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  Chapter the Thirty-Sixth.

  Faint the din of battle bray'd Distant down the hollow wind; War and terror fled before, Wounds and death were left behind. PENROSE.

  The autumn of the year was well advanced, when the Earl of Morton, onemorning, rather unexpectedly, entered the antechamber of Murray, inwhich Halbert Glendinning was in waiting.

  "Call your master, Halbert," said the Earl; "I have news for him fromTeviotdale; and for you too, Glendinning.--News! news! my Lord ofMurray!" he exclaimed at the door of the Earl's bedroom; "come forthinstantly." The Earl appeared, and greeted his ally, demanding eagerlyhis tidings.

  "I have had a sure friend with me from the south," said Morton; "he hasbeen at Saint Mary's Monastery, and brings important tidings." "Ofwhat complexion?" said Murray, "and can you trust the bearer?" "He isfaithful, on my life," said Morton; "I wish all around your Lordship mayprove equally so."

  "At what, and whom, do you point?" demanded Murray.

  "Here is the Egyptian of trusty Halbert Glendinning, our SouthlandMoses, come alive again, and flourishing, gay and bright as ever, inthat Teviotdale Goshen, the Halidome of Kennaquhair."

  "What mean you, my lord?" said Murray.

  "Only that your new henchman has put a false tale upon you. PiercieShafton is alive and well; by the same token that the gull is thought tobe detained there by love to a miller's daughter, who roamed the countrywith him in disguise."

  "Glendinning," said Murray, bending his brow into his darkest frown,"thou hast not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy mouth, in orderto win my confidence?"

  "My lord," said Halbert, "I am incapable of a lie. I should choke on onewere my life to require that I pronounced it. I say, that this sword ofmy father was through the body--the point came out behind his back--thehilt pressed upon his breast-bone. And I will plunge it as deep in thebody of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood."

  "How, fellow!" said Morton, "wouldst thou beard a nobleman?"

  "Be silent, Halbert," said Murray, "and you, my Lord of Morton, forbearhim. I see truth written on his brow."

  "I wish the inside of the manuscript may correspond with thesuperscription," replied his more suspicious ally. "Look to it, my lord,you will one day lose your life by too much confidence."

  "And you will lose your friends by being too readily suspicious,"answered Murray. "Enough of this--let me hear thy tidings."

  "Sir John Foster," said Morton, "is about to send a party into Scotlandto waste the Halidome."

  "How! without waiting my presence and permission?" said Murray--"he ismad--will he come as an enemy into the Queen's country?"

  "He has Elizabeth's express orders," answered Morton, "and they are notto be trifled with. Indeed, his march has been more than once projectedand laid aside during the time we have been here, and has caused muchalarm at Kennaquhair. Boniface, the old Abbot, has resigned, and whomthink you they have chosen in his place?"

  "No one surely," said Murray; "they would presume to hold no electionuntil the Queen's pleasure and mine were known?"

  Morton shrugged his shoulders--"They have chosen the pupil ofold Cardinal Beatoun, that wily determined champion of Rome, thebosom-friend of our busy Primate of Saint Andrews. Eustace, late theSub-Prior of Kennaquhair, is now its Abbot, and, like a second PopeJulius, is levying men and making musters to fight with Foster if hecomes forward."

  "We must prevent that meeting," said Murray, hastily; "whichever partywins the day, it were a fatal encounter for us--Who commands the troopof the Abbot?"

  "Our faithful old friend, Julian Avenel, nothing less," answered Morton.

  "Glendinning," said Murray, "sound trumpets to horse directly, and letall who love us get on horseback without delay--Yes, my lord, this wereindeed a fatal dilemma. If we take part with our English friends, thecountry will cry shame on us--the very old wives will attack us withtheir rocks and spindles--the very stones of the street will rise upagainst us--we cannot set our face to such a deed of infamy. And mysister, whose confidence I already have such difficulty in preserving,will altogether withdraw it from me. Then, were we to oppose the EnglishWarden, Elizabeth would call it a protecting of her enemies and whatnot, and we should lose her."

  "The she-dragon," said Morton, "is the best card in our pack; and yetI would not willingly stand still and see English blades carve Scotsflesh--What say you to loitering by the way, marching far and easy forfear of spoiling our horses? They might then fight dog fight bull, fightAbbot fight archer, and no one could blame us for what chanced when wewere not present."

  "All would blame us, James Douglas," replied Murray; "we should loseboth sides--we had better advance with the utmost celerity, and do whatwe can to keep the peace betwixt them.--I would the nag that broughtPiercie Shafton hither had broken his neck over the highest heuch inNorthumberland!--He is a proper coxcomb to make all this bustle about,and to occasion perhaps a national war!"

  "Had we known in time," said Douglas, "we might have had him privilywaited upon as he entered the Borders; there are strapping lads enoughwould have rid us of him for the lucre of his spur-whang. [Footnote:_Spur-whang_--Spur-leather.] But to the saddle, James Stewart, since sothe phrase goes. I hear your trumpets. Bound to horse and away--we shallsoon see which nag is best breathed."

  Followed by a train of about three hundred well-mounted men-at-arms,these two powerful barons directed their course to Dumfries, and fromthence eastward to Teviotdale, marching at a rate which, as Morton hadforetold, soon disabled a good many of their horses, so that whenthey approached the scene of expected action, there were not abovetwo hundred of their train remaining in a body, and of these most weremounted on steeds which had been sorely jaded.

  They had hitherto been amused and agitated by various reports concerningthe advance of the English soldiers, and the degree of resistance whichthe Abbot was able to oppose to them. But when they were six or sevenmiles from Saint Mary's of Kennaquhair, a gentleman of the country, whomMurray had summoned to attend him, and on whose intelligence he knew hecould rely, arrived at the head of two or three servants, "bloody withspurring, fiery red with haste." According to his report, Sir JohnFoster, after several times announcing, and as often delaying, hisintended incursion, had at last been so stung with the news that PiercieShafton was openly residing within the Halidome, that he determined toexecute the commands of his mistress, which directed him, at every risk,to make himself master of the Euphuist's person. The Abbot's unceasingexertions had collected a body of men almost equal in number to those ofthe English Warden, but less practised in arms. They were united underthe command of Julian Avenel, and it was apprehended they would joinbattle upon the banks of a small stream which forms the verge of theHalidome.

  "Who knows the place?" said Murray.

  "I do, my lord," answered Glendinning.

  "'Tis well," said the Earl; "take a score of the best-mountedhorse--make what haste thou canst, and announce to them that I am comingup instantly with a strong power, and will cut to pieces, without mercy,whichever party strikes the first blow.--Davidson," said he to thegentleman who brought the intelligence, "thou shalt be my guide.--Hiethee on, Glendinning--Say to Foster, I conjure him, as he respects hismistress's service, that he will leave the matter in my hands. Say tothe Abbot, I will burn the Monastery over his head, if he strikes astroke till I come--Tell the dog, Julian Avenel, that he hath alreadyone deep score to settle with me--I will set his head on the top of thehighest pinnacle of Saint Mary's, if he presume to open another. Makehaste, and spare not the spur for fear of spoiling horse-flesh."

  "Your bidding shall be obeyed, my lord," said Glendinning; and choosingthose whose horses were in best plight to be his attendants, he went offas fast as the jaded state of their cavalry permitted. Hill and hollowvanished from under the feet of the chargers.

  They had not ridden half the way, when they met stragglers coming offfrom the field, whose appearance announced that the conflict was begun.Two support
ed in their arms a third, their elder brother, who waspierced with an arrow through the body. Halbert, who knew them to belongto the Halidome, called them by their names, and questioned them of thestate of the affray; but just then, in spite of their efforts to retainhim in the saddle, their brother dropped from the horse, and theydismounted in haste to receive his last breath. From men thus engaged,no information was to be obtained. Glendinning, therefore, pushedon with his little troop, the more anxiously, as he perceived otherstragglers, bearing Saint Andrew's cross upon their caps and corslets,flying apparently from the field of battle. Most of these, when theywere aware of a body of horsemen approaching on the road, held to theone hand or the other, at such a distance as precluded coming to speechof them. Others, whose fear was more intense, kept the onward road,galloping wildly as fast as their horses could carry them, and whenquestioned, only glared without reply on those who spoke to them, androde on without drawing bridle. Several of these were also known toHalbert, who had therefore no doubt, from the circumstances in whichhe met them, that the men of the Halidome were defeated. He became nowunspeakably anxious concerning the fate of his brother, who, he couldnot doubt, must have been engaged in the affray. He therefore increasedthe speed of his horse, so that not above five or six of his followerscould keep up with him. At length he reached a little hill, at thedescent of which, surrounded by a semi-circular sweep of a small stream,lay the plain which had been the scene of the skirmish.

