[Footnote 1: This sketch of Henry Hudson's fourth voyage is taken from
the Life of Henry Hudson by Henry R. Cleveland, which appears in Jared
Sparks's series of books on American biography.]
By HENRY R. CLEVELAND
Note.—It should be remembered that Hudson had already made three
voyages in search of the Northwestern Passage. On his first voyage he
tried to sail around the northern part of Greenland, but was driven back
by the ice and returned to England, whence he had sailed.
On his second voyage he attempted to find a northeastern passage around
the North Cape and north of Europe. He reached Nova Zembla but was
unable to get any farther.
On his third voyage he sailed under the management of the Dutch East
India Company and left the port of Amsterdam, expecting to go north
around the continent of America. In this he was disappointed; but he
proceeded west to the Banks of Newfoundland and thence south along the
coast of the United States. He visited Penobscot Bay in Maine, sailed
around Cape Cod and southward at some distance from the coast, to
Virginia, deciding by this time that he could not find a passage
westward in that direction. As he knew of the discoveries along the
coast of Virginia he returned north, and on his way discovered Delaware
Bay and the outlet of the Hudson River. After some delay he explored the
river to the present site of Albany, where he again found that his
Northwestern Passage was barred by the shallowing waters of the river.
This was the extent of the explorations of this voyage, from which he
finally returned in safety to London.
China was well known to the people of Hudson's time, but had been
reached always by water around the Cape of Good Hope and along the
southern shore of Asia, or by the long and perilous land journey across
Europe and Asia. It was the dream of all these early navigators to find
a water passage much shorter than the one around the Cape, and for this
they naturally looked to the northwest, where they knew the distance
must be much shorter. They little knew that this search was to continue
for hundreds of years—so long, in fact, that no practicable passage of
that sort is even now known.
The success of Hudson's last voyage probably stimulated the London
Company to take him again into their employment, and to fit out another
vessel in search of that great object of discovery, the northwest
passage. We find him setting out on a voyage, under their auspices,
early in the spring of 1610. His crew numbered several persons, who were
destined to act a conspicuous part in the melancholy events of this
expedition. Among these were Robert Juet, who had already sailed with
him as mate in two of his voyages; Habakuk Pricket, a man of some
intelligence and education, who had been in the service of Sir Dudley
Digges, one of the London Company, and from whose Journal we learn
chiefly the events of the voyage; and Henry Greene, of whose character
and circumstances it is necessary here to give a brief account.
It appears from the Journal, that Greene was a young man of good
abilities, and education, born of highly respectable parents, but of
such abandoned character, that he had forced his family to cast him off.
Hudson found him in this condition, took pity upon him, and received him
into his house in London. When it was determined that he should command
this expedition, Hudson resolved to take Greene with him, in the hope,
that, by exciting his ambition, and by withdrawing him from his
accustomed haunts, he might reclaim him. Greene was also a good penman,
and would be useful to Hudson in that capacity. With much difficulty
Greene's mother was persuaded to advance four pounds, to buy clothes for
him; and, at last, the money was placed in the hands of an agent, for
fear that it would be wasted if given directly to him. He was not
registered in the Company's books, nor did he sail in their pay, but
Hudson, to stimulate him to reform, promised to give him wages, and on
his return to get him appointed one of the Prince's guards, provided he
should behave well on the voyage.
Hudson was also accompanied, as usual, by his son. The crew consisted of
twenty-three men, and the vessel was named the Discovery. The London
Company had insisted upon Hudson's taking in the ship a person, who was
to aid him by his knowledge and experience, and in whom they felt great
confidence. This arrangement seems to have been very disagreeable to
Hudson, as he put the man into another vessel before he reached the
mouth of the Thames, and sent him back to London, with a letter to his
employers stating his reasons for so doing. What these reasons were, we
can form no conjecture, as there is no hint given in the Journal.
He sailed from London on the 17th of April, 1610. Steering north from
the mouth of the Thames, and passing in sight of the northern part of
Scotland, the Orkney, Shetland, and Faroe Isles, and having, in a little
more than a month, sailed along the southern coast of Iceland, where he
could see the flames ascending from Mount Hecla, he anchored in a bay on
the western side of that island. Here they found a spring so hot, that
"it would scald a fowl," in which the crew bathed freely. At this place,
Hudson discovered signs of a turbulent and mutinous disposition in his
crew. The chief plotter seems to have been Robert Juet, the mate. Before
reaching Iceland, Juet had remarked to one of the crew, that there would
be bloodshed before the voyage was over; and he was evidently at that
time contriving some mischief. While the ship was at anchor in this bay,
a circumstance occurred, which gave Juet an opportunity to commence his
intrigues. It is thus narrated by Pricket.
"At Iceland, the surgeon and he (Henry Greene) fell out in Dutch, and he
beat him ashore in English, which set all the company in a rage, so that
we had much ado to get the surgeon aboard. I told the master of it, but
he bade me let it alone; for, said he, the surgeon had a tongue that
would wrong the best friend he had. But Robert Juet, the master's mate,
would needs burn his finger in the embers, and told the carpenter a long
tale, when he was drunk, that our master had brought in Greene to crack
his credit that should displease him; which words came to the master's
ears, who, when he understood it, would have gone back to Iceland, when
he was forty leagues from thence, to have sent home his mate, Robert
Juet, in a fisherman. But, being otherwise persuaded, all was well. So
Henry Greene stood upright, and very inward with the master, and was a
serviceable man every way for manhood; but for religion, he would say,
he was clean paper, whereon he might write what he would."
He sailed from Iceland on the 1st of June, and for several days Juet
continued to instigate the crew to mutiny, persuading them to put the
ship about and return to England. This, as we have seen, came to the
knowledge of Hudson, and he threatened to send Juet back, but was
finally pacified. In a few days he made the coast of Greenland, which
appeared very mountainous, the hills rising like sugar loaves, and
covered with snow. But the ice was so thick all along the shore, that it
was found impossible to land. He therefore steered for the south of
Greenland, where he encountered great numbers of whales. Two of these
monsters passed under the ship, but did no harm; for which the
journalist was devoutly thankful. Having doubled the southern point of
Greenland, he steered northwest, passed in sight of Desolation Island,
in the neighborhood of which he saw a huge island or mountain of ice,
and continued northwest till the latter part of June, when he came in
sight of land bearing north, which he supposed to be an island set down
in his chart in the northerly part of Davis's Strait. His wish was to
sail along the western coast of this island, and thus get to the north
of it; but adverse winds and the quantities of ice which he encountered
every day, prevented him.
Being south of this land, he fell into a current setting westwardly,
which he followed, but was in constant danger from the ice. One day, an
enormous mountain of ice turned over near the ship, but fortunately
without touching it. This served as a warning to keep at a distance from
these masses, to prevent the ship from being crushed by them. He
encountered a severe storm, which brought the ice so thick about the
ship, that he judged it best to run her among the largest masses, and
there let her lie. In this situation, says the journalist, "some of our
men fell sick; I will not say it was of fear, although I saw small sign
of other grief." As soon as the storm abated, Hudson endeavoured to
extricate himself from the ice. Wherever any open space appeared, he
directed his course, sailing in almost every direction; but the longer
he contended with the ice, the more completely did he seem to be
enclosed, till at last he could go no further. The ship seemed to be
hemmed in on every side, and in danger of being soon closely wedged, so
as to be immovable. In this perilous situation, even the stout heart of
Hudson almost yielded to the feeling of despair; and, as he afterwards
confessed to one of the men, he thought he should never escape from the
ice, but that he was doomed to perish there.
He did not, however, allow his crew, at the time, to be aware what his
apprehensions really were; but, assembling them all around him, he
brought out his chart, and showed them that they had advanced in this
direction a hundred leagues further than any Englishman had done before;
and gave them their choice whether to proceed, or to return home. The
men could come to no agreement; some were in favor of returning, others
were for pushing forward. This was probably what Hudson expected; the
men were mutinous, and yet knew not what they wanted themselves. Having
fairly convinced them of this, it was easier to set them at work to
extricate the ship from her immediate danger. After much time and labor,
they made room to turn the ship round, and then by little and little
they worked their way along for a league or two, when they found a clear
sea.
The scene which has just been described, seems indeed a subject worthy
of the talents of a skilful painter. The fancy of the artist would
represent the dreary and frightful appearance of the ice-covered sea,
stretching away as far as the eye could reach, a bleak and boundless
waste; the dark and broken clouds driving across the fitful sky; the
ship motionless amidst the islands and mountains of ice, her shrouds and
sails being fringed and stiffened with the frozen spray. On the deck
would appear the form of Hudson himself, displaying the chart to his
men; his countenance careworn and sad, but still concealing, under the
appearance of calmness and indifference, the apprehensions and
forebodings, which harrowed his mind. About him would be seen the rude
and ruffian-like men; some examining the chart with eager curiosity,
some glaring on their commander with eyes of hatred and vengeance, and
expressing in their looks those murderous intentions, which they at last
so fatally executed.
Having reached a clear sea, Hudson pursued his course northwest, and in
a short time saw land bearing southwest, which appeared very mountainous
and covered with snow. This he named Desire Provokes. He had now
entered the Strait which bears his name, and, steering west, he occupied
nearly the whole month of July in passing through it. To the various
capes, islands, and promontories which he saw, he gave names, either in
commemoration of some circumstance, which happened at the time, or in
honor of persons and places at home, or else for the reward of the
discoverer.
Some islands, near which he anchored, and where his ship was but just
saved from the rocks, he called the Isles of God's Mercies. On the
19th, he passed a point of land, which he named Hold with Hope. To the
main land, which he soon after discovered, he gave the name of Magna
Britannia. On the 2d of September, he saw a headland on the northern
shore, which he named Salisbury's Foreland; and, running southwest
from this point about fourteen leagues, he entered a passage not more
than five miles in width, the southern cape at the entrance of which he
named Cape Worsenholme, and that on the north side, Cape Digges.
He now hoped that the passage to the western sea was open before him,
and that the great discovery was at length achieved. He therefore sent a
number of the men on shore at Cape Digges, to ascend the hills, in the
hope that they would see the great ocean open to them beyond the Strait.
The exploring party, however, were prevented from making any discovery,
by a violent thunder storm, which soon drove them back to the ship. They
saw plenty of deer, and soon after espied a number of small piles of
stones, which they at first supposed must be the work of some civilized
person. On approaching them, and lifting up one of the stones, they
found them to be hollow, and filled with fowls, hung by the neck. They
endeavored to persuade their commander to wait here, till they could
provision the ship from the stores, which were thus remarkably provided
for them. But his ardor was so great to find his way into the ocean,
which he felt convinced was immediately in the vicinity, that he could
suffer no delay, but ordered his men to weigh anchor at once; a
precipitancy which he had afterwards reason bitterly to regret. Having
advanced about ten leagues through the Strait, he came into the great
open Bay or sea which bears his name.
