Volume I Part 16 (2/2)
This was no other than the poor bard coming toward the light, creeping slowly on all-four, and still groaning as he came.
”Here's the chap that began the fray,” said Tam, ”you may speer at him.
He rather looks as he were at ane mae wi't. For my part, I just did as the rest did,--ran an' cried as loud as I could. When a dust is fairly begun, I think aye the mair stour that is raised the better. I'll try wha will cry loudest again, an ye like,--or rin round the fire wi' ony o' you, or out through the mids o't either, at a pinch.”
Tam turned round his long nose to see if his jest had taken, for he always fixed his eyes stedfastly on one object when he spoke; but he found that his jargon had been ill-timed, for no one laughed at it but himself. The rest were gathered round the bard; some pitying, but more like to burst with laughter at his forlorn state. He fetched two or three long-drawn moans, and then raising himself up on his knees, with his eyes fixed on the light, he rolled over, and fainted.
Delany first stooped to support his head, and was soon a.s.sisted by every female in the house, while the men only stood and looked on. By bathing his hands and temples with cold water, they soon brought him out of his faint, but not to his right senses. His looks continued wild and unstable, and ever and anon they were turned to the door, as if he expected some other guest to enter. A sober conference at last ensued; and as no one had seen or heard any thing at this last encounter, save the man that was taken ill, who a few moments before had been heard to say _there were six of them_, all began to agree that he had been seized with some sudden frenzy or delirium; till the lad, who had carried out the light, thrust in his pale face among the rest, and said,--”Na, na, my masters, it is nae for naething that the honest man's gane away in a kink; for, when I held up the bouet, I saw a dead man riding on a horse close at his side. He was berkened wi' blood off at the taes; and his mouth was open, and I saw his tongue hinging out.”
It may well be conceived what an icy chillness these words distilled round the heart of every one present. The effect on our travellers was particularly appalling, from the idea that they were haunted by a phantom from which they could not escape. The whole group closed around the fire, and the strangers recounted to the family the singular occurrence of their having lost two of their number by the way, and been pursued and overtaken by a phantom resembling one of them, and that the hideous spectre was, as it seemed, haunting them still. As they all agreed in the same story, it was not of a nature to be disregarded at a period when superst.i.tion swayed the hearts of men with irresistible power. The stoutest heart among them was daunted, and no one durst go out to the vaults to look after his master's cattle, nor to take in our travellers' horses, that were left to s.h.i.+ft for themselves during the long winter night.
The next morning, between day-light and the sun-rising, the men began to peep abroad, and the first things they observed were some of the horses of our travellers going about in a careless, easy manner. This they looked on as a good omen, knowing that horses were terrified for spirits; and the men joining in a body, they sallied out to reconnoitre.
The horses had fared well, for they had fed at the laird's stacks of hay and corn all night; but as the men were going round to see how matters stood, they perceived a phenomenon, that, if it had not been open day-light, would have scared them from the habitation. This was the identical phantom-warrior still sitting unmoved on his horse, that was helping itself full liberally out of one of the laird's corn-ricks. The eye of day expels the films of superst.i.tion from the human eye. The men, after a short consultation, ventured to surround the phantom,--to seize his horse,--(who had given full proof that he at least was flesh and blood;)--and, after a good deal of trembling astonishment, they found that he was actually rode by a dead warrior, whose head was cleft asunder, and his whole body, both within and without the harness, encrusted in blood.
The mystery was soon cleared up; but none then knew who he was. It had become customary in that age for warriors, who went to engage others, on horseback, to lock themselves to the saddle, for fear of being borne out of their seats by the spears of their opponents in the encounter. This was the individual trooper who had come foremost in the pursuit of our party, he whom the friar jostled, and whom Charlie, encountering the moment after, had slain; but his suit of armour having kept him nearly upright in his saddle, his horse had run off with him, and followed after those of our travellers, as every horse will do that is let go on a high-way and gets his will.
Glad were our travellers at an eclairciss.e.m.e.nt so fairly within the bounds of their comprehension; and when the poet saw the gash made in the helmet, he shook his head, and exclaimed, ”Ha! well I wot the mighty hand of Charlie has been here!”
Gibbie remarked that he himself had ”killed one very like him, only he was sure his wad never mount horse again.” But seeing Tam's ill-set eye fixed on him, he was afraid of something coming out relating to that encounter which he did not wish to hear blabbed; so he changed his tone, and, looking wise, said, ”The hale business brings me a-mind of a very good story that happened aince at Allergrain; an' if it be nae true it is behadden to the maker, for the sin o' the lie lyes nae at my door.
The story, you see, is this.--There was a man, an' he had a wife; an'
they had a son, an' they ca'ed him Jock--”
”Now, d--n your particularity!” said Tam Craik: ”think you we have nought else to do but stand beside the b.l.o.o.d.y man and listen to a long-winded tale like that?”
The poet muttered over some old rhyme in unison with what he heard. If one word spoken chanced to occur in any old rhyme or song that he knew, he went over the sentence to himself, though it had no farther connection with it, or resemblance to it, than merely that word. This made his conversation altogether incomprehensible to those not acquainted with him, but it was always delightful to himself; a chance old rhyme brought to his remembrance, would have pleased him almost in any circ.u.mstances, while his words chimed naturally into measure.
