Freyvid then took the word: 'Thorvid my brother, who is called the
wisest of us, calls the man Atti quarrelsome, silly, and foolish. He
calls him so because, ill-content with peace, he hunts eagerly after
small things, and yet gets them not, while for their sake he throws away
great and good things. I am deaf, but now so many have spoken that I
have been able to understand that men both great and small like it ill
that thou, sire, keepest not thy word with the King of Norway. And still
worse like they this: that thou makest of none effect the judgment of
the General Assembly at Upsala. Thou hast no need to fear King of Norway
or of Danes, nor anyone else, while the armies of Sweden will follow
thee. But if the people of the land turn against thee with one consent,
then we thy friends see no counsel that is sure to avail.'
The King asked: 'Who are the leading men in this counsel to take the
land from me?'
Freyvid answered: 'All the Swedes wish to have old law and their full
right. Look now, sire, how many of thy nobles sit in council here with
thee. I think we be here but six whom thou callest thy counsellors; all
the others have ridden away, and are gone into the provinces, and are
holding meetings with the people of the land; and, to tell thee the
truth, the war-arrow is cut, and sent round all the land, and a high
court appointed. All we brothers have been asked to take part in this
counsel, but not one of us will bear this name and be called traitor to
his king, for our fathers were never such.'
Then said the King: 'What expedient can we find? A great difficulty is
upon us: give ye counsel, noble sirs, that I may keep the kingdom and my
inheritance from my fathers; I wish not to contend against all the host
of Sweden.'
Arnvid the Blind answered: 'Sire, this seems to me good counsel: that
thou ride down to Aros with such as will follow thee, take ship there,
and go out to the lake; there appoint a meeting with the people. Behave
not with hardness, but offer men law and land right; put down the
war-arrow, it will not have gone far round the land in so short a time;
send men of thine whom thou canst trust to meet those men who have this
business in hand, and try if this tumult can be quieted.'
The King said that he would accept this counsel. 'I will,' said he,
'that ye brothers go on this mission, for I trust you best of my men.'
Then said Thorvid the Stammerer: 'I will remain behind, but let thy son
Jacob go; this is needful.'
And Freyvid said: 'Let us do, sire, even as Thorvid says; he will not
leave thee in this peril; but I and Arnvid will go.'
So this counsel was followed. King Olaf went to his ships and stood out
to the lake, and many men soon joined him there. But the brothers
Freyvid and Arnvid rode out to Ullar-acre, taking with them Jacob, the
King's son, but his going they kept secret. They soon got to know that
there was a gathering and rush to arms, and the country people held
meetings both by day and night.
But when Freyvid and his party met their kinsmen and friends they said
that they would join their company, and this offer all accepted
joyfully.
At once the deliberation was referred to the two brothers, and numbers
followed them, yet all were at one in saying that they would no longer
have Olaf king over them, and would not endure his breaches of law and
his arrogance, for he would hear no man's cause, even though great
chiefs told him the truth.
But when Freyvid found the vehemence of the people, then he saw into
what danger matters had come, and he held a meeting with the chiefs, and
thus spoke before them: 'It seems to me that if this great measure is to
be taken, to remove Olaf Ericsson from the kingdom, we Up-Swedes ought
to have the ruling of it; it has always been so, that what the chiefs of
the Up-Swedes have resolved among them, to this the other men of the
land have listened. Our fathers needed not to receive advice from the
West Gauts about their ruling of the land. Now are we not so degenerate
that Emund need teach us counsel; I would have us bind our counsel
together, kinsmen and friends.'
To this all agreed, and thought it well said. After that the whole
multitude of the people turned to join this union of the Up-Swedish
chiefs; so then Freyvid and Arnvid became chiefs over the people. But
when Emund found this, he guessed how the matter would end. So he went
to meet these brothers, and they had a talk together; and Freyvid asked
Emund: 'What mean ye to do if Olaf Ericsson is killed; what king will ye
have?'