  It was a melancholy spectacle. War and terror, to use the expressionof the poet, had rushed on to the field, and left only wounds and deathbehind them. The battle had been stoutly contested, as was almost alwaysthe case with these Border skirmishes, where ancient hatred, and mutualinjuries, made men stubborn in maintaining the cause of their conflict.Towards the middle of the plain, there lay the bodies of several men whohad fallen in the very act of grappling with the enemy; and therewere seen countenances which still bore the stern expression ofunextinguishable hate and defiance, hands which clasped the hilt of thebroken falchion, or strove in vain to pluck the deadly arrow from thewound. Some were wounded, and, cowed of the courage they had latelyshown, were begging aid, and craving water, in a tone of melancholydepression, while others tried to teach the faltering tongue topronounce some half-forgotten prayer, which, even when first learned,they had but half understood. Halbert, uncertain what course he was nextto pursue, rode through the plain to see if, among the dead or wounded,he could discover any traces of his brother Edward. He experienced nointerruption from the English. A distant cloud of dust announced thatthey were still pursuing the scattered fugitives, and he guessed, thatto approach them with his followers, until they were again under somecommand, would be to throw away his own life, and that of his men, whomthe victors would instantly confound with the Scots, against whom theyhad been successful. He resolved, therefore, to pause until Murray cameup with his forces, to which he was the more readily moved, as he heardthe trumpets of the English Warden sounding the retreat, and recallingfrom the pursuit. He drew his men together, and made a stand in anadvantageous spot of ground, which had been occupied by the Scots in thebeginning of the action, and most fiercely disputed while the skirmishlasted.

  While he stood here, Halbert's ear was assailed by the feeble moan ofa woman, which he had not expected to hear amid that scene, untilthe retreat of the foes had permitted the relations of the slain toapproach, for the purpose of paying them the last duties. He looked withanxiety, and at length observed, that by the body of a knignt in brightarmour, whose crest, though soiled and broken, still showed the marksof rank and birth, there sat a female wrapped in a horseman's cloak, andholding something pressed against her bosom, which he soon discovered tobe a child. He glanced towards the English. They advanced not, and thecontinued and prolonged sound of their trumpets, with the shouts ofthe leaders, announced that their powers would not be instantlyre-assembled. He had, therefore, a moment to look after this unfortunatewoman. He gave his horse to a spearman as he dismounted, and,approaching the unhappy female, asked her, in the most soothing tone hecould assume, whether he could assist her in her distress. The mournermade him no direct answer; but endeavouring, with a trembling andunskilful hand, to undo the springs of the visor and gorget, said, ina tone of impatient grief, "Oh, he would recover instantly could I butgive him air--land and living, life and honour, would I give for thepower of undoing these cruel iron platings that suffocate him!" He thatwould soothe sorrow must not argue on the vanity of the most deceitfulhopes. The body lay as that of one whose last draught of vital air hadbeen drawn, and who must never more have concern with the nether sky.But Halbert Glendinning failed not to raise the visor and cast loosethe gorget, when, to his great surprise, he recognized the pale face ofJulian Avenel. His last fight was over, the fierce and turbid spirit haddeparted in the strife in which it had so long delighted.

  "Alas! he is gone," said Halbert, speaking to the young woman, in whomhe had now no difficulty of knowing the unhappy Catherine.

  "Oh, no, no, no!" she reiterated, "do not say so--he is not dead--he isbut in a swoon. I have lain as long in one myself--and then his voicewould arouse me, when he spoke kindly, and said, Catherine, look upfor my sake--And look up, Julian, for mine!" she said, addressing thesenseless corpse; "I know you do but counterfeit to frighten me, but Iam not frightened," she added, with an hysterical attempt to laugh; andthen instantly changing her tone, entreated him to "speak, were it butto curse my folly. Oh, the rudest word you ever said to me would nowsound like the dearest you wasted on me before I gave you all. Lift himup," she said, "lift him up, for God's sake!--have you no compassion? Hepromised to wed me if I bore him a boy, and this child is so like toits father!--How shall he keep his word, if you do not help me to awakenhim?--Christie of the Clinthill, Rowley, Hutcheon! ye were constant athis feast, but ye fled from him at the fray, false villains as ye are!"

  "Not I, by Heaven!" said a dying man, who made some shift to raisehimself on his elbow, and discovered to Halbert the well-known featuresof Christie; "I fled not a foot, and a man can but fight while hisbreath lasts--mine is going fast.--So, youngster," said he, looking atGlendinning, and seeing his military dress, "thou hast ta'en the basnetat last? it is a better cap to live in than die in. I would chance hadsent thy brother here instead--there was good in him--but thou art aswild, and wilt soon be as wicked as myself."

  "God forbid!" said Halbert, hastily.

  "Marry, and amen, with all my heart," said the wounded man, "there willbe company enow without thee where I am going. But God be praised I hadno hand in that wickedness," said he, looking to poor Catherine; andwith some exclamation in his mouth, that sounded betwixt a prayer anda curse, the soul of Christie of the Clinthill took wing to the lastaccount.

  Deeply wrapt in the painful interest which these shocking events hadexcited, Glendinning forgot for a moment his own situation and duties,and was first recalled to them by a trampling of horse, and the cry ofSaint George for England, which the English soldiers still continuedto use. His handful of men, for most of the stragglers had waited forMurray's coming up, remained on horseback, holding their lances upright,having no command either to submit or resist.

  "There stands our Captain," said one of them, as a strong party ofEnglish came up, the vanguard of Foster's troop.

  "Your Captain! with his sword sheathed, and on foot in the presence ofhis enemy? a raw soldier, I warrant him," said the English leader. "So!ho! young man, is your dream out, and will you now answer me if you willfight or fly?"

  "Neither," answered Halbert Glendinning, with great tranquillity.

  "Then throw down thy sword and yield thee," answered the Englishman.

  "Not till I can help myself no otherwise," said Halbert, with the samemoderation of tone and manner.

  "Art thou for thine own hand, friend, or to whom dost thou owe service?"demanded the English Captain.

  "To the noble Earl of Murray."

  "Then thou servest," said the Southron, "the most disloyal noblema
n whobreathes--false both to England and Scotland."

  "Thou liest," said Glendinning, regardless of all consequences.

  "Ha! art thou so hot how, and wert so cold but a minute since? I lie, doI? Wilt thou do battle with me on that quarrel?"

  "With one to one--one to two--or two to five, as you list," said HalbertGlendinning; "grant me but a fair field."

  "That thou shalt have.--Stand back, my mates," said the braveEnglishman. "If I fall, give him fair play, and let him go off free withhis people."

  "Long life to the noble Captain!" cried the soldiers, as impatient tosee the duel, as if it had been a bull-baiting.

  "He will have a short life of it, though," said the sergeant, "if he,an old man of sixty, is to fight, for any reason, or for no reason, withevery man he meets, and especially the young fellows he might be fatherto.--And here comes the Warden besides to see the sword-play."

  In fact, Sir John Foster came up with a considerable body of hishorsemen, just as his Captain, whose age rendered him unequal to thecombat with so strong and active a youth as Glendinning, was deprived ofhis sword.

  "Take it up for shame, old Stawarth Bolton," said the English Warden;"and thou, young man, tell me who and what thou art?"

  "A follower of the Earl of Murray, who bore his will to your honour,"answered Glendinning,--"but here he comes to say it himself; I see thevan of his horsemen come over the hills."

  "Get into order, my masters," said Sir John Foster to his followers;"you that have broken your spears, draw your swords. We are somethingunprovided for a second field, but if yonder dark cloud on the hill edgebring us foul weather, we must bear as bravely as our broken cloakswill bide it. Meanwhile, Stawarth, we have got the deer we have huntedfor--here is Piercie Shafton hard and fast betwixt two troopers."

  "Who, that lad?" said Bolton; "he is no more Piercie Shafton than I am.He hath his gay cloak indeed--but Piercie Shafton is a round dozen ofyears older than that slip of roguery. I have known him since he wasthus high. Did you never see him in the tilt-yard or in the presence?"

  "To the devil with such vanities!" said Sir John Foster; "when had Ileisure for them or any thing else? During my whole life has she kept meto this hangman's office, chasing thieves one day and traitors another,in daily fear of my life; the lance never hung up in the hall, the footnever out of the stirrup, the saddles never off my nags' backs; andnow, because I have been mistaken in the person of a man I never saw,I warrant me, the next letters from the Privy Council will rate me as Iwere a dog--a man were better dead than thus slaved and harassed."

  A trumpet interrupted Foster's complaints, and a Scottish pursuivant whoattended, declared "that the noble Earl of Murray desired, in all honourand safety, a personal conference with Sir John Foster, midway betweentheir parties, with six of company in each, and ten free minutes to comeand go."

  "And now," said the Englishman, "comes another plague. I must go speakwith yonder false Scot, and he knows how to frame his devices, to castdust in the eyes of a plain man, as well as ever a knave in the north.I am no match for him in words, and for hard blows we are but too illprovided.--Pursuivant, we grant the conference--and you, Sir Swordsman,"(speaking to young Glendinning,) "draw off with your troopers to yourown party--march--attend your Earl's trumpet.--Stawarth Bolton, putour troop in order, and be ready to move forward at the wagging of afinger.--Get you gone to your own friends, I tell you, Sir Squire, andloiter not here."

