Bot provyt swa his force in fycht,
That throw his worschip, and his mycht,
His men sa keynly helpyt than,
That thai the chansell on thaim wan.
Than dang thai on swa hardyly,
That in schort tyme men mycht se ly
The twa part dede, or then deand.
The lave war sesyt sone in hand,
Swa that off thretty levyt nane,
That thai ne war slayne ilkan, or tane.
James off Dowglas, quhen this wes done,
The presoneris has he tane alsone;
And, with thaim off his cumpany,
Towart the castell went in hy,
Or noyiss, or cry, suld ryss.
And for he wald thaim sone suppriss,
That levyt in the castell war,
That war but twa for owtyn mar,
Fyve men or sex befor send he,
That fand all opyn the entre;
And entryt, and the porter tuk
Rycht at the gate, and syne the cuk.
With that Dowglas come to the gat,
And entryt in for owtyn debate;
And fand the mete all ready grathit,
With burdys set, and clathis layit.
The gaitis then he gert sper,
And sat, and eyt all at layser.
Syne all the gudis turssyt thai
That thaim thocht thai mycht haiff away;
And namly wapnys, and armyng,
Siluer, and tresour, and clethyng.
Vyctallis, that, mycht nocht tursyt be,
On this manner destroyit he.
All the vrctalis, owtane salt,
Als quheyt, and flour, and meill, and malt
In the wyne sellar gert he bring;
And samyn on the flur all flyng.
And the presoneris that he had tane
Rycht thar in gert he heid ilkane;
Syne off the townnys he hedis outstrak:
A foule melle thar gane he mak.
For meile, and malt, and bluid, and wyne
Ran all to gidder in a mellyne,
That was unsemly for to se.
Tharfor the men of that countre,
For swa fele thar mellyt wer,
Callit it the "Dowglas Lardner."
Syne tuk he salt, as Ic hard tell,
And ded horss, and sordid the well.
And brynt all, owtakyn stane;
And is forth, with his menye, gayne
Till his resett; for him thoucht weill,
Giff he had haldyn the caslell,
It had bene assegyt raith;
And that him thoucht to mekill waith.
For he ne had hop of reskewyng.
And it is to peralous thing
In castell assegyt to be,
Quhar want is off thir thingis thre;
Victaill, or men with their armyng,
Or than gud hop off rescuyng.
And for he dred thir thingis suld faile,
He chesyt furthwart to trawaill,
Quhar he mycht at his larges be;
And swa dryve furth his destane.
On this wise wes the castell tan,
And slayne that war tharin ilkan.
The Dowglas syne all his menye
Gert in ser placis depertyt be;
For men suld wyt quhar thai war,
That yeid depertyt her and thar.
Thim that war woundyt gert he ly
In till hiddillis, all priuely;
And gert gud leechis till thaim bring
Quhill that thai war in till heling.
And him selff, with a few menye,
Quhile ane, quhile twa and quhile thre,
And umqumll all him allane.
In hiddillis throw the land is gane.
Sa dred he Inglis men his mycht,
That he durst nocht wele cum in sycht.
For thai war that tyme all weldand
As maist lordis, our all the land.
Bot tythandis, that scalis sone,
Off this deid that Dowglas has done,
Come to the Cliffurd his ere, in hy,
That for his tynsaill wes sary;
And menyt his men that thai had slayne,
And syne has to purpos tane,
To big the castell up agayne.
Thar for, as man of mekill mayne,
He assemblit grret cumpany,
And till Dowglas he went in hy.
And biggyt wp the castell swyth;
And maid it rycht stalwart and styth
And put tharin victallis and men
Ane off the Thyrwallys then
He left behind him Capitane,
And syne till Ingland went agayne.
Book IV. v. 255-460.
Bot yeit than Janvss of Dowglas
In Dowglas Daile travailland was;
Or ellys weill ner hand tharby,
In hyddillys sumdeill priuely.
For he wald se his gouernyng,
That had the castell in keping:
And gert mak mony juperty,
To se quhethyr he wald ische blythly.
And quhen he persavyt that he
Wald blythly ische with his menye,
He maid a gadringr priuely
Off thaim that war on his party;
That war sa fele, that thai durst fych
With Thyrwall, and all the mycht
Off thaim that in the castell war.
