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King Edward I. of England, commonly known as “Longshanks,” nearly
conquered Scotland. It was from no lack of spirit or energy that he did
not quite complete his troublesome task, but he died a little too soon.
On his death-bed he called his pretty, spiritless son to him, and made
him promise to carry on the war; he then ordered that his bones should
be wrapped up in a bull’s hide, and carried at the head of the army in
future campaigns against the Scots. Edward II. soon forgot his promise
to his father, and spent his time in dissipation among his favorites,
and allowed the resolute Scots to recover Scotland.
Good James, Lord Douglas, was a very wise man in his day. He may
not have had long shanks, but he had a very long head, as you shall
presently see. He was one of the hardest foes with which the two
Edwards had to contend, and his long head proved quite too powerful for
the second Edward, who, in his single campaign against the Scots, lost
at Bannockburn nearly all that his father had gained.
The tall Scottish castle of Roxburgh stood near the border, lifting its
grim turrets above the Teviot and the Tweed. When the Black Douglas,
as Lord James was called, had recovered castle after castle from
the English, he desired to gain this stronghold, and determined to
accomplish his wish. But he knew it could be taken only by surprise,
and a very wily affair it must be. He had outwitted the English so many
times that they were sharply on the look out for him.
How could it be done?
’Tis an old Yule-log story, and you shall be told.
Near the castle was a gloomy old forest, called Jedburgh. Here, just
as the first days of spring began to kindle in the sunrise and the
sunsets, and warm the frosty hills, Black Douglas concealed sixty
picked men.
It was Shrove-tide, and Fasten’s Eve, immediately before the great
Church fast of Lent, was to be celebrated with song and harp and a
great blaze of light, and free offerings of wine in the great hall
of the castle. The garrison was to have leave for merry-making and
indulging in drunken wassail.
The sun had gone down in the red sky, and the long, deep shadow
began to fall on Jedburgh woods, the river, the hills, and valleys.
An officer’s wife had retired from the great hall, where all was
preparation for the merry-making, to the high battlements of the
castle, in order to quiet her little child and put it to rest. The
sentinel, from time to time, paced near her. She began to sing:--
“Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye!
Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye;
The Black Douglas shall not get ye!”
She saw some strange objects moving across the level ground in the
distance. They greatly puzzled her. They did not travel quite like
animals, but they seemed to have four legs.
“What are those queer-looking things yonder?” she asked of the sentinel
as he drew near.
“They are Farmer Asher’s cattle,” said the soldier, straining his eyes
to discern the outlines of the long figures in the shadows. “The good
man is making merry to-night, and has forgotten to bring in his oxen;
lucky ’twill be if they do not fall a prey to the Black Douglas.”
So sure was he that the objects were cattle, that he ceased to watch
them longer.
The woman’s eye, however, followed the queer-looking cattle for some
time, until they seemed to disappear under the outer works of the
castle. Then feeling quite at ease, she thought she would sing again.
Spring was in the evening air; and, perhaps, it was the joyousness of
spring which made her sing.
Now, the name of the Black Douglas had become so terrible to the
English that it was used to frighten the children, who, when they
misbehaved, were told that the Black Douglas would get them. The little
ditty I have quoted must have been very quieting to good children in
those alarming times.