Read The Three Perils of Man; or, War, Women, and Witchcraft, Vol. 1 (of 3) Page 11

  CHAPTER XI.

  The youngest turned him in a path, And drew a buirdly brande, And fifteen of the foremost slewe, Till back the lave couthe stande.

  Then he spurred the grey unto the path, Till baith her sides they bledde; "Now, grey, if thou carry nae me away My life it lies in wedde."

  _Ballad of Auld Maitland._

  We must pass over a great part of the conversation that evening, inorder to get forward to the more momentous part of the history of ourembassy. Suffice it to say, that the poet was in high glory, and notonly delivered himself in pure iambics, but sung several love ditties,and one song of a foray, that pleased Charlie Scott mightily. But Isaac,the curate, has only given a fragment of it, which runs thus:

  If you will meet me on the Dirdam waste, Merry man mint to follow; I'll start you the deer, and lead you the chace, With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo! The deer that you'll see, has horns enow, &c. Marked wi' red and merled wi' blue, &c. And that deer he will not turn his tail For the stoutest hinds that range the dale. Come then, driver, in gear bedight; Come bold yeoman, and squire, and knight; The wind soughs loud on craig and heuch, And the linn rowts loud in the Crookside cleuch; Nor tramp of steed, nor jingle of spear, Will ever be heard by the southern deer: The streamer is out, and the moon away, And the morning starn will rise or day. Then mount to the stirrup, and scour the fell, Merry man mint to follow; And over the muir, and the dean, and the dell, With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo!

  * * * * * * * * * *

  "Thy words and thy song, young man," said the friar, "are like soundingbrass and a tinkling cymbal; if laid in the balance, they are lighterthan vanity."

  "Yours will not prove so," said the poet, "provided you are laid in withthem; for, as the old song says,--

  'His wit is but weak, father; His gifts they are but sma'; But the bouk that's under his breast bane, It grieves me warst of a.'"

  "If thou singest this nonsense of me," said the friar, "lo, I willsmite thee upon the mouth; yea, upon the cheek-bone will I smite thee,till thine eyes shall gush out like two fountains of waters." And sosaying, he began to look about him for some missile weapon to throw atthe bard's face, his breast burning with indignation,--for he loved notthe tenor of the poet's conversation to the maid.

  Tam and Jordan encouraged the friar to make the assault, in hopes thatthe poet might be dislodged or affronted; but Yardbire restrained thewarmth of the friar, not being aware of his real sentiments, and orderedpeace and good fellowship.

  Dame Robson covered the hearth with a huge fire; and her husbandbringing in a leg of beef, set it upon the table, and bade every onehelp himself.

  "The words of thy mouth are exceeding good, and sweet unto the ear,"said the friar, "as doubtless thy food is to the taste." With that herose and helped himself to three nice and extensive slices of raw beef,and these he roasted on the tongs which he had just lifted to smite thepoet on the head.

  In good truth, though every one cooked his own supper, as was thefashion of that iron time, there was none did it half so nicely as thefriar, nor so bunglingly as Jordan, whose supper, though long behind theothers in being ready, was so unshapely a piece, and so raw on the oneside, that the friar observed, "it was like Ephraim of old, as a cakeunturned." Some roasted their meat on old swords, some on spindles, fortheir hosts took no heed how they were fitted, or in what manner theyshifted in these respects; seemingly satisfied that they had plenty forthe cooking, and leaving them to cook it or eat it raw, as they chose.The poet made haste, and, first of all, cooked two or three nice slicesfor the maiden, giving her what she would take before he would taste amorsel himself. Some commended him for this, and others jeered him;but the friar, in his grave moral style, said the severest thingsof all. From the very commencement of the journey, a jealousy ormisunderstanding began to subsist between these two, which never againsubsided till they came to blows.

  The poet answered him again with a song:

  "Keep ye to your books and your beads, goodman, Your Ave Marias and creeds, goodman; For gin ye end as ye're begun, There will be some crack of your deeds, goodman."

  At length the party retired to rest, all save Jordan and their worthyhost. The latter never slept in the night; he had always some watching,walking, or work in hand that suited that season best: and as for Gibby,he determined to sit up all night to watch that the poet made noencroachments on the place of Delany's repose. Robson encouraged hispurpose, joined him heartily in conversation, listened to hislong-winded stories with apparent delight, and, when all the rest wereasleep, wormed the whole business of the embassy out of the shallowlaird, who unfortunately testified his fears that they were carrying thelovely maiden and boy to the old warlock to be a sacrifice to the devil.Robson appeared terribly confounded at this peace of intelligence,--forfrom the time that he heard it he conversed no more with Jordan. Aboutone in the morning he began to put on his snow-boots, as if preparingfor a journey.

  "Where are ye going at this time of night?" enquired the laird.

  "I maun gang out an' see how the night wears," said Robson; "I hae saxscore o' Scots queys that are outlyers. If I let the king's ellwand owerthe hill, I'll hae them to seek frae the kips o' Kale."

  Gibby accompanied him to the door, hoping the king's ellwand would notbe over the hill, for he had no good will to part with his companion.But as soon as Robson turned his eye to the sky, "Ha, gude faith, I maunpost away!" said he, "Yonder's the king's ellwand already begun to borethe hill; ay, there's ane o' the goud knobs out o' sight already, an' Ihear the queys rowting ower the waterfa' o' the height. Gude morrowt'ye, laird, I'm ower lang here."

  Gibby returned in to the blazing fire; and hearing so many persons allsnoring in sleep, he caught the infection, stretched himself upon adivot seat, and joined the chorus with as much zeal as any of them.

  Morning came, and our embassy made ready for proceeding on theirjourney; but Robson still was wanting, at which both his dame andhousehold lads seemed to wonder, otherwise the rest would have taken nonotice of it. Gibby told her about the queys that were outlyers, but sheonly answered him with a hem! and a slight shake of the head. Charlie,who knew his man well, began to smell a rat; and, calling Gibby to thedoor, he inquired if he had hinted ought of their business to theirhost. The laird at first denied; but Charlie questioned him till heconfessed the whole, at which Charlie was exceedingly angry; and hearingthat he had informed him all about the maiden, and of what family shewas sprung, he called Gibby a worthless inconsiderate being, and said hehad ruined their expedition, for that he knew Robson kept up acorrespondence with the Halls, who were broken men, and many of themskulking about the border; that Delany had uncles, cousins, and abrother living, if she was the man's daughter she was supposed to be,and that these would without fail waylay them, and kill them every man,for the sake of rescuing her. "Robson," said he, "is altogether selfish,and has some end to serve; perhaps to get the maid into his own hands,for he seemed mightily taken with her beauty; and I calculate widelyamiss if we are not watched from this house, and whether we return orproceed we shall be attacked in the first strait or lonely place that wecome at." Jordan looked exceedingly out of countenance, and everyfeature of his face altered. "What had I ado to tell the rascal?"exclaimed he, "or wha wad hae thought o' him playing us sic a trick?Twa-faced dog that he is! It wad be weel done to let his liver pree thetaste o' steel!"

  Charlie made him promise that he would not mention the circumstance toone of the party, as it was only a surmise, and might impede theirprogress to no purpose; and forthwith they mounted, armed with sucharmour as they had, and all, save Gibby Jordan, as cheerful and asjealous of one another as they were on the preceding day. That worthykept close by the side of muckle Charlie, and looked so sharp about him,that he perceived every shepherd, traveller, and cairn that appeared onthe border fells, always testifying his alarm to his frie
nd that perhapsyon was one of the Halls watching.

  Charlie had resolved to go by Jedburgh straight for Oakwood castle; buthis suspicions of Robson made him resolve to hold more to the eastward,in order to keep the open road. He knew that if they were watching him,it would be at the fords of Kale or Oxnam, on the Jedburgh road; and bytaking the east path, he would not only elude them, but, in case of apursuit, be near the outposts of the Scottish army.

  For a good way they saw nothing, and began to think themselves insafety; but, in coming down Sowerhope-Middle, a little from the point ofthe debated land, three horsemen appeared to the westward of them. "Hispresence be about us," said Gibby,--"yonder _are_ the Halls now!"Charlie said nothing, but kept watch. One of the yeomen vanished in atwinkling at full speed, the other two came at a brisk canter to ournotable embassy.

  "What do they mean?" said Jordan: "Do these two fellows propose toconquer us all?"

  "It wad appear that they do," said Charlie, "for they come on us withouthalt or hesitation."

  "I hardly think they'll succeed," added Gibby, "although they're twadangerous looking chaps. For Godsake, Yardbire, tak care o' their backstrokes; if they bring you down, our chance will be the waur."

  Charlie then called to the rest of his cavalcade, "Friends, here aresome strangers come to join us. Tell them nothing either good or bad,but keep on at a round trot. See, we are not far from the towers ofRoxburgh. Whatever these men may say to you, make them nothing thewiser."

  "I will not so much as say unto them, whence comest thou, or whither artthou going?" said the friar.

  "I'll sing them a ditty of beauty and love, Of the wing of the raven, the eye of the dove, And beings all purer than angels above."

  said the poet.

  "Sic a rhame o' nonsense is there!" said Tam Craik: "If ony o' the dogssay an impertinent thing to me I'll gar his teeth gang down his throatlike bristled beans."

  It was not long before the two moss-troopers joined the party. They weretall athletic men, armed at all points, and their manner had a dash ofinsulting impertinence in it.

  "A good morning, and fair grace to you, noble and worthy gentlemen!"said the foremost: "May we presume to be of the party?"

  "You may _presume_," said the deil's Tam, "for that is what befits you;if you are willing to put up with the presumer's reward."