He schupe him in the nycht so far
To Sandylandis: and thar ner by
He him enbuschyt priuely,
And send a few a trane to ma;
That sone in the mornyng gan ga,
And tuk catell, that wes the castell by,
And syne withdrew thaim hastely
Towart thaim that enbuschit war.
Than Thyrwall, for owtyn mar,
Gert arme his men, forowtyn baid;
Aud ischyt with all the men he haid:
And foiowyt fast eftir the cry.
He wes armyt at poynt clenly,
Owtane [that] his hede wes bar.
Than, with the men that with him war,
The catell folowit he gud speid,
Rycht as a man that had na dreid,
Till that he gat off thaim a sycht.
Than prekyt thai with all thar mycht,
Folowand thaim owt off aray
And thai sped thaim fleand, quhill thai
Fer by thair buschement war past:
And Thyrwall ay chassyt fast.
And than thai that enbuschyt war
Ischyt till him, bath les and mar
And rayssyt sudanly the cry.
And thai that saw sa sudanly
That folk come egyrly prikand
Rycht betuix thairn and thair warank,
Thai war in to full gret effray.
And, for thai war owt off aray,
Sum off thaim fled, and some abad.
And Dowglas, that thar with him had
A gret mengye, full egrely
Assaylyt, and scalyt thaim hastyly:
And in schort tyme ourraid thaim swa,
That weile nane eschapyt thaim fra.
Thyrwall, that wes thair capitane,
Wes thar in the bargane slane:
And off his men the mast party.
The lave fled full effraytly.
Book V. v. 10-60
CASTLE DANGEROUS.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
Hosts have been known at that dread sound to yield,
And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.
JOHN HOME.
It was at the close of an early spring day, when nature, in a cold
province of Scotland, was reviving from her winter's sleep, and the air
at least, though not the vegetation, gave promise of an abatement of
the rigour of the season, that two travellers, whose appearance at that
early period sufficiently announced their wandering character, which,
in general, secured a free passage even through a dangerous country,
were seen coming from the south-westward, within a few miles of the
Castle of Douglas, and seemed to be holding their course in the
direction of the river of that name, whose dale afforded a species of
approach to that memorable feudal fortress. The stream, small in
comparison to the extent of its fame, served as a kind of drain to the
country in its neighbourhood, and at the same time afforded the means
of a rough road to the castle and village. The high lords to whom the
castle had for ages belonged, might, had they chosen, have made this
access a great deal smoother and more convenient; but there had been as
yet little or no exercise for those geniuses, who have taught all the
world that it is better to take the more circuitous road round the base
of a hill, than the direct course of ascending it on the one side, and
descending it directly on the other, without yielding a single step to
render the passage more easy to the traveller; still less were those
mysteries dreamed of which M'Adam has of late days expounded. But,
indeed, to what purpose should the ancient Douglasses have employed his
principles, even if they had known them in ever so much perfection?
Wheel-carriages, except of the most clumsy description, and for the
most simple operations of agriculture, were totally unknown. Even the
most delicate female had no resource save a horse, or, in case of sore
infirmity, a litter. The men used their own sturdy limbs, or hardy
horses, to transport themselves from place to place; and travellers,
females in particular, experienced no small inconvenience from the
rugged nature of the country. A swollen torrent sometimes crossed their
path, and compelled them to wait until the waters had abated their
frenzy. The bank of a small river was occasionally torn away by the
effects of a thunder-storm, a recent inundation, or the like
convulsions of nature; and the wayfarer relied upon his knowledge of
the district, or obtained the best local information in his power, how
to direct his path so as to surmount such untoward obstacles.
The Douglas issues from an amphitheatre of mountains which bounds the
valley to the south-west, from whose contributions, and the aid of
sudden storms, it receives its scanty supplies. The general aspect of
the country is that of the pastoral hills of the south of Scotland,
forming, as is usual, bleak and wild farms, many of which had, at no
great length of time from the date of the story, been covered with
trees; as some of them still attest by bearing the name of _shaw_,
that is, wild natural wood. The neighbourhood of the Douglas water
itself was flat land, capable of bearing strong crops of oats and rye,
supplying the inhabitants with what they required of these productions.
