Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle—Arrival at
the River Tweed.
The English damsel and her attendants travelled slowly by a different
route through the wild forest scenery of those mountains with which the
reader is already sufficiently familiar. So much of the morning had
been expended ere they set out, that the length of their day’s journey
was considerably curtailed, and the heaviness that still hung on the
eyelids of the lady and Katherine, from the drugged draughts they had
swallowed, so overcame them, that they were well contented to look for
a place of rest at a much earlier hour in the evening than they would
have otherwise done. The information that Rory Spears had gathered
about the wolves made him also very ready to halt betimes, that he
might have sufficient leisure to fortify the party against any chance
of nocturnal attack from these ravenous animals, in a region where no
human dwelling was to be expected.
It still wanted nearly two hours of sunset when the cavalcade was
winding gently up the narrow bottom of a wild pass, that, like a vast
rent or cut in the mountains, divided the chain from its very summit to
its base. From the close defile below, the eye could hardly ascend the
steep and even slope of the rocky precipices to half their height, so
closely did they approach on either hand. The pine forest, though still
continuous, began to grow thinner as they advanced, and Rory Spears,
like an able leader, was carefully scanning every point where he might
hope to discover a strong and convenient position for encampment. At
length one of the Earl of Buchan’s troopers, well acquainted with these
wilds, showed him the upright face of a tall projecting crag, at a
great height above, where there was a small natural cavern, and,
accordingly, thither it was resolved that they should ascend.
The ascent was long and arduous, but when they did reach the spot, it
was discovered to be admirably fitted for their purpose. The rock rose
smooth and perpendicular as a wall, and in the centre of it was the
mouth of the cavern, opening from a little level spot of ground in
front. Rory began to take immediate measures for their security. Broken
wood was collected in abundance, and a semi-circular chain of fires
kindled, so as fully to embrace the level ground, and touch the rock on
either side of the cavern. Heather beds were prepared for the lady and
her damsel under the dry arch of the cliff; and their hasty meal being
despatched, they wrapped themselves up in their mantles, and prepared
themselves with good-will to sleep off the stupifying effects of the
narcotic. Rory meanwhile drew his cavalry within his defences, and
having posted and arranged his watches so as to ensure the keeping up
of the fires, he sat down with the rest to recreate himself with what
store of provisions they had carried along with them.
The lady’s sleep was so very sound for some hours that it bid defiance
to all the merriment, the talking, and the music, that successively
prevailed without. But at last it yielded to the continued twanging of
the minstrel’s harp, and she awaked to hear him sing, with great
enthusiasm, the concluding stanzas of some tale, which he had been
rhyming to those around him:
If minstrel inspiration wells
From yonder star-besprinkled sky,
To which my heart so strangely swells,
As if it fain would thither fly;
Then on those mountain tops that rise
Far, far above the fogs of earth,
Thicker and purer from the skies
Must fall that dew of heavenly birth.
What marvel, then, my native land,
That heaves its breast to kiss high Heaven,
Hath fill’d my heart and nerved my hand,
And fresher inspiration given?
Then if my heart a spell hath wove
More potent than of erst it threw,
And ye have wept its tale of love,
With rifer tears than once it drew,
Think not thou mayest the song reward
With thine accustom’d dearth of praise,
It comes from no weak mortal bard—
’Tis Scotland’s spirit claims the lays!
Perfectly refreshed by her slumber, and cheered by the harper’s
strains, the lady arose from her couch, and stepped forth from the
cavern to join her applause to the rudely-expressed approbation of Rory
and his comrades. The air was balmy and refreshing, and she staid to
hold converse with the good old minstrel.
“’Tis a beautiful night, Adam,” said she; “see how the moonbeam sleeps
on the bosom of yonder little lake far up the pass. How dark do these
masses of pine appear when contrasted with the silver light that doth
play beyond them on those opposite steeps; how deep and impenetrable is
the shadow that hangeth over the bottom far below us, where all is
silent save the softened music of the stream murmuring among the rocks.
But hark, what yelling sounds are these that come borne on the breeze
as it sigheth up the pass?”
“’Tis the distant howling of the wolves, lady,” cried the harper;
“methinks the rout cometh this way. An I mistake not, ’tis a ravenous
pack of famished beasts that do pursue a deer or some other helpless
tenant of the woods. Hark, the sound doth now come full up the bottom
of the pass. List, I pray thee, how it doth grow upon the ear.”
“I do hear the galloping of a horse, methinks,” cried Rory Spears, who
stood by.
“Holy Virgin, what dreadful screams were these?” cried the lady,
starting with affright.
“St. Andrew defend us,” said the minstrel, shrinking at the thought;
“it may be some fiend o’ the forest that doth urge his hellish midnight
chase through these salvage wilds.”
“Na, na, na,” replied Rory Spears, gravely; “troth, I hae mair fear
that it may be some wildered wanderer hunted by a rout o’ thae gaunt
and famished wolves. St. Lowry be wi’ us, is’t not awful?”
“Holy St. Cuthbert protect us,” exclaimed the lady, after a pause, and
shuddering as she spoke; “that cry, oh, that cry was dreadful; ’twas a
shriek of terror unspeakable; fear of an instant, of a most cruel
death, could have alone awakened it. Gracious Heaven, have mercy on the
wretch who did give it utterance!”
“Hear, hear; holy St. Giles, how he doth cry for help!” said Rory
Spears. “Hear again; ’tis awsome. St. Hubert be his aid, for weel I do
trow nae mortal man can help him.”
“Oh, say not so,” cried the lady, with agonizing energy; “oh, fly, fly
to his rescue; there may yet be time. Fly—save him—save him, and all
the gold I possess shall be thine.”
“Nay, lady,” replied Rory, “albeit the very attempt wad be risk enew,
yet wud I flee to obey thy wull withouten the bribe o’ thy gowd; and
the mair, that it wud be a merciful, a Christian, and a right joyful
wark to save a fellow-cretur frae sike ane awsome end. But man’s help
in this case is a’thegither vain. Dost thou no perceive that the
clatter o’ his horse’s heels is no longer to be heard? nay, even his
cries do already return but faintly from far up the pass? And noo,
listen—hush—hear hoo fast they do die away; and hark, hark—thou canst
hear them nae mair.”
“He hath indeed spurred on with the desperate speed of despair,” said
the lady; “but oh, surely thou mayest yet stop or turn his fell
pursuers. Oh, fly to the attempt. Nay, I will myself go with thee.
Hark, all the echoes of the glen around us are now awakened by their
fearful howlings. Quick, quick; let us fly downwards—’tis but a mere
step of way.”
“Alas, lady,” replied Rory, “to try to stop the accursed pack were now
hopeless as to think to gar the raging winds tarry on the mountain
side. These hideous howls do indeed arise from the shades beneath us;
but had we the legs and the feet o’ the raebuck, the ravening rout wad
be a mile ayont us ere we could reach the bottom. Hark, hoo they hae
already swept on. Already the cruel din frae their salvage throats doth
become weaker; and noo—hist, hist!—it is lost far up the bosom of the
mountains. May the Virgin and the good St. Lawrence defend the puir
sinner, for his speed maun be mair than mortal gif he ’scapeth frae the
jaws o’ thae gruesome and true-nosed hounds. By my troth, an we hadna
taken the due caution we might hae been a supper to them oursels at
this precious moment—the Virgin protect us!”
“Oh, ’tis most horrible,” cried the lady, as she rushed into the
cavern, her mind distracted, and her feelings harrowed up with the
thoughts of the probable fate of the unhappy traveller. She sunk on her
knees to implore mercy for him from Heaven, after which she threw
herself on her couch; but her repose was unsettled; and when she did
sleep it was only to dream of the horrors her fancy had painted.
By the time the sun had begun to gild the tops of the mountains, Rory
Spears was in action. The lady arose unrefreshed; and, after she and
her attendants had partaken of a slight repast, they were again in
motion. Descending by a steep and difficult, though slanting path, they
gradually regained the bottom of the pass, and proceeded to trace it
upwards in a southern direction. As they obtained a higher elevation
the pine trees became thinner, and at length they reached to a little
mossy plain, where they almost entirely disappeared. In the middle of
this was the small sheet of water which had been rendered so
resplendent in the eyes of the lady the night before by the moonbeams.
It was a deep inky-looking pool, surrounded by treacherous banks of
black turf.
“Is this what distance and moonlight made so bewitchingly beautiful to
our eyes?” said the lady to the minstrel.
“Thus it doth ever chance with all our worldly views, lady,” replied
the old man. “Hope doth gild that which is yet at a distance, but all
is dark and cheerless when the object is reached.”
