THE GUIDWIFE OF COLDINGHAM;
OR,
THE SURPRISE OF FAST CASTLE.
Near where St. Abb stretches, in massive strength, into the sea, still terrible, even in ruins, may be seen the remains of Fast Castle, one of the most interesting in its history—as it is the most fearfully romantic in its situation—of all the mouldering strongholds which are still to be traced among the Borders, like monuments of war, crumbling into nothingness beneath the silent but destroying touch of time. After the death of the bluff Harry the Eighth of England, who had long kept many of the corruptible amongst the Scottish nobility and gentry in his pay, the ambitious Somerset, succeeding to the office of guardian of the young king, speedily, under the name of Protector, acquired an authority nothing inferior to the power of an absolute monarch. He had not long held the reins of government when he rendered it evident, that it was a part of his ambition to subdue Scotland, or the better portion of it, into a mere province of England.
The then governor of Scotland, Hamilton, Earl of Arran, (for Queen Mary was but a child,) was not ignorant of the designs of Somerset, and every preparation was made to repel him on his crossing the Borders. It was drawing towards evening on the first of September, 1547, when the Protector, at the head of an army of eighteen thousand men, arrived at Berwick; and nearly at the same instant, while the gloaming yet lay light and thin upon the sea, a fleet, consisting of thirty-four vessels of war, thirty transports, and a galley, were observed sailing round Emmanuel’s head—the most eastern point of Holy Island. On the moment that the fleet was perceived, St. Abb’s lighted up its fires, throwing a long line of light along the darkening sea, from the black shore to the far horizon: and scarce had the first flame of its alarm-fire waved in the wind, till the Dow Hill repeated the fiery signal; and, in a few minutes, Domilaw, Dumprender, and Arthur’s Seat, exhibited tops of fire as the night fell down on them, bearing the tidings, as if lightnings flying on different courses revealed them, through Berwickshire and the Lothians, and enabling Roxburghshire and Fife to read the tale; while Binning’s Craig, repeating the telegraphic fire, startled the burghers of Linlithgow on the one hand, and on the other aroused the men of Lanarkshire.
Before, therefore, the vessels had arrived in the bay, or the Protector’s army had encamped in the Magdalen Fields around Berwick—Berwickshire, Roxburgh, the Lothians, Fife, and Lanark were in arms. The cry from the hills and in the glens was, “The enemy is come—the English—to arms!” The shepherd drove his flocks to the inaccessible places in the mountains; he threw down his crook and grasped his spear.
At the same time that Somerset crossed the Borders on the east, the Earl of Lennox, who, from disappointed ambition, had proved false to his country, entered it at the head of another English army to the west.
But I mean not to write a history of Somerset’s invasion—of the plausible proposals which he made, and which were rejected—nor of the advantages which the Scots, through recklessness or want of discipline, flung away, and of the disasters which followed. All the places of strength upon the Borders fell into his hands, and he garrisoned them from his army and set governors over them. The first place of his attack was Fast Castle; in which, after taking possession of it, he left a governor and strong garrison, composed of English troops and foreign mercenaries, causing also the people around, for their own safety, to take to him an oath of fealty, renouncing their allegiance to the young queen. But while there were many who obeyed his command with reluctance, there were others who chose rather to endanger or forfeit their lives and property than comply with it. It had not, however, been two years in the hands of the English, when, by a daring and desperate act of courage, it was wrested from them.
A decree went forth from the English governor of the castle, commanding them to bring into it, from time to time, all necessary provisions for the use of the garrison, for which they should receive broad money in return; for Somerset and his chief officers—the Lord Grey and others—had caused it to be published, that they considered the inhabitants of that part of Scotland as the subjects of young Edward, in common with themselves, and not as a people with whom they were at war, or from whom their soldiers might collect provisions and pay them with the sword.