At no great distance from the edge of the river, a few special spots
excepted, the soil capable of agriculture was more and more mixed with
the pastoral and woodland country, till both terminated in desolate and
partly inaccessible moorlands.
Above all, it was war-time, and of necessity all circumstances of mere
convenience were obliged to give way to a paramount sense of danger;
the inhabitants, therefore, instead of trying to amend the paths which
connected them with other districts, were thankful that the natural
difficulties which surrounded them rendered it unnecessary to break up
or to fortify the access from more open countries. Their wants, with a
very few exceptions, were completely supplied, as we have already said,
by the rude and scanty produce of their own mountains and _holms_,
[Footnote: Holms, or flat plains, by the sides of the brooks and rivers,
termed in the south, _Ings_.] the last of which served for the
exercise of their limited agriculture, while the better part of the
mountains and forest glens produced pasture for their herds and flocks.
The recesses of the unexplored depths of these sylvan retreats being
seldom disturbed, especially since the lords of the district had laid
aside, during this time of strife, their constant occupation of hunting,
the various kinds of game had increased of late very considerably; so
that not only in crossing the rougher parts of the hilly and desolate
country we are describing, different varieties of deer were
occasionally seen, but even the wild cattle peculiar to Scotland
sometimes showed themselves, and other animals, which indicated the
irregular and disordered state of the period. The wild-cat was
frequently surprised in the dark ravines or the swampy thickets; and
the wolf, already a stranger to the more populous districts of the
Lothians, here maintained his ground against the encroachments of man,
and was still himself a terror to those by whom he was finally to be
extirpated. In winter especially, and winter was hardly yet past, these
savage animals were wont to be driven to extremity for lack of food,
and used to frequent, in dangerous numbers, the battle-field, the
deserted churchyard - nay, sometimes the abodes of living men, there to
watch for children, their defenceless prey, with as much familiarity as
the fox now-a-days will venture to prowl near the mistress's [Footnote:
The good dame, or wife of a respectable farmer, is almost universally
thus designated in Scotland.] poultry-yard.
From what we have said, our readers, if they have made - as who in these
days has not - the Scottish tour, will be able to form a tolerably just
idea of the wilder and upper part of Douglas Dale, during the earlier
period of the fourteenth century. The setting sun cast his gleams along
a moorland country, which to the westward broke into larger swells,
terminating in the mountains called the Larger and Lesser Cairntable.
The first of these is, as it were, the father of the hills in the
neighbourhood, the source of an hundred streams, and by far the largest
of the ridge, still holding in his dark bosom, and in the ravines with
which his sides are ploughed, considerable remnants of those ancient
forests with which all the high grounds of that quarter were once
covered, and particularly the hills, in which the rivers - both those
which run to the east, and those which seek the west to discharge
themselves into the Solway - -hide, like so many hermits, their original
and scanty sources.
The landscape was still illuminated by the reflection of the evening
sun, sometimes thrown back from pool or stream; sometimes resting on
grey rocks, huge cumberers of the soil, which labour and agriculture
have since removed, and sometimes contenting itself with gilding the
banks of the stream, tinged, alternately grey, green, or ruddy, as the
ground itself consisted of rock, or grassy turf, or bare earthen mound,
or looked at a distance like a rampart of dark red porphyry.
Occasionally, too, the eye rested on the steep brown extent of moorland
as the sunbeam glanced back from the little tarn or mountain pool,
whose lustre, like that of the eye in the human countenance, gives a
life and vivacity to every feature around.
The elder and stouter of the two travellers whom we have mentioned, was
a person well, and even showily dressed, according to the finery of the
times, and bore at his back, as wandering minstrels were wont, a case,
containing a small harp, rote or viol, or some such species of musical
instrument for accompanying the voice. The leathern case announced so
much, although it proclaimed not the exact nature of the instrument.
The colour of the traveller's doublet was blue, and that of his hose
violet, with slashes which showed a lining of the same colour with the
jerkin. A mantle ought, according to ordinary custom, to have covered
this dress; but the heat of the sun, though the season was so early,
had induced the wearer to fold up his cloak in small compass, and form
it into a bundle, attached to the shoulders like the military
greatcoat of the infantry soldier of the present day. The neatness with
which it was made up, argued the precision of a practised traveller,
who had been long accustomed to every resource which change of weather
required. A great profusion of narrow ribands or points, constituting
the loops with which our ancestors connected their doublet and hose,
formed a kind of cordon, composed of knots of blue or violet, which
surrounded the traveller's person, and thus assimilated in colour with
the two garments which it was the office of these strings to combine.