Emund answered; 'Whosoever suits us best, whether of royal family or
not.'
Freyvid answered: 'We Up-Swedes will not that the kingdom in our days go
out of the family who from father to son have long held it, while such
good means may be taken to shun that as now can be. King Olaf has two
sons, and we will have one of them for king. There is, however, a great
difference between them; one is nobly born and Swedish on both sides,
the other is a bondwoman's son and half Wendish.'
At this decision there was great acclaim, and all would have Jacob for
king.
Then said Emund: 'You Up-Swedes have power to rule this for the time;
but I warn you that hereafter some of those who will not hear now of
anything else but that the kingdom of Sweden go in the royal line, will
themselves live to consent that the kingdom pass into other families,
and that will turn out better.'
After this the brothers Freyvid and Arnvid caused Jacob the King's son
to be led before the assembly, and there they gave him the title of
king, and therewith the Swedes gave him the name Onund, and henceforth
he was so called. He was then ten or twelve years old.
Then King Onund took to him guards, and chose chiefs with such force of
men about them as seemed needful; and he gave the common people of the
land leave to go home. Thereafter messengers passed between the kings,
and soon they met and made their agreement. Olaf was to be king over the
land while he lived; he was to hold to peace and agreement with the King
of Norway, as also with all those men who had been implicated in this
counsel. Onund was also to be king, and have so much of the land as
father and son might think fit; but was to be bound to follow the
landowners if King Olaf did any of those things which they would not
tolerate.
After this messengers went to Norway to seek King Olaf with this errand,
that he should come with a fleet to Konunga Hella (Kings' Stone) to meet
the Swedish king, and that the Swedish king wished that they should
there ratify their treaty. King Olaf was still, as before, desirous of
peace, and came with his fleet as proposed. The Swedish king also came,
and when father-in-law and son-in-law met, they bound them to agreement
and peace. Olaf the Swedish king showed him affable and gentle.
Thorstein the Learned says that there was in Hising a portion of land
that had sometimes belonged to Norway, sometimes to Gautland. The kings
agreed between them that for this possession they would casts lots with
dice; he was to have it who should cast the higher throw. The Swedish
king threw two sixes, and said that King Olaf need not cast.
He answered, while shaking the dice in his hand: 'There are yet two
sixes on the dice, and it is but a little thing for God to let them turn
up.' He cast, and turned up two sixes. Then Olaf the Swedish king cast,
and again two sixes. Then cast Olaf, King of Norway, and there was six
on one die, but the other split in two, and there were then seven. So he
got the portion of land. We have heard no more tidings of that meeting.
The kings parted reconciled.
_THE MAN IN WHITE_
'A LITTLE while ago,' writes Mademoiselle Aisse, the Greek captive who
was such a charming figure in Paris during the opening years of Louis
XV.'s reign, 'a little while ago a strange thing happened here, which
caused a great deal of talk. It cannot be more than six weeks since
Besse the surgeon received a note, begging him to come without fail that
afternoon at six o'clock to the Rue au Fer, near the Luxembourg Palace.
Punctually at the hour named the surgeon arrived on the spot, where he
found a man awaiting him. This man conducted the surgeon to a house a
few steps further on, and motioning him to enter through the open door,
promptly closed it, and remained himself outside. Besse was surprised to
find himself alone, and wondered why he had been brought there; but he
had not to wait long, for the housekeeper soon appeared, who informed
him that he was expected, and that he was to go up to the first story.
The surgeon did as he was told, and opened the door of an anteroom all
hung with white. Here he was met by an elegant lackey, dressed also in
white, frizzed and powdered, with his white hair tied in a bag wig,
carrying two torches in his hand, who requested the bewildered doctor to
wipe his shoes. Besse replied that this was quite unnecessary, as he had
only just stepped out of his sedan chair and was not in the least muddy,
but the lackey rejoined that everything in the house was so
extraordinarily clean that it was impossible to be too careful.