Having entered the Bay, he pursued a southerly course for nearly a
month, till he arrived at the bottom of the Bay; when, finding that he
was disappointed in his expectation of thus reaching the western seas,
he changed his course to the north, in order to retrace his steps. On
the 10th of September, he found it necessary to inquire into the conduct
of some of the men, whose mutinous disposition had manifested itself a
good deal of late. Upon investigation, it appeared, that the mate,
Robert Juet, and Francis Clement, the boatswain, had been the most
forward in exciting a spirit of insubordination. The conduct of Juet at
Iceland was again brought up, and, as it appeared that both he and
Clement had been lately plotting against the commander, they were both
deposed, and Robert Billet was appointed mate, and William Wilson
boatswain.
The remaining part of September and all October were passed in exploring
the great Bay. At times the weather was so bad, that they were compelled
to run into some bay and anchor; and in one of the storms they were
obliged to cut away the cable, and so lost their anchor. At another time
they ran upon a sunken ledge of rocks, where the ship stuck fast for
twelve hours, but was at last got off without being much injured. The
last of October having now arrived, and winter beginning to set in,
Hudson ran the vessel into a small bay, and sent a party in search of a
good place to intrench themselves till the spring. They soon found a
convenient station; and, bringing the ship thither, they hauled her
aground. This was on the 1st of November. In ten days they were
completely frozen in, and the ship firmly fixed in the sea.
The prospect for Hudson and his men was now dreary and disheartening. In
addition to the rigors of a long winter, in a high northern latitude,
they had to apprehend the suffering which would arise from a scarcity of
provisions. The vessel had been victualled for six months, and that time
having now expired, and their stores falling short, while, at the same
time, the chance of obtaining supplies from hunting and fishing was very
precarious, it was found necessary to put the crew upon an allowance. In
order, however, to stimulate the men to greater exertions, Hudson
offered a reward or bounty for every beast, fish, or fowl, which they
should kill; hoping, that in this way the scanty stock of provisions
might be made to hold out till the breaking up of the ice in the spring.
About the middle of November, John Williams, the gunner, died. We are
not informed what was his disease, but we are led to suppose from the
Journal, that his death was hastened, if not caused, by the unkind
treatment he experienced from Hudson. It appears very evident from the
simple narration by Pricket, that "the master," as he calls him, had
become hasty and irritable in his temper. This is more to be regretted,
than wondered at. The continual hardships and disappointments, to which
he had been exposed, and especially the last unhappy failure in
discovering the northwest passage, when he had believed himself actually
within sight of it, must have operated powerfully upon an ardent and
enthusiastic mind like his, in which the feeling of regret at failure is
always proportionate to the strength and confidence of hope when first
formed. In addition to this, the troublesome disposition of the crew,
which must have caused ceaseless anxiety, undoubtedly contributed much
to disturb his calmness and self-possession, and render him precipitate
and irritable in his conduct. Many proofs of this soon occurred.[2]
[Footnote 2: In reading the account of this Arctic expedition, we must
remember that the author has followed very closely the journal of
Pricket and has not tried to determine the truth or falseness of
that man's statements. It does not seem probable that a man of
Hudson's character should so suddenly become peevish and irritable,
nor that his judgment should so suddenly become weak. The journal
was probably written to defend Pricket's share in the disgraceful
transaction, and so events were colored to suit himself.]
The death of the gunner was followed by consequences which may be
regarded as the beginning of troubles that in the end proved fatal. It
appears that it was the custom in those times, when a man died at sea,
to sell his clothes to the crew by auction. In one respect, Hudson
violated this custom, and probably gained no little ill will thereby.
The gunner had a gray cloth gown or wrapper, which Henry Greene had set
his heart upon possessing; and Hudson, wishing to gratify his favorite,
refused to put it up to public sale, and gave Greene the sole choice of
purchasing it.
Not long after this, Hudson ordered the carpenter to go on shore, and
build a house, or hut, for the accommodation of the crew. The man
replied, that it would now be impossible to do such a piece of work,
from the severity of the weather, and the quantity of snow. The house
ought to have been erected when they had first fixed their station
there, but now it was too late, and Hudson had refused to have it done
at first. The carpenter's refusal to perform the work excited the anger
of the master to such a degree, that he drove him violently from the
cabin, using the most opprobrious language, and finally threatening to
hang him.
Greene appeared to take sides with the carpenter, which made Hudson so
angry, that he gave the gown, which Greene had coveted so much, to
Billet, the mate; telling Greene, with much abusive language, that, as
not one of his friends at home would trust him to the value of twenty
shillings, he could not be expected to trust him for the value of the
gown; and that, as for wages, he should have none if he did not behave
better. These bitter taunts sunk deep into Greene's heart, and no doubt
incited him to further mutinous conduct.
The sufferings of the men were not less, during the winter, than they
had had reason to apprehend. Many of them were made lame, probably from
chilblains and freezing their feet; and Pricket complains in the
Journal, written after the close of the voyage, that he was still
suffering from the effects of this winter. They were, however, much
better supplied with provisions than they had anticipated. For three
months they had such an abundance of white partridges about the ship,
that they killed a hundred dozen of them; and, on the departure of
these, when spring came, they found a great plenty of swans, geese,
ducks, and other waterfowl.
Hudson was in hopes, when he saw these wild fowl, that they had come to
breed in these regions, which would have rendered it much easier to
catch them; but he found that they went still further north for this
purpose. Before the ice had broken up, these birds too had disappeared,
and the horror of starvation began to stare them in the face. They were
forced to search the hills, woods, and valleys, for anything that might
afford them subsistence; even the moss growing on the ground, and
disgusting reptiles, were not spared. Their sufferings were somewhat
relieved at last, by the use of a bud, which is described as "full of
turpentine matter." Of these buds the surgeon made a decoction, which he
gave the men to drink, and also applied them hot to their bodies,
wherever any part was affected. This was undoubtedly very effectual in
curing the scurvy.
About the time that the ice began to break up, they were visited by a
savage, whom Hudson treated so well, that he returned the day after to
the ship, bringing several skins, some of which he gave in return for
presents he had received the day before. For others Hudson traded with
him, but made such hard bargains, that he never visited them again. As
soon as the ice would allow of it, some of the men were sent out to
fish. The first day they were very successful, catching about five
hundred fish; but after this, they never succeeded in taking a quarter
part of this number in one day. Being greatly distressed by want of
provisions, Hudson took the boat and coasted along the bay to the
southwest, in the hope of meeting some of the natives, from whom he
might obtain supplies. He saw the woods blazing at a distance, where
they had been set on fire by the natives; but he was not able at any
time to come within sight of the people themselves. After an absence of
several days, he returned unsuccessful to the ship.
The only effect of this little expedition was defeating a conspiracy,
formed by Greene, Wilson, and some others, to seize the boat and make
off with her. They were prevented from putting this scheme in execution
by Hudson's unexpected determination to use the boat himself. Well would
it have been for him, if they had been allowed to follow their wishes.
Having returned to the ship, and finding everything now prepared for
their departure according to his directions, before weighing anchor he
went through the mournful task of distributing to his crew the small
remnant of the provisions, about a pound of bread to each man; which he
did with tears in his eyes. He also gave them a bill of return, as a
sort of certificate for any who might live to reach home. Some of the
men were so ravenous, that they devoured in a day or two the whole of
their allowance of bread.
They sailed from the bay, in which they had passed the winter, about the
middle of June, and, in three or four days, being surrounded with ice,
were obliged to anchor. The bread he had given the men, and a few pounds
of cheese, which had remained, were consumed. Hudson now intimated to
one of the crew, that the chests of all the men would be searched, to
find any provisions that might have been concealed there; and ordered
him at the same time to bring all that was in his. The man obeyed, and
produced thirty cakes in a bag. This indiscretion on the part of Hudson
appears to have greatly exasperated his crew, and to have been the
immediate cause of open mutiny.
They had been detained at anchor in the ice about a week, when the first
signs of this mutiny appeared. Greene, and Wilson, the boatswain, came
in the night to Pricket, who was lying in his berth very lame, and told
him, that they and several of the crew had resolved to seize Hudson, and
set him adrift in the boat, with all on board who were disabled by
sickness; that there were but few days' provisions left, and the master
appeared entirely irresolute which way to go; that for themselves they
had eaten nothing for three days; their only hope, therefore, was in
taking command of the ship, and escaping from these regions as quickly
as possible; and that they would carry their plot unto execution, or
perish in the attempt.
Pricket remonstrated with them in the most earnest manner, entreating
them to abandon such a wicked intention, and reminding them of their
wives and children, from whom they would be banished forever, if they
stained themselves with so great a crime. But all he could say had no
effect. He then besought them to delay the execution for three days, for
two days, for only twelve hours; but they sternly refused. Pricket then
told them, that it was not their safety for which they were anxious, but
that they were bent upon shedding blood and revenging themselves, which
made them so hasty. Upon this, Greene took up the Bible which lay there,
and swore upon it, that he would do no man harm, and that what he did
was for the good of the voyage, and for nothing else. Wilson took the
same oath, and after him came Juet and the other conspirators
separately, and swore in the same words. The words of the oath are
recorded by Pricket, because, after his return to England, he was much
blamed for administering any oath, as he seemed by so doing to side with
the mutineers. The oath, as administered by him, ran as follows:
"You shall swear truth to God, your Prince, and Country; you shall do
nothing but to the glory of God and the good of the action in hand, and
harm to no man." How little regard was paid to this oath by the
mutineers, will shortly appear.
It was decided, that the plot should be put in execution at daylight;
and, in the meantime, Greene went into Hudson's cabin to keep him
company and prevent his suspicions from being excited. They had
determined to put the carpenter and John King into the boat with Hudson
and the sick, having some grudge against them for their attachment to
the master. King and the carpenter had slept upon deck this night. But
about daybreak, King was observed to go down into the hold with the
cook, who was going for water. Some of the mutineers ran and shut down
the hatch over them, while Greene and another engaged the attention of
the carpenter, so that he did not observe what was going on.