  Notwithstanding this peremptory order, Halbert Glendinning could nothelp stopping to cast a look upon the unfortunate Catherine, who layinsensible of the danger and of the trampling of so many horses aroundher, insensible, as the second glance assured him, of all and forever.Glendinning almost rejoiced when he saw that the last misery of lifewas over, and that the hoofs of the war-horses, amongst which he wascompelled to leave her, could only injure and deface a senselesscorpse. He caught the infant from her arms, half ashamed of the shoutof laughter which rose on all sides, at seeing an armed man in such asituation assume such an unwonted and inconvenient burden.

  "Shoulder your infant!" cried a harquebusier.

  "Port your infant!" said a pikeman.

  "Peace, ye brutes," said Stawarth Bolton, "and respect humanity inothers if you have none yourselves. I pardon the lad having done somediscredit to my gray hairs, when I see him take care of that helplesscreature, which ye would have trampled upon as if ye had been litteredof bitch-wolves, not born of women."

  While this passed, the leaders on either side met in the neutral spacebetwixt the forces of either, and the Earl accosted the English Warden:

  "Is this fair or honest usage, Sir John, or for whom do you hold theEarl of Morton and myself, that you ride in Scotland with arrayedbanner, fight, slay, and make prisoners at your own pleasure? Is it welldone, think you, to spoil our land and shed our blood, after the manyproofs we have given to your mistress of our devotion due to her will,saving always the allegiance due to our own sovereign?"

  "My Lord of Murray," answered Foster, "all the world knows you to be aman of quick ingine and deep wisdom, and these several weeks you haveheld me in hand with promising to arrest my sovereign mistress's rebel,this Piercie Shafton of Wilverton, and you have never kept your word,alleging turmoils in the west, and I wot not what other causes ofhinderance. Now, since he has had the insolence to return hither, andlive openly within ten miles of England, I could no longer, in plainduty to my mistress and queen, tarry upon your successive delays, andtherefore I have used her force to take her rebel, by the strong hand,wherever I can find him."

  "And is Piercie Shafton in your hands, then?" said the Earl of Murray."Be aware that I may not, without my own great shame, suffer you toremove him hence without doing battle."

  "Will you, Lord Earl, after all the advantages you have received at thehands of the Queen of England, do battle in the cause of her rebel?"said Sir John Foster.

  "Not so, Sir John," answered the Earl, "but I will fight to the death indefence of the liberties of our free kingdom of Scotland."

  "By my faith," said Sir John Foster, "I am well content--my sword is notblunted with all it has done yet this day."

  "By my honour, Sir John," said Sir George Heron of Chipchase, "there isbut little reason we should fight these Scottish Lords e'en now, for Ihold opinion with old Stawarth Bolton, and believe yonder prisoner to beno more Piercie Shafton than he is the Earl of Northumberland; and youwere but ill advised to break the peace betwixt the countries for aprisoner of less consequence than that gay mischief-maker."

  "Sir George," replied Foster, "I have often heard you herons are afraidof hawks--Nay, lay not hand on sword, man--I did but jest; and for thisprisoner, let him be brought up hither, that we may see who or whathe is--always under assurance, my Lords," he continued, addressing theScots.

  "Upon our word and honour," said Morton, "we will offer no violence."

  The laugh turned against Sir John Foster considerably, when theprisoner, being brought up, proved not only a different person from SirPiercie Shafton, but a female in man's attire.

  "Pluck the mantle from the quean's face, and cast her to thehorse-boys," said Foster; "she has kept such company ere now, Iwarrant."

  Even Murray was moved to laughter, no common thing with him, at thedisappointment of the English Warden; but he would not permit anyviolence to be offered to the fair Molinara, who had thus a second timerescued Sir Piercie Shafton at her own personal risk.

  "You have already done more mischief than you can well answer," said theEarl to the English Warden, "and it were dishonour to me should I permityou to harm a hair of this young woman's head."

  "My lord," said Morton, "if Sir John will ride apart with me but forone moment, I will show him such reasons as shall make him content todepart, and to refer this unhappy day's work to the judgment of theCommissioners nominated to try offences on the Border."

  He then led Sir John Foster aside, and spoke to him in thismanner:--"Sir John Foster, I much marvel that a man who knows your QueenEl
izabeth as you do, should not know that, if you hope any thing fromher, it must be for doing her useful service, not for involving her inquarrels with her neighbours without any advantage. Sir Knight, I willspeak frankly what I know to be true. Had you seized the true PiercieShafton by this ill-advised inroad; and had your deed threatened, asmost likely it might, a breach betwixt the countries, your politicprincess and her politic council would rather have disgraced Sir JohnFoster than entered into war in his behalf. But now that you havestricken short of your aim, you may rely on it you will have littlethanks for carrying the matter farther. I will work thus far on the Earlof Murray, that he will undertake to dismiss Sir Piercie Shafton fromthe realm of Scotland.--Be well advised, and let the matter now passoff--you will gain nothing by farther violence, for if we fight, you asthe fewer and the weaker through your former action, will needs have theworse."

  Sir John Foster listened with his head declining on his breast-plate.

  "It is a cursed chance," he said, "and I shall have little thanks for myday's work."

  He then rode up to Murray, and said, that, in deference to hisLordship's presence and that of my Lord of Morton, he had come to theresolution of withdrawing himself, with his power, without fartherproceedings.

  "Stop there, Sir John Foster," said Murray; "I cannot permit youto retire in safety, unless you leave some one who may be surety toScotland, that the injuries you have at present done us may be fullyaccounted for--you will reflect, that by permitting your retreat, Ibecome accountable to my Sovereign, who will demand a reckoning of mefor the blood of her subjects, if I suffer those who shed it to departso easily."

  "It shall never be told in England," said the Warden, "that John Fostergave pledges like a subdued man, and that on the very field on which hestands victorious.--But," he added, after a moment's pause, "if StawarthBolton wills to abide with you on his own free choice, I will saynothing against it; and, as I bethink me, it were better he should stayto see the dismissal of this same Piercie Shafton."

  "I receive him as your hostage, nevertheless, and shall treat him assuch," said the Earl of Murray. But Foster, turning away as if to givedirections to Bolton and his men, affected not to hear this observation.

  "There rides a faithful servant of his most beautiful and SovereignLady," said Murray aside to Morton. "Happy man! he knows not whether theexecution of her commands may not cost him his head; and yet he is mostcertain that to leave them unexecuted will bring disgrace and deathwithout reprieve. Happy are they who are not only subjected to thecaprices of Dame Fortune, but held bound to account and be responsiblefor them, and that to a sovereign as moody and fickle as her humorousladyship herself!"

  "We also have a female Sovereign, my lord," said Morton.

  "We have so, Douglas," said the Earl,--with a suppressed sigh; "but itremains to be seen how long a female hand can hold the reins of powerin a realm so wild as ours. We will now go on to Saint Mary's, and seeourselves after the state of that House.--Glendinning, look to thatwoman, and protect her.--What the fiend, man, hast thou got in thinearms?--an infant as I live!--where couldst thou find such a charge, atsuch a place and moment?"

  Halbert Glendinning briefly told the story. The Earl rode forward to theplace where the body of Julian Avenel lay, with his unhappy companion'sarms wrapped around him like the trunk of an uprooted oak borne down bythe tempest with all its ivy garlands. Both were cold dead. Murray wastouched in an unwonted degree, remembering, perhaps, his own birth."What have they to answer for, Douglas," he said, "who thus abuse thesweetest gifts of affection?"

  The Earl of Morton, unhappy in his marriage, was a libertine in hisamours.

  "You must ask that question of Henry Warden, my lord, or of John Knox--Iam but a wild counsellor in women's matters."

  "Forward to Saint Mary's," said the Earl; "pass the wordon--Glendinning, give the infant to this same female cavalier, and letit be taken charge of. Let no dishonour be done to the dead bodies,and call on the country to bury or remove them.--Forward, I say, mymasters!"

  Chapter the Thirty-Seventh.

  Gone to be married?--Gone to swear a peace!

  KING JOHN

  The news of the lost battle, so quickly carried by the fugitives tothe village and convent, had spread the greatest alarm among theinhabitants. The Sacristan and other monks counselled flight; theTreasurer recommended that the church plate should be offered as atribute to bribe the English officer; the Abbot alone was unmoved andundaunted.

