THE MISLED WANDERER.
The visitation we have just described caused a sufficiently startling interruption to the cozy comfort of the entire party. Young Shakespeare started back in some surprise, and the whole circle, springing from their seats, stood gazing upon the object so suddenly introduced amongst them.
The villagers looked upon the visitation as something supernatural, and were afraid to move; but Shakespeare, after closing the door, with main force against the driving wind and snow, stooped down and examined the object at his feet.
"Move the log upon the hearth, Master Hathaway," he said, "and make it send up a flame, so that I may see better. Ah, 'tis as I thought, some poor devil caught in the storm. He seems dead."
"Dead!" cried Dame Hathaway, regaining courage, when she found the visitor was not a fairy, or perhaps Robin Goodfellow in propriâ personâ. "Dead! Gad-a-mercy, how dreadful!"
"Best warm his inside," said Master Hathaway, approaching. "Here, let us drag him close to the fire, and give him something to drink."
Suiting the action to the word, Master Hathaway took the inanimate body by the shoulders, and, drawing it before the fire, laid it along upon the hearth,—a ghastly object,—appearing, in the blazing light, the prostrate form of what had once been a tall strong man. The face was now, however, pinched and ghastly, and the limbs already stiffening.
The readiest remedy at hand being a portion of the hot cider, with the hissing crab in it, some was immediately poured down the throat of the prostrate wayfarer, whilst all hands set to work to draw off the heavy boots, and divest him of some of his outer garments, in order to rub and chafe his body. In the progress of this operation it became apparent that the person of the visitor had been exposed to all the vicissitudes of flood and field; since the mud frozen upon his outer garments, and the peat-moss which was incrusted upon his long boots, doublet, and torn belt, showed that he had wandered through more than one morass in his progress.
He was evidently a person of condition, as was apparent from his dress, which, torn and soiled as it was, proclaimed the rank of the wearer, by its fashion. He was completely armed too, having a long heavy sword in his belt, and poniard in his girdle.
"Ah!" said old Hathaway, as he gazed upon the man's face, after pouring a draught of hot cider down his throat; "I surely know that countenance."
"See, he's coming to," said Dame Hathaway; "he opens his eyes, aye, and his mouth too. Give him more liquor."
"'Tis so," said Hathaway, after regarding the prostrate form; "I thought I knew that face. Dame," said he, calling his wife aside, "this is a somewhat dangerous visitor, inasmuch as he is one whom it is considered treason to shelter."
"And who then is it, husband?" inquired the Dame.
"'Tis Eustace the priest," whispered Hathaway, "who used to lie up at Clopton, and through whom 'tis said the old knight got into so much trouble. His coming bodes no good to us, I fear."
"Gad be here" said Dame Hathaway, "that's ill tidings to give us on a twelfth-night, or rather morn. But be he priest or sinner, traitor or faitour, or whatever else he may turn out, we cannot do otherwise than help him in his present need."
"Right," said Hathaway; "we must shelter the man, that's certain."
In accordance to this humane resolve, and which was indeed at the period sufficiently hazardous, the priest was conveyed up stairs, and laid upon a four-post bed. But although every attention was paid to him, it was soon apparent that his hours were numbered.
Calling Dame Hathaway to his bed side, as he somewhat recovered, the priest desired that Master Hathaway might be summoned.
"I fear me your kindness, good Master Hathaway," he said, "may possibly get you into misfortune; and were I able to rise and leave your cottage, I would rather do so, than lay you under the danger of succouring me."
"Heed it not," said the good farmer, "a belated wayfarer should ever find shelter in an Englishman's cottage."
"But, in me," said the priest, "you behold a man condemned to death, and whom the officers of justice are now in search of."
"I know you only as one in need," returned the farmer. "Those who search know for what they search. You are welcome to my roof whilst needing it. When you no longer need it, go forth."
"I shall never leave it alive," said the priest. "Listen whilst I relate the causes which have driven me to this extremity."
"Go to," said Hathaway, "sleep would do you more good. But an it pleases you to be a talker, I am all attention."
"You doubtless know me," said the priest, "and so much of my history as led me to fly from Clopton what time the good Sir Hugh was arrested and sent to the Tower."
"Hap I do, hap I don't," said the farmer. "Take another sip of the warm sack my dame hands you, and go on from thence. At least I've heard of the events of that night."
"I escaped pursuit on that night," said the priest. "They sought me in the south, but I fled north, across the border, and took refuge in Scotland."
"Ah!" said old Hathaway, "I dare be sworn there you found plenty of your own sort. Scot and plot hath rhymed together pretty often during this reign."
"It hath," said Eustace; "and I speedily entered into a plot there."
"One you found ready-made to your hand," said Hathaway; "Eh?"
"I did," said the priest. "I fell in, whilst in the mountains, with one Morgan, also a fugitive from England: he introduced me to Babington, Savage, and others, who were zealous Catholics, and engaged in a project for dethroning Elizabeth, and restoring by force of arms the exercise of the ancient and true religion. The Pope, the Spaniard, and the Duke of Guise, had all emissaries amongst this company. I, however, persuaded them of the vanity of any attempts upon the kingdom, so long as one so prudent and popular as Elizabeth was suffered to live. An assassination, an insurrection, and an invasion, must at one and the same time be attempted, I told them, that they saw at once the force of my arguments. We met, during this discussion, in an old castle situate in Strathdon, and called Corgarff—a wild and desolate place. To you who dwell in fertile and pleasant England, my good folks," continued the priest, "the aspect of the wild region in which we held our meetings, would have appeared sufficiently terrible. No shrub, no tree, not a blade of grass was to be seen on this drear mountain land. Nothing but blasted heath, rocky glens, and deep morasses. The people wild, desperate and fearful, as the land they inhabit."
