Part 5

2. So he spoke with some bold, courageous countrymen, and engaged them in the enterprise, which he accomplished thus: Binnock had been accustomed to supply the garrison of Linlithgow with hay, and he had been ordered by the English governor to furnish some cart-loads, of which they were in want. He promised to bring it accordingly; but, in the night before he drove the hay to the castle, he stationed a party of his friends, as well armed as possible, near the entrance, where they could not be seen by the garrison, and gave them directions that they should come to his assistance as soon as they should hear him give a signal, which was to be, "Call all, call all!" Then he loaded his cart, and placed eight strong men, well armed, lying flat on their breasts, and covered over with hay, so that they could not be seen. He himself walked carelessly beside the wagon; and he chose the stoutest and bravest of his servants to be the driver, who carried at his belt a stout axe or hatchet.

3. In this way Binnock approached the castle early in the morning; and the watchman, who only saw two men, Binnock being one of them, with a cart of hay, which they expected, opened the gates, and raised up the portcullis to permit them to enter the castle. But as soon as the cart had got under the gateway, Binnock made a sign to his servant, who with his axe suddenly cut asunder the soam (that is, the yoke which fastens the horses to the cart), and the horses, finding themselves free, naturally started forward, the cart remaining behind. At the same moment Binnock cried, as loud as he could, "Call all, call all!" and drawing his sword, which he had under his country habit, he killed the porter. The armed men then jumped up from under the hay, where they lay concealed, and rushed on the English guard. The Englishmen tried to shut the gates, but they could not, because the cart of hay remained in the gateway, and prevented the folding-doors from being closed. The portcullis was also let fall, but the grating was caught on the cart, and so could not drop to the ground. The men who were in ambush near the gate, hearing the cry, "Call all, call all!" ran to assist those who had leaped out from among the hay; the castle was taken, and all the Englishmen killed or made prisoners. King Robert rewarded Binnock by bestowing on him an estate, which his posterity afterward enjoyed.

_XXX.--CASTLE DANGEROUS._

1. Roxburgh was then a very large castle, situated near where two fine rivers, the Tweed and the Teviot, join each other. Being within five or six miles of the border, the English were extremely desirous of retaining it, and the Scots equally so of obtaining possession of it.

2. It was upon the night of what is called Shrove-tide, a holiday, which Roman Catholics paid great respect to, and solemnized, with much gayety and feasting.

3. Most of the garrison of Roxburgh Castle were feasting and drinking, but still they had set watches on the battlements of the castle, in case of any sudden attack; for, as the Scots had succeeded in so many enterprises of the kind, and as Douglas was known to be in the neighborhood, they thought themselves obliged to keep a very strict guard.

4. There was also an Englishwoman, the wife of one of the officers, who was sitting on the battlements with her child in her arms, and, looking out on the fields below, she saw some black objects, like a herd of cattle, straggling in near the foot of the wall, and approaching the ditch or moat of the castle. She pointed them out to the sentinel, and asked him what they were. "Pooh, pooh!" said the soldier, "it is Farmer Such-a-man's cattle" (naming a man whose farm lay near to the castle). "The good man is keeping a jolly Shrove-tide, and has forgot to shut up his bullocks in their yard; but if the Douglas come across them before morning, he is likely to rue his negligence."

5. Now, these creeping objects they saw from the castle were no real cattle, but Douglas himself and his soldiers, who had put black cloaks above their armor, and were creeping about on their hands and feet, in order, without being observed, to get so near to the foot of the castle-wall as to be able to set ladders to it. The poor woman, who knew nothing of this, sat quietly on the wall, and began to sing to her child. You must know that the name of Douglas was become so terrible to the English, that the women used to frighten their children with it, and say to them, when they behaved ill, that they would make the Black Douglas take them. And this soldier's wife was singing to her child:

"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye; Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye; The Black Douglas shall not get thee."

"You are not so sure of that!" said a voice close beside her. She felt at that moment a heavy hand, with an iron glove, laid on her shoulder, and when she looked round, she saw the very Black Douglas, she had been singing about, standing close beside her, a tall, swarthy, strong man. At the same time another Scotsman was seen ascending the walls near to the sentinel. The soldier gave the alarm, and rushed at the Scotsman, whose name was Simon Ledehouse, with his lance; but Simon parried the blow, and, closing with the sentinel, struck him a deadly blow with his dagger.

6. The rest of the Scots followed to assist Douglas and Ledehouse, and the castle was taken. Many of the soldiers were put to death, but Douglas protected the woman and the child. I dare say she made no more songs about the Black Douglas.

