CHAPTER I.

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THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN:

_A BORDER ROMANCE_.

THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN;

OR,

War, Women, and Witchcraft.

_A BORDER ROMANCE._

BY JAMES HOGG,

AUTHOR OF "WINTER-EVENING TALES," "BROWNIE OF

BODSBECK," "QUEEN'S WAKE," _&c._ _&c._

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

Beshrew me if I dare open it.

FLETCHER.

LONDON:

LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,

PATERNOSTER-ROW.

1822.

JOHN MOIR, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.

THE

THREE PERILS OF MAN.

CHAPTER I.

He was a base and a cruel knight,

As ever my two eyes did see;

And all that he did, and all that he said,

It was by the might of glamourye.

But yet his gear was o' the goude

As it waved and wampished in the wind;

And the coal-black steed he rode upon,

It was fleeter than the bonny hind.

_Ballad of Sir Colin Brand._

The distance from Melrose to the castle of Aikwood being only about nine

English miles, our party came in view of it before sun-set. It was one

of those dead calm winter evenings, not uncommon at that season, when

the slightest noise is heard at a distance, and the echoes are all

abroad.

As they drew near to the huge dark-looking pile, silence prevailed among

them more and more. All was so still that even that beautiful valley

seemed a waste. There was no hind whistling at the plough; no cattle

nor sheep grazing on the holms of Aikwood; no bustle of servants,

kinsmen, or their grooms, as at the castles of other knights. It seemed

as if the breath of the enchanter, or his eye, had been infectious, and

had withered all within its influence, whether of vegetable, animal, or

human life. The castle itself scarcely seemed to be the abode of man;

the massy gates were all locked; no porter was in attendance; and there

was only one small piping smoke issuing from one of the turrets.

"Gude faith! callans," said Charlie, "that's a douth and an awsome

looking bigging. I wish we were fairly in, and safely out again."

"Is that now to be my residence, Yardbire?" said the beautiful Delany.

"Will you go away, and leave Elias and me in that frightsome and

desolate looking mansion?"

"If the great Master gie us a civil answer," said Charlie, not well

wotting what to say,--"and desire to have you for his handmaiden, or

rather the mistress of his castle, to overlook the other maids, and the

spinning and weaving concerns like, then we have orders to leave you.

But, if he should be cross, and crabbit, and paughty wi' us, ye're in

gude hands, and we'll no quat wi' you sae easily."

"Thou art in good hands indeed," said the friar: "But, alas! what is

man! a flower of the field that the hand of the mower cutteth down and

leaveth to decay: A shadow; a sound that passeth away and is not. But,

maiden, thou art in better hands than ours; in hands that will not leave

the innocent and guiltless to perish. There is an arm around thee that

thou seest not: there is a guardian with a sword behind thee and before

thee, of whom thou art not aware. Therefore have thou no fear, for no

evil shall befal thee."

"Methinks I could live any where, and be void of fear, if but suffered

to be in your presence," said Delany: "There is something in what you

have told me that goes to my heart, and on it I think I can rely."

"Blessed be thou, my daughter!" said he; "yea, and blessed shalt thou be

in thy generation"--

"Hear to that!" said the poet aside: "Still on one subject! It is all

over with some body!"

--"But thou art perhaps going into a place of danger, and evil things

may await thee. Here, take thou this, and keep it in thy bosom; and, by

the blessing of the Holy Virgin, it shall shield thee from all

malevolent spirits, all enchantments, and all dangers of the wicked one;

the time may come when thou shalt more thoroughly understand the great

things contained in this book."

As he said this, he put into her hand a small gilded copy of the Four

Evangelists, which she kissed and put into her bosom. All the rest saw

this, and took it for a book of the Black Art.

By this time they were drawing near to the gate at Aikwood, where all

continued silent and still as formerly. Notwithstanding of this,

Charlie's horse, Corby, began to cock his ears and snort in a terrible

manner. Stout-hearted as Charlie war, his countenance began to alter;

but he uttered not a word farther than coaxing Corby to proceed. The

mule leading the way altogether regardless, the horses jogged on after

him, example going farther than precept, whether with man or beast. All

the horses were, however, become restive, though none of them was half

so fierce as Corby. He continued to force down his head, as if smelling

the ground; anon capering and snuffing the air, snorting aloud, and

moving with an elasticity rather like a thing of spirit than of joints

and bones. "Gude faith, Corby, my man," said Charlie, as he patted his

mane, "a' isna right here! Wend on, ye camstairy thief: what the deil

ails ye? But, gude sauf us! ane should take care wha they name here.

They say, an speak o' the deil he'll appear."

The old proverb had scarcely left Charlie's lips, when, all at once,

they beheld three pages in black livery standing ranged before the gate,

although the moment before there was no living creature there. They

seemed to have arisen out of the ground, and as they rose they bowed

their heads in a sarcastic way to the embassy. The appearance of the

pages, and the motion that they made were both accomplished in the same

moment of time, and at the motion every one of the horses broke away,

like so many scared wildfowl, some one way, and some another. Charlie

tried to restrain Corby with the whole might of his capacious arm; but

the impatient animal plunged and bounded into the air with such

violence, that his rider was obliged to give him head, and away he

sprung like a roe over field and river, straining every nerve to be out

of sight of Aikwood, while Charlie's warrior cloak, that hung only by

the shoulder clasp, flapped so far behind him that he appeared like a

black cloud skimming the valley. Though none of the other horses made

equal speed with Corby, every one ran as fast as it could, and all to

the eastward, though far asunder.

The mule, on the contrary, never moved nor concerned himself about the

matter. He indeed held forward his long ears, and took a serious look of

the pages, as of some sort of beings he did not more than generally

understand. Nevertheless he despised them, and looked about with

apparent astonishment and derision at the madness and folly of his

associates. The friar, finding himself left with his mule and the three

pages thus unaccountably, began to address the latter; but they only

imitated his motions, and made wry faces, without returning him any

answer. The mule had by this time taken another serious look at them,

and disliking them exceedingly, he sidled towards them with all his

mettle, and tried to hit them with his heels. The urchins then raised

such an eldritch laugh that they made the arches of the castle to ring,

and, skipping about and about, provoked the mule to farther violence.

He, on his part, was nothing loth to attack; he ran open-mouthed at one,

kicked at another, and tried to crush another up against the gate, all

to the great annoyance of the friar, who, with the utmost difficulty

kept his seat for a good while, in spite of the mad evolutions of his

provoked and provoking beast. But the game once begun was not suffered

to subside. The giggling elves, with the swiftness of lightning, skipped

about, and, in whatever direction the mule darted, one of them was

always pricking him behind. The worthy friar waxed very wroth, and

swore by the life of Pharaoh that he would execute vengeance on them.

But the noise of mirth and mischief waxed louder and louder, until the

austere inmates of the castle heard; and the great Master said to his

only attendant, "Gourlay, what is the meaning of all this uproar?"

"It is only Prig, Prim, and Pricker," said he, "making sport with a

mendicant friar and his ass."

"Are they killing him?" enquired his Master, with the greatest

composure, and without lifting his eyes from a large book that lay

before him.

"I wot not, sire," said Gourlay, with the same indifference.

"Ay, it is no matter," returned the Master; "It will keep them in

employment a little while."

"Perhaps," said Gourlay,--and retired back to the casement with sullen

step.

By this time the mule had become so outrageous, that he wheeled, kicked,

and plunged, like one of the furies; and, at the last, in spite of all

the friar could do, laid him fairly on his back, amid the frantic

shrieks and gibberish of his tormentors. Gourlay beheld the incident

from the crevice of the turret, and, not daring to discompose the great

Master, he walked down to the gate to witness the sport at a shorter

distance; though with a callous indifference about the matter, and

without the least hope to enjoy it.

When he came nigh to the scene of action, he looked as if he expected

the friar to have been dead, and was rather astonished when he saw him

raise his head, and utter a solemn anathema against the pages, who fled

back as if awed and overcome. The seneschal not comprehending this,

turned his pale glazed cheek toward the friar, elevated his brow as if

looking at the verge of the high hill beyond the river, and stood

motionless, stealing a side glance, now and then, of the stranger.

The latter raised up his gruff face, inflamed with passion, and, seeing

the tall ungainly figure of Gourlay standing like a statue, with a red

turban on his head, and a grey frock or mantle, that in ample folds

covered him from the neck to the sandals, took him at once for the

mighty enchanter, and addressed him with as little respect as might be.

"If thou art the lord of this mansion, draw near unto me, that I may

tell thee of the deeds of thy servants, which eat thy bread, and stand

at thy gate. Lo, have they not lifted up the hand against my life, who

am a stranger, and a servant of him against whom thou hast rebelled and

lifted up the heel? Go to; thou art a churl, and a derision, and a

bye-word among thy kindred and people, and not worthy to be called by

their name. I came unto thy gate in peace, on a message of peace, and

the words of peace were in my mouth; and why hast thou suffered these

children of the wicked one to maltreat and abuse me? Why dost thou not

open thy mouth?"

The pages chattered with a malicious laugh at a distance, and the

seneschal came stalking near, in a sort of confused astonishment, to

take a nearer view of this talking phenomenon. He came and looked over

him without altering a muscle of his face; and the friar, irritated by

pain and the contempt shewn toward his sufferings, went on. At any other

time he would haply have been chilled by the pale frigid countenance,

shagged beard, and glazed unearthly eye that were now bent over him; but

in the present state of his feelings he disregarded them; and, though

convinced that he spoke to the mighty enchanter himself, continued his

harangue:--

"Come thou near unto me that I may curse thee. Thou child of all

unrighteousness, art thou not already cursed among the children of men?

Where are the wealth and the cheerfulness, where are the welcome, and

the faces of joy and mirth, that are to be met with at the houses of thy

kinsmen whose bread I eat? Where the full basket and the welcome store?

the wine that giveth its colour in the glass? the sounds of mirth and

gladness? the sounds of the song, the viol, and the harp? And where is

thy tongue, that thou canst not speak?" cried the friar, elevating his

voice to its highest and most impatient tones.

"Humph," said Gourlay.

"Humph!" returned the friar; "What dost thou mean by humph? Tell me, in

one word, Art thou the lord of this castle?"

"No; but his seneschal," said Gourlay; "What hast thou to say?"

"Then lead me to thy master, that I may see him face to face, and tell

him the words of him that sent me. I will not be afraid of these dogs of

thine and thy master's. What is become of thy tongue that thou dost not

speak? Tell me, I say, can I see thy master?"

"Perhaps," said Gourlay; and, seizing the friar by the shoulder with a

rude but powerful grasp, he dragged him in at the gate.

"With-hold thine hand, and thy unmannerly grasp," said the friar,--"else

I will smite thee with the sword."

The seneschal regarded this threat only with a grim unmeaning smile; and

as he held the friar by the right arm so firmly that he even lost the

power of it, it was impossible for him to draw his sword.

"Nay but hearken unto me," continued he; "surely it is better for thee

to live than to die. Therefore bring in my beast that he may have

provender; and let me also bring my goods and my changes of raiment

along with me in peace, else how shall I set up my face before thy

master?"

The seneschal then paused, and motioned with his hand to the pages to

bring the panniers; they ran to obey, but as soon as any of them touched

the huge wallet, he hastened back and fell to the ground.

"Vermin! cannot you bring the furniture?" cried Gourlay.

They shook their heads, and stood at a distance.

"Humph!" said he, "I do not comprehend this," and leading the friar

back, still holding him fast by the arm, he suffered him to lift the

panniers himself, which he did with good will, and then allowed himself

to be led away by the uncourteous seneschal, who said to the pages as he

departed, "See to the vile animal!"

Without more ado he led the friar in, and pushing him rudely into a

small vaulted apartment, he locked first a ponderous iron door, and

then a massy wooden one, full of nails, upon him; and, without regarding

his complaints or anathemas, or deigning a word in reply to his queries,

he left him to his own bitter reflections.

The apartment at first appeared to be dark, but on looking about he

found that there were two grated loop-holes in it, and by the light from

these he soon perceived that there was nothing in the place save the

skeleton of a man of uncommon stature and dimensions. The bones were

lying flat on the floor, every one in its place exactly as the man had

died, and the flesh wasted away from them. No disarrangement had taken

place, nor was the smallest joint wanting. This was a petrifying sight

to the poor friar, who, crossing himself, and turning from the horrible

spectacle, set his nose through the grating and looked out on the

fields.

The first thing he beheld confounded him more than all he had ever seen

in his life. The three devilish pages were tampering with his mule to

bring him within the outer gate; but he, in his usual manner, proved as

refractory as ever, and laid about him with all his might. On this, the

boys in one moment whipped him up in their arms, and ere the friar could

draw his breath, far less utter a Pater-Noster, they set him down in the

middle of the court, straight before the friar's grating, and tied him

to the shaft of a well with a strong rope. The friar said a Benedicite;

and, ere he had done, the devilish and provoking imps began to torment

the poor mule beyond all sufferance, whipping him round and round the

post, and making him fling and jump till the blood and sweat were

pouring together from his branded sides, and he was no more able to

resent the injuries committed on him. The friar fumed, and threatened,

and cursed them in the name of the blessed saints; but they only laughed

him to scorn: And when the mule could no longer resent the lash, they

brought red-hot spindles and pushed them between his hind-legs, which

made him fling and rear till he fell down at the post, and lay

groaning, unable any more to move.

The thing that provoked the friar worst of all was the sight of the tall

seneschal standing looking on, and seeming, by his motions, to be

directing the game. Never was such a flood of eastern eloquence heard at

Aikwood, as was poured from the small crevice in the bottom of the

eastern turret that evening. No one, however, regarded it, or, if they

did, it was only to mock or mimic the sublime deprecator.

To all that he said, the seneschal grinned a smile of grim disdain, and

motioned to the pages to redouble their sport, which they did, till, as

said, the poor animal could furnish them with no more.

The friar now beheld a joyful sight through the twilight, the rest of

his companions coming on foot towards the gate. They had gathered

together at the mill, about a mile to the eastward of the castle, and

made another attempt to approach it on horseback; but their efforts were

vain; not a steed would come one step farther than just in view of it;

so they agreed to put their horses up at the mill, leaving them in

charge of the miller and his two sons, and to proceed on foot to the

castle, to join their mysterious associate the friar, whose magical

might some of them began to dread, and others to trust.

Gourlay beheld them approaching as well as did the friar, and again

waited on the great Master with awe and trembling.

"I pray thee, mighty Master, to forgive me," said he, "but too true is

it that the wretched pedagogue has said,--for here come a body of the

warden's friends, with swords in their hands, and one beautiful human

thing in their company."

"And what then?" said Michael, in a stern, hollow voice.

The seneschal trembled. "I--I--only want to know how they are to be

received," said he.

"Received?" cried the Master, raising his voice to a pitch that made the

old wretch shrink as it were within himself. "Received? As spies should,

to be sure. Begone!"

Gourlay ran cowering toward the door.

"Stop.--Come back here. What forces are in the castle?"

"What forces? Hem! Great Master, you only know."

"Any things of flesh, I inquire?"

"No, not one; if you except the old witch Henbane. Oh! I beg your

pardon, great and honoured master! I meant your worthy and respectable

housekeeper."

Michael gave three gentle tramps with his heel, and in one moment the

three pages in black livery, Prig, Prim, and Pricker, were at his knee.

"Work, Master, work. What work now?" said they all in one breath.

"Give your master there a toasting for his insolence," said Michael.

The pages giggled for joy; the seneschal kneeled and roared out for

mercy, and, as a motive for granting it to him, said the strangers were

at the gate. The pages had already laid their fangs on him; but the

Master, on the arrival of the strangers being brought to his mind,

ordered the imps to desist. This they did on the instant; but, without

delay, rushed on Michael himself, as if they would tear him to pieces.

He threatened, cursed, and dared them to touch him; but they seemed

nothing daunted by all he said, but danced around him with demoniac

gestures, crying still out with one voice:--

"Work, Master, work; work we need;

Work for the living, or for the dead:

Since we are called, work we will have,

For the master, or for the slave.

Work, Master, work. What work now?"

"Miserable wight that I am!" cried the mighty Master. "Then, d--d

dwarfs, since it must be so, bring the slave back, and let him have

three varieties, and no more."

Gourlay had made his escape with all expedition, but it was not long ere

they overtook him, and brought him back, leading him in the most

grotesque manner that can well be conceived. They then began to twirl

him about, first with his face one way and then another; and,

latest adventures making the strongest impressions on their wicked

imaginations, by some devilish slight they transformed him into the

shape of a mule, and practised on him all the wanton cruelties they had

so lately done on the friar's, seeming to enjoy the sport all the while

with redoubled zest. They next changed him into a dog; and, tying a

cannister, containing some small stones to his tail, they pursued him

round and round the room, and finally out into the yard, with long

whips, every one breaking at him, and giving him a lash as he came by.