[Illustration: Besse introduced to the Man in White]
'His shoes being wiped, Besse was next led into another room, hung with
white like the first. A second lackey, in every respect similar to the
other, made his appearance; again the doctor was forced to wipe his
shoes, and for the third time he was conducted into a room, where
carpets, chairs, sofas, and bed were all as white as snow. A tall figure
dressed in a white dressing-gown and nightcap, and having its face
covered by a white mask, sat by the fire. The moment this ghostly object
perceived Besse, he observed, "My body is possessed by the devil," and
then was silent. For three-quarters of an hour they remained thus, the
white figure occupying himself with incessantly putting on and taking
off six pairs of white gloves, which were placed on a white table beside
him. The strangeness of the whole affair made Besse feel very
uncomfortable, but when his eyes fell on a variety of firearms in one
corner of the room he became so frightened that he was obliged to sit
down, lest his legs should give way.
[Illustration: 'Saw reflected in the mirror the white figure']
'At last the dead silence grew more than he could bear, and he turned to
the white figure and asked what they wanted of him, and begged that his
orders might be given him as soon as possible, as his time belonged to
the public and he was needed elsewhere. To this the white figure only
answered coldly, "What does that matter, as long as you are well paid?"
and again was silent. Another quarter of an hour passed, and then the
white figure suddenly pulled one of the white bell-ropes. When the
summons was answered by the two white lackeys, the figure desired them
to bring some bandages, and commanded Besse to bleed him, and to take
from him five pounds of blood. The surgeon, amazed at the quantity,
inquired what doctor had ordered such extensive blood-letting. "I
myself," replied the white figure. Besse felt that he was too much upset
by all he had gone through to trust himself to bleed in the arm without
great risk of injury, so he decided to perform the operation on the
foot, which is far less dangerous. Hot water was brought, and the white
phantom removed a pair of white thread stockings of wonderful beauty,
then another and another, up to six, and took off a slipper of beaver
lined with white. The leg and foot thus left bare were the prettiest in
the world; and Besse began to think that the figure before him must be
that of a woman. At the second basinful the patient showed signs of
fainting, and Besse wished to loosen the mask, in order to give him more
air. This was, however, prevented by the lackeys, who stretched him on
the floor, and Besse bandaged the foot before the patient had recovered
from his fainting fit. Directly he came to himself, the white figure
ordered his bed to be warmed, and as soon as it was done he lay down in
it. The servants left the room, and Besse, after feeling his pulse,
walked over to the fireplace to clean his lancet, thinking all the while
of his strange adventure. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him, and,
turning his head, he saw reflected in the mirror the white figure coming
hopping towards him. His heart sank with terror, but the figure only
took five crowns from the chimneypiece, and handed them to him, asking
at the same time if he would be satisfied with that payment. Trembling
all over, Besse replied that he was. "Well, then, be off as fast as you
can," was the rejoinder. Besse did not need to be told twice, but made
the best of his way out. As before the lackeys were awaiting him with
lights, and as they walked he noticed that they looked at each other and
smiled. At length Besse, provoked at this behaviour, inquired what they
were laughing at. "Ah, Monsieur," was their answer, "what cause have you
to complain? Has anyone done you any harm, and have you not been well
paid for your services?" So saying they conducted him to his chair, and
truly thankful he was to be out of the house. He rapidly made up his
mind to keep silence about his adventures, but the following day someone
sent to inquire how he was feeling after having bled the Man in White.
Besse saw that it was useless to make a mystery of the affair, and
related exactly what had happened, and it soon came to the ears of the
King. But who was the Man in White? Echo answers "Who?"'