The bonnet usually worn with this showy dress, was of that kind with
which Henry the Eighth and his son, Edward the Sixth, are usually
represented. It was more fitted, from the gay stuff of which it was
composed, to appear in a public place, than to encounter a storm of
rain. It was party-coloured, being made of different stripes of blue
and violet; and the wearer arrogated a certain degree of gentility to
himself, by wearing a plume of considerable dimensions of the same
favourite colours. The features over which this feather drooped were in
no degree remarkable for peculiarity of expression. Yet in so desolate
a country as the west of Scotland, it would, not have been easy to pass
the man without more minute attention than he would have met with where
there was more in the character of the scenery to arrest the gaze of
the passengers.
A quick eye, a sociable look, seeming to say, "Ay, look at me, I am a
man worth noticing, and not unworthy your attention," carried with it,
nevertheless, an interpretation which might be thought favourable or
otherwise, according to the character of the person whom the traveller
met. A knight or soldier would merely have thought that he had met a
merry fellow, who could sing a wild song, or tell a wild tale, and help
to empty a flagon, with all the accomplishments necessary for a boon
companion at an hostelry, except perhaps an alacrity at defraying his
share of the reckoning. A churchman, on the other hand, might have
thought he of the blue and violet was of too loose habits, and
accustomed too little to limit himself within the boundaries of
beseeming mirth, to be fit society for one of his sacred calling. Yet
the Man of Song had a certain steadiness of countenance, which seemed
fitted to hold place in scenes of serious business as well as of gaiety.
A wayfaring passenger of wealth (not at that time a numerous class)
might have feared in him a professional robber, or one whom opportunity
was very likely to convert into such; a female might have been
apprehensive of uncivil treatment; and a youth, or timid person, might
have thought of murder, or such direful doings. Unless privately armed,
however, the minstrel was ill-accoutred for any dangerous occupation.
His only visible weapon was a small crooked sword, like what we now
call a hanger; and the state of the times would have justified any man,
however peaceful his intentions, in being so far armed against the
perils of the road.
If a glance at this man had in any respect prejudiced him in the
opinion of those whom he met on his journey, a look at his companion
would, so far as his character could be guessed at - for he was closely
muffled up - have passed for an apology and warrant for his associate.
The younger traveller was apparently in early youth, a soft and gentle
boy, whose Sclavonic gown, the appropriate dress of the pilgrim, he
wore more closely drawn about him than the coldness of the weather
seemed to authorize or recommend. His features, imperfectly seen under
the hood of his pilgrim's dress, were prepossessing in a high degree;
and though he wore a walking sword, it seemed rather to be in
compliance with general fashion than from any violent purpose he did so.
There were traces of sadness upon his brow, and of tears upon his
cheeks; and his weariness was such, as even his rougher companion
seemed to sympathize with, while he privately participated also in the
sorrow which left its marks upon a countenance so lovely. They spoke
together, and the elder of the two, while he assumed the deferential
air proper to a man of inferior rank addressing a superior, showed in
tone and gesture, something that amounted to interest and affection.
"Bertram, my friend," said the younger of the two, "how far are we
still from Douglas Castle? We have already come farther than the twenty
miles, which thou didst say was the distance from Cammock - or how didst
thou call the last hostelry which we left by daybreak?"
"Cummock, my dearest lady - I beg ten thousand excuses - my gracious young
lord."
"Call me Augustine," replied his comrade, "if you mean to speak as is
fittest for the time."
"Nay, as for that," said Bertram, "if your ladyship can condescend to
lay aside your quality, my own good breeding is not so firmly sewed to
me but that I can doff it, and resume it again without its losing a
stitch; and since your ladyship, to whom I am sworn in obedience, is
pleased to command that I should treat you as my own son, shame it were
to me if I were not to show you the affection of a father, more
especially as I may well swear my great oath, that I owe you the duty
of such, though well I wot it has, in our case, been the lot of the
parent to be maintained by the kindness and liberality of the child;
for when was it that I hungered or thirsted, and the _black
stock_[Footnote: The table dormant, which stood in a baron's hall,
was often so designated.] of Berkley did not relieve my wants?"
