[Contents]CHAPTER XXXVIII.The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, which they immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! is’t not gratifying to behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches forth its flaming bowels against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell the very blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it from the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the cobwebby church consumeth but soberly and meekly as a church should; but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon brenneth with a clear fire, that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to maintain it—his crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most excellent matter of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching of the flame must have been owing to the fall of some of those swollen down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which these lazy churchmen are wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how it blazes up again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his fattest bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the savoury fumes of it even here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is there. Never trust me, if that brave and brilliant feu d’artifice doth not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored cellars. Ha, ha, ha! there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, maugre every suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some chance of mounting heavenward after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a right glorious spectacle to behold.”“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror and dismay, as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it really thou who speakest thus?”“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply round, “what makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this thou wert merry in thy wine wassail?”“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray temperately, “had not news of yonder doleful burning[273]banished all note of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous disaster may have befallen?”“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, with a sarcastic laugh.“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder wide-spreading calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do I hang by the hope that it was impossible thou couldst have brought thyself to be the author of so cruel, so horrible, so sacrilegious a deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed as it was against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy house of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive burghers, in the same common ruin with the tenements belonging to those whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled to a share of thy vengeance. ’Tis impossible.”“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly proved the possibility of it too. What! dost think that I have spared the church, the which is the very workshop of these mass-mongering magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of vengeance, because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who pay rent and dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who hath dared to pour out his venomous malison on the son of a King—on the Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal powers, but the surface of the very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. This is but a foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that rules the infernal realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the vermin that hang upon him shall have tenfold worse than this to dree!”“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came suddenly and tremendously, like that of the last trumpet, from the summit of the knoll immediately above where the group was standing. There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill of superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the ferocious and undaunted Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold within him, at the almost more than human sound. He looked upwards to the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, standing beside a scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration[274]came only by fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by it, though the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often seen to glare fearfully, when all the other features were buried in shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance to the spectre.“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander Stewart, thou grim and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest over fair creation, levelling alike the works of God and man, regardless of human misery, like the dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned into blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: yet art thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous Avenger; and when thou shalt have served the end for which thou wert created, verily thou shalt be cast into eternal fire. If thou wouldst yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine atrocities, hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to pollute, and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for the unheard of insults and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or thine everlasting doom is fixed; death shall speedily overtake thee, and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments of never-ceasing flames.”As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and more enduring gleam of light, which rendered visible every little broom-blossom and heath-bell that grew upon the side of the knoll, and threw a pale, but distinct illumination over the features of the figure.“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” whispered several of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed themselves, in evident alarm.“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, recovering from the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged by so unexpected and fearful a warning from one whom he had not at first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried he, couching his lance, digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making him bound furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not ’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, ride round the hill.”“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient to his father’s command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the other half. Let not the caitiff escape us; take him alive or dead; by the mass, it mattereth not which.”[275]Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to opposite points of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The figure had already disappeared from the pinnacle it stood on, but the furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting horse up the steep ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and Sir Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly at a loss what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides of the hillock; but in a short time they ceased, and the individuals of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came dropping in one by one, with faces in which superstitious dread was very strongly depicted.“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him not,” replied another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. “Vanished indeed!” cried a fourth, shuddering, and looking over his shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend us, it must have been a spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation.“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now appeared, with his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up boldly, yet all of them, even the stout Earl himself, much disturbed and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, “by all that is good, there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. I know not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we part but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick Hepborne, when it pleaseth thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we must thither to-night yet for our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he rode away at the head of his party.“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards Forres, “what is it thou hast done? Into what cruel and disgraceful outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. The very thought of this ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. The noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red crimes. Hadst thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege lord the King, I must of needscost have done my best to have seized thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to be itself disposed to take cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than mortal messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.”The solemn silence with which these words were received by[276]Sir Patrick, showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl.“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing fit; “every moment may be precious.”They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of numerous voices, and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of people of all ages, and of both sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had taken post on the brow of the hill, and now stood, or lay on the ground in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction that was going on in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of wonder and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion.“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among them, and stirring up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, rouse ye, my friends; shame on you to liggen here, when ye might have bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse ye, I say.”“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of mine,” cried another. “Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come here to sell my wares at the tourney,” cried a fourth.“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, indignant at their apathy.