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Black's Boys' and Girls' Library
TALES FROM SCOTTISH BALLADS
IN THE SAME SERIES
TALES OF KING ARTHUR by DOROTHY SENIOR
MIKE (A Public School Story) by P. G. WODEHOUSE
THE CAVEMEN, A TALE OF
THE TIME OF by STANLEY WATERLOO
WONDER TALES OF THE
ANCIENT WORLD by JAMES BAIKIE, D.D., F.R.A.S.
THE STORY OF ROBIN HOOD by JOHN FINNEMORE
ROBINSON CRUSOE by DANIEL DEFOE
SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON Edited by G. E. MITTON
MOTHER GOOSE'S NURSERY RHYMES Edited by L. E. WALTER, M.B.E., B.Sc.
TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS by THOMAS HUGHES
IN THE YEAR OF WATERLOO }
FACE TO FACE WITH NAPOLEON } by O. V. CAINE
WITCH'S HOLLOW by A. W. BROOK
MUCKLE JOHN by FREDERICK WATSON
ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES
ÆSOP'S FABLES
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES
GRANNY'S WONDERFUL CHAIR by FRANCES BROWNE
BRITISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES by W. J. GLOVER
THE ADVENTURES OF DON QUIXOTE by MIGUEL DE CERVANTES
COOK'S VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY
MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY
TALES FROM HAKLUYT Selected by FRANK ELIAS
GREEK WONDER TALES }
OTTOMAN WONDER TALES } by LUCY M. GARNETT
GULLIVER'S TRAVELS
THE HEROES }
THE WATER BABIES } by CHARLES KINGSLEY
BOOK OF CELTIC STORIES by ELIZ. W. GRIERSON
_FOR GIRLS_
A GIRL'S ADVENTURES IN KOREA by AGNES HERBERT
_SIMILAR TO THE ABOVE_
CRANFORD. By Mrs. ELIZABETH GASKELL.
With 8 Illustrations in Colour
A. & C. BLACK, LTD., 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1
AGENTS
_New York_ THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
_Melbourne_ THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
_Toronto_ THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA
_Bombay Calcutta Madras_ MACMILLAN AND COMPANY, LTD.
[Illustration: "THIS VERY NIGHT WE WILL RIDE OVER INTO ETTRICK, AND LIFT
A WHEEN O' THEM." (P. 106)]
TALES FROM
SCOTTISH BALLADS
BY
ELIZABETH W. GRIERSON
AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF CELTIC STORIES"
"THE BOOK OF EDINBURGH" ETC.
WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR FROM DRAWINGS BY
ALLAN STEWART
A. & C. BLACK, LTD.
4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1
_Printed in Great Britain_
_First Edition ("Children's Tales from Scottish Ballads")
published in 1906._
_New Edition published in 1916._
_Reprinted and included in Boys' and Girls' Library in 1925._
_Reprinted in 1930._
To
MY TWO FIRESIDE CRITICS
A. S. G. AND J. B. G.
CONTENTS
THE LOCHMABEN HARPER 1
THE LAIRD O' LOGIE 11
KINMONT WILLIE 32
THE GUDE WALLACE 63
THE WARLOCK O' OAKWOOD 81
MUCKLE-MOU'ED MEG 101
DICK O' THE COW 125
THE HEIR OF LINNE 143
BLACK AGNACE OF DUNBAR 161
THOMAS THE RHYMER 195
LORD SOULIS 214
THE BROWNIE OF BLEDNOCK 234
SIR PATRICK SPENS 244
YOUNG BEKIE 259
THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER 274
HYNDE HORN 291
THE GAY GOS-HAWK 310
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
FROM DRAWINGS BY ALLAN STEWART
"This very night we will ride over into
Ettrick, and lift a wheen o' them" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"My father eyed them keenly, his face
growing grave as he did so" 36
"''Tis a God's-penny,' cried the guests in amazement" 158
"When she approached he pulled off his
bonnet and louted low" 198
THE LOCHMABEN HARPER
"Oh, heard ye of a silly harper,
Wha lang lived in Lochmaben town,
How he did gang to fair England,
To steal King Henry's wanton brown?"
Once upon a time, there was an old man in Lochmaben, who made his
livelihood by going round the country playing on his harp. He was very
old, and very blind, and there was such a simple air about him, that
people were inclined to think that he had not all his wits, and they
always called him "The silly Lochmaben Harper."
Now Lochmaben is in Dumfriesshire, not very far from the English border,
and the old man sometimes took his harp and made long journeys into
England, playing at all the houses that he passed on the road.
Once when he returned from one of these journeys, he told everyone how
he had seen the English King, King Henry, who happened to be living at
that time at a castle in the north of England, and although he thought
the King a very fine-looking man indeed, he thought far more of a frisky
brown horse which his Majesty had been riding, and he had made up his
mind that some day it should be his.
All the people laughed loudly when they heard this, and looked at one
another and tapped their foreheads, and said, "Poor old man, his brain
is a little touched; he grows sillier, and sillier;" but the Harper only
smiled to himself, and went home to his cottage, where his wife was busy
making porridge for his supper.
"Wife," he said, setting down his harp in the corner of the room, "I am
going to steal the King of England's brown horse."
"Are you?" said his wife, and then she went on stirring the porridge.
She knew her husband better than the neighbours did, and she knew that
when he said a thing, he generally managed to do it.
