Kitabı oku: «The Three Perils of Man; or, War, Women, and Witchcraft, Vol. 1 (of 3)», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XI
The youngest turned him in a path,
And drew a buirdly brande,
And fifteen of the foremost slewe,
Till back the lave couthe stande.
Then he spurred the grey unto the path,
Till baith her sides they bledde;
"Now, grey, if thou carry nae me away
My life it lies in wedde."
Ballad of Auld Maitland.
We must pass over a great part of the conversation that evening, in order to get forward to the more momentous part of the history of our embassy. Suffice it to say, that the poet was in high glory, and not only delivered himself in pure iambics, but sung several love ditties, and one song of a foray, that pleased Charlie Scott mightily. But Isaac, the curate, has only given a fragment of it, which runs thus:
If you will meet me on the Dirdam waste,
Merry man mint to follow;
I'll start you the deer, and lead you the chace,
With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo!
The deer that you'll see, has horns enow, &c.
Marked wi' red and merled wi' blue, &c.
And that deer he will not turn his tail
For the stoutest hinds that range the dale.
Come then, driver, in gear bedight;
Come bold yeoman, and squire, and knight;
The wind soughs loud on craig and heuch,
And the linn rowts loud in the Crookside cleuch;
Nor tramp of steed, nor jingle of spear,
Will ever be heard by the southern deer:
The streamer is out, and the moon away,
And the morning starn will rise or day.
Then mount to the stirrup, and scour the fell,
Merry man mint to follow;
And over the muir, and the dean, and the dell,
With a whoop, and a whoo, and a hollo!
* * * * * * * * * *
"Thy words and thy song, young man," said the friar, "are like sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal; if laid in the balance, they are lighter than vanity."
"Yours will not prove so," said the poet, "provided you are laid in with them; for, as the old song says,—
'His wit is but weak, father;
His gifts they are but sma';
But the bouk that's under his breast bane,
It grieves me warst of a.'"
"If thou singest this nonsense of me," said the friar, "lo, I will smite thee upon the mouth; yea, upon the cheek-bone will I smite thee, till thine eyes shall gush out like two fountains of waters." And so saying, he began to look about him for some missile weapon to throw at the bard's face, his breast burning with indignation,—for he loved not the tenor of the poet's conversation to the maid.
Tam and Jordan encouraged the friar to make the assault, in hopes that the poet might be dislodged or affronted; but Yardbire restrained the warmth of the friar, not being aware of his real sentiments, and ordered peace and good fellowship.
Dame Robson covered the hearth with a huge fire; and her husband bringing in a leg of beef, set it upon the table, and bade every one help himself.
"The words of thy mouth are exceeding good, and sweet unto the ear," said the friar, "as doubtless thy food is to the taste." With that he rose and helped himself to three nice and extensive slices of raw beef, and these he roasted on the tongs which he had just lifted to smite the poet on the head.
In good truth, though every one cooked his own supper, as was the fashion of that iron time, there was none did it half so nicely as the friar, nor so bunglingly as Jordan, whose supper, though long behind the others in being ready, was so unshapely a piece, and so raw on the one side, that the friar observed, "it was like Ephraim of old, as a cake unturned." Some roasted their meat on old swords, some on spindles, for their hosts took no heed how they were fitted, or in what manner they shifted in these respects; seemingly satisfied that they had plenty for the cooking, and leaving them to cook it or eat it raw, as they chose. The poet made haste, and, first of all, cooked two or three nice slices for the maiden, giving her what she would take before he would taste a morsel himself. Some commended him for this, and others jeered him; but the friar, in his grave moral style, said the severest things of all. From the very commencement of the journey, a jealousy or misunderstanding began to subsist between these two, which never again subsided till they came to blows.
The poet answered him again with a song:
"Keep ye to your books and your beads, goodman,
Your Ave Marias and creeds, goodman;
For gin ye end as ye're begun,
There will be some crack of your deeds, goodman."
At length the party retired to rest, all save Jordan and their worthy host. The latter never slept in the night; he had always some watching, walking, or work in hand that suited that season best: and as for Gibby, he determined to sit up all night to watch that the poet made no encroachments on the place of Delany's repose. Robson encouraged his purpose, joined him heartily in conversation, listened to his long-winded stories with apparent delight, and, when all the rest were asleep, wormed the whole business of the embassy out of the shallow laird, who unfortunately testified his fears that they were carrying the lovely maiden and boy to the old warlock to be a sacrifice to the devil. Robson appeared terribly confounded at this peace of intelligence,—for from the time that he heard it he conversed no more with Jordan. About one in the morning he began to put on his snow-boots, as if preparing for a journey.
