The Fair Maid of Perth; Or, St. Valentine's Day

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  Thretty for thretty faucht in barreris, At Sanct Johnstoun on a day besyde the black freris.

  WYNTOUN.

  Palm Sunday now dawned. At an earlier period of the Christian Church,the use of any of the days of Passion Week for the purpose of combatwould have been accounted a profanity worthy of excommunication. TheChurch of Rome, to her infinite honour, had decided that during the holyseason of Easter, when the redemption of man from his fallen state wasaccomplished, the sword of war should be sheathed, and angry monarchsshould respect the season termed the Truce of God. The ferociousviolence of the latter wars betwixt Scotland and England had destroyedall observance of this decent and religious Ordinance. Very often themost solemn occasions were chosen by one party for an attack, becausethey hoped to find the other engaged in religious duties and unprovidedfor defence. Thus the truce, once considered as proper to the season,had been discontinued; and it became not unusual even to select thesacred festivals of the church for decision of the trial by combat, towhich this intended contest bore a considerable resemblance.

  On the present occasion, however, the duties of the day were observedwith the usual solemnity, and the combatants themselves took share inthem. Bearing branches of yew in their hands, as the readiest substitutefor palm boughs, they marched respectively to the Dominican andCarthusian convents, to hear High Mass, and, by a show at least ofdevotion, to prepare themselves for the bloody strife of the day. Greatcare had of course been taken that, during this march, they should noteven come within the sound of each other's bagpipes; for it was certainthat, like game cocks exchanging mutual notes of defiance, they wouldhave sought out and attacked each other before they arrived at the placeof combat.

  The citizens of Perth crowded to see the unusual procession on thestreets, and thronged the churches where the two clans attended theirdevotions, to witness their behaviour, and to form a judgment fromtheir appearance which was most likely to obtain the advantage inthe approaching conflict. Their demeanour in the church, although nothabitual frequenters of places of devotion, was perfectly decorous; and,notwithstanding their wild and untamed dispositions, there were few ofthe mountaineers who seemed affected either with curiosity or wonder.They appeared to think it beneath their dignity of character to testifyeither curiosity or surprise at many things which were probably thenpresented to them for the first time.

  On the issue of the combat, few even of the most competent judges daredventure a prediction; although the great size of Torquil and his eightstalwart sons induced some who professed themselves judges of the thewesand sinews of men to incline to ascribe the advantage to the party ofthe Clan Quhele. The opinion of the female sex was much decided bythe handsome form, noble countenance, and gallant demeanour of EachinMacIan. There were more than one who imagined they had recollectionof his features, but his splendid military attire rendered the humbleglover's apprentice unrecognisable in the young Highland chief, savingby one person.

  That person, as may well be supposed, was the Smith of the Wynd, whohad been the foremost in the crowd that thronged to see the gallantchampions of Clan Quhele. It was with mingled feelings of dislike,jealousy, and something approaching to admiration that he saw theglover's apprentice stripped of his mean slough, and blazing forth as achieftain, who, by his quick eye and gallant demeanour, the noble shapeof his brow and throat, his splendid arms and well proportioned limbs,seemed well worthy to hold the foremost rank among men selected to liveor die for the honour of their race. The smith could hardly think thathe looked upon the same passionate boy whom he had brushed off ashe might a wasp that stung him, and, in mere compassion, forebore todespatch by treading on him.

  "He looks it gallantly with my noble hauberk," thus muttered Henry tohimself, "the best I ever wrought. Yet, if he and I stood together wherethere was neither hand to help nor eye to see, by all that is blessed inthis holy church, the good harness should return to its owner! All thatI am worth would I give for three fair blows on his shoulders to undo myown best work; but such happiness will never be mine. If he escape fromthe conflict, it will be with so high a character for courage, that hemay well disdain to put his fortune, in its freshness, to the risk ofan encounter with a poor burgess like myself. He will fight by hischampion, and turn me over to my fellow craftsman the hammerer, when allI can reap will be the pleasure of knocking a Highland bullock on thehead. If I could but see Simon Glover! I will to the other church inquest of him, since for sure he must have come down from the Highlands."

  The congregation was moving from the church of the Dominicans when thesmith formed this determination, which he endeavoured to carry intospeedy execution, by thrusting through the crowd as hastily as thesolemnity of the place and occasion would permit. In making his waythrough the press, he was at one instant carried so close to Eachinthat their eyes encountered. The smith's hardy and embrowned countenancecoloured up like the heated iron on which he wrought, and retainedits dark red hue for several minutes. Eachin's features glowed with abrighter blush of indignation, and a glance of fiery hatred was shotfrom his eyes. But the sudden flush died away in ashy paleness, and hisgaze instantly avoided the unfriendly but steady look with which it wasencountered.