The old man sat looking into the fire for a long time, and at last he
said, "I will need a horse with a foal, to help me: if I can find that,
I can do it."
"Tush!" said his wife, as she lifted the pan from the fire and poured
the boiling porridge carefully into two bowls; "if that is all that thou
needest, the brown horse is thine. Hast forgotten the old gray mare thou
left at home in the stable? Whilst thou wert gone, she bore a fine gray
foal."
"Ah!" said the old Harper, his eyes kindling. "Is she fond of her foal?"
"Fond of it, say you? I warrant bolts and bars would not keep her from
it. Ride thou away on the old mare, and I will keep the foal at home;
and I promise thee she will bring home the brown horse as straight as a
die, without thy aid, if thou desire it."
"Thou art a clever woman, Janet: thou thinkest of everything," said her
husband proudly, as she handed him his bowlful of porridge, and then sat
down to sup her own at the other side of the fire, chuckling to herself,
partly at her husband's words of praise, and partly at the simplicity of
the neighbours, who called him a silly old harper.
Next morning the old man went into the stable, and, taking a halter from
the wall, he hid it in his stocking; then he led out his old gray mare,
who neighed and whinnied in distress at having to leave her little foal
behind her. Indeed he had some difficulty in getting her to start, for
when he had mounted her, and turned her head along the Carlisle road,
she backed, and reared, and sidled, and made such a fuss, that quite a
crowd collected round her, crying, "Come and see the silly Harper of
Lochmaben start to bring home the King of England's brown horse."
At last the Harper got the mare to start, and he rode, and he rode,
playing on his harp all the time, until he came to the castle where the
King of England was. And, as luck would have it, who should come to the
gate, just as he arrived, but King Henry himself. Now his Majesty loved
music, and the old man really played very well, so he asked him to come
into the great hall of the castle, and let all the company hear him
play.
At this invitation the Harper jumped joyously down from his horse, as if
to make haste to go in, and then he hesitated.
"Nay, but if it please your Majesty," he said humbly, "my old nag is
footsore and weary: mayhap there is a stall in your Majesty's stable
where she might rest the night."
Now the King loved all animals, and it pleased him that the old man
should be so mindful of his beast; and seeing one of the stablemen in
the distance, he turned his head and cried carelessly, "Here, sirrah!
Take this old man's nag, and put it in a stall in the stable where my
own brown horse stands, and see to it that it has a good supper of oats
and a comfortable litter of hay."
Then he led the Harper into the hall where all his nobles were, and I
need not tell you that the old man played his very best. He struck up
such a merry tune that before long everybody began to dance, and the
very servants came creeping to the door to listen. The cooks left their
pans, and the chambermaids their dusters, the butlers their pantries;
and, best of all, the stablemen came from the stables without
remembering to lock the doors.
After a time, when they had all grown weary of dancing, the clever old
man began to play such soft, soothing, quiet music, that everyone began
to nod, and at last fell fast asleep.
He played on for a time, till he was certain that no one was left awake,
then he laid down his harp, and slipped off his shoes, and stole
silently down the broad staircase, smiling to himself as he did so.
With noiseless footsteps he crept to the stable door, which, as he
expected, he found unlocked, and entered, and for one moment he stood
looking about him in wonder, for it was the most splendid stable he had
ever seen, with thirty horses standing side by side, in one long row.
They were all beautiful horses, but the finest of all, was King Henry's
favourite brown horse, which he always rode himself.
The old Harper knew it at once, and, quick as thought, he loosed it,
and, drawing the halter which he had brought with him out of his
stocking, he slipped it over its head.
Then he loosed his own old gray mare, and tied the end of the halter to
her tail, so that, wherever she went, the brown horse was bound to
follow. He chuckled to himself as he led the two animals out of the
stable and across the courtyard, to the great wrought-iron gate, and
when he had opened this, he let the gray mare go, giving her a good
smack on the ribs as he did so. And the old gray mare, remembering her
little foal shut up in the stable at home, took off at the gallop,
straight across country, over hedges, and ditches, and walls, and
fences, pulling the King's brown horse after her at such a rate that he
had never even a chance to bite her tail, as he had thought of doing at
first, when he was angry at being tied to it.
Although the mare was old, she was very fleet of foot, and before the
day broke she was standing with her companion before her master's
cottage at Lochmaben. Her stable door was locked, so she began to neigh
with all her might, and at last the noise awoke the Harper's wife.
Now the old couple had a little servant girl who slept in the attic, and
the old woman called to her sharply, "Get up at once, thou lazy wench!
dost thou not hear thy master and his mare at the door?"
The girl did as she was bid, and, dressing herself hastily, went to the
door and looked through the keyhole to see if it were really her master.
She saw no one there save the gray mare and a strange brown horse.
"Oh mistress, mistress, get up," she cried in astonishment, running into
the kitchen. "What do you think has happened? The gray mare has gotten a
brown foal."
"Hold thy clavers!" retorted the old woman; "methinks thou art blinded
by the moonlight, if thou knowest not the difference between a
full-grown horse and a two-months'-old foal. Go and look out again and
bring me word if 'tis not a brown horse which the mare has brought with
her."
The girl ran to the door, and presently came back to say that she had
been mistaken, and that it was a brown horse, and that all the
neighbours were peeping out of their windows to see what the noise was
about.
The old woman laughed as she rose and dressed herself, and went out with
the girl to help her to tie up the two horses.
"'Tis the silly old Harper of Lochmaben they call him," she said to
herself, "but I wonder how many of them would have had the wit to gain a
new horse so easily?"