"Where are ye going at this time of night?" enquired the laird.
"I maun gang out an' see how the night wears," said Robson; "I hae sax score o' Scots queys that are outlyers. If I let the king's ellwand ower the hill, I'll hae them to seek frae the kips o' Kale."
Gibby accompanied him to the door, hoping the king's ellwand would not be over the hill, for he had no good will to part with his companion. But as soon as Robson turned his eye to the sky, "Ha, gude faith, I maun post away!" said he, "Yonder's the king's ellwand already begun to bore the hill; ay, there's ane o' the goud knobs out o' sight already, an' I hear the queys rowting ower the waterfa' o' the height. Gude morrow t'ye, laird, I'm ower lang here."
Gibby returned in to the blazing fire; and hearing so many persons all snoring in sleep, he caught the infection, stretched himself upon a divot seat, and joined the chorus with as much zeal as any of them.
Morning came, and our embassy made ready for proceeding on their journey; but Robson still was wanting, at which both his dame and household lads seemed to wonder, otherwise the rest would have taken no notice of it. Gibby told her about the queys that were outlyers, but she only answered him with a hem! and a slight shake of the head. Charlie, who knew his man well, began to smell a rat; and, calling Gibby to the door, he inquired if he had hinted ought of their business to their host. The laird at first denied; but Charlie questioned him till he confessed the whole, at which Charlie was exceedingly angry; and hearing that he had informed him all about the maiden, and of what family she was sprung, he called Gibby a worthless inconsiderate being, and said he had ruined their expedition, for that he knew Robson kept up a correspondence with the Halls, who were broken men, and many of them skulking about the border; that Delany had uncles, cousins, and a brother living, if she was the man's daughter she was supposed to be, and that these would without fail waylay them, and kill them every man, for the sake of rescuing her. "Robson," said he, "is altogether selfish, and has some end to serve; perhaps to get the maid into his own hands, for he seemed mightily taken with her beauty; and I calculate widely amiss if we are not watched from this house, and whether we return or proceed we shall be attacked in the first strait or lonely place that we come at." Jordan looked exceedingly out of countenance, and every feature of his face altered. "What had I ado to tell the rascal?" exclaimed he, "or wha wad hae thought o' him playing us sic a trick? Twa-faced dog that he is! It wad be weel done to let his liver pree the taste o' steel!"
Charlie made him promise that he would not mention the circumstance to one of the party, as it was only a surmise, and might impede their progress to no purpose; and forthwith they mounted, armed with such armour as they had, and all, save Gibby Jordan, as cheerful and as jealous of one another as they were on the preceding day. That worthy kept close by the side of muckle Charlie, and looked so sharp about him, that he perceived every shepherd, traveller, and cairn that appeared on the border fells, always testifying his alarm to his friend that perhaps yon was one of the Halls watching.
Charlie had resolved to go by Jedburgh straight for Oakwood castle; but his suspicions of Robson made him resolve to hold more to the eastward, in order to keep the open road. He knew that if they were watching him, it would be at the fords of Kale or Oxnam, on the Jedburgh road; and by taking the east path, he would not only elude them, but, in case of a pursuit, be near the outposts of the Scottish army.
For a good way they saw nothing, and began to think themselves in safety; but, in coming down Sowerhope-Middle, a little from the point of the debated land, three horsemen appeared to the westward of them. "His presence be about us," said Gibby,—"yonder are the Halls now!" Charlie said nothing, but kept watch. One of the yeomen vanished in a twinkling at full speed, the other two came at a brisk canter to our notable embassy.
"What do they mean?" said Jordan: "Do these two fellows propose to conquer us all?"
"It wad appear that they do," said Charlie, "for they come on us without halt or hesitation."
"I hardly think they'll succeed," added Gibby, "although they're twa dangerous looking chaps. For Godsake, Yardbire, tak care o' their back strokes; if they bring you down, our chance will be the waur."
Charlie then called to the rest of his cavalcade, "Friends, here are some strangers come to join us. Tell them nothing either good or bad, but keep on at a round trot. See, we are not far from the towers of Roxburgh. Whatever these men may say to you, make them nothing the wiser."
"I will not so much as say unto them, whence comest thou, or whither art thou going?" said the friar.