This caused him always now and then to exert himself with such speed

that the cannister was sometimes hitting him on the head with a loud

rattling yerk, sometimes on the back, and all over the body, while the

poor steward was running, yelping in the uttermost desperation. The

friar beheld part of the sport from his grate, but little wist that it

was the hated seneschal that was suffering, else he would have doubtless

enjoyed the scene in no ordinary degree. The rest of the embassy also

saw it from the outer gate, where they now stood rapping and calling

without being regarded, the pages being too intent on their game to pay

the least attention to such as they.

"Let alane the poor tike, like good lads," cried muckle Charlie, "and

come and open the yett. What ill has the silly beast done to you?"

"They bring me in mind o' Jock Harper's terriers," said Gibbie, "that

wad rather do ill for the sake o' doing it, than do ought that was good

or right for a' the warld."

"I hate to see a colley-shangie," said the poet; "there is nothing

sublime or romantic in it."

"They're nae canny couts thae three chaps," said Charlie; "Corby wadna

look at them, and he kens things gayan weel. We maun just hae a wee

patience till they be done wi' their chace. It's a queer kind o' place

this."

The poor metamorphosed steward, finding no rest for the sole of his

foot, betook him again to the staircase, and crept down at his master's

feet, deeming the chastisement to have been over. But he was no sooner

there than the pages were after him, and by the time they had whirled

him three times about, he started up a hare, and the three pages,

turning themselves into colley dogs set all upon him.

With the form of every quadruped into the shape of which he was turned,

he seemed to acquire its nature and antipathies, and in none was it so

striking as in the hare. When the collies began to snap at him, his

terror is not to be imagined; he darted round and round the hall like

lightning, breaking out and in to Michael's study, to the great

disarrangement of his conjuring apparatus, books, and papers; while

every time that a colley sprung with open mouth at him, he uttered a

desperate scream.

This was the only one of their frolics that appeared to amuse the great

Master, his partiality for the sports of the chase being proverbial to

this day. When he saw the old seneschal laying back his long ears, and

exerting his powers of speed in such manifest terror, and the malignant

collies whinking after him, and waylaying him in every strait, making

him often spring aloft, he could not help laughing outright, and

baiting the dogs on him. The tears stood in the old hare's eyes when he

heard this, nevertheless his fright made him agile; he bolted from the

halls and alleys of the castle into the extensive yard; and there was

such a hunt! Michael and the friar both ran to their respective windows

to see the sport, and our party at the outer gate shouted and hallooed

with great energy. Many a time did the dogs get a snap at the steward,

and make him scream out, while all the onlookers laughed aloud. At

length, thinking he would actually be worried, he cleared the wall, and

made a bold effort to gain the wood. But these were a trio of dogs from

which there was no possibility of escape. Ran he fast or ran he slow,

there were they after him, snatching at his hips and panting sides, and

yelping so keenly all the while that the seneschal had no doubt of being

torn in pieces should they fairly seize him. They turned him, and made

him trace many an acute angle on the hill, while our party were running

after him, throwing always sticks or stones at the steward, as he

hasted by them, and baiting the dogs on him. Finding, as formerly, no

other resource, he returned with main speed to the castle, and crept

down at the Master's feet, who, with one touch of his divining rod,

changed him into his own native forbidding form.

He started up in great wrath; and, though panting so that he could

scarcely speak, swore a horrible oath, that he would no longer be kept

in bondage and maltreated in that manner; and that, since it was

impossible for him to escape in any other way, he would cut his own

throat, and run his chance of an after life.

"Poor dastardly braggart!" said Michael; "not for the soul that inhabits

that old malicious frame, dare you do such a thing. I would seize on it,

and make sport of it for ages. I have you wholly in my power, and, dead

or alive, it is the same thing to me. Were you to do as you say, and

take away your life by a ghastly wound, I could even make one of these

fiendish spirits enter into your body, re-animate it, and cause you to

go about with your gaping wound, unclosed and unpurified, as when death

entered thereat. Think of what an existence that would be, and then go

and put your miserable threat into execution."

"Hah! There it is!" said Gourlay: "Turn me as I will, I see nothing but

wretchedness. Cursed be the day that I saw you, and ten times cursed the

confession I made, that has thus subjected me to your tyranny! However,

use me another day as you have used me on this, and you do it at your

peril, if you were the devil himself. I have warned you."

Michael only smiled contemptuously at the threat; and again asked what

living creatures were in the castle, as he wanted a retinue to receive

the message of his kinsmen.

"I have told you already," said Gourlay, in the same passionate and

irritated mood; "and I again repeat it, that there is no mortal thing in

the castle, but the old witch, and perhaps two or three hundred rats."

"Take that in the first place then," said Michael, "for your

impertinence,"--at the same time laying him flat on the floor by a

tremendous blow, although he only moved his hand toward the steward;

"and in the next place go call out these three hundred rats you talk of,

marshal them up in the court, and receive the mighty warden's people

with all manner of pomp and respect, and use them according to their

demerits."

The steward roared out with pain; and gnashing his teeth with rage, he

arose growling, and was hasting away, when the Master asked him if he

was going to accomplish what he had bidden him do.

"Without doubt;" said he, "Is it not very likely that I shall be able?"

"Take that then," said the Master, "and put it above the lock-hole of

the door; it shall serve you as a summons, and Prig, Prim, and Pricker

shall marshal your array." With that he gave him a small piece of

parchment written in red characters, which the steward snatched angrily

out of his hand, and going down the stair did as the Master had ordered

him.

The charm was effective, and its effects momentary. The bustling and the

screaming of rats were heard in every corner of the castle, and

forthwith a whole column of men marched out into the court in three

files, led by the three pages, and headed by the incensed seneschal in

his grey mantle and cap.

Our messengers looked mightily astonished when they beheld such a

retinue, and Charlie observed that "it was a confounded shame for Mr

Michael no to join the warden, and had sae mony idle men lying tholing

starvation beside him." But then looking wildly around on both sides to

his friends, he added, "God's grace be about us! wha kens but a' thae

may be spirits or elves in the shapes o'men? I think they hae unco queer

musty-like looks. An I had Corby here he wad soon tell me wi' a

vengeance."

Old Gourlay, now at the head of his corps, demanded what the strangers

wanted; and on being informed who they were, and that they came on a

special commission to the Master, they were admitted, and walked up a

lane between two ranks of armed men in full caparison.

The Master beheld them from his casement, and was mightily diverted by

the whimsical appearance of the various individuals that formed the

group, two of whom he conceived to be the most beautiful creatures he

had ever seen. Whoever reads this will at once guess who these two

lovely beings were; but if he does, he will at once guess wrong. It

would seem that a wizard sees every thing in this fair and beautiful

creation through an inverted medium, and that all the common and fine

feelings of nature are in him changed and distorted. The beauty of the

two young captives appeared, in Michael's eyes, hateful, and even

affected him with loathing; but two more lovely and engaging creatures

than Jordan and the Deil's Tam he had never seen on earth. The hooked

nose, wrinkled face, and mouth from ear to ear of the laird, he thought

exquisite; but Tam's long coulter nose, turned up in front, his small

grey eyes, and shapeless physiognomy, were beyond all expression

engaging. So, from the time that the Master got the first look of them,

he determined, contrary to his usual custom, to see and converse with

his guests.

They were soon conducted to the door of the vault, in which their friend

the friar was immured; and, as soon as the door opened, he exclaimed,

with a loud voice, "I charge you, O my brethren, and my companions, that

ye come not into this place, nor set a foot within its boundaries; for

the place is a place of death, and the bones of the dead men are in it."

There is no deciding what these words might have produced, had they been

pronounced in time; but as soon as Charlie and the laird, who were

foremost, heard the friar's voice, they rushed towards him without

thought or fear of the consequences, and, ere he had done, the hindmost

were pushed in by the relentless arm of the seneschal, and the iron door

closed behind them. Perceiving how matters stood, the friar straight

lifted up his hands, and continued to declaim in a still more fervent

stile.

"Hout! Gude Lord, friar man, haud your tongue," said Charlie

interrupting him: "What signifies making sic a frase as a' this? or what

good will it do? I hae run mysel into mony a priminary in my life, but I

never fand that mony words did muckle good. I trowed that ye had mair

art about ye than to be feared for a stane an' lime wa,' an' twa or

three airn staincheons. Pith can do muckle, but art can do mair."

Charlie meant the black art; but the friar taking him up in another

meaning, shook him by the hand and blessed him.

It may not have occurred to the reader and it is not likely it should,

that this same friar was an English monk, the most celebrated man of

that age, then exiled from his country, and obliged to skulk in

disguise, for fear of being apprehended and burnt as a wizard and

necromancer. He was the greatest philosopher and chemist of the age, the

real inventor of gun-powder, and many other wonderful discoveries, and,

withal, a pious and good man,--although one whose character was

tinctured with peculiarities so striking, that some took him for a man

crazed in his mind, but far more for a powerful necromancer. His name is

familiar to every man in the least acquainted with the literature or the

science of that age; but while he remained in Scotland being always

denominated the gospel friar, we have judged it best to call him by that

name. If the reader has not discovered this, it is time he should know

it; and whether the friar was a necromancer or not, will appear in the

sequel.

When the party got leisure to converse together, their first words were

expressive of the astonishment they laboured under at sight of the

warlike force kept up by the Master. Charlie only testified his regret

that there was not a right and mutual understanding between him and the

warden; but the maid Delany was the first to remark that she did not

think they were right men, because their faces were all alike, and their

eyes were not like the eyes of any human being she had ever before

looked on. In this every one present acquiesced, and great was their

wonder how or whence that mighty armed force had sprung; but they agreed

that there was no contending with such numbers, of whatsoever nature

they might be, and that there was nothing for it but submitting to the

Master's will.

The day light was by this time quite extinguished, but the moon was up;

and it being a hard frost, with a slight covering of snow, or rime, it

was nearly as light as some winter days. Their damp, mouldy vault with

the grisly skeleton lying at the one side of it, shewed horridly dismal

in the wan and shadowy light, and threw a chillness over their hearts.

They hoped and looked long for dinner, and then for supper, but neither

of them came; nor did they hear or see any living thing all that night,

save the friar's mule, that had again got to his feet, and stood at the

post groaning and trembling of cold. This was a grievous sight to the

friar, for his heart was moved for the sufferings of his poor beast; and

in the bitterness of his spirit he vented some anathemas against the

unconscionable seneschal, saying,--"Verily if ever that son of Belial

fall into my hands, I will be unto him as Adramelech and as Sharezer,

and do unto him as they did to the father that begat them."

Every time that Charlie looked out at the mule, he testified a sort of

inward satisfaction that his own trusty steed was not brought into the

same scrape, and sundry times said, "Gude faith, Corby kend better sense

than coming into sic a place as this is. He's as weel off down wi' the

auld miller; He'll get some pluffins o' seeds or dust, poor fallow. An

they gie him but water, I'm no feared for him, for there's plenty o'

meat yonder,--but he'll never do if they let him want water."

About two o'clock in the morning the seneschal entered with a light, but

had the precaution to lock the wooden door before he opened the iron

one. The prisoners had sat down on the floor, and were leaning on one

another; and, dismal as their lodging was, some of them had fallen sound

asleep. Delany was leaning on the friar's breast, and the poet had laid

himself down behind her, and covered her with his mantle. The rest were

huddled together, so that they appeared to be lying above one another;

but all, or most of them, set up their heads at the entrance of the

steward.

Tam was the first to address him. "What's come o' our supper, goodman,

that you are coming toom-handed? Do you no think it is time your guests

had something to eat, or hae ye naething either to eat or drink in this

great gousty castle? I dinna care what ye may think, or what you may

say; but in my opinion you and your master baith are naething but twa

ill-bred unmannerly niggards."

The seneschal grinned disdain, and clenched his teeth in wrath. He was

about to reply, but all their tongues were loosed on him at once,

some complaining of one thing some of another, and the friar more

particularly of the treatment of his beast. All, however, ended with a

request for meat.

"No," said Gourlay; "we have no meat for spies and forayers. A halter is

the only guerdon we bestow on such dogs. I want this fair maiden, and

for the rest of you"--He finished the sentence with a sneer and a point

with his finger to the bones; and seizing the maid by the shoulder, he

dragged her toward the door.

"Softly sir, and if you please," said the poet, speaking in pure

iambics, and seizing the bars of the iron door before the steward and

his prize. "We have indeed this maiden brought, from distant camp and

knight renowned, unto the master of this house; and to none else we give

her up: No, not to thee, nor arm of flesh."

As the poet said these words, he bristled up, and faced the steward at

the door, to keep him back; but the carl gave him such a blow on the

temples that he staggered and fell. The friar then interposed, and

though he was a strong and powerful man, the irascible steward plied his

blows so fast and so hard about his bare pate, that he was also

overthrown. The maiden screamed; and the old incendiary was within a

hairbreadth of having her outside of the iron door, when she would have

been wholly out of the power of her friends and protectors. But at that

critical instant Charlie Scott seized the steward by the arm, never

doubting but that he would twist him like a willow; but he was

mistaken. The churl seized him by the throat with his left hand, with

such prodigious force that Charlie deemed him to have the strength of

six common men, and lending him a blow on the face, he made his mouth

and nose to gush blood. Charlie returned the salute with interest, yet

the steward stood his ground, and a most desperate struggle ensued, in

which victory appeared doubtful. Gibby perceiving his friend and

champion's jeopardy, drew out his sword, and was going deliberately to

stick the old ragamuffin behind, had not Charlie called out furiously to

him to forbear.

"Keep back your whittle, you cowardly dog," cried he, "else I'll cut you

into a thousand pieces. I never yet took odds against a man, nor shall I

now, unless I am fighting wi' the devil. In that case I may measure my

backbreadth on the floor. But be he the devil, be he dicken, I shall gie

him ae squeeze."

Charlie with that closed with his dangerous opponent, and gave him such

a squeeze that he made his back and ribs to crash. The steward twisted

his face into the most hideous contortions, and exerted his whole force

to extricate himself, but Charlie brought him to the ground, falling

upon him with all his ponderous weight. It was among the bones of the

gigantic skeleton that the two combatants fell; and Charlie, deeming

that he had given his foe enough for once, and a little startled to find

himself among the rattling bones, began to unloose his grasp, and said

in a hurried way, "Billy, I'll learn you how to strike fo'k on the gab

and the brigg o' the nose sae rashly!" and was getting up as fast as he

could, when the steward gave him such a blow with the thigh-bone of the

dead man, that he had very nigh brought him down again. If Charlie's

bonnet had not had a bar or two of steel, that blow would have shattered

his skull. As it was it stunned him a little, and made the water start

into his eyes; and he had just recollection and strength sufficient to

secure his adversary's arms, by holding them down, so that he might not

repeat the blow. Yet, with all this Charlie's temper was not to be

ruffled. He cared not how often or how much he fought, but he never

fought in wrath.

"Gude faith, my man," said he, "but ye're no nice o' your chapping

sticks! and foul fa' me gin ye dinna lay them gayan freely on. But I

dinna blame ye. A wight man never wants a weapon; only come that gate

again an ye dare."

The steward growled and cursed, trying all that he could to throw

Charlie from above him, and master him by sheer strength. He had no idea

of being overpowered by a single arm, nor was he wont to fear half a

dozen, but he had never met with the like of Charlie Scott before. He

might as well have tried to remove the hill of Aikwood; so he

was obliged to succumb, which he did with a very bad grace; nor

would he either abate one inch in his demand of having the damsel

unconditionally, or grant one request that they desired of him.

"Why, then, there's nae help for it, honest man," said Charlie; "I hae

ye firm and fast, and what ye winna gie us we maun e'en tak at our ain

hand. Honest friar, come you here, and tak' a' the keys o' the castle

aff this camstary hallanshaker, and we'll e'en help oursels to sic as we

can get. I sal tak care that he sanna move a spauld against you, and as

for his tongue we maun just let it wag."

The rage of the seneschal, when he saw himself robbed of the keys of the

castle, is not to be described: he cursed and raged in such a manner,

that, even after the friar had both doors fairly open, Charlie durst not

move from off him, or let him go, for fear of some deadly scaith.

"I dinna ken what I'm to do wi' this deil's buckie," said he; "he's like

the tod's whelps, that grow aye the langer the waur."

"I wad gie him a settler," said Tam.

"He brings me in mind o' a barrel o' beer, fuming and fuffing. He'll no

settle till he be pierced," said Gibbie.

The friar then took up his bulky baggage, and walked out with that and

the light, meaning to bring his mule's halter wherewith to bind the

seneschal; but Charlie, making his escape from him, locked him in,--and

thus were our messengers left in the full and free possession of the

castle of Aikwood.

CHAPTER II.

The lady looked o'er the castle wa',

She looked both pale and wan;

For the door was locked, and the lord within,

He was no Christian man.

_Song of May Marley._

When the steward saw that he was fairly mastered, and that neither

strength nor words could avail him ought, he remained where he was in

sullen silence. He had got no orders from the Master to bring him the

maid, but it had come into his head to go and take her to himself, and

he had nearly effected his purpose. What might have been the consequence

of his success, it is painful even to calculate; but he was thus

prevented, though not without blood and wounds.

The guests now traversed all the lower apartments of the castle, there

being neither bolt nor bar to interrupt them; but for all the retinue

that they had seen at their arrival, there was neither the appearance

of man nor beast remaining. The large hall did not seem to have been

occupied for a long period. The shelves were empty, and there were

neither dishes nor fragments of meat of any description; and every thing

within as well as without the castle had the appearance of desolation.

At length they came to a door, from the bottom of which they perceived

some light issuing, of which they were glad, as they were afraid the

steward's lamp would fail them and leave them in darkness. Deeming

themselves on ticklish ground, they consulted in a whisper before

venturing in. Charlie Scott was quite a fearless man among his fellow

creatures, but all kinds of supernatural agency pressed heavily on his

conscience. Therefore, in the present instance, he dissuaded his

comrades from entering, with all his eloquence.

"Gude faith, callans, keep back off that place. It is may-be the

warlock's room; and gin he should be in the mids o' some o' his cantrips

at this eiry time o' the morning, gude sauf us! it is a question what

might be the upshot. Na, na, friar; I tell ye, bide back, it is best to

let sleeping dogs lye, for fear they get up and bite you."

But the friar's creed differed from that of Charlie, and he went

dauntlessly forward, putting him aside with his hand, and saying at the

same time, that he would "surely go in unto him as with a front of brass

or of iron;" that sooner or later the time and the season of their

meeting must come, and why should he be dismayed?

The friar then opened the door with caution, and entered, followed by

all his associates, Charlie Scott bringing up the rear, and whispering

to those next him in a tremulous voice,--"Od that body's mad! He'll lead

us into some ill-faur'd snapper. Dinna be ower rash, callans. Just look

afore ye."

Instead of the great enchanter, however, they found only an old woman,

so busily engaged with something on the fire, that she scarcely deigned

to regard them as they entered. She had a wooden tube, like the barrel

of a gun, with which she blew up her fire; and she kept blowing at it

till the flame came above the lip of her caldron, and let her see into

it; for she had no lamp, nor any other light save that which came from

the fire.

When she had made it blaze thus high, she spoke to herself, and without

taking her mouth from the tube; saying some words to the following

purport:--

"Sotter, sotter, my wee pan,

To the spirit gin ye can;

When the scum turns blue,

And the blood bells through,

There's something aneath that will change the man."

When Charlie saw her unchristian-like face, and heard her mumbling these

horrid words through her long hollow tube, he turned his back and fled,

taking shelter in a void entrance, to which he was led by some light

that fell into it from the rays of the moon. Full hardly was he then

bested, for he still deemed that he heard the witch's rites at a

distance; and the faint ray of the moon through a narrow aperture made

the rest of the space appear so shadowy and dim, that Charlie saw he was

in a dangerous situation, and actually began to fancy he beheld a face

in the dark staring at him, and still coming nearer. It was no time to

stand there; so he fled with all his might. But in his dismay he lost

every kind of aim, or consideration whither he was going, and at once

stumbled on the undermost step of a stone stair. Thinking the apparition

he had seen was by that time hard upon him, and no other way that he

knew of open for flight, he rose and pursued his course straight up

stairs, in a state of perturbation hardly to be accounted for. The first

landing place that he came to he ran himself against a door, and not

finding farther entrance he faced about, and, leaning over the

balluster, he set up such a yell as never was before breathed from

lungs. It is true he neither heard nor saw aught of the apparition; but

Charlie was a sensible man, and he was certain it might be there for any

thing that he knew; so he set up the same kind of cry that he was wont

to do when he lost his neighbours in a mist, or in a night foray, only

about ten times or so louder.

"Hilloa! Tam Craik! friar! hilloa! d--n ye a'; what for winna ye come

wi' a light?"

Charlie was now at such a distance from his comrades, who were still in

the witch's small apartment, and the echoes of the huge void castle so

confused the sounds, that they took the cries of their captain for the

rushing of a whirlwind roaring through the crannies of the castle, and

paid no regard to them. No state could be more deplorable than that in

which muckle Charlie Scott was now placed. To have returned down the

stair would have been meeting the devil face to face; or, as Charlie

much better expressed it, "to hae dabbed nebs wi' the deil."

He had therefore no other resource than to bellow out for assistance;

and seeing none approach, he said aloud in great agony of spirit, "Lord,

gin I were but on Corby's back again! ay, though it were in the wildest

glen o' a' the Cheviots, and the Eskdale souple o'er my shoulder," (that

was the cant name of Charlie's tremendous sword;) "I might then work my

way: But sic a place as this I saw never! Od, an there be lugs within

the wa's o' the house I shall either gar them hear or crack them.

Hilloa!"

Not satisfied with giving yelloch after yelloch, as he termed his loud

cries, he flew to every door on the landing place, laid on it with his

fists, and kicked it with his foot, calling at each of them in the same

key as before, "Is there ony body here?" He at last prevailed: one door

was opened, and he was admitted inside. But, alas for our gallant

yeoman! he only by this transition got out of one exceedingly bad scrape

into a worse.

* * * * *

These casual separations of _dramatis personae_ are exceedingly

unfortunate for the story-teller who aims at conciseness and brevity;

because it is impracticable to bring them all on at the same time. A

story is like a waggoner and his horses travelling out the king's

highway, his machine loaden with various bales of rich merchandise. He

goes smoothly and regularly on, till he comes to the bottom of a steep

ascent, where he is obliged to leave a great proportion of his loading,

and first carry one part of it to the top of the hill, then another,

and then another, which retards him grievously on his way. So is it with

the writer of a true history such as this; and the separation of parties

is as a hill on his onward path.

It is otherwise with dramatic representations, and in these the authors

have a great advantage. Let their characters separate as they will, or

be engaged as they will, they can at any time, with the greatest ease,

be brought together on the stage. The one enters from the one side, and

the other from the other, and we do not much concern ourselves how or

whence they come, taking it for granted that they are there, and that is

enough. It is rather delightful to see a hero, in whom one had begun to

take some interest, and whom he supposed to be far distant, exposed to

dangers abroad and perfidy at home, all at once stalk majestically in

from the side scene, and take his place before our eyes. It gives the

heart a great deal of relief to see and know that he is there in person

to stand up for his own injured rights. But in our own case there is no

such expedient. Like the waggoner, we must return from the top of the

hill, and bring up those of our characters that are left behind. At

present we must return from the top of the great stair-case in Aikwood

castle, into the housekeeper's cell on the ground floor.

Charlie had made his escape almost unobserved; those next to him weening

that he had only drawn a little back to keep a due distance between the

witch and him, so that they pressed forward to the scene without

regarding him.

The crone continued her orgies, blowing her fire one while, and again

stirring the liquid in the caldron; then making it run from the end of a

stick, that she might note its state of gelidity. The friar addressed

her in his usual stile of sonorous eastern eloquence; but she only

regarded him by a slight stare, and a motion with her hand, as if she

wished him and his group to disappear. She had taken them for spirits

that she had conjured up, and perhaps thought they were come before the

time; for in mumbling to herself, they at one time heard her saying,

"So you are all there, are you? Well, I shall find you work. Sotter,

sotter my wee pan."

This scene went on for a considerable time without any variety, the

witch attending solely to her caldron and her fire; the friar standing

before the flame, and Tam and Gibbie, with their long kipper noses,

peeping over his shoulder. The other three were behind these; the poet

with his arm round Delany's waist, and the beautiful face of the boy

Elias, the very picture of amazement personified, appeared below the

friar's right arm. Scarcely could such another group be formed for the

painter's eye. Here sat the witch, haggard and wild, close at the one

cheek of the fire, watching over her caldron and infernal morsel with

the utmost eagerness. There stood the gruff friar, with the keys of the

castle in his right hand, and the dim lamp in his left, raised above his

head; so that, from the two groups of light, the marked features of

amazement could be distinctly traced; which, with the faint and

yellowish hue of their complexions, made the whole highly picturesque.

The witch continued her occupation; till, at length holding up her stick

to note the consistence of her jelly, that appeared like boiling blood

and water mixed, there was something in its appearance that confounded

her. She dropt both her tube and her stirring stick among the ashes, and

turned about staring wildly at our group. She appeared as if examining

their features one by one in search of some one whose presence she

missed; and perceiving the boy's face below the friar's arm, she fixed

her eyes on that, cowering down at the same time like a cat that is

about to spring on its prey. Then, rising half up, she moved toward him

in a stooping posture, turning always her face first to the one side and

then to the other, until her nose came almost in contact with the boy's,

on which he slipped his face out of her sight behind the friar's back.

Observing next the two droll faces over the friar's two shoulders, she

appeared delighted with the view; and letting her jaws fall down, she

smiled at it, but it was rather a gape than a smile. She then tottered

again towards the fire, rocking her body and wagging her head as before,

repeating the while this unmeaning phrase:

"Niddy, noddy, niddy, noddy.

Three heads on ae body."

Haply she deemed all the three faces she had seen belonged to the friar,

and was happy at witnessing such a monstrous appearance.

Sitting down on her hams as before, she seized on her two implements,

and began to blow and stir for about the space of a minute, testifying

great impatience to see how her spell proceeded. But the moment that she

held up a part of her morsel on the stick, and let it drip off, she

perceived that all was wrong, and that her guests were the reverse of

those she expected. As soon as she looked at the liquor, she uttered a

horrible scream, while every joint of her body shook with fury; and,

lifting a wooden ladle that lay by her side with devilish nimbleness,

she splashed the boiling liquid on the faces and bodies of our amazed

compeers.

"Deil be in the auld jaud's fingers!" cried Tam: "Gin she hasna jaupit

out baith my een!"

"I have indeed given my cheek to the firebrand!" said the friar; "and

the skin of my forehead hath departed from me!"

"She brings me a-mind o' my mither," said Gibbie--but he got not time to

proceed; for after she had exhausted the contents of her caldron on the

intruders, she attacked them with burning coals and pieces of wood.

These she dashed among them with such desperate force, that part of them

sought refuge in retreat. Not so our redoubted friar. He gave the lamp

out of his hand to the laird, bidding him take care of it, and turning

his back toward her, and running backward for fear of farther injury to

his face and eyes, he seized the witch by the frock, and putting his arm

round both hers to restrain them, he held her fast to his side. In doing

so, he uncovered the cross that hung at his girdle. When she saw this,

and that her body was pressed against it, she uttered the most horrified

howlings, and appeared to be falling into convulsions. Nevertheless, the

friar kept his hold. He let her scream on, and, dragging her toward the

door, said unto her, "Thou wicked one! as thy works have been, so shall

be thy reward; and as thou hast sown, so also shalt thou reap. Come with

me, and I will put thee into a place where thou shalt cease from

troubling."

Without more ado, he bore her away to the vault where lay her surly and

unyielding associate, beside his mass of dry human bones; and forcing

her in, he locked them up together, saying, as he turned the massy bolt,

"Lo, the gates of iron and of brass close upon thee! the bolts of steel

are drawn around thy dwelling! There shalt thou remain, and there shall

thy flesh be consumed, unless thou repentest thee of the evil that thou

hast done."

There was a shrewd smile on the friar's face as he said this, as of one

who either did not mean to put his threat in execution, or marvelled how

it was that he should thus be lording it in the castle of Aikwood, and

imprisoning whom he would.

Never till that instant did any of the party miss their friend and

champion, Charlie Scott; but when they turned from the door of the

prison to consult what was to be done next, behold he was wanting This

caused them great dismay, but the friar most of all.

"Wo is me!" cried he: "How is the mighty departed, and the pillar of our

strength moved out of its place! As well may they take my head from my

body, and say unto me live, as bid us go on and prosper without that

mighty man."

* * * * *

The poor waggoner must again return from the top of the hill, and bring

up the most important and weighty part of his cargo; no less a load than

muckle Charlie Scott, laird of Yardbire, and the far famed warlock and

necromancer, Master Michael Scott.

* * * * *

The mighty uproar that Charlie made at the head of the stair, when he

believed the devil to be on the steps, aroused the great necromancer

from his nocturnal experiments, all of which were of an infernal kind.

At such hours as these his capacious mind was abstracted from all

worldly concerns, such as other mortals busy themselves about. If any

thing sublunary engaged his studies and calculations, it was how to make

the living die and the dead to live,--how to remove mountains out of

their places, to turn the sea into dry land, and the fields into a

billowy and briny ocean,--or in any way counteract nature in her goings

on. In some of these great enterprises was he doubtlessly engaged

that morning, when the voice of Charlie Scott astounded his ears.

Often had hosts of demons mustered at his call in the castle of Aikwood,

and the yelling sounds of the infernals were no strangers to his ears;

but never had he heard such a potent voice before as that sent forth by

Charlie, when he conceived himself cooped up between the devil and a

bolted door. Conceived did I say? No: Charlie saw distinctly, by this

time, an indefinable being coming slowly up to him. Saint Peter! as he

did thresh the warlock's door. "Is there any body here? Hilloa! Open the

door I say." Thump, thump, thump!

The bolt inside was drawn, and, owing to the strong pressure without,

the door flew wide open at once. Charlie perceiving the light, and

fearless of ought but the figure behind him, rushed into the room, and

made toward the fire. The door was instantly shut behind him with a loud

and furious clash; and Charlie then turning around, got the first look

of the inmate. He was a boardly muscular man, somewhat emaciated in his

appearance, with a strong bushy beard that flowed to his girdle, of a

hue that had once been jet black, but was now slightly tinted with grey.

His eyes were uncommonly bright and piercing, but they had some

resemblance to the eyes of a serpent. He wore on his head a turban of

crimson velvet, ornamented with mystic figures in gold, and on the front

of it was a star of many dazzling colours. The rest of his body was

wrapped in a mantle or gown, striped with all the hues of the rainbow,

and many more.

Charlie's eye had lately been lighted up with terror, but as it fell on

the majestic figure of Master Michael Scott, its wild gleam softened

into respect, and he saluted him with his quick, abrupt, border bow,

which rather resembled the motion made by a raven beckoning from his

rock as he wakes the surrounding echoes, than the slow and graceful

courtesy then so well understood among the great. Michael still kept his

erect posture at the back of the door, fixing on our yeoman an indignant

and angry glance. That look conjured up a little more of Charlie's

breeding; he doffed his steel bonnet with the one hand, stroked down the

hair of his forehead with the other, and gave the master another bow, or

rather a nod.

"Gude e'en t'ye, Sir; I fancy you're the lord o' this castle?" said

Charlie.

"You fancy so, do you?" said the Master with a sneer; and giving three

tramps with his heel on the floor, in one moment the three pages, Prig,

Prim, and Pricker, stood beside him.

"Work, Master, work,--what work now?"

"Take that burly thief and housebreaker, bind him, and put him to the

test."

"Stop short there, my good masters, till I speak t'ye, said Charlie,

"I'm neither a housebreaker nor a thief, but a leel man, our warden's

kinsman, and your ain, Master Michael Scott. I came here on fair and

honourable service, and I have been guidit waur than a tike; and I'll

just tell you plainly, for I'm rather an e'en-down chap, that if ane o'

thae brats dare but to touch me, I'll tak my hand aff his haffet in sic

a way that he sanna grene to lay foul finger on a gentleman again."

The three pages fell a giggling at this speech, and one of them brushed

forward and seized Charlie with a force of which he had no conception.

But he was one that never suffered any personal attack with impunity. He

drew a stroke with his clenched fist, and aimed such a blow at the

page's head, that, if he had had a head like other pages, would have

smashed it to pieces. Charlie hit no head at all. He struck a thing of

nought. But the force of his arm was such, that, about two yards farther

on, he hit an apparatus of curious construction, which he called "a

machine for setting the wind on fire," and which he made to fly all in

flinders against the wall. The Master's eye kindled with rage; but the

three urchins, who delighted in nothing but mischief, laughed still the

louder, and pressed all forward on Charlie. He had been a little

astounded at missing the page's head; but, being somewhat flustered, he

had not leisure to reflect, and his conceptions were naturally none of

the most acute; so, for the present, he took it for a miss. But seeing

they purposed to lay violent hands on him, he sprung back into the

middle of the room, in order to command weapon space; and drawing out

the Eskdale souple, he stood on the defensive in a most determined

posture.