Meanwhile at the English castle the Harper had stolen silently back to
the hall after he had let the horses loose, and, taking up his harp
again, he harped softly until the morning broke, and the sleeping men
round him began to awake.
The King and his nobles called loudly for breakfast, and the servants
crept hastily away, afraid lest it might come to be known that they had
left their work the evening before to listen to the stranger's music.
The cooks went back to their pans, and the chambermaids to their
dusters, and the stablemen and grooms trooped out of doors to look after
the horses; but presently they all came rushing back again,
helter-skelter, with pale faces, for the stable door had been left open,
and the King's favourite brown horse had been stolen, as well as the
Harper's old gray mare. For a long time no one dare tell the King, but
at last the head stableman ventured upstairs and broke the news to the
Master-of-the-Horse, and the Master-of-the-Horse told the Lord
Chamberlain, and the Lord Chamberlain told the King.
At first his Majesty was very angry, and threatened to dismiss all the
grooms, but his attention was soon diverted by the cunning old Harper,
who threw down his harp, and pretended to be in great distress.
"I am ruined, I am ruined!" he exclaimed, "for I lost the gray mare's
foal just before I left Scotland, and I looked to the price of it for
the rent, and now the old gray mare herself is gone, and how am I to
travel about and earn my daily bread without her?"
Now the King was very kind-hearted, and he was sorry for the poor old
man, for he believed every word of his story, so he clapped him on the
back, and bade him play some more of his wonderful music, and promised
to make up to him for his losses.
Then the wicked old Harper rejoiced, for he knew that his trick had
succeeded, and he picked up his harp again, and played so beautifully
that the King forgot all about the loss of his favourite horse.
All that day the Harper played to him, and on the morrow, when he would
set out for home, in spite of all his entreaties that he would stay
longer, he made his treasurer give him three times the value of his old
gray mare, in solid gold, because he said that, if his servants had
locked the stable door, the mare would not have been stolen, and,
besides that, he gave him the price of the foal, which the wicked old
man had said that he had lost. "For," said the King, "'tis a pity that
such a marvellous harper should lack the money to pay his rent."
Then the cunning old Harper went home in triumph to Lochmaben, and the
good King never knew till the end of his life how terribly he had been
cheated.
THE LAIRD O' LOGIE
"I will sing if ye will hearken,
If ye will hearken unto me;
The king has ta'en a poor prisoner,
The wanton laird o' young Logie."
It was Twelfth-night, and in the royal Palace of Holyrood a great masked
ball was being held, for the King, James VI., and his young wife, Anne
of Denmark, had been keeping Christmas there, and the old walls rang
with gaiety such as had not been since the ill-fated days of Mary
Stuart.
It was a merry scene; everyone was in fancy dress, and wore a mask, so
that even their dearest friends could not know them, and great was the
merriment caused by the efforts which some of the dancers made to guess
the names of their partners.
One couple in the throng, however, appeared to know and recognise each
other, for, as a tall slim maiden dressed as a nun, who had been dancing
with a stout old monk, passed a young man in the splendid dress of a
French noble, she dropped her handkerchief, and, as the young Frenchman
picked it up and gave it to her, she managed to exchange a whisper with
him, unnoticed by her elderly partner.
Ten minutes later she might have been seen, stealing cautiously down a
dark, narrow flight of stairs, that led to a little postern, which she
opened with a key which she drew from her girdle, and, closing it behind
her, stepped out on the stretch of short green turf, which ran along one
side of the quaint chapel. It was bright moonlight, but she stole behind
one of the buttresses that cast heavy shadows on the grass, and waited.
Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before another figure issued from the
same little postern and joined her. This time it was the young French
noble, his finery hidden by a guard's long cloak.
"Pardon me, sweetheart," he said, throwing aside his disguise and
putting his hand caressingly on her shoulder, "but 'tis not my fault
that thou art here before me. I had to dance a minuet with her Majesty
the Queen; she was anxious to show the court dames how 'tis done in
Denmark, and, as thou knowest, I have learned the Danish steps passably
well dancing it so often with thee. So I was called on, and Arthur
Seaton, and a mention was made of thee, but Gertrud Van Hollbell
volunteered to fill thy place."
"Gertrud is a good-natured wench, and I will tell her so; but did her
Majesty not notice my absence?"
"Nay, verily, she was so busy talking with me, and I gave her no time to
miss thee," said the young man, laughing, but his companion's face was
troubled. They had taken off their masks, and a stranger looking at them
would have taken them for what they seemed to be, a dark-haired,
black-eyed Frenchman, and a fair English nun. But Hugh Weymes of Logie
was a simple Scottish gentleman, in spite of his dress, and looks; and
the maiden, Mistress Margaret Twynlace, was a Dane, who had come over,
along with one or two others, as maid-in-waiting to the young Queen, who
had insisted on having some of her own countrywomen about her.
Mistress Margaret's fair hair, and fairer skin, so different from that
of the young Scotch ladies, had quite captivated young Weymes, and the
two had been openly betrothed.
They had plenty of chances of speaking to each other in the palace,
where Weymes was stationed in his capacity of gentleman of the King's
household, and the young man was somewhat at a loss to understand why
Margaret should have arranged a secret meeting which might bring them
both into trouble were it known, for Queen Anne was very strict, and
would have no lightsome maids about her, and were it to reach her ears
that Margaret had met a man in the dark, even although it was the man
she intended to marry, she would think nothing of packing her off to
Denmark at a day's notice.