"I'll sing them a ditty of beauty and love,
Of the wing of the raven, the eye of the dove,
And beings all purer than angels above."
said the poet.
"Sic a rhame o' nonsense is there!" said Tam Craik: "If ony o' the dogs say an impertinent thing to me I'll gar his teeth gang down his throat like bristled beans."
It was not long before the two moss-troopers joined the party. They were tall athletic men, armed at all points, and their manner had a dash of insulting impertinence in it.
"A good morning, and fair grace to you, noble and worthy gentlemen!" said the foremost: "May we presume to be of the party?"
"You may presume," said the deil's Tam, "for that is what befits you; if you are willing to put up with the presumer's reward."
"You are witty, sir, I suppose," said the trooper; "and pray what may that reward be?"
"Yes, I am witty," said Tam; "and my wit is sharp when it is not in its sheath. Do you understand me? As for the reward of presumption, it is in Scotland to be crankit before and kicked behind."
"The road is at least as free to us as it is to you," said the mosstrooper; "and of that we intend to avail ourselves for the present. We go to join the army before Roxburgh, whither are you bound?"
"We follow our noses," said Tam; "but they guide us not to the army before Roxburgh, and into your rearward they caution us not to enter. Raw hides and rank bacon, keep your distance."
While Tam Craik and the trooper were thus jangling on before, Charlie said to Jordan, "Laird, what do think o' yoursel' now? Ye hae played us a fine pliskie wi' your ill tackit tongue! It is my thought that ere we ride a mile and a half we'll be attacked by a hale troop o' horse. That chap that disna speak is ane o' the wale o' the Ha's: I ken him weel for a' his half visor. The other horseman that left them on the height is ower to the fords of Kale, and, if I guess right, he'll appear at yon scroggy bush wi' sae mony at his back that we wad hardly be a mouthfu' to them, an' that in less time than ane wad gang a mile."
"It is an ill business this," said Gibby: "It brings me in mind o'—o' mair than I's name. But, gudesake, Yardbire, an ye be sure he is ane o' the Halls, what for do nae ye rin your sword in at the tae side o' him an' out at the tither? The sooner a knave like that is put down the better."
"Fair occasion, an' face to face, Peatstacknowe, an' ye sanna see Charlie Scott slack; but ye wadna hae me stick a man, or cleave him down ahint his back, an' that without fair warning and fair arming?"
"Ay, honour an' generosity are braw things, but life's a brawer thing an' a better thing than ony o' the twa. For my part, I wad never stop. My very heart flighters when I look at him, an' I amaist think I find his steel quivering at my midriff. I wish I had a drive at him, wi' a chance o' a hale head."—And from that time Gibby leaned himself forward on his saddle, and fixed his large grey eyes on the mosstrooper like a pointer going to fly on his game; and, in that attitude, he rode several times close up to his side, or very nearly opposite to him, laying his hand now and then on his hilt; but Charlie observed that he never looked his foe in the face with threatening aspect, and, perplexed as he was, could not help laughing at Gibby.
Yardbire now putting the spurs to Corby, galloped aslant the brae to a rising ground, whence he could see if any enemy was approaching by the swire from the fords of Kale, as he suspected. He had not well gained the height before he saw a dozen horsemen coming at the light gallop, but one part of the cavalcade considerably behind the others, owing to their being either worse mounted or worse horsemen.
By this time Charlie's own friends were coming round the bottom of the hill below him, quarrelling with the strangers so loudly, that Charlie heard their voices ascending on the gale in most discordant notes. The deil's Tam and the English trooper had never since their meeting ceased the jibe and the keen retort; but Tam's words were so provokingly severe, that the moss-man was driven beyond all further forbearance. Just when they were at the hottest, the helmets of the front men of the Northumberland cavalcade began to appear in the swire; a circumstance that was well noted by their offended kinsman, but of which Tam was perfectly unconscious.
"Well, now, thou jaundiced looking thief," said the moss-trooper, turning his horse's head towards Tam's left hand, and making him amble and curvette with his side foremost; "thou lean, nerveless, and soul-less jabberer, all tongue and nothing else—I say, what hast thou to say more?"
