Robin Hood's Visit to Longdendale.
Robin Hood, the greatest bowman that old England ever knew, frequently
visited Longdendale. Probably the "thick woods of Longden," with their
wealth of wild red deer, induced him to lead his band from the haunts
of merrie Sherwood to the no less merrie land of Longdendale. Old
traditions tell of a "mighty forest in Longdendale, whose trees were
so thick that the squirrels could leap from branch to branch from
Mottram to Woodhead." Such a country might well attract a lover of the
free forest life like bold Robin Hood; moreover, there ran a road over
a good portion of Longdendale, along which the fat old Abbots of
Basingwerke were wont to convey their treasures from their township of
Glossop, to their fine abbey seat in Wales. Doubtless the Abbot
dreaded a meeting with the mighty outlaw, for Robin dearly loved to
pluck a fat-bellied churchman that he might place the golden nobles in
the pouches of the poor.
This story, however, has nothing to do with the robbing of the Abbots
or Monks of Basingwerke. It is a story of skill and fabulous strength.
Indeed, there are many who doubt that the incidents related ever
occurred--simply because such things seem impossible. But then those
incidents are recorded in the traditions of the people of Longdendale,
and, consequently, they are worthy of serious consideration. He must
be either an amazingly bold or an exceedingly ignorant man, who would
cast a doubt on the veracity of a Longdendale tradition.
However, the reader must judge for himself.
The story has it that bold Robin Hood and his forest band (including
the redoubtable Little John, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, and Much, the
miller's son, and a hundred other sturdy yeomen, all clad in Lincoln
green, and having great long bows of English yew and good cloth-yard
shafts) appeared one day in the Longdendale country. Weary of hunting
the stag through the woodland glades, they were longing for some
chance of adventure to present itself, when they became aware of a
loud and dismal moaning hard by. The sound came from a handsome youth
who, cast full length upon the sward, was bitterly bemoaning his cruel
fate. It appeared that he was betrothed to a beautiful maiden, but her
guardian (who was a grim old bachelor) had forbidden their union, and
finally, to prevent all intercourse between them, had shut her up in
his castle.
On hearing the story the foresters were loud in their denunciations of
such heartless conduct. They vowed it was the greatest sin that man
could possibly commit--to interfere with lover's meetings. Little John
was for attacking the castle, battering down the gates, and sending an
arrow through the mid-rib of the guardian, which process, he
thought, was calculated to end the matter at once. But Robin, though
anxious enough for a fight, was of opinion that his henchman's plan
might endanger the maiden, who was completely at the mercy of the
tyrant. He suggested an interview, and, accordingly, the stout Friar
Tuck was sent as ambassador or emissary to make terms with the
maiden's guardian.
[Illustration: SCENE NEAR BOTTOM'S HALL; "PART OF THE ANCIENT FOREST
OF LONGDENDALE."]
At first the Friar was met with an angry outburst on the part of the
guardian--a bold bad baron--who loudly declaimed that he would permit
no outside interference with his affairs.
"Out on thee, thou fat-bellied churchman," shouted the Baron. "What
hast thou to do with lovers, particularly maidens. Methinks thy vows
should bid thee leave maids and love severely alone."
Now this sort of talk did not at all suit Friar Tuck, who, churchman
though he might be, and shaven and shorn to boot, yet loved to kiss a
pretty maid on the sly as well as the best layman who ever walked. But
he loved not to be twitted about it in this fashion.
"Fat-bellied churchman, indeed," quoth he. "And what about thine own
fat paunch. As for love and pretty maids, I warrant thou would'st have
a long way to travel fore thou comest across a maiden who would fall
in love with thee. Such a foul-visaged reptile I never set eyes on. As
for beauty--well, as far as thou art concerned--the least said on that
head the better."
The Baron stared at this rejoinder, as well he might. Such language
had never been hurled at him before, and for a moment he could
scarcely speak, so great was his surprise. When he recovered speech,
he ordered his attendants who were in the room to seize the Friar and
cast him into the dungeon. But Tuck lifted the quarter-staff which he
carried, and brought it down so heavily upon their crowns that the men
dropped like poled oxen. At this the Baron began to swear and rave,
vowing all manner of punishments for the Friar,--all of which,
however, only made Tuck fall a-laughing.
