CHAPTER LXIV.

THE BATTLE OFF FIFENESS.

"Were ye twentye shippes, and he but one, I swear by kirke, and bower, and hall, He wolde overcome them everye one, If once his beames they doe downefall. This is colde comfort, quoth my lorde, To welcome a stranger thus to sea; But I'll bring him and his ships to shore; Or to Scotland he shall carry me."--SIR ANDREW BARTON

After nearly bringing to a successful issue his diplomatic mission concerning the quarrel between the Scottish, Dutch, and Flemish merchants,--though the latter remembered bitterly the various barrels of pickled heads despatched by the unquhile Sir Andrew Barton to the Privy Council of James III.,--Sir Andrew Wood had left the port of Sluys, or Sluice, which is one of the best harbours and strongest frontier towns in Dutch Flanders, and from the Bailiff and Echevins of which he received a gold cup and silken banner. Sailing with a fair wind, he soon lost sight of the low flat shores of Batavia, and bore away for the Firth of Forth.

The voyage across the northern ocean was rough, and more than once his Scottish caravels rolled their lower yard-arms in the water; but their trip of five hundred miles was drawing to a close, and on the morning mentioned in the preceding chapter, the crews of the _Flower_ and _Yellow Frigate_ hailed with satisfaction the black rugged scalp of St. Abb, as it rose above the summer sea.

The _Flower_ was commanded by Sir Alexander Mathieson, "the Auld King o' the Sea," whose former ship, the _Margaret_, had been given by the young king to John, the younger brother of Robert Barton. John was also a brave mariner, and well known in Scottish history.

The vessels were going under easy sail; morning prayers were over; the crew were lying in groups between the guns on deck, resting themselves after the recent gale. Willie Wad was playing on the fiddle; Father Zuill was of course engaged in the further development of his parabolic speculum; the admiral was writing in his cabin; Falconer and Barton were on deck, talking no doubt over the chances of good or evil tidings awaiting them from the fair daughters of Lord Drummond, and of their aversion for the new Lord High Admiral of Scotland--Hailes, now Earl of Bothwell; old Archy, the boatswain, was "spinning a yarn" to some idlers who were clustered near the capstan, and assuring them that in some parts of the Northern Sea, he knew with certainty there was a fiend who was often seen astride the bowsprit or the spritsail-yard on the eve of a hurricane, with blue flames coming out of his hawseholes, and wearing a conical hat tipped with fire; and there he rode, leading the vessel to destruction; for if the storm was weathered, she would run into the down-hill at the back of the world, where she might beat and tack in vain, for her crew could never gather leeway until the day of doom. This, and much more to the same purpose, was listened to, in the most perfect good faith by the hearers, and was corroborated by some of them, who had seen the identical demon referred to, when they were wrecked near the English Castle of Barnborough in '72, in the great ship of James Kennedy, Bishop of St. Andrew's, when all perished, save a few who escaped in a jollyboat with the holy Abbot of Inchcolm, whose case of reliques--but at that moment a voice was hailing the deck.

"Hollo," cried Barton, "who hails?"

"Captain of the maintop, sir--sail ho!"

"Sail ho!" was echoed from the deck.

"Why, thou gomeral, there is nothing wonderful in seeing a sail off St. Abb's Head."

"But there are three o' them, Sir Captain," cried the sailor, looking over the basket-work of the top; "war-ships to my eye."

"Oho--that alters the case entirely!"

Barton sprung into the main-rigging, and ran up aloft to take a view; when he descended, the admiral, whom some rumour had reached, was on deck.

"What dost make them out to be, Robert?"

"Three full-rigged ships, standing straight towards us; coming down with a fine breeze, and everything set aloft that will catch it."

"Didst make out their colours?"

"They have none hoisted as yet; but by St. Andrew, they are war-ships, or I have the eyes of a mole!"

"They may be English----"

"Or Portuguese caravels on some roving commission; but both are alike dangerous. To be forewarned is to be forearmed."

"Right," said the admiral; "so beat the starboard watch to quarters; Willie Wad, out with all lights, and open the magazine! To your armour, gentlemen; Sir David Falconer, order your trumpeter to sound, and line the poop with arquebussiers."