The alteration in the man's key of voice somewhat astounded Tam; but his perverse nature would not let him soften his reply, although he liked as well to see others fall into a mischief as himself. "Eh? what do I say?" said he; and with that he turned his horse's head to that of the other, making their two noses to meet; and caricaturing the Englishman's capers, he laughed sneeringly and triumphantly in his face. "What do I say? Eh? what do I say? I say I thought I heard wind, and smelled it a wee too. Hagg-hiding fox that thou art! Wild tike of the moors, dost thou think Tam Craik fears thy prancing and thy carrion breath, or ony o' the bur-throated litter of which thou art the outwale? Nay, an capering and prancing show ought of a spirit, I can caper and prance as well as thou. Out on thee, thou bog-thumper, thou base-born heather-blooter, what do you say? Or what dare you say?"
Tam had by this time drawn his sword completely to cow the Englishman, and put him to silence;—but he saw what Tam did not see, and knew more than he.
"I dare both say and do, and that thou shalt find," said the trooper; and forthwith he attacked Tam with all his prowess, who, not quite expecting such a thing gave way, and had very nearly been unhorsed; he, however, fought stoutly, defending himself, though manifestly at the disadvantage. The brave friar, at the first clash of the swords, wheeled about his mule, and drawing out a good sword from under his frock, (for he wore the sword on the one side and the cross on the other,) he stretched it forth, pointing it as if to thrust it between them. But, addressing himself to the Englishman, he cried with a loud voice, "Put up thy sword again into its place, or verily I will smite thee with the edge of my sword."
The other Englishman, who had never yet opened his mouth, and who had always kept apart, as if anxious to conceal who he was, now rode briskly up to the fray; and perceiving the quick approach of his friends, and judging his party quite secure of victory, he struck up the friar's sword in apparent derision. But the inveterate laird of the Peatstacknowe had been watching him all this time, as one colley dog watches another of which he is afraid, in order to take him at an advantage, and the moment that his arm was stretched, so that his sword came in contact with the friar's, Gibby struck him behind, and that with such violence that the sword ran through his body. The wounded trooper reined up his steed furiously, in order to turn on his adversary; Gibby reined his up as quickly to make his escape, but the convulsive force of the Englishman threw his horse over, and in its fall it tumbled against the legs of Gibby's horse with such force that it struck them all four from under him, and both he and his rider fell in a reverse direction, rolling plump over the wounded warrior and his forlorn encumbered steed, that was pawing the air at a furious rate. The two horses falling thus on different sides, their iron-shod hoofs were inter-mixed, and clashing and rattling away in a tremendous manner, tremendous at least to poor Gibby, whose leg and thigh being below his charger, he was unable to extricate himself. "Happ, Davie, happ!" cried he to the steed: "Up you stupid, awkward floundering thief! Happ, Davie, happ!" Davie could neither happ nor weynd, but there he lay groaning and kicking above his master, who was in a most deplorable plight.
Charlie perceiving the commencement of the fray, was all this while galloping furiously toward the combatants. But the battle was of short duration; for the English trooper, seeing his comrade fall he wist not how, and the friar and Tam having both their swords pointed at him, broke furiously through between them and fled towards his companions, Tam being only enabled to inflict a deep wound on the hinder part of the horse as he passed by.
"I have made him to pass away as the stubble that is driven by the whirlwind," said the friar; "yea, as the chaff before the great wind, so is he fled from the arm of the mighty. Brother, I say unto thee, that thou hadst better arise!" continued he, looking upon the disconsolate Jordan; and passing by on the other side with great ang froid, he rode up to Delany, the boy Elias, and the poet, the latter of whom had not been engaged, but, drawing his sword manfully, had stood as a guard to the other two.
Tam Craik pursued his enemy, although apparently not with a fixed design of overtaking him; and Gibby, being thus left all alone with the two inverted horses and the incensed moss-trooper, extended his voice to an amazing pitch, for he knew not what state of health and strength his opponent retained. This was a horrid consideration; for if he should disengage himself and get up first, there was an end of him of the Peatstacknowe. His nasal twine was increased by his dread, and he cried so vehemently, that his cries grew like the cries of a peacock.
Charlie Scott rode up to the main group, who continued to advance at a quiet pace, for they knew nothing as yet of the approaching danger. He also called and made signs to Tam Craik to return; and as soon as he came up to them he pointed out their pursuers, and charged them to ride for their lives. "We are betrayed," said he; but the horses of our enemies are jaded, ours are fresh; therefore, brave lads, in our master's name, spare neither spur, nor horse-flesh. Haud on your way, an' never look ower your shoulders: you will find Corby an' me twa gude back friends."