"I would have it so," answered the young pilgrim; "I would have it so.
What use of the mountains of beef, and the oceans of beer, which they
say our domains produce, if there is a hungry heart among our vassalage,
or especially if thou, Bertram, who hast served as the minstrel of our
house for more than twenty years, shouldst experience such a feeling?"
"Certes, lady," answered Bertram, "it would be like the catastrophe
which is told of the Baron of Fastenough, when his last mouse was
starved to death in the very pantry; and if I escape this journey
without such a calamity, I shall think myself out of reach of thirst or
famine for the whole of my life."
"Thou hast suffered already once or twice by these attacks, my poor
friend," said the lady.
"It is little," answered Bertram, "any thing that I have suffered; and
I were ungrateful to give the inconvenience of missing a breakfast, or
making an untimely dinner, so serious a name. But then I hardly see how
your ladyship can endure this gear much longer. You must yourself feel,
that the plodding along these high lands, of which the Scots give us
such good measure in their miles, is no jesting matter; and as for
Douglas Castle, why it is still three good miles off."
"The question then is," quoth the lady, heaving a sigh, "what we are to
do when we have so far to travel, and when the castle gates must be
locked long before we arrive there?"
"For that I will pledge my word," answered Bertram. "The gates of
Douglas, under the care of Sir John de Walton, do not open so easily as
those of the buttery hatch at our own castle, when it is well oiled;
and if your ladyship take my advice, you will turn southward ho! and in
two days at farthest, we shall be in a land where men's wants are
provided for, as the inns proclaim it, with the least possible delay,
and the secret of this little journey shall never be known to living
mortal but ourselves, as sure as I am sworn minstrel, and man of
faith."
"I thank thee for thy advice, mine honest Bertram," said the lady, "but
I cannot profit by it. Should thy knowledge of these parts possess thee
with an acquaintance with any decent house, whether it belong to rich
or poor, I would willingly take quarters there, if I could obtain them
from this time until to-morrow morning. The gates of Douglas Castle
will then be open to guests of so peaceful an appearance as we carry
with us, and - and - it will out - we might have time to make such
applications to our toilet as might ensure us a good reception, by
drawing a comb through our locks, or such like foppery."
"Ah, madam!" said Bertram, "were not Sir John de Walton in question,
methinks I should venture to reply, that an unwashed brow, an unkempt
head of hair, and a look far more saucy than your ladyship ever wears,
or can wear, were the proper disguise to trick out that minstrel's boy,
whom, you wish to represent in the present pageant."
"Do you suffer your youthful pupils to be indeed so slovenly and so
saucy, Bertram?" answered the lady. "I for one will not imitate them in
that particular; and whether Sir John be now in the Castle of Douglas
or not, I will treat the soldiers who hold so honourable a charge with
a washed brow, and a head of hair somewhat ordered. As for going back
without seeing a castle which has mingled even with my very dreams - at
a word, Bertram, thou mayst go that way, but I will not."
"And if I part with your ladyship on such terms," responded the
minstrel, "now your frolic is so nearly accomplished, it shall be the
foul fiend himself, and nothing more comely or less dangerous, that
shall tear me from your side; and for lodging, there is not far from
hence the house of one Tom Dickson of Hazelside, one of the most honest
fellows of the Dale, and who, although a labouring man, ranked as high
as a warrior, when I was in this country, as any noble gentleman that
rode in the band of the Douglas."
"He is then a soldier?" said the lady.
"When his country or his lord need his sword," replied Bertram - "and,
to say the truth, they are seldom at peace; but otherwise, he is no
enemy, save to the wolf which plunders his herds."
"But forget not, my trusty guide," replied the lady, "that the blood in
our veins is English, and consequently, that we are in danger from all
who call themselves foes to the ruddy Cross."
"Do not fear this man's faith," answered Bertram. "You may trust to him
as to the best knight or gentleman of the land. We may make good our
lodging by a tune or a song; and it may remember you that I undertook
(provided it pleased your ladyship) to temporize a little with the
Scots, who, poor souls, love minstrelsy, and when they have but a
silver penny, will willingly bestow it to encourage the _gay
science_ - I promised you, I say, that we should be as welcome to
them as if we had been born amidst their own wild hills; and for the
best that such a house as Dickson's affords, the glee-man's son, fair
lady, shall not breathe a wish in vain. And now, will you speak your
mind to your devoted friend and adopted father, or rather your sworn
servant and guide, Bertram the Minstrel, what it is your pleasure to do
in this matter?"