"That puff of smoke," said Falconer, as he buckled on his splendid baldrick, "is very like the discharge of a culverin."

And such it was, being the death-knell of Jamie Gair, the unfortunate fisherman.

As the vessels neared each other, the two Scottish caravels were cleared for action, and every man armed himself; the cannon was served with shot and powder; the arquebussiers manned the tops and taffrails; the cannoniers stood by their guns, with tackle, sponge, and rammer; the lines were laid along the deck, and the ports were triced up.

"By my soul, Robert Barton," said the admiral, as he scanned the strangers; "I think I should know the hull of yonder craft and the rake of her masts. Gadzooks! look at her now, as her sails lift in the breeze."

"And the fashion of her topsails, too," said Barton, observing her with kindling eyes, and a darkening brow.

"'Tis the _Unicorn_--as I am a living man!"

"Either thy father's spirit, or an English foe, is under sail on these waters. It _is_ the _Unicorn_, Robert. But hah--what is this? Up goeth her pennon and ensign. French, gadzooks! Now what may this portend?"

"'Tis all a wile," said Barton, as Sir Stephen Bull, the further to deceive them, as he hoped, hoisted the white flag with the fleur-de-lis, a flag then as familiar to the Scottish people as their own; and as the oriflamme swelled out in the breeze, Sir Stephen fired a gun to leeward.

"Up with St. Andrew's cross," said the admiral; "if these are not three English ships, may I skulk in the lee scuppers of fortune to the end of my days. Up with our ancient, quartermaster; and Wad, fire a gun to _windward_."

It is recorded, that immediately on the hostile signal being given, the oriflamme went down, and up went the white flag with the red cross of England, while the bright heraldic pennons of the many gentlemen who served in the ships for glory and honour, or in sheer hatred of the Scots, were displayed in the bright sunshine. The adverse ships, now about half a mile apart, were nearing each other fast, and every heart on board beat high.

In our account of this battle, we will follow briefly and strictly the relation of Dalzel, Pitcairn, Buchanan, the Laird of Pitscottie, and others. The quaint chronicler Lindesay gives us the characteristic address of his contemporary, the Scottish admiral to his crew, while every man received a stoup of wine at the capstan-head.

"My lads, these are the men who would seek to convey us in fetters to the foot of an English king as they did the shipmates of stout old Andrew Barton; but, by the help of God and your bravery, they shall fail! Shipmates, set yourselves in order; every man to his station; the gunner to his lintstock, and the steersman to his helm! Charge home, cannoniers--crossbowmen, to the tops--pikes and two-handed swords to the forerooms. Down with the bulk-heads, up with the screens, reeve tackle, and ram home. Be stout men and true, for the love of your kindred, and the honour of old Scotland--hurrah!"

A loud cheer responded; the poops, tops, and forecastles were bristling with cuirassed and helmeted men; the yeomen of the sheets and braces stood by their stations, the gunners by their guns, and all were armed to the teeth, with swords and daggers, pikes, axes, ghisarmas, and hand-cannons.

The sun was clear and the sky brilliant; the waves rolled like crystal in long glassy swells; the bellying canvas was white as snow, and the gaudy pennons waved from mast-head and yard-arm, like long ribands of many coloured silk on the gentle wind. The sides of all the ships, but more especially their towering poops and ponderous quarter-galleries, were gay with carving and gilding, and grim with the flashing of sharp weapons and the brass-mouthed tiers of their pointed artillery; and a thousand bright or gaily tinted objects were thus reflected in the clear waves as they rolled past in slow heaving ridges that glistened in the sun.

In a few minutes the guns of Bull commenced firing, and their balls whistled through the rigging of the _Yellow Frigate_ as she closed up, but without firing a shot, for, breathless and impatient, her crew were waiting for the sound of the admiral's whistle.

One ball splintered the mizenmast near Sir Andrew, and another stretched Cuddie Clewline, his coxswain, on the deck.

"My poor Cuddie," said he, rushing forward; "how art thou, old shipmate?"