  "You are witty, sir, I suppose," said the trooper; "and pray what maythat reward be?"

  "Yes, I am witty," said Tam; "and my wit is sharp when it is not in itssheath. Do you understand me? As for the reward of presumption, it is inScotland to be crankit before and kicked behind."

  "The road is at least as free to us as it is to you," said themosstrooper; "and of that we intend to avail ourselves for the present.We go to join the army before Roxburgh, whither are you bound?"

  "We follow our noses," said Tam; "but they guide us not to the armybefore Roxburgh, and into your rearward they caution us not to enter.Raw hides and rank bacon, keep your distance."

  While Tam Craik and the trooper were thus jangling on before, Charliesaid to Jordan, "Laird, what do think o' yoursel' now? Ye hae played usa fine pliskie wi' your ill tackit tongue! It is my thought that ere weride a mile and a half we'll be attacked by a hale troop o' horse. Thatchap that disna speak is ane o' the wale o' the Ha's: I ken him weel fora' his half visor. The other horseman that left them on the height isower to the fords of Kale, and, if I guess right, he'll appear at yonscroggy bush wi' sae mony at his back that we wad hardly be a mouthfu'to them, an' that in less time than ane wad gang a mile."

  "It is an ill business this," said Gibby: "It brings me in mind o'--o'mair than I's name. But, gudesake, Yardbire, an ye be sure he is ane o'the Halls, what for do nae ye rin your sword in at the tae side o' himan' out at the tither? The sooner a knave like that is put down thebetter."

  "Fair occasion, an' face to face, Peatstacknowe, an' ye sanna seeCharlie Scott slack; but ye wadna hae me stick a man, or cleave him downahint his back, an' that without fair warning and fair arming?"

  "Ay, honour an' generosity are braw things, but life's a brawer thingan' a better thing than ony o' the twa. For my part, I wad never stop.My very heart flighters when I look at him, an' I amaist think I findhis steel quivering at my midriff. I wish I had a drive at him, wi' achance o' a hale head."--And from that time Gibby leaned himself forwardon his saddle, and fixed his large grey eyes on the mosstrooper like apointer going to fly on his game; and, in that attitude, he rodeseveral times close up to his side, or very nearly opposite to him,laying his hand now and then on his hilt; but Charlie observed that henever looked his foe in the face with threatening aspect, and, perplexedas he was, could not help laughing at Gibby.

  Yardbire now putting the spurs to Corby, galloped aslant the brae to arising ground, whence he could see if any enemy was approaching by theswire from the fords of Kale, as he suspected. He had not well gainedthe height before he saw a dozen horsemen coming at the light gallop,but one part of the cavalcade considerably behind the others, owing totheir being either worse mounted or worse horsemen.

  By this time Charlie's own friends were coming round the bottom of thehill below him, quarrelling with the strangers so loudly, that Charlieheard their voices ascending on the gale in most discordant notes. Thedeil's Tam and the English trooper had never since their meeting ceasedthe jibe and the keen retort; but Tam's words were so provokinglysevere, that the moss-man was driven beyond all further forbearance.Just when they were at the hottest, the helmets of the front men of theNorthumberland cavalcade began to appear in the swire; a circumstancethat was well noted by their offended kinsman, but of which Tam wasperfectly unconscious.

  "Well, now, thou jaundiced looking thief," said the moss-trooper,turning his horse's head towards Tam's left hand, and making him ambleand curvette with his side foremost; "thou lean, nerveless, andsoul-less jabberer, all tongue and nothing else--I say, what hast thouto say more?"

  The alteration in the man's key of voice somewhat astounded Tam; but hisperverse nature would not let him soften his reply, although he liked aswell to see others fall into a mischief as himself. "Eh? what do I say?"said he; and with that he turned his horse's head to that of the other,making their two noses to meet; and caricaturing the Englishman'scapers, he laughed sneeringly and triumphantly in his face. "What do Isay? Eh? what do I say? I say I thought I heard wind, and smelled it awee too. Hagg-hiding fox that thou art! Wild tike of the moors, dostthou think Tam Craik fears thy prancing and thy carrion breath, or onyo' the bur-throated litter of which thou art the outwale? Nay, ancapering and prancing show ought of a spirit, I can caper and pranceas well as thou. Out on thee, thou bog-thumper, thou base-bornheather-blooter, what do _you_ say? Or what _dare_ you say?"

  Tam had by this time drawn his sword completely to cow the Englishman,and put him to silence;--but he saw what Tam did not see, and knew morethan he.

  "I dare both say and do, and that thou shalt find," said the trooper;and forthwith he attacked Tam with all his prowess, who, not quiteexpecting such a thing gave way, and had very nearly been unhorsed; he,however, fought stoutly, defending himself, though manifestly at thedisadvantage. The brave friar, at the first clash of the swords, wheeledabout his mule, and drawing out a good sword from under his frock, (forhe wore the sword on the one side and the cross on the other,) hestretched it forth, pointing it as if to thrust it between them. But,addressing himself to the Englishman, he cried with a loud voice, "Putup _thy_ sword again into its place, or verily I will smite thee withthe edge of _my_ sword."

  The other Englishman, who had never yet opened his mouth, and who hadalways kept apart, as if anxious to conceal who he was, now rode brisklyup to the fray; and perceiving the quick approach of his friends,and judging his party quite secure of victory, he struck up thefriar's sword in apparent derision. But the inveterate laird of thePeatstacknowe had been watching him all this time, as one colley dogwatches another of which he is afraid, in order to take him at anadvantage, and the moment that his
arm was stretched, so that his swordcame in contact with the friar's, Gibby struck him behind, and that withsuch violence that the sword ran through his body. The wounded trooperreined up his steed furiously, in order to turn on his adversary; Gibbyreined his up as quickly to make his escape, but the convulsive force ofthe Englishman threw his horse over, and in its fall it tumbled againstthe legs of Gibby's horse with such force that it struck them all fourfrom under him, and both he and his rider fell in a reverse direction,rolling plump over the wounded warrior and his forlorn encumbered steed,that was pawing the air at a furious rate. The two horses falling thuson different sides, their iron-shod hoofs were inter-mixed, and clashingand rattling away in a tremendous manner, tremendous at least to poorGibby, whose leg and thigh being below his charger, he was unable toextricate himself. "Happ, Davie, happ!" cried he to the steed: "Up youstupid, awkward floundering thief! Happ, Davie, happ!" Davie couldneither happ nor weynd, but there he lay groaning and kicking above hismaster, who was in a most deplorable plight.

  Charlie perceiving the commencement of the fray, was all this whilegalloping furiously toward the combatants. But the battle was of shortduration; for the English trooper, seeing his comrade fall he wist nothow, and the friar and Tam having both their swords pointed at him,broke furiously through between them and fled towards his companions,Tam being only enabled to inflict a deep wound on the hinder part of thehorse as he passed by.

  "I have made him to pass away as the stubble that is driven by thewhirlwind," said the friar; "yea, as the chaff before the great wind, sois he fled from the arm of the mighty. Brother, I say unto thee, thatthou hadst better arise!" continued he, looking upon the disconsolateJordan; and passing by on the other side with great _ang froid_, he rodeup to Delany, the boy Elias, and the poet, the latter of whom had notbeen engaged, but, drawing his sword manfully, had stood as a guard tothe other two.

  Tam Craik pursued his enemy, although apparently not with a fixed designof overtaking him; and Gibby, being thus left all alone with the twoinverted horses and the incensed moss-trooper, extended his voice to anamazing pitch, for he knew not what state of health and strength hisopponent retained. This was a horrid consideration; for if he shoulddisengage himself and get up first, there was an end of him of thePeatstacknowe. His nasal twine was increased by his dread, and he criedso vehemently, that his cries grew like the cries of a peacock.

  Charlie Scott rode up to the main group, who continued to advance at aquiet pace, for they knew nothing as yet of the approaching danger. Healso called and made signs to Tam Craik to return; and as soon as hecame up to them he pointed out their pursuers, and charged them to ridefor their lives. "We are betrayed," said he; but the horses of ourenemies are jaded, ours are fresh; therefore, brave lads, in ourmaster's name, spare neither spur, nor horse-flesh. Haud on your way,an' never look ower your shoulders: you will find Corby an' me twa gudeback friends."

  The friar bent himself forward over the mane of his mule, and openinghis eyes wide abroad, he put the spurs to his steed, and set off "withthe swiftness of the roe-buck or the hart," as he termed it.

  The boy pursued hard after him; and the bard, taking hold of Delany'sbridle by both reins below the neck, for fear her steed should stumbleand throw his lovely rider, bade her whip on and fear nothing, and inthis friendly guise they also made good speed. Charlie then gallopedback to see if any life remained in his friend Gibby,--for he only sawhim at a distance go down in the encounter, without being exactly versedin the circumstances of his overthrow; but he thought he heard one loudsqueak arise from the field after the rest had left it, something likethat sent forth by the small drone of the bagpipe; and, guessing thatthe laird was yet alive, he galloped back to see. By the way he met thedeil's Tam, who returned with him, and when they came in view of thespot where the two prostrate heroes had been left, they saw a verycurious scene, the more curious because it was transacted by our worthylaird in the presiding belief that he was not seen, for he was too muchconcerned in his own affairs to perceive the approach of his friends.The Englishman's horse making an exertion, by pressing his feet againstthe ribs of the laird's Davie, by that means pushed himself forward, andGibby perceived plainly that his enemy was to be first released. Thestruggles that Gibby then made were enormous. "Happ, Davie, happ!" criedhe: "O mother of God, what shall become of me! Happ, Davie, happ, myman; happ, happ, happ!" and, as a last resource, he reared up his bodyand struck at the Englishman's limb that was above his horse, crying outto Davie to happ, in bitterness of soul. Davie was not long; for thenext moment after the Englishman's horse rose, he got up also, his feetthen getting to the ground; but the stirrup that had been under him wascrushed together, and there his master's foot remained fixed. Gibby wasworse than ever. "Wo, Davie, wo! Tproo, ye thief!" cried he. Davie,finding the weight at his side, wheeled about, and dragged theunfortunate laird round across the breast of the trooper Hall, whoseized him by the neck. "Was there ever a man guidit this gate!" criedGibby. "Honest man, an ye please, let gae; it wasna me that hurt ye."The man answered him not; but Davie being scared by the struggle sprungaside, and the Englishman keeping his hold, Gilbert's foot was releasedby the loss of his boot. He was not long in making a bold effort torise, and though Hall hung by his neck a little, it had been in the lastagony of receding life that he had seized him, and he dropped dead onthe green, having both fists clenched on his breast, in the act of stillholding his rival.