_XXXI.--THE BLACK AGNES._

1. Among the warlike exploits of this period, we must not forget the defense of the Castle of Dunbar, by the celebrated Countess of March. Her lord had embraced the side of David Bruce, and had taken the field with the regent. The countess, who from her complexion was termed Black Agnes, by which name she is still familiarly remembered, was a high-spirited and courageous woman, the daughter of Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and the heiress of his valor and patriotism. The Castle of Dunbar itself was very strong, being built upon a chain of rocks stretching into the sea, having only one passage to the mainland, which was well fortified. It was besieged by Montague, Earl of Salisbury, who employed to destroy its walls great military engines, constructed to throw huge stones, with which machines fortifications were attacked before the use of cannon.

2. Black Agnes set all his attempts at defiance, and showed herself with her maids on the walls of the castle, wiping the places where the huge stones fell with a clean towel, as if they could do no ill to her castle, save raising a little dust, which a napkin could wipe away. The Earl of Salisbury then commanded them to bring forward to the assault an engine of another kind, being a species of wooden shed, or house, rolled forward on wheels, with a roof of peculiar strength, which from resembling the ridge of a hog's back, occasioned the machine to be called a sow. This, according to the old mode of warfare, was thrust up to the walls of a besieged castle or city, and served to protect from the arrows and stones of the besieged a party of soldiers placed within the sow, who were in the mean while to undermine the wall, or break an entrance through it with pick-axes and mining-tools. When the Countess of March saw this engine advanced to the walls of the castle, she called out to the Earl of Salisbury in derision, and making a kind of rhyme----

"Beware, Montagow, For farrow shall thy sow!"

At the same time she made a signal, and a huge fragment of rock, which hung prepared for the purpose, was dropped down from the wall upon the sow, whose roof was thus dashed to pieces. As the English soldiers who had been within it were running away as fast as they could to get out of the way of the arrows and stones from the wall, Black Agnes called out, "Behold the litters of English pigs!"

3. The Earl of Salisbury could jest also on such serious occasions. One day he rode near the walls with a knight dressed in armor of proof, having three folds of mail over an acton, or leathern jacket: notwithstanding which, one William Spens shot an arrow with such force that it penetrated all these defenses and reached the heart of the wearer. "That is one of my lady's love-tokens," said the earl, as he saw the knight fall dead from his horse. "Black Agnes's love-shafts pierce to the heart!"

4. Upon another occasion, the Countess of March had well-nigh made the Earl of Salisbury her prisoner. She made one of her people enter into a treaty with the besiegers, pretending to betray the castle. Trusting to this agreement, the earl came at midnight before the gate, which he found open, and the portcullis drawn up. As Salisbury was about to enter, one John Copland, a squire of Northumberland, pressed on before him, and, as soon as he passed the threshold, the portcullis was dropped; and thus the Scots missed their principal prey, and made prisoner only a person of inferior condition.

5. At length, the Castle of Dunbar was relieved by Alexander Ramsay, of Dalwolsy, who brought the countess supplies by sea, both of men and provisions. The Earl of Salisbury, learning this, despaired of success, and raised the siege, which had lasted nineteen weeks. The minstrels made songs in praise of the perseverance and courage of Black Agnes. The following lines are nearly the sense of what is preserved:

6. "She kept a stir in tower and trench, The brawling, boisterous Scottish wench; Came I early, came I late, I found Agnes at the gate."

MISCELLANEOUS STORIES.

_XXXII.--A LITTLE MAID._

1. Away off in the beautiful country of Greece, a long, long time ago, there lived a little maiden, the daughter of a king. Her name was Gorgo--not a very pretty name, perhaps, to us who are used to calling little girls Maud and Ethel and Helen, but a strong name, and therefore quite appropriate to the little maid who bore it, as you shall see. In those old times there used to be many wars, and the country of Sparta, the part of Greece where Gorgo lived, was famous for its brave warriors, who never thought for a moment of their own safety when their country was in danger. Sometimes these were not good wars, but wars for spite and revenge, instead of for freedom and for loyalty to beautiful Greece.

2. Some wicked man would wish to avenge an injury he had received, and in order to do this he would go about among the different kingdoms and persuade the rulers to join with him and try to overcome his enemy; and then there would be terrible bloodshed in order to satisfy one wicked man's revenge. Aristagoras was such a man as this. He was dissatisfied with his king, and wished to become a king himself instead. One day he came to Sparta on this evil errand, and tried to persuade King Cleomenes, the father of little Gorgo, to help his base project. He talked with the king a long time. He promised him power and honor and money if he would do as he wished; more and more money, and, as the king refused, still more and more money he offered, and at last the king almost consented.