The pertinacious elves wheeled also backward, taking a circle round

behind the Master, and advanced on him all abreast. Good Lord, with

what might Charlie struck at them! He came on them with a hew that he

meant should cut them all three through the middle at once. But he, a

second time, struck on vacancy. The sword whistled through the void,

taking Charlie round with it, and demolishing almost every thing that

was in the room. The pages screamed with delight, but Michael foamed

with fury. Charlie paid no regard either to him or the devastation he

had made among his utensils; but, springing round the board to the other

side of the room, said, in a loud perturbed voice: "Tell me just this ae

thing, Michael,--are thae three creatures deils? Because an they be

deils, I hae nae mair chance wi' them than a cat. But as for yoursel,

goodman, I ken ye are flesh and blood, and o' my ain kith and kin," (and

with that he seized Michael by the throat,) "therefore, either gar thae

hellicats gang about their business, or, by Him that made us, I'll thraw

your neck about."

Whether it was the might of the enchanter himself, or that of his bond

spirits, Charlie wist not; but in one moment after that his feet were

tripped from beneath him, and he was laid on his back on the floor.

There he was held by a might against which his great strength could not

prevail, bound with cords, and stretched on the board. The Master and

his familiars then conversed in Latin, a language of which Charlie knew

but little, having never been at court; but he heard they were

conversing about his baptism. Charlie had not got much time in his life

to think about these sacred rites, yet he had always held them in proper

respect and veneration; and at that time he blessed the hour he had been

presented in holy church, having strong hopes that on that account the

powers of hell would not prevail against him. The elves loosed his

buff-belt, and unclasped his steel-doublet, laying his manly bosom quite

bare. The Master gave them directions in Latin, and each of them went

and brought a long knife with two edges, sharp as a razor, and having a

point like a lance.

"I didna trow that there had been ought sae misleared in nature as

this," said Charlie. "It's no that I'm ony feared for death. I hae

looked him ower often i' the face to blench at his ca': but I wad just

hae liket to hae fa'en i' the field wi' my sword i' my hand, and no to

be cut up like a Christmas pye, and carved a' into collops by a wheen

damned deils."

One of them prepared to cut open his breast, and another his belly; but

a moment's dispute taking place between them in some unknown tongue,

about the mode, as Charlie believed, he crossed himself as well as he

could with his bound hands, and pronounced a sacred name into himself.

That instant he perceived the pages fall a-trembling, and stand back;

their faces blenched with dread, and the weapons fell from their hands.

The Master was wroth, and ordered them to proceed, as Charlie weened by

his motions; but, instead of that, they retired trembling into a corner.

He snatched a knife from one of them, as if determined to do the deed

himself. Charlie then deemed himself gone; for he had a sort of

confused idea, that, by certain laws of nature, and the use of holy

rites, wicked spirits were restrained, else mankind would be destroyed:

"But what law of nature, or what holy word or sign," thought he, "can

restrain the arm of a wicked man? It is my duty to try, however,"

thought he again; and with that he whispered a prayer to the Son of the

Virgin, that He would save a warrior from a death like this.

Charlie's prayer was heard, short as it was; for at that very moment,

while yet the syllables hung on his lips, entered the gruff figure of

the friar, with the keys of the castle over his arm, and followed by his

associates.

"What seek you here, you dogs?" cried the Master, turning about with the

great knife in his hand: "Am I thus to have my privacy disturbed, and my

abode ravaged by a pack of carrion hounds from the hills? Brave pages

mine, bind them all, and cut me them into a thousand pieces."

Scarcely was the order given ere they had the poet on the floor, and

bound with strong cords. The rest prepared to escape; but the great

enchanter placed his back to the door, brandished his great knife, and

dared them to approach him. The mettledness of these pages cannot be

conceived, far less described; they seemed but to will a thing and it

was done. Ere ever one of the intruders had time to rally his thoughts,

or almost to think at all, three of them and the boy were all lying

bound in fetters. But when the imps came to seize on the friar, they

could not. They skipped about and about him, but they had not power even

to touch his frock. The virgin stood behind him trembling; and on their

feeling their want of power over the friar, they turned to lay hold on

her. But the moment they touched her robe, they retired back in dismay.

Michael looked as if he dreaded there was something about these two that

boded him no good; but he wist not what it was, for he had never seen

the prowess of his bond spirits counteracted before; therefore he

awaited the event for a space, when he perceived them vanquished.

The friar had time to rally his thoughts, and remembered that the maid

had the blessed gospel concealed in her bosom; and judging that these

were perhaps fiends with whom they had to do, who durst not stand

against the word of truth, he drew his cross from below his frock,--that

cross which had been consecrated at the shrine of Saint Peter, bathed in

holy water, and blessed with many blessings from the mouths of ancient

martyrs--had done wonderous miracles in the hands of saints of former

days,--and lifting that reverendly up on high, he pronounced the words

from holy writ against which no demon or false spirit's power could

prevail. In one moment all the three imps fled yelling from the

apartment. The countenance of the enchanter fell, and he quaked where he

stood; but the eye of the friar was kindled up with exultation and joy.

"There worketh the hand of my master!" exclaimed he: "There have I

trusted, and I am not, like thee, ashamed of my trust. I have a

strong-hold of hope, and it is founded on a rock, but thy habitation

trembleth beneath thee; and dost thou know, or hast thou considered,

what is underneath?"

The friar then went up and loosed the bonds of his friend Charlie, and

of all the rest, one by one, exulting in his creed, and pouring forth

such sentences of sublime adoration as are not suited for an idle tale.

The Master at length took courage and rebuked him, saying, "It is vain

for thee, foolish dupe of a foolish creed, to multiply such great

swelling words of vanity. What though thy might hath, for once,

prevailed above my might, and thy spell proved more powerful than mine?

I will engage, nevertheless, that in nine times out of ten, mine, on

fair trial, shall prevail over thine. And at all events I can at this

time call in the arm of flesh to my assistance, and do with you whatever

seemeth to me good."

"Ay, gude faith, and that's very true, Master Michael Scott," said

Charlie: "and that we saw wi' our ain een. It is great nonsense to

quarrel with the lord of a castle aneath his ain roof, although, I

confess, I was the first to do it mysel'. But there's an auld saying,

wha wad sit i' Rome and strive wi' the pope? or misca' a Macdonald in

the raws o' Lochaber? We came wi' nae sic intent, but in fair

friendship, and on courteous errand. And now when we are a' rather on

equal footing again, let me beg o' you, great and powerful Master, to be

a reasonable man for aince. Answer the warden's request, and let us gae;

for really, great Sir, our master canna well want us; and mair nor that,

I'm feared yon chaps at the mill dinna gie Corby ony water."

Though the Master did not understand the latter part of this speech, yet

the honest simplicity of Charlie somewhat interested him. His stern and

sullen brow cleared to something like a smile; and on looking at the

singular and original group before him, he half resolved within himself

to have some intercourse with humanity once more. "If it were but for a

day, or even an hour," thought he, "would it not form some variety in a

life thus dedicated to searching after hidden mysteries--a life of

turmoil and distraction, in which there is no allay?"

Such were some of the thoughts that glanced on the dark mind of the

necromancer, as he turned his eye on the broad weather-beaten face of

honest Yardbire, "And what may your master's request be, yeoman?" said

he.

Charlie had great hopes that he would now bring matters to a bearing at

once; and, coming a step nearer to the Master, he laid the one

fore-finger across the other, and answered him thus:--"Why, gude faith,

Sir, it is neither mair nor less than just this:--Ye ken the last time

ye war at the castle of Mountcomyn, ye gae our master, your kinsman, the

warden, some little insight anent things that were to come about:--of

some bits o' glebes, and hopes, and glens, ye ken, that war to fa' to

his house. Now, Sir Knight, or Master, as I should say, he's a man that,

aboon a' ithers that ever war born, looks to the honour and the

advantage o' his house. He's as loyal as the day's light, as generous as

a corn mill, and as brave as a blast o' snaw or a floody river. Od, you

will turn either the ane or the ither sooner than you will turn him wi'

his muirland callans at his back.--Ay, I hae seen him.--But it's

needless to tell what he'll do for his ain. So you see, Sir Master, that

was the preceese thing he sent us for."

"To send troops to his assistance, I perceive?" said the Master.

"Why, Sir Master, to say the truth, we hadna that in charge; though it

wad be far mair mack like, and far mair feasible, and far mair

honourable into the bargain, to send yon great clan o' ratten-nosed

chaps to help our master, than to hae them lying idle, eating you out o'

house and hauld here. Ye wad aye be getting part o' the spulzie. Half a

dozen o' kye at a time now and then disna do amiss. Sae, if you will

come to terms, I will engage for ane to see you get fair share, to the

hoof and the horn, the barn an' the beef boat, the barrel and the bed

blanket. But, ye ken, Sir, in matters like this, we maun do ae thing

afore another, like business men; and ye maun be sae good, and sae kind,

and sae obliging, as to answer our first request first."

"As far as I can recollect," said Michael, "I never heard any request

made."

"Why, gude faith, Sir, ye ken, I believe I forgot that part o't," said

Charlie: "But ye see, that's neither here nor there; for the thing

requires some explanation. Do you ken a' this mad story about the siege

o' Roxburgh?"

"I trouble myself about no worldly things," said the Master, "nor do I

wish to hear about them. Is there no one present who can tell me this

great business at one breath?"

Charlie stepped back. "There's nae garring him hae patience,--and good

troth my tongue I fear has outrun my logic," said he: "Friar, speak

you."

"Great and magnificent Master of Arts," said the friar, stepping

forward, "whom I have longed to see above all men! Lo, thou seest, and

thou hearest, that this man, although he be a man of might, and a

warrior from his youth, is yet uncouth of speech, and altogether

diffuse; therefore listen thou diligently unto the voice of thy servant.

Behold we are come to thee from the man that ruleth over the borders of

the land, and leadeth forth his troops to battle. He sendeth unto thee

greeting, and beseecheth to know of thee what shall befal unto his

people, and to his house, in the latter days. It is thy counsel alone

that he asketh, for thou art renowned for wisdom and foresight to the

farthest corners of the earth. The two nations are engaged in great and

bloody contest, and high are the stakes for which they play. The man who

sent us intreateth of thee to disclose unto thy servants who shall

finally prevail, and whether it behoveth him to join himself to the

captain of his people. He hath, moreover, sent unto thee, by our hand,

these two beautiful captives, the one to be thine handmaiden, and the

other to be thy servant and run at thy bidding; and whatsoever thou

requirest of our captain, that will he do, even to the half of all that

he hath."

There was but one thing on earth by which the wizard could be flattered,

and that was a deference to his profound art. He therefore listened with

patience to the friar, and answered, that the request his kinsman had

made would take many days to consider of: "For," said he, "I have those

to deal with that are more capricious than the changing seasons, and

more perverse than opposing tides and winds; therefore remain with me a

few days, that I may prove you."

"Od bless ye! Sir Master, the thing is impossible!" said Charlie: "I

coudna bide frae my captain and chief, and him in jeopardy; neither

could I endure to think that my poor beast should want water sae lang. A

man's life often depends on his beast."

"Thou givest us no meat," said the friar, "nor wine nor strong drink

givest thou unto us. How, therefore, can we remain in thine house?

Nevertheless would I love to abide a short time with thee, to witness

thy great might, before which the masters of divinations in other lands

have trembled. Verily, I would also show unto thee what thy servant can

do."

"If I were to cope with such as thee, it would only be to show thee thy

littleness!" said Michael. "But thy creed is an abomination to me, and

I abhor it. In the meantime call up my steward, and I will order him to

provide you with meat and drink."

The poet now, for the first time, spoke up in the Master's hearing; and,

indignant at the steward's design on Delany, he delivered himself with

great vehemence.

"Nay, say not so, great Master. The devil hath possession of that man,

sure as the stars burn on the morning's brow. He give us meat or drink!

Sooner he will draw forth the crimson current from our veins, and lay us

with the dead: Sooner he will rob beauty of her treasure, and deface the

image of his Maker. Let us go forth to hill, or dale, or wood, strive

with the crow for carrion, or contend with owlets for a mouse; but to be

bearded by that same surly beast, the heart of man not brooks it. As for

me, I lift my voice, my absolute protest, against the degradation and

effect."

"He is indeed a son of Belial," said the friar; "but I have put him in

ward, that he trouble us not. Lo, here be the keys of thy castle, which

I intend to keep as our surety. Therefore show me the place where thy

good things are disposed, and I myself will be steward for a time; for

indeed that man of thine is such a son of Belial that a man cannot speak

to him."

The Master's brow lowered with dissatisfaction. His subordinate spirits

in whom he trusted had no power over the friar, and other man had he

none within the castle, save Gourlay, who was almost as much fiend as

man. He therefore intreated the friar to set his steward at liberty, and

restore to him the keys, else no meat or drink could be had; and, at the

same time, he gave them all warrandice that they should be kindly used.

"My seneschal," said he, "is as stubborn and froward as any demon of the

pit, nor will he do one kind or fair action save by compulsion. But he

dares not disobey me. If he should presume to dispute my orders in the

slightest instance, one word from you shall be sufficient, and I will

shew you how he shall be requited."

It was forthwith agreed that the Master should accompany them down to

the dungeon, in order to restrain the fury and violence of his servant.

Matters were therefore arranged, and the two prisoners set at liberty.

The steward was sullen and intractable, lying still on the dungeon

floor, disregardful of the words spoken to him by the friar; but when he

heard the Master's threatening accents he sprung to his feet and came

forth, looking at Charlie in such a manner as plainly said, "I shall be

revenged on you."

The Master then took him to task, demanding by whose orders he had shut

up his kinsman's friends in the vault. But he only snarled and gnashed

his teeth in reply.

"And then to suffer yourself to be mured up there!" said the Master.

"Ay," said Gourlay; "some have won a tilt on the king of the field who

never saw the day to win it on another."

"For the viper blood that venoms thy heart do thou ought amiss to these

gentlemen," said the Master, "or to this obnoxious thing that is their

ward! Wherefore, let me ask, were they compelled to shut you up there?"

The steward only grunted in reply; but the poet came again boldly

forward, having been exasperated beyond measure at the steward for his

attempt on Delany; and he said,--"Sir knight, in that I'll truly counsel

you. At dead hour of night, when all was still, save the snell piping of

the frosty wind; even we were all at peace, and quiet lay as did the

dead man's bones, but that, between, the friar at equal intervals sent

forth his nasal roar, so vehement that the mice, yea, and the starveling

rats, ceased from their prowling, listened the dire sound from fleshy

trumpet of our mother church, then sought, with stretched forth tail,

and nimble foot, the depth profound! There quaking did they lie, like

fiends driven from the height to the abyss,--lank make, chilled heart,

and grievous length of tail. At that ill hour, in comes this boding owl,

this ill-starred man of sin, and straight demands that peerless maiden

for your honour's couch. Him we refused--the maiden shrieked for

help--he dragged her forth, and on this laurelled head, crowned by the

muses with celestial bays, inflicted ruthless wound. The bedesman also

fell; but he our friend, the Hector of the hills, wrought his o'erthrow,

and circum-mured him. Thus my say is ended."

The Master, as the poet spoke, seemed several times so much amused that

they expected he would have burst into laughter. But one look of his eye

spoke sentences. When he heard that Gourlay had demanded the maid for

him, he gave him such a glance as made the wretch almost cower to the

earth; and when the poet ended he turned his eyes on Charlie, measuring

him from head to foot, and seeming as if he doubted the fact that he or

any man could master his redoubted seneschal. However, the Master had

seen so much of the group, that he determined, contrary to his custom,

to have some amusement with them. He therefore ordered his seneschal

forthwith to provide all good things for their entertainment.

The stubborn wight made no movement betokening obedience. He stood

upright with his dull white face a little elevated, and his eyes turned

up below his brows, while those who were next him heard him saying to

himself, in accents that creaked in his throat, "Hell must be moved for

this repast!" The Master heard not this sentence, but noting his

steward's indecision, he stamped with his foot, and pointing with his

finger, the latter led the way into an antichamber of the same cold and

naked appearance with the rest of the apartments of the castle, where,

leaving them with a light, the two went away into the great Master's

dormitory, "To cast their cantrips, and bring up the deil."

"He keeps an unco cauld house this carl," said Tam, when they were left

by themselves: "I fancy he'll ken brawly he'll hae ane bien eneugh at

the hinder-end, and downa bide to see fire in this!"

"He brings me a-mind o' daft Jock Amos i' the Goosegreen," said

Gibbie,--"wha never durst lie down on a bed because his mother died on

ane. Whenever he saw a bed wi' white sheets on it he fell a-trembling,

and ran to the gate."

CHAP. III.