Hudson now came up from the cabin, and was immediately seized by Thomas,
and Bennet, the cook, who had come up from the hold, while Wilson ran
behind and bound his arms. He asked them what they meant, and they told
him he would know when he was in the shallop. Hudson called on the
carpenter to help him, telling him that he was bound; but he could
render him no assistance, being surrounded by mutineers. In the
meantime, Juet had gone down into the hold, where King was; but the
latter, having armed himself with a sword, attacked Juet, and would have
killed him, if the noise had not been heard upon deck by the
conspirators, some of whom ran down and overpowered him. While this was
done, two of the sick men, Lodlo and Bute, boldly reproached their
shipmates for their wickedness, telling them, that their knavery would
show itself, and that their actions were prompted by mere vengeance, not
the wish to preserve their lives. But their words had no effect.
The boat was now hauled alongside, and the sick and lame were called up
from their berths. Pricket crawled upon deck as well as he could, and
Hudson, seeing him, called to him to come to the hatchway to speak with
him. Pricket entreated the men, on his knees, for the love of God to
remember their duty, and do as they would be done by; but they only told
him to go back to his berth, and would not allow him to have any
communication with Hudson. When Hudson was in the boat, he called again
to Pricket, who was at the horn window, which lighted his cabin, and
told him that Juet would "overthrow" them all. "Nay," said Pricket, "it
is that villain, Henry Greene;" and this he said as loud as he could.
After Hudson was put into the boat, the carpenter was set at liberty,
but he refused to remain in the ship unless they forced him; so they
told him he might go in the boat, and allowed him to take his chest with
him. Before he got into the boat, he went down to take leave of Pricket,
who entreated him to remain in the ship; but the carpenter said he
believed that they would soon be taken on board again, as there was no
one left who knew enough to bring the ship home; and that he was
determined not to desert the master. He thought the boat would be kept
in tow; but, if they should be parted, he begged Pricket to leave some
token for them if he should reach Digges's Cape first. They then took
leave of each other with tears in their eyes, and the carpenter went
into the boat, taking a musket and some powder and shot, an iron pot, a
small quantity of meal, and other provisions. Hudson's son and six of
the men were also put into the boat. The sails were now hoisted, and
they stood eastward with a fair wind, dragging the shallop from the
stern; and in a few hours, being clear of the ice, they cut the rope by
which the boat was dragged, and soon after lost sight of her forever.
[Illustration: CUT ADRIFT IN HUDSON'S BAY]
The account here given of the mutiny, is nearly in the words of Pricket,
an eyewitness of the event. It is difficult at first to perceive the
whole enormity of the crime. The more we reflect upon it, the blacker it
appears. Scarcely a circumstance is wanting, that could add to the
baseness of the villainy, or the horror of the suffering inflicted. The
principal conspirators were men who were bound to Hudson by long
friendship, by lasting obligations, and by common interests, adventures
and sufferings. Juet had sailed with him on two of his former voyages,
and had shared in the glory of his discoveries. Greene had been received
into his house, when abandoned even by his own mother; had been kindly
and hospitably entertained, encouraged to reform, and taken, on Hudson's
private responsibility, into a service in which he might gain celebrity
and wealth. Wilson had been selected from among the crew, by the
approving eye of the commander, and appointed to a place of trust and
honor. Yet these men conspired to murder their benefactor, and
instigated the crew to join in their execrable scheme.
Not contented with the destruction of their commander, that nothing
might be wanting to fill up the measure of their wickedness, they formed
the horrible plan of destroying, at the same time, all of their
companions whom sickness and suffering had rendered a helpless and
unresisting prey to their cruelty. The manner of effecting this massacre
was worthy of the authors of such a plot. To have killed their unhappy
victims outright would have been comparatively merciful; but a long,
lingering, and painful death was chosen for them. The imagination turns
with intense and fearful interest to the scene. The form of the
commander is before us, bound hand and foot, condescending to no
supplication to the mutineers, but calling in vain for assistance from
those who would gladly have helped him, but who were overpowered by
numbers, or disabled by sickness. The cry of the suffering and dying
rings in our ears, as they are dragged from their beds, to be exposed to
the inclemencies of the ice-covered sea in an open boat. Among them
appears the young son of Hudson, whose tender years can wake no
compassion in the cold-blooded murderers.[3]
[Footnote 3: It is impossible to tell very much about this young son of
Henry Hudson. In some accounts he is said to be but a lad of seven
years old, but as he appears in the journal of the voyage as a sailor,
it is probable that he was much older. He had accompanied his
father on two of his earlier voyages and possibly on the third.]
We refrain from following them, even in fancy, through their sufferings
after they are separated from the ship; their days and nights of agony,
their cry of distress, and the frenzy of starvation, their hopes of
relief defeated, their despair, and their raving as death comes on. Over
these awful scenes the hand of God has hung a veil, which hides them
from us forever. Let us not seek to penetrate, even in imagination, the
terrors which it conceals.
How far Pricket's account, in regard to the course pursued by Hudson, is
worthy of confidence, must be left to conjecture. It should be
remembered, however, that Pricket was not free from the suspicion of
having been in some degree implicated in the conspiracy, and that his
narrative was designed in part as a vindication of himself. The
indiscreet severity charged upon Hudson, and the hasty temper he is
represented to have shown, in embroiling himself with his men, for
apparently trifling reasons, are not consistent with the moderation,
good sense, and equanimity, with which his conduct had been marked in
all his preceding voyages. It is moreover hardly credible, that, knowing
as he did the mutinous spirit of some of the crew he should so rashly
inflame this spirit, at a time when he was surrounded by imminent
dangers, and when his safety depended on the united support of all the
men under his command. Hence, whatever reliance may be placed on the
veracity of Pricket, it is due to the memory of Hudson not to overlook
the circumstances by which his pen may have been biased.
When Hudson and the men were deposited in the boat, the mutineers busied
themselves with breaking open chests and pillaging the ship. They found
in the cabin a considerable quantity of biscuit, and a butt of beer; and
there were a few pieces of pork, some meal, and a half bushel of peas in
the hold. These supplies were enough to save them from immediate
starvation; and they expected to find plenty of game at Digges's Cape.
Henry Greene was appointed commander, though evidently too ignorant for
the place. It was a full month before they could find their way to the
Strait, which leads out of the great Bay in which they had wintered.
Part of this time they were detained by the ice; but several days were
spent in searching for the passage into Davis's Strait. During this time
they landed often, and sometimes succeeded in catching a few fish or
wild fowl; but supplied their wants principally by gathering the
cockle-grass, which was growing in abundance on every part of the shore.
They arrived within sight of Digges's Cape about the last of July, and
immediately sent the boat on shore for provisions. The men who landed
found considerable quantities of game, as it was a place where the wild
fowl breed. There were great numbers of savages about the shore, who
appeared very friendly, and testified their joy by lively gestures.
The next day Henry Greene went ashore, accompanied by Wilson, Thomas,
Perse, Moter, and Pricket. The last was left in the boat, which was made
fast to a large rock, and the others went on shore in search of
provisions. While some of the men were busy in gathering sorrel from the
rocks, and Greene was surrounded by the natives, with whom he was
trading, Pricket, who was lying in the stern of the boat, observed one
of the savages coming in at the bows. Pricket made signs to him to keep
off; and while he was thus occupied, another savage stole round behind
him. Pricket suddenly saw the leg and foot of a man by him, and looking
up, perceived a savage with a knife in his hand, aiming a blow at him.
He prevented the wound from being fatal, by raising his arm and warding
off the blow; but was still severely cut. Springing up, he grappled with
the savage, and drawing his dagger, at length put him to death.
[Illustration: SAVAGES ON THE SHORE]
In the meantime, Greene and the others were assaulted by the savages on
shore, and with difficulty reached the boat, all of them wounded except
Perse and Moter. The latter saved his life by plunging into the water,
and catching hold of the stern of the boat. No sooner had they pushed
off, than the savages let fly a shower of arrows, which killed Greene
outright, and mortally wounded some of the others, among them Perse, who
had hitherto escaped. Perse and Moter began to row toward the ship, but
Perse soon fainted, and Moter was left to manage the boat alone, as he
had escaped unwounded. The body of Greene was thrown immediately into
the sea. Wilson and Thomas died that day in great torture, and Perse two
days afterwards.
The remainder of the crew were glad to depart from the scene of this
fatal combat, and immediately set sail, with the intention of reaching
Ireland as soon as possible. While they were in the Strait, they managed
to kill a few wild fowl occasionally; but the supply was so small, that
they were obliged to limit the crew to half a fowl a day, which they
cooked with meal; but this soon failed, and they were forced to devour
the candles. The cook fried the bones of the fowls in tallow, and mixed
this mess with vinegar, which, says Pricket, was "a great daintie."
Before they reached Ireland, they were so weakened, that they were
forced to sit at the helm to steer, as no one among them was able to
stand. Just before they came in sight of land, Juet died of want, thus
meeting the very fate, to avoid which he had murdered his commander and
friend. The men were now in utter despair. Only one fowl was left for
the subsistence, and another day would be their last. They abandoned all
care of the vessel, and prepared to meet their fate, when the joyful cry
of "a sail," was heard. It proved to be a fishing vessel, which took
them into a harbor in Ireland, from which they hired a pilot to take
them to England; where they all arrived in safety, after an absence of a
year and five months.
[Footnote 1: Robert Bruce was born in July, 1274. During the early part
of his life he was sometimes to be found on the side of the English and
sometimes on the side of the Scotch, but as he grew older his patriotic
spirit was roused, and he threw himself heart and soul into the cause of
his native land. As late as the year 1299, after the Scotch patriot
Wallace had been defeated, Bruce was in favor with the English King
Edward, but in February, 1306, occurred the event with which Scott's
narrative opens.]
By SIR WALTER SCOTT[2]
[Footnote 2: The following interesting account of some of the incidents
in the life of Bruce is abridged from Scott's Tales of a Grandfather,
a series of historical stories which Scott wrote for his little
grandson.]
Robert the Bruce was a remarkably brave and strong man; there was no man
in Scotland that was thought a match for him. He was very wise and
prudent, and an excellent general; that is, he knew how to conduct an
army, and place them in order for battle, as well or better than any
great man of his time. He was generous, too, and courteous by nature;
but he had some faults, which perhaps belonged as much to the fierce
period in which he lived as to his own character. He was rash and
passionate, and in his passion he was sometimes relentless and cruel.