"Ill enough, Sir Andrew," groaned the seaman, from the sleeve of whose doublet the blood was gushing; "my best spar is knocked away."

"Poor carle--thy right arm?" said Barton.

"Never fear ye for me, sirs, I'll weather the gale yet," he answered, as he crawled along the deck, leaving a long trail of blood, till he reached the main hatchway, where Father Zuill, relinquishing an immense parabolic speculum, received him in his arms, and conveyed him below.

"Hollo! Saints and angels, what clattering is that?" he asked, as a heavy shot tore its way between decks.

"An English bullet through the magazine," said some one.

"Damnation," cried Wad, plunging down the ladder to ascertain the damage.

"Peace," said the chaplain; "swear not, friend gunner; it is forbidden."

"The shot is through thy laboratory, Father Zuill," said the boatswain, ascending; "and if it hasna smashed your hurdy-gurdy to flinders, may I never mair see Anster kirk!"

"Hell's fury! sayst thou so?" cried the chaplain, losing all patience, as another of King Henry's pills came crashing through the timbers, killing and wounding all in its way.

"Oho! may I drink bilge but a friar can swear as well as a poor gunner, though it is forbidden," said Willie Wad, as he hoisted up case after case of shot; but the unhappy chaplain, rendered furious by the destruction of his lifelong labours, flung off his frock, under which he wore a jazarine jacket, seized a sword, and rushed on deck intent on vengeance.

The _Yellow Frigate_ and the _Unicorn_ were now less than a musket shot apart, when Sir Andrew blew his silver whistle; and then the former poured her broadside of "pestilent" carthouns, sakers, and serpentines, into the latter, exchanging fire with her on opposite tacks, while the arquebussiers and crossbowmen aloft and below volleyed at each other as fast as they could cast their weapons about.

"By the soul of King James, that broadside will cost ye a few bolts of canvas, my friends!" said Wood, with a smile; and bearing on, by his great seamanship he continued to keep the weather-gage of Bull; while Sir Alexander Mathieson, with the _Flower_, followed close in his wake, they each exchanged broadsides with the three English ships, whose triple fire cut up their rigging, battered their gay bulwarks, and wounded a vast number of their men; but few were killed, though all the scuppers ran with blood and water.

These brave adversaries foresaw not the days that were to come, when "Duncan, Nelson, Keppel, Howe, and Jervis," under a _united_ flag, would lead their descendants side by side to sweep Scotland's ancient ally from the ocean.

"Tack," cried the admiral to Barton, again, as the cannon were charged for the fourth time; "tack again, and range up on the weather quarter of the sternmost ship."

By this manoeuvre he almost blew to pieces the poop of Miles Furnival's caravel; he then gave the order to "close in and grapple."

"A narrow escape, David," said Barton, as an English bullet tore the crest off Falconer's headpiece.

"A little lower, and it would have ended all my cares to-day," replied Sir David, with a sad smile; "and believe me, Barton, I would rather die here than land to-morrow, and learn that Sybilla has become the countess of the high-admiral."

The five vessels now simultaneously shortened sail, and, according to the tactics of the day, grappled with each other; and there was a frightful rasping as they closed-in muzzle to muzzle with their yard-arms tearing each other's canvas to rags and ribbons.

Alas! we need scarcely advert to the _desperation_ of the conflict which ensued--a conflict from which we recoil; for it was Englishmen and Scotsmen who then fought against each other, and fought as they alone can fight.

The yetlan guns soon became so hot that Wad reported to the admiral, "that they were bouncing off their stocks, and tearing their breechings like pack-thread."

We are told that, fearless of the numerical force and superiority of the enemy, old Andrew Wood led the way to the "Inglish deckis with his twa-handed quhinger," and that for twelve hours, with sword and pike, crossbow and battle-axe, a deadly conflict was maintained; and that they had often to retire from sheer exhaustion, and to free their blood-stained decks from the dead and wounded; "and there they fought," saith Pitscottie, who knew the admiral well, "frae the rising of the sun till the going down of the same, in the long summer's day, while all the men and women that dwelt near the coast-side stood and beheld the fighting, which was terrible to see."