  "My brethren," he said, "since God has not given our people victoryin the combat, it must be because he requires of us, his spiritualsoldiers, to fight the good fight of martyrdom, a conflict in whichnothing but our own faint-hearted cowardice can make us fail ofvictory. Let us assume, then, the armour of faith, and prepare, if itbe necessary, to die under the ruin of these shrines, to the serviceof which we have devoted ourselves. Highly honoured are we all in thisdistinguished summons, from our dear brother Nicholas, whose gray hairshave been preserved until they should be surrounded by the crown ofmartyrdom, down to my beloved son Edward, who, arriving at the vineyardat the latest hour of the day, is yet permitted to share its toilswith those who have laboured from the morning. Be of good courage, mychildren. I dare not, like my sainted predecessors, promise to you thatyou shall be preserved by miracle--I and you are alike unworthy of thatespecial interposition, which, in earlier times, turned the sword ofsacrilege against the bosom of tyrants by whom it was wielded, dauntedthe hardened hearts of heretics with prodigies, and called down hosts ofangels to defend the shrine of God and of the Virgin. Yet, by heavenlyaid, you shall this day see that your Father and Abbot will not disgracethe mitre which sits upon his brow. Go to your cells, my children, andexercise your private devotions. Array yourselves also in alb and cope,as for our most solemn festivals, and be ready, when the tolling of thelargest bell announces the approach of the enemy, to march forth tomeet them in solemn procession. Let the church be opened to afford suchrefuge as may be to those of our vassals, who, from their exertion inthis day's unhappy battle, or the cause, are particularly apprehensiveof the rage of the enemy. Tell Sir Piercie Shafton, if he has escapedthe fight--"

  "I am here, most venerable Abbot," replied Sir Piercie; "and if it soseemeth meet to you, I will presently assemble such of the men as haveescaped this escaramouche, and will renew the resistance, even untothe death. Certes, you will learn from all, that I did my part in thisunhappy matter. Had it pleased Julian Avenel to have attended to mycounsel, specially in somewhat withdrawing of his main battle, even asyou may have marked the heron eschew the stoop of the falcon, receivinghim rather upon his beak than upon his wing, affairs, as I do conceive,might have had a different face, and we might then, in a more bellacosemanner, have maintained that affray. Nevertheless, I would not beunderstood to speak any thing in disregard of Julian Avenel, whom I sawfall fighting manfully with his face to his enemy, which hath banishedfrom my memory the unseemly term of 'meddling coxcomb,' with which itpleased him something rashly to qualify my advice, and for which, hadit pleased Heaven and the saints to have prolonged the life of thatexcellent person, I had it bound upon my soul to have put him to deathwith my own hand."

  "Sir Piercie," said the Abbot, at length interrupting him, "our timeallows brief leisure to speak what might have been."

  "You are right, most venerable Lord and Father," replied theincorrigible Euphuist; "the preterite, as grammarians have it, concernsfrail mortality less than the future mood, and indeed our cogitationsrespect chiefly the present. In a word, I am willing to head all whowill follow me, and offer such opposition as manhood and mortality maypermit, to the advance of the English, though they be my own countrymen;and be assured, Piercie Shafton will measure his length, being five feetten inches, on the ground as he stands, rather than give two yards inretreat, according to the usual motion in which we retrograde."

  "I thank you, Sir Knight," said the Abbot, "and I doubt not that youwould make your words good; but it is not the will of Heaven that carn
alweapons should rescue us. We are called to endure, not to resist, andmay not waste the blood of our innocent commons in vain--Fruitlessopposition becomes not men of our profession; they have my commands toresign the sword and the spear,--God and Our Lady have not blessed ourbanner."

  "Bethink you, reverend lord," said Piercie Shafton, very eagerly, "ereyou resign the defence that is in your power--there are many posts nearthe entry of this village, where brave men might live or die to theadvantage; and I have this additional motive to make defence,--thesafety, namely, of a fair friend, who, I hope, hath escaped the hands ofthe heretics."

  "I understand you, Sir Piercie," said the Abbot--"you mean the daughterof our Convent's miller?"

  "Reverend my lord," said Sir Piercie, not without hesitation, "the fairMysinda is, as may be in some sort alleged, the daughter of one whomechanically prepareth corn to be manipulated into bread, without whichwe could not exist, and which is therefore an employment in itselfhonourable, nay necessary. Nevertheless, if the purest sentiments of agenerous mind, streaming forth like the rays of the sun reflected bya diamond, may ennoble one, who is in some sort the daughter of amolendinary mechanic----"

  "I have no time for all this, Sir Knight," said the Abbot; "be it enoughto answer, that with our will we war no longer with carnal weapons. Weof the spirituality will teach you of the temporality how to die in coldblood, our hands not clenched for resistance, but folded for prayer--ourminds not filled with jealous hatred, but with Christian meekness andforgiveness--our ears not deafened, nor our senses confused, by thesound of clamorous instruments of war; but, on the contrary, our voicescomposed to Halleluiah, Kyrie-Eleison, and Salve Regina, and our bloodtemperate and cold, as those who think upon reconciling themselves withGod, not of avenging themselves of their fellow-mortals."

  "Lord Abbot," said Sir Piercie, "this is nothing to the fate of myMolinara, whom I beseech you to observe, I will not abandon, whilegolden hilt and steel blade bide together on my falchion. I commandedher not to follow us to the field, and yet methought I saw her in herpage's attire amongst the rear of the combatants."

  "You must seek elsewhere for the person in whose fate you are sodeeply interested," said the Abbot; "and at present I will pray of yourknighthood to inquire concerning her at the church, in which all ourmore defenceless vassals have taken refuge. It is my advice to you, thatyou also abide by the horns of the altar; and, Sir Piercie Shafton,"he added, "be of one thing secure, that if you come to harm, it willinvolve the whole of this brotherhood; for never, I trust, will themeanest of us buy safety at the expense of surrendering a friend or aguest. Leave us, my son, and may God be your aid!"

  When Sir Piercie Shafton had departed, and the Abbot was about to betakehimself to his own cell, he was surprised by an unknown person anxiouslyrequiring a conference, who, being admitted, proved to be no otherthan Henry Warden. The Abbot started as he entered, and exclaimed,angrily,--"Ha! are the few hours that fate allows him who may last wearthe mitre of this house, not to be excused from the intrusion of heresy?Dost thou come," he said, "to enjoy the hopes which fete holds out tothy demented and accursed sect, to see the bosom of destruction sweepaway the pride of old religion--to deface our shrines,--to mutilate andlay waste the bodies of our benefactors, as well as their sepulchres--todestroy the pinnacles and carved work of God's house, and Our Lady's?"

  "Peace, William Allan!" said the Protestant preacher, with dignifiedcomposure; "for none of these purposes do I come. I would have thesestately shrines deprived of the idols which, no longer simply regardedas the effigies of the good and of the wise, have become the objects offoul idolatry. I would otherwise have its ornaments subsist, unless asthey are, or may be, a snare to the souls of men; and especially doI condemn those ravages which have been made by the heady fury of thepeople, stung into zeal against will-worship by bloody persecution.Against such wanton devastations I lift my testimony."

  "Idle distinguisher that thou art!" said the Abbot Eustace, interruptinghim; "what signifies the pretext under which thou dost despoil the houseof God? and why at this present emergence will thou insult the master ofit by thy ill-omened presence?"

  "Thou art unjust, William Allan," said Warden; "but I am not the lesssettled in my resolution. Thou hast protected me some time since at thehazard of thy rank, and what I know thou holdest still dearer, at therisk of thy reputation with thine own sect. Our party is now uppermost,and, believe me, I have come down the valley, in which thou didstquarter me for sequestration's sake, simply with the wish to keep myengagements to thee."

  "Ay," answered the Abbot, "and it may be, that my listening to thatworldly and infirm compassion which pleaded with me for thy life, is nowavenged by this impending judgment. Heaven hath smitten, it may be, theerring shepherd, and scattered the flock."

  "Think better of the Divine judgments," said Warden. "Not for thy sins,which are those of thy blended education and circumstances; notfor thine own sins, William Allan, art thou stricken, but for theaccumulated guilt which thy mis-named Church hath accumulated on herhead, and those of her votaries, by the errors and corruption of ages."

  "Now, by my sure belief in the Rock of Peter," said the Abbot, "thoudost rekindle the last spark of human indignation for which my bosomhas fuel--I thought I might not again have felt the impulse of earthlypassion, and it is thy voice which once more calls me to the expressionof human anger! yes, it is thy voice that comest to insult me in my hourof sorrow, with these blasphemous accusations of that church which hathkept the light of Christianity alive from the times of the Apostles tillnow."

  "From the times of the Apostles?" said the preacher, eagerly. "_Negatur,Gulielme Allan_--the primitive church differed as much from that ofRome, as did light from darkness, which, did time permit, I shouldspeedily prove. And worse dost thou judge, in saying, I come to insultthee in thy hour of affliction, being here, God wot, with the Christianwish of fulfilling an engagement I had made to my host, and of renderingmyself to thy will while it had yet power to exercise aught upon me,and if it might so be, to mitigate in thy behalf the rage of the victorswhom God hath sent as a scourge to thy obstinacy."

  "I will none of thy intercession," said the Abbot, sternly; "the dignityto which the church has exalted me, never should have swelled my bosommore proudly in the time of the highest prosperity, than it doth at thiscrisis--I ask nothing of thee, but the assurance that my lenity to theehath been the means of perverting no soul to Satan, that I have notgiven to the wolf any of the stray lambs whom the Great Shepherd ofsouls had intrusted to my charge."

  "William Allan," answered the Protestant, "I will be sincere with thee.What I promised I have kept--I have withheld my voice from speaking evengood things. But it has pleased Heaven to call the maiden Mary Avenelto a better sense of faith than thou and all the disciples of Rome canteach. Her I have aided with my humble power--I have extricated her fromthe machinations of evil spirits to which she and her house were exposedduring the blindness of their Romish superstition, and, praise be tomy Master, I have not reason to fear she will again be caught in thysnares."

  "Wretched man!" said the Abbot, unable to suppress his risingindignation, "is it to the Abbot of St. Mary's that you boast havingmisled the soul of a dweller in Our Lady's Halidome into the paths offoul error and damning heresy?--Thou dost urge me, Wellwood, beyond whatit becomes me to bear, and movest me to employ the few moments of powerI may yet possess, in removing from the face of the earth one whosequalities, given by God, have been so utterly perverted as thine to theservice of Satan."

  "Do thy pleasure," said the preacher; "thy vain wrath shall not preventmy doing my duty to advantage thee, where it may be done withoutneglecting my higher call. I go to the Earl of Murray."

  Their conference, which was advancing fast into bitter disputation, washere interrupted by the deep and sullen toll of the largest and heaviestbell of the Convent, a sound famous in the chronicles of the Community,for dispelling of tempests, and putting to flight demons, but which nowonly announced danger,
without affording any means of warding againstit. Hastily repeating his orders, that all the brethren should attendin the choir, arrayed for solemn procession, the Abbot ascended to thebattlements of the lofty Monastery, by his own private staircase,and there met the Sacristan, who had been in the act of directing thetolling of the huge bell, which fell under his charge.

  "It is the last time I shall discharge mine office, most venerableFather and Lord," said he to the Abbot, "for yonder come thePhilistines; but I would not that the large bell of Saint Mary's shouldsound for the last time, otherwise than in true and full tone--I havebeen a sinful man for one of our holy profession," added he, lookingupward, "yet may I presume to say, not a bell hath sounded out of tunefrom the tower of the house, while Father Philip had the superintendenceof the chime and the belfry."

  The Abbot, without reply, cast his eyes towards the path, which, windingaround the mountain, descends upon Kennaquhair, from the south-east.He beheld at a distance a cloud of dust, and heard the neighing of manyhorses, while the occasional sparkle of the long line of spears, as theycame downwards into the valley, announced that the band came thither inarms.

  "Shame on my weakness!" said Abbot Eustace, dashing the tears from hiseyes; "my sight is too much dimmed to observe their motions--look, myson Edward," for his favourite novice had again joined him, "and tell mewhat ensigns they bear."

  "They are Scottish men, when all is done!" exclaimed Edward--"I see thewhite crosses--it may be the Western Borderers, or Fernieherst and hisclan."

  "Look at the banner," said the Abbot; "tell me, what are theblazonries?"

  "The arms of Scotland," said Edward, "the lion and its tressure,quartered, as I think, with three cushions--Can it be the royalstandard?"

  "Alas! no," said the Abbot, "it is that of the Earl of Murray. He hathassumed with his new conquest the badge of the valiant Randolph, andhath dropt from his hereditary coat the bend which indicates his ownbase birth--would to God he may not have blotted it also from hismemory, and aim as well at possessing the name, as the power, of aking."

  "At least, my father," said Edward, "he will secure us from the violenceof the Southron."

  "Ay, my son, as the shepherd secures a silly lamb from the wolf, whichhe destines in due time to his own banquet. Oh my son, evil days are onus! A breach has been made in the walls of our sanctuary--thybrother hath fallen from the faith. Such news brought my last secretintelligence--Murray hath already spoken of rewarding his services withthe hand of Mary Avenel."

  "Of Mary Avenel!" said the novice, tottering towards and grasping holdof one of the carved pinnacles which adorned the proud battlement.

  "Ay, of Mary Avenel, my son, who has also abjured the faith of herfathers. Weep not, my Edward, weep not, my beloved son! or weep fortheir apostasy, and not for their union--Bless God, who hath called theeto himself, out of the tents of wickedness; but for the grace of OurLady and Saint Benedict, thou also hadst been a castaway."

  "I endeavour, my father," said Edward, "I endeavour to forget; but whatI would now blot from my memory has been the thought of all my formerlife--Murray dare not forward a match so unequal in birth."

  "He dares do what suits his purpose--The Castle of Avenel is strong, andneeds a good castellan, devoted to his service; as for the differenceof their birth, he will mind it no more than he would mind defacing thenatural regularity of the ground, were it necessary he should erect uponit military lines and intrenchments. But do not droop for that--awakenthy soul within thee, my son. Think you part with a vain vision, an idledream, nursed in solitude and inaction.--I weep not, yet what am Inow like to lose?--Look at these towers, where saints dwelt, and whereheroes have been buried--Think that I, so briefly called to presideover the pious flock, which has dwelt here since the first light ofChristianity, may be this day written down the last father of this holycommunity--Come, let us descend, and meet our fate. I see them approachnear to the village."

  The Abbot descended, the novice cast a glance around him; yet the senseof the danger impending over the stately structure, with which he wasnow united, was unable to banish the recollection of Mary Ayenel.--"Hisbrother's bride!" he pulled the cowl over his face, and followed hisSuperior.

  The whole bells of the Abbey now added their peal to the death-toll ofthe largest which had so long sounded. The monks wept and prayed as theygot themselves into the order of their procession for the last time, asseemed but too probable.

  "It is well our Father Boniface hath retired to the inland," said FatherPhilip; "he could never have put over this day--it would have broken hisheart!"

  "God be with the soul of Abbot Ingelram!" said old Father Nicholas,"there were no such doings in his days.--They say we are to be put forthof the cloisters; and how I am to live any where else than where I havelived for these seventy years, I wot not--the best is, that I have notlong to live any where."

  A few moments after this the great gate of the Abbey was flung open,and the procession moved slowly forward from beneath its huge andrichly-adorned gateway. Cross and banner, pix and chalice, shrinescontaining relics, and censers steaming with incense, preceded and wereintermingled with the long and solemn array of the brotherhood, in theirlong black gowns and cowls, with their white scapularies hanging overthem, the various officers of the convent each displaying his properbadge of office. In the centre of the procession came the Abbot,surrounded and supported by his chief assistants. He was dressed in hishabit of high solemnity, and appeared as much unconcerned as if he hadbeen taking his usual part in some ordinary ceremony. After him camethe inferior persons of the convent; the novices in their albs or whitedresses, and the lay brethren distinguished by their beards, which wereseldom worn by the Fathers. Women and children, mixed with a few men,came in the rear, bewailing the apprehended desolation of their ancientsanctuary. They moved, however, in order, and restrained the marks oftheir sorrow to a low wailing sound, which rather mingled with thaninterrupted the measured chant of the monks.

  In this order the procession entered the market-place of the village ofKennaquhair, which was then, as now, distinguished by an ancient crossof curious workmanship, the gift of some former monarch of Scotland.Close by the cross, of much greater antiquity, and scarcely lesshonoured, was an immensely large oak-tree, which perhaps had witnessedthe worship of the Druids, ere the stately Monastery to which itadjoined had raised its spires in honour of the Christian faith. Likethe Bentang-tree of the African villages, or the Plaistow-oak mentionedin White's Natural History of Selborne, this tree was the rendezvous ofthe villagers, and regarded with peculiar veneration; a feeling commonto most nations, and which perhaps may be traced up to the remote periodwhen the patriarch feasted the angels under the oak at Mamre. [Footnote:It is scarcely necessary to say, that in Melrose, the prototype ofKennaquhair, no such oak ever existed.]

  The monks formed themselves each in their due place around the cross,while under the ruins of the aged tree crowded the old and the feeble,with others who felt the common alarm. When they had thus arrangedthemselves, there was a deep and solemn pause. The monks stilled theirchant, the lay populace hushed their lamentations, and all awaited interror and silence the arrival of those heretical forces, whom they hadbeen so long taught to regard with fear and trembling.

  A distant trampling was at length heard, and the glance of spears wasseen to shine through the trees above the village. The sounds increased,and became more thick, one close continuous rushing sound, in which thetread of hoofs was mingled with the ringing of armour. The horsemen soonappeared at the principal entrance which leads into the irregular squareor market-place which forms the centre of the village. They entered twoby two, slowly, and in the greatest order. The van continued to move on,riding round the open spaoe, until they had attained the utmost point,and then turning their horses' heads to the street, stood fast; theircompanions followed in the same order, until the whole market-place wasclosely surrounded with soldiers; and the files who followed, making thesame manoeuvre, formed an inner line within thos
e who had first arrived,until the place was begirt with a quadruple file of horsemen closelydrawn up. There was now a pause, of which the Abbot availed himself,by commanding the brotherhood to raise the solemn chant _De profundisclamavi_. He looked around the armed ranks, to see what impression thesolemn sounds made on them. All were silent, but the brows of somehad an expression of contempt, and almost all the rest bore a look ofindifference; their course had been too long decided to permit pastfeelings of enthusiasm to be anew awakened by a procession or by a hymn.

  "Their hearts are hardened," said the Abbot to himself in dejection, butnot in despair; "it remains to see whether those of their leaders areequally obdurate."