_THE ADVENTURES OF 'THE BULL OF EARLSTOUN'_
THIS is the story of the life of Alexander Gordon, of Earlstoun in
Galloway. Earlstoun is a bonny place, sitting above the waterside of the
Ken in the fair strath of the Glenkens, in the Stewartry of
Kirkcudbright. The grey tower stands ruinous and empty to-day, but once
it was a pleasant dwelling, and dear to the hearts of those that had
dwelt in it when they were in foreign lands or hiding out on the wild
wide moors. It was the time when Charles II. wished to compel the most
part of the people of Scotland to change their religion and worship as
he bade them. Some obeyed the King; but most hated the new order of
things, and cleaved in their hearts to their old ways and to their old
ministers, who had been put out of their kirks and manses at the coming
of the King. Many even set themselves to resist the King in open battle
rather than obey him in the matter of their consciences. It was only in
this that they were rebellious, for many of them had been active in
bringing him again to the throne.
Among those who thus went out to fight were William Gordon and his son
Alexander. William Gordon was a grave, courteous, and venerable man, and
his estate was one of the best in all the province of Galloway. Like
nearly all the lairds in the south and west he was strongly of the
Presbyterian party, and resolved to give up life and lands rather than
his principles. Now the King was doubtless ill-advised, and his
councillors did not take the kindly or the wise way with the people at
this time; for a host of wild Highlanders had been turned into the land,
who plundered in cotter's hut and laird's hall without much distinction
between those that stood for the Covenants and those that held for the
King. So in the year 1679 Galloway was very hot and angry, and many were
ready to fight the King's forces wherever they could be met with.
So, hearing news of a revolt in the West, William Gordon rode away,
with many good riders at his back, to take his place in the ranks of the
rebels. His son Alexander, whose story we are to tell, was there before
him. The Covenanting army had gained one success in Drumclog, which gave
them some hope, but at Bothwell Bridge their forces were utterly broken,
largely through their own quarrels, by the Duke of Monmouth and the
disciplined troops of the Government.
Alexander Gordon had to flee from the field of Bothwell. He came home to
Earlstoun alone, for his father had been met about six miles from the
battle-field by a troop of horse, and as he refused to surrender, he was
slain there and buried in the parish of Glassford.
Immediately after Bothwell, Alexander Gordon was compelled to go into
hiding with a price upon his head. Unlike his father, he was very
ready-witted, free with his tongue, even boisterous upon occasion, and
of very great bodily strength. These qualities stood him in good stead
during the long period of his wandering and when lying in concealment
among the hills.
The day after Bothwell he was passing through the town of Hamilton, when
he was recognised by an old retainer of the family.
'Save us, Maister Alexander,' said the man, who remembered the ancient
kindnesses of his family, 'do you not know that it is death for you to
be found here?'
So saying he made his young master dismount, and carried away all his
horseman's gear and his arms, which he hid in a heap of field-manure
behind the house. Then he took Earlstoun to his own house, and put upon
him a long dress of his wife's. Hardly had he been clean-shaven, and
arrayed in a clean white mutch (cap), when the troopers came clattering
into the town. They had heard that he and some others of the prominent
rebels had passed that way; and they went from door to door, knocking
and asking, 'Saw ye anything of Sandy Gordon of Earlstoun?'
So going from house to house they came to the door of the ancient Gordon
retainer, and Earlstoun had hardly time to run to the corner and begin
to rock the cradle with his foot before the soldiers came to ask the
same question there. But they passed on without suspicion, only saying
one to the other as they went out, 'My certes, Billy, but yon was a
sturdy hizzie!'
After that there was nothing but the heather and the mountain cave for
Alexander Gordon for many a day. He had wealth of adventures, travelling
by night, hiding and sleeping by day. Sometimes he would venture to the
house of one who sympathised with the Covenanters, only to find that
the troopers were already in possession. Sometimes, in utter weariness,
he slept so long that when he awoke he would find a party searching for
him quite close at hand; then there was nothing for it but to lie close
like a hare in a covert till the danger passed by.