The sun sank behind the hills of Fife, and those persons who crowded on the steeple of Crail and the summit of Kincraig, saw the five grappled ships abandoned to the wind and current, drifting off towards the north. They saw the blue flag of Scotland and the white English ensign floating side by side; they could see the incessant gleaming of steel, and the pale smoke that broke upward in white curls from time to time, but they knew not how the tide of battle turned, or to whom red Victory held out her bloody wreath.

Night came down on the echoing deep, and when morning dawned the good folk of the East Neuk, pale with watching, and fired by expectation, could see no trace of the hostile ships; for by that time they had drifted like a huge and gory raft, or a floating hecatomb, to the mouth of the Tay. There, after casting off to refit and reeve anew their cut and torn rigging, again the trumpets sounded, and again they grappled at sunrise; and Wood ordered that the English ships should be lashed "with cables" to his own--that they should all go down together rather than any one should escape.

The Scots and English were repeatedly in possession of each other's decks, and incredible valour was exhibited in the many hand-to-hand conflicts that ensued amid the general _mêlée_; many a Scottish mariner was "spritsail yarded," as they termed it, by being pinned in the head or breast by the clothyard shafts of Sir Stephen's archers, who shot from the tops and poops; and many an Englishman was _scotched_ (i.e., cut or slashed by the sword or Jedwood axe), a phrase we first find in Shakespeare, but which had long previously been common in England, for a wound received in the Scottish wars.

Tall Dick Selby, with his poleaxe, displayed to advantage the agility and prowess which made him the lion of the Moorfields and Finsbury; and strong in the belief of a blessed Paternoster, bought in the Row beside St. Paul's, and bound about his better wrist, he had hewed a way almost to the poop of the _Yellow Frigate_, when he was killed by Sir David Falconer, who there recognised Edmund Howard fighting bravely against great odds, and keeping his back to the mizenmast; and there, after doing all in his power by voice and deed to save him, he had the mortification of seeing him hewn almost to pieces by the crew of the _Flower_.

Sir Fulke of Fulkeshall was also slain, and there was scarcely a noble or wealthy family in London that did not lose a relative in this desperate conflict.

Sir Stephen Bull, tall, powerful, and brave as a Hector, sought everywhere for old Sir Andrew Wood, reserving his sword and strength for him alone; and they encountered each other no less than six times, but were always separated by the furious pressure of those around them; for Miles le Furnival, John of Lynne, and others, on one side, Sir Alexander Mathieson, Robert Barton, and Falconer, on the other, were always rushing on, and taking part in the bloody game, though all of them were severely wounded, and covered with blood and bandages.

"Had we no better cast off the grapples," cried Archy of Anster, rushing to the admiral, who was leaning, breathless, against the taffrail of the _Unicorn_, with his sword in his hand.

"Wherefore?" he asked.

"We are close on the Buddon-ness--in shoal water," exclaimed the boatswain; "and will strike in three minutes or less."

"Let us take our chance," answered Wood, grimly; "I will rather knock the old ship to pieces than see her an English prize; but, alas! honest Archy--art thou wounded?"

"My mainyard is shot in the slings," groaned the old boatswain, as a ball struck him near the shoulder, and he fell heavily on the deck, with his right arm broken.

At that moment, there was a tremendous shock; the masts nodded like willow wands, and several topmasts with all their yards, sails, rigging, and hamper, came thundering down on the still contested decks; and then a hoarse shout of rage and despair arose from the English ships, for their crews were aware that they were all ashore, or wedged on the shoaly sands together.

To shorten this account, which, as it may be found in many old histories of Scotland, need not be longer dwelt on here, the English trumpets sounded a parley, and the brave Sir Stephen Bull, now thoroughly crestfallen and dejected, surrendered his sword to Sir Andrew Wood; but without shame or dishonour, for he and his crews had done all that brave men might do.

The ships were all floated off by the flood tide; the grapplings cut, jury masts were rigged, and sails set on them, and before midnight they were all safely anchored in the harbour of Dundee, within the protection of the cannon of Broughty.