  Torquil, whose eye never quitted his foster son, saw his emotion, andlooked anxiously around to discover the cause. But Henry was alreadyat a distance, and hastening on his way to the Carthusian convent. Herealso the religious service of the day was ended; and those who had solately borne palms in honour of the great event which brought peaceon earth and goodwill to the children of men were now streaming tothe place of combat--some prepared to take the lives of their fellowcreatures or to lose their own, others to view the deadly strife withthe savage delight which the heathens took in the contests of theirgladiators.

  The crowd was so great that any other person might well have despairedof making way through it. But the general deference entertained forHenry of the Wynd, as the champion of Perth, and the universal sense ofhis ability to force a passage, induced all to unite in yielding roomfor him, so that he was presently quite close to the warriors of theClan Chattan. Their pipers marched at the head of their column. Nextfollowed the well known banner, displaying a mountain cat rampant, withthe appropriate caution, "Touch not the cat, but (i.e. without) theglove." The chief followed with his two handed sword advanced, as if toprotect the emblem of the tribe. He was a man of middle stature, morethan fifty years old, but betraying neither in features nor form anydecay of strength or symptoms of age. His dark red close curled lockswere in part chequered by a few grizzled hairs, but his step and gesturewere as light in the dance, in the chase, or in the battle as if he hadnot passed his thirtieth year. His grey eye gleamed with a wild lightexpressive of valour and ferocity mingled; but wisdom and experiencedwelt on the expression of his forehead, eyebrows, and lips. The chosenchampions followed by two and two. There was a cast of anxiety onseveral of their faces, for they had that morning discovered the absenceof one of their appointed number; and, in a contest so desperate as wasexpected, the loss seemed a matter of importance to all save to theirhigh mettled chief, MacGillie Chattanach.

  "Say nothing to the Saxons of his absence," said this bold leader, whenthe diminution of his force was reported to him. "The false Lowlandtongues might say that one of Clan Chattan was a coward, and perhapsthat the rest favoured his escape, in order to have a pretence to avoidthe battle. I am sure that Ferquhard Day will be found in the ranks erewe are ready for battle; or, if he should not, am not I man enough fortwo of the Clan Quhele? or would we not fight them fifteen to thirty,rather than lose the renown that this day will bring us?"

  The tribe received the brave speech of their leader with applause, yetthere were anxious looks thrown out in hopes of espying the return ofthe deserter; and perhaps the chief himself was the only one of thedetermined band who was totally indifferent on the subject.

  They marched on through the streets without seeing anything of FerquhardDay, who, many a mile be
yond the mountains, was busied in receiving suchindemnification as successful love could bestow for the loss of honour.MacGillie Chattanach marched on without seeming to observe the absenceof the deserter, and entered upon the North Inch, a beautiful and levelplain, closely adjacent to the city, and appropriated to the martialexercises of the inhabitants.

  The plain is washed on one side by the deep and swelling Tay. There waserected within it a strong palisade, inclosing on three sides a space ofone hundred and fifty yards in length and seventy-four yards in width.The fourth side of the lists was considered as sufficiently fencedby the river. An amphitheatre for the accommodation of spectatorssurrounded the palisade, leaving a large space free to be occupied byarmed men on foot and horseback, and for the more ordinary class ofspectators. At the extremity of the lists which was nearest to the city,there was a range of elevated galleries for the King and his courtiers,so highly decorated with rustic treillage, intermingled with gildedornaments, that the spot retains to this day the name of the Golden, orGilded, Arbour.

  The mountain minstrelsy, which sounded the appropriate pibrochs orbattle tunes of the rival confederacies, was silent when they entered onthe Inch, for such was the order which had been given. Two stately butaged warriors, each bearing the banner of his tribe, advanced to theopposite extremities of the lists, and, pitching their standards intothe earth, prepared to be spectators of a fight in which they were notto join. The pipers, who were also to be neutral in the strife, tooktheir places by their respective brattachs.