Robert the Bruce had fixed his purpose to attempt once again to drive
the English out of Scotland, and he desired to prevail upon Sir John the
Red Comyn, who was his rival in his pretensions to the throne, to join
with him in expelling the foreign enemy by their common efforts. With
this purpose, Bruce posted down from London to Dumfries, on the borders
of Scotland, and requested an interview with John Comyn. They met in the
church of the Minorites in that town, before the high altar. What passed
between them is not known with certainty; but they quarrelled, either
concerning their mutual pretensions to the crown, or because Comyn
refused to join Bruce in the proposed insurrection against the English;
or, as many writers say, because Bruce charged Comyn with having
betrayed to the English his purpose of rising up against King Edward. It
is, however, certain that these two haughty barons came to high and
abusive words, until at length Bruce, who I told you was extremely
passionate, forgot the sacred character of the place in which they
stood, and struck Comyn a blow with his dagger. Having done this rash
deed, he instantly ran out of the church and called for his horse. Two
gentlemen of the country, Lindesay and Kirkpatrick, friends of Bruce,
were then in attendance on him. Seeing him pale, bloody, and in much
agitation, they eagerly inquired what was the matter.
"I doubt," said Bruce, "that I have slain the Red Comyn."
"Do you leave such a matter in doubt?" said Kirkpatrick. "I will make
sicker!"—that is, I will make certain.
Accordingly, he and his companion Lindesay rushed into the church, and
made the matter certain with a vengeance, by despatching the wounded
Comyn with their daggers. His uncle, Sir Robert Comyn, was slain at the
same time.
This slaughter of Comyn was a rash and cruel action; and the historian
of Bruce observes that it was followed by the displeasure of Heaven; for
no man ever went through more misfortunes than Robert Bruce, although he
at length rose to great honor.
After the deed was done, Bruce might be called desperate. He had
committed an action which was sure to bring down upon him the vengeance
of all Comyn's relations, the resentment of the King of England, and the
displeasure of the Church, on account of having slain his enemy within
consecrated ground. He determined, therefore, to bid them all defiance
at once, and to assert his pretensions to the throne of Scotland. He
drew his own followers together, summoned to meet him such barons as
still entertained hopes of the freedom of the country, and was crowned
king at the Abbey of Scone, the usual place where the kings of Scotland
assumed their authority.
The commencement of Bruce's undertaking was most disastrous. He was
crowned on the twenty-ninth of March, 1306. On the eighteenth of May he
was excommunicated by the Pope, on account of the murder of Comyn within
consecrated ground, a sentence which excluded him from all benefits of
religion, and authorized any one to kill him. Finally, on the nineteenth
of June, the new king was completely defeated near Methven by the
English Earl of Pembroke. Robert's horse was killed under him in the
action, and he was for a moment a prisoner.
But he had fallen into the power of a Scottish knight, who, though he
served in the English army, did not choose to be the instrument of
putting Bruce into their hands, and allowed him to escape. The
conquerors executed their prisoners with their usual cruelty.
[Illustration: BRUCE KILLS COMYN]
Bruce, with a few brave adherents, among whom was the young Lord of
Douglas, who was afterward called the Good Lord James, retired into the
Highland mountains, where they were chased from one place of refuge to
another, often in great danger, and suffering many hardships. The
Bruce's wife, now Queen of Scotland, with several other ladies,
accompanied her husband and his few followers during their wanderings.
There was no other way of providing for them save by hunting and
fishing. It was remarked that Douglas was the most active and successful
in procuring for the unfortunate ladies such supplies as his dexterity
in fishing or in killing deer could furnish to them.
Driven from one place in the Highlands to another, starved out of some
districts, and forced from others by the opposition of the inhabitants,
Bruce attempted to force his way into Lorn; but he was again defeated,
through force of numbers, at a place called Dalry. He directed his men
to retreat through a narrow pass, and placing himself last of the party,
he fought with and slew such of the enemy as attempted to press hard on
them. A father and two sons, called M'Androsser, all very strong men,
when they saw Bruce thus protecting the retreat of his followers, made a
vow that they would either kill this redoubted champion, or make him
prisoner. The whole three rushed on the king at once. Bruce was on
horseback, in the strait pass we have described, between a precipitous
rock and a deep lake. He struck the first man who came up and seized his
horse's rein such a blow with his sword, as cut off his hand and freed
the bridle. The man bled to death. The other brother had grasped Bruce
in the meantime by the leg, and was attempting to throw him from
horseback. The king, setting spurs to his horse, made the animal
suddenly spring forward, so that the Highlander fell under the horse's
feet, and, as he was endeavoring to rise again, Bruce cleft his head in
two with his sword. The father, seeing his two sons thus slain, flew
desperately at the king, and grasped him by the mantle so close to his
body that he could not have room to wield his long sword. But with the
heavy pommel of that weapon, or, as others say, with an iron hammer
which hung at his saddle-bow, the king struck his third assailant so
dreadful a blow, that he dashed out his brains. Still, however, the
Highlander kept his dying grasp on the king's mantle; so that, to be
freed of the dead body, Bruce was obliged to undo the brooch, or clasp,
by which it was fastened, and leave that, and the mantle itself, behind
him.
At last dangers increased so much around the brave King Robert, that he
was obliged to separate himself from his queen and her ladies; for the
winter was coming on, and it would be impossible for the women to endure
this wandering life when the frost and snow should set in. So Bruce left
his queen, with the Countess of Buchan and others, in the only castle
which remained to him, which was called Kildrummie. The king also left
his youngest brother, Nigel Bruce, to defend the castle against the
English; and he himself, with his second brother Edward, who was a very
brave man, but still more rash and passionate than Robert himself, went
over to an island on the coast of Ireland, where Bruce and the few men
who followed his fortunes passed the winter of 1306. In the meantime,
ill luck seemed to pursue all his friends in Scotland. The castle of
Kildrummie was taken by the English, and Nigel Bruce, a beautiful and
brave youth, was cruelly put to death by the victors. The ladies who had
attended on Robert's queen, as well as the queen herself, and the
Countess of Buchan, were thrown into strict confinement, and treated
with the utmost severity.
It was about this time that an incident took place, which, although it
rests only on tradition in families of the name of Bruce, is rendered
probable by the manners of the times. After receiving the last
unpleasing intelligence from Scotland, Bruce was lying one morning on
his wretched bed, and deliberating with himself whether he had not
better resign all thoughts of again attempting to make good his right to
the Scottish crown, and, dismissing his followers, transport himself and
his brothers to the Holy Land, and spend the rest of his life in
fighting against the Saracens; by which he thought, perhaps, he might
deserve the forgiveness of Heaven for the great sin of stabbing Comyn in
the church at Dumfries. But then, on the other hand, he thought it would
be both criminal and cowardly to give up his attempts to restore freedom
to Scotland while there yet remained the least chance of his being
successful in an undertaking, which, rightly considered, was much more
his duty than to drive the infidels out of Palestine, though the
superstition of his age might think otherwise.
While he was divided between these reflections, and doubtful of what he
should do, Bruce was looking upward to the roof of the cabin in which he
lay; and his eye was attracted by a spider, which, hanging at the end of
a long thread of its own spinning, was endeavoring, as is the fashion of
that creature, to swing itself from one beam in the roof to another, for
the purpose of fixing the line on which it meant to stretch its web. The
insect made the attempt again and again without success; at length Bruce
counted that it had tried to carry its point six times, and been as
often unable to do so. It came into his-head that he had himself fought
just six battles against the English and their allies, and that the poor
persevering spider was exactly in the same situation with himself,
having made as many trials and been so often disappointed in what it
aimed at. "Now," thought Bruce, "as I have no means of knowing what is
best to be done, I will be guided by the luck which shall attend this
spider. If the insect shall make another effort to fix its thread, and
shall be successful, I will venture a seventh time to try my fortune in
Scotland; but if the spider shall fail, I will go to the wars in
Palestine, and never return to my native country more."
While Bruce was forming this resolution the spider made another exertion
with all the force it could muster, and fairly succeeded in fastening
its thread to the beam which it had so often in vain attempted to reach.
Bruce, seeing the success of the spider, resolved to try his own
fortune; and as he had never before gained a victory, so he never
afterward sustained any considerable or decisive check or defeat. I have
often met with people of the name of Bruce, so completely persuaded of
the truth of this story, that they would not on any account kill a
spider, because it was that insect which had shown the example of
perseverance, and given a signal of good luck, to their great namesake.
Having determined to renew his efforts to obtain possession of Scotland,
notwithstanding the smallness of the means which he had for
accomplishing so great a purpose, the Bruce removed himself and his
followers from Rachrin to the island of Arran, which lies in the mouth
of the Clyde. The king landed and inquired of the first woman he met
what armed men were in the island. She returned for answer that there
had arrived there very lately a body of armed strangers, who had
defeated an English officer, the governor of the castle of Brathwick,
had killed him and most of his men, and were now amusing themselves with
hunting about the island. The king, having caused himself to be guided
to the woods which these strangers most frequented, there blew his horn
repeatedly.
Now, the chief of the strangers who had taken the castle was James
Douglas, one of the best of Bruce's friends, and he was accompanied by
some of the bravest of that patriotic band. When he heard Robert Bruce's
horn he knew the sound well, and cried out, that yonder was the king, he
knew by his manner of blowing. So he and his companions hastened to meet
King Robert, and there was great joy on both sides; while at the same
time they could not help weeping when they considered their own forlorn
condition, and the great loss that had taken place among their friends
since they had last parted. But they were stout-hearted men, and looked
forward to freeing their country in spite of all that had yet happened.
The Bruce was now within sight of Scotland, and not distant from his own
family possessions, where the people were most likely to be attached to
him. He began immediately to form plans with Douglas how they might best
renew their enterprise against the English. The Douglas resolved to go
disguised to his own country, and raise his followers in order to begin
their enterprise by taking revenge on an English nobleman called Lord
Clifford, upon whom Edward had conferred his estates, and who had taken
up his residence in the castle of Douglas.
Bruce, on his part, opened a communication with the opposite coast of
Carrick, by means of one of his followers called Cuthbert. This person
had directions, that if he should find the countrymen in Carrick
disposed to take up arms against the English he was to make a fire on a
headland, or lofty cape, called Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire,
opposite to the island of Arran. The appearance of a fire on this place
was to be a signal for Bruce to put to sea with such men as he had, who
were not more than three hundred in number, for the purpose of landing
in Carrick and joining the insurgents.
Bruce and his men watched eagerly for the signal, but for some time in
vain. At length a fire on Turnberry-head became visible, and the king
and his followers merrily betook themselves to their ships and galleys,
concluding their Carrick friends were all in arms and ready to join with
them. They landed on the beach at midnight, where they found their spy
Cuthbert alone in waiting for them with very bad news. Lord Percy, he
said, was in the country with two or three hundred Englishmen, and had
terrified the people so much, both by actions and threats, that none of
them dared to think of rebelling against King Edward.