  When Gibby saw how matters stood, he began to value himself on hiscourage. "I's gar ye! I's gar ye!" cried he, lifting up his sword, andgiving the dead man several desperate gashes, and always between everystroke repeating, "H'm! I's gar ye!" His two friends being now hardbeside him, the sound of their horses' feet made him start; but liftinghis eye, and perceiving who they were, he again repeated his blows, andcontinued his threats in a louder key.--"H'm! I's gar ye! I's gar ye,billy! I's learn you to throttle me!"

  "Fy, lay on, laird!" cried Tam; "dinna ye see that the man's no halfdead yet?"

  "I think I hae done for him;" said Gibby: "He brings me a-mind o' a wifethat had to kill her cat thrice ower. I's learn the best o' thehaggies-headed Ha's to meddle wi' me!"

  "I think he'll do that ane, however, Gibby; if he had e'en the ninelives o' the wife's cat," said Charlie: "therefore, an ye please, put upyour sword, an' mount your horse. It's no a time now to examine whetherye hae behaved in a sodger-like manner wi' that bold trooper. If Iwist ye had not, it should be the last hour I should ride in yourcompany--but mount quick an' ride; for see whar the rest o' the Ha's arecoming across us. Ilk horse an' man do what he can, or dear will be ourraide, an' yours, friend, the dearest of a'."

  One look filled Gilbert's eye. He mounted Davie, with the one boot offand the other on, and there was little occasion to bid him ride. Beforethey turned the corner of the hill, their pursuers came so close onthem, that they looked very like cutting off their retreat; but a bog,around which the English were forced to cast a wide circuit, saved ourthree heroes, and gave them the start, by fully a half mile, of theirfoes, who still came in a straggling way as their horses could keep up.After a hard chace of two Scottish miles they came up with the friar,whose mule being too heavy loaden had begun to fag. When he saw themgaining on him so hard, he judged that all was over with him, andspurred on his jaded beast in vain. "O that my flesh were as my armouror my clothing," cried he, "that I might put it off at will, and escapefrom the face of mine enemies. Lo! I shall be left all alone, andsurrounded and taken and slain." As he divined, so it fell out; theothers were soon by him, and he was left the hindermost. Then they heardhim lamenting to himself in his own sublime eastern stile, that he hadnot the wings of the eagle or the dove, that he might bear away to themountains and the cliffs of the rocky hills, to elude the dreadfulweapons of death, so often reared over his head, and so often warded bythe arm of heaven.

  "Poor devil!" said muckle Charlie, the tear standing in his eye; "Od Icanna leave him after a'. Come what will, I for ane shall stand or fa'wi' him. I while
s think there's mair in that body than we moorland menwot of,--I canna leave him to be cut in pieces."

  "O fy, let him tak his chance," said Tam; "let him bide his weird; hedeserves it a'. What signifies the creature? He's just a thing made upo' hypocritical rant, empty words, and stuffed paunches. Let him bidethe buffet that fa's to his share."

  "Ay, what signifies sic a corpulation?" said Jordan. "It will be lang or_he_ bring down man an' horse in an encounter. He brings me in mind o' acapon that claps his wings, but craws nane. Let him tak his chance."

  "Na, but callans, troth my heart winna let me," said Charlie: "For hisgood deeds, or his ill anes he's answerable to heaven, an' neither toyou nor me. But he's a fellow creature, an' has nane to look to for helpbut us at this time. Life's sweet to us a', an' it's unco hard to leaveour master's bedesman just to be sacrificed. Therefore, come what will,I'll turn an' lend the friar a hand. As for you twa, ride on; the youngcouple that are committed to our charge may escape." With that hewheeled Corby's head about, and rode back to meet the gospel friar.

  When he met him, the foremost of the riders had advanced within a bowshot, and was fast gaining ground. The friar still continued to spur on,and though his mule likewise continued the motion of one that gallops,the progress that he made was hardly discernible. He had a sort of upand down hobble that was right laughable to behold in one riding for hislife. When he saw the dauntless Yardbire return to meet him, with hislarge seven feet sword drawn, and heaved over his right shoulder, helifted up his voice and wept, and he said unto him;--"Blessed be thou,my son! The blessing of a man ready to perish light upon thee! And now,lo, I will draw forth my sword and return with thee to the charge, andthou shalt see what a poor bedesman can do."

  "It is brawly said, good friar,--but gin ye wad save yoursel' an' me,ride. An we could but mak the end o' the Thief-gate, they should buy ourtwa lives dear. If thou wilt but exert man an' beast, father, you an' Ishall fight, flee, or fa' thegither. But see, we are already overtaken,and in the enemy's hands."

  The foremost of the riders was now hard behind them; but, perceivingCharlie, he reined up his horse and looked back for his comrades. Thefriar gave a glance back, and he said, "Lo, thou art a mighty man ofvalour, and behold there is but one; do thou fall upon him and smitehim; why should one pursue two?"

  "I hae heard waur advices frae mair warlike men," said Charlie; "Rideye on, father, an' lose nae time. Gude faith! I sal gie this ane hisbreakfast."

  Charlie as he said this put the spurs to Corby, and rode full speedagainst the pursuer. The trooper set himself firm in his stirrups andassumed his defence, for he saw from the prowess of Corby that it wasvain to fly. Just as Charlie's mighty sword was descending on hiscasque, a check that he gave his horse in the hurry of the moment madehim rear on end, and Charlie's stroke coming down between his ears,clove his head almost into two halves. The horse reeled and fell; buthow it fared with his rider, Charlie never knew; for before he got hishorse turned, there were other three of the Halls close at hand. Charliefled amain. He was nothing afraid of himself, for he knew Corby couldoutstrip them by one half of the way; but his heart bled for the poorfriar, whom he saw he would either be obliged to leave, or fight for himagainst such odds as it would be madness to withstand. The friar had,however gained the height, and having now a long sloping descent all theway to the Thief-gate-end, he was posting on at an improved pace.Charlie had one sole hope remaining of saving the friar, and that wasthe gaining the above-mentioned point before they were overtaken. Thewarriors carried no whips in those days, depending altogether on theample spur,--therefore Charlie, as a last resource, pulled down a largebranch from a hazel tree, and attacked the hinder parts of the father'smule with such a torrent of high-sounding strokes, that the animal,perhaps more sullen than exhausted, seemed to recover new life andvigour, and fled from the assault like a deer, in the utmost terror anddismay. Little wonder was it! He heard the sound of every descendingstroke coming on like the gathering tempest; and, clapping his tailclose down between his hips, pricking up his long ears, and looking backfirst with the one eye and then with the other, he went at such a ratethat Corby could do little more than keep up with him.

  "My swiftness is greater than I can bear," cried the friar, pronouncingthe sentence all in syllables for want of breath; "verily I shall fallamong the cliffs of the rocks by the side of the highway."

  His danger increased with his fears; for the mule perceiving thatexertion availed not, and that there was no escaping from the fiercenessof his pursuer's wrath, began to throw up his heels violently at everystroke, nevertheless continuing to exert himself between theseevolutions. The friar's riding-gear began to get into disorder, and withgreat difficulty he retained his seat; therefore he cried out with aloud voice, "I pray of thee, my son, to desist, for it is better for meto perish by an enemy's hand than thine; seest thou not my confusion anddespair--verily I shall be dashed in pieces against the stones."

  The friar saw nought of Charlie's intent, else he would not havebesought him so earnestly to desist. The Thief-gate-end was now hard athand. It is still well known as a long narrow path alongst the verge ofa precipice, and all the bank above it was then a thicket of brushwoodand gorse, so close that the wild beast of the desart could not passthrough it. It was, moreover, shagged with rocks, and bedded with smallstones, and the path itself was so narrow, that two horsemen couldscarcely ride abreast. By such a strenuous manoeuvre on the parts ofCharlie and the mule, the two flyers got into this path, without havinglost any ground of their pursuers. When Charlie saw this, he began tobreathe more freely, and, flinging away his hazel branch, he againseized his mighty weapon in his right hand.

  "Let the chields come as close on us now, an they dare," said he.

  The mule still continued to eye him with a great deal of jealousy, andperceiving the brandish that he gave his long sword when he said this,he set off again full speed; so that it was a good while before thefriar got time to reply. As soon as he got leisure to speak, he openedhis mouth and said,--"My son, wilt thou lift up thine arm against amultitude? or canst thou contend with the torrent of the mightywaters?"