Now, as this was the very last thing that Hugh wanted to happen, his
voice had a touch of reproach in it, as he began to point out the
trouble that might ensue if any prying servant should chance to see
them, or if Margaret's absence were noticed by the Queen.
But the girl hardly listened to him.
"What doth it matter whether I am sent home or not?" she said
passionately. "Thou canst join me there and Denmark is as fair as
Scotland; but it boots not to joke and laugh, for I have heavy news to
tell thee. Thou must fly for thy life. 'Tis known that thou hast had
dealings with my Lord of Bothwell, that traitor to the King, and thy
life is in danger."
The young man looked at her in surprise. "Nay, sweet Meg," he said, "but
methinks the Christmas junketing hath turned thy brain, for no man can
bring a word against me, and I stand high in his Majesty's favour.
Someone hath been filling thy ears with old wives' tales."
"But I know thou art in danger," she persisted, wringing her hands in
despair when she saw how lightly he took the news. "I do not understand
all the court quarrels, for this land is not my land, but I know that my
Lord Bothwell hates the King, and that the King distrusts my Lord
Bothwell, and, knowing this, can I not see that there is danger in thy
having been seen talking to the Earl in a house in the Cowgate? and,
moreover, it is said that he gave thee a packet which thou art supposed
to have carried hither. Would that I could persuade thee to fly, to take
ship at Leith, and cross over to Denmark; my parents would harbour thee
till the storm blew past."
Margaret was in deadly earnest, but her lover only laughed again, and
assured her that she had been listening to idle tales. To him it seemed
incredible that he could get into any trouble because he had lately held
some intercourse with his father's old friend, the Earl of Bothwell, and
had, at his request, carried back a sealed packet to give to one of the
officials at the palace, on his return from a trip to France. It was
true that Lord Bothwell was in disfavour with the King, who suspected
him of plotting against his person, but Hugh believed that his royal
master was mistaken, and, as he had only been about the court a couple
of months or so, he had not yet learned how dangerous it was to hold
intercourse with men who were counted the King's enemies.
So he soothed Margaret's fears with playful words, promising to be more
discreet in the future, and keep aloof from the Earl, and in a short
time they were back in the ballroom, and he, at least, was dancing as
merrily as if there was no such word as treason.
For two or three weeks after the Twelfth-night ball, life at Holyrood
went on so quietly that Margaret Twynlace was inclined to think that her
lover had been right, and that she had put more meaning into the rumours
which she had heard than they were intended to convey, and, as she saw
him going quietly about his duties, apparently in as high favour as
before with the King, she shook off her load of anxiety, and tried to
forget that she had ever heard the Earl of Bothwell's name.
But without warning the blow fell. One morning, as she was seated in the
Queen's ante-chamber, busily engaged, along with the other maids, in
sewing a piece of tapestry which was to be hung, when finished, in the
Queen's bedroom, Lady Hamilton entered the room in haste, bearing dire
tidings.
It had become known at the palace the evening before, that a plot had
been discovered, planned by the Earl of Bothwell, to seize the King and
keep him a prisoner, while the Earl was declared regent. As it was known
that young Hugh Weymes, one of the King's gentlemen, had been seen in
conversation with him some weeks before, he had been seized and his
boxes searched, and in them had been found a sealed packet, containing
letters to one of the King's councillors, who was now in France, asking
his assistance, and signed by Bothwell himself.
The gentleman had not returned--probably word had been sent to him of
his danger--but young Weymes had been promptly arrested, although he
disclaimed all knowledge of the contents of the packet, and had been
placed under the care of Sir John Carmichael, keeper of the King's
guard, until he could be tried.
"And there will only be one sentence for him," said the old lady grimly;
"it's beheaded he will be. 'Tis a pity, for he was a well-favoured
youth; but what else could he expect, meddling with such matters?" and
then she left the room, eager to find some fresh listeners to whom she
could tell her tale.
As the door closed behind her a sudden stillness fell over the little
room. No one spoke, although some of the girls glanced pityingly at
Margaret, who sat, as if turned to stone, with a still, white face, and
staring eyes. Gertrud Van Hollbell, her countrywoman and bosom friend,
rose at last, and went and put her arms round her.
"He is a favourite with the Queen, Margaret, and so art thou," she
whispered, "and after all it was not he who wrote the letter. If I were
in thy place, I would beg her Majesty, and she will beg the King, and he
will be pardoned."
But Margaret shook her head with a wan smile. She knew too well the
terrible danger in which her lover stood, and she rightly guessed that
the Queen would have no power to avert it.
At that moment the door opened, and the Queen herself entered, and all
the maidens stood up to receive her. She looked grave and sad, and her
eyes filled with tears as they fell on Margaret, who had been her
playmate when they were both children in far-away Denmark, and who was
her favourite maid-of-honour.
Seeing this, kind-hearted Gertrud gave her friend a little push. "See,"
she whispered, "she is sorry for thee; if thou go now and beg of her she
will grant thy request."
Slowly, as if in a dream, the girl stepped forward, and knelt at her
royal Mistress's feet, but the Queen laid her hand gently on her
shoulder.
"'Tis useless asking me, Margaret," she said. "God knows I would have
granted his pardon willingly. I do not believe that he meant treason to
his Grace, only he should not have carried the packet; but I have
besought the King already on his behalf and he will not hear me. Or his
lords will not," she added in an undertone.