3. But it had happened that when Aristagoras had come into the presence of the king, the king's little daughter was standing by his side with her hand in his. Aristagoras wanted Cleomenes to send her away, for he knew very well that it is much harder to induce a man to do something wrong when there is a dear little child at his side. But the king had said, "No, say what you have to say in her presence, too." And so little Gorgo had sat at her father's feet, looking up into his face with her innocent eyes, and listening intently to all that was said. She felt that something was wrong, and when she saw her father look troubled and hesitate, and cast down his eyes, she knew the strange visitor was trying to make him do something he did not quite want to do. She stole her little hand softly into her father's, and said, "Papa, come away--come, or this strange man will make you do wrong."

4. This made the king feel strong again, and, clasping the little maid's hand tightly in his own, he rose and left the tempter, and went away with the child who had saved him and his country from dishonor. Gorgo was only ten years old then, but she was worthy to be a king's daughter, because, being good and true herself, she helped her father to be good and true also.

5. When she grew to be a woman she became the wife of a king, and then she showed herself as noble a queen as she had been a princess. Her husband was that King Leonidas who stood in the narrow pass of Thermopylæ with his small army, and fought back the great hosts of the Persians until he and all his heroic band were killed. But, before this happened, there was a time when the Grecians did not know that the great Persian army was coming to try and destroy them, and a friend of theirs, who was a prisoner in the country where the great Xerxes lived, wishing to warn the Spartans of the coming of the Persians, so that they might prepare, sent a messenger to King Leonidas. But when the messenger arrived, all he had to show for his message was a bare, white waxen tablet. The king and all the lords puzzled over this strange tablet a long time, but could make nothing out of it. At last they began to think it was done for a jest, and did not mean anything.

6. But just then the young Queen Gorgo said, "Let me take it," and after looking it all over she exclaimed, "There must be some writing underneath the wax!" They scraped away the wax from the tablet, and there, sure enough, written on the wood beneath, was the message of the Grecian prisoner and his warning to King Leonidas.

7. Thus Gorgo helped her country a second time; for, if the Spartans had not known that the army was coming, they could not have warned the other kingdoms, and perhaps the Persians would not have been conquered. But as it was, Leonidas and the other kings called their armies together, and, when the Persian host came sweeping over the plains, the Greeks were ready to meet them, and to fight and die for their beautiful Greece.

8. So this one little maid of hundreds of years ago, princess and queen, helped to save her father from disgrace and her country from ruin. And we may feel sure that she was strong and true to the last, even when her brave husband, Leonidas, lay dead in the fearful pass of Thermopylæ, and she was left to mourn in the royal palace at Sparta.

_XXXIII.--ALEXANDER SELKIRK._

1. Nearly two hundred years ago, an Englishman, living in London, named Daniel Defoe, wrote the story of Robinson Crusoe to interest and amuse boys and girls. Only think of it! Before that time nobody knew anything about the lonely island, or about the ship that was wrecked there. Nobody could know that Robinson was washed ashore and saved. Nobody could see him build his hut, and plan how to live day by day. Nobody could see his tame goats run out to meet him, or hear his parrot cry, "Poor Robinson Crusoe!" Nobody could form the acquaintance of the faithful man Friday, whom Robinson saved from the cannibals, and who became such a dear friend to him. None of this could any boy or girl at that time enjoy, because the story had not yet come out of the head of Defoe.

2. But, while Robinson Crusoe is a story that never really happened, Daniel Defoe had something to make it out of. In 1704 a Scotch sailor, named Alexander Selkirk, then twenty-eight years old, was left upon Juan Fernandez, an uninhabited island in the Pacific, off the coast of Chili. He had quarreled with the captain of the ship in which he sailed, and the captain sent him ashore to improve his temper. Here he lived alone for four years and four months, when, an English vessel appearing, he was carried back to his native country.

3. About half of what is said to have happened to Robinson Crusoe really happened to Alexander Selkirk. The hut was built; search was made for food; fish were drawn from the water, and turtles found upon the shore. Cabbage-palm grew in the woods, and, from seeds found in the wrecked vessels, turnips, parsnips, and radishes were grown. The goats, too, were a living reality, and, when his powder gave out, the active young Scotchman could run down a young goat, and so secure a dinner.

4. Here this sailor remained during the long years, busy and lonesome. The poet Cowper has supposed that he was made entirely unhappy by his longing for society and friends, and has expressed his supposed sentiments in the following poem:

5. I am monarch of all I survey; My right there is none to dispute: From the center all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.

6. I am out of humanity's reach; I must finish my journey alone; Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.

7. Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth.