  The multitude received both bands with the same general shout with whichon similar occasions they welcome those from whose exertion they expectamusement, or what they term sport. The destined combatants returnedno answer to this greeting, but each party advanced to the oppositeextremities of the lists, where were entrances by which they were to beadmitted to the interior. A strong body of men at arms guarded eitheraccess; and the Earl Marshal at the one and the Lord High Constable atthe other carefully examined each individual, to see whether he had theappropriate arms, being steel cap, mail shirt, two handed sword, anddagger. They also examined the numbers of each party; and great was thealarm among the multitude when the Earl of Errol held up his hand andcried: "Ho! The combat cannot proceed, for the Clan Chattan lack one oftheir number."

  "What reek of that?" said the young Earl of Crawford; "they should havecounted better ere they left home."

  The Earl Marshal, however, agreed with the Constable that the fightcould not proceed until the inequality should be removed; and a generalapprehension was excited in the assembled multitude that, after all thepreparation, there would be no battle.

  Of all present there were only two perhaps who rejoiced at the prospectof the combat being adjourned, and these were the captain of the ClanQuhele and the tender hearted King Robert. Meanwhile the two chiefs,each attended by a special friend and adviser, met in the midst of thelists, having, to assist them in determining what was to be done, theEarl Marshal, the Lord High Constable, the Earl of Crawford, and SirPatrick Charteris. The chief of the Clan Chattan declared himselfwilling and desirous of fighting upon the spot, without regard to thedisparity of numbers.

  "That," said Torquil of the Oak, "Clan Quhele will never consent to.You can never win honour from us with the sword, and you seek but asubterfuge, that you may say when you are defeated, as you know you willbe, that it was for want of the number of your band fully counted out.But I make a proposal: Ferquhard Day was the youngest of your band,Eachin MacIan is the youngest of ours; we will set him aside in place ofthe man who has fled from the combat."

  "A most unjust and unequal proposal," exclaimed Toshach Beg, the second,as he might be termed, of MacGillie Chattanach. "The life of the chiefis to the clan the breath of our nostrils, nor will we ever consent thatour chief shall be exposed to dangers which the captain of Clan Quheledoes not share."

  Torquil saw with deep anxiety that his plan was about to fail when theobjection was made to Hector's being withdrawn from the battle, andhe was meditating how to support his proposal, when Eachin himselfinterfered. His timidity, it must be observed, was not of that sordidand selfish nature which induces those who are infected by it calmlyto submit to dishonour rather than risk danger. On the contrary, he wasmorally brave, though constitutionally timid, and the shame of avoidingthe combat became at the moment more powerful than the fear of facingit.

  "I will not hear," he said, "of a scheme which will leave my swordsheathed during this day's glorious combat. If I am young in arms, thereare enough of brave men around me whom I may imitate if I cannot equal."

  He spoke these words in a spirit which imposed on Torquil, and perhapson the young chief himself.

  "Now, God bless his noble heart!" said the foster father to himself."I was sure the foul spell would be broken through, and that the tardyspirit which besieged him would fly at the sound of the pipe and thefirst flutter of the brattach!"

  "Hear me, Lord Marshal," said the Constable. "The hour of combat may notbe much longer postponed, for the day approaches to high noon. Let thechief of Clan Chattan take the half hour which remains, to find, if hecan, a substitute for this deserter; if he cannot, let them fight asthey stand."

  "Content I am," said the Marshal, "though, as none of his own clan arenearer than fifty miles, I see not how MacGillis Chattanach is to findan auxiliary."

  "That is his business," said the High Constable; "but, if he offers ahigh reward, there are enough of stout yeomen surrounding the lists,who will be glad enough to stretch their limbs in such a game as isexpected. I myself, did my quality and charge permit, would blythelytake a turn of work amongst these wild fellows, and think it fame won."

  They communicated their decision to the Highlanders, and the chief ofthe Clan Chattan replied: "You have judged unpartially and nobly, mylords, and I deem myself obliged to follow your direction. So makeproclamation, heralds, that, if any one will take his share with ClanChattan of the honours and chances of this day, he shall have presentpayment of a gold crown, and liberty to fight to the death in my ranks."

  "You are something chary of your treasure, chief," said the EarlMarshal: "a gold crown is poor payment for such a campaign as is beforeyou."

  "If there be any man willing to fight for honour," replied MacGillisChattanach, "the price will be enough; and I want not the service of afellow who draws his sword for gold alone."