Leaving the dead warrior at the house where they lodged for the people to bury as they liked, they proceeded to the army, in hopes of finding Charlie and the friar there; for without them they did not know how to accomplish their mission. These two heroes finding, on asking at a hamlet, that their friends had not pa.s.sed on the road to Roxburgh, suspected what way they had gone, and turning to the south-east they followed them on the track to Yetholm, but misled them at the house into which they had been chased by the dead man, and rode searching for them the greater part of the night. Next morning they again went in search of them, and came up behind them at the convent of Maisondieu near to the Teviot, where a detachment of the army was stationed; and, after conversing two or three hours on the state of the army and garrison, they proceeded on their journey, and reached the abbey of Melrose that night. There they were welcomed by the brethren, and lodged comfortably.
There also they got many strange stories told to them about Master Michael Scott, which made the very hairs of their heads stand on end, and the hearts of the boldest to palpitate. When the friar heard them, he seemed wrapt in deep thought; and he opened his mouth, and said: ”If the things that thou hast spoken be according to the light that is in thee, and the truth that is told among men, then this man is not as other men, for the spirit of the immortals is in him, and he communeth with the prince of the power of the air. Nevertheless, I will go unto him, and I will speak to him face to face, as a man speaketh to his friend. Peradventure I shall tell him that which he knoweth not.”
When it was told to the abbot Lawrence, that the servants of the warden were come, and that they were accompanied by his chaplain and bedesman, a learned man in all holy things, the father came to bestow upon them his benediction,--for the baron of Mountcomyn had conferred many rich benefices on the abbey. At the first sound of the friar's voice, the abbot started, as if recollecting him; but on looking at the man his hope seemed to die away. Every time, however, that he spoke in his eastern style, the abbot fixed a look on him, as if he would fain have claimed acquaintance, which the friar perceiving, urged their departure with all the interest he had; and accordingly, about mid-day, they set out for Aikwood-castle, the seat of the renowned magician Master Michael Scott.
Ever since the stern encounter with the English moss-troopers on the Thief-road, Charlie had attached himself close to the friar, imagining that he saw his character in a new light, and that he was one who might either be roused to desperate courage, or impressed with notorious dread; and when he heard him say that he would speak to the enchanter face to face, he admired him still the more; for the business of addressing the Master was that which stuck sorest on the stomach of the doughty Yardbire. As for the poet, he scarcely seemed himself all that day. He looked at the mountains, and the wild romantic rivers branching among them in every direction, with looks of which it was hard to say whether they were looks of vacancy or affection, for he looked sometimes as at objects which he was never to see again. His tongue muttered long rhymes in which his heart had little share; so that Delany was obliged to detach herself from his society, and make up to the friar, whom she now addressed with much affection, and some degree of coquetry:--
”Dearest father, why have you neglected me so much on our journey? Ever since our first stage was got over, you have not deigned to take any notice of me. What have you seen in my conduct that you have thus shunned me? It is in sincerity that I a.s.sure you there is no man in whose conversation I so much delight.”
”Fairest among maidens!” said the friar, putting his arm gently around her neck, as her palfrey came close up by his side, ”say not so, but come near me, I will kiss thee with the kisses of my mouth, for thy love is sweeter to me than the vintage. Behold thou art even like a tower of alabaster s.h.i.+ning from among the cedars of Lebanon. Thy bosom resembleth two young roes that are twins, and feed among the lilies of the valley.”
”Hold, dear father!” said she, ”and do not let your gallantry run away with your good common sense. Yet would I love to hear that language spoken to another, for though it be nonsense it is still beautiful. Tell me, for I long to hear, where, or in what country, you learned to speak in that stile.”
”Daughter of my people,” said he, ”I have learned that language at home and in a far country. In youth and in age hath it been my delight. At noon-tide when the sun shone in his strength, and in the silent watches of the night hath it been my meditation. In adversity hath it been my comfort, and in prosperity my joy; so that now it hath become unto me as my mother tongue, and other language have I none.”
”Is it the language of the convent and the priory alone?” said the maid.
”No, thou rose of the desart,” said the friar;--”it is not the language indeed, but the stile of language over one half of the habitable world.
It is the language of all the kingdoms and countries of the east, from India even unto Ethiopia; and all the way as thou goest down towards the rising of the sun, yea from the river to the ends of the earth it prevaileth. But, O thou fairest among the daughters of women! that language did I not learn in the lands that are watered by the great river, even the river Euphrates. In Ur of the Chaldees have I not sojourned; nor on the mountains of Palestine have I lifted up my eyes.
But I learned it from one little book; a book that is of more value to the children of men than all the gold of Ophir. O maiden, could I but make known unto thee the treasures of that book, the majesty of its stile, and the excellency of its precepts, it would make thine heart to sing for joy. If all the writings of this world, yea, if the world itself were to be laid in the balance with that book, they would be found wanting. The mountains may depart, and the seas may pa.s.s away, the stars, and the heavens in which they s.h.i.+ne, may be removed, but the words of that book shall remain for ever and ever! And this language that I now speak to thee resembleth the words written therein; and I speak them unto thee that thou mayest hear and love them.”
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