! It's no
you that has ony richt to refuse it." And taking up the piece, she
examined it with a look of satisfaction, turning it round and round in
her fingers--wrapped it in a small piece of linen rag, which lay in a
corner of the room, and mechanically slipped it into her pocket. But it
was neither every day, every week, nor every year, that Nancy Hewitt saw
a coin of gold.
On the third day after the encounter between Strong Andrew and the
stranger, the last and great day of the festivities on Lamberton took
place; for on that day the royal bride was to arrive. The summer sun
ushered in a glorious morning--its beams fell as a sheet of gold on the
broad ocean, melting down and chaining its waves in repose. To the south
lay Lindisferne, where St. Cuthbert had wrought miracles, with the Ferne
Isles where he lived, prayed, and died, and the proud rock on which King
Ida reigned.[2] They seemed to sleep in the morning sunbeams--smiling in
sleep. To the north was gigantic St. Abb's, stretching out into the sea,
as if reposing on its breast; amidst their feet and behind them,
stretched the Moor and its purple heather; while, from the distance, the
Cheviots looked down on them; and Hallidon, manured by the bones of
slaughtered thousands, lay at their hand.
Yet, before sunrise, thousands were crowding to the gay scene, from
every corner of Berwickshire, and from Roxburgh and the Eastern Lothian.
The pavilions exhibited more costly decorations. Fair ladies, in their
gayest attire, hung upon the arms of brave knights. An immense
amphitheatre, where the great tourneyings and combats of the day were to
take place, was seated round; and at one part of it was a richly
canopied dais, where the young king, with his blooming queen, and the
chief peers and ladies of both countries, were to sit, and witness the
spectacle. Merry music reverbed in every direction, and the rocks and
the glens re-echoed it; and ever and anon, as it pealed around, the
assembled thousands shouted--"Long live our guid king James, and his
bonny bride." Around the pavilions, too, strutted the courtiers with the
huge ruffles of their shirts reaching over their shoulders--their
scented gloves--flat bonnets, set on the one side of their heads like
the cap of a modern dandy--spangled slippers, and a bunch of ribbons at
their knees.
Amongst the more humble followers of the court, the immortal Dunbar,
who was neglected in his own day, and who has been scarce less neglected
and overlooked by posterity, was conspicuous. The poet-priest appeared
to be a director of the intellectual amusements of the day. But although
they delighted the multitude, and he afterwards immortalised the
marriage of his royal master, by his exquisite poem of "The Thistle and
the Rose," he was doomed to experience that genius could neither procure
the patronage of kings nor church preferment; and, in truth, it was
small preferment with which Dunbar would have been satisfied, for, after
dancing the courtier in vain (and they were then a race of beings of
new-birth in Scotland), we find him saying--
"Greit abbais graith I nill to gather
But _ane kirk scant coverit with hadder,
For I of lytil wald be fane_."
But, in the days of poor Dunbar, church patronage seems to have been
conferred somewhat after the fashion of our own times, if not worse, for
he again says--
"I knaw nocht how the kirk is gydit,
But benefices are nocht leil divydit;
Sum men hes sevin, and I nocht ane!"
All around wore a glad and a sunny look, and, while the morning was yet
young, the sound of the salute from the cannon on the ramparts of
Berwick, announced that the royal bride was approaching. The pavilions
occupied a commanding situation on the heath, and the noble retinue of
the princes could be observed moving along, their gay colours flashing
in the sun, a few minutes after they issued from the walls of the town.
A loud, a long, and a glad shout burst from the Scottish host, as they
observed them approach, and hundreds of knights and nobles, dashing
their glittering spurs into the sides of their proudly caparisoned
steeds, rode forth to meet them, and to give their welcome, and offer
their first homage to their future queen. There was a movement and a
buzz of joy throughout the multitude; and they moved towards the ancient
kirk.
The procession that accompanied the young princess of England into
Scotland drew near; at its head rode the proud Earl of Surrey, the Earl
of Northumberland, warden of the eastern marches, with many hundreds
more, the flower of England's nobility and gentry, in their costliest
array. In the procession, also, were thousands of the inhabitants of
Northumberland; and the good citizens of Berwick-upon-Tweed, headed by
their captain, Lord Thomas Darcy, and the porter of their gates, Mr.