8. Religion! what treasures untold Reside in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, Or all that the earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when the Sabbath appeared.

9. But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest, The beast has laid down in his lair; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place; And mercy, encouraging thought, Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot.

10. Selkirk might sometimes have indulged in thoughts like these, but generally he was too busy to give much heed to them. Besides, the life itself had its charms, and, after his rough usage upon the ship, he keenly felt the joy of perfect freedom. Then the animals which he tamed began to appear as real friends, and, though no man Friday came to cheer and comfort him, he began to really love his new home and enjoy the life which he led.

11. This is the account given of the appearance of Selkirk by Rogers, captain of the vessel that finally took Selkirk off from the island: "At night, after we came to anchor, we discovered a bright light upon the island. In the morning we sent our yawl ashore with six men, all armed, and, as it was gone some time, we sent our pinnace, with the men armed, for we were afraid lest the Spaniards were there and had seized our boat. We put out a signal for the boat, when our pinnace returned from the shore and brought abundance of craw-fish, with a man clothed in goat-skins, who looked wilder than the first owners of them. At his first coming on board us, he had so much forgot his language for want of use that one could scarcely understand him, for he seemed to speak his words by halves. We offered him a dram, but he would not touch it, having drunk nothing but water since he came upon the island, and it was some time before he could relish our victuals.

12. "He took goats by speed of foot, for his way of living, and continual exercise of walking and running, cleared him of all gross humors, so that he ran with wonderful swiftness through the woods, and up the rocks and hills. We had a bull-dog, which we sent with several of our nimblest runners, to help him in catching goats, but he tired both the dog and men, caught the goats, and brought them back to us. Being forced to shift without shoes, his feet had become so hard that he ran everywhere without annoyance; and it was some time before he could wear shoes after we found him; for, not being used to any so long, his feet swelled when he came first to use them again."

13. Selkirk returned to his native country, married, and settled down to a steady life. He never forgot his lonely isle, and often wished himself back among his goats and cats. He learned dram-drinking once more, and, as he began to eat and drink as people did around him, he lost much of the health and strength which he gained in his solitary home. From him we may all learn that the simple, natural way of living may be the best for us in giving us health to enjoy life and perform our duties.

_XXXIV.--THE OLD-FASHIONED SCHOOL._

1. Imagine yourselves in Master Ezekiel Cheever's school-room. It is a large, dingy room, with a sanded floor, and is lighted by windows that turn on hinges, and have little, diamond-shaped panes of glass. The scholars sit on long benches, with desks before them. At one end of the room is a great fireplace, so spacious that there is room enough for three or four boys to stand in each of the chimney-corners. This was the good old fashion of fireplaces when there was wood enough in the forests to keep people warm without their digging into the bowels of the earth for coal.

2. It is a winter's day when we take our peep into the school-room. See what logs of wood have been rolled into the fireplace, and what a broad, bright blaze goes leaping up the chimney! And every few moments a vast cloud of smoke is puffed into the room, which sails slowly over the heads of the scholars, until it gradually settles upon the walls and ceiling. They are blackened with the smoke of many years already.

3. Do you see the venerable schoolmaster, severe in aspect, with a black skull-cap on his head, like an ancient Puritan, and the snow of his white beard drifting down to his very girdle? What boy would dare to play or whisper, or even glance aside from his book, while Master Cheever is on the outlook behind his spectacles? For such offenders, if any such there be, a rod of birch is hanging over the fireplace, and a heavy ferule lies on the master's desk.

4. And now school is begun. What a murmur of multitudinous tongues, like the whispering of leaves of a wind-stirred oak, as the scholars con over their various tasks! Buzz! buzz! buzz! Amid just such a murmur has Master Cheever spent about sixty years; and long habit has made it as pleasant to him as the hum of a bee-hive when the insects are busy in the sunshine. Now a class in Latin is called to recite. Forth steps a row of queer-looking little fellows, wearing square-skirted coats and small-clothes, with buttons at the knee. They look like so many grandfathers in their second childhood.

5. These lads are to be sent to Cambridge and educated for the learned professions. Old Master Cheever has lived so long, and seen so many generations of school-boys grow up to be men, that now he can almost prophesy what sort of a man each boy will be. One urchin shall hereafter be a doctor, and administer pills and potions, and stalk gravely through life, perfumed with asafoetida. Another shall wrangle at the bar, and fight his way to wealth and honors, and, in his declining age, shall be a worshipful member of his Majesty's Council. A third shall be a worthy successor to the old Puritan ministers now in their graves. But as they are merely school-boys now, their business is to construe Virgil.