The English, indeed, paid liberally for whatsoever they received; and there was policy in their so doing, for there were not a few who preferred lucre to their country, and the effigy of a prince upon a coin to allegiance to their lawful monarch. But, while such obeyed with alacrity the command of the governor of Fast Castle, to bring provisions to his garrison, there were many others who acquiesced in it reluctantly, and only obeyed from the consciousness that disobedience would be the price of their lives.
At this period there dwelt in Coldingham a widow, named Madge Gordon. She was a tall and powerful woman, and her years might be a little below fifty. Daily she indulged in invectives against the English, and spoke contemptuously of the spirit of her countrymen in submitting to the mandate of the governor of Fast Castle. She had two cows and more than a score of poultry; but she declared that she would spill the milk of the one upon the ground every day, and throw the eggs of the other over the cliffs, rather than that either the one or the other should be taken through the gates of the castle while an English garrison held it.
Often, therefore, as Madge beheld her neighbours carrying their baskets on their arms, their creels or sacks upon their backs, or driving their horses, laden with provisions, towards the castle, her wrath would rise against them, and she was wont to exclaim—
“O ye slaves!—ye base loun-hearted beasts o’ burden! hoo lang will ye boo before the hand that strikes ye, or kiss the foot that tramples on ye? Throw doun the provisions, and gang hame and bring what they better deserve; for, if ye will gie them bread, feed them on the point o’ yer faithers’ spears.”
Some laughed as Madge spoke; but her words sank deep into the hearts of others; and a few answered—
“Ye are as daft as ever, Madge; but a haveral woman’s tongue is nae scandal, and ye ken that the governor winna tak cognizance o’ ye.”
“Me ken or care for him, ye spiritless coofs, ye!” she replied; “gae tell him that Madge Gordon defies him and a’ his men, as she despises you, and wad shake the dirt frae her shoon at baith the ane and the other o’ ye. Shame fa’ ye, ye degenerate, mongrel race! for, if ye had ae drap o’ the bluid o’ the men in yer veins wha bled wi’ Wallace and wi’ Bruce, before the sun gaed doun, the flag o’ bonny Scotland wad wave frae the castle towers.”
“Mother! mother!” said an interesting-looking girl of nineteen, who had come to the door as the voice of Madge waxed louder and more bitter—“dinna talk foolishly—ye will bring us a’ into trouble.”
“Trouble! ye silly lassie, ye!” rejoined Madge; “these are times indeed to talk o’ the like o’ us being brought into trouble, when our puir bluiding country is groaning beneath the yoke o’ an enemy, and we see them harrying us not only oot o’ hoose and ha’, but even those that should be our protectors oot o’ their manhood! See,” added she, “do ye see wha yon is, skulking as far as he can get frae our door wi’ the weel-filled sack upon his shouthers? It is yer ain dearie, Florence Wilson! O the betrayer o’ his country!—He’s a coward, Janet, like the rest o’ them, and shall ne’er ca’ ye his wife while I live to ca’ ye daughter.”
“O mother!” added the maiden, in a low and agitated voice—“what could poor Florence do? It isna wi’ a man body as it is wi’ the like o’ us. If he didna do as the lave do, he wad be informed against, and he maun obey or die!”
“Let him die, then, as a man, as a Scotchman!” said the stern guidwife of Coldingham.
Florence Wilson, of whom Madge had spoken, was a young man of three or four and twenty, and who then held, as his fathers had done before him, sheep lands under the house of Home. He was one of those who obeyed reluctantly the command of the governor to bring provisions to the garrison; and, until the day on which Madge beheld him with the sack upon his shoulders, he had resisted doing so. But traitors had whispered the tale of his stubbornness and discontent in the castle; and, in order to save himself and his flocks, he that day took a part of his substance to the garrison. He had long been the accepted of Janet Gordon; and the troubles of the times alone prevented them, as the phrase went, from “commencing house together.” He well knew the fierce and daring patriotism of his intended mother-in-law, and he took a circuitous route, in order to avoid passing her door, laden with a burden of provisions for the enemy. But, as has been told, she perceived him.
In the evening, Florence paid his nightly visit to Janet.