Then the girl found her voice. "Oh Madam, I will go to the King myself,"
she cried, "if you think there is any chance. Perhaps if I found him
alone he might hear me. I shall tell him what I know is true, that Hugh
never dreamt that there was treason in the packet which he carried."
"Thou canst try it, my child," said the Queen, "though I fear me 'twill
be but little use. At the same time, the King is fond of thee, and thy
betrothal to young Weymes pleased him well."
So, with a faint hope rising in her heart, Margaret withdrew to her
little turret chamber, and there, with the help of the kind-hearted
Gertrud, she dressed herself as carefully as she could.
She remembered how the King had praised a dull green dress which she had
once worn, saying that in it she looked like a lily, so she put it on,
and Gertrud curled her long yellow hair, and fastened it in two thick
plaits behind, and sent her away on her errand with strong encouraging
words; then she sat down and waited, wondering what the outcome of it
all would be.
Alas! in little more than a quarter of an hour she heard steps coming
heavily up the stairs, and when Margaret entered, it needed no look at
her quivering face to know that she had failed.
"It is no use, Gertrud," she moaned, "no use, I tell thee. His Majesty
might have let him off--I saw by his face that he was sorry--but who
should come into the hall but my Lords Hamilton and Lennox, and then I
knew all hope was gone. They are cruel, cruel men, and they would not
hear of a pardon."
Gertrud did not speak; she knew that words of comfort would fall on deaf
ears, even if she could find any words of comfort to say, so she only
held out her arms, and gathered the poor heart-broken maiden into them,
and in silence they sat, until the light faded, and the stars came out
over Arthur's Seat. At last came a sound which made them both start. It
was the grating noise of a key being turned in a lock, and the clang of
bolts and bars, and then came the sound of marching feet, which passed
right under their little window. Gertrud rose and looked out, but
Margaret only shuddered. "They are taking him before the King," she
said. "They will question him, and he will speak the truth, and he will
lose his head for it."
She was right. The prisoner was being conducted to the presence of the
King and the Lords of Council, to be questioned, and, as he openly
acknowledged having spoken to the Earl of Bothwell, and did not deny
having carried the packet, although he swore that he had no idea of its
contents, his guilt was considered proved, and he was taken back to
prison, there to await sentence, which everyone knew would be death.
From the little window Gertrud watched the soldiers of the King's guard
lock and bar the great door, and give the key to Sir John Carmichael,
their captain, who crossed the square swinging it on his finger.
"Would that I had that key for half an hour," she muttered to herself.
"I would let the bird out of his cage, and old Karl Sevgen would do the
rest."
Margaret started up from the floor where she had been crouching in her
misery. "Old Karl Sevgen," she cried; "is he here?"
The old man was the captain of a little schooner which plied between
Denmark and Leith, who often carried messages backwards and forwards
between the Queen's maids and their friends.
"Ay," said Gertrud, glad to have succeeded in rousing her friend, and
feeling somehow that there was hope in the sound of the old man's
familiar name. "He sent up a message this evening--'twas when thou wert
with the King--and if we have anything to send with him it must be at
Leith by the darkening to-morrow. I could get leave to go, if thou hadst
any message," she added doubtfully, for she saw by Margaret's face that
an idea had suddenly come to her, for she sat up and gazed into the
twilight with bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Gertrud," she said at last, "I see a way, a dangerous one, 'tis true,
but still it is a way. I dare not tell it thee. If it fails, the blame
must fall on me, and me alone; but if thou canst get leave to go down to
Leith and speak with old Karl alone, couldst thou tell him to look out
for two passengers in the small hours of Wednesday morning? And say that
when they are aboard the sooner he sails the better; and, Gertrud, tell
him from me, for the love of Heaven, to be silent on the matter."
Gertrud nodded. "I'll do as thou sayest, dear heart," she said, "and
pray God that whatever plan thou hast in thy wise little head may be
successful; but now must thou go to the Queen. It is thy turn to-night
to sleep in the ante-room."
"I know it," answered the girl, with a strange smile, and without saying
any more she kissed her friend, and, bidding her good-night, left the
room.
Outside the Queen's bed-chamber was a little ante-chamber, opening into
a tiny passage, on the other side of which was a room occupied by the
members of the King's bodyguard, who happened to be on duty for the
week.
It was the Queen's custom to have one of her maids sleeping in the
ante-room in case she needed her attendance through the night, and this
week the duty fell to Margaret.
After her royal mistress had retired, the girl lay tossing on her narrow
bed, thinking how best she could rescue the man she loved, and by the
morning her plans were made.
"Gertrud," she said next day, when the two were bending over their
needlework, somewhat apart from the other maids, "dost think that Karl
could get thee a length of rope? It must be strong, but not too thick,
so that I could conceal it about my person when I go to the Queen's
closet to-night. Thou couldst carry it home in a parcel, and the serving
man who goes with thee will think that it is something from Denmark."
"That can I," said Gertrud emphatically; "and if I have not a chance to
see thee, I will leave it in the coffer in thy chamber."
"Leave what?" asked the inquisitive old dowager who was supposed to
superintend the maids and their embroidery, who at that moment crossed
the room for another bundle of tapestry thread, and overheard the last
remark.
"A packet for Mistress Margaret, which she expects by the Danish boat,"
answered Gertrud promptly. "I have permission from her Majesty to go
this evening on my palfrey to Leith, to deliver some mails to Captain
Karl Sevgen, and to receive our packets in return."