The friar bent himself forward over the mane of his mule, and opening his eyes wide abroad, he put the spurs to his steed, and set off "with the swiftness of the roe-buck or the hart," as he termed it.
The boy pursued hard after him; and the bard, taking hold of Delany's bridle by both reins below the neck, for fear her steed should stumble and throw his lovely rider, bade her whip on and fear nothing, and in this friendly guise they also made good speed. Charlie then galloped back to see if any life remained in his friend Gibby,—for he only saw him at a distance go down in the encounter, without being exactly versed in the circumstances of his overthrow; but he thought he heard one loud squeak arise from the field after the rest had left it, something like that sent forth by the small drone of the bagpipe; and, guessing that the laird was yet alive, he galloped back to see. By the way he met the deil's Tam, who returned with him, and when they came in view of the spot where the two prostrate heroes had been left, they saw a very curious scene, the more curious because it was transacted by our worthy laird in the presiding belief that he was not seen, for he was too much concerned in his own affairs to perceive the approach of his friends. The Englishman's horse making an exertion, by pressing his feet against the ribs of the laird's Davie, by that means pushed himself forward, and Gibby perceived plainly that his enemy was to be first released. The struggles that Gibby then made were enormous. "Happ, Davie, happ!" cried he: "O mother of God, what shall become of me! Happ, Davie, happ, my man; happ, happ, happ!" and, as a last resource, he reared up his body and struck at the Englishman's limb that was above his horse, crying out to Davie to happ, in bitterness of soul. Davie was not long; for the next moment after the Englishman's horse rose, he got up also, his feet then getting to the ground; but the stirrup that had been under him was crushed together, and there his master's foot remained fixed. Gibby was worse than ever. "Wo, Davie, wo! Tproo, ye thief!" cried he. Davie, finding the weight at his side, wheeled about, and dragged the unfortunate laird round across the breast of the trooper Hall, who seized him by the neck. "Was there ever a man guidit this gate!" cried Gibby. "Honest man, an ye please, let gae; it wasna me that hurt ye." The man answered him not; but Davie being scared by the struggle sprung aside, and the Englishman keeping his hold, Gilbert's foot was released by the loss of his boot. He was not long in making a bold effort to rise, and though Hall hung by his neck a little, it had been in the last agony of receding life that he had seized him, and he dropped dead on the green, having both fists clenched on his breast, in the act of still holding his rival.
When Gibby saw how matters stood, he began to value himself on his courage. "I's gar ye! I's gar ye!" cried he, lifting up his sword, and giving the dead man several desperate gashes, and always between every stroke repeating, "H'm! I's gar ye!" His two friends being now hard beside him, the sound of their horses' feet made him start; but lifting his eye, and perceiving who they were, he again repeated his blows, and continued his threats in a louder key.—"H'm! I's gar ye! I's gar ye, billy! I's learn you to throttle me!"
"Fy, lay on, laird!" cried Tam; "dinna ye see that the man's no half dead yet?"
"I think I hae done for him;" said Gibby: "He brings me a-mind o' a wife that had to kill her cat thrice ower. I's learn the best o' the haggies-headed Ha's to meddle wi' me!"
"I think he'll do that ane, however, Gibby; if he had e'en the nine lives o' the wife's cat," said Charlie: "therefore, an ye please, put up your sword, an' mount your horse. It's no a time now to examine whether ye hae behaved in a sodger-like manner wi' that bold trooper. If I wist ye had not, it should be the last hour I should ride in your company—but mount quick an' ride; for see whar the rest o' the Ha's are coming across us. Ilk horse an' man do what he can, or dear will be our raide, an' yours, friend, the dearest of a'."
One look filled Gilbert's eye. He mounted Davie, with the one boot off and the other on, and there was little occasion to bid him ride. Before they turned the corner of the hill, their pursuers came so close on them, that they looked very like cutting off their retreat; but a bog, around which the English were forced to cast a wide circuit, saved our three heroes, and gave them the start, by fully a half mile, of their foes, who still came in a straggling way as their horses could keep up. After a hard chace of two Scottish miles they came up with the friar, whose mule being too heavy loaden had begun to fag. When he saw them gaining on him so hard, he judged that all was over with him, and spurred on his jaded beast in vain. "O that my flesh were as my armour or my clothing," cried he, "that I might put it off at will, and escape from the face of mine enemies. Lo! I shall be left all alone, and surrounded and taken and slain." As he divined, so it fell out; the others were soon by him, and he was left the hindermost. Then they heard him lamenting to himself in his own sublime eastern stile, that he had not the wings of the eagle or the dove, that he might bear away to the mountains and the cliffs of the rocky hills, to elude the dreadful weapons of death, so often reared over his head, and so often warded by the arm of heaven.