“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of the fellows, as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and half-menacing attitude.“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by St. Andrew, if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to Forres sans delay, and put forth what strength ye may to stop the brenning of the poor people’s houses and goods, I will order down an armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn to tinder every tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. “Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?”“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering his pole-axe, “I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine humble slaves. Come, come, my masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and do his bidding, though we bren for it.”“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of Moray,” cried they all.“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. Trust me, I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go guerdonless; and if ye should all be made as[277]dry as cinders, by hard and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled sponges, with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.”“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” shouted the rabble; and he rode off, followed by every man of them, each being well resolved in his own mind to earn his skinful of beer.As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along which the town was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams and wailings of women and children, arose from time to time from within it. The good nobleman redoubled his speed as he heard them, and the party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, misery, and devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual opposition could be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks and cries which burst forth at intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe of Badenoch that were uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized than his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which drowned the expression of every other feeling.“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. Laurence that the Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he is here”—“Stand aside there—stand aside, and let us hear his commands.”The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of ruin, and were soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries had first set fire, was already reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it had fled in terror for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, if not all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead of St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering as idle spectators of what was going on there, little interruption was given to the vengeful Wolfe of Badenoch in his savage work. He and his troop were tamely allowed to stand by until they had seen the residence of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, that little hope could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end of the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, they fired one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements being of wood, and the roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire spread so rapidly as very soon to form itself into one great conflagration, that[278]threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, however, it was confined to one part of the town, and there yet remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head to direct, but the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few minutes, and, imparting his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry it into instant execution.The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned by the people, the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there that all efforts to subdue it would have been vain. The Earl therefore resolved to devote his attention to confining it within its present limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity which they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw farther off, he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers as might be able to work with ease, and he began to pull down some of the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, in the meanwhile, called together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed by these and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back when anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at the risk of life, to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of fire, where blazing beams and rafters were falling thick around them. His chief object was to get to the farther boundary of the conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and more desperate passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain whether, amidst the confusion that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches might not have been left to their fate among the blazing edifices.He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; and accordingly[279]he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the beam.
[Contents]CHAPTER XXXVIII.The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, which they immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! is’t not gratifying to behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches forth its flaming bowels against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell the very blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it from the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the cobwebby church consumeth but soberly and meekly as a church should; but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon brenneth with a clear fire, that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to maintain it—his crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most excellent matter of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching of the flame must have been owing to the fall of some of those swollen down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which these lazy churchmen are wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how it blazes up again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his fattest bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the savoury fumes of it even here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is there. Never trust me, if that brave and brilliant feu d’artifice doth not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored cellars. Ha, ha, ha! there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, maugre every suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some chance of mounting heavenward after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a right glorious spectacle to behold.”“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror and dismay, as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it really thou who speakest thus?”“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply round, “what makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this thou wert merry in thy wine wassail?”“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray temperately, “had not news of yonder doleful burning[273]banished all note of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous disaster may have befallen?”“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, with a sarcastic laugh.“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder wide-spreading calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do I hang by the hope that it was impossible thou couldst have brought thyself to be the author of so cruel, so horrible, so sacrilegious a deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed as it was against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy house of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive burghers, in the same common ruin with the tenements belonging to those whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled to a share of thy vengeance. ’Tis impossible.”“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly proved the possibility of it too. What! dost think that I have spared the church, the which is the very workshop of these mass-mongering magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of vengeance, because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who pay rent and dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who hath dared to pour out his venomous malison on the son of a King—on the Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal powers, but the surface of the very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. This is but a foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that rules the infernal realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the vermin that hang upon him shall have tenfold worse than this to dree!”“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came suddenly and tremendously, like that of the last trumpet, from the summit of the knoll immediately above where the group was standing. There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill of superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the ferocious and undaunted Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold within him, at the almost more than human sound. He looked upwards to the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, standing beside a scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration[274]came only by fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by it, though the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often seen to glare fearfully, when all the other features were buried in shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance to the spectre.“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander Stewart, thou grim and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest over fair creation, levelling alike the works of God and man, regardless of human misery, like the dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned into blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: yet art thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous Avenger; and when thou shalt have served the end for which thou wert created, verily thou shalt be cast into eternal fire. If thou wouldst yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine atrocities, hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to pollute, and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for the unheard of insults and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or thine everlasting doom is fixed; death shall speedily overtake thee, and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments of never-ceasing flames.”As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and more enduring gleam of light, which rendered visible every little broom-blossom and heath-bell that grew upon the side of the knoll, and threw a pale, but distinct illumination over the features of the figure.“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” whispered several of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed themselves, in evident alarm.“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, recovering from the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged by so unexpected and fearful a warning from one whom he had not at first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried he, couching his lance, digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making him bound furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not ’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, ride round the hill.”“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient to his father’s command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the other half. Let not the caitiff escape us; take him alive or dead; by the mass, it mattereth not which.”[275]Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to opposite points of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The figure had already disappeared from the pinnacle it stood on, but the furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting horse up the steep ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and Sir Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly at a loss what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides of the hillock; but in a short time they ceased, and the individuals of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came dropping in one by one, with faces in which superstitious dread was very strongly depicted.“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him not,” replied another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. “Vanished indeed!” cried a fourth, shuddering, and looking over his shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend us, it must have been a spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation.“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now appeared, with his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up boldly, yet all of them, even the stout Earl himself, much disturbed and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, “by all that is good, there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. I know not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we part but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick Hepborne, when it pleaseth thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we must thither to-night yet for our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he rode away at the head of his party.“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards Forres, “what is it thou hast done? Into what cruel and disgraceful outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. The very thought of this ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. The noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red crimes. Hadst thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege lord the King, I must of needscost have done my best to have seized thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to be itself disposed to take cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than mortal messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.”The solemn silence with which these words were received by[276]Sir Patrick, showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl.“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing fit; “every moment may be precious.”They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of numerous voices, and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of people of all ages, and of both sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had taken post on the brow of the hill, and now stood, or lay on the ground in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction that was going on in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of wonder and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion.“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among them, and stirring up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, rouse ye, my friends; shame on you to liggen here, when ye might have bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse ye, I say.”“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of mine,” cried another. “Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come here to sell my wares at the tourney,” cried a fourth.“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, indignant at their apathy.“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of the fellows, as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and half-menacing attitude.“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by St. Andrew, if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to Forres sans delay, and put forth what strength ye may to stop the brenning of the poor people’s houses and goods, I will order down an armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn to tinder every tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. “Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?”“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering his pole-axe, “I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine humble slaves. Come, come, my masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and do his bidding, though we bren for it.”“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of Moray,” cried they all.“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. Trust me, I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go guerdonless; and if ye should all be made as[277]dry as cinders, by hard and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled sponges, with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.”“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” shouted the rabble; and he rode off, followed by every man of them, each being well resolved in his own mind to earn his skinful of beer.As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along which the town was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams and wailings of women and children, arose from time to time from within it. The good nobleman redoubled his speed as he heard them, and the party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, misery, and devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual opposition could be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks and cries which burst forth at intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe of Badenoch that were uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized than his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which drowned the expression of every other feeling.“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. Laurence that the Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he is here”—“Stand aside there—stand aside, and let us hear his commands.”The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of ruin, and were soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries had first set fire, was already reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it had fled in terror for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, if not all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead of St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering as idle spectators of what was going on there, little interruption was given to the vengeful Wolfe of Badenoch in his savage work. He and his troop were tamely allowed to stand by until they had seen the residence of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, that little hope could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end of the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, they fired one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements being of wood, and the roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire spread so rapidly as very soon to form itself into one great conflagration, that[278]threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, however, it was confined to one part of the town, and there yet remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head to direct, but the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few minutes, and, imparting his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry it into instant execution.The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned by the people, the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there that all efforts to subdue it would have been vain. The Earl therefore resolved to devote his attention to confining it within its present limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity which they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw farther off, he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers as might be able to work with ease, and he began to pull down some of the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, in the meanwhile, called together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed by these and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back when anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at the risk of life, to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of fire, where blazing beams and rafters were falling thick around them. His chief object was to get to the farther boundary of the conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and more desperate passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain whether, amidst the confusion that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches might not have been left to their fate among the blazing edifices.He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; and accordingly[279]he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the beam.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.