Christopher Clapham, who was appointed one of the trustees on the part
of the king of England, to see that the terms of his daughter's jointure
were duly fulfilled.
There, however, was less eagerness on the part of the young monarch to
behold his bride than on that of his subjects. We will not say that he
had exactly imbibed the principles of a libertine, but it is well known
that he was a _gallant_ in the most _liberal_ signification of the term,
and that his amours extended to all ranks. He had, therefore, until he
had well nigh reached his thirtieth year, evaded the curb of matrimony;
and it was not until the necessity of his marriage, for the welfare of
his country, was urged upon him by his nobles, that he agreed to take
the hand of young Margaret of England. And of her it might have been
truly said, that his
"Peggy was a young thing,
Just entering in her teens,"
for she had hardly completed her fourteenth year. But she was a
well-grown girl, one on whom was opening the dawn of loveliest
womanhood--she was beautiful, and the gentleness of her temper exceeded
her beauty. Young James was the most chivalrous prince of his age: he
worshipped beauty, and he could not appear coldly before one of the sex.
And having come to the determination (though unwillingly) to give up his
bachelorism, or, as he called it, liberty, he at length resolved to meet
his bride as became one whose name was chronicled on the page of
chivalry. He accordingly arrayed himself in a jacket of black velvet,
edged with crimson, and the edgings bordered with a white fur. His
doublet was of the finest satin, and of a violet colour; his spurs were
of gold, his hose crimson, and precious stones bespangled his
shirt-collar. The reiterated shouts of the multitude announced the
approach of the queen, and, thus arrayed, the young king rode forth to
greet her.
He entered the kirk, at the further end of which stood his fair bride
between the Earls of Surrey and Northumberland. He started, he seemed to
pause as his eyes fell upon her, but in a moment they were again lighted
up with more than their wonted lustre. He had heard of her loveliness,
but report had failed in doing justice to the picture. He approached to
where she stood--he sank upon his knee--he raised her hand to his lips.
The English nobility were struck with admiration at the delicate
gallantry of the Scottish king.
I need not enter into the particulars of the ceremony. The youthful
monarch conducted his yet more youthful bride and her attendants to his
pavilion, while the heralds summoned the knights to the tournament, and
prepared the other sports of the day. He took his lute and performed
before her, and he sang words of his own composition, which related to
her--for, like others of his family that had gone before, and that came
after him, James had a spark of poetry in his soul.
"And dost thou understand this instrument, my own love?" said he,
handing her the lute.
She blushed, and, taking it in her hand, began to "discourse most
eloquent music," and James, filled with admiration, again sinking on his
knee, and clasping his hands together, remained in this attitude before
her, until the trumpets of the heralds announced that the knights were
in readiness for the tournament.
Thousands were crowded around the circle in which the knights were to
exhibit their skill and prowess. The royal party took their seats on the
dais prepared for them. Several trials of skill, with sword, spear, and
battle-axe, had taken place, and the spectators had awarded to the
successful competitors their shouts of approbation, when the young king,
who sat beside his queen, surrounded by the Lords Surrey and
Northumberland, and the nobles of his kindred, together with the ladies
of high degree, said--
"Troth, my lords, and whatever ye may think, they play it but coldly.
Excuse me, your Majesty, for a few minutes," continued he, addressing
his young bride; "I must put spirit into the spectacle."
Thus saying, the young monarch left the side of his bride, and, for a
time, the same breaking of swords, spears, and battle-axes continued,
when the chief herald of the tournament announced the SAVAGE KNIGHT. He
entered the lists on foot, a visor concealing his face, arrayed as an
Indian chief. He was clothed in a skin fitting tightly to his body,
which gave half of it the appearance of nudity. In his left hand he held
a javelin, in his right hand he brandished a spear.
"Who is he?" was the murmur that rang through the crowd; but no one
could tell, and the knights in the area knew not. He walked towards the
centre of the circle--he raised his spear--he shook it in defiance
towards every knight that stood around--and they were there from England
as well as from Scotland. But they seemed to demur amongst themselves
who should first measure their strength with him. Not that they either
feared his strength or skill, but that, knowing the eccentricity of the
king, they apprehended that the individual whom he had sent against
them, in such an uncouth garb, and who was to hold combat with them at
such extravagant odds, they being on horseback, while he was on foot,
might be no true knight, but some base-born man whom the monarch had
sent against them for a jest's sake. But, while they communed together,
the _Savage Knight_ approached near where they stood, and, crying to
them, said--
"What is it ye fear, Sir Knights, that ye hold consultation together.
Is it my mailed body, or panoplied steed?--or fear ye that my blood is
base enough to rust your swords? Come on, ye are welcome to a trial of
its colour."
Provoked by his taunt, several sprang from their horses, and appeared
emulous who should encounter him. But, at the very onset, the Savage
Knight wrested the sword of the first who opposed him from his hand. In
a few minutes the second was in like manner discomfited, and, after a
long and desperate encounter, the third was hurled to the ground, and
the weapon of the wild knight was pointed to his throat. The spectators
rent the air with acclamations. Again the unknown stood in the midst of
the circle, and brandished his spear in defiance. But enough had been
seen of his strength and his skill, and no man dared to encounter him.
Again the multitude shouted more loudly, and he walked around the
amphitheatre, bowing lowly towards the spectators, and receiving their
congratulations.
Now, in the midst of the motley congregation, and almost at the point
farthest removed from the dais of royalty, stood none other than Strong
Andrew, with bonny Janet under his arm; and it so happened, that when
the Savage Knight was within view of where Andrew stood, his visor fell,
and, though it was instantly replaced, it enabled our sturdy fisherman
to obtain a glance of his countenance, and he exclaimed--
"'Od save us, Janet, woman, look, look look!--do ye see wha it is!
Confound me, if it isna the very chield that I gied the clout in the lug
to in your mother's the other night for his good behaviour. Weel, as
sure as death, I gie him credit for what he has done--he's ta'en the
measure o' their feet, onyway! A knight!--he's nae mair a knight than
I'm ane--but it shows that knights are nae better than other folk."
There was a pause for a short space--again the monarch sat upon the
dais by the side of his blooming bride. The great spectacle of the day
was about to be exhibited. This spectacle was a battle in earnest
between an equal number of Borderers and Highlanders. The heralds and
the marshals of the combat rode round the amphitheatre, and proclaimed
that rewards would be bestowed on all who signalized themselves by their
courage, and to the most distinguished a purse of gold would be given by
the hands of the king himself. Numbers of armed clansmen and Borderers
entered the area. Andrew's fingers began to move, and his fists were
suddenly clenched, relaxed, and clenched again. He began to move his
shoulders also. His whole body became restless, and his soul manifested
the same symptoms, and he half involuntarily exclaimed--
"Now, here's a chance!"
"Chance for what, Andrew dear?" inquired Janet, tremulously--for she
knew his nature.
"To mak a fortune in a moment," returned he, eagerly--"to be married the
morn! The king is to gie a purse o' gold!"
Now, the only obstacle that stood between the immediate union of Andrew
and Janet was his poverty.
"Oh, come awa, Andrew, love," said she, imploringly, and pulling his arm
as she spoke; "I see your drift!--come awa--come awa--we have seen
enough. Dinna be after ony sic nonsense, or thrawing awa your life on
sic an errand."
"Wheesht, Janet, hinny--wheesht," said he; "dinna be talking havers.
Just stand you here--there's not the smallest danger--I'll be back to ye
in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour at the utmost--ye may tak my word
upon that."
"Andrew!" cried she, "are ye out o' yer mind a'thegither--or do ye want
to put me out o' mine! I really think it looks like it! O man, would ye
be guilty o' murdering yoursel, I may say!--come awa--come awa,
dear--for I'll no stand to see it."
"Hoot, Janet, hinny," returned he, "come, dear, dinna be silly."
Now, the number of the Highland party was completed, and they stood, a
band of hardy, determined, and desperate-looking men; but the party of
the Borderers was one deficient.
"Is there not another," cried the herald, "to stand forth, and maintain
with his sword the honour and courage of the Borders?"
"Yes! here am I!" shouted Andrew, and drawing Janet's arm from his;
"now, dearest," added he, hastily, "just hae patience--just stand here
for ten minutes--and I'll let ye see what I can do."
She would have detained him; but in a moment he sprang into the
amphitheatre, and exclaimed--
"Now, Sir Knights, ye that hae been trying yer hands at the tourneyings,
will ony o' ye hae the guidness to obleege me wi' the loan o' yer sword
for a wee while, and I'll be bond for ye I'll no disgrace it--I'll try
the temper o' it in earnest."