As they spoke the approach of the party disturbed a flight of kites and
ravens, which arose with hoarse screams and croakings from something
that lay extended amid the long heath near the water’s edge. It was the
skeleton of a horse. The flesh had been so completely eaten from the
bones by the wolves that but little was left for the birds of prey. The
furniture, half torn off, showed that the creature had had a rider. A
few yards farther on a single wolf started away from a broken part of
the bog. Rory Spears’ gaud-clip was launched after him with powerful
and unerring aim, and its iron head buried in the side of the animal,
while at the same moment the quick-eyed Oscar seized the caitiff by the
throat, and he was finally despatched by several lances plunged into
him at once. They sought the spot whence the gaunt animal had been
roused, and their blood was frozen by the horrid spectacle of the
half-consumed carcase of a man.
It was of size gigantic; and although the limbs and body had been in a
great measure devoured, yet enough of evidence still remained in the
rent clothes and in the lacerated features of the face to establish
beyond a doubt to the lady and the minstrel, who had known him, that he
who had thus perished by so miserable a fate was the wizard Ancient
Haggerstone Fenwick.
A leathern purse, with a few gold coins in it, was found in his pouch;
and, among other articles of no note, there was a small manuscript book
of necromancy, full of cabalistic signs.
The spectacle was too horrible and revolting for the lady to bear. She
therefore besought her attendants to cover the wretched remains, and
with Katherine Spears retired to some distance until this duty was
performed and a huge monumental cairn of stones heaped over them, after
which they again proceeded on their way.
The troopers belonging to the Wolfe of Badenoch were sent back as soon
as Rory Spears judged they might be spared with safety, and nothing
occurred during the remainder of the journey to make him regret having
so parted with them. As the party travelled through the fertile Merse
they found that which should have been a smiling scene converted into a
wilderness of desolation. The storm of England’s wrath had swept over
it, and the rifled and devastated fields, the blackened heaps of
half-consumed houses and cottages, around which some few human beings
were still creeping and shivering, like ghosts unwilling to leave the
earthly tenements to which they had been linked in life, brought the
horrors of war fresh before them. The aged man and the boy were the
only male figures that were mingled with those groups of wailing women
that appeared. All who could draw a sword or a bow, or wield a lance,
were already on their way to join the Scottish host, their bosoms
burning with a thirst of vengeance.
As they were lamenting over the melancholy scene they were passing
through—for even the English damosel deplored the ravages committed by
her countrymen—their way was crossed by a troop of well-armed and
bravely-appointed horsemen, which halted, as if to wait until their
party should come up. Rory advanced to reconnoitre.
“Ha, Sir Squire Oliver,” said he to the leader, whom he immediately
recognized as belonging to the Lord of Dirleton, “can that in very deed
be thee? Whither art thou bound in array so gallant?”
“Master Rory Spears,” replied the squire with a look of surprise—“what,
art thou too bound for the host?”
“Nay,” replied Rory, mournfully, “I hae other emprise on hand just at
this time. Goest thou thither?”
“Yea,” replied the esquire, “I go with my Lord’s service of lances to
join the collected Scottish armies on their way to Jedworth. There will
be rare work anon, I ween. Some English horses have been dancing over
these fields, I see, but, by’r Lady, the riders shall pay for the sport
they have had.”
“Ha, their backs shall be well paid, I warrant me,” cried Rory,
flourishing his gaud-clip around his head, while his eyes sparkled with
enthusiasm.
“Nay, fear not,” replied the esquire; “the rogues shall feel the rod,
else I am no true man. But St. Andrew be with thee, good Master Rory, I
have no further time to bestow.” And as he said so he gave the word to
his men to move forward; the bugles sounded, their horses’ heels
spurned the ground, and their armour rang as they galloped briskly
away, to make up for the time lost in the halt.
The lady and her attendants rode slowly on, but Rory lingered behind,
to follow the rapid movement of the warlike files with an anxious eye;
and when they wheeled from his view he heaved a sigh so deep that it
was heard by the foremost of his own party.
“What aileth thee, Rory?” demanded Adam of Gordon.
“Heard ye not their bugles as they went?” replied Rory to him. “Was not
the very routing o’them enew to rouse the spirit o’ a dead destrier,
and dost thou ask what aileth me? Is’t not hard to be sae near the
Yearl and yet to see as little o’ him or his men as gif they war in ane
ither warld? is’t not cruel for a man like me to be keepit back frae
the wark that best beseemeth him whan his very heart is in’t?”