“Out! out! ye traitor!” cried Madge, as she beheld him crossing her threshold; “the shadow of a coward shall ne’er fall on my floor while I hae a hand to prevent it.”
“I’m nae coward, guidwife,” retorted Florence indignantly.
“Nae coward!” she rejoined; “what are ye, then? Did not I, this very day, wi’ my ain een, behold ye skulking, and carrying provisions to the enemy!”
“Ye might,” said Florence; “but ae man canna tak a castle, nor drive frae it five hundred enemies. Bide ye yet. Foolhardy courage isna manhood; and, had mair prudence and caution, and less confidence, been exercised by our army last year, we wouldna hae this day to mourn owre the battle o’ Pinkie. I tell ye, therefore, again, just bide ye yet.”
“Come in, Florence,” said Madge; “draw in a seat and sit doun, and tell me what ye mean.”
“Hoots, Florence,” said Janet, in a tone partaking of reproach and alarm, “are ye gaun to be as daft as my mother? What matters it to us wha’s king or wha’s queen?—it will be lang or either the ane or the ither o’ them do onything for us. When ye see lords and gentry in the pay o’ England, and takin its part, what can the like o’ you or my mother do?”
“Do! ye chicken-hearted trembler at yer ain shadow!” interrupted Madge; “though somewhat past its best, I hae an arm as strong and healthy as the best o’ them, and the blood that runs in it is as guid as the proudest o’ them.”
Now, the maiden name of Madge was Home; and when her pride was touched, it was her habit to run over the genealogical tree of her father’s family, which she could illustrate upon her fingers, beginning on all occasions—“I am, and so is every Home in Berwickshire, descended frae the Saxon kings o’ England and the first Earls o’ Northumberland.” Thus did she run on, tracing their descent from Crinan, chief of the Saxons in the north of England, to Maldredus, his son, who married Algatha, daughter of Uthred, prince of Northumberland, and grand-daughter of Ethelrid, king of England; and from Maldredus to his son Cospatrick, of whose power William the Conqueror became jealous, and who was, therefore, forced to fly into Scotland in the year 1071, where Malcolm Canmore bestowed on him the manor of Dunbar, and many baronies in Berwickshire. Thus did she notice three other Cospatricks, famous and mighty men in their day, each succeeding Cospatrick the son of his predecessor; and after them a Waldreve, and a Patrick, whose son, William, marrying his cousin, he obtained with her the lands of Home, and, assuming the name, they became the founders of the clan. From the offspring of the cousin, the male of whom took the name of Sir William Home, and from him through eleven other successors, down to George, the fourth Lord Home, who had fallen while repelling the invasion of Somerset a few months before, did Madge trace the roots, shoots, and branches of her family, carrying it back through a period of more than six hundred years; and she glowed, therefore, with true aristocratic indignation at the remark of her daughter to Florence—“What can the like o’ you or my mother do?” And she concluded her description of her genealogical tree by saying—“Talk noo the like o’ yer mother, hizzy!”
“Aweel, mother,” said Janet, mildly—“that may a’ be; but there is nae cause for you fleeing into a tift upon the matter, for nae harm was meant. I only dinna wish Florence to be putting his life in jeopardy for neither end nor purpose. I’m sure I wish that oor nobility would keep to their bargain, and allow the queen, though she is but a lassie yet, to be married to young king Edward, and then we might hae peace in the land, and ither folk would be married as weel as them.”
“We shall be married, Janet, my doo,” said Florence, gazing on her tenderly—“only ye bide a wee.”
Now, it must not be thought that Janet loved her country less than did her mother or her betrothed husband; but, while the land of blue mountains was dear to her heart, Florence Wilson was yet more dear; and it was only because they were associated with thoughts of him that they became as a living thing, as a voice and as music in her bosom. For, whence comes our fondness for the woods, the mountains, the rivers of nativity, but from the fond remembrances which their associations conjure up, and the visions which they recall to the memory of those who were dear to us, but who are now far from us, or with the dead? We may have seen more stupendous mountains, nobler rivers, and more stately woods—but they were not ours! They were not the mountains, the rivers, and the woods, by which we played in childhood, formed first friendships, or breathed love’s tender tale in the ear of her who was beautiful as the young moon or the evening star, which hung over us like smiles of heaven; nor were they the fountains, the woods, and the rivers, near which our kindred, the flesh of our flesh, and the bone of our bone, sleep! But I digress.