"Traitor!" said Bruce, "why, then, did you make the signal?"
"Alas," replied Cuthbert, "the fire was not made by me, but by some
other person, for what purpose I know not; but as soon as I saw it
burning, I knew that you would come over, thinking it my signal, and
therefore I came down to wait for you on the beach to tell you how the
matter stood."
King Robert's first idea was to return to Arran after this
disappointment; but his brother Edward refused to go back. He was, as I
have told you, a man daring even to rashness. "I will not leave my
native land," he said, "now that I am so unexpectedly restored to it. I
will give freedom to Scotland, or leave my carcass on the surface of the
land which gave me birth."
Bruce, also, after some hesitation, determined that since he had been
thus brought to the mainland of Scotland, he would remain there, and
take such adventure and fortune as Heaven should send him.
Accordingly, he began to skirmish with the English so successfully, as
obliged the Lord Percy to quit Carrick. Bruce then dispersed his men
upon various adventures against the enemy, in which they were generally
successful. But then, on the other hand, the king, being left with small
attendance, or sometimes almost alone, ran great risk of losing his life
by treachery or by open violence.
At one time, a near relation of Bruce's, in whom he entirely confided,
was induced by the bribes of the English to attempt to put him to death.
This villain, with his two sons, watched the king one morning, till he
saw him separated from all his men, excepting a little boy, who waited
on him as a page. The father had a sword in his hand, one of the sons
had a sword and a spear, and the other had a sword and a battle-axe.
Now, when the king saw them so well armed, when there were no enemies
near, he began to call to mind some hints which had been given to him,
that these men intended to murder him. He had no weapons excepting his
sword; but his page had a bow and arrow. He took them both from the
little boy, and bade him stand at a distance; "for," said the king, "if
I overcome these traitors, thou shalt have enough of weapons; but if I
am slain by them, you may make your escape, and tell Douglas and my
brother to revenge my death." The boy was very sorry, for he loved his
master; but he was obliged to do as he was bidden.
In the meantime the traitors came forward upon Bruce, that they might
assault him at once. The king called out to them, and commanded them to
come no nearer, upon peril of their lives; but the father answered with
flattering words, pretending great kindness, and still continuing to
approach his person. Then the king again called to them to stand.
"Traitors," said he, "ye have sold my life for English gold; but you
shall die if you come one foot nearer to me." With that he bent the
page's bow, and as the old conspirator continued to advance, he let the
arrow fly at him. Bruce was an excellent archer; he aimed his arrow so
well that it hit the father in the eye, and penetrated from that into
his brain, so that he fell down dead. Then the two sons rushed on the
king. One of them fetched a blow at him with an axe, but missed his
stroke and stumbled, so that the king with his great sword cut him down
before he could recover his feet. The remaining traitor ran on Bruce
with his spear; but the king, with a sweep of his sword, cut the steel
head off the villain's weapon, and then killed him before he had time to
draw his sword. Then the little page came running, very joyful of his
master's victory; and the king wiped his bloody sword, and, looking upon
the dead bodies, said, "These might have been reputed three gallant men,
if they could have resisted the temptation of covetousness."
After the death of these three traitors, Robert the Bruce continued to
keep himself concealed in his own earldom of Carrick, and in the
neighboring country of Galloway, until he should have matters ready for
a general attack upon the English. He was obliged, in the meantime, to
keep very few men with him, both for the sake of secrecy, and from the
difficulty of finding provisions. Now, many of the people of Galloway
were unfriendly to Bruce. They had heard that he was in their country,
having no more than sixty men with him; so they resolved to attack him
by surprise, and for this purpose they got two hundred men together, and
brought with them two or three bloodhounds. These animals were trained
to chase a man by the scent of his footsteps, as foxhounds chase a fox,
or as beagles and harriers chase a hare. Although the dog does not see
the person whose trace he is put upon, he follows him over every step he
has taken. At that time these bloodhounds, or sleuthhounds (so called
from slot, or sleut, a word which signifies the scent left by an
animal of chase), were used for the purpose of pursuing great criminals.
The men of Galloway thought themselves secure, that if they missed
taking Bruce, or killing him at the first onset, and if he should escape
into the woods, they would find him out by means of these bloodhounds.
The good King Robert Bruce, who was always watchful and vigilant, had
received some information of the intention of this party to come upon
him suddenly and by night. Accordingly, he quartered his little troop of
sixty men on the side of a deep and swift-running river, that had very
steep and rocky banks. There was but one ford by which this river could
be crossed in that neighborhood, and that ford was deep and narrow, so
that two men could scarcely get through abreast; the ground on which
they were to land on the side where the king was, was steep, and the
path which led upward from the water's edge to the top of the bank,
extremely narrow and difficult.
Bruce caused his men to lie down to take some sleep, at a place about
half a mile distant from the river, while he himself, with two
attendants, went down to watch the ford, through which the enemy must
needs pass before they could come to the place where King Robert's men
were lying. He stood for some time looking at the ford, and thinking how
easily the enemy might be kept from passing there, provided it was
bravely defended, when he heard at a distance the baying of a hound,
which was always coming nearer and nearer. This was the bloodhound which
was tracing the king's steps to the ford where he had crossed, and the
two hundred Galloway men were along with the animal, and guided by it.
Bruce at first thought of going back to awaken his men; but then he
reflected that it might be only some shepherd's dog. "My men," said he,
"are sorely tired; I will not disturb their sleep for the yelping of a
cur, till I know something more of the matter."
So he stood and listened; and by and by, as the cry of the hound came
nearer, he began to hear a trampling of horses, and the voices of men,
and the ringing and clattering of armor, and then he was sure the enemy
were coming to the river side. Then the king thought, "If I go back to
give my men the alarm, these Galloway men will get through the ford
without opposition; and that would be a pity, since it is a place so
advantageous to make defence against them." So he looked again at the
steep path, and the deep river, and he thought that they gave him so
much advantage, that he himself could defend the passage with his own
hand, until his men came to assist him. His armor was so good and
strong, that he had no fear of arrows, and therefore the combat was not
so very unequal as it must have otherwise been. He therefore sent his
followers to waken his men, and remained alone by the bank of the river.
In the meanwhile, the noise and trampling of the horses increased; and
the moon being bright, Bruce beheld the glancing arms of about two
hundred men, who came down to the opposite bank of the river. The men of
Galloway, on their part, saw but one solitary figure guarding the ford,
and the foremost of them plunged into the river without minding him. But
as they could only pass the ford one by one, the Bruce, who stood high
above them on the bank where they were to land, killed the foremost man
with a thrust of his long spear, and with a second thrust stabbed the
horse, which fell down, kicking and plunging in his agonies, on the
narrow path, and so prevented the others who were following from getting
out of the river. Bruce had thus an opportunity of dealing his blows at
pleasure among them, while they could not strike at him again. In the
confusion, five or six of the enemy were slain, or, having been borne
down the current, were drowned in the river. The rest were terrified,
and drew back.
But when the Galloway men looked again, and saw they were opposed by
only one man, they themselves being so many, they cried out that their
honor would be lost forever if they did not force their way; and
encouraged each other, with loud cries, to plunge through and assault
him. But by this time the king's soldiers came up to his assistance, and
the Galloway men retreated, and gave up their enterprise.
At another time King Robert and his foster brother were walking through
a wood extremely weary and hungry. As they proceeded, however, in the
hopes of coming to some habitation, they met in the midst of the forest
with three men who looked like thieves or ruffians. They were well
armed, and one of them bore a sheep on his back, which it seemed as if
they had just stolen. They saluted the king civilly; and he, replying to
their salutation, asked them where they were going. The men answered,
they were seeking for Robert Bruce, for that they intended to join with
him. The king answered, that if they would go with him he would conduct
them where they would find the Scottish king. Then the man who had
spoken changed countenance, and Bruce, who looked sharply at him, began
to suspect that the ruffian guessed who he was, and that he and his
companions had some design against his person, in order to gain the
reward which had been offered for his life.
So he said to them, "My good friends, as we are not well acquainted with
each other, you must go before us, and we will follow near to you."
"You have no occasion to suspect any harm from us," answered the man.
"Neither do I suspect any," said Bruce; "but this is the way in which I
choose to travel."
The men did as he commanded, and thus they traveled till they came
together to a waste and ruinous cottage, where the men proposed to dress
some part of the sheep, which their companion was carrying. The king was
glad to hear of food; but he insisted that there should be two fires
kindled, one for himself and his foster brother at one end of the house,
the other at the other end for their three companions. The men did as he
desired. They broiled a quarter of mutton for themselves, and gave
another to the king and his attendant. They were obliged to eat it
without bread or salt; but as they were very hungry, they were glad to
get food in any shape, and partook of it very heartily.
Then so heavy a drowsiness fell on King Robert, that, for all the danger
he was in, he could not resist an inclination to sleep. But first, he
desired his foster brother to watch while he slept, for he had great
suspicion of their new acquaintances. His foster brother promised to
keep awake, and did his best to keep his word. But the king had not long
been asleep ere his foster brother fell into a deep slumber also, for he
had undergone as much fatigue as the king. When the three villains saw
the king and his attendant asleep, they made signs to each other, and
rising up at once, drew their swords with the purpose to kill them both.
But the king slept but lightly, and little noise as the traitors made in
rising, he was awakened by it, and starting up, drew his sword, and went
to meet them. At the same moment he pushed his foster brother with his
foot, to awaken him, and he got on his feet; but ere he got his eyes to
see clearly, one of the ruffians that were advancing to slay the king,
killed him with a stroke of his sword. The king was now alone, one man
against three, and in the greatest danger of his life; but his amazing
strength, and the good armor which he wore, freed him once more from
this great peril, and he killed the three men, one after another. He
then left the cottage, very sorrowful for the death of his faithful
foster brother, and took his direction toward the place where he had
appointed his men to assemble. It was now near night, and the place of
meeting being a farmhouse, he went boldly into it, where he found the
mistress, an old true-hearted Scotswoman, sitting alone. Upon seeing a
stranger enter, she asked him who and what he was. The king answered
that he was a traveler journeying through the country.
"All travelers," answered the good woman, "are welcome here, for the
sake of one."
"And who is that one," said the king, "for whose sake you make all
travelers welcome?"
"It is our rightful king, Robert the Bruce," answered the mistress, "who
is the lawful lord of this country; and although he is now pursued and
hunted after with hounds and horns, I hope to live to see him king over
all Scotland."
"Since you love him so well, dame," said the king, "know that you see
him before you. I am Robert the Bruce."