"Ah," said the old dame kindly, "'tis a treat for thee doubtless to see
one of thine own countrymen, even although he is but a common sailor,"
and she shuffled back placidly to her seat.
Margaret went on with her work in silence, blessing her friend in her
heart for her ready wit, but she dare not look her thanks, in case some
curious eye might note it.
Gertrud was as good as her word. When Margaret went up to her little
room late in the evening, to get one or two things which she wanted
before repairing to the Queen's private apartments, she found a packet,
which would have disarmed all suspicions, lying on her coffer. For it
looked exactly like the bundles which found their way every month or two
to the Danish maids at Holyrood. It was sewn up in sailcloth, and was
addressed to herself in rude Danish characters; but she knew what was in
it, and in case the Queen might ask questions and laughingly desire to
see her latest present from home, she slit off the sailcloth, which she
hid in the coffer, and, unfolding the coil of rope, she wound it round
and round her body, under her satin petticoat. Luckily she was tall, and
very slender, and no one, unless they examined her very closely, would
notice the difference in her figure. Then, taking up a great duffle
cloak which she used when riding out in dirty weather, she made her way
to her post.
It seemed long that night before Queen Anne dismissed her. The King
lingered in the supper chamber, and the gentle Queen, full of sympathy
for her favourite, sat in the little ante-room and talked to her of
Denmark, and the happy days they had spent there. At last she departed,
just as the clock on the tower of St Giles struck twelve, and Margaret
was at liberty to unwind the coil of rope, and hide it among the
bedclothes, and then, wrapping the warm cloak round her, she lay down
and tried to wait quietly until it was safe to do what she intended to
do.
There were voices for awhile in the next room--the King and Queen were
talking--then they ceased entirely; but still she waited, until one
o'clock rang out, and she heard the guards pass on their rounds.
Then she rose, and, taking off her shoes, crept gently across the tiny
room and stealthily opened the door of the Queen's bedroom, and
listened. All was quiet except for the regular breathing of the
sleepers. A little coloured lamp which hung from the ceiling was burning
softly, and by its light she could see the different objects in the
room. Stealing to the dressing-table, she looked about for any trinkets
that would answer her purpose. The King's comb lay there, carefully cut
from black ivory, with gold stars let in along the rim; and there, among
other dainty trifles, was the mother-of-pearl and silver knife, set with
emeralds, which his Majesty had given the Queen as a keepsake, about the
time of their marriage. Margaret picked up both of these, and then,
retracing her steps, she closed the door behind her, and flung herself
on her bed to listen in breathless silence in case anyone had heard her
movements, and should come to ask what was wrong.
But all was quiet; not a soul had heard.
* * * * *
"The prisoner to be taken to the King now! Surely, fellow, thou art
dreaming." Sir John Carmichael, captain of the King's guard, sat up in
bed, and stared in astonishment at the soldier who had brought the
order.
"Nay," said the man stolidly. "But 'twas one of the Queen's wenches who
came to the guard-room, and told us, and as a token that it is true, and
no joke, she brought these from his Majesty," and he held out the gilded
comb and the little jewelled knife.
Sir John took them and turned them over in silence. He knew them well
enough, and, moreover, it was no uncommon thing for the King, when he
sent a messenger, as he often did, at an unaccustomed hour, to send also
some trinket which lay beside him at the moment, as a token; therefore
the honest gentleman suspected nothing, although he was loth to get out
of bed.
There was no help for it, however; the message had come from the King,
and King's messages must be obeyed, even though they seemed ill-timed
and ridiculous.
"What in the world has ta'en his Majesty now?" he grumbled, as he got up
reluctantly and began to hustle on his clothes. "Even though he wants to
question the lad alone, could he not have waited till the morning? 'Tis
the Queen's work, I warrant; she has a soft heart, and she will want his
Majesty to hear the young man's defence when none of the Lords of the
Council are by."
So saying, he took down the great key which hung on a nail at the head
of his bed, and went off with the soldiers to arouse young Weymes, who
seemed quite as surprised as Sir John at the sudden summons.
At the door of the Queen's ante-chamber they were met by the same
maid-of-honour who had taken the tokens to the guard, and she, modestly
shielding her face with a fold of her cloak, asked Sir John if he would
remain in the guard-room with the soldiers until she called for him
again, as the King wanted to question the prisoner alone in his chamber.
At the sound of her voice Hugh Logie started, although Sir John did not
seem to recognise it, else his suspicions might have been aroused. He
only waited until his prisoner followed the girl into the little room,
then he locked the door behind them as a precaution, and withdrew with
the soldiers into the guard-room, where he knew a bright fire and a
tankard of ale were always to be found.
Once in the ante-room, the young man spoke. "What means this,
Sweetheart?" he said. "What can the King want with me at this hour of
night?"
"Hush!" answered the girl, laying a trembling finger on her lips, while
her eyes danced in spite of the danger. "'Tis I who would speak with
thee, but on board Karl Sevgen's boat at Leith, and not here. See," and
she drew the rope from its hiding-place, "tie this round thy waist, and
I will let thee down from the window; by God's mercy it looks out on a
deserted part of the garden, where the guards but rarely come, and thou
canst steal over the ditch, and down the garden, and round the Calton
Hill, and so down to the sea at Leith. Karl's boat is there; he will be
watching for thee. Thou wilt know her by her long black hull, and by a
red light he will burn in the stern. Nay, Hugh," for he would have taken
her in his arms. "The danger is not over yet, and we will have time to
talk when we are at sea, for I am coming too; I dare not stay here to
face the King alone. Only I can steal out by that little door in the
tapestry"--luckily Sir John did not know that there was another way
out--"and meet thee in the garden."