“Tell me, Florence,” said Madge, “what mean ye by ‘bide a wee?’ Is there a concerted project amongst ony o’ ye, an’ are ye waiting for an opportunity to carry it into effect?”
“No,” answered he, “I canna say as how we hae devised ony practicable scheme o’ owrecoming our oppressors as yet; but there are hundreds o’ us ready to draw our swords an’ strike, on the slightest chance o’ success offering—and the chance may come.”
“An’ amongst the hundreds o’ hands ye speak o’,” returned Madge, “is there no a single head that can plot an’ devise a plan to owrecome an’ drive our persecutors frae the castle?”
“I doot it—at least I hae ne’er heard ony feasible-like plan proposed,” said Florence, sorrowfully.
Madge sat thoughtful for a few minutes, her chin resting on her hand. At length she inquired—“When go ye back to sell provisions to them again?”
“This day week,” was the reply.
“Then I shall tak my basket wi’ eggs an’ butter, an’ gae wi’ ye,” answered Madge.
“O mother! what are ye sayin?” cried Janet. “Ye maun gang nae sic gate. I ken yer temper would flare up the moment ye heard a word spoken against Scotland, or a jibe broken on it; an’ there is nae tellin’ what might be the consequence.”
“Leave baith the action an’ the consequence to me, Janet, my woman,” said the patriotic mother; “as I brew, I will drink. But ye hae naething to fear; I will be as mim in the castle as ye wad be if gieing Florence yer hand in the kirk.”
The day on which the people were again to carry provisions to the garrison in Fast Castle arrived; and to the surprize of every one, Madge, with a laden basket on each arm, mingled amongst them. Many marvelled, and the more mercenary said—
“Ay, ay!—Madge likes to turn the penny as weel as ither folk. The English will hae guid luck if ony o’ them get a bargain oot o’ her baskets.”
She, therefore, went to the castle, bearing provisions with the rest of the peasantry; but, under pretence of disposing of her goods to the best advantage, she went through and around the castle, and quitted it not until she had ascertained where were its strongest, where its weakest points of defence, and in what manner it was guarded.
When, therefore, Florence Wilson again visited her dwelling, she addressed him, saying—
“Noo, I hae seen oor enemies i’ the heart o’ their strength; an’ I hae a word to say to ye that will try yer courage, and the courage o’ the hunders o’ guid men an’ true that ye hae spoken o’ as only bidin’ their time to strike. Noo, is it yer opinion that, between Dunglass an’ Eyemouth, ye could gather a hundred men willing an’ ready to draw the sword for Scotland’s right, an’ to drive the invaders frae Fast Castle, if a feasible plan were laid before them?”
“I hae nae doot o’t,” replied he.
“Doots winna do,” said she; “will ye try it?”
“Yes,” said he.
“Florence, ye shall be my son,” added she, taking his hand—“I see there is spirit in ye yet.”
“Mother,” said Janet earnestly, “what dangerous errand is this ye wad set him upon?—what do ye think it could matter to me wha was governor o’ Fast Castle, if Florence should meet his death in the attempt?”
“Wheesht! ye silly lassie, ye,” replied her mother; “had I no borne ye, I wad hae said that ye hadna a drap o’ my bluid i’ yer veins. What is’t that ye fear? If they’ll abide by my counsel, though it may try their courage, oor purpose shall be accomplished wi’ but little scaith.”
“Neither fret nor fear, dear,” said Florence, addressing Janet; “I hae a hand to defend my head, an’ a guid sword to guard baith.” Then turning to her mother, he added—“An’ what may be yer plan, that I may communicate it to them that I ken to be zealous in oor country’s cause?”