  The heralds had made their progress, moving half way round the lists,stopping from time to time to make proclamation as they had beendirected, without the least apparent disposition on the part of any oneto accept of the proffered enlistment. Some sneered at the poverty ofthe Highlanders, who set so mean a price upon such a desperate service.Others affected resentment, that they should esteem the blood ofcitizens so lightly. None showed the slightest intention to undertakethe task proposed, until the sound of the proclamation reached Henry ofthe Wynd, as he stood without the barrier, speaking from time to timewith Baillie Craigdallie, or rather listening vaguely to what themagistrate was saying to him.

  "Ha! what proclaim they?" he cried out.

  "A liberal offer on the part of MacGillie Chattanach," said the host ofthe Griffin, "who proposes a gold crown to any one who will turn wildcatfor the day, and be killed a little in his service! That's all."

  "How!" exclaimed the smith, eagerly, "do they make proclamation for aman to fight against the Clan Quhele?"

  "Ay, marry do they," said Griffin; "but I think they will find no suchfools in Perth."

  He had hardly said the word, when he beheld the smith clear the barriersat a single bound and alight in the lists, saying: "Here am I, sirherald, Henry of the Wynd, willing to battle on the part of the ClanChattan."

  A cry of admiration ran through the multitude, while the grave burghers,not being able to conceive the slightest reason for Henry's behaviour,concluded that his head must be absolutely turned with the love offighting. The provost was especially shocked.

  "Thou art mad," he said, "Henry! Thou hast neither tw
o handed sword norshirt of mail."

  "Truly no," said Henry, "for I parted with a mail shirt, which I hadmade for myself, to yonder gay chief of the Clan Quhele, who will soonfind on his shoulders with what sort of blows I clink my rivets! As fortwo handed sword, why, this boy's brand will serve my turn till I canmaster a heavier one."

  "This must not be," said Errol. "Hark thee, armourer, by St. Mary, thoushalt have my Milan hauberk and good Spanish sword."

  "I thank your noble earlship, Sir Gilbert Hay, but the yoke with whichyour brave ancestor turned the battle at Loncarty would serve my turnwell enough. I am little used to sword or harness that I have notwrought myself, because I do not well know what blows the one will bearout without being cracked or the other lay on without snapping."

  The cry had in the mean while run through the multitude and passed intothe town, that the dauntless smith was about to fight without armour,when, just as the fated hour was approaching, the shrill voice of afemale was heard screaming for passage through the crowd. The multitudegave place to her importunity, and she advanced, breathless with hasteunder the burden of a mail hauberk and a large two handed sword. Thewidow of Oliver Proudfute was soon recognised, and the arms which shebore were those of the smith himself, which, occupied by her husband onthe fatal evening when he was murdered, had been naturally conveyedto his house with the dead body, and were now, by the exertions ofhis grateful widow, brought to the lists at a moment when such provedweapons were of the last consequence to their owner. Henry joyfullyreceived the well known arms, and the widow with trembling hasteassisted in putting them on, and then took leave of him, saying: "Godfor the champion of the widow and orphan, and ill luck to all who comebefore him!"

  Confident at feeling himself in his well proved armour, Henry shookhimself as if to settle the steel shirt around him, and, unsheathingthe two handed sword, made it flourish over his head, cutting the airthrough which it whistled in the form of the figure eight with an easeand sleight of hand that proved how powerfully and skilfully he couldwield the ponderous weapon. The champions were now ordered to marchin their turns around the lists, crossing so as to avoid meeting eachother, and making obeisance as they passed the Golden Arbour where theKing was seated.

  While this course was performing, most of the spectators were againcuriously comparing the stature, limbs, and sinews of the two parties,and endeavouring to form a conjecture an to the probable issue of thecombat. The feud of a hundred years, with all its acts of aggressionand retaliation, was concentrated in the bosom of each combatant. Theircountenances seemed fiercely writhen into the wildest expression ofpride, hate, and a desperate purpose of fighting to the very last.

  The spectators murmured a joyful applause, in high wrought expectationof the bloody game. Wagers were offered and accepted both on the generalissue of the conflict and on the feats of particular champions. Theclear, frank, and elated look of Henry Smith rendered him a generalfavourite among the spectators, and odds, to use the modern expression,were taken that he would kill three of his opponents before he himselffell.

  Scarcely was the smith equipped for the combat, when the commands of thechiefs ordered the champions into their places; and at the same momentHenry heard the voice of Simon Glover issuing from the crowd, who werenow silent with expectation, and calling on him: "Harry Smith--HarrySmith, what madness hath possessed thee?"