  "Well, well, they may perhaps lead that winna drive," said Charlie; andhe went by the friar at a light gallop, leaving him behind, who prayedto the other not to leave him nor forsake him; but it was a device ofYardbire's, and a well conceived one. He saw that as long as he kept therear guard, and rode behind the friar, the men that pursued them wouldnot separate on that long narrow path; therefore he vanished among thebushes, keeping, however, always within hearing of the mule's feet.Accordingly, at the first turn of the road, the foremost of the Englishtroopers, seeing the jolly bedesman posting away by himself, put thespurs to his steed, and made a furious dash at him. The friar cried outwith a loud voice; and, seeing that he would be overtaken, he turnedround and drew his sword to stand on the defensive; and actually notonly bore the first charge of his opponent with considerable firmness,but had "very nigh smitten him between the joints of the harness," as hetermed it. It happened, moreover, very singularly, from the perversityof the mule, that in the charge the combatants changed sides, at theimminent peril of the Englishman; for the mule brushed by his horse withsuch violence, and leaned so sore to the one side, that both the horseand his rider were within an inch of the verge of the precipice.

  The friar had no sooner made his way by, than he saw another ridercoming like lightning to meet him in the face; but at the same time heheard the voice of Charlie Scott behind him, and the rending crash ofhis weapon. This cheered the drooping spirits of the brave friar, whohad been on the very point of crying for quarter. "They beset me beforeand behind," cried he, "yet shall my hand be avenged. Come on, thoufroward and perverse one." So saying he assumed his guard, and met hisfoe face to face, seeing he had no alternative. The Englishman drew astroke, but got not time to lay it on; for just as the mule and his tallhorse met, the former, in the bitterness of his ire, rushed between hisopponent and the upper bank, and pressed against his for
e counters withsuch energy, that he made the leg next him to slacken, and the horsereared from the other. The intention of the irritated mule was to crushhis master's leg, or, if possible, to rub him from off his back; andtherefore, in spite of the rein he closed with the Englishman's tallsteed in a moment, and almost as swift as lightning. The Englishmoss-trooper had raised his arm to strike, but seeing his horse shovedand rearing in that perilous place, he seized the rein with his swordhand. The mule finding the substance to which he leaned give way,pressed to it the harder. It was all one to him whether it had been atree, a horse, or a rock; he shouldered against it with his sideforemost so strenuously, that in spite of all the trooper could do, thefore feet of his horse on rearing, alighted within the verge of theprecipice. The noble animal made a spring from his hinder legs, in orderto leap by the obstreperous mongrel; but the latter still coming thecloser, instead of springing by he leaped into the open void, aiming atthe branches of an oak that grew in a horizontal direction from thecliff. It was an old and stubborn tree, the child of a thousand years;and when the horse and his rider fell upon its hoary branches, ityielded far to the weight. But its roots being entwined in the riftedrock as far as the stomach of the mountain, it sprung upward again witha prodigious force to regain its primitive position, and tossed theintruding weight afar into the unfathomed deep. Horse and rider wentdown in a rolling motion till they lessened to the eye, and fell on therocks and water below with such a shock, that the clash sounded amongthe echoes of the linn like the first burst of the artillery of heaven,or the roar of an earthquake from the depths of the earth.

  Charlie Scott gazed on the scene with horror; every feature of hiscountenance was changed, and every hair on his great burly head stood onend. He gave a look to heaven, crossed himself, and said a short prayer,if a prayer it may be called that consisted only of four syllables. Itconsisted merely in the pronunciation of a name, too sacred to be setdown in an idle tale; but he pronounced it with an emphasis that madeit doubly affecting. The friar, on the contrary, astonished at his ownprowess, or rather at that of his mule, beheld the scene with wonder, itis true, but also with a shade of ostentation. "I have overthrown thehorse and his rider," said he, "and they are sunk down as a stone intothe mighty waters." Corby manifested the fright that he was in, by loudand reiterated snortings; the mule also was astonied, and, that he mightwitness the horrific scene in more perfection, he kept his tail close tothe precipice, and looked back.

  "Now, by my honour as a man and a warrior, father," said Charlie, "youare a man amang ten thousand. I never knew of a bedesman who behaved sogallantly, nor have I seen a knight behave better. How durst you closeso instantaneously and furiously with both these valiant troopers?"

  "Thou hadst better put that question to my mule," said the friar,--"forit is a truth that he hath that in him that is the ruin of many people,viz. obstinacy of heart. When he smelleth the battle he disdaineth allparley or courtesy, as thou beholdest, but rusheth upon his adversarylike one of the bulls of Bashan."

  At that moment the friar's eye caught a glance of several horsemen closeupon them, but as they could only come one man rank, they paused atseeing their enemies in quiet possession of the way, and standing inpeaceful colloquy, apparently about something else.

  "By the life of Pharaoh," said the friar, gazing all around, "I hadforgot the man whom I first engaged and smote as he passed by."

  "You will see nae mair o' him, father," said Charlie; "I gae him adeadly wound, but the saddle was locked to the horse, and the man to thesaddle, and the furious animal has escaped away to the forest with thedead man on its back."

  "Thou art indeed a man of valour," said the friar; "and here will wekeep our ground. I will do more in our defence than thou hast yetwitnessed; therefore, be not afraid, my son, for that sword of thine isa good sword."

  "It is a good sword at a straik," returned Charlie; "but it's no veryhandy at making a defence. But an I get the first yerk of a chield, I'mno unco feared for his return. However, father, this sword, sic as itis, shall be raised in your defence as lang as my arm can wag it. I likethe man that will stand a brush when a pinch comes,--see, thae chapsdarena come on us. But, ill luck to the coward! gin they winna come tous, we'll gang to them."

  "I will certainly go with thee," said the friar; "but I know the natureof the beast that I bestride, and that it will at the first onset bearme into the thickest of the battle; therefore, be not thou far from mein my need, for, though nothing afraid, yet I know it will carry me intoperil. Come, let us go and smite these men with the edge of the sword."

  "Gallant friar," said Charlie, "the Thief-road is lang an' narrow, an'there's hardly a bit o't that they can come on us twa in a breast; standye still; or be chopping on your way, an' I'll let you see yon lads geta surprise for aince."

  "Nay, I will certainly stand with thee in battle," said the friar;"thinkest thou I will stand and be a looker on, when my preserver is injeopardy? Lo, my heart is as thy heart, my arm as thy arm, and--but Icannot say my horse is as thy horse, for the beast is indeed froward inhis ways, and perverse in all his doings."

  Charlie hardly smiled at the phrase of the worthy friar,--for hemeditated an attack on their pursuers, and his eye kindled with hisheart toward the battle. He heaved up his sword-arm twice at its fullstretch, to feel if it was nowise encumbered in the armour, and puttingCorby in motion, he rode deliberately up to the face of his enemies. Theforemost man spoke to him, demanding what he wanted; but he onlyanswered by heaving his sword a little higher, and making his horse mendhis pace. In one second after that he was engaged with the first man,and in two seconds the horse and his rider had fallen in the middle ofthe path. Charlie listed not coming to close quarter; his sword was solong and heavy, that it was quite unhandy in warding the blows of ashort and light weapon. His aim, therefore, was always to get the firststroke, which was as apt to light on the horse as the man, and thus downboth of them went. Springing by the prostrate warrior, he attacked thesecond and the third in the same manner, and with the same success,always either cutting down the trooper or cleaving the head of his horseat the first stroke. The path was now in the utmost confusion. Owing tothe pause that had taken place, all the riders had come up and crowdedeach other behind, some crying, "He is a devil!" and others at a greaterdistance shouting out, "Down with the Scot! down with him!" Charlieregarded not their cries, but laid about him with all his might, till,after striking down three of the foremost and one horse, those next tohim were glad to turn in order to effect their escape; but thehindermost on the path refusing for a while to give way, many of theirfriends fell a sacrifice to Charlie's wrath. He pursued them for aspace, and might have cut them off every man, had he been sure that allwas safe behind,--but he had rushed by some wounded men and woundedhorses, and knew not how matters stood with the friar.

  As he dreaded, so it fell out. Two of the Englishmen who had fallenperhaps under their horses, had scrambled up the bosky precipice, and,as he returned, assailed him with large stones, a mode of attack againstwhich he was unable to make the least resistance. Therefore, it was atthe utmost peril of his life that he made his way back through theencumbered path to his friend the friar. This latter worthy had found itimpossible to lend his friend any assistance. The beast that he bestrodewas fonder of rubbing shoulders with a living brute, than a mangled ordead one; so he refused to come nearer the first that fell than abouttwice his own length, where he stood firm, turning his tail to the sceneof battle, and looking back. Our two heroes now set off at full speedafter the rest of their party, whom they expected to overtake beforereaching the outposts of the beleaguering army.

  CHAPTER XII.

  _Lord Duffus._--I saw the appearance of a mounted warrior. Whence did it come, or whither did it go? Or whom did it seek here? Hush thee, my lord; The apparition spoke not, but passed on. 'Tis something dreadful; and, I fear me much, Betokens evil to this fair array.

 
_Trag. of the Prioress._

  The rest of our cavalcade continued to advance at a quick pace, notwithout anxiety. They were not afraid of their enemies coming behindthem, for they had strong faith in the prowess of their friend, as wellas his horse Corby. But when they came to the end of the narrow path,called the Thief-gate, there were two roads, and they knew not which ofthese to follow. As bad luck would have it, they took the most easterly,which led towards Yetholm, and left the Scottish army to the westward.In that path they continued to jog on, turning many a long look behindthem for the approach of Charlie; and, at one time, they thought theygot a view of him coming at a furious pace all alone; but the riderbeing at a great space behind them, he was shortly hid from their viewin an intervening hollow, and it was long before they saw him any more.They judged that the friar was taken or slain, and began to talk of hisloss in a very indifferent manner.