“Were I to tell ye noo,” said she, “that ye might communicate it to them, before we were ready to put it into execution, the story wad spread frae the Tweed to John o’ Groat’s, and frae St. Abb’s to the Solway, and our designs be prevented. Na, lad, my scheme maun be laid before a’ the true men that can be gathered together at the same moment, an’ within a few hours o’ its being put in execution. Do ye ken the dark copse aboon Houndwood, where there is a narrow and crooked opening through the tangled trees, but leading to a bit o’ bonny green sward, where a thousand men might encamp unobserved?”
“I do,” answered Florence.
“And think ye that ye could assemble the hundred men ye speak o’ there, on this night fortnight?”
“I will try,” replied he.
“Try, then,” added she, “and I will meet ye there before the new moon sink behind the Lammermoors.”
It was a few days after this that Madge was summoned to the village of Home, to attend the funeral of a relative; and while she was yet there, the castle of her ancestors was daringly wrested from the hands of the Protector’s troops, by an aged kinsman of her own, and a handful of armed men. The gallant deed fired her zeal more keenly, and strengthened her resolution to wrest Fast Castle from the hands of the invaders. She had been detained at Home until the day on which Florence Wilson was to assemble the stout-hearted and trust-worthy in the copse above Houndwood. Her kindred would have detained her longer; but she resisted their entreaties, and took leave of them saying, that “her bit lassie, Janet, would be growing irksome wi’ being left alane, an’ that, at ony rate, she had business on hand that couldna be delayed.”
She proceeded direct to the place of rendezvous, without going onwards to her own house; and, as she drew near the narrow opening which led to the green space in the centre of the dark copse, the young moon was sinking behind the hills. As she drew cautiously forward she heard the sound of voices, which gradually became audible.
“Well, Florence,” said one, “what are ye waiting for? Where is the grand project that ye was to lay before us?”
“Florence,” said others, “let us proceed to business. It is gaun to be very dark, and ye will remember we have to gang as far as the Peaths[A] the night yet.”
Florence answered as one perplexed, but in his wonted words—“Hae patience—bide a wee;” and added, in a sort of soliloquy, but loud enough to be overheard by his companions—“She promised to be here before the moon gaed down upon the Lammermoors.”
“Wha did?—wha promised to be here?” inquired half a dozen voices.
“I did!” cried Madge, proudly, as she issued from the narrow aperture in the copse, and her tall figure was revealed by the fading moonbeams. With a stately step, she walked into the midst of them, and gazed round as though the blood and dignity of all the Homes had been centred in her own person.
“Weel, Madge,” inquired they, “and, since ye are come, for what hae ye brought us here?”
“To try,” added she, “whether, inheriting, as ye do, yer faithers’ bluid, ye also inherit their spirit—to see whether ye hae the manhood to break the yoke o’ yer oppressors, or if ye hae the courage to follow the example which the men o’ Home set ye the other nicht.”
“What have they done?” inquired Florence.
“Hearken,” said she, “ane and a’ o’ ye, and I will tell ye; for, wi’ my ain een, I beheld a sicht that was as joyfu’ to me as the sight o’ a sealed pardon to a condemned criminal. Ye weel ken that, for near twa years, the English have held Home Castle, just as they still hold Fast Castle, beside us. Now, it was the other nicht, and just as the grey gloam was darkening the towers, that an auld kinsman o’ mine, o’ the name o’ Home, scaled the walls where they were highest, strongest, and least guarded; thirty gallant countrymen had accompanied him to their foot, but before they could follow his example, he was perceived by a sentinel, wha shouted out—‘To arms!—to arms!’ ‘Cower, lads, cower!’ said my auld kinsman, in a sort o’ half whisper, to his followers; and he again descended the wall, and they lay down, with their swords in their hands, behind some whin bushes at the foot o’ the battlements. There was running, clanking, and shouting through the castle for a time; but, as naething like the presence o’ an enemy was either seen or heard, the sentry that had raised the alarm was laughed at, and some gaed back to their beds, and others to their wine. But, after about two hours, and when a’thing was again quiet, my kinsman and his followers climbed the walls, and, rushing frae sentinel to sentinel, they owrecam ane after anither before they could gie the alarm to the garrison in the castle; and, bursting into it, shouted—‘Hurra!—Scotland and Home for ever!’ Panic seized the garrison; some started frae their sleep—others reeled frae their cups—some grasped their arms—others ran, they knew not where—but terror struck the hearts o’ ane and a’; and still, as the cry, ‘Scotland and Home for ever!’ rang frae room to room, and was echoed through the lang high galleries, it seemed like the shouting o’ a thousand men; and, within ten minutes, every man in the garrison was made prisoner or put to the sword! And noo, neebors, what my kinsman and a handfu’ o’ countrymen did for the deliverance o’ the Castle o’ Home, can ye not do for Fast Castle, or will ye not—and so drive every invader oot o’ Berwickshire?”