Once when he came to his own house of Earlstoun he was only an hour or
two there before the soldiers arrived to search for him. His wife had
hardly time to stow him in a secret recess behind the ceiling of a room
over the kitchen, in which place he abode several days, having his meals
passed to him from above, and breathing through a crevice in the wall.
[Illustration: 'Sometimes he would find a party searching for him quite
close at hand']
After this misadventure he was sometimes in Galloway and sometimes in
Holland for three or four years. He might even have remained in the Low
Countries, but his services were so necessary to his party in Scotland
that he was repeatedly summoned to come over into Galloway and the West
to take up the work of organising resistance to the Government.
During most of this time the Tower of Earlstoun was a barracks of the
soldiers, and it was only by watching his opportunity that Alexander
Gordon could come home to see his wife, and put his hand upon his
bairns' heads as they lay a-row in their cots. Yet come he sometimes
did, especially when the soldiers of the garrison were away on duty in
the more distant parts of Galloway. Then the wanderer would steal
indoors in the gloaming, soft-footed like a thief, into his own house,
and sit talking with his wife and an old retainer or two who were fit to
be trusted with the secret. Yet while he sat there one was ever on the
watch, and at the slightest signs of King's men in the neighbourhood
Alexander Gordon rushed out and ran to the great oak tree, which you may
see to this day standing in sadly-diminished glory in front of the great
house of Earlstoun.
Now it stands alone, all the trees of the forest having been cut away
from around it during the subsequent poverty which fell upon the family.
A rope ladder lay snugly concealed among the ivy that clad the trunk of
the tree. Up this Alexander Gordon climbed. When he arrived at the top
he pulled the ladder after him, and found himself upon an ingeniously
constructed platform built with a shelter over it from the rain, high
among the branchy tops of the great oak. His faithful wife, Jean
Hamilton, could make signals to him out of one of the top windows of
Earlstoun whether it was safe for him to approach the house, or whether
he had better remain hidden among the leaves. If you go now to look for
the tree, it is indeed plain and easy to be seen. But though now so
shorn and lonely, there is no doubt that two hundred years ago it stood
undistinguished among a thousand others that thronged the woodland about
the Tower of Earlstoun.
Often, in order to give Alexander Gordon a false sense of security, the
garrison would be withdrawn for a week or two, and then in the middle of
some mirky night or early in the morning twilight the house would be
surrounded and the whole place ransacked in search of its absent master.
On one occasion, the man who came running along the narrow river path
from Dairy had hardly time to arouse Gordon before the dragoons were
heard clattering down through the wood from the high-road. There was no
time to gain the great oak in safety, where he had so often hid in time
of need. All Alexander Gordon could do was to put on the rough jerkin of
a labouring man, and set to cleaving firewood in the courtyard with the
scolding assistance of a maid-servant. When the troopers entered to
search for the master of the house, they heard the maid vehemently
'flyting' the great hulking lout for his awkwardness, and threatening to
'draw a stick across his back' if he did not work to a better tune.
[Illustration: Alexander Gordon wood-chopping in the disguise of a
labourer]
The commander ordered him to drop his axe, and to point out the
different rooms and hiding-places about the castle. Alexander Gordon did
so with an air of indifference, as if hunting Whigs were much the same
to him as cleaving firewood. He did his duty with a stupid unconcern
which successfully imposed on the soldiers; and as soon as they allowed
him to go, he fell to his wood-chopping with the same stolidity and
rustic boorishness that had marked his conduct.
Some of the officers came up to him and questioned him as to his
master's hiding-place in the woods. But as to this he gave them no
satisfaction.
'My master,' he said, 'has no hiding-place that I know of. I always find
him here when I have occasion to seek for him, and that is all I care
about. But I am sure that if he thought you were seeking him he would
immediately show himself to you, for that is ever his custom.'
This was one of the answers with a double meaning that were so much in
the fashion of the time and so characteristic of the people.