Goe fetche mee lofe of your wheitan breide

And ane other coppe of wyne;

For drynke I quhile myne doublet ryve,

For drynke I moste repine.

I fele not corauge in myne herte,

Nor mychte into myne honde,

If there is nott wytchcrafte forth abrode,

There neuir was crafte in londe.

_Ballade of "Prince Henrie."_

The morning had by this time dawned on the gray hills of the forest, and

that with an aspect gloomy and foreboding. The white snowy clouds had

crept down into the bosoms of the hills; and above these clouds were

here and there to be seen the top of a mountain crested with its dark

cairn, so that the heavens and the earth seemed to be mingled together.

"Gude sauf us!" cried Charlie, as he peeped out at his small crannied

window, "but this is a grim, gousty-looking morning! I wish the prince

o' the air be nae fa'en a brewing some o' his hellish storms and

hairikens on us. If there be spirits moving about on thae hills to-day,

they can be nae good anes, ye may see by their look out. Sant Mary be

with us! see their drumly heads appear to be raised to double their

ordinary height."

"Be not thou afraid, my son, of the prince of the power of the air, for

there is one that is greater than he," said the friar; "and though the

fiends may for a while muster their fogs, and foment the air with

storms, yet will he send forth his angels and scatter them; yea, he will

send them forth riding on the whirlwind, and the clouds of heaven shall

be their chariots, and the powers of darkness shall fly in dismay before

them."

The friar stepped forward to the window, and gazed for a minute in

breathless astonishment; then turning away, he added in a solemn tone,

"Verily, my children, I am afraid to look at the face of the sky, or to

behold the hues that are abroad on the firmament this day, though my

strength be the munition of rocks."

The steward now appeared with his rod of office in his hand, and, with

all due ceremony, marshalled his guests up the great stair, and finally

up a small winding stair, to an apartment at the very top of the upmost

tower, above all the turrets and paved battlements. This room was in a

blaze of light with flaming torches all around; and (joyful sight to our

precious embassy!) the table was covered with rich viands in great

abundance. The friar, having got short of breath in his ascent, lagged

considerably behind, while the foremost rushing in, every one began to

help himself with the greatest avidity; so that, when the friar at

length came puffing into the apartment, all the rest had begun without

grace. The seat at the foot of the table was still unoccupied; and

before that there stood a beautiful smoking sirloin of beef, with a

gentle brown crust around it, and half swimming in gravy. Never was

there a more delicious sight presented to a hungry man.

The worthy friar, seeing all the rest engaged, would not risk a trespass

on good manners by interrupting them, although it was an established

custom with him to bless every meal before tasting it. In conformity

with this venerable custom among Christians, he lifted up his spread

hands, closed his eyes, and leaning forward above the beef so closely

that he actually breathed upon it, and felt the flavour of health and

joy ascending by his nostrils, in that fervent and respectful attitude

he blessed the beef in the name of Jesus. Never had blessing a more

dolorous effect. When the friar opened his eyes, the beef was gone.

There was nothing left on the great wooden plate before him but a small

insignificant thing resembling the joint of a frog's leg, or that of a

rat; and perhaps two or three drops of gravy.

The friar's associates were all busily engaged. The steward was moving

about behind them, and at that time happened to be passing by near where

the friar sat; of course, this latter worthy had no doubt whatever but

that the malicious old rascal had stolen the roast slyly from under his

nose the moment that his eyes were closed, whereas the steward was as

much astounded as he. It was a fine picture. The friar had placed

himself hastily to begin; but, missing his beef, and seeing nothing of

it on the board, he was moved with great anger and indignation. There he

sat, biting his lip, and having his deep dark eye fixed on the

seneschal; and there stood the tall seneschal, with his mouth wide open,

his face half raised toward the cornice of the chamber, and his dull

heavy eye fixed on the friar's plate. He was in utter dismay; for he

dreaded that, on such a blessing being pronounced openly, the whole of

his provisions would in like manner vanish away; and he was a blithe man

when, instead of blessing, the friar, on opening his mouth, was rather

inclined to curse.

"Cursed be thy malice, for it is great," cried he: "Thou Nabal! thou

Rabshakeh! thou Shimei, the son of Bichri! thou Er! thou Onan! thou vile

Judas, the son of Simon! Magormissabub be thy name; and may it be

blotted out after thee, and become a bye-word, and a proverb, and a

hissing among people and children. Restore that which thou hast unjustly

taken away, before I thrust my sword into thee, and take away thy life.

Give unto me the precious morsel thou hast taken away, or, lo! thou art

in the jaws of destruction, and the pit openeth her mouth wide upon

thee."

The steward answered neither good nor bad; for he was afraid of the

vengeance of his master, and the evil spirits that wrought at his

bidding, and delighted in nothing so much as in tormenting him, else had

he not taken the friar's curses without repaying them sevenfold. He

therefore shut his mouth, and closed his eyes, putting on a countenance

of the utmost derision. But the friar's heart had been set upon the

beef, his soul had rejoiced over it, and he could not with patience give

way to the idea of losing it; therefore, instead of joining the rest,

who were devouring their various fare with great eagerness, he continued

his anathemas on the steward.

"Blethering gouk!" cried Charlie: "Can nae ye tak part o' what's gaun,

and haud your jaw? What signify a' thae strings o' gospel phrases at sic

a time as this? Will they fill a hungry stamock, or mak the worthy

seneschal either better or waur than he is? Come pledge me in a cup o'

wine to the health of our great landlord, Master Michael Scott."

They handed the stoup down to the friar, who filled for himself, and

took the pledge, though still with a gloomy and a discontented brow. He

then left his seat, and went up one side of the board, close to Gibbie

Jordan, where he began a-helping himself to a slice, from a mangled

shoulder of venison apparently. But it relished not,--for still the lost

beef was uppermost in his mind, and his eye glanced hot displeasure at

the steward.

"Surely he is of all men the most accursed," added he: "He drinketh up

malice as the ox drinketh up water; and as his name is so is he.

Whereunto he hath conveyed the morsel that I loved, is a matter too high

for me to comprehend. I see it not in any corner of the habitation, nor

doth the smell of it reach my nostrils. But I will visit it upon his

head; and mine eyes shall see my desire on him."

The dishes of meat were, however, of good quality, and well mixed with

fat and lean; yet none of them knew exactly what they were, neither

would the sullen steward deign to give them the least information on

that head. There was even one large shapeless piece, of a savour and

consistence so peculiar that no one of them could tell whether it was

flesh or fish. Still they continued their perseverance, devouring one

dish after another, and drinking off one stoup of wine after another,

without any abatement of appetite on the one side or any exhiliration of

spirits on the other, the steward always bringing in a supply with the

most perfect equanimity. At length our yeomen began to look at one

another. Their hands had waxed weary with cutting, and their jaws would

scarcely any more perform their office.

"What is the meaning of this, my brethren," said the friar: "Surely it

is better for us to desist, lest our table prove a snare unto us. Lo, my

hands are weary, and my cheek-bones are pained even to their utmost

extremities. Verily, it is all vanity, for my body is only filled as

with the east wind."

"Na, na; ply away. It's good sport. I dinna see how we can be better

employed," said the deil's Tam.

"I think, my brethren, that we should from eating straight refrain,"

said the poet; "for eating is but weariness, and drinking is but pain.

There is no strength into our bread, nor spirit in our wine: some

warlock wight has ta'en the might out of this food of mine."

The steward had all this time never spoken word good or bad; but had

served them with the utmost obsequiousness; and when they had at length

ceased from feeding, he went and gave the Master an account of the

repast, which proved a source of great divertisement to him.

"I have not," said he, "for these many years, had any desire to trifle

with the beings to whose species I once belonged; but this group

surpasses all of their kind. I will, therefore, lay aside my profound

studies, and be with them as one of themselves. If it were but to

torment them, I will indulge in this idle and vain humour. I have

almost forgot how human passions work."

"I pray of thee, Master," said Gourlay, "that thou wilt suffer me to

slay yon grim and snarling dog in the grey frock. I loathe, hate, and

abhor him. He is, moreover, a bit of a necromancer himself; and has the

insolence to suppose that he can rival you in power."

"It is there I long to try him," said the Master. "In power I brook no

rival in this or any other land, as thou thyself, and thy wretched

companion in bondage, can witness. There is only one thing in this weak

man in shape of a friar that I fear, and that thing shall be nameless.

Perhaps I may commission thee to take him away. In the mean time, remove

the remainder of their wretched viands, and bring me in a vessel full of

the strong wine of Palestine, mixed up with the essence of many spirits.

It is a beverage fit for gods. In it will I pledge these deranged

mortals; and thou shalt see some sport for once, if aught on earth can

divert thee."

"Certes I shall be diverted, great Master of arts. I hope you will

favour them with a touch of _the varieties_, by way of example?"

"By and by, Gourlay,--all in good time. In the mean while, let us deal

with them as men and as gentlemen; and, before I metamorphose them

into quadrupeds, let us see what kind of beings they will make of

themselves."

The Master accordingly entered the room, where his guests still sat

round the board. All of them rose, and made obeisance; but, without

returning the courtesy, he took his seat at the end of the table next to

the door, and was just about to address them, when he was interrupted by

Charlie Scott. There were two great individuals always uppermost in

Charlie's mind,--these were his master the warden, and his horse Corby;

and finding himself again in the Master's presence, and thinking he

rather looked better pleased than he was wont, he judged it prudent not

to let the opportunity slip: so, after scratching his head violently

with both hands, he thus preferred his solicitation:

"Gude faith, Master Scott, I'm glad I hae seen you again; and, nae

disparagement either to you or your house, Sir Knight, but the truth is,

we canna bide here. For, in the first place, you see, our skins will

gang to the bauks in a jiffey; and, in the next place, our captain, the

warden, canna want us. It is far mair than our lives are worth for us to

stay here; for, troth, Sir Master, the lives o' others depend on it.

Now, I wadna like that we were trowed to be corbie messengers. And that

brings me a-mind, Sir Knight, how muckle need I hae to be at the mill

down by there. I hae a friend at it that I fear is in nae good plight."

"Content you, gallant squire, for a space," said the Master; "I do

intend to answer the request of my noble kinsman with all expedition;

but such things cannot be done in a moment. I must read the face of the

heavens, and listen to the voices from the deep below. I have likewise a

master to consult; he has another; and both are as perverse as hell

itself. Be content, therefore, and enjoy yourselves for the remainder of

this day. Give me all your names that I may register them, and give me

them truly."

Every one gave his name and designation, save that the poet gave the

name of the lovely Delany with an encomium on her beauty and virtue. But

Michael cared for none of those things. What appeared beautiful in the

eyes of other men, to his were loathsomeness and deformity. Far

different was the case when the friar announced his own name.

Michael started to his feet, and, with spread hands, and every feature

of his countenance dilated with joy, he exclaimed, "What? Primate of

Douay in France, and author of the Book of Arts?"

"The same, great Sir," said the friar: "I confide it to you: But haply

thou dost not know, in this thy retired habitation, that men thirst for

my blood; that I am a persecuted man, and have suffered imprisonments,

bonds, wounds, yea, and tortures; that I have been hunted from nation

to nation, and from land to land, until I found shelter and protection

among these wild and reckless Borderers, a people that neither fear God

nor regard man. With them have I taken up my abode. I am become a father

to them, and they are as children unto me. I love them. But, if they

should be induced to give me up, wo would be unto me!"

"What d' ye say, man?" said Charlie, grasping his hand. "D' ye think a

Scot amang us wad gie you up? If there be sic a man in the Border array,

he ought to be d--ned. But I trow I ken a bit o' the warden's mind

there; and I can tell you, a' the pens and a' the rapiers in England

wadna gar him gie up the gospel friar. Na, na; if ever he's gien up, he

maun gie up himsel, and mak his ain conditions too."

"Great and notable Primate, you are welcome to this castle," said the

Master; "whether by the title of monk, prior, primate, or friar, I say

you are welcome here. I have ridden a thousand miles to meet with you.

But that is long agone. I had heard of your great skill in the sublime

arts, that surpass the comprehension of ordinary men, and I determined

to stake my life on the trial of skill between us. I was disappointed in

meeting with you, for you were not to be found, dead or alive. The days

of my ambition are fled. My power has been acknowledged so long, none

daring to contend with me, that indifference hath ensued; after that

came disgust, and with it misery. Thou art the man of all the earth

whose fame I have envied; and, if thou darest, I will contend with thee,

for freedom or for life, which thou wilt. If thou art overcome, thou

shalt be my bondsman and slave, and if thou conquerest I will submit to

be thine."

"Lo, I will contend with thee even for name and being," said the friar.

"Of the strong-holds of sin and Satan am I not afraid. I have put the

ministers of thy vengeance to flight already, and I will chase, yea, I

will overcome and pursue them away; as chaff is driven before the wind,

will I scatter them. Dare not to contend with me; for, if I judge

aright, my Master holdeth thine in chains, and if I interfere thou

canst do nothing. I judge it therefore best to contend as brothers

contend. To admire what is truly great, and deride that which is

insignificant. Mine are the arts of peace, truth, and righteousness, and

I hoped thine were the same."

"Why, art thou not a monk, a follower of the wretched maniac, Benedict

of Padua? that driveller in hidden mysteries?" said the Master. "I do

not rightly comprehend thee, or by what power thou didst thwart my

servants. Tell me in one word,--Art thou not in combination with the

potent elemental spirits that rule and controul the earth, the air, the

fire, and the waters? If not, thy arts are superficial and worthless."

"Thou shalt see, and thou shalt judge," said the friar: "I am not

ashamed of that I can do." And with that he went and brought up his huge

portmanteau, in which he always carried many a small and curious

apparatus; but these he kept carefully concealed, having suffered so

much from the superstitions of bigotted and illiterate men, in the

course of his profound researches. He was the greatest chemist that had

ever appeared on the stage of existence; yet that curious and refined

art was he obliged carefully to conceal, having been persecuted as a

necromancer over every kingdom of southern Europe.

When he went away Charlie Scott was terribly in the fidgets. He expected

instantly to witness the raising of the devil, and other infernal

spirits, against whom he cherished the most inveterate dislike. His eyes

began to set in his head, and the roof of his mouth became so dry that

he could not pronounce words distinctly.

"Gude faith, Sir Master," said he, "I dinna appruve of a man setting up

his birse, and braving a gentleman in his ain house. And, wi' your

permission, I hae something o' great importance to do at the mill; sae

I'll e'en step down that length, and I shall come up again' the morning

by day-light."

"Please to remain with your friends, good yeoman," said the Master:

"You shall witness something worth your while. What can you possibly

have to do at the mill?"

"Muckle, muckle to do at the mill, Sir Knight; I'll just refer it to

yoursel,--can either man or beast leeve wanting drink?"

"I beg your pardon," said the Master: "I had almost forgot my principal

errand. Gourlay, fill me a glass of the wine of Palestine."

The steward did as he was ordered; and the Master, taking the cup, drank

to the health of his kinsman, the warden, and all his friends. Every one

of his guests did the same, save the maiden and boy; and every eye was

cleared, and every heart warmed, for the liquor was as strong as brandy.

"Weel, Sir Knight," said Charlie, "that is what ane wad ca' rather stiff

sturdy drink; I hae nae tasted ought as weel worth the drinking: And if

ye will just gar auld Crossgrains come ower us again, I think I could

even prevail on mysel' to face the deil, and let Corby tak his chance."

The request was instantly complied with. Each of them got another cup;

and the friar having tarried a while to put his affairs in order, when

he came back the tongues of all his companions were going at once, and

he was apprehensive that they were bewitched. He, however, took the

pledge in one full cup, and was greatly revived by it; but refused

taking another at that time.

The room in which they sat was lighted by four windows: those to the

east and west were small circular ones, having a pane of bright glass in

each: those to the north and south were merely long slits in the wall,

without any glass; and the first thing the friar did, before producing

the specimens of his art, was to close up all these windows, so as to

exclude the light of day, and the glass of the western one he either

contrived to remove, substituting another in its place, or else he put

another piece of magnifying glass over it.

When he began a-closing up the last, Charlie entered a vehement protest

against it, on the ground that no body would see what he did, or what he

raised, and any one might be seized by the neck ere ever he was aware,

by some o' his infernal deils.

"I hate a' surprises," added he; "It's best keeping the crown o' the

fell, and seeing weel about ane. Room to fight and room to flee, an ye

like, Maister Gospel-friar. Wha do you think's gaun to play at

hide-and-seek wi' the deil in sic a place as this?"

The Master, in a sneering manner, requested that the great enchanter

might have his own way: and Charlie, whose tongue was a little loosed by

the wine of Palestine, was at last restrained, though not without a good

deal of grumbling and fidgetting. The room was darkened; the friar went

into a small alcove, and, by the help of a magic lanthorn, a thing never

before seen in Scotland, he raised up a tremendous and horrid figure on

the wall. It was of gigantic size; its eyes, lips, and paws moved; and

its body was thrown into various contortions.