[ILLUSTRATION: SHE BROUGHT HER TWO SONS]
"You!" said the good woman, in great surprise; "and wherefore are you
thus alone?—where are all your men?"
"I have none with me at this moment," answered Bruce, "and therefore I
must travel alone."
"But that shall not be," said the brave old dame, "for I have two stout
sons, gallant and trusty men, who shall be your servants for life and
death."
So she brought her two sons, and though she well knew the dangers to
which she exposed them, she made them swear fidelity to the king; and
they afterward became high officers in his service.
Now, the loyal old woman was getting everything ready for the king's
supper, when suddenly there was a great trampling of horses heard round
the house. They thought it must be some of the English, and the good
wife called upon her sons to fight to the last for King Robert. But
shortly after, they heard the voice of the good Lord James of Douglas,
and of Edward Bruce, the king's brother, who had come with a hundred and
fifty horsemen to this farmhouse, according to the instructions that the
king had left with them at parting.
Robert the Bruce was right joyful to meet his brother, and his faithful
friend Lord James, and had no sooner found himself once more at the head
of such a considerable body of followers, than forgetting hunger and
weariness, he began to inquire where the enemy who had pursued them so
long had taken up their abode for the night; "For," said he, "as they
must suppose us totally scattered and fled, it is likely that they will
think themselves quite secure, and disperse themselves into distant
quarters, and keep careless watch."
"That is very true," answered James of Douglas, "for I passed a village
where there are two hundred of them quartered, who had placed no
sentinels; and if you have a mind to make haste, we may surprise them
this very night, and do them more mischief than they have been able to
do us during all this day's chase."
Then there was nothing but mount and ride; and as the Scots came by
surprise on the body of English whom Douglas had mentioned, and rushed
suddenly into the village where they were quartered, they easily
dispersed and cut them to pieces; thus, as Douglas had said, doing their
pursuers more injury than they themselves had received during the long
and severe pursuit of the preceding day.
The consequence of these successes of King Robert was, that soldiers
came to join him on all sides, and that he obtained several victories,
until at length the English were afraid to venture into the open country
as formerly, unless when they could assemble themselves in considerable
bodies. They thought it safer to lie still in the towns and castles
which they had garrisoned, and wait till the King of England should once
more come to their assistance with a powerful army.
When King Edward the First heard that Scotland was again in arms against
him, he marched down to the Borders, with many threats of what he would
do to avenge himself on Bruce and his party, whom he called rebels. But
he was now old and feeble, and while he was making his preparations, he
was taken very ill, and after lingering a long time, at length died on
the sixth of July, 1307, at a place in Cumberland called Burgh upon the
Sands, in full sight of Scotland, and not three miles from its frontier.
His hatred to that country was so inveterate that his thoughts of
revenge seemed to occupy his mind on his death-bed. He made his son
promise never to make peace with Scotland until the nation was subdued.
He gave also very singular directions concerning the disposal of his
dead body. He ordered that it should be boiled in a caldron till the
flesh parted from the bones, and that then the bones should be wrapped
up in a bull's hide, and carried at the head of the English army, as
often as the Scots attempted to recover their freedom. He thought that
he had inflicted such distresses on the Scots, and invaded and defeated
them so often, that his very dead bones would terrify them. His son,
Edward the Second, did not choose to execute this strange injunction,
but caused his father to be buried in Westminster Abbey, where his tomb
is still to be seen, bearing for an inscription, Here Lies the Hammer
of the Scottish Nation.
Edward the Second was neither so brave nor so wise as his father; on the
contrary, he was a weak prince, fond of idle amusements and worthless
favorites. It was lucky for Scotland that such was his disposition. He
marched a little way into Scotland with the large army which Edward the
First had collected, and went back again without fighting, which gave
great encouragement to Bruce's party.
Several of the Scottish nobility now took arms in different parts of the
country, declared for King Robert, and fought against the English troops
and garrisons. The most distinguished of these was the good Lord James
of Douglas. Other great lords also were now exerting themselves to
destroy the English. Among them was Sir Thomas Randolph, whose mother
was a sister of King Robert.
While Robert Bruce was gradually getting possession of the country, and
driving out the English, Edinburgh, the principal town of Scotland,
remained, with its strong castle, in possession of the invaders. Sir
Thomas Randolph was extremely desirous to gain this important place; but
the castle is situated on a very steep and lofty rock, so that it is
difficult or almost impossible even to get up to the foot of the walls,
much more to climb over them.
So while Randolph was considering what was to be done, there came to him
a Scottish gentleman named Francis, who had joined Bruce's standard, and
asked to speak with him in private. He then told Randolph that in his
youth he had lived in the Castle of Edinburgh, and that his father had
then been keeper of the fortress. It happened at that time that Francis
was much in love with a lady who lived in a part of the town beneath the
castle, which is called the Grassmarket. Now, as he could not get out of
the castle by day to see his mistress, he had practiced a way of
clambering by night down the castle rock on the south side, and
returning at his pleasure; when he came to the foot of the wall, he made
use of a ladder to get over it, as it was not very high at that point,
those who built it having trusted to the steepness of the crag; and for
the same reason, no watch was placed there. Francis had gone and come so
frequently in this dangerous manner, that, though it was now long ago,
he told Randolph he knew the road so well that he would undertake to
guide a small party of men by night to the bottom of the wall; and as
they might bring ladders with them, there would be no difficulty in
scaling it. The great risk was, that of their being discovered by the
watchmen while in the act of ascending the cliff, in which case every
man of them must have perished.
Nevertheless, Randolph did not hesitate to attempt the adventure. He
took with him only thirty men (you may be sure they were chosen for
activity and courage), and came one dark night to the foot of the rock,
which they began to ascend under the guidance of Francis, who went
before them, upon his hands and feet, up one cliff, down another, and
round another, where there was scarce room to support themselves. All
the while, these thirty men were obliged to follow in a line, one after
the other, by a path that was fitter for a cat than a man. The noise of
a stone falling, or a word spoken from one to another, would have
alarmed the watchmen. They were obliged, therefore, to move with the
greatest precaution. When they were far up the crag, and near the
foundation of the wall, they heard the guards going their rounds, to see
that all was safe in and about the castle. Randolph and his party had
nothing for it but to lie close and quiet, each man under the crag, as
he happened to be placed, and trust that the guards would pass by
without noticing them. And while they were waiting in breathless alarm
they got a new cause of fright. One of the soldiers of the castle,
willing to startle his comrades, suddenly threw a stone from the wall,
and cried out, "Aha, I see you well!" The stone came thundering down
over the heads of Randolph and his men, who naturally thought themselves
discovered. If they had stirred, or made the slightest noise, they would
have been entirely destroyed; for the soldiers above might have killed
every man of them, merely by rolling down stones. But being courageous
and chosen men, they remained quiet, and the English soldiers, who
thought their comrade was merely playing them a trick (as, indeed, he
had no other meaning in what he said) passed on without further
examination.
Then Randolph and his men got up and came in haste to the foot of the
wall, which was not above twice a man's height in that place. They
planted the ladders they had brought, and Francis mounted first to show
them the way; Sir Andrew Grey, a brave knight, followed him, and
Randolph himself was the third man who got over. Then the rest followed.
When once they were within the walls, there was not so much to do, for
the garrison were asleep and unarmed, excepting the watch, who were
speedily destroyed. Thus was Edinburgh Castle taken in March, 1312.
It was not, however, only by the exertions of great and powerful barons,
like Randolph and Douglas, that the freedom of Scotland was to be
accomplished. The stout yeomanry and the bold peasantry of the land, who
were as desirous to enjoy their cottages in honorable independence as
the nobles were to reclaim their castles and estates from the English,
contributed their full share in the efforts which were made to deliver
the country from the invaders.
While Douglas, Randolph, and other true-hearted patriots, were taking
castles and strongholds from the English, King Robert, who now had a
considerable army under his command, marched through the country,
dispersing such bodies of English as he met on the way.
Now when Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor of Stirling, came to London to
tell the king that Stirling, the last Scottish town of importance which
remained in possession of the English, was to be surrendered if it were
not relieved by force of arms before midsummer, then all the English
nobles called out it would be a sin and shame to permit the fair
conquest which Edward the First had made to be forfeited to the Scots
for want of fighting. It was, therefore, resolved, that the king should
go himself to Scotland, with as great forces as he could possibly
muster.
[ILLUSTRATION: THE ASCENT TO THE CASTLE OF EDINBURGH]
King Edward the Second, therefore, assembled one of the greatest armies
which a King of England ever commanded. There were troops brought from
all his dominions. Many brave soldiers from the French provinces which
the King of England possessed in France—many Irish, many Welsh—and all
the great English nobles and barons, with their followers, were
assembled in one great army. The number was not less than one hundred
thousand men.
King Robert the Bruce summoned all his nobles and barons to join him,
when he heard of the great preparations which the King of England was
making. They were not so numerous as the English by many thousand men.
In fact, his whole army did not very much exceed thirty thousand, and
they were much worse armed than the wealthy Englishmen; but then,
Robert, who was at their head, was one of the most expert generals of
the time; and the officers he had under him were his brother Edward, his
nephew Randolph, his faithful follower the Douglas, and other brave and
experienced leaders, who commanded the same men that had been accustomed
to fight and gain victories under every disadvantage of situation and
numbers.
The king, on his part, studied how he might supply, by address and
stratagem, what he wanted in numbers and strength. He knew the
superiority of the English, both in their heavy-armed cavalry, which
were much better mounted and armed than that of the Scots, and in their
archers, who were better trained than any others in the world. Both
these advantages he resolved to provide against. With this purpose, he
led his army down into a plain near Stirling, called the Park, near
which, and beneath it, the English army must needs pass through a boggy
country, broken with water courses, while the Scots occupied hard, dry
ground. He then caused all the ground upon the front of his line of
battle, where cavalry were likely to act, to be dug full of holes, about
as deep as a man's knee. They were filled with light brushwood, and the
turf was laid on the top, so that it appeared a plain field, while in
reality it was all full of these pits as a honeycomb is of holes. He
also, it is said, caused steel spikes, called caltrops, to be scattered
up and down in the plain, where the English cavalry were most likely to
advance, trusting in that manner to lame and destroy their horses.
When the Scottish army was drawn up, the line stretched north and south.
On the south, it was terminated by the banks of the brook called
Bannockburn, which are so rocky, that no troops could attack them there.
On the left, the Scottish line extended near to the town of Stirling.
