Preface to First Edition.

The “Wolfe of Badenoch” was advertised in June, 1825, at which time it was ready for the press. Since then, certain circumstances, easily guessed at, have subjected it, with many a more important work, to an embargo, from which critics may possibly say it should never have been liberated. The author himself had forgotten it, until now that it has been unexpectedly called for; and this must be his apology for that want of revision which he fears will be but too apparent.

The author has been accused of being an imitator of the Great Unknown. In his own defence, however, he must say, that he is far from being wilfully so. In truth, his greatest anxiety has been to avoid intruding profanely into the sacred haunts of that master enchanter. But let it be remembered, that the mighty spirit of the magician has already so filled the labyrinth of romance, that it is not easy to venture within its precincts without feeling his influence; and to say that, in exploring the intricacies of these wizard paths, one is to be denounced for unwittingly treading upon these flowers which have been pressed by his giant foot, amounts to a perfect prohibition of all entrance there. [8]

In the “Wolfe of Badenoch,” the author has adhered strictly to historical fact, as far as history or historical character has been interwoven with his story. He has felt, indeed, that this scrupulosity has considerably fettered his invention; and, had circumstances permitted the public so to judge of his former production, some of the remarks thrown out upon it would have been spared.

[Note to the present edition.—The author of course refers here to Sir Walter Scott, at that time, one may almost say, inaugurating a new era in historical romance. The “Wolfe of Badenoch” was first published in 1827 under circumstances of disadvantage, from having to stand the contrast with the famous series of tales by the above distinguished author. It, nevertheless, passed successfully through this trying ordeal, and was most favourably reviewed in many critical publications, some of which ranked it alongside the best productions of Sir Walter Scott. A still more certain and gratifying estimate of its worth was the favourable hold it took on public opinion, the work being extensively read and successive editions speedily called for.] [9]

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. PAGE

The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry of Norham Towers, 17

CHAPTER II.

The Host and the Hostess—Preparing the Evening Meal, 29

CHAPTER III.

The Knights Invited to Norham Castle, 33

CHAPTER IV.

The Evening Meal at the Castle—The Minstrel and the Tourney of Noyon—Master Haggerstone Fenwick the Ancient, 39

CHAPTER V.

Night at the Castle—The Friar’s Visit to the Ancient, 47

CHAPTER VI.

Making Love on the Ramparts, 54

CHAPTER VII.

The Midnight Meeting in the Ancient’s Chamber—Strange Proposal—A Dreadful Alternative, 61

CHAPTER VIII.

Arrival of Sir Rafe Piersie—The Challenge, 70 [10]

CHAPTER IX.

The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert, 77

CHAPTER X.

The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old Wolf-Hound, 84

CHAPTER XI.

The Wolf Hunt—A Desperate Encounter, 90

CHAPTER XII.

The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at Tarnawa Announced, 97

CHAPTER XIII.

Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Departure for the North—Consternation at the Castle, 109

CHAPTER XIV.

The Pursuit—Surprising the Camp, 115

CHAPTER XV.

Norham Castle again—The Ancient’s Divination—Sir Walter Bewitched—The Franciscan Friar to the Rescue, 121

CHAPTER XVI.

Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames, 126

CHAPTER XVII.

Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep, 134

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Horrors of the Dungeon, 140 [11]

CHAPTER XIX.

Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors, 147

CHAPTER XX.

A Dreadful Situation—Daniel Throckle the Old Jailor, 153

CHAPTER XXI.

Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle, 160

CHAPTER XXII.

Waiting for the Spearmen—The Lady Isabella’s Tale—The Fight, 166

CHAPTER XXIII.

Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Journey North—Passes through Edinburgh—King Robert II.—The Wilds of the Highlands—The Celtic Host, 171

CHAPTER XXIV.

Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf Dogs, 180

CHAPTER XXV.

Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue, 184

CHAPTER XXVI.

The Evening Encampment—Treachery, 191

CHAPTER XXVII.

Another Night attack—A Desperate Encounter, 198

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade, 205

CHAPTER XXIX.

The Wolfe of Badenoch’s Hunting Encampment—Letter from King Robert—Arrival at the Wolfe’s Stronghold, 210 [12]

CHAPTER XXX.

The Castle of Lochyndorbe—An Evening Episode on the Ramparts—The Wolfe’s Raid on the Bishop’s Lands, 224

CHAPTER XXXI.

The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe, 231

CHAPTER XXXII.

Maurice’s Song—The Franciscan Friar—Excommunication, 238

CHAPTER XXXIII.

The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which? 247

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray, 251

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The Castle of Tarnawa—Distinguished Guests, 260

CHAPTER XXXVII.