“I dinna mean to say, Madge,” answered one, who appeared to be the most influential personage amongst her auditors—“I dinna mean to say but that your relation and his comrades hae performed a most noble and gallant exploit—one that renders them worthy o’ being held in everlasting remembrance by their countrymen—and glad would I be if we could this night do the same for Fast Castle. But, woman, the thing is impossible; the cases are not parallel. It mightna be a difficult matter to scale the highest part o’ the walls o’ Home Castle, and ladders could easily be got for that purpose; but, at Fast Castle, wi’ the draw-brig up, and the dark, deep, terrible chasm between you and the walls, like the bottomless gulf between time and eternity!—I say, again, for my part, the thing is impossible. Wha has strength o’ head, even for a moment, to look doun frae the dark and dizzy height o’ the Wolf’s Crag?—and wha could think o’ scaling it? Even if it had been possible, the stoutest heart that ever beat in a bosom would, wi’ the sickening horror o’ its owner’s situation, before he was half-way up, be dead as the rocks that would dash him to pieces as he fell! Na, na, I should hae been glad to lend a helping and a willing hand to ony practicable plan, but it would be madness to throw away our lives where there couldna be the slightest possibility o’ success.”
“Listen,” said Madge; “I ken what is possible, and what is impossible, as weel as ony o’ ye. I meant that ye should tak for example the dauntless spirit o’ my kinsman and the men o’ Home, and no their manner o’ entering the castle. But, if yer hearts beat as their hearts did, before this hour the morn’s nicht, the invaders will be driven frae Fast Castle. In the morning we are ordered to take provisions to the garrison. I shall be wi’ ye, and in the front o’ ye. But, though my left arm carries a basket, beneath my cloak shall be hidden the bit sword which my guidman wore in the wars against King Harry; and, as I reach the last sentinel—‘Now, lads! now for Scotland and our Queen!’ I shall cry; and wha dare follow my example?”
“I dare! I will!” said Florence Wilson, “and be at yer side to strike doun the sentinel; and sure am I that there isna a man here that winna do or die, and drive oor enemies frae the castle, or leave his body within its wa’s for them to cast into the sea. Every man o’ us, the morn, will enter the castle wi’ arms concealed about him, and hae them ready to draw and strike at a moment’s warning. Ye canny say, freends, but that this is a feasible plan, and ye winna be outdone in bravery by a woman. Do ye agree to it?”
There were cries of—“Yes, Florence, yes!—every man o’ us!”—and “It is an excellent plan—it is only a pity that it hadna been thocht o’ suner,” resounded on all sides; but “Better late than never,” said others.
“Come round me, then,” said Madge; and they formed a circle around her. “Ye swear now,” she continued, “in the presence o’ Him who see’th through the darkness o’ night and searcheth the heart, that nane o’ ye will betray to oor enemies what we hae this nicht determined on; but that every man o’ ye will, the morn, though at the price o’ his life, do yer utmost to deliver oor groaning country frae the yoke o’ its invaders and oppressors! This ye swear?”
And they bowed their heads around her.