The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.
The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.
“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, which they immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! is’t not gratifying to behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches forth its flaming bowels against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell the very blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it from the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the cobwebby church consumeth but soberly and meekly as a church should; but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon brenneth with a clear fire, that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to maintain it—his crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most excellent matter of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching of the flame must have been owing to the fall of some of those swollen down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which these lazy churchmen are wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how it blazes up again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his fattest bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the savoury fumes of it even here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is there. Never trust me, if that brave and brilliant feu d’artifice doth not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored cellars. Ha, ha, ha! there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, maugre every suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some chance of mounting heavenward after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a right glorious spectacle to behold.”“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror and dismay, as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it really thou who speakest thus?”“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply round, “what makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this thou wert merry in thy wine wassail?”“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray temperately, “had not news of yonder doleful burning[273]banished all note of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous disaster may have befallen?”“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, with a sarcastic laugh.“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder wide-spreading calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do I hang by the hope that it was impossible thou couldst have brought thyself to be the author of so cruel, so horrible, so sacrilegious a deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed as it was against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy house of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive burghers, in the same common ruin with the tenements belonging to those whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled to a share of thy vengeance. ’Tis impossible.”“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly proved the possibility of it too. What! dost think that I have spared the church, the which is the very workshop of these mass-mongering magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of vengeance, because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who pay rent and dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who hath dared to pour out his venomous malison on the son of a King—on the Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal powers, but the surface of the very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. This is but a foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that rules the infernal realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the vermin that hang upon him shall have tenfold worse than this to dree!”“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came suddenly and tremendously, like that of the last trumpet, from the summit of the knoll immediately above where the group was standing. There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill of superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the ferocious and undaunted Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold within him, at the almost more than human sound. He looked upwards to the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, standing beside a scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration[274]came only by fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by it, though the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often seen to glare fearfully, when all the other features were buried in shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance to the spectre.“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander Stewart, thou grim and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest over fair creation, levelling alike the works of God and man, regardless of human misery, like the dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned into blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: yet art thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous Avenger; and when thou shalt have served the end for which thou wert created, verily thou shalt be cast into eternal fire. If thou wouldst yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine atrocities, hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to pollute, and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for the unheard of insults and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or thine everlasting doom is fixed; death shall speedily overtake thee, and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments of never-ceasing flames.”As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and more enduring gleam of light, which rendered visible every little broom-blossom and heath-bell that grew upon the side of the knoll, and threw a pale, but distinct illumination over the features of the figure.“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” whispered several of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed themselves, in evident alarm.“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, recovering from the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged by so unexpected and fearful a warning from one whom he had not at first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried he, couching his lance, digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making him bound furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not ’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, ride round the hill.”“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient to his father’s command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the other half. Let not the caitiff escape us; take him alive or dead; by the mass, it mattereth not which.”[275]Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to opposite points of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The figure had already disappeared from the pinnacle it stood on, but the furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting horse up the steep ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and Sir Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly at a loss what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides of the hillock; but in a short time they ceased, and the individuals of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came dropping in one by one, with faces in which superstitious dread was very strongly depicted.“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him not,” replied another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. “Vanished indeed!” cried a fourth, shuddering, and looking over his shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend us, it must have been a spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation.“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now appeared, with his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up boldly, yet all of them, even the stout Earl himself, much disturbed and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, “by all that is good, there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. I know not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we part but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick Hepborne, when it pleaseth thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we must thither to-night yet for our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he rode away at the head of his party.“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards Forres, “what is it thou hast done? Into what cruel and disgraceful outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. The very thought of this ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. The noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red crimes. Hadst thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege lord the King, I must of needscost have done my best to have seized thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to be itself disposed to take cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than mortal messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.”The solemn silence with which these words were received by[276]Sir Patrick, showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl.“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing fit; “every moment may be precious.”They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of numerous voices, and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of people of all ages, and of both sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had taken post on the brow of the hill, and now stood, or lay on the ground in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction that was going on in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of wonder and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion.“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among them, and stirring up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, rouse ye, my friends; shame on you to liggen here, when ye might have bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse ye, I say.”“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of mine,” cried another. “Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come here to sell my wares at the tourney,” cried a fourth.“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, indignant at their apathy.“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of the fellows, as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and half-menacing attitude.