The Banquet at the Castle—Alarm—Forres on Fire, 267

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres, 272

CHAPTER XXXIX.

Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres, 279

CHAPTER XL.

In the Countess of Moray’s Apartments—Sir Patrick gets Quizzed, 283

CHAPTER XLI.

Rory Spears, the Earl’s Henchman, 288 [13]

CHAPTER XLII.

The Lovely English Damosel, 292

CHAPTER XLIII.

Mustering for the Tournament—The Proclamation—The Procession at St. John’s Chapel, 293

CHAPTER XLIV.

The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot, 304

CHAPTER XLV.

The Tournament, 311

CHAPTER XLVI.

The English Ambassador and the Gallant Lindsay, 321

CHAPTER XLVII.

The Earl of Fife’s Council Meeting—The Challenge between the Scottish and English Knights, 326

CHAPTER XLVIII.

The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War, 333

CHAPTER XLIX.

The Lord of Dirleton’s Tale—The Bishop of Moray and his Clergy, 342

CHAPTER L.

The Mystery of the Lady Beatrice—Arrival of the Nobles and Men-at-arms at Aberdeen, 351

CHAPTER LI.

King Robert at Aberdeen—Duncan MacErchar again, 356 [14]

CHAPTER LII.

The Wolfe of Badenoch at Aberdeen—Father and Son, 366

CHAPTER LIII.

The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch, 376

CHAPTER LIV.

Sir Andrew’s Deep-laid Plot—An Unexpected Arrival, 384

CHAPTER LV.

Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle—Arrival at the River Tweed, 394

CHAPTER LVI.

Old Acquaintances at the Hostel of Norham Tower—Great Gathering at Jedworth—The Council of War, 402

CHAPTER LVII.

The Scots Besieging Newcastle—The Fight on the Walls, 415

CHAPTER LVIII.

Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon, 426

CHAPTER LIX.

The Battle at Otterbourne, 444

CHAPTER LX.

The Bishop’s Army—Sorrow for the Fate of the Heroic Douglas, 459

CHAPTER LXI.

The Field of Otterbourne after the Fight, 465

CHAPTER LXII.

Withdrawal of the Scots Army—Obsequies of the Gallant Dead—The Mystery Solved, 471 [15]

CHAPTER LXIII.

The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The Wealthy London Merchant—Combat on London Bridge, 485

CHAPTER LXIV.

Lady de Vere and her lovely Guest—Innocence and Purity Endangered—The King’s Confessor and the Franciscan Friar, 506

CHAPTER LXV.

In the Dungeons of the Tower of London, 525

CHAPTER LXVI.

A Ship of Olden Times—Tempest Tossed—Arrival at the Maison Dieu in Elgin, 529

CHAPTER LXVII.

The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral, 536

CHAPTER LXVIII.

The Bishop’s Palace at Spynie—The Wolfe gets a Surprise, 547

CHAPTER LXIX.

Changes at the Castle of Lochyndorbe—The Wolfe tamed—Alarm for the Lady Beatrice, 555

CHAPTER LXX.

Bishop Barr at Lochyndorbe Castle—Reception by the Wolfe, 566

CHAPTER LXXI.

The Scottish Knights in London—Father Rushak’s Tale, 576

CHAPTER LXXII.

At the Scottish Court—The Penitential Procession—Sir Patrick and the Friar, 582 [16]

CHAPTER LXXIII.

Accusation made in presence of the King—The Challenge, 595

CHAPTER LXXIV.

The Missing Lady Beatrice, 604

CHAPTER LXXV.

The Ordeal of Battle, 608

CHAPTER LXXVI.

The Friar’s Tale—The Two Combatants—Lady Eleanore’s explanation—All is well that ends well, 615 [17]

CHAPTER I.

The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry of Norham Towers.

It was in the latter part of the fourteenth century that Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton—two young Scottish knights, who had been serving their novitiate of chivalry under the banners of Charles the Sixth of France, and who had bled their maiden lances against the Flemings at Rosebarque—were hastening towards the Border separating England from their native country. A truce then subsisting betwixt the kingdoms that divided Britain had enabled the two friends to land in Kent, whence they were permitted to prosecute their journey through the dominions of Richard II., attended by a circumscribed retinue of some ten or a dozen horsemen.

“These tedious leagues of English ground seem to lengthen under our travel,” said Sir John Assueton, breaking a silence that was stealing upon their march with the descending shades of evening. “Dost thou not long for one cheering glance of the silver Tweed, ere its stream shall have been forsaken by the last glimmer of twilight?”