“Awa, then,” added she, “ilka man to his ain hoose, and get his weapons in readiness.” And, leaving the copse, they proceeded in various directions across the desolate moor. But Florence Wilson accompanied Madge to her dwelling; and, as they went, she said—
“Florence, if ye act as weel the morn as ye hae spoken this nicht, the morn shall my dochter, Janet, be yer wife, wi’ a fu’ purse for her portion that neither o’ ye kens aboot.”
He pressed her hand in the fulness of his heart; but she added—
“Na, na, Florence, I’m no a person that cares aboot a fuss being made for the sake o’ gratitude—thank me wi’ deeds. Remember I have said—a’ depends on yer conduct the morn.”
When they entered the house, poor Janet was weeping, because of her mother’s absence, for she had expected her for two days; and her apprehensions were not removed when she saw her in the company of Florence, who, although her destined husband, and who, though he had long been in the habit of visiting her daily, had called but once during her mother’s absence, and then he was sad and spoke little. She saw that her parent had prevailed on him to undertake some desperate project, and she wept for his sake.
When he arose to depart, she rose also and accompanied him to the door.
“Florence,” said she, tenderly, “you and my mother hae some secret between ye, which ye winna communicate to me.”
“A’ that is a secret between us,” said he, “is, that she consents that the morn ye shall be my winsome bride, if ye be willing, as I’m sure ye are; and that is nae secret that I wad keep frae ye; but I didna wish to put ye aboot by mentioning it before her.”
Janet blushed, and again added—
“But there is something mair between ye than that, Florence, and why should ye hide it frae me?”
“Dear me, hinny!” said he, “I wonder that ye should be sae apprehensive. There is nae secret between yer mother an’ me that isna weel-kenned to every ane in the country-side. But just ye hae patience—bide a wee—wait only till the morn; and, when I come to lead ye afore the minister, I’ll tell ye a’thing then.”
“An’ wherefore no tell me the noo, Florence?” said she. “I am sure that there is something brewing, an’ a dangerous something too. Daur ye no trust me? Ye may think me a weak an’ silly creature; but, if I am not just so rash and outspoken as my mother, try me if I haena as stout a heart when there is a necessity for showing it.”
“Weel, Janet, dear,” said Florence, “I winna conceal frae ye that there is something brewing—but what that something is I am not at liberty to tell. I am bound by an oath not to speak o’t, and so are a hunder others, as weel as me. But the morn it will be in my power to tell ye a’. Noo, just be ye contented, and get ready for our wedding.”
“And my mother kens,” Janet was proceeding to say, when her mother’s voice was heard, crying from the house—
“Come in, Janet—what are ye doing oot there in the cauld?—ye hae been lang enough wi’ Florence the nicht—but the morn’s nicht ye may speak to him as lang as ye like. Sae come in, lassie.”
As the reader may suppose, Madge was not one whose commands required to be uttered twice; and, with a troubled heart, Janet bade Florence “good-night,” and returned to the cottage.
It was a little after sunrise on the following day, when a body of more than a hundred peasantry, agreeably to the command of the governor, appeared before the castle, laden with provisions. Some of them had the stores which they had brought upon the backs of horses, but which they placed upon their own shoulders as they approached the bridge. Amongst them were fishermen from Eyemouth and Coldingham, shepherds from the hills with slaughtered sheep, millers, and the cultivators of the patches of arable ground beyond the moor. With them, also, were a few women carrying eggs, butter, cheese, and poultry; and at the head of the procession (for the narrowness of the drawbridge over the frightful chasm, beyond which the castle stood, caused the company to assume the form of a procession as they entered the walls) was Madge Gordon, and her intended son-in-law, Florence Wilson.
The drawbridge had been let down to them; the last of the burden-bearers had crossed it; and Madge had reached the farthest sentinel, when suddenly dropping her basket, out from beneath her grey cloak gleamed the sword of her dead husband!
“Now, lads!—now for Scotland and our Queen!” she exclaimed, and as she spoke, the sword in her hand pierced the body of the sentinel. At the same instant every man cast his burden to the ground, a hundred hidden swords were revealed, and every sentinel was overpowered.