The window was not very high, and the night was dark, and no one chanced
to pass that way as a figure slung itself down, and dropped lightly into
the ditch; and, when a guard did come round, Hugh lay flat among the mud
and nettles until he had passed, and by that time Margaret had stolen
out by the little postern, and was waiting for him at the foot of the
garden, and hand in hand they made their way over the rough uneven
fields which lay between them and Leith.
Meanwhile, Sir John Carmichael drank ale, and talked with the guards,
and waited;--and waited, and talked with the guards, and drank ale,
until his patience was well-nigh gone. At last, just when the day was
breaking, he went to the door of the ante-room to listen, and hearing
nothing, he knocked, and receiving no answer, he unlocked the door and
peeped in, not wishing to disturb the maid-of-honour, but merely to
satisfy himself that all was right. The moment he saw the open window
and the rope, he shouted to the guards, and rushed across the floor, and
thundered at the door of the King's apartment, hoping against hope that
the prisoner was still there.
But the King had been sleeping peacefully, and when he heard the story,
he was very angry at first, and talked of arresting Sir John, and sent
off horsemen, who rode furiously to Leith, in the hope of catching the
Danish boat. But they came back with the news that she had sailed with
the tide at three o'clock in the morning, after having taken two
passengers on board; and, after all, he could say little to Carmichael,
for had he not received the comb and the knife as tokens?
"Thou shouldst not have lingered so long at supper," said the Queen
slyly, only too pleased at the turn events had taken. "Then hadst thou
slept lighter, and would have awaked when the wench stole in to take the
things."
King James burst into a great laugh. "By my troth, thou art right," he
said, slapping his thigh. "The wench has been too clever for all of us,
for the Lords of the Council, and Carmichael, and me, and she deserves
her success. They must stay where they are for a time, for appearances'
sake, but, heark 'ee, Anne, when thou art writing to Denmark, thou canst
say that thou thinkest that my wrath will not last for ever."
Nor did it, and before many months had passed Hugh Weymes of Logie came
home in triumph, bringing with him his young wife, who had dared so much
and acted so boldly for his sake.
KINMONT WILLIE
"Oh, have ye na heard of the fause Sakelde?
Oh, have ye na heard of the keen Lord Scroope?
How they ha'e ta'en bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Haribee to hang him up?"
I well remember the dull April morning, in the year 1596, when my
father, William Armstrong of Kinmont, "Kinmont Willie," as he was called
by all the countryside, set out with me for a ride into Cumberland.
As a rule, when he set his face that way, he rode armed, and with all
his men behind him, for these were the old reiving days, when we folk
who dwelt on the Scottish side of the Border thought we had a right to
go and steal what we could, sheep, or oxen, or even hay, from the
English loons, who, in their turn, would come slipping over from their
side to take like liberties with us, and mayhap burn down a house or two
in the by-going.
My father was aye in the thick and throng of these raids, for he was
such a big powerful man that he was more than a match for three
Englishmen, did he chance to meet them. Men called him an outlaw, but we
thought little of that; most of the brave men on our side had been
outlawed at one time or another, and it did them little ill: indeed, it
was aye thought to be rather a feather in their cap.
Well, as I say, my father was not riding on business, as it were, this
morning, for just then there was a truce for a day or two between the
countries, the two Wardens of the Marches, Sir Walter Scott of
Buccleuch, and My Lord Scroope, having sent their deputies to meet and
settle some affairs at the Dayholme of Kershope, where a burn divides
England from Scotland. My father and I had attended the Truce Muster,
and were riding homeward with but a handful of men, when I took a sudden
notion into my head, that I would like to cross the Border, and ride a
few miles on English ground.
My birthday had fallen the week before (I was just eleven years old),
and my father, aye kind to his motherless bairns, had given me a new
pony, a little shaggy beast from Galloway, and, as I was keen to see how
it would run beside a big man's horse, I had pled hard for permission to
accompany him on it to the Muster.
As a rule I never rode with him. "I was too young for the work," he
would say; but that day he gave his consent, only making the bargain
that there should be no crying out or grumbling if I were tired or
hungry long ere we got home again. I had laughed at the idea as I
saddled my shaggy little nag, and, to make matters sure, I had gone to
Janet, the kitchen wench, and begged her for a satchel of oatcakes and
cheese, which I fastened to my saddle strap, little dreaming what need I
would have of them before the day was out.
The Truce Muster had broken up sooner than he expected, so my father saw
no reason why he should not grant my request, and let me have a canter
on English soil, for on a day of truce we could cross the Border if we
chose without the risk of being taken prisoners by Lord Scroope's men,
and marched off to Carlisle Castle, while the English had a like
privilege, and could ride down Liddesdale in open daylight, if they were
so minded.
Scarce had we crossed the little burn, however, which runs between
low-growing hazel bushes, and separates us from England, when two of the
men rode right into a bog, and when, after some half-hour's work, we got
the horses out again, we found that both of them wanted a shoe, and my
father said at once that we must go straight home, in case they went
lame.
At this I drew a long face. I had never been into England, and it was a
sore disappointment to be turned back just when we had reached it.