“In sooth, I should be well contented to behold it,” replied Hepborne. “The night droops fast, and our jaded palfreys already lag their ears from weariness. Even our unbacked war-steeds, albeit they have carried no heavier burden than their trappings, have natheless lost some deal of their morning’s metal, and, judging from their sobered paces, methinks they would gladly exchange their gay chamfronts for the more vulgar hempen-halters of some well-littered stable.” [18]

“Depardieux, but I have mine own sympathy with them,” said Assueton. “Saidst thou not that we should lie at Norham to-night?”

“Methought to cast the time and the distance so,” replied Hepborne; “and by those lights that twinkle from yonder dark mass, rising against that yellow streak in the sky, I should judge that I have not greatly missed in meting our day’s journey to that of the sun. Look between those groups of trees—nay, more to the right, over that swelling bank—that, if I mistake not, is the keep of Norham Castle, and those are doubtless the torches of the warders moving along the battlements. The watch must be setting ere this. Let us put on.”

“Thou dost not mean to crave hospitality from the captain of the strength, dost thou?” demanded Assueton.

“Such was my purpose,” replied Hepborne; “and the rather, that the good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, hath a fair fame for being no churlish host.”

“Nay, if thou lovest me, Hepborne, let us shun the Castle,” said Assueton. “I have, ’tis true, heard of this same Sir Walter de Selby; and the world lies if he be not, indeed, as thou sayst, a hospitable old knight. But they say he hath damsels about him; and thou knowest I love not to doff mine armour only to don the buckram of etiquette; and to have mine invention put upon the rack to minister to woman’s vanity. Let us then to the village hostel, I entreat thee.”

“This strange unknightly disease of thine doth grow on thee, Assueton,” said Hepborne, laughing. “I have, indeed, heard that the widowed Sir Walter was left with one peerless daughter, who is doubtless the pride of her father’s hall; nay, I confess to thee, my friend, that the much-bruited tale of her beauty hath had its own share in begetting my desire to lodge me in Norham; but since thou wilt have it so, I am content to pleasure thee, trusting that this my ready penance of self-denial may count against the heavy score of my sins. But stay;—What may this be that lies fluttering here among the gorse?”

“Meseems it a wounded hawk,” said Assueton, stooping from his horse to look at it.

“In truth, ’tis indeed a fair falcon,” said Hepborne’s esquire, Mortimer Sang, as he dismounted to pick it up. “He gasps as if he were dying. Ha! by’r Lady, but he hath nommed a plump partridge; see here, it is dead in his talons.”

“He hath perchance come by some hurt in the swooping,” said Hepborne; “Canst thou discover any wound in him?”

“Nay, I can see nothing amiss in him,” replied Sang. [19]

“I’ll warrant me, a well-reclaimed falcon,” said Hepborne, taking him from his esquire; “ay, and the pet of some fair damsel too, if I may guess from his silken jesses. But hold—he reviveth. I will put him here in the bosom of my surcoat, and so foster the small spark of life that may yet remain in him.”

At this moment their attention was arrested by the sound of voices; and, by the meagre light that now remained, they could descry two ladies, mounted on palfreys, and followed by two or three male attendants, who came slowly from behind a wooded knoll, a little to the left of the path before them. Their eyes were thrown on the ground, and they seemed to be earnestly engaged in looking for something they had lost.

“Alas, my poor bird!” said one of the ladies, “I fear I shall never see thee more.”

“Mary, ’tis vain to look for him by this lack of light,” said an esquire.

“Do thou thy duty and seek for him, Master Turnberry,” said the second lady, in a haughty tone.

“A murrain on’t!” said the esquire again; “this comes of casting a hawk at a fowl at sundown.”

“I tell thee he must be hereabouts,” said the second lady again; “it was over these trees that I saw him stoop.”

“Stoop! ay, I’ll be sworn I saw him stoop,” said the esquire. “But an I saw him not dash his brains ’gainst one of those gnarled elms, my name is not Thomas, and I have no eyes for falconry. He’s amortised, I promise thee.”

“Silence, Master Turnberry,” said the same lady again; “thou givest thy tongue larger license than doth well beseem thee.”

“By the Rood, but ’tis well to call silence,” replied the esquire, sulkily, “and to me too who did verily steal these two hours’ sport of hawking for thee at mine own proper peril.”

“Ay, stolen indeed were they on thy part, Master Turnberry,” replied the same lady; “but forget not that they were honestly bought of thee on ours.”

“Nay, then, bought or not,” said the esquire, “the last nail’s breadth of thy merchandize hath been unrolled to thee. We must e’en clip short, and haste us to Norham, else will Sir Walter’s grey beard become redder than a comet’s tail with ire. Thou knowest this has been but a testy day with him.”