Bruce reviewed his troops very carefully; all the useless servants,
drivers of carts, and such like, of whom there were very many, he
ordered to go behind a great height, afterward, in memory of the event,
called the Gillies' hill, that is, the Servants' hill. He then spoke to
the soldiers, and expressed his determination to gain the victory, or to
lose his life on the field of battle. He desired that all those who did
not propose to fight to the last, should leave the field before the
battle began, and that none should remain except those who were
determined to take the issue of victory or death, as God should send it.
When the main body of his army was thus placed in order, the king posted
Randolph, with a body of horse, near to the Church of Saint Ninian's,
commanding him to use the utmost diligence to prevent any succors from
being thrown into Stirling Castle. He then despatched James of Douglas,
and Sir Robert Keith, the Mareschal of the Scottish army, in order that
they might survey, as nearly as they could, the English force, which was
now approaching from Falkirk. They returned with information, that the
approach of that vast host was one of the most beautiful and terrible
sights which could be seen—that the whole country seemed covered with
men-at-arms on horse and foot, that the number of standards, banners,
and pennons (all flags of different kinds) made so gallant a show, that
the bravest and most numerous host in Christendom might be alarmed to
see King Edward moving against them.
It was upon the twenty-third of June (1314) the King of Scotland heard
the news, that the English army were approaching Stirling. He drew out
his army, therefore, in the order which he had before resolved on. After
a short time, Bruce, who was looking out anxiously for the enemy, saw a
body of English cavalry trying to get into Stirling from the eastward.
This was the Lord Clifford, who, with a chosen body of eight hundred
horse, had been detached to relieve the castle.
"See, Randolph," said the king to his nephew, "there is a rose fallen
from your chaplet." By this he meant, that Randolph had lost some honor,
by suffering the enemy to pass where he had been stationed to hinder
them. Randolph made no reply, but rushed against Clifford with little
more than half his number. The Scots were on foot. The English turned to
charge them with their lances, and Randolph drew up his men in close
order to receive the onset. He seemed to be in so much danger, that
Douglas asked leave of the king to go and assist him. The king refused
him permission.
"Let Randolph," he said, "redeem his own fault; I cannot break the order
of battle for his sake." Still the danger appeared greater, and the
English horse seemed entirely to encompass the small handful of Scottish
infantry. "So please you," said Douglas to the king, "my heart will not
suffer me to stand idle and see Randolph perish—I must go to his
assistance." He rode off accordingly; but long before they had reached
the place of combat, they saw the English horses galloping off, many
with empty saddles.
"Halt!" said Douglas to his men, "Randolph has gained the day; since we
were not soon enough to help him in the battle, do not let us lessen his
glory by approaching the field." Now, that was nobly done; especially as
Douglas and Randolph were always contending which should rise highest in
the good opinion of the king and the nation.
The van of the English army now came in sight, and a number of their
bravest knights drew near to see what the Scots were doing. They saw
King Robert dressed in his armor, and distinguished by a gold crown,
which he wore over his helmet. He was not mounted on his great
war-horse, because he did not expect to fight that evening. But he rode
on a little pony up and down the ranks of his army, putting his men in
order, and carried in his hand a sort of battle-axe made of steel. When
the king saw the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little before
his own men, that he might look at them more nearly.
There was a knight among the English, called Sir Henry de Bohun, who
thought this would be a good opportunity to gain great fame to himself,
and put an end to the war, by killing King Robert. The king being poorly
mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on him suddenly and
furiously, thinking, with his long spear, and his tall powerful horse,
easily to bear him down to the ground. King Robert saw him, and
permitted him to come very near, then suddenly turned his pony a little
to one side, so that Sir Henry missed him with the lance-point, and was
in the act of being carried past him by the career of his horse. But as
he passed, King Robert rose up in his stirrups, and struck Sir Henry on
the head with his battle-axe so terrible a blow, that it broke to pieces
his iron helmet as if it had been a nutshell, and hurled him from his
saddle. He was dead before he reached the ground. This gallant action
was blamed by the Scottish leaders, who thought Bruce ought not to have
exposed himself to so much danger, when the safety of the whole army
depended on him. The king only kept looking at his weapon, which was
injured by the force of the blow, and said, "I have broken my good
battle-axe."
The next morning, being the twenty-fourth of June, at break of day, the
battle began in terrible earnest. The English as they advanced saw the
Scots getting into line. The Abbot of Inchaffray walked through their
ranks bare-footed, and exhorted them to fight for their freedom. They
kneeled down as he passed, and prayed to Heaven for victory. King
Edward, who saw this, called out, "They kneel down—they are asking
forgiveness."
[Illustration: BRUCE SLAYS SIR HENRY DE BOHUN]
"Yes," said a celebrated English baron, called Ingelram de Umphraville,
"but they ask it from God, not from us—these men will conquer, or die
upon the field."
The English king ordered his men to begin the battle. The archers then
bent their bows, and began to shoot so closely together, that the arrows
fell like flakes of snow on a Christmas day. They killed many of the
Scots, and might, as at Falkirk, and other places, have decided the
victory; but Bruce was prepared for them. He had in readiness a body of
men-at-arms, well mounted, who rode at full gallop among the archers,
and as they had no weapons save their bows and arrows, which they could
not use when they were attacked hand to hand, they were cut down in
great numbers by the Scottish horsemen and thrown into total confusion.
The fine English cavalry then advanced to support their archers, and to
attack the Scottish line. But coming over the ground which was dug full
of pits, the horses fell into these holes, and the riders lay tumbling
about, without any means of defence, and unable to rise, from the weight
of their armor. The Englishmen began to fall into general disorder; and
the Scottish king, bringing up more of his forces, attacked and pressed
them still more closely.
On a sudden, while the battle was obstinately maintained on both sides,
an event happened which decided the victory. The servants and attendants
on the Scottish camp had, as I told you, been sent behind the army to a
place afterward called the Gillies' hill. But when they saw that their
masters were likely to gain the day, they rushed from their place of
concealment with such weapons as they could get, that they might have
their share in the victory and in the spoil. The English, seeing them
come suddenly over the hill, mistook this disorderly rabble for a new
army coming up to sustain the Scots, and, losing all heart, began to
shift every man for himself. Edward himself left the field as fast as he
could ride. A valiant knight, Sir Giles de Argentine, much renowned in
the wars of Palestine, attended the king till he got him out of the
press of the combat. But he would retreat no further. "It is not my
custom," he said, "to fly." With that he took leave of the king, set
spurs to his horse, and calling out his war-cry of Argentine! Argentine!
he rushed into the thickest of the Scottish ranks, and was killed.
Edward first fled to Stirling Castle, and entreated admittance; but Sir
Philip Mowbray, the governor, reminded the fugitive sovereign that he
was obliged to surrender the castle next day, so Edward was fain to fly
through the Torwood, closely pursued by Douglas with a body of cavalry.
An odd circumstance happened during the chase, which showed how loosely
some of the Scottish barons of that day held their political opinions:
As Douglas was riding furiously after Edward, he met a Scottish knight,
Sir Laurence Abernethy, with twenty horse. Sir Laurence had hitherto
owned the English interest, and was bringing this band of followers to
serve King Edward's army. But learning from Douglas that the English
king was entirely defeated, he changed sides on the spot, and was easily
prevailed upon to join Douglas in pursuing the unfortunate Edward, with
the very followers whom he had been leading to join his standard.
Douglas and Abernethy continued the chase, not giving King Edward time
to alight from horseback even for an instant, and followed him as far as
Dunbar, where the English had still a friend in the governor, Patrick,
Earl of March. The earl received Edward in his forlorn condition, and
furnished him with a fishing skiff, or small ship, in which he escaped
to England, having entirely lost his fine army, and a great number of
his bravest nobles.
The English never before or afterward, whether in France or Scotland,
lost so dreadful a battle as that of Bannockburn, nor did the Scots ever
gain one of the same importance. Many of the best and bravest of the
English nobility and gentry lay dead on the field; a great many more
were made prisoners; and the whole of King Edward's immense army was
dispersed or destroyed.
The English, after this great defeat, were no longer in a condition to
support their pretensions to be masters of Scotland, or to continue, as
they had done for nearly twenty years, to send armies into that country
to overcome it. On the contrary, they became for a time scarce able to
defend their own frontiers against King Robert and his soldiers.
Thus did Robert Bruce arise from the condition of an exile, hunted with
bloodhounds like a stag or beast of prey, to the rank of an independent
sovereign, universally acknowledged to be one of the wisest and bravest
kings who then lived. The nation of Scotland was also raised once more
from the situation of a distressed and conquered province to that of a
free and independent state, governed by its own laws, and subject to its
own princes; and although the country was after the Bruce's death often
subjected to great loss and distress, both by the hostility of the
English, and by the unhappy civil wars among the Scots themselves, yet
they never afterward lost the freedom for which Wallace had laid down
his life, and which King Robert had recovered, not less by his wisdom
than by his weapons. And therefore most just it is, that while the
country of Scotland retains any recollection of its history, the memory
of those brave warriors and faithful patriots should be remembered with
honor and gratitude.[3]
[Footnote 3: Three years after the Battle of Bannockburn, Bruce went
over into Ireland to assist in establishing his brother Edward as king
of the island. The Irish defended themselves so vigorously that the
Scotch were compelled to retire, leaving Edward dead upon the field. For
a number of years, Robert the Bruce reigned gloriously over Scotland,
but toward the end of his life he fell a victim to leprosy and was
compelled to live for two years in his castle at Cardross on the
beautiful banks of the River Clyde. During this illness, Edward the
Second of England died, and his son Edward the Third, a mere youth, came
to the throne. The boy king determined to retrieve the losses that his
father had sustained, but was prevented by Douglas, Randolph, and other
loyal Scotch leaders, who distinguished themselves by almost incredible
deeds of valor. When the king was dying, he ordered that his heart
should be taken from his body, embalmed and given to Douglas to be by
him carried to Palestine and buried in Jerusalem. Douglas caused the
heart to be enclosed in a silver case, and proud of the distinction the
king had shown him, started with a number of followers for Palestine.
When he arrived in Spain, however, he was diverted from his original
purpose and led to join with King Alphonso in an attempt to drive the
Saracens from Granada. In a bitter fight with the Moors, Douglas was
killed, and after the battle, his body was found lying across the silver
case, as if his last object had been to defend the heart of Bruce. No
further attempt was made to carry Robert's heart to Jerusalem, but it
was returned to Scotland and buried in the monastery of Melrose.]
By BERNARD ARTON
For Scotland's and for freedom's right
The Bruce his part had played,
In five successive fields of fight
Been conquered and dismayed;
Once more against the English host
His band he led, and once more lost
The meed for which he fought;
And now from battle, faint and worn,
The homeless fugitive forlorn
A hut's lone shelter sought.
