The tall Scottish castle of Roxburgh stood near the border, lifting its grim turrets above the Teviot and the Tweed. When the Black Douglas, as Lord James was called, had recovered castle after castle from the English, he desired to gain this stronghold, and determined to accomplish his wish. But he knew it could be taken only by surprise, and a very wily affair it must be. He had outwitted the English so many times that they were sharply on the lookout for him.
Near the castle was a gloomy old forest, called Jedburgh. Here, just as the first days of spring began to kindle in the sunrise and the sunsets, and warm the frosty hills, the Black Douglas concealed sixty picked men.
It was Shrove-tide, and the festival was to be celebrated with song and harp and a great blaze of light, and free offerings of wine in the great hall of the castle. The garrison was to have leave for merrymaking and indulging in revelry.
The sun had gone down in the red sky, and the long, deep shadows began to fall on the woods, the river, the hills, and valleys. An officer’s wife had retired from the great hall, where all was preparation for the merrymaking, to the high battlements of the castle, in order to quiet her little child and put it to rest. The sentinel, from time to time, paced near her. She began to sing:—
“Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye!
Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye:
The Black Douglas shall not get ye!”
She saw some strange objects moving across the level ground in the distance. They greatly puzzled her. They did not travel quite like animals, but they seemed to have four legs.
“What are those queer-looking things yonder?” she asked of the sentinel as he drew near.
“They are Farmer Asher’s cattle,” said the soldier, straining his eyes to discern the outlines of the long figures in the shadows. “The good man is making merry to-night, and has forgotten to bring in his oxen; lucky ’twill be if they do not fall a prey to the Black Douglas.”