“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by St. Andrew, if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to Forres sans delay, and put forth what strength ye may to stop the brenning of the poor people’s houses and goods, I will order down an armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn to tinder every tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. “Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?”“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering his pole-axe, “I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine humble slaves. Come, come, my masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and do his bidding, though we bren for it.”“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of Moray,” cried they all.“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. Trust me, I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go guerdonless; and if ye should all be made as[277]dry as cinders, by hard and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled sponges, with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.”“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” shouted the rabble; and he rode off, followed by every man of them, each being well resolved in his own mind to earn his skinful of beer.As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along which the town was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams and wailings of women and children, arose from time to time from within it. The good nobleman redoubled his speed as he heard them, and the party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, misery, and devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual opposition could be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks and cries which burst forth at intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe of Badenoch that were uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized than his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which drowned the expression of every other feeling.“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. Laurence that the Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he is here”—“Stand aside there—stand aside, and let us hear his commands.”The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of ruin, and were soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries had first set fire, was already reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it had fled in terror for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, if not all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead of St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering as idle spectators of what was going on there, little interruption was given to the vengeful Wolfe of Badenoch in his savage work. He and his troop were tamely allowed to stand by until they had seen the residence of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, that little hope could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end of the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, they fired one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements being of wood, and the roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire spread so rapidly as very soon to form itself into one great conflagration, that[278]threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, however, it was confined to one part of the town, and there yet remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head to direct, but the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few minutes, and, imparting his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry it into instant execution.The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned by the people, the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there that all efforts to subdue it would have been vain. The Earl therefore resolved to devote his attention to confining it within its present limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity which they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw farther off, he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers as might be able to work with ease, and he began to pull down some of the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, in the meanwhile, called together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed by these and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back when anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at the risk of life, to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of fire, where blazing beams and rafters were falling thick around them. His chief object was to get to the farther boundary of the conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and more desperate passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain whether, amidst the confusion that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches might not have been left to their fate among the blazing edifices.He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; and accordingly[279]he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the beam.
“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, which they immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! is’t not gratifying to behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches forth its flaming bowels against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell the very blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it from the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the cobwebby church consumeth but soberly and meekly as a church should; but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon brenneth with a clear fire, that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to maintain it—his crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most excellent matter of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching of the flame must have been owing to the fall of some of those swollen down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which these lazy churchmen are wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how it blazes up again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his fattest bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the savoury fumes of it even here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is there. Never trust me, if that brave and brilliant feu d’artifice doth not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored cellars. Ha, ha, ha! there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, maugre every suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some chance of mounting heavenward after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a right glorious spectacle to behold.”
“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror and dismay, as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it really thou who speakest thus?”
“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply round, “what makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this thou wert merry in thy wine wassail?”
“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray temperately, “had not news of yonder doleful burning[273]banished all note of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous disaster may have befallen?”
“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, with a sarcastic laugh.
“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder wide-spreading calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do I hang by the hope that it was impossible thou couldst have brought thyself to be the author of so cruel, so horrible, so sacrilegious a deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed as it was against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy house of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive burghers, in the same common ruin with the tenements belonging to those whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled to a share of thy vengeance. ’Tis impossible.”
“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly proved the possibility of it too. What! dost think that I have spared the church, the which is the very workshop of these mass-mongering magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of vengeance, because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who pay rent and dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who hath dared to pour out his venomous malison on the son of a King—on the Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal powers, but the surface of the very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. This is but a foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that rules the infernal realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the vermin that hang upon him shall have tenfold worse than this to dree!”
“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came suddenly and tremendously, like that of the last trumpet, from the summit of the knoll immediately above where the group was standing. There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill of superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the ferocious and undaunted Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold within him, at the almost more than human sound. He looked upwards to the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, standing beside a scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration[274]came only by fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by it, though the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often seen to glare fearfully, when all the other features were buried in shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance to the spectre.
“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander Stewart, thou grim and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest over fair creation, levelling alike the works of God and man, regardless of human misery, like the dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned into blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: yet art thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous Avenger; and when thou shalt have served the end for which thou wert created, verily thou shalt be cast into eternal fire. If thou wouldst yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine atrocities, hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to pollute, and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for the unheard of insults and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or thine everlasting doom is fixed; death shall speedily overtake thee, and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments of never-ceasing flames.”