On leaving, the commander of the troop said, 'Ye are a stupid kindly
nowt, man. See that ye get no harm in such a rebel service.'
Sometimes, however, searching waxed so hot and close that Gordon had to
withdraw himself altogether out of Galloway and seek quieter parts of
the country. On one occasion he was speeding up the Water of Ae when he
found himself so weary that he was compelled to lie down under a bush of
heather and rest before proceeding on his journey. It so chanced that a
noted King's man, Dalyell of Glenae, was riding homewards over the moor.
His horse started back in astonishment, having nearly stumbled over the
body of a sleeping man. It was Alexander Gordon. Hearing the horse's
feet he leaped up, and Dalyell called upon him to surrender. But that
was no word to say to a Gordon of Earlstoun. Gordon instantly drew his
sword, and, though unmounted, his lightness of foot on the heather and
moss more than counterbalanced the advantages of the horseman, and the
King's man found himself matched at all points; for the Laird of
Earlstoun was in his day a famous sworder.
Soon the Covenanter's sword seemed to wrap itself about Dalyell's blade
and sent it twirling high in the air. In a little he found himself lying
on the heather at the mercy of the man whom he had attacked. He asked
for his life, and Alexander Gordon granted it to him, making him
promise by his honour as a gentleman that whenever he had the fortune to
approach a conventicle he would retire, if he saw a white flag elevated
in a particular manner upon a flagstaff. This seemed but a little
condition to weigh against a man's life, and Dalyell agreed.
Now the Cavalier was an exceedingly honourable man and valued his spoken
word. So on the occasion of a great conventicle at Mitchelslacks, in the
parish of Closeburn, he permitted a great field meeting to disperse,
drawing off his party in another direction, because the signal streaming
from a staff told him that the man who had spared his life was amongst
the company of worshippers.
After this, the white signal was frequently used in the neighbourhood
over which Dalyell's jurisdiction extended, and to the great credit of
the Cavalier it is recorded that on no single occasion did he violate
his plighted word, though he is said to have remarked bitterly that the
Whig with whom he fought must have been the devil, 'for ever going to
and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it.'
But Alexander Gordon was too great a man in the affairs of the Praying
Societies to escape altogether. He continually went and came from
Holland, and some of the letters that he wrote from that country are
still in existence. At last, in 1683, having received many letters and
valuable papers for delivery to people in refuge in Holland, he went
secretly to Newcastle, and agreed with the master of a ship for his
voyage to the Low Countries. But just as the vessel was setting out from
the mouth of the Tyne, it was accidentally stopped. Some watchers for
fugitives came on board, and Earlstoun and his companion were
challenged. Earlstoun, fearing the taking of his papers, threw the box
that contained them overboard; but it floated, and was taken along with
himself.
Then began a long series of misfortunes for Alexander Gordon. He was
five times tried, twice threatened with torture--which he escaped, in
the judgment hall itself, by such an exhibition of his great strength as
terrified his judges.[40] He simulated madness, foamed at the mouth, and
finally tore up the benches in order to attack the judges with the
fragments. He was sent first to the castle of Edinburgh and afterwards
to the Bass, 'for a change of air' as the record quaintly says. Finally,
he was despatched to Blackness Castle, where he remained close in hold
till the revolution. Not till June 5, 1689, were his prison doors thrown
open, but even then Alexander Gordon would not go till he had obtained
signed documents from the governor and officials of the prison to the
effect that he had never altered any of his opinions in order to gain
privilege or release.
Alexander Gordon returned to Earlstoun, and lived there quietly far into
the next century, taking his share in local and county business with
Grierson of Lag and others who had hunted him for years--which is a
strange thing to think on, but one also very characteristic of those
times.
On account of his great strength and the power of his voice he was
called 'the Bull of Earlstoun,' and it is said that when he was rebuking
his servants, the bellowing of the Bull could plainly be heard in the
clachan of Dalry, which is two miles away across hill and stream.