  The leaders, in the meanwhile, were advancing slowly, and Murray, withMorton, rode in deep conversation before a chosen band of their mostdistinguished followers, amongst whom came Halbert Glendinning. But thepreacher Henry Warden, who, upon leaving the Monastery, had instantlyjoined them, was the only person admitted to their conference.

  "You are determined, then," said Morton to Murray, "to give the heiressof Avenel, with all her pretensions, to this nameless and obscure youngman?"

  "Hath not Warden told you," said Murray, "that they have been bredtogether, and are lovers from their youth upward?"

  "And that they are both," said Warden, "by means which may be almosttermed miraculous, rescued from the delusions of Rome, and broughtwithin the pale of the true church. My residence at Glendearg hath mademe well acquainted with these things. Ill would it beseem my habit andmy calling, to thrust myself into match-making and giving in marriage,but worse were it in me to see your lordships do needless wrong tothe feelings which are proper to our nature, and which, being indulgedhonestly and under the restraints of religion, become a pledge ofdomestic quiet here, and future happiness in a better world. I say, thatyou will do ill to rend those ties asunder, and to give this maiden tothe kinsman of Lord Morton, though Lord Morton's kinsman he be."

  "These are fair reasons, my Lord of Murray," said Morton, "why youshould refuse me so simple a boon as to bestow this silly damsel uponyoung Bennygask. Speak out plainly, my lord; say you would rather seethe Castle of Avenel in the hands of one who owes his name and existencesolely to your favour, than in the power of a Douglas, and of mykinsman."

  "My Lord of Morton," said Murray, "I have done nothing in this matterwhich should aggrieve you. This young man Glendinning has done me goodservice, and may do me more. My promise was in some degree passed tohim, and that while Julian Avenel was alive, when aught beside themaiden's lily hand would have been hard to come by; whereas, you neverthought of such an alliance for your kinsman, till you saw Julian liedead yonder on the field, and knew his land to be a waif free to thefirst who could seize it. Come, come, my lord, you do less than justiceto your gallant kinsman, in wishing him a bride bred up under themilk-pail; for this girl is a peasant wench in all but the accidentof birth. I thought you had more deep respect for the honour of theDouglasses."

  "The honour of the Douglasses is safe in my keeping," answered Morton,haughtily; "that of other ancient families may suffer as well as thename of Avenel, if rustics are to be matched with the blood of ourancient barons."

  "This is but idle talking," answered Lord Murray; "in times like these,we must look to men and not to pedigrees. Hay was but a rustic beforethe battle of Loncarty--the bloody yoke actually dragged the plough ereit was emblazoned on a crest by the herald. Times of action make princesinto peasants, and boors into barons. All families have sprung from onemean man; and it is well if they have never degenerated from his virtuewho raised them first from obscurity."

  "My Lord of Murray will please to except the house of Douglas," saidMorton, haughtily; "men have seen it in the tree, but never in thesapling--have seen it in the stream, but never in the fountain.

  [Footnote: The late excellent and laborious antiquary, Mr. GeorgeChalmers, has rebuked the vaunt of the House of Douglas, or ratherof Hume of Godscroft, their historian, but with less than his wontedaccuracy. In the first volume of his Caledonia, he quotes the passage inGodscroft for the purpose of confuting it.

  The historian (of the Douglasses) cries out, "We do not know them in thefountain, but in the stream; not in the root, but in the stem; for weknow not which is the mean man that did rise above the vulgar." Thisassumption Mr. Chalmers conceives ill-timed, and alleges, that if thehistorian had attended more to research than to declamation, he mighteasily have seen the first mean man of this renowned family. Thishe alleges to have been one Theobaldus Flammaticus, or Theobald theFleming, to whom Arnold, Abbot of Kelso, between the year 1147 and 1160,granted certain lands on Douglas water, by a deed which Mr. Chalmersconceives to be the first link of the chain of title-deeds toDouglasdale. Hence, he says, the family must renounce their familydomain, or acknowledge this obscure Fleming as their ancestor. Theobaldthe Fleming, it is acknowledged, did not himself assume the name ofDouglas; "but," says the antiquary, "his son William, who inheritedhis estate, called himself, and was named by others, De Duglas;" andhe refers to the deeds in which he is so designed. Mr. Chalmers' fullargument may be found in the first volume of his Caledonia, p. 579.

  This proposition is one which a Scotsman will admit unwillingly, andonly upon undeniable testimony: and as it is liable to strong groundsof challenge, the present author, with all the respect to Mr. Chalmerswhich his zealous and effectual researches merit, is not unwilling totake this opportunity to state some plausible grounds for doubting thatTheobaldus Flammaticus was either the father of the first William deDouglas, or in the slightest degree connected with the Douglas family.

  It must first be observed, that there is no reason whatever forconcluding Theobaldus Flammaticus to be the father of William deDouglas, except that they both held lands upon the small river ofDouglas; and that there are two strong presumptions to the contrary.For, first, the father being named Fleming, there seems no good reasonwhy the son should have assumed a different designation: secondly, theredoes not occur a single instance of the name of Theobald during the longline of the Douglas pedigree, an omission very unlikely to take placehad the original father of the race been so called. These are secondaryconsiderations indeed; but they are important, in so far as they excludeany support of Mr. Chalmers' system, except from the point which he hasrather assumed than proved, namely, that the lands granted to Theobaldthe Fleming were the same which were granted to William de Douglas, andwhich constituted the original domain of which we find this powerfulfamily lords.

  Now, it happens, singularly enough, that the lands granted by the Abbotof Kelso to Theobaldus Flammaticus are not the same of which Williamde Douglas was in possession. Nay, it would appear, from comparing thecharter granted to Theobaldus Flammaticus, that, though situated on thewater of Douglas, they never made a part of the barony of that name, andtherefore cannot be the same with those held by William de Douglas inthe succeeding generation. But if William de Douglas did not succeedTheobaldus Flammaticus, there is no more reason for holding thesetwo persons to be father and son than if they had lived in differentprovinces; and we are still as far from having discovered the first meanman of the Douglas family as Hume of Godscroft was in the 16th century.We leave the question to antiquaries and genealogists.]

  In the earliest of our Scottish annals, the Black Douglas was powerfuland distinguished as now."

  "I bend to the honours of the house of Douglas," said Murray, somewhatironically; "I am conscious we of the Royal House have little rightto compete with them in dignity--What though we have worn crowns andcarried sceptres for a few generations, if our genealogy moves nofarther back than to the humble _Alanus Dapifer!"_

  [Footnote: To atone to the memory of the learned and indefatigableChalmers for having ventured to impeach his genealogical propositionconcerning the descent of the Douglasses, we are bound to render him ourgrateful thanks for the felicitous light which he has thrown on that ofthe House of Stewart, still more important to Scottish history.

  The acute pen of Lord Hailes, whic
h, like the spear of Ithuriel,conjured so many shadows from Scottish history, had dismissed among therest those of Banquo and Fleance, the rejection of which fables left theillustrious family of Stewart without an ancestor beyond Walter theson of Allan, who is alluded to in the text. The researches of our latelearned antiquary detected in this Walter, the descendant of Allan, theson of Flaald, who obtained from William the Conqueror the Castle ofOswestry in Shropshire, and was the father of an illustrious lineof English nobles, by his first son, William, and by his second son,Walter, the progenitor of the royal family of Stewart.]

  Morton's cheek reddened as he was about to reply; but Henry Wardenavailed himself of the liberty which the Protestant clergy longpossessed, and exerted it to interrupt a discussion which was becomingtoo eager and personal to be friendly.

  "My lords," he said, "I must be bold in discharging the duty of myMaster. It is a shame and scandal to hear two nobles, whose hands havebeen so forward in the work of reformation, fall into discord about suchvain follies as now occupy your thoughts. Bethink you how long you havethought with one mind, seen with one eye, heard with one ear, confirmedby your union the congregation of the Church, appalled by your jointauthority the congregation of Anti-Christ; and will you now fall intodiscord, about an old decayed castle and a few barren hills, about theloves and likings of an humble spearman, and a damsel bred in the sameobscurity, or about the still vainer questions of idle genealogy?"

  "The good man hath spoken right, noble Douglas," said Murray, reachinghim his hand, "our union is too essential to the good cause to bebroken off upon such idle terms of dissension. I am fixed to gratifyGlendinning in this matter--my promise is passed. The wars, in which Ihave had my share, have made many a family miserable; I will at leasttry if I may not make one happy. There are maids and manors enow inScotland.--I promise you, my noble ally, that young Bennygask shall berichly wived."

  "My lord," said Warden, "you speak nobly, and like a Christian. Alas!this is a land of hatred and bloodshed--let us not chase from thencethe few traces that remain of gentle and domestic love.--And be nottoo eager for wealth to thy noble kinsman, my Lord of Morton, seeingcontentment in the marriage state no way depends on it."

  "If you allude to my family misfortune," said Morton, whose Countess,wedded by him for her estate and honours, was insane in her mind, "thehabit you wear, and the liberty, or rather license, of your profession,protect you from my resentment."