  "Alas, how frigid and ungenial must be the hearts of you men inScotland," said Delany. "Now, of all the men I have met with since I wasbrought from my own country, there is only one whose death I would moreregret than that of the worthy and kind friar. He may have his whims andhis peculiarities, but his manner is pleasing, and his speech has astrain of grandeur which I love. Where did he acquire that speech?"

  "He gets it frae some auld-fashioned beuk," said Tam, "that he has poredon a' his days, an' translatit out o' other tongues, till he was nearlyhanged for it; and it's weel kend that he is now in hiding wi' ourwarden for fear o' his life, and has been these half dozen o' years; andthough he pretends to be only a friar, he was aince a monk o' the firstorder of St Benedict, and president of a grand college in France."

  "I would like to converse with him," said Delany, "for I have alwaysthought that he feigned to be something a degree lower than he is."

  "You said there was _but one_ you would lament the loss of more," saidthe poet: "Pray, who may that _one_ be?"

  "Could you not guess?" returned she.

  "How can I?" said he; "but this I know, that to be the favoured one Iwould dive into the depths of the ocean,--"

  "It wad be for fear then," said Tam.

  "Or traverse the regions of ice," continued the bard, "or wanderbarefoot over burning sands, or--"

  "O, alak for your poor feet!" said Delany, interrupting him; "but restsatisfied you shall not be put to the test: it is not you."

  With such kind of chat did they beguile the way, till Elias, lookingback, exclaimed, "Mercy! see what a guise Yardbire is coming in!"

  "St Mary protect us!" said the maid; "he must be grievously wounded.See how he rides!"

  Every one turned round his horse and looked at the approaching warrior;but it was wearing late, and they could not see with distinctness. Thehorse was coming rapidly, and with apparent impatience, but Charlieappeared as if he were riding in his sleep. When the horse came downhill he bent forward, and on climbing an ascent he bent back, ridingwith that sort of motion as if his back or neck were out of joint. Thewhole group showed manifest signs of fear at the approach of such ahideous apparition; and, quite in earnest, though in a pretended frolic,they wheeled about again, and gallopped away. The ground being uneven,and the night-fall coming on, they soon lost sight of him; and,continuing their career as fast as the road would permit, they seemedinclined to escape from their friend altogether. The maid had just begunto remonstrate on their unfriendly procedure, when they beheld the sameunaccountable figure coming at the full gallop close behind them. Seeingthat he was determined to be of the party, they suffered him toovertake them quietly. He came driving furiously up till he was in themiddle of them, and then paused. No one had the courage to speak to him,for he looked not up, nor regarded any of them. His helmed head noddedon his breast, and his arms hung loosely down by his side, the steelarmlets rattling on the cuishes. At one time his horse came so near tothat on which Delany rode, that she weened she saw the rider all coveredwith blood, and screamed out; yet in the twilight she could not becertain. The poet, who was never far from her side, and on whom hervoice always acted like electricity, immediately demanded the cause ofher alarm.

  "O Carol!" said she, in an agitated whisper, "we are haunted. That is adead man that rides in our company."

  If the maid was alarmed, the poet was ten times more so. If she had saidthat a lion or a bear was in the company, it could not have struck sucha chillness to the poor bard's heart; and, after all, it was no wonder,for there is something exceedingly appalling in the idea of having adead man riding in one's company. The poet felt this in its fullestmeasure. He held in his horse and attempted a reply, but a drynesspervaded his mouth so much that he could not make himself intelligible.A damp had fallen on the whole party, and a breathless silenceprevailed. Tam put the question, so natural, to him as he passed,"Charlie, is this you?"--but none answered or regarded. They were ridingup a slanting hill when the bard was first apprised of the nature oftheir guest, and shortly after the figure coming between him and theevening sky, its motions were altogether so hideous, that he roared outin perfect terror as loud as he could bray, scarce letting one bellowawait another. This was still worse than the dumb appalling uncertaintyin which they were before involved; till at last Tam, losing allpatience, let loose his rage against the poet, calling him a bellowingbeast, and many other opprobrious names. This encouraging Gibbie, whohad the bard at no good will on account of the damsel, he said hebrought him "amind of a story that the fo'k o' Annandale tauld aboutAndrew Jardine's bull, that was better at booing than breeding." The boyElias now coming in behind them, and having heard what Delany said,cried softly, "Hush! yeomen! hush! we are haunted; it is a ghost thatrides in our company."

  They all turned their eyes to the mysterious figure, which they stillthought resembled their champion Yardbire, as well as the horse did thatwhich he rode, the redoubted Corby. The horse had started a littleforward at the cries of the poet, but when the rest paused the figureseemed to wheel his horse around, and made a dead pause also, standingstill with his face toward them, and straight on the path before. Notone durst proceed. The figure neither moved nor threatened, but stoodnodding its head on the height at every motion of the steed; yet ourparty were arrested on their way, nor knew they exactly in what placethey were: But from the length of the way they had come, they were surethey were near the Scottish army on one side or other, and free fromany danger of the foes they had left behind them on the Border. None ofthem were good guides in any case, and a man in fear is neither a fitguide for himself nor others. Fear had the sway, and fear gave the wordof command without being disputed. The poet was the first to strike fromthe beaten path, and it was at no easy pace that he rode. He turnedwestward, and the rest all followed with main speed. Their progress wassoon interrupted by a strong cattle fence made of stakes and thebranches of trees interwoven, bespeaking the vicinity of some village,or place of human habitation. They soon broke through the fence, but bybad luck did not take time to make up the breach, which they left open,and posting forward came to a large house amid a number of smaller ones.The poet called for admittance in a moving and earnest stile, and atonce resolved to take no denial. Before ever he paused, he told them heand his party had lost their way, and that they had seen a ghost.

  "Then you must be some murderers," said the men of the house,--"and hereyou remain not to-night."

  "We belong to the warden of the marches, the brave baron of Mountcomyn,"said the poet, "and go on an errand of great import to the army. In thatcase we might demand what we only ask as a boon, namely, such lodging asthe house affords."

  "You had better keep that part to yourself," said the men of the house:"Though Sir Ringan is supreme in the middle marches, he is no favouritehere. Our master's name is Ker. He is with the Douglas, but may be hometo-night. Calm sough and kitchen fare, or ride on."

  "It brings me in mind o' an auld proverb," said Gibbie, "that beggarsshould nae be choisers; sae, honest lads, bring us a light, for ourhorses are sair tired an' maun be weel put up."

  The party, it will be re
membered, consisted only of five, exclusive ofCharlie and the friar. They had draw up their horses close to the halldoor, and were still on horseback when the men turned into the housefor a light. The poet, whose eager eyes were still on the watch,chancing to look at the heads of his associates between him and the sky,thought he discovered one too many.

  "Surely there are six of us,'said he in a hurried tremulous voice. "Sixof us!" said Tam, as doubting the statement.

  "Six of us? No, surely?" said Delany.

  At that instant a lad came out with a lanthorn, and held it up to lookat the party. The poet was nearest the door, and the light shone full onhim and the rider that was next him. He cast his eyes on thatrider,--but one glance was enough to bedim his eye-sight, if not toscare away his reason. It had the appearance of a warrior sheathed insteel, but all encrusted in a sheet of blood. His mouth was wide open,and his jaws hanging down upon his breast, while his head seemed to becleft asunder. The poet uttered a loud yell of horror, and, flinginghimself from his horse on the side opposite to that on which the phantomstood, he fell among the mud and stones at the door, yet ceased not toreiterate his loud cries like one in distraction. Every one jumped fromhis horse, and hurried in at the door; the man with the lanthorn alsofled, and with the noise and uproar the horses galloped off, saddled andbridled as they were. As the guests ran into the hall, every one askedat all the rest what it was? "What is it?" was all that could be heard;all asking the question, but none answering it. Even the people of thehouse joined in the query, and came all round the strangers, crying,"What is it?--What is it?"--"I do not know--I do not know, Sir--I do notknow upon my word."

  "The people are all delirious," said the housekeeper:"--Can no one tellus what it was that affrighted you?--St Magdalene be with us! whom havewe here?"

  This was no other than the poor bard coming toward the light, creepingslowly on all-four, and still groaning as he came.

  "Here's the chap that began the fray," said Tam, "you may speer at him.He rather looks as he were at ane mae wi't. For my part, I just did asthe rest did,--ran an' cried as loud as I could. When a dust is fairlybegun, I think aye the mair stour that is raised the better. I'll trywha will cry loudest again, an ye like,--or rin round the fire wi' onyo' you, or out through the mids o't either, at a pinch."

  Tam turned round his long nose to see if his jest had taken, for healways fixed his eyes stedfastly on one object when he spoke; but hefound that his jargon had been ill-timed, for no one laughed at it buthimself. The rest were gathered round the bard; some pitying, but morelike to burst with laughter at his forlorn state. He fetched two orthree long-drawn moans, and then raising himself up on his knees, withhis eyes fixed on the light, he rolled over, and fainted.

  Delany first stooped to support his head, and was soon assisted by everyfemale in the house, while the men only stood and looked on. By bathinghis hands and temples with cold water, they soon brought him out of hisfaint, but not to his right senses. His looks continued wild andunstable, and ever and anon they were turned to the door, as if heexpected some other guest to enter. A sober conference at last ensued;and as no one had seen or heard any thing at this last encounter, savethe man that was taken ill, who a few moments before had been heard tosay _there were six of them_, all began to agree that he had been seizedwith some sudden frenzy or delirium; till the lad, who had carried outthe light, thrust in his pale face among the rest, and said,--"Na, na,my masters, it is nae for naething that the honest man's gane away in akink; for, when I held up the bouet, I saw a dead man riding on a horseclose at his side. He was berkened wi' blood off at the taes; and hismouth was open, and I saw his tongue hinging out."