  "Ay, he wishes to save his hopeful son in law that is, or is to be, fromthe smith's handling," was Henry's first thought; his second was to turnand speak with him; and his third, that he could on no pretext desertthe band which he had joined, or even seem desirous to delay the fight,consistently with honour.

  He turned himself, therefore, to the business of the hour. Both partieswere disposed by the respective chiefs in three lines, each containingten men. They were arranged with such intervals between each individualas offered him scope to wield his sword, the blade of which was fivefeet long, not including the handle. The second and third lines wereto come up as reserves, in case the first experienced disaster. On theright of the array of Clan Quhele, the chief, Eachin MacIan, placedhimself in the second line betwixt two of his foster brothers. Four ofthem occupied the right of the first line, whilst the father andtwo others protected the rear of the beloved chieftain. Torquil, inparticular, kept close behind, for the purpose of covering him. ThusEachin stood in the centre of nine of the strongest men of his band,having four especial defenders in front, one on each hand, and three inhis rear.

  The line of the Clan Chattan was arranged in precisely the same order,only that the chief occupied the centre of the middle rank, instead ofbeing on the extreme right. This induced Henry Smith, who saw in theopposing bands only one enemy, and that was the unhappy Eachin, topropose placing himself on the left of the front rank of the ClanChattan. But the leader disapproved of this arrangement; and havingreminded Henry that he owed him obedience, as having taken wages at hishand, he commanded him to occupy the space in the third line immediatelybehind himself--a post of honour, certainly, which Henry could notdecline, though he accepted of it with reluctance.

  When the clans were thus drawn up opposed to each other, they intimatedtheir feudal animosity and their eagerness to engage by a wild scream,which, uttered by the Clan Quhele, was answered and echoed back bythe Clan Chattan, the whole at the same time shaking their swords andmenacing each other, as if they meant to conquer the imagination oftheir opponents ere they mingled in the actual strife.

  At this trying moment, Torquil, who had never feared for himself, wasagitated with alarm on the part of his dault, yet consoled by observingthat he kept a determined posture, and that the few words which he spoketo his clan were delivered boldly, and well calculated to animate themto combat, as expressing his resolution to partake their fate in deathor victory. But there was no time for further observation. The trumpetsof the King sounded a charge, the bagpipes blew up their screaming andmaddening notes, and the combatants, starting forward in regular order,and increasing their pace till they came to a smart run, met togetherin the centre of the ground, as a furious land torrent encounters anadvancing tide.

  For an instant or two the front lines, hewing at each other with theirlong swords, seemed engaged in a succession of single combats; but thesecond and third ranks soon came up on either side, actuated alike bythe eagerness of hatred and the thirst of honour, pressed through theintervals, and rendered the scene a tumultuous chaos, over which thehuge swords rose and sunk, some still glittering, others streaming withblood, appearing, from the wild rapidity with which they were swayed,rather to be put in motion by some complicated machinery than tobe wielded by human hands. Some of the combatants, too much crowdedtogether to use those long weapons, had already betaken themselves totheir poniards, and endeavoured to get within the sword sweep of thoseopposed to them. In the mean time, blood flowed fast, and the groans ofthose who fell began to mingle with the cries of those who fought; for,according to the manner of the Highlanders at all times, they couldhardly be said to shout, but to yell. Those of the spectators whoseeyes were best accustomed to such scenes of blood and confusion couldnevertheless discover no advantage yet acquired by either party. Theconflict swayed, indeed, at different intervals forwards or backwards,but it was only in momentary superiority, which the party who acquiredit almost instantly lost by a corresponding exertion on the other side.The wild notes of the pipers were still heard above the tumult, andstimulated to farther exertions the fury of the combatants.

  At once, however, and as if by mutual agreement, the instruments soundeda retreat; it was expressed in wailing notes, which seemed to imply adirge for the fallen. The two parties disengaged themselves from eachother, to take breath for a few minutes. The eyes of the spectatorsgreedily surveyed the shattered array of the combatants as they drewoff from the contest, but found it still impossible to decide which hadsustained the greater loss. It seemed as if the Clan Chattan had lostrather fewer men than their antagonists; but in compensation, the bloodyplaids and skirts of their
party (for several on both sides had throwntheir mantles away) showed more wounded men than the Clan Quhele. Abouttwenty of both sides lay on the field dead or dying; and arms and legslopped off, heads cleft to the chin, slashes deep through the shoulderinto the breast, showed at once the fury of the combat, the ghastlycharacter of the weapons used, and the fatal strength of the arms whichwielded them. The chief of the Clan Chattan had behaved himself withthe most determined courage, and was slightly wounded. Eachin also hadfought with spirit, surrounded by his bodyguard. His sword was bloody,his bearing bold and warlike; and he smiled when old Torquil, foldinghim in his arms, loaded him with praises and with blessings.