  "Alas! my lord," replied Warden, "how quick and sensitive is ourself-love! When pressing forward in our high calling, we point out theerrors of the Sovereign, who praises our boldness more than the nobleMorton? But touch we upon his own sore, which most needs lancing, and heshrinks from the faithful chirurgeon in fear and impatient anger!"

  "Enough of this, good and reverend sir," said Murray; "you transgressthe prudence yourself recommended even now.--We are now close upon thevillage, and the proud Abbot is come forth at the head of his hive. Thouhast pleaded well for him, Warden, otherwise I had taken this occasionto pull down the nest, and chase away the rooks."

  "Nay, but do not so," said Warden; "this William Allan, whom they callthe Abbot Eustatius, is a man whose misfortunes would more prejudice ourcause than his prosperity. You cannot inflict more than he will endure;and the more that he is made to bear, the higher will be the influenceof his talents and his courage. In his conventual throne he will be butcoldly looked on--disliked, it may be, and envied. But turn his crucifixof gold into a crucifix of wood--let him travel through the land, anoppressed and impoverished man, and his patience, his eloquence, andlearning, will win more hearts from the good cause, than all the mitredabbots of Scotland have been able to make prey of during the lasthundred years."

  "Tush! tush! man," said Morton, "the revenues of the Halidome willbring more men, spears, and horses, into the field in one day, thanhis preaching in a whole lifetime. These are not the days of Peter theHermit, when monks could march armies from England to Jerusalem; butgold and good deeds will still do as much or more than ever. Had JulianAvenel had but a score or two more men this morning, Sir John Foster hadnot missed a worse welcome. I say, confiscating the monk's revenues isdrawing his fang-teeth."

  "We will surely lay him under contribution," said Murray; "and,moreover, if he desires to remain in his Abbey, he will do well toproduce Piercie Shafton."

  As he thus spoke, they entered the market-place, distinguished by theircomplete armour and their lofty plumes, as well as by the number offollowers bearing their colours and badges. Both these powerful nobles,but more especially Murray, so nearly allied to the crown, had at thattime a retinue and household not much inferior to that of Scottishroyalty. As they advanced into the market-place, a pursuivant, pressingforward from their train, addressed the monks in these words:--"TheAbbot of Saint Mary's is commanded to appear before the Earl of Murray."

  "The Abbot of Saint Mary's," said Eustace, "is, in the patrimony of hisConvent, superior to every temporal lord. Let the Earl of Murray, if heseeks him, come himself to his presence."

  On receiving this answer, Murray smiled scornfully, and, dismountingfrom his lofty saddle, he advanced, accompanied by Morton, and followedby others, to the body of monks assembled around the cross. There was anappearance of shrinking among them at the approach of the heretic lord,so dreaded and so powerful. But the Abbot, casting on them a glanceof rebuke and encouragement, stepped forth from their ranks likea courageous leader, when he sees that his personal valour must bedisplayed to revive the drooping courage of his followers. "LordJames Stewart," he said, "or Earl of Murray, if that be thy title, I,Eustatius, Abbot of Saint Mary's, demand by what right you have filledour peaceful village, and surrounded our brethren, with these bandsof armed men? If hospitality is sought, we have never refused it tocourteous asking--if violence be meant against peaceful churchmen, letus know at once the pretext and the object?"

  "Sir Abbot," said Murray, "your language would better have becomeanother age, and a presence inferior to ours. We come not here to replyto your interrogations, but to demand of you why you have broken thepeace, collecting your vassals in arms, and convocating the Queen'slieges, whereby many men have been slain, and much trouble, perchancebreach of amity with England, is likely to arise?"

  "_Lupus in fabula_," answered the Abbot, scornfully. "The wolf accusedthe sheep of muddying the stream when he drank in it above her--but itserved as a pretext for devouring her. Convocate the Queen's lieges! Idid so to defend the Queen's land against foreigners. I did but my duty;and I regret I had not the means to do it more effectually."

  "And was it also a part of your duty to receive and harbour the Queenof England's rebel and traitor; and to inflame a war betwixt England andScotland?" said Murray.

  "In my younger days, my lord," answered the Abbot, with the sameintrepidity, "a war with England was no such dreaded matter; and notmerely a mitred abbot, bound by his rule to show hospitality and affordsanctuary to all, but the poorest Scottish peasant, would have beenashamed to have pleaded fear of England as the reason for shutting hisdoor against a persecuted exile. But in those olden days, the Englishseldom saw the face of a Scottish nobleman, save through the bars of hisvisor."

  "Monk!" said the Earl of Morton, sternly, "this insolence will littleavail thee; the days are gone by when Rome's priests were permitted tobrave noblemen with impunity. Give us up this Piercie Shafton, or by myfather's crest I will set thy Abbey in a bright flame!"

  "And if thou dost, Lord of Morton, its ruins will tumble above the tombsof thine own ancestors. Be the issue as God wills, the Abbot of SaintMary's gives up no one whom he hath promised to protect."

  "Abbot!" said Murray, "bethink thee ere we are driven to dealroughly--the hands of these men," he said, pointing to the soldiers,"will make wild work among shrines and cells, if we are compelled toundertake a search for this Englishman."

  "Ye shall not need," said a voice from the crowd; and, advancinggracefully before the Earls, the Euphuist flung from him the mantle inwhich he was muff
led. "Via the cloud that shadowed Shafton!" said he;"behold, my lords, the Knight of Wilverton, who spares you the guilt ofviolence and sacrilege."

  "I protest before God and man against any infraction of the privilegesof this house," said the Abbot, "by an attempt to impose violent handsupon the person of this noble knight. If there be yet spirit in aScottish Parliament, we will make you hear of this elsewhere, my lords!"

  "Spare your threats," said Murray; "it may be, my purpose withSir Piercie Shafton is not such as thou dost suppose--Attach him,pursuivant, as our prisoner, rescue or no rescue."

  "I yield myself," said the Euphuist, "reserving my right to defy my Lordof Murray and my Lord of Morton to single duel, even as one gentlemanmay demand satisfaction of another."

  "You shall not want those who will answer your challenge, Sir Knight,"replied Morton, "without aspiring to men above thine own degree."

  "And where am I to find these superlative champions," said the Englishknight, "whose blood runs more pure than that of Piercie Shafton?"

  "Here is a flight for you, my lord!" said Murray.

  "As ever was flown by a wild-goose," said Stawarth Bolton, who had nowapproached to the front of the party.

  "Who dared to say that word?" said the Euphuist, his face crimson withrage.

  "Tut! man," said Bolton, "make the best of it, thy mother's father wasbut a tailor, old Overstitch of Holderness--Why, what! because thou arta misproud bird, and despiseth thine own natural lineage, and rufflestin unpaid silks and velvets, and keepest company with gallants andcutters, must we lose our memory for that? Thy mother, Moll Overstitch,was the prettiest wench in those parts--she was wedded by wild Shaftonof Wilverton, who men say, was akin to the Piercie on the wrong side ofthe blanket."

  "Help the knight to some strong waters," said Morton; "he hath fallenfrom such a height, that he is stunned with the tumble."

  In fact, Sir Piercie Shafton looked like a man stricken by athunderbolt, while, notwithstanding the seriousness of the scenehitherto, no one of those present, not even the Abbot himself, couldrefrain from laughing at the rueful and mortified expression of hisface.

  "Laugh on," he said at length, "laugh on, my masters," shrugging hisshoulders; "it is not for me to be offended--yet would I know full fainfrom that squire who is laughing with the loudest, how he had discoveredthis unhappy blot in an otherwise spotless lineage, and for what purposehe hath made it known?"

  "_I_ make it known?" said Halbert Glendinning, in astonishment,--for tohim this pathetic appeal was made,--"I never heard the thing till thismoment."

  [Footnote: The contrivance of provoking the irritable vanity of SirPiercie Shafton, by presenting him with a bodkin, indicative of hisdescent from a tailor, is borrowed from a German romance, by thecelebrated Tieck, called Das Peter Manchem, _i. e._ The Dwarf Peter. Thebeing who gives name to the tale, is the Burg-geist, or castle spectre,of a German family, whom he aids with his counsel, as he defends theircastle by his supernatural power. But the Dwarf Peter is so unfortunatean adviser, that all his counsels, though producing success in theimmediate results, are in the issue attended with mishap and with guilt.The youthful baron, the owner of the haunted castle, falls in love witha maiden, the daughter of a neighbouring count, a man of great pride,who refuses him the hand of the young lady, on account of his ownsuperiority of descent. The lover, repulsed and affronted, returns totake counsel with the Dwarf Peter, how he may silence the count, andobtain the victory in the argument, the next time they enter on thetopic of pedigree. The dwarf gives his patron or pupil a horse-shoe,instructing him to give it to the count when he is next givinghimself superior airs on the subject of his family. It has the effectaccordingly. The count, understanding it as an allusion to a misallianceof one of his ancestors with the daughter of a blacksmith, is throwninto a dreadful passion with the young lover, the consequences of whichare the seduction of the young lady, and the slaughter of her father.