"O, we will certainly accept of the Scot's hospitality," said the lady,
"your minstrel word being plighted that he is a true man. Tom Dickson,
call you him?"
"Yes," replied Bertram, "such is his name; and by looking on these
sheep, I am assured that we are now upon his land."
"Indeed?" said the lady, with some surprise; "and how is your wisdom
aware of that?"
"I see the first letter of his name marked upon this flock," answered
the guide. "Ah, learning is what carries a man through the world, as
well as if he had the ring by virtue of which old minstrels tell that
Adam understood the language of the beasts in paradise. Ah, madam!
there is more wit taught in the shepherd's shieling than the lady
thinks of, who sews her painted seam in her summer bower."
"Be it so, good Bertram. And although not so deeply skilled in the
knowledge of written language as you are, it is impossible for me to
esteem its value more than I actually do; so hold we on the nearest
road to this Tom Dickson's, whose very sheep tell of his whereabout. I
trust we have not very far to go, although the knowledge that our
journey is shortened by a few miles has so much recovered my fatigue,
that methinks I could dance all the rest of the way."
CHAPTER THE SECOND.
_Rosalind_. Well, this is the Forest of Arden.
_Touchstone_. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I. When I
was at
home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
_Rosalind_. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes
here; a
young man and an old, in solemn talk.
As You Like It. _Scene IV. Act 2_.
As the travellers spoke together, they reached a turn of the path which
presented a more extensive prospect than the broken face of the country
had yet shown them. A valley, through which flowed a small tributary
stream, exhibited the wild, but not unpleasant, features of "a lone
vale of green braken;" here and there besprinkled with groups of alder-
trees, of hazels, and of copse-oakwood, which had maintained their
stations in the recesses of the valley, although they had vanished from
the loftier and more exposed sides of the hills. The farm-house or
mansion-house, (for, from its size and appearance, it might have been
the one or the other,) was a large but low building, and the walls of
the out-houses were sufficiently strong to resist any band of casual
depredators. There was nothing, however, which could withstand a more
powerful force; for, in a country laid waste by war, the farmer was
then, as now, obliged to take his chance of the great evils attendant
upon that state of things; and his condition, never a very eligible one,
was rendered considerably worse by the insecurity attending it. About
half a mile farther was seen a Gothic building of very small extent,
having a half dismantled chapel, which the minstrel pronounced to be
the Abbey of Saint Bride. "The place," he said, "I understand, is
allowed to subsist, as two or three old monks and as many nuns, whom it
contains, are permitted by the English to serve God there, and
sometimes to give relief to Scottish travellers; and who have
accordingly taken assurance with Sir John de Walton, and accepted as
their superior a churchman on whom he thinks he can depend. But if
these guests happen to reveal any secrets, they are, by some means or
other, believed to fly towards the English governor; and therefore,
unless your ladyship's commands be positive, I think we had best not
trust ourselves to their hospitality."
"Of a surety, no," said the lady, "if thou canst provide me with
lodgings where we shall have more prudent hosts."
At this moment, two human forms were seen to approach the farm-house in
a different direction from the travellers, and speaking so high, in a
tone apparently of dispute, that the minstrel and his companion could
distinguish their voices though the distance was considerable. Having
screened his eyes with his hand for some minutes, Bertram at length
exclaimed, "By our Lady, it is my old friend, Tom Dickson, sure
enough! - What can make him in such bad humour with the lad, who, I
think, may be the little wild boy, his son Charles, who used to run
about and plait rushes some twenty years ago? It is lucky, however, we
have found our friends astir; for I warrant, Tom hath a hearty piece of
beef in the pot ere he goes to bed, and he must have changed his wont
if an old friend hath not his share; and who knows, had we come later,
at what hour they may now find it convenient to drop latch and draw
bolt so near a hostile garrison; for if we call things by their right
names, such is the proper term for an English garrison in the castle of
a Scottish nobleman."