  It may well be conceived what an icy chillness these words distilledround the heart of every one present. The effect on our travellers wasparticularly appalling, from the idea that they were haunted by aphantom from which they could not escape. The whole group closed aroundthe fire, and the strangers recounted to the family the singularoccurrence of their having lost two of their number by the way, andbeen pursued and overtaken by a phantom resembling one of them, and thatthe hideous spectre was, as it seemed, haunting them still. As they allagreed in the same story, it was not of a nature to be disregarded at aperiod when superstition swayed the hearts of men with irresistiblepower. The stoutest heart among them was daunted, and no one durst goout to the vaults to look after his master's cattle, nor to take in ourtravellers' horses, that were left to shift for themselves during thelong winter night.

  The next morning, between day-light and the sun-rising, the men began topeep abroad, and the first things they observed were some of the horsesof our travellers going about in a careless, easy manner. This theylooked on as a good omen, knowing that horses were terrified forspirits; and the men joining in a body, they sallied out to reconnoitre.The horses had fared well, for they had fed at the laird's stacks of hayand corn all night; but as the men were going round to see how mattersstood, they perceived a phenomenon, that, if it had not been openday-light, would have scared them from the habitation. This was theidentical phantom-warrior still sitting unmoved on his horse, that washelping itself full liberally out of one of the laird's corn-ricks. Theeye of day expels the films of superstition from the human eye. The men,after a short consultation, ventured to surround the phantom,--to seizehis horse,--(who had given full proof that he at least was flesh andblood;)--and, after a good deal of trembling astonishment, they foundthat he was actually rode by a dead warrior, whose head was cleftasunder, and his whole body, both within and without the harness,encrusted in blood.

  The mystery was soon cleared up; but none then knew who he was. It hadbecome customary in that age for warriors, who went to engage others, onhorseback, to lock themselves to the saddle, for fear of being borne outof their seats by the spears of their opponents in the encounter. Thiswas the individual trooper who had come foremost in the pursuit of ourparty, he whom the friar jostled, and whom Charlie, encountering themoment after, had slain; but his suit of armour having kept him nearlyupright in his saddle, his horse had run off with him, and followedafter those of our travellers, as every horse will do that is let go ona high-way and gets his will.

  Glad were our travellers at an eclaircissement so fairly within thebounds of their comprehension; and when the poet saw the gash made inthe helmet, he shook his head, and exclaimed, "Ha! well I wot the mightyhand of Charlie has been here!"

  Gibbie remarked that he himself had "killed one very like him, only hewas sure his wad never mount horse again." But seeing Tam's ill-set eyefixed on him, he was afraid of something coming out relating to thatencounter which he did not wish to hear blabbed; so he changed his tone,and, looking wise, said, "The hale business brings me a-mind of a verygood story that happened aince at Allergrain; an' if it be nae true itis behadden to the maker, for the sin o' the lie lyes nae at my door.The story, you see, is this.--There was a man, an' he had a wife; an'they had a son, an' they ca'ed him Jock--"

  "Now, d--n your particularity!" said Tam Craik: "think you we havenought else to do but stand beside the bloody man and listen to along-winded tale like that?"

  The poet muttered over some old rhyme in unison with what he heard. Ifone word spoken chanced to occur in any old rhyme or song that he knew,he went over the sentence to himself, though it had no fartherconnection with it, or resemblance to it, than merely that word. Thismade his conversation altogether incomprehensible to those notacquainted with him, but it was always delightful to himself; a chanceold rhyme brought to his remembrance, would have pleased him almost inany circumstances, while his words chimed naturally into measure.

  Leaving the dead warrior at the house where they lodged for the peopleto bury as they liked, they proceeded to the army, in hopes of findingCharlie and the friar there; for without them they did not know how toaccomplish their mission. These two heroes finding, on asking at ahamlet, that their friends had not passed on the road to Roxburgh,suspected what way they had gone, and turning to the south-east theyfollowed them on th
e track to Yetholm, but misled them at the house intowhich they had been chased by the dead man, and rode searching for themthe greater part of the night. Next morning they again went in search ofthem, and came up behind them at the convent of Maisondieu near to theTeviot, where a detachment of the army was stationed; and, afterconversing two or three hours on the state of the army and garrison,they proceeded on their journey, and reached the abbey of Melrose thatnight. There they were welcomed by the brethren, and lodged comfortably.There also they got many strange stories told to them about MasterMichael Scott, which made the very hairs of their heads stand on end,and the hearts of the boldest to palpitate. When the friar heard them,he seemed wrapt in deep thought; and he opened his mouth, and said: "Ifthe things that thou hast spoken be according to the light that is inthee, and the truth that is told among men, then this man is not asother men, for the spirit of the immortals is in him, and he communethwith the prince of the power of the air. Nevertheless, I will go untohim, and I will speak to him face to face, as a man speaketh to hisfriend. Peradventure I shall tell him that which he knoweth not."

  When it was told to the abbot Lawrence, that the servants of the wardenwere come, and that they were accompanied by his chaplain and bedesman,a learned man in all holy things, the father came to bestow upon themhis benediction,--for the baron of Mountcomyn had conferred many richbenefices on the abbey. At the first sound of the friar's voice, theabbot started, as if recollecting him; but on looking at the man hishope seemed to die away. Every time, however, that he spoke in hiseastern style, the abbot fixed a look on him, as if he would fain haveclaimed acquaintance, which the friar perceiving, urged their departurewith all the interest he had; and accordingly, about mid-day, they setout for Aikwood-castle, the seat of the renowned magician Master MichaelScott.

  Ever since the stern encounter with the English moss-troopers on theThief-road, Charlie had attached himself close to the friar, imaginingthat he saw his character in a new light, and that he was one who mighteither be roused to desperate courage, or impressed with notoriousdread; and when he heard him say that he would speak to the enchanterface to face, he admired him still the more; for the business ofaddressing the Master was that which stuck sorest on the stomach of thedoughty Yardbire. As for the poet, he scarcely seemed himself all thatday. He looked at the mountains, and the wild romantic rivers branchingamong them in every direction, with looks of which it was hard to saywhether they were looks of vacancy or affection, for he looked sometimesas at objects which he was never to see again. His tongue muttered longrhymes in which his heart had little share; so that Delany was obligedto detach herself from his society, and make up to the friar, whom shenow addressed with much affection, and some degree of coquetry:--

  "Dearest father, why have you neglected me so much on our journey? Eversince our first stage was got over, you have not deigned to take anynotice of me. What have you seen in my conduct that you have thusshunned me? It is in sincerity that I assure you there is no man inwhose conversation I so much delight."

  "Fairest among maidens!" said the friar, putting his arm gently aroundher neck, as her palfrey came close up by his side, "say not so, butcome near me, I will kiss thee with the kisses of my mouth, for thy loveis sweeter to me than the vintage. Behold thou art even like a tower ofalabaster shining from among the cedars of Lebanon. Thy bosom resemblethtwo young roes that are twins, and feed among the lilies of thevalley."

  "Hold, dear father!" said she, "and do not let your gallantry run awaywith your good common sense. Yet would I love to hear that languagespoken to another, for though it be nonsense it is still beautiful. Tellme, for I long to hear, where, or in what country, you learned to speakin that stile."

  "Daughter of my people," said he, "I have learned that language at homeand in a far country. In youth and in age hath it been my delight. Atnoon-tide when the sun shone in his strength, and in the silent watchesof the night hath it been my meditation. In adversity hath it been mycomfort, and in prosperity my joy; so that now it hath become unto me asmy mother tongue, and other language have I none."

  "Is it the language of the convent and the priory alone?" said the maid.

  "No, thou rose of the desart," said the friar;--"it is not the languageindeed, but the stile of language over one half of the habitable world.It is the language of all the kingdoms and countries of the east, fromIndia even unto Ethiopia; and all the way as thou goest down towardsthe rising of the sun, yea from the river to the ends of the earth itprevaileth. But, O thou fairest among the daughters of women! thatlanguage did I not learn in the lands that are watered by the greatriver, even the river Euphrates. In Ur of the Chaldees have I notsojourned; nor on the mountains of Palestine have I lifted up my eyes.But I learned it from one little book; a book that is of more value tothe children of men than all the gold of Ophir. O maiden, could I butmake known unto thee the treasures of that book, the majesty of itsstile, and the excellency of its precepts, it would make thine heart tosing for joy. If all the writings of this world, yea, if the worlditself were to be laid in the balance with that book, they would befound wanting. The mountains may depart, and the seas may pass away, thestars, and the heavens in which they shine, may be removed, but thewords of that book shall remain for ever and ever! And this languagethat I now speak to thee resembleth the words written therein; and Ispeak them unto thee that thou mayest hear and love them."

  "Dear friar, teach me to read and understand that book, for my breastyearneth to know more about it. I am, it is true, not my own at presentto give, but I have some forebodings here that tell me I soon shall;and, father, I will serve thee, and be thy handmaid, if thou wilt teachme the words and the mysteries of that little book."