“Peace with thy impudence, sir knave,” said the same lady hotly. “Dost thou dare thus to speak in presence of the Lady Eleanore de Selby? A greybeard’s ire shall never——” [20]

“Nay, talk not so,” said the first lady, mildly interrupting her. “The honest squire equeary hath reason. Though it grieveth me to lose my poor falcon thus, we must e’en give him up, and haste us to the Castle.”

“Stay, stay, fair damsel,” cried Hepborne, urging his steed forward from the hollow bushy path where he and his party had hitherto remained concealed, from dread of alarming the ladies, a precaution which he now entirely forgot in his eagerness to approach her, whose person and manners had already bewitched him. “Stay, stay—fly not, lady—your hawk—your falcon!”

But the sudden appearance of armed men had so filled the ladies with alarm, that they had fled at his first word; and he now saw himself opposed by sturdy Squire Turnberry, who being too much taken by surprise to catch the knight’s meaning, and taking it for granted that his purpose was hostile, wheeled his horse round, and planting himself firmly in the midst of the path, at the head of the grooms, couched his hunting-spear, as if determined to prevent pursuit.

“What, ho! sir stranger knight—what seek ye, in the fiend’s name?” demanded the squire, sternly.

“Credit me no evil,” said Sir Patrick. “It galleth me sore that mine intemperate rudeness should have so frayed these beauteous damsels. Mine intent was but to restore the fair lady’s lost falcon, the which it was our chance to pick up in this hollow way. He had ta’en some unseen hurt in swooping at this partridge, which he had nommed.”

“Nay, by the mass, but I thought as much,” said the squire.

“Tell the lovely mistress of this fair bird, that Sir Patrick Hepborne willingly submits him to what penance she may enjoin for the alarm he caused her,” said the knight; “and tell, too, that he gave life to her expiring falcon, by cherishing it in his bosom.”

“I give thee thanks in mine own name, and that of the lady who owneth the hawk,” said the esquire. “Trust me, thy sin will be forgotten in the signal service thou hast done her. The bird, methinks, rouseth him as if there were no longer evil in him.”

“Yea, he proyneth and manteleth him as if rejoicing that he shall again embrace his lady’s wrist with his sengles,” said the knight. “Happy bird! depardieux, but he is to be envied. Tell his fair mistress, that if the small service it hath been my good fortune to render her, may merit aught of boon at her hands, let my reward be mine enlistment in that host of gallant knights who may have vowed devotion to her will.” [21]

“Sir Knight,” said the squire, “I will bear thy courteous message to her who owneth the falcon; and if I tarry not longer to give the greater store of thanks, ’tis that the Lady Eleanore de Selby hath spurred away so fast, that I must have a fiend’s flight if I can catch her.” And turning his horse with these words he tarried not for further parlance.

“’Tis a strange adventure, Assueton,” said Hepborne to his friend, as they pursued their journey; “to meet thus with the peerless Eleanore de Selby at the very moment she formed the subject of our discourse.”

“’Tis whimsical enow,” said Assueton, drily; “yet it is nothing marvellous.”

“Albeit that the growing darkness left me but to guess at the excellence of her features, from the elegance of her person,” continued Hepborne, “yet do I confess myself more than half enamoured of her by very intuition. Didst thou observe that her attendant who talked so forwardly, though not devoid of grace, showed in her superior presence but as a mere mortal beside a goddess?”

“Nay,” replied Assueton, “though I do rarely measure or weigh the points of women, and am more versant in those of a battle-steed, yet methought that the attendant, as thou callest her, had the more noble port of the two.”

“Fie on thy judgment, Assueton,” cried Hepborne; “to prefer the saucy, pert demeanour of an over-indulged hand-maid, to the dignified deportment of gentle birth. The Lady Eleanore de Selby—she, I mean, in the reddish-coloured mantle, she who wept for the hawk—was as far above her companion in the elegance of her air, as heaven is above earth.”

“May be so,” replied Assueton with perfect indifference. “’Tis a question not worth the mooting.”

“To thee, perhaps, it may be of little interest,” said Hepborne; “but I could be well contented to be permitted to solve it in Norham Castle. Why wert thou born with feelings so much at war with what beseemeth a knight, as to make thee eschew all converse with those fair beings, the sun of whose beauty shineth but to brace up the otherwise damp and flaccid nerves of chivalrous adventure?”

“Nay, thou mightest as well demand of me why my raven locks are not as fair as thine,” said Assueton with a smile; “yea, or bid him who is born blind to will to see.”

“By Saint Baldrid, but I do pity thee as much as if thou wert blind,” said Hepborne. “Nay, what is it but to be blind, yea, to want every sense, to be thus unmoved with——” [22]