"Poor devil!" said muckle Charlie, the tear standing in his eye; "Od I canna leave him after a'. Come what will, I for ane shall stand or fa' wi' him. I whiles think there's mair in that body than we moorland men wot of,—I canna leave him to be cut in pieces."
"O fy, let him tak his chance," said Tam; "let him bide his weird; he deserves it a'. What signifies the creature? He's just a thing made up o' hypocritical rant, empty words, and stuffed paunches. Let him bide the buffet that fa's to his share."
"Ay, what signifies sic a corpulation?" said Jordan. "It will be lang or he bring down man an' horse in an encounter. He brings me in mind o' a capon that claps his wings, but craws nane. Let him tak his chance."
"Na, but callans, troth my heart winna let me," said Charlie: "For his good deeds, or his ill anes he's answerable to heaven, an' neither to you nor me. But he's a fellow creature, an' has nane to look to for help but us at this time. Life's sweet to us a', an' it's unco hard to leave our master's bedesman just to be sacrificed. Therefore, come what will, I'll turn an' lend the friar a hand. As for you twa, ride on; the young couple that are committed to our charge may escape." With that he wheeled Corby's head about, and rode back to meet the gospel friar.
When he met him, the foremost of the riders had advanced within a bow shot, and was fast gaining ground. The friar still continued to spur on, and though his mule likewise continued the motion of one that gallops, the progress that he made was hardly discernible. He had a sort of up and down hobble that was right laughable to behold in one riding for his life. When he saw the dauntless Yardbire return to meet him, with his large seven feet sword drawn, and heaved over his right shoulder, he lifted up his voice and wept, and he said unto him;—"Blessed be thou, my son! The blessing of a man ready to perish light upon thee! And now, lo, I will draw forth my sword and return with thee to the charge, and thou shalt see what a poor bedesman can do."
"It is brawly said, good friar,—but gin ye wad save yoursel' an' me, ride. An we could but mak the end o' the Thief-gate, they should buy our twa lives dear. If thou wilt but exert man an' beast, father, you an' I shall fight, flee, or fa' thegither. But see, we are already overtaken, and in the enemy's hands."
The foremost of the riders was now hard behind them; but, perceiving Charlie, he reined up his horse and looked back for his comrades. The friar gave a glance back, and he said, "Lo, thou art a mighty man of valour, and behold there is but one; do thou fall upon him and smite him; why should one pursue two?"
"I hae heard waur advices frae mair warlike men," said Charlie; "Ride ye on, father, an' lose nae time. Gude faith! I sal gie this ane his breakfast."
Charlie as he said this put the spurs to Corby, and rode full speed against the pursuer. The trooper set himself firm in his stirrups and assumed his defence, for he saw from the prowess of Corby that it was vain to fly. Just as Charlie's mighty sword was descending on his casque, a check that he gave his horse in the hurry of the moment made him rear on end, and Charlie's stroke coming down between his ears, clove his head almost into two halves. The horse reeled and fell; but how it fared with his rider, Charlie never knew; for before he got his horse turned, there were other three of the Halls close at hand. Charlie fled amain. He was nothing afraid of himself, for he knew Corby could outstrip them by one half of the way; but his heart bled for the poor friar, whom he saw he would either be obliged to leave, or fight for him against such odds as it would be madness to withstand. The friar had, however gained the height, and having now a long sloping descent all the way to the Thief-gate-end, he was posting on at an improved pace. Charlie had one sole hope remaining of saving the friar, and that was the gaining the above-mentioned point before they were overtaken. The warriors carried no whips in those days, depending altogether on the ample spur,—therefore Charlie, as a last resource, pulled down a large branch from a hazel tree, and attacked the hinder parts of the father's mule with such a torrent of high-sounding strokes, that the animal, perhaps more sullen than exhausted, seemed to recover new life and vigour, and fled from the assault like a deer, in the utmost terror and dismay. Little wonder was it! He heard the sound of every descending stroke coming on like the gathering tempest; and, clapping his tail close down between his hips, pricking up his long ears, and looking back first with the one eye and then with the other, he went at such a rate that Corby could do little more than keep up with him.