All were in breathless silence on the appearance of this extraordinary

shade; but among the darkling group there was distinctly heard one

whose breathing was frequently cut short, as if something had been

choking him, or seizing him by the throat.

After the apparition had gone through its various evolutions, all

apparently at the further end of the apartment, it fixed its eyes,

clenched its teeth, and, stretching forth its claws, it appeared to make

a spring forward at the party.

"Aih! L--d be here!" cried Charlie in a trumpet voice, and threw himself

flat down behind the rest. Hearing that some of them laughed at the

fright he had got, he ventured to speak and expostulate a little; but no

curiosity could induce him to raise his face from the floor, or open his

eyes again while the friar's exhibition continued. "Lair him, lair him,

friar!" cried he,--"or, od, I's be about your lugs some day for this.

Lair him, lair him, in the name of St Michael! and if that winna do, try

him wi' Peter--he'll send him ower the battlements like a shot. O good

friar, whatever ye do, lair him!"

The friar went on with his phantasmagoria. The figure, after giving a

shiver or two, was parted into three, all of the same form and size,

but all making different motions, and different contortions of feature.

The three were afterwards parted into six, which, among other grotesque

feats, danced a reel, and, on running thro' it, every one threw itself

heels-over-head. The group of onlookers laughed outright at this,

notwithstanding their astonishment, and called to Charlie to look. But

he would not move his face from the earth, and only asked, in a

half-suffocated voice, "Is he no laired yet? Od I shall be about wi'

that cursed body for his tricks."

When the friar had concluded this feat, he put out his small lanthorn,

took the machinery out of it, concealing it beneath his ample frock, and

again opened all the windows.

Charlie got up, and running to one of the loop-holes, "Gude be thankit,

I'll get a cooke o' the air o' heaven again!" said he, "for I hae been

breathing fire and brimstone this while byegane. Foul befa' me gin ever

I saw the like o' yon; I was sair dumfoundered,--but wha could stand

afore the face of a fiery giant?"

The friar's associates looked at the lanthorn, examining it with curious

eyes, but perceived nothing about it which could in any way account for

the apparition they had seen. Master Michael Scott did not deign to ask

a sight of it, but paced over the floor in sullen and thoughtful mood.

The seneschal stood fixed to the spot on which he had witnessed the

phenomenon, with his heavy unmoving eyes turned towards his master. He

seemed dubious whether he was vanquished or not. The Master at length

spoke, addressing the friar:--

"I hope, right worshipful Primate, this is not the extent of your

knowledge and power in the sublime art of divination? The whole is only

a delusion,--a shadow,--a phantom, calculated to astonish women or

children. I acknowledge it to be ingenious; still it is nothing. You

multiplied your shadows, turning three into six; now, if I turn

three men into six living, breathing, substantial beings, will you

acknowledge yourself outdone?"

"Certes, I will," said the friar.

"Away, then, with deception," said the Master: "What I do, I do in the

open eye of day.--Stand forth three of you."

"Master Michael Scott, I'll tell you what it is," said Charlie, "I

solemnly protest against being parted into twa."

"You shall neither suffer nor feel the least inconvenience by the

change, brave yeoman," said the Master; "therefore be not afraid, but

stand forth."

Charlie hung his head to one side in a deep reverie, till at length his

countenance lightened up by degrees, his features opening into a broad

smile.

"I'll tell you what it is, Sir Knight," said he, "if you will assure me

that baith o' us shall be as stout and as wight chaps as I am mysel e'en

now, gude faith, I dinna care though ye mak me into twa, for my master

the warden's sake. If you could double an army that gate, it wad be a

great matter. I doubt sair I'll cast out wi' my tither half about

something that I ken o', and that's Corby; but I'll run the risk. Nane

o' your cutfing and cleaving, however, Sir Knight. Nane o' your imps wi'

their lang-kail gully knives again."

Charlie stepped up the floor, and took his stand with his back at the

wall, to await doggedly this multiplication of himself. Tam soon joined

him: but there was a hard contest between Gibbie and the poet, both of

whom were rather personal cowards, and both alike averse to such

experiments. The former was at length obliged to yield, for Carol clung

so close to the maid, that nothing could induce him to part from her;

and, ever since the friar gave him the grievous overthrow, he had lost

all confidence in his personal prowess.

Michael stamped thrice with his heel, and spoke some words in an unknown

tongue, in a low muttering tone; but some of them heard the sounds of

Prig, Prim, and Pricker. There was a momentary confusion in the

apartment. A darkening haze flashed over it, and blinded the eyes of men

for a short space; the floor gave a shake, as if it had sunk down a

little,--and there stood two of each of the three friends, so completely

alike that no one knew who was who.

No scene could be more truly ludicrous than the one which now ensued;

each man turned to his prototype, and the looks of confusion and

astonishment in both being the same, the beholders were seized with

irrepressible laughter.

Charlie felt his legs, thighs, and ribs, if they remained the same as

before. The other boardly personage in the same shape followed his

example, and added, "Gude faith, the like o' this I saw never!"

"You may weel say't," said the other; "But let me see if you can draw

that lang sword as weel an' as cleverly as I can do."

"Gude Lord, hear til him!" said the first: "He's speaking as he were the

true Charlie Scott himsel! Speak ye, friend: Were you me before this!

That, is, did you ride with the warden over the border?"

"I am sure if you were there, I never saw you before," said the second

speaker; "But I dinna ken what I am saying; for the truth is I dinna

comprehend this."

With that they again gazed at each other, and looked over their

shoulders, as if they would not have cared to have fled from one

another's presence.

With every pair the scene was much the same. Tam was so much astonished

that he turned to his second self, cowered down, leaning his hands upon

his knees, and made a staunch point at him. The other took precisely the

same posture, so that their long noses almost met. The maid, the poet,

and the boy screamed with laughter. Both of the Tams laughed too, so

that they very much resembled an ideot looking at himself in a glass.

"Friend, I canna say but ye're very like me," said Gibbie to his

partner; "But, though nane o' us be great beauties, ye look rather the

warst o' the twae."

"It brings me a-mind o' a story I hae heard my mother tell," said the

other, "of a lady and her twa Blackamores"--

"What the deil man!" exclaimed the first; "Did your mother tell that

story too?"

"Ay; wha else but she tauld it? I say my mother, auld Effy Blakely of

the Peatstacknowe."

"Eh?--She your mother? It is gayan queer if we be baith ane after a'!

for I never had a billy."

The two Gibbies then both began to tell stories, which each claimed as

originally his, so that the perplexity still increased. Nor was it

better when the parties began to mix and address each other. All spoke

of themselves as the right and proper persons, and of the others as

beings in their likenesses, and the most complete uncertainty prevailed.

But, just as the novelty and interest of the drama began to subside,

Michael, by a wave of his hand annihilated the three additional

personages, and all remained as it was before the grand exhibition

commenced, save that our group had got a new topic of conversation and

merriment.

"Primate of Douay, so celebrated for thy mighty enchantments, how

thinkest thou of this?" said the Master.

"That thou hast done what no man could have done beside," said the

friar; "and that thy power even surpasseth that of the magicians of

Egypt, and of those of the countries in the lands of the east. But in

one thing my power is even as thy power. Dost thou know that I could

have prevented thy charm, and put a period to thy enchantment at my will

and pleasure?"

"It is not the power of prevention that we are trying," said the Master.

"Suffer my servants to do their work, as I shall suffer thine, and we

shall then see who are most punctually obeyed, and who shall perform the

greatest works. Only, if I prevail in all things, you will surely have

the generosity to acknowledge that my master is greater than thine?"

"Wo be unto me if such a confession proceed out of my lips!" said the

friar: "Who can be greater than he who builded the stories of heaven,

and laid the foundations of this earth below; who lighted up the sun,

sending him abroad in brightness and in glory, and placed the moon and

the stars in the firmament on high? Who is greater than he who hath made

the mountains to stand, the seas to roll, and the winds to blow? who

hath not only made the souls of men, but all the spirits of the upper

and nether world--"

"Peace, thou maniac!" cried the Master, interrupting the friar, in a

voice that made him leap from the floor: "Comest thou here to babble

treason against the master whom I serve, and the mighty spirits with

whom I am in league? Do what thou canst do, and cease from speaking evil

of dignities. What knowest thou of the principalities and powers that

inhabit and rule over the various regions of the universe? No more than

the mole that grovelleth beneath the sward.--What further canst thou do

in proof of thy profound art?"

"Behold with thine eyes, O thou who accountest thyself the greatest

among the children of men!" said the friar, with a waggish air; "that I

will but speak the word, and the mountains shall be rent asunder, and

the tops of the everlasting hills stand in opposition. Knowest thou the

proper name, figure, and dimensions of that peaked mountain over against

the castle, to the west?"

"Well may I know it," said the Master, "for I have looked out on it

these fifty years, and many a hundred times have I followed the chase

around it. It is named Cope-Law, and the mountain is my own."

"Mountain of Cope-Law, hear my voice," cried the friar in the same

waggish tone, in which there was an affectation of sublime command:

"Thou hast borne the footsteps of thy great master and his black horse

Beelzebub, yet hast thou neither been scorched nor rent. Yea though he

hath cursed thee in the bitterness of ire, yet hath thy grey head never

been shaken.--But, behold, a greater than thy master is here. Mountain

of Cope-Law, hear my voice:--Be thou rent asunder and divided into

three, that thy owner may look on thee and be astonied. If it please

thee, mighty magician, look out on thy mountain of Cope-Law now."

Many a thousand times had the Master looked out at that circular window;

every bush and grey stone on the hill were familiar to him; and, all

unsuspicious of the simple deceit that had been practised on him, he

went and looked forth from the window, when, in the place where one

round peaked mountain was wont to be, he actually saw three, all of the

same dimensions; and, as he weened, each of them more steep, tall, and

romantic than the original one had been. He looked, and looked

again--the optical delusion was complete. He paced the floor in sullen

mood; muttered some sentences to himself in an under tone, and once more

looked forth on the singular phenomenon. The mountains remained the

same. They could not be seen from any other window, and no one thought

of descending to the great balcony; so that in the eyes of all the friar

remained triumphant.

The Master could not brook this. He strode the floor in gloomy

indignation; and at length they heard him saying, "If I should venture

to demand it--But is it then to be my last great work? The demand is

dreadful!--I will--I'll demand it. Never shall it be said that Michael

Scott was out-done in his own art, and that by a poor peddling friar.

Come all of you hither," added he in a louder tone. "Look at that

mountain to the east. It is known to you all--the great hill of Eildon.

You see and know that it is one round, smooth, and unbroken cone."

"We all know it, and have known it from infancy," was the general

answer.

The Master gave three strokes with his heel, and called the names of his

three elfin pages, who in an instant stood before him.--"Work, Master,

work,--what work now?"

"Look at that mountain to the east," said he, "ycleped the hill of

Eildon. Go and twist me it into three."

The pages grinned, looking at him with eyes of a devilish gleam, as a

ravenous creature eyes its prey.

"The hill is a granite rock," said one,--"and five arrow-flights high,"

said another,--"and seventy round the base," said the first.

"All the powers of earth, and hell to boot, are unmeet to the task,"

added the third.

"Thou art a proud and impertinent liar, perverse imp of the regions of

flame," said the Master: "Note this, The thing must, and shall be done;

even though a body and soul should both be given up as the guerdon. I

know my conditions; they are sealed, and subscribed, and I am not to be

disobeyed. Get to your work without more hesitation."

The three pages then fell to reeling about and about, singing a wild and

uncouth trio, in words of the following import:

"Pick and spade

To our aid!

Flaught and flail,

Fire and hail!

Winds arise, and tempests brattle,

And if you will the thunders rattle.

Come away

Elfin grey,

Much to do ere break of day!

Come with spade, and sieve, and shovel;

Come with roar, and rout, and revel;

Come with crow, and come with crane,

Strength of steed, and weight of wain,

Crash of rock, and roar of river;

And, if you will, with thunders shiver!

Come away,

Elfin grey;

Much to do ere break of day!"

As they sung these last lines they reeled out at the door in a circular

motion, so rapid that the eye dazzled which looked on them. The poet,

drawn involuntarily by the ears after that wild fairy lay, hasted out

after them. He looked east, and west, and all around, but he only saw

three crows winging their flight toward the hill of Eildon.

From the time of their departure the temper of the great Master became

extremely variable. At one time his visage would be clouded with the

gloom of despair, and at another lighted up with a sort of horrid

exultation; but he spake not, save to himself.

The friar, therefore, in order to divert his host, and gratify his own

vanity, proposed to show off some more wonders of his art. Accordingly

he closed up all the windows once more, making the apartment as dark as

pitch, and exercised many curious chemical devices, lighted Roman

candles, and made them dance about the chamber in every colour of the

rainbow.

He was still busily employed playing off his little ingenious tricks,

when the party were disturbed by a bustle in one of the corners. It

chanced to be so dark at the moment that no one could see what was going

on; but they heard a noise as of two people struggling; then a blow, and

one falling down with a groan.

The friar paused, calling out and enquiring what it was. Charlie, never

behind in a fray, bustled over the forms toward the scene of action; but

falling by the way, the noise was quickly removed to another corner, a

door was opened and shut, and all was again quiet.

Every one ran about groping his way in the dark, and coming full drive

against others, till the friar had the presence of mind to pull the

stuffing out of some of the windows. The first thing they then saw was

the poet lying on the floor, void of sense and motion; and then it

quickly appeared that the steward and Delany were a-wanting. The whole

party, save the Master, set out on the pursuit, headed by the friar and

Charlie, and came just in time to rescue the maid as the wretch was

dragging her into his abominable cell. It seemed that he had determined

on seizing her as his prey, and now that the three infernal pages, his

tormentors, were dispatched elsewhere, he feared neither the Master nor

his guests; and, taking advantage of the utter darkness, and of the poet

and her being in a corner by themselves, he stole up to them, gagged the

maid, silenced the poet, who resisted, with one blow, and then bore off

the helpless lady with all expedition.

When he saw that he was overtaken and overpowered by numbers, he only

laughed at them; and assured them that, in spite of all they could do,

he would have possession of her, and that they should see. The girl

wept and complained of being hurt; but then he only laughed and mocked

the louder. Some of them proposed that they should hew him all to

pieces, but the friar had resolved on his measures, and, at his request,

they took the culprit up before the Master, and there lodged their

accusations against him. But the Master either durst not, or would not

say a word against him; for, in fact, it appeared that this great man,

without his familiar spirits, shrunk into nothing, and was not only

afraid of his own bondsman, but of every thing around him, deeming

himself altogether without help.

The friar's eye burned with indignation and rage, at witnessing such

arrogance on the one hand, and imbecility on the other; but his bootless

wrath only delighted the steward the more; and it was evident that, had

it not been for fear of Charlie Scott's long sword and heavy hand, he

would have taken his prey from the midst of them.

Delany still wept and sobbed till her bosom was like to rend, and begged

to be taken away from the castle, or to be killed and put in her grave.

The friar tried, with all the fair and kind speeches he was master of,

to comfort her; but when she saw the poet pale, bleeding, and sitting

still unable to rise, she only waxed worse, and hid herself from the eye

of the wretch behind the friar's frock.

"Daughter of my love, and child of many misfortunes, be thou comforted,"

said the friar; "for though the wicked triumph for a space in their

iniquity, yet shall they not thrive. They who refuse to do justice to

the innocent and upright in heart shall perish in their sin, and pass

away as the smoke that is driven by the wind. Therefore, my daughter, be

thou comforted; and that thy heart may be cheered, I will show thee a

wonder of my art,--a wonder so great that whosoever seeth it his heart

shall melt within him; and whosoever heareth of it his ears shall

tingle. Come, whoso listeth, forth into the open air, and I will do it

in the sight of heaven and of man."

The friar then lifting up his huge portmanteau, went forth to the large

paved gateway that surrounded the whole of the uppermost arches of the

castle. It was so ample as to be like a small field, for it covered all

the castle, save four small pointed turrets, and the square apartment

which the party now left, that rose like a shapeless dome above all. In

one corner of this level battlement there stood a leaden vessel that had

once been used as a cistern. To that the friar went; and, laying down

his huge walise, he took from thence a handful of blackish sand, and

strinkled it all around the battlement on the one side to the opposite

corner. He then stood and looked awfully around him. He looked to the

heavens, but they were shrouded in a dark hideous cloud that now covered

the mountains, and hung lowering over the uppermost spire of the castle.