And cheerless was that resting place
For him who claimed a throne:
His canopy, devoid of grace,
The rude, rough beams alone;
The heather couch his only bed,—
Yet well I ween had slumber fled
From couch of eider down!
Through darksome night till dawn of day,
Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay
Of Scotland and her crown.
The sun rose brightly, and its gleam
Fell on that hapless bed,
And tinged with light each shapeless beam
Which roofed the lowly shed;
When, looking up with wistful eye,
The Bruce beheld a spider try
His filmy thread to fling
From beam to beam of that rude cot:
And well the insect's toilsome lot
Taught Scotland's future king.
Six times his gossamery thread
The wary spider threw;
[Illustration: BRUCE BEHELD A SPIDER]
In vain that filmy line was sped,
For powerless or untrue
Each aim appeared, and back recoiled
The patient insect, six times foiled,
And yet unconquered still;
And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,
Saw him prepare once more to try
His courage, strength, and skill.
One effort more, his seventh and last!
The hero hailed the sign!
And on the wished-for beam hung fast
That slender, silken line;
Slight as it was, his spirit caught
The more than omen, for his thought
The lesson well could trace,
Which even "he who runs may read,"
That Perseverance gains its meed,
And Patience wins the race.
* * * * *
By WILLIAM L. AYTOUN
It was upon an April morn,
While yet the frost lay hoar,
We heard Lord James's bugle horn
Sound by the rocky shore.
Then down we went, a hundred
knights,
All in our dark array,
And flung our armor in the ships
That rode within the bay.
We spoke not as the shore grew less,
But gazed in silence back,
Where the long billows swept away
The foam behind our track.
And aye the purple hues decayed
Upon the fading hill,
And but one heart in all that ship
Was tranquil, cold, and still.
The good Lord Douglas paced the deck,
And O, his face was wan!
Unlike the flush it used to wear
When in the battle-van.
"Come hither, come hither, my trusty knight,
Sir Simon of the Lee;
There is a freit lies near my soul
I fain would tell to thee.
"Thou know'st the words King Robert spoke
Upon his dying day:
How he bade take his noble heart
And carry it far away;
"And lay it in the holy soil
Where once the Saviour trod,
Since he might not bear the blessed Cross,
Nor strike one blow for God.
"Last night as in my bed I lay,
I dreamed a dreary dream:—
Methought I saw a Pilgrim stand
In the moonlight's quivering beam.
"His robe was of the azure dye,
Snow-white his scattered hairs,
And even such a cross he bore
As good Saint Andrew bears.
"'Why go ye forth, Lord James,' he said,
'With spear and belted brand?
Why do you take its dearest pledge
From this our Scottish land?
"'The sultry breeze of Galilee
Creeps through its groves of palm,
The olives on the Holy Mount
Stand glittering in the calm.
"'But 'tis not there that Scotland's heart
Shall rest by God's decree,
Till the great angel calls the dead
To rise from earth and sea!
"'Lord James of Douglas, mark my rede!
That heart shall pass once more
In fiery fight against the foe,
As it was wont of yore.
"'And it shall pass beneath the Cross,
And save King Robert's vow;
But other hands shall bear it back,
Not, James of Douglas, thou!'
"Now, by thy knightly faith, I pray,
Sir Simon of the Lee,—
For truer friend had never man
Than thou hast been to me,—
"If ne'er upon the Holy Land
'Tis mine in life to tread,
Bear thou to Scotland's kindly earth
The relics of her dead."
The tear was in Sir Simon's eye
As he wrung the warrior's hand,—
"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
I'll hold by thy command.
"But if in battle-front, Lord James,
'Tis ours once more to ride,
Nor force of man, nor craft of fiend,
Shall cleave me from thy side!"
[Illustration: I SAW A PILGRIM STAND]
And aye we sailed and aye we sailed
Across the weary sea,
Until one morn the coast of Spain
Rose grimly on our lee.
And as we rounded to the port,
Beneath the watchtower's wall,
We heard the clash of the atabals,
And the trumpet's wavering call.
"Why sounds yon Eastern music here
So wantonly and long,
And whose the crowd of armed men
That round yon standard throng?"
"The Moors have come from Africa
To spoil and waste and slay,
And King Alonzo of Castile
Must fight with them to-day."
"Now shame it were," cried good Lord James,
"Shall never be said of me
That I and mine have turned aside
From the Cross in jeopardie!
"Have down, have down, my merry men all,—
Have down unto the plain;
We'll let the Scottish lion loose
Within the fields of Spain!"
"Now welcome to me, noble lord,
Thou and thy stalwart power;
Dear is the sight of a Christian knight,
Who comes in such an hour!
"Is it for bond or faith you come,
Or yet for golden fee?
Or bring ye France's lilies here,
Or the flower of Burgundie?"
"God greet thee well, thou valiant king,
Thee and thy belted peers,—
Sir James of Douglas am I called,
And these are Scottish spears.
"We do not fight for bond or plight,
Nor yet for golden fee;
But for the sake of our blessed Lord,
Who died upon the tree.
"We bring our great King Robert's heart
Across the weltering wave.
To lay it in the holy soil
Hard by the Saviour's grave.
"True pilgrims we, by land and sea,
Where danger bars the way;
And therefore are we here, Lord King,
To ride with thee this day!"
The king has bent his stately head,
And the tears were in his eyne,—
"God's blessing on thee, noble knight,
For this brave thought of thine!"
"I know thy name full well, Lord James;
And honored may I be,
That those who fought beside the Bruce
Should fight this day for me!
"Take thou the leading of the van,
And charge the Moors amain;
There is not such a lance as thine
In all the host of Spain!"
The Douglas turned towards us then,
O, but his glance was high!—
"There is not one of all my men
But is as bold as I.
"There is not one of my knights
But bears as true a spear,—
Then onward, Scottish gentlemen,
And think King Robert's here!"
The trumpets blew, the cross-bolts flew,
The arrows flashed like flame,
As spur in side, and spear in rest,
Against the foe we came.
And many a bearded Saracen
Went down, both horse and man;
For through their ranks we rode like corn,
So furiously we ran!
But in behind our path they closed,
Though fain to let us through,
For they were forty thousand men,
And we were wondrous few.
We might not see a lance's length,
So dense was their array,
But the long fell sweep of the Scottish blade
Still held them hard at bay.
"Make in! make in!" Lord Douglas cried,—
"Make in, my brethren dear!
Sir William of Saint Clair is down;
We may not leave him here!"
But thicker, thicker grew the swarm,
And sharper shot the rain,
And the horses reared amid the press,
But they would not charge again.
"Now Jesu help thee," said Lord James,
"Thou kind and true Saint Clair!
An' if I may not bring thee off,
I'll die beside thee there!"
Then in his stirrups up he stood,
So lionlike and bold,
And held the precious heart aloft
All in its case of gold.
He flung it from him, far ahead,
And never spake he more,
But—"Pass thou first, thou dauntless heart,
As thou wert wont of yore!"
The roar of fight rose fiercer yet,
And heavier still the stour,
Till the spears of Spain came shivering in,
And swept away the Moor.
"Now praised be God, the day is won!
They fly o'er flood and fell,—
Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,
Good knight, that fought so well?"
"O, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said,
"And leave the dead to me,
For I must keep the dreariest watch
That ever I shall dree!
"There lies, above his master's heart,
The Douglas, stark and grim;
And woe is me I should be here,
Not side by side with him!
"The world grows cold, my arm is old,
And thin my lyart hair,
And all that I loved best on earth
Is stretched before me there.
"O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright
Beneath the sun of May,
The heaviest cloud that ever blew
Is bound for you this day.
"And Scotland! thou mayst veil thy head
In sorrow and in pain:
The sorest stroke upon thy brow
Hath fallen this day in Spain!
"We'll bear them back unto our ship,
We'll bear them o'er the sea,
And lay them in the hallowed earth
Within our own countrie.
[Illustration: HELD THE HEART ALOFT]
"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King,
For this I tell thee sure,
The sod that drank the Douglas' blood
Shall never bear the Moor!"
The King he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,
And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.
"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul!
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So that thou wert here again!"
We bore the good Lord James away,
And the priceless heart we bore,
And heavily we steered our ship
Towards the Scottish shore.
No welcome greeted our return,
Nor clang of martial tread,
But all were dumb and hushed as death
Before the mighty dead.
We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woful men were we that day,—
God grant their souls repose!
By HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking[1] old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald[2] in song has told,
No Saga[3] taught thee!
[Footnote 1: Vikings was the name given to the bold Norse seamen who
in the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries infested the northern seas.
Tradition maintains that a band of these rovers discovered America
centuries before Columbus.]
[Footnote 2: A skald was a Norse poet who celebrated in song the deeds
of warriors.]
[Footnote 3: A saga is an ancient Scandinavian legend or tradition,
relating mythical or historical events.]
"Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse;
For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;[4]
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.
[Footnote 4: A gerfalcon is a large falcon of Northern Europe.]
"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the werewolf's[5] bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.
[Footnote 5: According to a popular superstition, a werewolf is a man,
who, at times, is transformed into a wolf. Such a wolf is much more
savage than a real wolf, and is especially fond of human flesh. This
superstition has at some time existed among almost all peoples.]
"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's[6] crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
[Footnote 6: Corsair is but another name for a pirate.]
[Illustration: I WAS A VIKING OLD]
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail-bout[7]
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's[8] tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.
[Footnote 7: A wassail-bout is a drinking bout, or carouse.]
[Footnote 8: Berserk, or Berserker, was the name given in heathen
times in Scandinavia to a wild warrior or champion. The Berserkers, it
is said, had fits of madness, when they foamed at the mouth and howled
like beasts, rushing into battle naked and defenseless. It was believed
that at such times they were proof against wounds either from fire or
from steel.]
"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chaunting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.
"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed.
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.
"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,—
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!—
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his arméd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,[9]
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.
[Footnote 9: The Skaw is the most northerly point of Denmark.]
"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane
Bore I the maiden.
"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to lee-ward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,[10]
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.
[Footnote: 10. At Newport in Rhode Island is an old stone tower, which
tradition says was built by the Norsemen when they visited this country.
That is the tower to which Longfellow refers here.]
[Illustration: THREE WEEKS WE WESTWARD BORE]
"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!
"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
O, death was grateful!
"Thus, seamed with many scars
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal![11] the Northland! skoal!"
—Thus the tale ended.
[Footnote 11: Skoal is the customary salutation in Scandinavia when a
health is drunk.]
[Illustration: Round Tower at Newport]