"Foolish man," answered the lady, "thou judgest of Sir John de Walton
as thou wouldst of some rude boor, to whom the opportunity of doing
what he wills is a temptation and license to exercise cruelty and
oppression. Now, I could plight you my word, that, setting apart the
quarrel of the kingdoms, which, of course, will be fought out in fair
battles on both sides, you will find that English and Scottish, within
this domain, and within the reach of Sir John de Walton's influence,
live together as that same flock of sheep and goats do with the
shepherd's dog; a foe from whom they fly upon certain occasions, but
around whom they nevertheless eagerly gather for protection should a
wolf happen to show himself."
"It is not to your ladyship," answered Bertram, "that I should venture
to state my opinion of such matters; but the young knight, when he is
sheathed in armour, is a different being from him who feasts in halls
among press of ladies; and he that feeds by another man's fireside, and
when his landlord, of all men in the world, chances to be the Black
Douglas, has reason to keep his eyes about him as he makes his meal: -
but it were better I looked after our own evening refreshment, than
that I stood here gaping and talking about other folk's matters." So
saying, he called out in a thundering tone of voice, "Dickson! - what ho,
Thomas Dickson! - will you not acknowledge an old friend who is much
disposed to trust his supper and night's lodging to your hospitality?"
The Scotchman, attracted by the call, looked first along the banks of
the river, then upward to the bare side of the hill, and at length cast
his eyes upon the two figures who were descending from it.
As if he felt the night colder while he advanced from the more
sheltered part of the valley to meet them, the Douglas Dale farmer
wrapped closer around him the grey plaid, which, from an early period,
has been used by the shepherds of the south of Scotland, and the
appearance of which gives a romantic air to the peasantry and middle
classes; and which, although less brilliant and gaudy in its colours,
is as picturesque in its arrangement as the more military tartan mantle
of the Highlands. When they approached near to each other, the lady
might observe that this friend of her guide was a stout athletic man,
somewhat past the middle of life, and already showing marks of the
approach, but none of the infirmities, of age, upon a countenance which
had been exposed to many a storm. Sharp eyes, too, and a quick
observation, exhibited signs of vigilance, acquired by one who had
lived long in a country where he had constant occasion for looking
around him with caution. His features were still swollen with
displeasure; and the handsome young man who attended him seemed to be
discontented, like one who had undergone no gentle marks of his
father's indignation, and who, from the sullen expression which mingled
with an appearance of shame on his countenance, seemed at once affected
by anger and remorse.
"Do you not remember me, old friend?" said Bertram, as they approached
within a distance for communing; "or have the twenty years which have
marched over us since we met, carried along with them all remembrance
of Bertram, the English minstrel?"
"In troth," answered the Scot, "it is not for want of plenty of your
countrymen to keep you in my remembrance, and I have hardly heard one
of them so much as whistle
'Hey, now the day dawns,'
but it has recalled some note of your blythe rebeck; and yet, such
animals are we, that I had forgot the mien of my old friend, and
scarcely knew him at a distance. But we have had trouble lately; there
are a thousand of your countrymen that keep garrison in the Perilous
Castle of Douglas yonder, as well as in other places through the vale,
and that is but a woful sight for a true Scotchman - even my own poor
house has not escaped the dignity of a garrison of a man-at-arms,
besides two or three archer knaves, and one or two slips of mischievous
boys called pages, and so forth, who will not let a man say, 'this is
my own,' by his own fireside. Do not, therefore, think hardly of me,
old comrade, if I show you a welcome something colder than you might
expect from a friend of other days; for, by Saint Bride of Douglas, I
have scarcely anything left to which I can say welcome."
"Small welcome will serve," said Bertram. "My son, make thy reverence
to thy father's old friend. Augustine is learning my joyous trade, but
he will need some practice ere he can endure its fatigues. If you could
give him some little matter of food, and a quiet bed for the night,
there's no fear but that we shall both do well enough; for I dare say,
when you travel with my friend Charles there, - if that tall youth
chance to be my old acquaintance Charles, - you will find yourself
accommodated when his wants are once well provided for."
"Nay, the foul fiend take me if I do," answered the Scottish husbandman.