Neither the Cope-Law nor the hill of Eildon could be seen, nor could

aught be seen save the dark and troubled cloud. The scene was truly

impressive; and when the rest saw the friar looking on it with such

apparent dread, all of them looked abroad with him, and whispered to one

another, "He's gaun to be about some awesome enchantment now."

The friar covered up his pormanteau with the leaden vessel, and then

desired the Master to bring any weight he chose, and heap it on its

bottom, which he had now turned uppermost, and, at one word or sign, he

would make his goat-skin wallet carry the vessel, and all such weight,

round the battlements of the castle.

The Master, and every one present, pronounced the thing to be

impossible,--the steward grinned in derision,--and, after mocking and

taunting the friar on his art in the most gross and provoking terms, he

proffered to hold down the leaden tub, wallet and altogether, or to

forfeit his head if he failed. Then laying himself over it, in the

attitude of holding it down, he called on the friar to proceed, and give

him the promised canter round the walls, which he well deserved, he

said, not only for his kindness to them all, and to their Miss in

particular, but also for his kind intentions. Then he scoffed aloud,

crying out, "Now thou poor vain fool and liar, be as good as thy word,

and give me, an it were, but one hobble."

"God do so to me, and more also," said the friar, "if I do not give thee

such a hobble as eye hath not seen!"

With that he struck a spark of fire among the black sand, as the rest

supposed it to be, that lay among his feet. The sand caught fire,--the

flame ran sputtering around the western battlement,--and the next moment

the steward and his tub bolted away into the firmament in a tremendous

flash of fire, and with a sound so loud that it shook the castle to its

foundations. Some averred that they saw, through the fire and smoke, a

momentary glance of him and the cistern both, as they pierced the cloud

towards the north; but nothing further was heard or seen,--and, in a

second of time, all was quite and gloomy above and around as it had been

before.

CHAPTER IV.

The wind blew as 'twould blawn it's last,

The thickening showers rose on the blast;

The speedy gleam the darkness swallowed,

Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed;

That night a child might understand

The deil had business on his hand!

_Tam o' Shanter._

Long was it before any of the astonished spectators opened their lips.

The shock had almost deprived them of sense, sight, and motion; and when

they began to articulate, it was only to utter short exclamations, and

names of saints. Tam Craik was the first who ventured a remark, which

was in the following words:--"By the Lord Robin!" (meaning, it was

supposed, the king,) "The deil has flown away wi' him bodily in a flash

o' fire!"

The great Master stood mute with astonishment; he even trembled with

dread; and appeared once as if he would have fallen at the friar's feet:

But he never said, Where is my seneschal gone? Whither hast thou sent

him? seeming rather to succumb to his guests for the time, being as a

man utterly at their mercy. His powerful and malevolent spirits had left

him by his command; his steward, and only human attendant, had been

blown into the air; and as for the miserable night-hag, they had seen no

more of her since her escape from the prison vault, and they wist not

whether she remained in the castle, or had fled from it out of dread of

the symbols of the Christian religion, which she had seen about the

friar, and the effects of which she had felt in frustrating her potent

spells. The wizard had therefore none to execute his commands, and

appeared a being quite forlorn, as well as greatly troubled in his mind.

No one ever knew to this day by what means the wicked seneschal was

borne away among the clouds in a column of fire and smoke; and those who

witnessed it spread the word over the country, that the devil took him

away with a great roar amid fire and brimstone; and that, after having

him up among the dark clouds, he tore him all to pieces. It was a fact

that one of the steward's mangled limbs was found hanging on a tree,

among some thick branches, in the wood of Sheil's Heuch, over against

the castle, which gave some countenance to the report; and no farther

remnants of him were ever discovered.

The friar, however, knew well enough by what means he was taken away;

and though he never explained it as long as he remained in Scotland, it

is meet that the readers of this tale should know the truth. It can be

told in a few words. The friar had brought his huge wallet full of the

strongest gunpowder he had been able to make, to shew off his wonderful

feats, and astonish the great Master. The exigency of the moment induced

him to part with it all at once; and, in all probability, he could not

have caused so much astonishment by any experiment he could have put in

practice.

He was guilty, however, of a manifest oversight; one that had well

nigh proved fatal to the whole party in its consequences, When they

found themselves freed from their vile persecutor, and the great

Master rather their prisoner than they his, their first thought

was of departing from that unhallowed place, and awaiting, in the

neighbourhood, the wizard's final answer, without which they durst not

well return to the warden.

Charlie jumped on the battlement with very joy that he would now get

down to the mill to see what was become of Corby, and how he fared; and

he was the first man to proceed down the narrow stair-case, leading the

way to the fair fields. But, alas, how transient are all sublunary joys

and hopes! In the middle of this confined and difficult stair, just at

its darkest and most acute turn, there was a massive iron door, which

Charlie ran his nose against in his descent, and soon found, to his

mortification and disappointment, that it was locked and double locked.

He returned to those above with the dismal information. The friar's

countenance fell, and he became pale as ashes, when it was thus brought

to his recollection that he had not only blown the brutal seneschal to

the devil, but that he had blown the keys of the castle along with him;

and there were they left on the roof to perish with hunger.

After many ineffectual attempts to break open that door, having no other

resource, they agreed to go to the topmost tower, and there unite their

voices, in order to raise the country to their assistance; for, without

ropes and ladders, they saw no means of escape. Accordingly they

ascended, and uttered many a prolonged and tremendous shout, for the

space of a whole hour. But these unwonted cries only drove the hinds to

a greater distance from the castle. Many of them had witnessed the

mighty explosion at the exit of the seneschal, which, in the middle of

the lurid gloom, had a hideous effect; and when they heard such long and

loud howls proceeding from the battlements of that gloomy and desolate

pile, they weened that a whole host of demons had assembled about it,

and kept far aloof.

In these and other fruitless exertions, our hapless prisoners spent the

evening of that eventful day. The sun, or the blue sky, had not once

appeared since the break of morn. For a little while, about noon, the

hills of the Forest were visible, and, on their back-ground of pale

shadowy clouds, formed a scene of dark sublimity. Still, as it

approached toward evening, these clouds came lower and lower down upon

the hills, and became more dark and dense in their appearance; and

precisely at the close of day the storm burst forth in all its fury,

sweeping over hill and dale with increasing majesty every minute. The

woods roared and crashed before the blast. The snow descended so thick

that in a short time every ravine and sheltered dell was heaped. After

that came sleet and snow mingled; and, finally, a driving rain dashed

with such violence on the earth, that it seemed as if a thousand

cataracts poured from the western heaven to mix with the tempest below.

Needless is it to describe that night farther. It was that on which the

great battle was fought in the camp of Douglas, and formerly mentioned

in this momentous history.--It is therefore apparent that Isaac the

curate is now drawing near to the same period of time when he broke off

at a tangent and left the camp, and that every thing will, of course, go

on to the catastrophe without further interruption.

* * * * *

Kind hearted and gentle reader, be not too sanguine. Who can tell what

is to fall out between the cup and the lip? Incidents seem to have

multipled intentionally to interrupt poor Isaac's narrative. Besides,

let any one consider how he is to liberate and get free of this group of

interesting individuals, locked up, as they were, to perish on the top

of the castle of Aikwood. It was no difficulty to Isaac. He was one of

those wise and downright men who know that truth tells always the best,

and to that maxim he adhered. But the worst of it was, there were so

many truths, that any body may see it was scarcely possible to get them

all narrated in their proper places; and that, without the help of the

waggoner, the task could never have been effected.

"Gude sauf us, but it is gaun to be an awsome night!" said Charlie

Scott, as he stepped the last up into the dark apartment in which the

party had spent the greater part of the day, and into which the storm

had now driven them once more.

"Gaun to be?" said Tam, taking up Charlie's words; "I wot nae what it is

gaun to be, but it is an awsome night already."

"It brings me in mind of a story," said Gibbie, "that I hae often heard

about a friar Gabriel o' St Martin's that raised the deil--"

"Od, Sir, an ye dare, for the blood of you, speak another word about

raising the deil the night," cried Charlie, interrupting him, "may I be

chased by an Englishman, if I dinna thraw you ower the castle wa'. We

little ken wha may be near, or wha may be amang us. Gin ane may judge by

appearances, that same chap ye hae named (gude keep me frae repeating

it) isna in his ain hett hame the night. Heaven defend us, hear how the

wind howls and sobs! I wish yon auld houses o' the mill may be safe

aneuch; they stand sair exposed. Hech-ho! hear til't! There will be mony

cauld quarters on Otterdale the night, but there is some a-wanting there

that wad be blithe to share them."

The friar now set himself to strike a light, which at last he effected;

and collecting the oil which remained in the lamps into one, they found,

to Charlie's great satisfaction, that they had as much as would burn

over-night, besides some remnants of waxen torches. Of all the huge

remains of their morning feast that they had seen removed from the

table, they could not find one vestige, even though the trenchers

remained in the chamber as it was termed; but, to their great joy, they

found an article as precious to the eyes, for about two-thirds of the

huge flagon of the wine of Palestine were still left. This, in the total

absence of fuel, was a discovery of some consequence; and the friar, in

the like absence of a steward, took that office voluntarily on himself.

When the lamp was kindled, the first thing that Delany did was to dress

the poor poet's hurt head, and bind it up with a napkin. This attention

and kindness so thrilled his heart that he could not refrain from tears,

and seemed to rejoice in his wound; and as both he and his adored maiden

had seen the ruffian steward transported up to heaven in a flame

of fire, they were freed from all terror on his account; and,

notwithstanding all the perils with which they were surrounded, they

appeared composed, and, if not happy, were at least quite resigned to

their fate.

The great Master sat muffled up in his cloak, and apart by himself, his

brows screwed down into deep curved wrinkles, and his sunken eye fixed

on the ground. The friar filled a cup of wine, and, bowing, presented it

to him the first. He took the cup, and drank it off, but he spoke not a

word: his piercing eyes glimmered round the chamber; he uttered a loud

groan, and, apparently, sunk again into his deep reverie. The

transportation of his steward, while in the very act of braving the

friar's might, made a terrible impression on his mind, and he weened

that he now sat before his master--before one that might send him on a

voyage of the same nature whenever he chose; and therefore he judged,

with great reason, that for a space it behoved him to keep on good terms

with so dangerous an opponent.

When each had taken a cup of the elevating beverage, the effect was

delightful; all their cares, dangers, and wants faded; the terrors of

the storm, that was still increasing, only startled them now and then,

as it rattled on the tower, or yelled thro' the crevices below. They

chatted, laughed, and broke jokes on each other, till even the sublime

Master was diverted from his profound and brooding ideas, and smiled at

the rustic simplicity of the characters around him. The laird of the

Peatstacknowe told a great number of his long stories, of which

something that was seen, said, or done, always reminded him; Charlie

told confused stories about battles and forays; and the poet came in

always between with his rythmatic descriptions and allusions; until at

one time the associations of ideas followed one another in a manner so

truly ludicrous, that the enchanter actually laughed till he had almost

fallen into a fit, a thing that had not for twenty years been witnessed

of him.

The tempest still continued to rage, and the loquacity of the party

beginning to flag, they became drowsy as midnight approached. The friar

then looking gravely around him, and, laying aside his hood, took a

small psalter book from his bosom; which volume also contained the four

books of the Apocalypse; and, opening it reverendly, he proposed that

they should all join in performing the evening service to the Virgin,

and the hymn to the Redeemer. Delany rose from off the lap of the poet's

cloak, where she had sat nestling all the evening, and came and kneeled

down at the friar's knee. The Master started up with a look of

indignation, stamped on the floor, and ordered the friar to put up his

vain book, and refrain from such flummery in his presence. The friar

looked at him with a steady countenance.

"It is not meet that I should obey man rather than God," said he. "I

have taken a vow in the face of Heaven, and I will pay that vow in

spite of men and devils. I will sing my holy hymns with these my friends

and children, and he that listeth not to join, let him be accursed, and

translated from the presence."

This last sentence sounded rather equivocally in the Master's ears. He

liked not such a translation as he had lately witnessed; for, with all

his power and mysterious art, the terrors of death still encompassed him

about. He held his peace, therefore, although he growled like a lion at

bay at being bearded thus in his own castle.

The friar proceeded as he had said, and all the rest joined him with

becoming devotion, save the poet, whose orisons that night were somewhat

cold. He could not brook the charm that drew Delany from his own side to

his rival's knee. The Master sat aloof, biting his lip, and grinning in

derision; but, at one part of the service, although the curate does not

say what part, he was insensibly overcome, and fell into a painful

oblivious dream. The strains of the sacred music, simple as they were,

stole over his soul, as some remembrance of early life sometimes steals

into the heart of enfeebled age, reminding the decaying and dying worm

of joys he can no more see, and of feelings of delight that have

perished for ever.--If a son of the mountains of the north were

transported to some far foreign clime, and there doomed to remain for

life: After sojourning in that land for half an age, until grey and

bowed down, if by chance, on some still evening, or mayhap through the

eddies of the storm, one of the strains of his native land were poured

on his ear, think of the recollections it would awaken in his mind: How

painfully thrilling the sensations! Would it not be like the last sweet

beam of a hope he was never more to cherish, a last look of all that was

dear on earth?--Such were the feelings that crept unbidden over the soul

of the enchanter, on hearing the sweet sounds, that reminded him of a

religion he had for ever renounced, and in which he had never firmly

believed till he had believed to tremble.

In this troubled trance he sat leaning against the wall, until the

worshippers had reached the middle of the hymn to the Saviour. He then

was seized with strong convulsions, and, rising up, with staggering

steps, he fled from the chamber, crying as he went,--"Cruel and

improvident things! reptiles! cursed, whining sycophants! that would

send me to my doom before my time!" He rushed out to the battlements,

and, groping his way through the storm, took shelter in the narrow

staircase, that he might hear no more of the sounds that thus troubled

and distracted his soul. What dread had seized him, or what he had seen

or heard, his guests knew not; but they had scarcely well ended their

hymn, when he rushed again in among them, with wildered looks, and his

hair standing on end, seeming glad to take shelter among those from whom

he had so lately fled with abhorrence. No one enquired the cause, for

all were so weary and overcome with slumber; and every one then composed

himself to sleep in the manner that best suited his convenience.

The storm continued to rage with unabated violence, and, after they had

laid themselves down, they found that the castle was all tottering and

quaking before it. The firmest heart was appalled; for the rocking of

the castle was not all; every now and then they heard eldritch shrieks

arising, as of some wretch perishing, or rather, as some of them

thought, like the voices of angry spirits yelling through the tempest.

When one of these howling sounds came on the blast, every one of our

prostrate friends breathed a deep sigh, or uttered some exclamatory

sound, Charlie had always one, which he uttered even after he was

asleep. "Hech! Gude sauf us, sirs! what will be the upshot o' a' this?"

The Master sat muffled up in the corner close behind them, and after he

judged them all to be asleep he fell a-crooning a sort of hymn in an

under key. The poet was, however, more than half awake, and gathered up

some broken fragments of it. Poets are never to trust when they give

quotations from memory out of the works of others; and perhaps honest

Carol might add some bombastic lines of his own, but he always averred

that the following lines formed a part of the warlock's hymn.

"Pother, pother,

My master and brother!

Who may endure thee,

Thus failing in fury?

King of the tempest that travels the plain;

King of the snow, and the hail, and the rain,

Lend to thy lever yet seven times seven,

Blow up the blue flame for bolt and for levin,

The red forge of hell with the bellows of heaven!

With hoop, and with hammer!

With yell, and with yammer;

Hold them at play,

Till the dawn of the day!

Pother! pother!

My sovereign and brother!

"O strain to thy lever,

This world to sever

In two or in three--

What joy it would be!

What toiling, and moiling, and mighty commotions!

What rending of hills, and what roaring of oceans!

Ay, that is thy voice, I know it full well;

And that is thy whistle's majestic swell;

But why wilt thou ride thy furious race,

Along the bounds of vacant space,

While there is tongue of flesh to scream,

And life to start, and blood to stream?

Yet pother, pother!

My sovereign and brother!

And men shall see, ere the rising sun,

What deeds thy mighty arm hath done."

If it was true that the Master sung these ridiculous lines, which is not

very likely, his "sovereign and brother" had not accepted of his

sacrifice, nor paid due deference to his incense of praise. For, a

little before the break of day, our group were aroused from their

profound slumbers by loud and reiterated cries. The lamp was still

burning feebly and blue. Charlie, whose ear was well trained to catch

any alarm, was the first to start up; but the sight that he saw soon

laid him again flat on the floor, though not before he had leaped clear

over a narrow oak-table and two forms. There was a black being, that

appeared to be half-man and half-beast, dragging Master Michael Scott

along the room toward the door; yet he dragged him with difficulty, and

at some times the wizard seemed rather to prevail. Horrible as this

phantom was, all those who saw it agreed that there was something about

it that instantly reminded them of the late seneschal; and, as they

raised their heads and beheld it, every heart was chilled with terror.