  If we suppose the dwarf to represent the corrupt part of humannature,--that "law in our members which wars against the law of ourminds,"--the work forms an ingenious allegory.]

  "Why, did not that old rude soldier learn it from thee?" said theknight, in increasing amazement.

  "Not I, by Heaven!" said Bolton; "I never saw the youth in my lifebefore."

  "But you _have_ seen him ere now, my worthy master," said DameGlendinning, bursting in her turn from the crowd. "My son, this isStawarth Bolton, he to whom we owe life, and the means of preservingit--if he be a prisoner, as seems most likely, use thine interest withthese noble lords to be kind to the widow's friend."

  "What, my Dame of the Glen!" said Bolton, "thy brow is more withered, aswell as mine, since we met last, but thy tongue holds the touch betterthan my arm. This boy of thine gave me the foil sorely this morning. TheBrown Varlet has turned as stout a trooper as I prophesied; and where isWhite Head?"

  "Alas!" said the mother, looking down, "Edward has taken orders, andbecome a monk of this Abbey."

  "A monk and a soldier!--Evil trades both, my good dame. Better havemade one a good master fashioner, like old Overstitch, of Holderness. Isighed when I envied you the two bonny children, but I sigh not now tocall either the monk or the soldier mine own. The soldier dies in thefield, the monk scarce lives in the cloister."

  "My dearest mother," said Halbert, "where is Edward--can I not speakwith him?"

  "He has just left us for the present," said Father Philip, "upon amessage from the Lord Abbot."

  "And Mary, my dearest mother?" said Halbert.--Mary Avenel was not fardistant, and the three were soon withdrawn from the crowd, to hear andrelate their various chances of fortune.

  While the subordinate personages thus disposed of themselves, the Abbotheld serious discussion with the two Earls, and, partly yielding totheir demands, partly defending himself with skill and eloquence,was enabled to make a composition for his Convent, which left itprovisionally in no worse situation than before. The Earls were the morereluctant to drive matters to extremity, since he protested, that ifurged beyond what his conscience would comply with, he would throw thewhole lands of the Monastery into the Queen of Scotland's hands, to bedisposed of at her pleasure. This would not have answered the views ofthe Earls, who were contented, for the time, with a moderate sacrificeof money and lands. Matters being so far settled, the Abbot becameanxious for the fate of Sir Piercie Shafton, and implored mercy in hisbehalf.

  "He is a coxcomb," he said, "my lords, but he is a generous, though avain fool; and it is my firm belief you have this day done him more painthan if you had run a poniard into him."

  "Run a needle into him you mean, Abbot," said the Earl of Morton; "bymine honour, I thought this grandson of a fashioner of doublets wasdescended from a crowned head at least!"

  "I hold with the Abbot," said Murray; "there were little honour insurrendering him to Elizabeth, but he shall be sent where he can do herno injury. Our pursuivant and Bolton shall escort him to Dunbar, andship him off for Flanders.--But soft, here he comes, and leading afemale, as I think."

  "Lords and others," said the English knight with great solemnity, "makeway for the Lady of Piercie Shafton--a secret which I listed not to makeknown, till fate, which hath betrayed what I vainly strove to conceal,makes me less desirous to hide that which I now announce to you."

  "It is Mysie Happer, the Miller's daughter, on my life!" said TibbTacket. "I thought the pride of these Piercies would have a fa'."

  "It is indeed the lovely Mysinda," said the knight, "whose meritstowards her devoted servant deserved higher rank than he had to bestow."

  "I suspect, though," said Murray, "that we should not have heard of theMiller's daughter being made a lady, had not the knight proved to be thegrandson of a tailor."

  "My lord," said Piercie Shafton, "it is poor valour to strike himthat cannot smite again; and I hope you will consider what is due toa prisoner by the law of arms, and say nothing more on this odioussubject. When I am once more mine own man, I will find a new road todignity."


  "_Shape_ one, I presume," said the Earl of Morton.

  "Nay, Douglas, you will drive him mad,"--said Murray; "besides, wehave other matter in hand--I must see Warden wed Glendinning with MaryAvenel, and put him in possession of his wife's castle without delay. Itwill be best done ere our forces leave these parts."

  "And I," said the Miller, "have the like grist to grind; for I hope someone of the good fathers will wed my wench with her gay bridegroom."

  "It needs not," said Shafton; "the ceremonial hath been solemnlyperformed."

  "It will not be the worse of another bolting," said the Miller; "it isalways best to be sure, as I say when I chance to take multure twicefrom the same meal-sack."

  "Stave the miller off him," said Murray, "or he will worry him dead.The Abbot, my lord, offers us the hospitality of the Convent; I move weshould repair hither, Sir Piercie and all of us. I must learn to knowthe Maid of Avenel--to-morrow I must act as her father--All Scotlandshall see how Murray can reward a faithful servant."

  Mary Avenel and her lover avoided meeting the Abbot, and took up theirtemporary abode in a house of the village, where next day their handswere united by the Protestant preacher in presence of the two Earls.On the same day Piercie Shafton and his bride departed, under an escortwhich was to conduct him to the sea-side, and see him embark for the LowCountries. Early on the following morning the bands of the Earls wereunder march to the Castle of Avenel, to invest the young bridegroomwith the property of his wife, which was surrendered to them withoutopposition.

  But not without those omens which seemed to mark every remarkable eventwhich befell the fated family, did Mary take possession of the ancientcastle of her forefathers. The same warlike form which had appeared morethan once at Glendearg, was seen by Tibb Tacket and Martin, who returnedwith their young mistress to partake her altered fortunes. It glidedbefore the cavalcade as they advanced upon the long causeway, pausedat each drawbridge, and flourished its hand, as in triumph, as itdisappeared under the gloomy archway, which was surmounted by theinsignia of the house of Avenel. The two trusty servants made theirvision only known to Dame Glendinning, who, with much pride of heart,had accompanied her son to see him take his rank among the barons of theland. "Oh, my dear bairn!" she exclaimed, when she heard the tale, "thecastle is a grand place to be sure, but I wish ye dinna a' desire to beback in the quiet braes of Glendearg before the play be played out."But this natural reflection, springing from maternal anxiety, was soonforgotten amid the busy and pleasing task of examining and admiring thenew habitation of her son.

  While these affairs were passing, Edward had hidden himself and hissorrows in the paternal Tower of Glendearg, where every object was fullof matter for bitter reflection. The Abbot's kindness had despatched himthither upon pretence of placing some papers belonging to the Abbey insafety and secrecy; but in reality to prevent his witnessing the triumphof his brother. Through the deserted apartments, the scene of so manybitter reflections, the unhappy youth stalked like a discontented ghost,conjuring up around him at every step new subjects for sorrow and forself-torment. Impatient, at length, of the state of irritation andagonized recollection in which he found himself, he rushed out andwalked hastily up the glen, as if to shake off the load which hungupon his mind. The sun was setting when he reached the entrance ofCorri-nan-shian, and the recollection of what he had seen when he lastvisited that haunted ravine, burst on his mind. He was in a humour,however, rather to seek out danger than to avoid it.

  "I will face this mystic being," he said; "she foretold the fate whichhas wrapt me in this dress,--I will know whether she has aught else totell me of a life which cannot but be miserable."

  He failed not to see the White Spirit seated by her accustomed haunt,and singing in her usual low and sweet tone. While she sung, she seemedto look with sorrow on her golden zone, which was now diminished to thefineness of a silken thread.

  "Fare thee well, thou Holly green, Thou shall seldom now be seen, With all thy glittering garlands bending, As to greet my slow descending, Startling the bewilder'd hind. Who sees thee wave without a wind.

  "Farewell, Fountain! now not long Shalt thou murmur to my song, While thy crystal bubbles glancing, Keep the time in mystic dancing, Rise and swell, are burst and lost, Like mortal schemes by fortune crost.

  "The knot of fate at length is tied, The Churl is Lord, the Maid is bride. Vainly did my magic sleight Send the lover from her sight; Wither bush, and perish well, Fall'n is lofty Avenel!"

  The vision seemed to weep while she sung; and the words impressed onEdward a melancholy belief, that the alliance of Mary with his brothermight be fatal to them both.

  * * * * *

  Here terminates the First Part of the Benedictine's Manuscript. I havein vain endeavoured to ascertain the precise period of the story, asthe dates cannot be exactly reconciled with those of the most accreditedhistories. But it is astonishing how careless the writers of Utopia areupon these important subjects. I observe that the learned Mr. LaurenceTempleton, in his late publication entitled IVANHOE, has not onlyblessed the bed of Edward the Confessor with an offspring unknown tohistory, with sundry other solecisms of the same kind, but has invertedthe order of nature, and feasted his swine with acorns in the midst ofsummer. All that can be alleged by the warmest admirer of this authoramounts to this,--that the circumstances objected to are just as trueas the rest of the story; which appears to me (more especially in thematter of the acorns) to be a very imperfect defence, and that theauthor will do well to profit by Captain Absolute's advice to hisservant, and never tell him more lies than are indispensably necessary.

  End of THE MONASTERY.