“Forward, lads! forward!” shouted Madge.
“Forward!” cried Florence Wilson, with his sword in his hand, leading the way. They rushed into the interior of the castle; they divided into bands. Some placed themselves before the arsenal where arms were kept, while others rushed from room to room, making prisoners of those of the garrison who yielded willingly, and showing no quarter to those who resisted. Many sought safety in flight, some flying half-naked, aroused from morning dreams after a night’s carouse, and almost all fled without weapons of defence. The effect upon the garrison was as if a thunderbolt had burst in the midst of them. Within half an hour, Fast Castle was in the hands of the peasantry, and the entire soldiery who had defended it had either fled, were slain, or made prisoners.
Besides striking the first blow, Madge had not permitted the sword of her late husband to remain idle in her hands during the conflict. And, as the conquerors gathered round Florence Wilson, to acknowledge to him that to his counsel, presence of mind, and courage, as their leader, in the midst of the confusion that prevailed, they owed their victory, and the deliverance of the east of Berwickshire from its invaders, Madge pressed forward, and, presenting him her husband’s sword, said—
“Tak this, my son, and keep it—it was the sword o’ a brave man, and to a brave man I gie it—and this night shall ye be my son indeed.”
“Thank ye, mother—mother!” said Florence. And as he spoke a faint smile crossed his features.
But scarce had he taken the sword in his hand, ere a voice was heard, crying—
“Where is he?—where shall I find him?—does he live?—where is my mother?”
“Here, love!—here! It is my Janet!” cried Florence; but his voice seemed to fail him as he spoke.
“Come here, my bairn,” cried her mother, “and in the presence of these witnesses receive a hand that ye may be proud o’.”
As part of the garrison fled through Coldingham, Janet had heard of the surprise by which the castle had been taken, and ran towards it to gather tidings of her mother and affianced husband; for she now knew the secret which they would not reveal to her.
As she rushed forward, the crowd that surrounded Florence gave way, and, as he moved forward to meet her, it was observed that he shook or staggered as he went; but it was thought no more of; and when she fell upon his bosom, and her mother took their hands and pressed them together, the multitude burst into a shout and blessed them. He strove to speak—he muttered the word “Janet!” but his arms fell from her neck, and he sank as lifeless on the ground.
“Florence! my Florence!—he is wounded—murdered!” cried the maiden, and she flung herself beside him on the ground.
Madge and the spectators endeavoured to raise him; but his eyes were closed; and, as he gasped, they with difficulty could understand the words he strove to utter—“Water—water!”
He had, indeed, been wounded—mortally wounded—but he spoke not of it. They raised him in their arms and carried him to an apartment in the castle; but, ere they reached it, the spirit of Florence Wilson had fled.
Poor Janet clung to his lifeless body. She now cried—“Florence!—Florence!—we shall be married to-night?—yes!—yes!—I have everything ready!” And again she spoke bitter words to her mother, and said that she had murdered her Florence. The spectators lifted her from his body, and Madge stood as one on whom affliction, in the midst of her triumph, had fallen as a palsy, depriving her of speech and action.
“My poor bereaved bairn!” she at length exclaimed; and she took her daughter in her arms and kissed her—“ye hae indeed cause to mourn, for Florence was a noble lad!—but, oh, dinna say it was my doing, hinny!—dinna wyte yer mother!—will ye no, Janet? It is a great comfort that Florence has died like a hero.”
But Janet never was herself again. She became, as their neighbours said, a poor, melancholy, maundering creature, going about talking of her Florence and the surprise of Fast Castle, and ever ending her story—“But I maun awa hame and get ready, for Florence and I are to be married the nicht.”
Madge followed her, mourning, wheresoever she went, bearing with and soothing all her humours. But she had not long to bear them; for, within two years, Janet was laid by the side of Florence Wilson, in Coldingham kirkyard; and, before another winter howled over their peaceful graves, Madge lay at rest beside them.