Charlie pronounced his short, loud prayer, which has already been

recorded in this history, and which consisted merely of one vehement

sentence of three syllables; yea, he pronounced it as he flew; and then

squatting in a corner, and covering his head with his cloak, that,

whatever dreadful thing happened, he might not see it, there he lay

repeating his little prayer as fast as human breath could utter it.

The demon struggled hard with the Master; and the latter, as may well be

supposed, exerted his utmost power,--so that his adversary only got him

toward the door as it were by inches. When he found himself losing

ground, he always made a certain writhing motion, which cannot be

described, and which every time extricated him somewhat from his

adversary's clutches. Then the apparition laid hold of him again by the

left side with his lobster claws, and that gripe uniformly caused the

wizard to utter a loud and piercing cry. At such times Charlie's little

prayer might be heard waxing still louder as the strife increased; and,

though he lifted not his face from the earth, he continued a kind of

spurning motion with his feet, as if he would fain have burrowed under

the wall like a mole.

For a long time no one durst move to the Master's assistance. The scene

so far surpassed ought they had ever conceived in horror, that their

senses remained altogether benumbed. The combat continued with unabated

ardour. The Master foamed at the mouth, his hair stood all on end, and

his bloodshot eyes stared wildly, as if they would have started from

their sockets. At length the fiend so far prevailed as to drag the

Master close to the door, where he threw him down, and made a motion as

if he would have dashed him through below it. But Michael was flesh and

blood, and could not enter nor depart by the key-hole, or the foot of

the door, like the beings with whom he had to do. The demon therefore

tried to open the door; but the enchanter's muscular frame being jammed

against it, it could not be opened at once. Michael's efforts were now

directed to that object alone, namely, the keeping of the door shut, and

he exerted himself till his remaining strength was exhausted, but at

last suffered himself to be dragged back from the door, repeating these

words as he lay flat on his back:--"'Tis done! 'Tis done! 'Tis over!

'Tis over!"

The lookers on sat and trembled, all save the friar, who had by that

time somewhat rallied his scattered senses, and stood on his feet. The

fiend had dragged the Master back from the door by the feet, and holding

him down by the grey hair with one hand, he opened the door with the

other; then, stooping down, he twisted the one hand, armed with red

crooked claws, in his hair, and the other in his long grizzled beard.

The friar had stepped forward, and, at that moment, laying the rood on

the Master's forehead with the one hand, and the open Book of the

Gospels on his breast with the other, he pronounced a sacred Name, and

in that name commanded the demon to depart. Swift as the javelin leaves

the hand of the warrior, or the winged shaft flies from the bowstring,

did the monster fly from the symbols of a creed by which he and his

confederate powers were all controlled, and from a name and authority at

which the depths of hell trembled. He rushed out at the door with a yell

of dismay, and threw himself from the battlement on the yielding wind.

The friar peeped forth after him, but he only heard a booming sound,

which died on the gale, and beheld like a dragon of blue livid fire

flying toward the east, in the direction of the hill of Eildon.

The friar returned into the chamber with a countenance beaming with joy.

No conqueror ever returned from the field of battle with an exultation

of mind so sublime as that which now lighted up his uncourtly mien. His

victory had been so sudden and so complete, that all present were

astounded at the greatness and extent of his power, and none of his

friends doubted that his might was as far above that of their host as

the sun or the stars are above the earth. They had in this instance seen

it exemplified in a manner not to be disputed; and there was the Master

himself still sitting on the floor, and gazing on his deliverer with

astonishment.

"Man, may I not thank thee for this?" said he.

"No," said the friar, "think not of a poor mortal thing like me,

overcome with sins, faults, and follies: You are freed for this time;

but thank One who is greater than I."

"True; I am freed for the present," said the Master; "but it is by a

mode, and by a power, that I dare not, for my existence, acknowledge or

acquiesce in."

When Charlie heard by what was passing that the devil had been

vanquished and was fled, he called out with a voice that seemed to come

from under ground,--for he was so muffled up in his cloak that the

sounds could scarcely be heard,--"Friar, steek the door." The good man

obeyed, and as soon as Charlie heard the welcome sound, he raised his

face, which was much of the same colour as a living lobster, and,

standing on one knee, viewed all the faces and corners with that

eloquence of eye which is quite indescribable. How superior was it to

his blunt address:--"Gude sauf us, callans, is a' safe?--Is the

coutribat ower? Sic a fie-gae-to as yon I saw never! Hech! but it is an

unsonsy place this! I wadna live here an there warna another place to be

had aneath the shoulder o' heaven."

A long discussion now commenced between the friar and the Master, on the

principles which each of them professed. That colloquy is too serious,

and too tedious, to be copied at full length in this place; but it

amounted simply to this,--That the one considered the Christian

Revelation as the source of all that is good, wise, or great among men.

The other had disbelieved it from his youth upward; and, not being able

to come to any conclusion from ought he could learn among men, he had

besought communion with the potent spirits of the elements; and, after

seven years of unparalleled suffering, such as cannot be named, had

attained what he sought. These had confirmed him in his infidelity. He

had entered into a league with them, renouncing, for ever and ever, all

right in a Redeemer, and signing the covenant with his own blood. That

afterwards he had rejoiced in this fellowship, which had enabled him to

do deeds such as no other man could perform, till by degrees he

discovered that the meanest professor of the religion of Jesus, if

influenced by faith and sincerity, had the power of counteracting these

mighty spirits, and of frustrating their highest intents. That then his

eyes were opened when it was too late, and he only believed in time to

tremble and despair. The friar urged the inexhaustible riches of

heavenly mercy; but the Master spurned at it, declaring his resolution

to abide by his covenant, whatever his fate might be. He despised the

very name and nature of repentance, and would rather suffer with the

colleagues he had chosen, he said, than whine and cringe to another

master,--"Though I now feel to my sorrow that they are subordinate,"

added he, "yet are they mighty and powerful, beyond what thou canst

comprehend; and why may not I be a sharer in their energies in a future

existence as well as in this?"

The friar gazed and trembled when he heard the wild and erratic ideas of

this extraordinary man; and, ceasing to reason further with him, he

enquired how it came that some of these mighty associates of his were

his enemies, and seemed but to watch an opportunity of tearing him in

pieces.

"They are jealous of their rights, and capricious beyond all

conception," said he. "The utmost circumspection is not fit to keep on

fair and equal terms with them. Even yet I do not know but that this is

to be my last night here. If I have gone beyond my commission in the

orders I have given, then am I doomed to be their bond slave for ages:

but if I am within my limited bounds, and the work is effected, then

shall I still be obeyed for a time and a season. Would that it were

morning that I might know the worst!"

"Scarcely dost thou need to express thy wish again," said the friar;

"for, lo, the day dawneth in the east, and the shadows flee away before

it; the winds have gone to their chambers to sleep, and the rains are

over and gone. Let us walk forth and see how the darkness fadeth before

the face of the day, and all that is stirring abroad on the fair face of

the creation."

The Master did not move, for it was yet but twilight, and nothing could

be seen distinctly; but the friar stepped down to the battlements, and

Charlie, who looked on him as their only safeguard, followed. The poet

would doubtless have followed also to have seen the dawn of the morning

after a storm; but, like all the rhyming race to this day, he was

enslaved by the eyes of a maid, languished in chains, and could not move

but as she moved. Alas for the poor amorous poet! The others lay in a

sluggish and restless slumber.

The friar and the bold yeoman strode together along the paved way, and

looked abroad; but they could see only the clouds whitening in the

eastern horizon, without being able to distinguish wood from waste, or

land from water.

"Let us kneel down and pray, my son," said the friar, "even in this

quiet place, where we shall be freed from the interruptions of the

wicked one; for great and manifold are the dangers that surround us. I

see not what remains for us, but either to throw ourselves from the

walls and perish, or remain where we are and feed upon one another."

"It is an awsome eternitive, man," answered Charlie; "I'm sure an ye

think praying will do ony good, I shall take off my bonnet and kneel

down on my knees, and hearken weel; but what mair can I do?"

"You can join with me in spirit, my son," said the friar, "and pray with

your heart."

"I am sure, gin I but kend the process, I am very willing," said

Charlie. With that he took off his steel belted bonnet, and kneeled

reverendly beside the friar, who prayed so fervently and sublimely for

deliverance, that Charlie looked about every minute, not only then, but

all that morning, to see by what means they were to be delivered; for he

had no doubt but they would be set free to a certainty, and that in a

very short time.

When they arose, the first word that the friar said was the following

fervent exclamation--"Blessed Virgin! What do I see?"

Charlie looked all about for some approaching miracle; he had even some

hopes of seeing a detachment from the warden's army; but his eye ranged

the dusky fields in vain.

"What a strange world we live in!" rejoined the friar: "Yea surely there

are things in heaven and in the earth, and in the waters,--yea many

things, of which man knoweth nothing! Why art thou gazing abroad on all

nature, my son? Turn thine eyes toward the east, and tell me what thou

seest."

Charlie did so; and, on the instant, the two friends were standing fixed

in amazement like two statues. They moved not, save, now and then, to

steal a momentary glance at each other. The great mountain of Eildon

was actually rent in pieces from the top to its very foundations, and

piled up in three towering spiral mountains, as they remain to this day.

Only at that time they were taller, darker, and more uniform.

It was a scene of wonder not to be understood, and awfully impressive.

The two rivers flowed down their respective vallies, and met below the

castle like two branching seas, and every little streamlet roared and

foamed like a river. The hills had a wan, bleached appearance, many of

the trees of the forest were shivered; and, towering up against the

eastern sky, there stood the three romantic hills of Eildon, where

before there was but one.

The friar was the first to move from his trance, stepping away in deep

meditation. Charlie was by this time likewise released from the spell,

and he ran to the door of the high chamber, calling aloud, "Come a' out,

sirs, come a' out. The like o' this was never seen sin the warld stood

up!"

They came forth accordingly, and their consternation was correspondent

to the extraordinary event. But when the Master came out, and saw what

was done, he shouted, and leaped on the battlement like one frantic,

boasting, and uttering words of terrible blasphemy. He looked on the

mountain of Cope-Law, and he could scarcely believe his eyes when he

beheld it standing in one unskaithed unbroken cone, as it had done for

ages. He looked again to the three mountains of Eildon, and his

exultation and blasphemous boasting was redoubled.

"So, all that you and your master can effect," cried he, "is to throw a

little glamour on the sight,--is to practise a little deception! I never

weened the monkish art or profession to consist of more. See what my

sovereign and master can do!"

"Hold there," said the friar. "Who was it that made these mountains at

the first? Was that deception?"

"It was not thou," said the Master.

"But who was it, then, that sent up your wicked seneschal into the

stormy clouds in a flame of fire?" added the friar. "And who was it

that saved your life, but this morning, from a fiend that would have

devoured you? Were these both deceptions?"

The Master's countenance fell. The friar said this, because, in their

present perilous situation, he wished to keep a little awe over the

wizard, and likewise to put a stop to the torrent of blasphemy that

proceeded from his lips.

The morning advanced, the sun arose, but no assistance, no relief

appeared to our hapless prisoners. They had tasted nothing for a day and

night, save one cup of wine each, and they had not above as much more

remaining. For all this the Master was so much elated, that his

behaviour was rather like that of a person frantic with joy, than that

of one shut up among others to perish of hunger. His companions in

misfortune noted likewise that he was again disposed to be peremptory

and tyrannical with them, and they dreaded that his familiars were again

at his command.

The men wrought all the forenoon endeavouring to break up the iron

door; but they neither had mattocks nor room to work in, and they made

no more impression on it than as many mice would have done. They were

now quite disconsolate; and, being unable to do aught else, they puzzled

themselves in accounting for the late steward's motives for having

locked it. They remembered that it was standing wide open when they

brought him up a prisoner before the Master; and they likewise

remembered of having seen him step into that stair for a minute or two,

immediately before he began to brave the friar. Therefore, all that they

could guess was, that it had been locked with some fatal intent.

The friar, perceiving that their efforts were vain, entreated them to

come in from the open air, and keep themselves quiet and cheerful, that

they might wear the longer. He trusted in Heaven, he said, that they

would be delivered, but in the mean time it was absolutely necessary to

use every precaution; and for that purpose, he added, if one of them

would keep watch at each of the four windows, lest any passengers or

countrymen should come near, he would tell them a story, which would at

least have the good effect of keeping them quiet. The Master was quite

delighted with this proposal; and, taking the flagon of wine, he

proposed that they should share it among them; but the rest opposed it,

and contented themselves with half a cup each.

Charlie was most of all cast down. He had heard a word from the friar

that morning that sunk deep on his heart. It was something about eating

one another! And not being able to get rid of the thought, he brought it

again overhead. The rest were all struck dumb; for they perceived that

it was but too apparent it might come to that. The Master grinned

darkly, and said it was well. But Gibbie said he hoped, "if things came

that length, they wad draw cuts, that ilka ane might get a fair chance

for his life." The poet begged, with tears in his eyes, that, out of

respect to the tender sex, they would leave Delany the last, or at least

that, when the lot fell on her they would take him in her place. To

this they all agreed with one voice: but an extraordinary thought

striking on the Master's mind at that instant, he made a motion, and

proposed to settle it off hand by a vote.

"This maid, whom you term beautiful, is mine on one condition," said he;

"and as I can now in a very short time comply with that condition, I

claim her as my own. I will therefore give her to the man among you who

tells me the best tale. She shall be his, fully and freely, to do with

her as seemeth him good. And the man among you who tells the worst

shall, if need require it, be blooded and flayed in this same chamber

for food to his associates."

Charlie's blood ran cold within him at this proposal. He almost thought

he felt the flaying knife and the teeth of the ravenous half-famished

eaters; and when the Master called out, "Approve, or not approve?"

Charlie was the first to call out, "O! Not! not, not!" He was seconded

by Tam Craik, but all the rest voted on the other side; so that they

were left in the minority, and the matter was finally decided to be

precisely as the Master had proposed. The poet stretched himself, so

eager was he to begin; for his heart yearned within him to win the

beautiful Delany. Gibbie was also uplifted, and sure of victory; but Tam

and Charlie were both quite hopeless and cast down.

CHAPTER V.

And I said unto him, Can'st thou tell unto thy servant what is the

meaning of this?

_Esdras._

The friar having volunteered a tale, the priority was unanimously

awarded to him: So, after the watches were set and all quiet, he began

the following singular narrative, without further ceremony:

The Friar's Tale.

CHAPTER I.

1. In the days of the years of my pilgrimage, it chanced to me that I

sojourned in the great kingdom that is toward the south.

2. And I passed through the city that lieth on the river of the hills,

unto the house of Galli the scribe, who was a good man and a just.

3. And he had one only daughter, who was unto him as a treasure and an

heritage, for her mother had been led unto her people before the maid

could distinguish between her right hand and her left.

4. And the maiden was fair to look upon;

5. For her neck was as polished ivory, and her chin like the ripened

peach basking on a wall that looketh toward the south.

6. Her lips also were like the honey-comb; her teeth were rows of pearl,

and her breath was as sweet smelling incense, and myrrh, and cassia.

7. Her eyes were brighter than the dew of heaven, and her hair was like

the beams of the moon streaming through the white clouds that are in the

firmament of air.

8. And I loved the maiden exceedingly; and my heart burned within me;

and I became as a dead man.

9. And I wist not what to do, or what would become of me; for the vows

of the Lord were on me that I could not wed; and I said, Woe is me, for

I am undone!

10. And I went in unto her, and communed with her of my great love; and

when she had hearkened to my voice, she laughed me to scorn.

11. And I said, Why dost thou laugh me to scorn? Knowest thou not that I

would lay down my life for thee? For I love thee so much above all

things that are on the earth, that I would even lick the dust from off

thy feet.

12. And she said, What wouldst thou have me to do?

13. And I looked on my right hand, and on my left, and I communed with

my heart.

14. And I perceived that the maid had asked aright, for I knew not what

I would have her to do; and lo my countenance became abashed.

15. And she laughed at me exceedingly; yea she laughed at my calamity

till the tears streamed from her eyes.

16. I said therefore unto myself that I would die, and be gathered unto

my fathers; for how could I live to be a scorn and a derision, and to be

burnt up as with a devouring flame? and I had many thoughts of

unrighteousness dwelling in me.

17. And she told her father of these matters; and Galli the scribe was

wroth with me, and said unto me, Why wouldst thou betray my daughter,

the child of my age, and the hope of my grey hairs?

18. Is it not better for thee to depart unto thine own country, and to

thy kindred, than commit this great wickedness?

19. And my spirit was grieved within me; nevertheless I could not

depart, for my heart clove to the maid, and I loved her as my own soul.