“And why shouldst thou be kept back from it, Rory, now that thy duty to
the lady is performed?” demanded the harper.
“Dost thou no see Kate yonder?” replied Rory sullenly. “What is to be
done with the wench, think ye? Sure I maun e’en yede me back again to
convoy the puir lassie safely to her mother.”
“If the care of Katherine be all thy difficulty, Rory,” said the lady
eagerly, “thou mayest easily provide for her safety by confiding her to
me, on whom thy doing so will moreover be conferring an especial
gratification. Let her, I pray thee, abide with me at Norham, whilst
thou goest to the wars; and when peace, yea, or truce doth happily come
again, thou mayest forthwith reclaim her of me. Let me entreat thee,
oppose not my wishes.”
Rory’s rough but warm heart had been long ere this entirely gained by
the kindness, condescension, and beauty of the English damosel. He
could not have refused her request, whatever difficulties it might have
involved; but her present proposal was too congenial with his own
wishes, and her offer altogether too tempting to be resisted.
“Troth, my leddy,” replied he, with a tear glistening in his eye, “when
we first forgathered at Tarnawa, and when the Yearl tell’d me that I
was to be buckled till thy tail, I maun e’en confess I was in a sair
cross tune at the news, for thou mayest see it’s no i’ my nature to be
governed by women-fouk, and gin the truth maun be tell’d, it was wi’
sair ill-wull I cam wi’ thee. But noo, by St. Lowry, I wad follow thee
to the very warld’s end; troth, thou mayest e’en whirl me round and
round with thy pirlywinky; and so, though I am no just confidently
sicker that what I am doing is a’thegither that the which may be
approven by my good dame at hame yonder, yet will I yield me to thy
wishes and mine ain. Kate shall wi’ thee to Norham, and I’ll just tak a
bit stride after the Yearl to see what he and the lave are a-doing.”
“But thou shalt thyself with me to Norham first, that I may thank thee
properly for the protection thou hast afforded me,” said the lady.
“Nay, that may in nowise be, leddy,” replied Rory; “I shall see thee
safe to the northern bank of Tweed; but I wot nae Southern stronghold
shall see me within its bounds, save as ane enemy, to do it a’ the
skaith a foeman can, and that I would fain shun doing to ony place that
mought have thy good wishes.”
After some farther travel the broad walls and massive towers of Norham
Castle appeared before them, glowing with the slanting rays of the
declining sun. A few steps more brought the Tweed in sight, and Rory
Spears instantly halted.
“And noo I fear I maun leave thee, my leddy,” said he, with an
afflicted countenance, “for yonder’s the Tweed.”
The lady approached him, and, kindly taking his horny hand, gave
utterance to the most gratifying expression of her strong sense of the
services he had rendered her, and at the same time attempted to force a
purse upon him.
“Na, na, my leddy, I’se hae nae gowd frae thee,” said he; “besides, I
hae naething ado wi’ gowd whare I’m gaun; I’se get meat, drink, and
quarters withouten cunzie, an’ I’m no mista’en.—Na, na,” continued he,
as she pressed the purse upon him, “an ye wull hae it sae, keep it for
Kate yonder; she may want it, puir thing. May the blessed Virgin be thy
protection, my bonnie bit lassie,” said he to Katherine, as he turned
about to her and pressed her to his breast.—“Hoot toot, this ’ll no
do—ye maunna greet, bairn,” added he, as the tears were breaking over
his own eye-lids. “Fear ye na I’ll be back wi’ thee ere lang, an I be
spared. By St. Lowry, that’s true, my leddy, ye maun promise me that if
onything sould happen to hinder me frae coming back, ye’ll see that
somebody conveys her as safe to Tarnawa as I hae brought thee to
Norham.”
Katherine sobbed bitterly at the idea which her father had awakened.
The lady readily promised him what he wished. Rory again pressed his
daughter to his bosom, and, striking the side of his garron two or
three successive blows with the shaft of his gaud-clip, he darted off,
and was out of sight in a moment.
The lady, accompanied by Katherine Spears and the minstrel, slowly
sought the bank of the Tweed. A signal was made for the ferry-boat, and
they were wafted into England. At the gates of Norham Castle the lady
was speedily known, and its friendly walls received her and her two
companions.