  "Alas! and wo is me, for the ignorance of my people!" said he, with thetears streaming over his grim cheek; "they are troubled about that whichavaileth them nothing, while the way of life is hid from their eyes.Their leaders have caused them to err; and I, even I, have been adweller in the tabernacles of sin! But the day-star hath shone upon mysoul and my spirit: For that have I been persecuted, and hunted as apartridge upon the mountains, chased from the habitations of mybrethren, and forced to dwell among a strange and savage people. Yetthere are among them whom I love; and could I be the mean of openingthine eyes, and turning thee from darkness unto light, then would I knowfor what purpose the finger of heaven had pointed out my way to thisbarren wilderness. Thou can'st not be a servant or a handmaiden unto onewho is little better than an outcast and a vagabond on the earth. Butbetter days may come to us both: I am not what I seem; but, maiden, thoumayest trust me. My love for thee surpasseth the love of women, for itis with more than an earthly love that I behold and delight in thee.Come unto me this night, and I will tell thee things that shall makethine ears tingle. The book of wonders is here with me, and thou mayestlook thereon and be glad."

  The poet and his associates listened to this rhapsody apart.

  "What book does he mean?" said the poet: "If it is not True Thomas'sbook, or the book of Sir Gawin, he must be speaking absolute nonsense. Icould recite these to lovely Delany, word for word; and must this clumsyold friar wile her from me by any better book than these?"

  "You are clean mista'en, maister poeter," said Tam; "I ken mair aboutauld Roger than you do, or than ony that's here. It is a book o' blackart that he carries about wi' him, and studies on it night and day. Hegat it at a place they ca' Oxford, where they study nought else but siccantrips. They hae tried to hang him, and they hae tried to cut off hishead, and they hae tried to burn him at the stake; but tow wadna hang,water wadna drown, steel wadna nick, and a' the fire o' the land wadnasinge ae hair o' the auld loun's head."

  "Gude forgie me!" said Charlie: "An that be true, Corby, you and I hadmaybe mair pith than our ain yon time. I wondered that he rade saefuriously on the drawn swords of men and armour, the auld warlock.He-he-he! we'll aiblins try auld Michael at his ain weapons, an that bethe gate."

  "Ye maunna lippen ower muckle to a' this," said he of the Peatst
acknowe;"else ye may play like Marion's Jock, when he gaed away to douk inCommonside loch. 'It is a hard matter,' says Jock to himself, 'that a'the lave o' Commonside's men can swatter and swim in the loch like saemony drakes but me. I am fain either to poutter about the side, or downI gang. I can neither sink nor swim; for when I try to get to the bottomto creep, there I stick like a woundit paddock, wagging my arms and mylegs, and can neither get to the top nor the bottom. Just half way,there stick I. But I's be even hands wi' them an' mair, an' then I'lllaugh at the leishest o' them; for I'll stand, and wade, and gang owerthe waves afore them a', aye, and that wi' my head boonmost.' Jock,after this grand contrivance, coudna rest, but off he sets to Hawick,and gets four big blawn bladders; and the next day, when a' the lavewent to bathe, Jock he went to bathe amang the rest; and he gangs slylyinto a bush by himsel', and ties twa o' the bladders to every foot.'Now,' thinks Jock, 'I'll let them see a trick.' Sae he slips into theloch, and wades into the deep; but the bladders they aye gart him hobbleand bob up and down, till, faith, he loses the balance, and ower hecoups. Nane o' them kend o' Jock's great plan, and they were a' like toburst their sides wi' laughing when they saw Jock diving. But when theysaw he wasna like to come up again, they swattered away to the place,and there was Jock swimming wi' his head straight to the bottom, and hisfeet and the four bladders walking a minuay aboon. Now, let me tell ye,an ye lippen to the friar's warlockry, and his enchantments, anddivinations, ye trust to as mony bladders fu' o' wind, and down gae a'your heads, and your heels uppermost. Na, na; nane maun try to cope wi'auld Michael."

  "I hae heard, indeed, that he coudna brook ony rivalry," said Charlie;"and I hae heard waur instances, and waur stories too, than that o'yours, laird. But let us draw slyly near to the twasome, and make langlugs, to try if we can learn ony mair about that same beuk. If the friarhae ony power o' enchantment, it is my opinion the first glamour he'llthraw will be ower that bonny wench."

  "We ought to keep them asunder by force," said the poet; "it would be ashame and a disgrace to us, if we were to let the auld rogue seduceeither her person or her morals."

  "Morals?" said Charlie; "I dinna ken about them, for I watna weel whatthey are; but as to seducing hersel', I think I could answer for auldRoger the friar. I see there's nae man can help liking a bonny lass; butthe better a good man likes ane he'll be the mair sweer to do her onyskaith."

  "Aye; but then how can an enchanter be a good man?" said the poet.

  "That's the thing that puzzles me," said Charlie: "Let us hear what theyare on about sae briskly now."

  They then drew near, and heard the following words, while the remarksthat they made were said aside among themselves.

  "My fate, you see, has been a strange one, father. I was separated frommy parents so young that I scarcely remember them. But the Scots havebeen kind to me, and I have loved them. I have never been unhappy,except when long confined to a place, which I dislike exceedingly; andas I have hopes that this change will add somewhat to my freedom, Irejoice in it, without weighing circumstances. If those fond hopesshould be realised, I promise to you, father, that the first use I willmake of my liberty, shall be to sit at your feet, and learn thatwonderful and mysterious book."

  "Do you hear that?" said the poet with great emphasis, but in a halfwhisper; "he has gotten her broken already to learn the book of theblack art. Then the deil's bargain and witchcraft comes next; then theharassing of the whole country side, dancing in kirkyards, and riding onthe wind; and then, mayhap, the stake and the faggot end the matter thatis but just beginning. Alak, and wo is me! I say, in the king's name,and in the warden's, let them be separated."

  "Gude sauf us!" exclaimed Charlie. "There's nae man sure o' his life ana' this be true! But a' fair play. Nae self amang us. Hist, and let ushear what he is saying in answer."

  "Daughter," said the friar, half crying with joy, "doth not my heartyearn over thee, even as a mother yearneth over the child of her bosom?Lo, I will be unto thee as a father, and thou shalt be unto me as adaughter."

  "Hear what the old rascal is saying!" said the poet.

  "And behold the fruits of our labours shall spring up into life;"--

  "Oh, this is past all sufferance!" said the poet.

  --"For, O thou fair one, whose beauty is as the beauty of the morning,and whose innocence surpasseth that of the kid, or the lamb, or theyoung roe, when they are playing upon the mountains,"--

  "Gude faith, Mr Carol," said Charlie aside, "it's that auld chap that'sthe poet; an' no you."

  "Humph! mere fustian!" said the poet.

  The friar still went on:--

  --"That beauty will decay, as the rose fadeth on the brows of Shinaror Hermon; and that innocence shall be perverted by the sinful andregardless people among whom thou sojournest, and shall become, as itwere, betrothed to sin and corruption; yea, and that eye, that shinethlike the dews of the morning, shall be darkened. But, O beloved maiden!there is that in this little book, yea, I say unto thee, even in thisold, neglected, and despised book, that, unto those who learn it, shallprove the savour of life unto life; and if thou dost learn and cherishthe things contained in this book thou shalt never die!"

  "Ay, billy, that is a yanker!" said Tam aside: "When ane is gaun to tella lie, there's naething like telling a plumper at aince, and being donewi't."

  "Now, but hear to the deceitful old rogue," said the poet: "All thebooks of black art in the world cannot accomplish that. In the name ofSaint Barnabas, I say let them be separated!"

  "It wad be weel done," said Tam, "if ane durst;"--for he wanted to blowup the poet's wrath, for the sake of a little sport.

  "Durst!" said the poet, "durst!--If none other dare, I shall, in spiteof all his hellish arts. Durst! that is a good one,--to be dursted withan old sackbut!"

  They did not hear what answer Delany made to the extraordinaryinformation, as they took it, that, by learning the little black book,she was to be redeemed from death; for the fierce jealousy of theenamoured bard prevented them. But when they listened again so as tohear distinctly, the friar was still increasing in fervency. All that hesaid was in raptures of divine ecstacy; while his associates, who knewnothing, and cared as little about these things, understood it inanother way.

  "For I say unto thee, if thou wilt suffer me to instil these truths intothee, thou shalt both blossom and bring forth fruit abundantly; yea,thou shalt shine as the stars in the firmament of heaven. Seest thou yonsun that walketh above the clouds in majesty and brightness? Beyond yonsun shall thine habitation be fixed; and the blue arch that encirclesthe regions of the air, which thou hast so often seen studded over withdiamonds, shall be unto thee a pavement whereon thou shalt tread. Allthis and more shalt thou possess, if thou wilt learn and obey thethings that are written in this book, where it is said by one thatcannot err, 'Lo, I will be always with you, and my arms shall beunderneath and around you, and when you are faint and weary I will hideyou in my bosom.'"

  "For the blood that is in your body dare to attempt such a thing!" criedthe enraged poet. "Down with hypocrisy and sensuality together! Hurrayfor the combat, and God defend the right!"

  So, crying as loud as he could yell, he pulled out his sword, and rodefuriously up between Delany and the friar, shoving the latter rudely ashe passed. The maiden's palfrey sprung away, but the friar's mule onlyleaned with all his might to the poet's steed as he pressed against himin passing; and feeling his prop give way, he leaned round in the samedirection, till his tail was exactly where his head was before; andthen, dreading some abhorred exertion, he set his feet asunder, andstood immovable. The poet drew up, and wheeled about, and seeing stillthe hinder parts of the friar and his beast, he cried, exultingly, "Ay,you are more ready to seduce an innocent and lovely maiden, than toanswer for the crime! Vile lump of sin and hypocrisy! turn round andmeet me face to face, that I may chastise thee for thy gracelessattempt!"

  The friar spurred most furiously, but the mule only dashed his headdownward and his heels in a contrary direction, and kept his p
osition.All the rest were like to burst with laughter, which still increasingthe bard's insolence, he fumed about enchantments and the black art, anddared the friar to turn and look him in the face.