Andrew instantly had a dozen to choose upon; and he took his place
amongst the Borderers.
When he joined them, those who knew him, said--"The day is ours--Andrew
is a host in himsel."
The marshals gave the signal for the onset; and a deadly, a savage
onset it was. Swords were shivered to the hilt. Men, who had done each
other no wrong, who had never met before, grasped each other by the
throat--the Highland dirk and the Border knife were drawn. Men plunged
them into each other--they fell together--they rolled, the one over the
other, in the struggles and the agonies of death. The wounded strewed
the ground--they strove to crawl from the strife of their comrades. The
dead lay upon the dying, and the dying on the dead. Death had reaped a
harvest from both parties; and no man could tell on which side would lie
the victory. Yet no man could stand before the sword-arm of
Andrew--antagonist after antagonist fell before him. He rushed to every
part of the combat; and wheresoever he went, the advantage was in favour
of the Borderers. He was the champion of the field--the hero of the
fight. The king gave a signal (perhaps because his young queen was
horrified with the game of butchery), and at the command of the marshals
the combatants on both sides laid down their arms. Reiterated shouts
again rang from the spectators. Some clapped their hands and
cried--"Eyemouth yet!"--"Wha's like Andrew!"--"We'll carry him hame
shouther high!" cried some of his townsmen.
During the combat, poor Janet had been blind with anxiety, and was
supported in the arms of the spectators who saw him rush from her side.
But as the shouts of his name burst on her ear, consciousness returned;
and she beheld him, with the sword in his hand, hastening towards her.
Yet ere he had reached where she stood, he was summoned, by the
men-at-arms, who had kept the multitude from pressing into the
amphitheatre, to appear before the king, to receive from his hands the
promised reward.
Anxious as he had been to obtain the prize, poor Andrew, notwithstanding
his heroism, trembled at the thought of appearing in the presence of a
monarch. His idea of the king was composed of imaginings of power, and
greatness, and wisdom, and splendour--he knew him to be a man, but he
did not think of him as such. And he said to those who summoned him to
the royal presence--
"Oh, save us a', sirs! what shall I say to him? or what will he say to
me? How shall I behave? I would rather want the siller than gang wi'
ye!"
In this state of tremor and anxiety, Andrew was conducted towards the
canopied dais before the Majesty of Scotland. He was led to the foot of
the steps which ascended to the seat where the monarch and his bride
sat. His eyes were riveted to the ground, and he needed not to doff his
bonnet, for he had lost it in the conflict.
"Look up, brave cock o' the Borders," said the monarch; "certes, man, ye
would hae an ill-faured face if ye needed to hide it, after exhibiting
sic a heart and arm."
Andrew raised his head in confusion; but scarce had his eyes fallen on
the countenance of the king, when he started back, as though he beheld
the face of a spirit.
"Ha! traitor!" exclaimed the monarch, and a frown gathered on his brow.
In a moment, Andrew perceived that his victor-wrestler--his crony in
Lucky Hewitt's--the tempter of his Janet--the man whom he had felled
with a blow, and whose blood he had drawn--and the King of Scotland, was
one and the same person.
"Guid gracious!" exclaimed Andrew, "I'm a done man!"
"Seize him!" said the king.
But ere he had said it, Andrew recollected that if he had a good right
hand, he had a pair of as good heels; and if he had trusted to the one a
few minutes before, he would trust to the latter now, and away he
bounded like a startled deer, carrying his sword in his hand.
A few seconds elapsed before the astonished servants of the king
recovered presence of mind to pursue him. As he fled, the dense crowd
that encircled the amphitheatre surrounded him; but many of them knew
him--none had forgotten his terrible courage--and, although they heard
the cry re-echoed by the attendants of the monarch to seize him, they
opened an avenue when he approached, and permitted him to rush through
them. Though, perhaps, the fear of the sword which he brandished in his
hand, and the terrible effects of which they had all witnessed,
contributed not less than admiration of his courage, to procure him his
ready egress from amongst them.
He rushed towards the sea-banks, and suddenly disappeared where they
seemed precipitous, and was lost to his pursuers; and after an hour's
search, they returned to the king, stating that they had lost trace of
him, and could not find him.