"I know not what the lads of this day are made of - not of the same clay
as their fathers, to be sure - not sprung from their heather, which
fears neither wind nor rain, but from some delicate plant of a foreign
country, which will not thrive unless it be nourished under glass, with
a murrain to it. The good Lord of Douglas - I have been his henchman,
and can vouch for it - did not in his pagehood desire such food and
lodging as, in the present day, will hardly satisfy such a lad as your
friend Charles."
"Nay," said Bertram, "it is not that my Augustine is over nice; but,
for other reasons, I must request of you a bed to himself; he hath of
late been unwell."
"Ay, I understand," said Dickson, "your son hath had a touch of that
illness which terminates so frequently in the black death you English
folk die of? We hear much of the havoc it has made to the southward.
Comes it hitherward?"
Bertram nodded.
"Well, my father's house," continued the farmer, "hath more rooms than
one, and your son shall have one well-aired and comfortable; and for
supper, ye shall have a part of what is prepared for your countrymen,
though I would rather have their room than their company. Since I am
bound to feed a score of them, they will not dispute the claim of such
a skilful minstrel as thou art to a night's hospitality. I am ashamed
to say that I must do their bidding even in my own house, Well-a-day,
if my good lord were in possession of his own, I have heart and hand
enough to turn the whole of them out of my house, like - like" - -
"To speak plainly," said Bertram, "like a southern strolling gang from
Redesdale, whom I have seen you fling out of your house like a litter
of blind puppies, when not one of them looked behind to see who had
done him the courtesy until he was half-way to Cairntable."
"Ay," answered the Scotchman, drawing himself up at least six inches
taller than before; "then I had a house of my own, and a cause and an
arm to keep it. Now I am - what signifies it what I am? - the noblest
lord in Scotland is little better."
"Truly, friend," said Bertram, "now you view this matter in a rational
light. I do not say that the wisest, the richest, or the strongest man
in this world has any right to tyrannize over his neighbour, because he
is the more weak, ignorant, and the poorer; but yet if he does enter
into such a controversy, he must submit to the course of nature, and
that will always give the advantage in the tide of battle to wealth,
strength, and health."
"With permission, however," answered Dickson, "the weaker party, if he
use his facilities to the utmost, may, in the long run, obtain revenge
upon the author of his sufferings, which would be at least compensation
for his temporary submission; and he acts simply as a man, and most
foolishly as a Scotchman, whether he sustain these wrongs with the
insensibility of an idiot, or whether he endeavour to revenge them
before Heaven's appointed time has arrived. - But if I talk thus I shall
scare you, as I have scared some of your countrymen, from accepting a
meal of meat and a night's lodging, in a house where you might be
called with the morning to a bloody settlement of a national quarrel."
"Never mind," said Bertram, "we have been known to each other of old;
and I am no more afraid of meeting unkindness in your house, than you
expect me to come here for the purpose of adding to the injuries of
which you complain."
"So be it," said Dickson; "and you, my old friend, are as welcome to my
abode as when it never held any guest, save of my own inviting. - And
you, my young friend, Master Augustine, shall be looked after as well
as if you came with a gay brow and a light cheek, such as best becomes
the _gay science_."
"But wherefore, may I ask," said Bertram, "so much displeased but now
at my young friend Charles?"
The youth answered before his father had time to speak. "My father,
good sir, may put what show upon it he will, but shrewd and wise men
wax weak in the brain these troublous times. He saw two or three wolves
seize upon three of our choicest wethers; and because I shouted to give
the alarm to the English garrison, he was angry as if he could have
murdered me - -just for saving the sheep from the jaws that would have
devoured them."
"This is a strange account of thee, old friend," said Bertram. "Dost
thou connive with the wolves in robbing thine own fold?"
"Why, let it pass, if thou lovest me," answered the countryman;
"Charles could tell thee something nearer the truth if he had a mind;
but for the present let it pass."
The minstrel, perceiving that the Scotchman was fretted and embarrassed
with the subject, pressed it no farther.
At this moment, in crossing the threshold of Thomas Dickson's house,
they were greeted with sounds from two English soldiers within. "Quiet,
Anthony," said one voice, - "quiet, man! - for the sake of common sense,
if not common manners; - Robin Hood himself never sat down to his board
ere the roast was ready."
"Ready!" quoth another rough voice; "It is roasting to rags, and small
had been the knave Dickson's share, even of these rags, had it not been