"Come," said he, "thou art short of wind enough, friend Baron. And if
thou goest on like that thou art like to choke thyself. Moreover, if
thou only so much as raises a finger to summon thy vassals to thy side
with intent to lay me by the heels, I shall een clout thee on the
sconce as I have served thy catiffs. So thou hadst best listen to
reason."
Now sorely discomfited as he was, a bright idea suddenly struck the
Baron, and turning blandly to the Friar, he readily consented to set
free the maiden, and to permit her marriage with her handsome lover,
providing the foresters (of whose shooting prowess he had heard so
much) could shoot their arrows from the tumulii now called "The Butts"
to the upright Druid stones, now known by the name of "Robin Hood's
Picking Rods." By setting them this (apparently impossible) task, he
thought to rid himself of interference from the band; and he chuckled
merrily to himself, when Tuck (who knew nothing of the distance to be
covered by the archers) coolly accepted the terms.
The time for the shooting display having arrived, the Baron led a gay
company to the scene, that he and all his friends might witness the
discomfiture of the renowned archers of Sherwood. As for the handsome
youth on whose behalf Robin had interfered, he was quite dismayed, and
even the assurance of the outlaw could not comfort him, for he thought
the feat impossible.
The archers stood at the butts, and away in the distance rose the
stone target of "The Picking Rods." Robin Hood took the first shot,
and he laughed inwardly as he drew the string tight and true. For he
knew the secret of the "Long Bow"--(as, indeed, do the chroniclers who
tell this story). The arrow left the bow with a shrill whistle of the
goose-wing tip, and, greatly to the surprise of the Baron, it fell
plump on the target with such force as to cut a notch in the hard
stone,--a notch so deep that it may be seen to this day. Little John,
Will Scarlet, and the rest of the forest band, all tried their skill,
and but few failed to hit the mark, though none were quite so near the
centre as their leader Robin Hood.
When the shooting was finished the Baron was in a great rage, and he
sought for some means of evading the fulfilment of his promise.
Turning to Robin Hood he made an offer--that if the outlaw, with his
own hands, cast down the great stone which stood upon Werneth Low,
then the Baron would not only bestow the maiden upon her lover, but
would give her a good dowry into the bargain. On the other hand, if
Robin failed to accomplish the task, the whole matter must rest where
it was, and the maiden remain a captive.
Greatly to the surprise of all, Robin agreed to the proposal.
"I will humour thee this once," said he to the Baron. "But if thou
attemptest to get behind thy word when the feat is done, my good
foresters shall fall upon thee and knock sparks out of thy baronial
hide."
"If thou doest the feat," quoth the Baron, "rest assured I shall keep
my promise."
For the task he had set bold Robin was, as the Baron well knew, a
thousand times more difficult than that of shooting at the Picking
Rods.
Robin Hood conversed awhile with Friar Tuck, and then the whole
company moved off to the summit of Werneth Low. The stone, or rock, as
it should more properly be called, was a huge mass almost the height
of a man. It had occupied its position on the summit of Werneth since
the world was created. A round half-dozen of the Baron's retainers
failed to lift it. But Robin Hood, casting aside his jerkin, and
baring his brawny arm, raised the great stone slowly aloft, and then,
with one mighty throw, cast it out westward towards the sunset, and,
amid a wild shout of triumph, it disappeared in the distance.
They afterwards found the stone in the bed of the River Tame, near the
woods of Arden, and, under the name of "Robin Hood's Stone" it
remains in that same spot to this day.
[Illustration: "THE ROBIN HOOD STONE."]
Now there are some who profess to believe that no mortal power could
cast that stone so great a distance, and they explain the event by
supposing that Robin was in league with the good fairies, who gave him
strength to lift the stone, and then, (invisible to men) flew away
with it, and dropped it in the Tame. And perhaps these people may be
right.
Be that as it may, there is no record to show that the bold bad Baron
disbelieved in Robin's powers, and we may take it for granted that the
lovely maiden was duly released, that she married the lad of her
choice, and that they lived happy ever afterwards, as they certainly
deserved to do.
* * * * *
It is asserted by some that there was a much smaller stone near the
great Robin Hood Stone on Werneth Low, and that Little John afterwards
threw this stone in the direction of the one thrown by Robin. The
second stone, being lighter, travelled a few yards further than the
first, but the throw being not so skilful the stone was broken in
several pieces by the fall. It lies to this day near the Robin Hood
Stone in the waters of the River Tame, and it still retains the name
of that giant forester Little John.