"In few," continued the priest, "having assumed the disguise of a soldier, and the name of Geffrey, I left this place for England, with the purpose of obtaining a secret interview with the Queen of Scots, during her imprisonment. This opportunity I found whilst the queen was in custody of Sir Amias Paulet, rigorous as that confinement was. To her I communicated tidings, that on the event of Elizabeth's death, her own deliverance would be attempted; all the zealous Catholics would fly to arms, and that foreign forces taking advantage of the general confusion, would fix her upon the English throne, and re-establish the Catholic religion."
"Alas! alas! what terrible doings you who meddle with religious matters think upon," said Master Hathaway; "better to kneel down under the blue sky, and worship God without form and ceremony, if such is to be upheld by treason and bloodshed, from one end of the kingdom to the other."
"Alas! thou speakest wiser than thou art aware of," said the father, "and after a life of intrigue and dark underhand doings, in death I find that all such measures are but a serving the cause of the devil, in place of doing our duty towards God."
The dying priest now became so faint and exhausted that he could scarcely proceed.
"I feel," he said, "the hand of death rapidly approaching, and bitterly doth it now weigh upon my soul, that I have in some sort aided the enemies of my country in raising that dreadful tempest which sooner or later must now fall upon the land."
"Truly a heavy weight to lay upon the breast of a sick man," said Hathaway, shuddering. "And how then came you thus?"
"Our scheme," said the priest, "was discovered. Nay, it had been all along known. The Queen of Scots approved the project, and even when we were ripe and ready for action, one of our party, named Ballard was seized. This indeed so alarmed us, that finding we were also strictly watched wherever we went, we dispersed in parties, and under cover of night, and in various disguises, we fled from London a week back.
"Of all who were engaged, however, and we numbered fifteen individuals, all, I have since learned in the different towns where I have ventured, have been taken, some in woods, some in barns and outhouses where they sought shelter; nay, I have myself lain in concealment beneath the straw in the barn adjoining your cottage here for the last few days. This morning I stole out, and whilst you were engaged with your village dance, I endeavoured to reach a secret refuge known to me at Clopton, and which place I concluded was uninhabited. Unexpectedly, however, I found as I entered the private part of the mansion, that I was mistaken. I was encountered by one Martin Delville, who it seems hath remained in charge of the hall. He attempted to seize me, and in defending myself, I received a shot in the breast. Still I managed to escape, and wandering through the country, I endeavoured to find some place of refuge, some roof where I might be sheltered. Faint with loss of blood, I still held onwards in the hope of reaching Stratford, but a dancing light, which at one moment seemed to await my coming, and the next went bounding from me, and by following which I have been more than once nearly drowned, at length led me back to the spot from whence I had started. As the light vanished from my eyes, its place was supplied by the distant appearance of your comfortable fire, seen through the casement, and the driving snow. I but managed to reach your door, and that was all—life is fast ebbing away with the blood that flows from my wound."
"Nay, cheer up," said Dame Hathaway, "perhaps it may not be so bad; I have some Friar's balsam here at hand which will do wonderful things."
"It's no use, goodwife," said Hathaway, "I see death in his face. He bleeds inwardly as thou see'st, and is almost choked. Not all the friars that ever lived could save him, and to speak truth he hath had already quite enough to do with such cattle, for see what sloughs and pitfalls they have led him into."
"Nay," said Dame Hathaway, "it was Robin Goodfellow, you see, who led him into all these sloughs and pitfalls he describes, and at length brought him to our door."
"Robin Goodfellow, or Robin Badfellow,"[8] said old Hathaway——
"Hist, hist!" said Dame Hathaway, "never abuse Robin if you wish to thrive."
"Well, go to," said her husband, "the man is sped, and there's an end. Do thou and Anne remain with him whilst I go down to the lads below. 'Tis almost dawn. Alas, alas! this is a sad finish to our twelfth-tide sports; but we must still not suffer our guests to depart without their breakfast."
As Hathaway spoke, he descended to the apartment below, where the guests were still sitting around the fire, and discussing matters appertaining to the appearance of the misled wayfarer, and telling of woeful tales and dire stories, which suited the hour and the circumstance.
At old Hathaway's re-appearance amongst the circle, all were set to work to clear up the apartment, put it to rights, and prepare for the breakfast it was customary to partake of before the company finally broke up. The first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear as they departed. The snow-storm had cleared up, the diamond panes of the windows were fretted with frozen crystals, and as old Hathaway threw open the door and looked forth, the trees in the orchard were heaving with congealed snow, the ground was covered with the same white sheet, icicles hung in clusters from the roofs of the outhouses, and all around was softened and rounded by one white feathery crust. In short, it was one of those delicious winter mornings so often seen after a driving dreary and tempestuous night,——a morning in which the old world look of the buildings and barns around, seen in the clear wintry air, and the while flaky look of the country, gives so delightful an aspect to a rural hamlet.
Old Hyems seems then to smile as benignantly as he can,——to have smoothed the icy furrows of his brow, and consented to give to human mortals a slight respite, ere he fetches from the frozen bosom of the north more cutting blasts and angry winds.
"Then icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick, the shepherd, blows his nail,
Then Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipp'd, and ways are foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot."