"The deuce you are!" he said; "what! you Cookson!—ship you, ay, and a hundred like you, if I could get them."
I need hardly tell you the vessel was a privateer. Within three days the schooner left the Mersey, and I had the good fortune to be shipped as mate. For two years we boxed about the Mediterranean, and I had cleared, as my share of prize-money, nearly a thousand pounds. At that period, our skipper, thinking he had made enough, resigned the command in favour of me. My first cruise was so successful, that I was enabled to purchase a privateer of my own, which I named the Jess. For, d'ye see, her idea was like a never-waning moonlight in my brain—her emphatic words, "Hope!—hope!—hope!" whispered eternally in my breast—and I did hope. Sleeping or waking, on sea or on shore, a day never passed but the image of my Jess arose on my sight, smiling and saying, "Hope!" In four years more, I had cleared ten thousand pounds, and I sold the schooner for another thousand. I now thought myself a match for Jess, and resolved to go to the old man—her father, I mean—and offer to take her without a shilling. Well, I had sold my craft at Plymouth, and, before proceeding to the north, was stopping a few days in a small town in the south-west of England, to breathe the land air—for my face, you see, had become a little rough, by constant exposure to the weather. Well, sir, the windows of my lodging faced the jail, and, for three days, I observed the handsomest figure that ever graced a woman enter the prison at meal-times. It was the very figure—the very gait of my Jess—only her appearance was not genteel enough. But I had never seen her face. On the fourth day I got a glimpse of it. Powers of earth! it was her!—it was my Jess! I rushed downstairs like a madman—I flew to the prison-door, and knocked. The jailer opened it. I eagerly inquired who the young lady was that had just entered. He abruptly replied—
"The daughter of a debtor."
"For Heaven's sake!" I returned, "let me speak with them!"
He refused. I pushed a guinea into his hand, and he led me to the debtors' room. And there, sir—there stood my Jess—my saviour—my angel—there she stood, administering to the wants of her grey-haired father! I won't, because I can't, describe to you the tragedy scene that ensued. The old man had lost all that he possessed in the world—his thousands had taken wings, and flown away, and he was now pining in jail for fifty—and his daughter, my noble Jess, supported him by the labours of her needle. I paid the debt before I left the prison, and out I came, with Jess upon one arm, and the old man on the other. We were married within a month. I went to sea again—but I will pass over that; and, when the peace was made, we came down here to Northumberland, and purchased a bit of ground and a snug cabin, about five miles from this; and there six little Cooksons are romping about, and calling my Jess their mother, and none of them orphans, like their father, thank Heaven! And now, sir, you have heard the narrative of Squire Ben—what do you think of it?
THE BATTLE OF DRYFFE SANDS.
The power of custom to render the mind indifferent or insensible to danger, has never been better exemplified than by the mothers, and wives, and daughters of the ancient Borderers. They were wont to regard without apprehension the departure of their dearest relatives upon perilous expeditions—neither expressing nor experiencing any feeling except a wish for the success of the raid. Nay, as we have elsewhere stated, the fair dames of these stern warriors and marauders not unfrequently hinted that the larder needed replenishing, by placing on the table a dish, which, on being uncovered, was found to contain a pair of clean spurs; or by making the announcement that "hough's i' the pot;" or by calling, within hearing of the laird, on the herds to bring out THE COW; or, in short, by the thousand-and-one means which the ready wit of woman could devise. Rapine and war were the sole business of the chiefs and their retainers; and matrons and maidens, if they had wept and wailed whenever their natural protectors went "to take a prey," would have been thought just as unreasonable as some of our modern ladies, who will not allow their husbands to proceed about their daily avocations, without bestowing on them tears, kisses, and embraces, in superabundance.
The mistress of Thrieve Castle, Lady Maxwell, possessed her full share of that masculine character which was deemed befitting in a Borderer's wife; and, although she had mingled in the gaieties of the unhappy Mary's court, that sternness which was part of her inheritance as a daughter of the house of Douglas had not been perceptibly diminished in the course of her residence at Holyrood. The aggrandisement of her husband's family was the perpetual subject of her thoughts; and whatever affected their honour or their interest was felt as keenly by Lady Maxwell as by the most devoted follower. At the time to which this narrative relates, her meditations ran even more frequently and fully than usual in their accustomed channel.
About ten years before James VI. succeeded to the throne of England, the hereditary feud which had for generations subsisted betwixt the Maxwells of Nithsdale and the Johnstones of Annandale broke forth with redoubled violence. Several of the lairds, whose possessions lay within the district which was disturbed by the contentions of these two races, had sustained serious injury from the incursions of marauders from Annandale, and, in consequence, had entered into a secret compact, offensive and defensive, with Lord Maxwell. This transaction reached the ears of Sir James Johnstone, who forthwith endeavoured to break the league which had so greatly extended his rival's power. The petty warfare betwixt the two barons was carried on for some time, without producing any very decisive result. The compact was still unbroken, and, to all appearance, the Maxwells were rapidly acquiring that ascendency which would soon render resistance hopeless. But the worsted party obtained the aid of the Scotts and other clans from the midland district. Lord Maxwell, on the other hand, rallied around him the barons of Nithsdale, displayed his banner as the king's lieutenant, and hastened to attack his opponents in their fastnesses.