As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and more enduring gleam of light, which rendered visible every little broom-blossom and heath-bell that grew upon the side of the knoll, and threw a pale, but distinct illumination over the features of the figure.
“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” whispered several of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed themselves, in evident alarm.
“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, recovering from the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged by so unexpected and fearful a warning from one whom he had not at first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried he, couching his lance, digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making him bound furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not ’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, ride round the hill.”
“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient to his father’s command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the other half. Let not the caitiff escape us; take him alive or dead; by the mass, it mattereth not which.”[275]
Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to opposite points of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The figure had already disappeared from the pinnacle it stood on, but the furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting horse up the steep ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and Sir Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly at a loss what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides of the hillock; but in a short time they ceased, and the individuals of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came dropping in one by one, with faces in which superstitious dread was very strongly depicted.
“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him not,” replied another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. “Vanished indeed!” cried a fourth, shuddering, and looking over his shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend us, it must have been a spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation.
“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now appeared, with his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up boldly, yet all of them, even the stout Earl himself, much disturbed and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, “by all that is good, there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. I know not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we part but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick Hepborne, when it pleaseth thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we must thither to-night yet for our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he rode away at the head of his party.
“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards Forres, “what is it thou hast done? Into what cruel and disgraceful outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. The very thought of this ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. The noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red crimes. Hadst thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege lord the King, I must of needscost have done my best to have seized thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to be itself disposed to take cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than mortal messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.”
The solemn silence with which these words were received by[276]Sir Patrick, showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl.
“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing fit; “every moment may be precious.”
They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of numerous voices, and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of people of all ages, and of both sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had taken post on the brow of the hill, and now stood, or lay on the ground in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction that was going on in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of wonder and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion.
“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among them, and stirring up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, rouse ye, my friends; shame on you to liggen here, when ye might have bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse ye, I say.”
“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of mine,” cried another. “Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come here to sell my wares at the tourney,” cried a fourth.
“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, indignant at their apathy.
“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of the fellows, as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and half-menacing attitude.
“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by St. Andrew, if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to Forres sans delay, and put forth what strength ye may to stop the brenning of the poor people’s houses and goods, I will order down an armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn to tinder every tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. “Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?”
“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering his pole-axe, “I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine humble slaves. Come, come, my masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and do his bidding, though we bren for it.”
“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of Moray,” cried they all.
“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. Trust me, I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go guerdonless; and if ye should all be made as[277]dry as cinders, by hard and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled sponges, with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.”
“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” shouted the rabble; and he rode off, followed by every man of them, each being well resolved in his own mind to earn his skinful of beer.
As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along which the town was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams and wailings of women and children, arose from time to time from within it. The good nobleman redoubled his speed as he heard them, and the party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, misery, and devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual opposition could be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks and cries which burst forth at intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe of Badenoch that were uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized than his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which drowned the expression of every other feeling.
“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. Laurence that the Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he is here”—“Stand aside there—stand aside, and let us hear his commands.”
The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of ruin, and were soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries had first set fire, was already reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it had fled in terror for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, if not all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead of St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering as idle spectators of what was going on there, little interruption was given to the vengeful Wolfe of Badenoch in his savage work. He and his troop were tamely allowed to stand by until they had seen the residence of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, that little hope could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end of the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, they fired one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements being of wood, and the roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire spread so rapidly as very soon to form itself into one great conflagration, that[278]threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, however, it was confined to one part of the town, and there yet remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head to direct, but the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few minutes, and, imparting his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry it into instant execution.
The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned by the people, the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there that all efforts to subdue it would have been vain. The Earl therefore resolved to devote his attention to confining it within its present limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity which they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw farther off, he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers as might be able to work with ease, and he began to pull down some of the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, in the meanwhile, called together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed by these and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back when anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at the risk of life, to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of fire, where blazing beams and rafters were falling thick around them. His chief object was to get to the farther boundary of the conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and more desperate passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain whether, amidst the confusion that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches might not have been left to their fate among the blazing edifices.
He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; and accordingly[279]he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the beam.