"My faither, honest man, in his young days was master o' the Saint Denis, a pinck of Kinghorn," began the boatswain, "and had three times the honour o' sailing to France wi' knights and ambassadors, anent the marriage o' King James wi' the daughter o' Duke Arnold and Catharine the Duchess o' Cleves. Weel, on the third time, in the year '48 as he was bearing awa' for name, and had left far astern the free port o' auld Dunkerque, wi' its basin, sluice, and batteries, he found a dismasted and abandoned caravel floating on the sea; and lang she seemed to have been dismantled and unmanned, for sea-weed and barnacles grew thick on her gaping planks and rusty chainplates, and it was next thing to a miracle that she floated at all. He boarded and overhauled her, but name, mark, or trace found he none, to indicate whose she might be, or where she cam' frae. A fine bell, wi' a clear siller tone, rocked on her forecastle, and this he unhooked and brought awa'; and the moment his boat pushed off, the bell gied a clink wi' its tongue, and the auld battered wreck gaed down wi' a sough, and half swamped the boat in its swirl as the waves yawned and closed owre it. The sailors looked ilka man in the other's face, and there seemed whisper in their hearts, that there was something about that auld and nameless wreck that was strange and eerie.
"My faither hung the bell in his forecastle,—for its tones were clear and ringing, like a siller horn in a summer wood, or a young lassie's laugh when her heart is full; but my certie, there were soon terror and dismay on board the brave pinck Saint Denis, of Kinghorn; for the bell o' the nameless wreck was bewitched, and rang a' the watches itsel', and untouched by mortal hand; and in the deid hour o' the mirk nichts its full clear notes vibrated through every plank and stanchion in the ship, and through every sleeper's ears and heart; for never before had a bell wi' sic a sweet yet terrible tone flung its sound upon the waters. It was thrice thrown overboard, and thrice it was found hanging on its old neuk in the forecastle; and when the Saint Denis came home, far and wide spread the terror o' her story through a' the seaport towns o' Lothian, Fife, and Angus; so the owners had to break up the pinck, for nae man would bide aboard o' her, and for years she lay rotting at her anchors in the harbour o' Wester Kinghorn."
"May this broon ale be bilge if I would ha'e put a foot on her deck after the bell came back the first time," said the gunner. "So they broke the auld craft up for firewood: weel, Archy, after that what became o' the bell?"
"It was exorcised by candle, book, and holy water, by the Abbot o' Inchcolm, and thereafter it was hung in the steeple o' Largo, where unto this day it summons the faithfu' to prayer; but never a note hath it rung unbidden since its devilish power was destroyed."
"Ugh!" said the gunner, shrugging his thick square shoulders, "St. Mary keep us frae evil! And noo for a song, shipmates," he added, giving his bow a flourish over the fiddle. "Cuddie will sing us the last new ballad, made by a gentle makkar, on the admiral—to whom lang life—and our battle with Sir Stephen Bull,—to whom I also say long life, southron he be!"
Thus invited, Cuthbert Clewline required no pressing, but after clearing his throat, giving his ruff a jerk, and hitching at the points of his wide canvas breeches—which were similar to those still worn by our fishermen, being so ample and short as to resemble a kilt, he sang the quaint and old doggrel ballad of
"Schir Andro Wood,"
to the air of Sir Andrew Barton; and as it is somewhat curious as a nautical ballad of the time, we are tempted to transfer a modernized copy of it from the "History of the Scots Wars," into these pages, still preserving, however, the words the coxswain sung.
"Of all our Scottish mariners, who ever sailed the sea,
The stoutest was Sir Andrew Wood, the bravest too was he!
So wroth grew England's haughty king, that a single Scot should keep,
From Norway's shores to Cape de Verd, the mastery of the deep;
And he throughout his kingdom did a proclamation make,
Of a thousand silver pounds per year, Sir Andrew Wood to take.
"Then up a gallant captain stood, Sir Stephen Bull was he,
Saying, 'I shall fight this Scottish man till he your prisoner be,'
Right merrie and right proud withal was England's monarch then,
And he gave unto this captain bold, three ships with guns and men.
So sailing to our Scottish seas, he cruised near to Crail,
Until he saw Sir Andrew Wood with two ships under sail.