  What with one provocation, what with another, the friar's angry passionswere roused; and, not being able to make his mule turn round, he drewout his sword, saying at the same time in a voice of great vehemence,"God do so to me and more also, if I make not--"

  He got no farther with his speech, for the mule interrupted him.Obstinate as the brute was, the sight of the sword, and the sound of hismaster's angry voice operated on him like magic. Perhaps he understoodthat all further opposition was vain,--for in one moment he wheeledaround, his eyes gleaming with rage; and pricking up his ears to seewhere the storm of his and his master's wrath was to alight, heperceived the poet on his tall steed, brandishing his dazzling sword,and forthwith darted at them with the swiftness of an arrow, and a furynot to be checked. There were no more words nor threatenings passedbetween the enraged combatants; for more space of time there was nonebefore the mule had his shoulder to that of the poet's steed, his teethfixed in his flank, and was pushing with the fury of an enraged bull.

  On the closing of the two steeds the riders likewise engaged, the poetcoming on with a downward stroke, which the friar received with greatindifference on his sword crossed above his cowl. But knowing well thenature of his beast, he kept up the poet's sword and arm both, until thesides of the two animals were jammed together, as the rider of themule well knew they would be. By that time the poet's arm was pressedup straight by his ear, and his sword pointed to heaven; and inendeavouring to free his elbow from the hilt of the friar's sword, helost his balance. At the same instant their feet encountering in thestirrups, and the friar's being below that of his opponent, he gave himsuch a ketch with his right foot and sword-arm together, that he madehim fly from his horse to a great distance, in a sort of archingdirection; and the unfortunate poet, falling on his shoulder and head,was wofully bruised, and utterly discomfited.

  But the combat ended not here. The mule still struggled with hisadversary, which not only kept his ground, but rather began to force themule to give way. But the inveterate mongrel was not to be vanquished inthat way. He pressed, struggled, and wrought himself round, till he gothis tail to the horse's shoulder, and then he attacked him furiouslywith his iron-heels. The horse being a horse of spirit, and scorning toyield to his long-eared adversary, applied the same offensive weaponswith very little ceremony, wincing and screaming all the while, andsometimes making his feet to fly as high as the friar's elbows. The mulefought with desperate energy, but in profound silence. Not so the rider;he spurred, struck with his sword, and cried with a loud voice, "Soh!tproo! thou beast of the pit! sure the spirit of the evil one is inthee! Lo, I shall be beaten to pieces, for the heels of the horses arelifted up against me. By the life of Pharaoh, I will smite thee untilthy blood shall be poured out like water,--thou perverse and abominablebeast! I say unto thee go forward!"

  The voice of the friar, during this passionate declamation, had arisengradually until the last sentence, which was pronounced in his utmoststile of vehemence. The mule heard this, and saw the uplifted sword; andnot awaiting its descent, he sprang forward with main force, but no manwill guess the issue.

  It may well be conceived, that during this desperate combat between thehorse and mule, the onlookers were convulsed with laughter. CharlieScott, in particular, laughed with a "Ha-ha-ha!" so loud that he madeall the woods around to ring, and at every breath exclaimed, "Gudefaith, I never saw ought half so grand! Na, never!" Gibbie was advanceda little before the rest, so as to be near the scene of action, which,without doubt, was bringing him in mind of some excellent story, for hismouth was formed like a seam from the one ear to the other. But it isdangerous putting one's self too forward in life, and that the poorlaird of the Peatstacknowe soon found. It is well known that betweenparties so closely connected as the horse and his rider, passion begetspassion. The mule, driven altogether furious by the broil, and the rageand spurs of his master, either wished to rub himself rid of him, ordeemed that it was to be a battle general; for he no sooner rushed fromone fray than he flew to another, quite open-mouthed on Gibbie, and,seizing him by the thigh, he separated one limb of his buffskin breechesand a mouthful of the laird's own skin from their places, in one moment,and the next had his teeth fixed in the flank of the laird's horse.Gibbie cried out against the friar, irritated by pain, as well as theawkward and dangerous situation in which he was thus momently placed.His horse flung--the mule returned the compliment with hearty good will,and glad was Gibbie to escape, which he did with great celerity as soonas he got leisure to use the spurs. The mule ran straight at the nexthorse, and then at the next again, but all of them scampered off at hisapproach, and left him master of the field; on which he turned two orthree times sullenly round, throwing himself up behind and down before.The friar's wrath was somewhat diverted by the shouts of laughter fromhis scattered compeers, and he only smiled grimly as he said to hiscontumacious beast,--"Thou art even a perverse and an evil one;nevertheless thou hast been to me a beast for these many years, and hastborne me in distant pilgrimages, through many perils and dangers; and Iwill not act the part of the son of Bosor: peradventure thou mayestamend thy ways and do some credit to old age."

  The laird in his escape gallopped by the forlorn poet; who, raising uphis head, and perceiving the plight of the dismayed and unoffensivewight, scouring off with the one thigh naked and bleeding, burst outinto a hysteric giggle between laughing and crying, and repeated somescraps of old rhyme no way connected with the incident. The attention ofthe party was now turned to him, and the friar's as much as any, whoenquired with great simplicity, "My brother, why was thine arm lifted upagainst me?"

  The bard was dreadfully abashed, and out of countenance; and he onlyanswered in rhymes, of which none of them could make any thing:

  "His arm was strong, and his heart was stout, And he broke the tower and he got out; Then the king he was an angry man, And an angry man was he, And he said, "Go, lock him in prison strong, And hunger him till he dee.

  "That was a hard weird, was it not? Ha-ha! there be many such; for

  "He had his wale of seven sisters, Of lith, and lire, and limb so fair; But the loathly dame of the Hazelrig, She ruined his peace for evermair."

  "Lo, my son," answered the friar, "thy thoughts are wandering in awilderness. I only ask thee wherein I have offended thee. For as minehand is, so is mine heart; and, as my soul liveth, I know not in whatrespect I have done thee wrong."

  "I have not done thee wrong, fair May, I have not done thee wrong, But the cup of death has passed my lips, And my life will not be long.

  "No, no; dame Delany, you need not bathe my temples. I am not raving. Iam not even hurt. The mischievous beast made my horse throw me, but I amnothing the worse."

  The friar, not being able to make any thing of the poet himself, appliedto the rest, and was soon informed by Tam, that "he was overheard tryingto gar the lassie learn the black art, and courting her to nae good; andthe poet grew jealous, and was for being revenged."

  The friar uttered a loud groan for the ignorance of his associates; but,hopeless of making any thing of them at such a period, he only began tomoralise in a general manner. The poet was again gotten to mount; andshortly after they reached the ancient town of Selkirk, where theyhalted and refreshed themselves at the monastery of the Cistertians.There the laird got his wound dressed, and his dilapidated robesrefitted; and that same evening the party reached the castle of Aikwood,the residence of the celebrated wizard Master Michael Scott.

  END OF VOL. 1.

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes

  This text is a reproduction of the 1822 edition. It includes manydialect and archaic words and spellings, as well as many typographicalerrors which have not been changed.

  On p. 324, the last
three letters and comma in "says Jock to himself,"are not clearly printed and are conjectural.

  On p. 328, the comma in "the king's name, and in" is unclear.

  The spellings "M'Alpin" and "MacAlpin" are both used.

  The spellings "Gibby" and "Gibbie" are both used.

  The spellings "lor'" and "lor" are both used.

  Consonants are inconsistently doubled in words such as "galloped" or"galloped".

  The text includes many examples of inconsistent hyphenation. Thefollowing are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as two words:

  a-going

  a-mind

  auld-warld

  bow-shot

  castle-green

  half-moon

  safe-conduct

  to-morrow

  to-night

  cheek-bone

  The following are inconsistently hyphenated or printed as one word:

  moss-trooper (or moss-man)

  Yard-bire

  high-way

  sweet-meats

  The following are inconsistently printed as one or two words:

  d'ye

  meantime

  The text contains the following apparent errors:

  p. 10 mis-spelling "proving succesful"

  p. 36 mis-spelling "glistening with raprures"

  p. 38 duplicate word in "at at the same time"

  p. 61 missing quotation mark in "ye hae some southron spies"

  p. 68 extra quotation mark in "less beard.""

  p. 69 missing quotation mark in "earldom on that head,"

  p. 90 duplicate word in "written a a letter"

  p. 98 missing quotation mark in "content, said Colin:"

  p. 104 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Charlie," Thanks t' ye,"

  p. 115 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Douglas;" and,"

  p. 141 missing quotation mark in "and I submit to my fate"

  p. 168 mis-spelling "Qnhat"

  p. 172 missing apostrophe "I dont like such"

  p. 178 Missing first quotation mark in "MARGARET.""

  p. 178 Duplicate word in "I'll have have her nose cut off"

  p. 190 mis-spelling "most incongrous thing"

  p. 200 missing quotation mark in "--it is not with you"

  p. 210 missing space in "arrived in the campin"

  p. 215 mis-spelling "shunning his profered"

  p. 220 mis-spelling "returned the Douglas, noding"

  p. 227 comma in place of full stop in "which they stood, This"

  p. 233 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Longspeare," that"

  p. 249 missing quotation mark in "lay than I did.""

  p. 254 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "Tam Craik;""

  p. 261 mis-spelling "this peace of intelligence"

  p. 274 mis-spelling "_ang froid_"

  p. 275 missing quotation mark in "but the horses of our enemies"

  p. 305 colon in place of full stop in "place they were: But from"

  p. 308 single, wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "there are six of us,'said"

  p. 309 wrongly-spaced quotation mark in "housekeeper:"--Can no"

  p. 339 missing quotation mark in "hunger him till he dee."

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