"Well, well," said my father, laughing, ever soft-hearted where I was
concerned, "I suppose I must e'en take thee a ride into Bewcastle, lad,
since we have got this length. The men can go back with the horses; 'tis
safe enough to go alone to-day."
So the men turned back, nothing loth, for Bewcastle Waste was no unknown
land to them, and my father and I rode on for eight miles or so, over
that most desolate country. Its bareness and loneliness disappointed me.
Somehow I had expected that England would be quite different from
Scotland, even although they were all one piece of land, with only a
burn running between.
"Hast had enough?" said my father at last, noticing my downcast face,
and drawing rein. "Didst expect all the trees to be made of silver, and
all the houses to be built of gold? Never mind, lad, every place looks
much the same in the month of April, I trow, especially when it has been
a backward season; but if summer were once and here, I'll let thee ride
with the troop, and mayhap thou wilt get a glimpse of 'Merrie Carlisle,'
as they call it. It lies over there, twelve miles or more from where we
stand."
As he pointed out the direction with his whip, we both became aware of a
large body of men, riding rapidly over the moor as if to meet us. My
father eyed them keenly, his face growing grave as he did so.
"Who are they, father?" I asked with a sinking heart. I had lived long
enough at Kinmont to know that men did not generally ride together in
such numbers unless they were bent on mischief.
"It's Sakelde, the English Warden's deputy, and no friend o' mine," he
answered with a frown, "and on any other day I would not have met him
alone like this for a hundred merks; but the truce holds for three days
yet, so we are quite safe; all the same, lad, we had better turn our
horses round, and slip in behind that little hill; they may not have
noticed us, and in that case 'tis no use rousing their curiosity."
Alas! we had no sooner set our horses to the trot, than it became
apparent that not only were we observed, but that for some reason or
other the leader of the band of horsemen was desirous of barring our
way.
He gave an order,--we could see him pointing with his hand,--and at once
his men spurred on their horses and began to spread out so as to
surround us. Then my father swore a big oath, and plunged his spurs into
his horse's sides. "Come on, Jock," he shouted, "sit tight and be a man;
if we can only get over the hill edge at Kershope, they'll pay for this
yet."
[Illustration: "MY FATHER EYED THEM KEENLY, HIS FACE GROWING GRAVE AS HE
DID SO."]
I will remember that race to my dying day. It appeared to last for
hours, but it could not have lasted many minutes, ten at the most,
during which time all the blood in my body seemed to be pounding and
surging in my head, and the green grass and the sky to be flying past
me, all mixed up together, and behind, and on all sides, came the
pit-pat of horses' feet, and then someone seized my pony's rein, and
brought him up with a jerk, and my father and I were sitting in the
midst of two hundred armed riders, whose leader, a tall man, with a thin
cunning face, regarded us with a triumphant smile.
"Neatly caught, thou thieving rogue," he said; "by my troth, neatly
caught. Who would have thought that Kinmont Willie would have been such
a fool as to venture so far from home without an escort? But I can
supply the want, and thou shalt ride to Carlisle right well attended,
and shall never now lack a guard till thou partest with thy life at
Haribee."
As the last word fell on my ear, I had much ado to keep my seat, for I
turned sick and faint, and all the crowd of men and horses seemed to
whirl round and round. Haribee! Right well I knew that fateful name, for
it was the place at Carlisle where they hanged prisoners. They could not
hang my father--they dare not--for although he had been declared an
outlaw, and might perhaps merit little love from the English, was not
this a day of truce, when all men could ride where they would in safety?
"'Tis a day of truce," I gasped with dry lips; but the men around me
only laughed, and I could hear that my father's fierce remonstrance met
with no better answer.
"Thou art well named, thou false Sakelde," I heard him say, and his
voice shook with fury, "for no man of honour would break the King's
truce in this way."
But Sakelde only gave orders to his men to bind their prisoner, saying,
as he did so, "I warrant Lord Scroope will be too glad to see thee to
think much about the truce, and if thou art so scrupulous, thou needest
not be hanged for a couple of days; the walls of Carlisle Castle are
thick enough to guard thee till then. Be quick, my lads," he went on,
turning to his men; "we have a good fourteen miles to ride yet, and I
have no mind to be benighted ere we reach firmer ground."
So they tied my father's feet together under his horse, and his hands
behind his back, and fastened his bridle rein to that of a trooper, and
the word was given for the men to form up, and they began to move
forward as sharply as the boggy nature of the ground would allow.
I followed in the rear with a heavy heart. I could easily have escaped
had I wanted to do so, for no one paid any attention to me; but I felt
that, as long as I could, I must stay near my father, whose massive head
and proud set face I could see towering above the surrounding soldiers,
for he was many inches taller than any of them.
The spring evening was fast drawing to a close as we came to the banks
of the Liddle, and splashed down a stony track to a place where there
was a ford. As we paused for a moment or two to give the horses a drink,
my father's voice rang out above the careless jesting of the troopers.
"Let me say good-bye to my eldest son, Sakelde, and send him home; or do
the English war with bairns?"
I saw the blood rise to the English leader's thin sallow face at the
taunt, but he answered quietly enough, "Let the boy speak to him and
then go back," and a way was opened up for me to where my father sat, a
bound and helpless prisoner, on his huge white horse.
One trooper, kinder than the rest, took my pony's rein as I slid off its
back and ran to him. Many a time when I was little, had I had a ride on
White Charlie, and I needed no help to scramble up to my old place on
the big horse's neck.