  The two chiefs, after allowing their followers to breathe for the spaceof about ten minutes, again drew up in their files, diminished by nearlyone third of their original number. They now chose their ground nearerto the river than that on which they had formerly encountered, whichwas encumbered with the wounded and the slain. Some of the former wereobserved, from time to time, to raise themselves to gain a glimpse ofthe field, and sink back, most of them to die from the effusion of bloodwhich poured from the terrific gashes inflicted by the claymore.

  Harry Smith was easily distinguished by his Lowland habit, as well ashis remaining on the spot where they had first encountered, where hestood leaning on a sword beside a corpse, whose bonneted head, carriedto ten yards' distance from the body by the force of the blow which hadswept it off, exhibited the oak leaf, the appropriate ornament of thebodyguard of Eachin MacIan. Since he slew this man, Henry had not strucka blow, but had contented himself with warding off many that were dealtat himself, and some which were aimed at the chief. MacGillie Chattanachbecame alarmed, when, having given the signal that his men should againdraw together, he observed that his powerful recruit remained at adistance from the ranks, and showed little disposition to join them.

  "What ails thee, man?" said the chief. "Can so strong a body have a meanand cowardly spirit? Come, and make in to the combat."

  "You as good as called me hireling but now," replied Henry. "If I amsuch," pointing to the headless corpse, "I have done enough for my day'swage."

  "He that serves me without counting his hours," replied the chief, "Ireward him without reckoning wages."

  "Then," said the smith, "I fight as a volunteer, and in the post whichbest likes me."

  "All that is at your own discretion," replied MacGillis Chattanach, whosaw the prudence of humouring an auxiliary of such promise.

  "It is enough," said Henry; and, shouldering his heavy weapon, he joinedthe rest of the combatants with alacrity, and placed himself opposite tothe chief of the Clan Quhele.

  It was then, for the first time, that Eachin showed some uncertainty.He had long looked up to Henry as the best combatant which Perth and itsneighbourhood could bring into the lists. His hatred to him as a rivalwas mingled with recollection of the ease with which he had once, thoughunarmed, foiled his own sudden and desperate attack; and when he beheldhim with his eyes fixed in his direction, the dripping sword in hishand, and obviously meditating an attack on him individually, hiscourage fell, and he gave symptoms of wavering, which did not escape hisfoster father.

  It was lucky for Eachin that Torquil was incapable, from the formationof his own temper, and that of those with whom he had lived, to conceivethe idea of one of his own tribe, much less of his chief and fosterson, being deficient in animal courage. Could he have imagined this, hisgrief and rage might have driven him to the fierce extremity of takingEachin's life, to save him from staining his honour. But his mindrejected the idea that his dault was a personal coward, as somethingwhich was monstrous and unnatural. That he was under the influence ofenchantment was a solution which superstition had suggested, and he nowanxiously, but in a whisper, demanded of Hector: "Does the spell nowdarken thy spirit, Eachin?"

  "Yes, wretch that I am," answered the unhappy youth; "and yonder standsthe fell enchanter!"

  "What!" exclaimed Torquil, "and you wear harness of his making? Norman,miserable boy, why brought you that accursed mail?"

  "If my arrow has flown astray, I can but shoot my life after it,"answered Norman nan Ord. "Stand firm, you shall see me break the spell."

  "Yes, stand firm," said Torquil. "He may be a fell enchanter; but my ownear has heard, and my own tongue has told, that Eachin shall leave thebattle whole, free, and unwounded; let us see the Saxon wizard who cangainsay that. He may be a strong man, but the fair forest of the oakshall fall, stock and bough, ere he lay a finger on my dault. Ringaround him, my sons; bas air son Eachin!"

  The sons of Torquil shouted back the words, which signify, "Death forHector."

  Encouraged by their devotion, Eachin renewed his spirit, and calledboldly to the minstrels of his clan, "Seid suas" that is, "Strike up."

  The wild pibroch again sounded the onset; but the two parties approachedeach other more slowly than at first, as men who knew and respectedeach other's valour. Henry Wynd, in his impatience to begin the contest,advanced before the Clan Chattan and signed to Eachin to come on.Norman, however, sprang forward to cover his foster brother, and therewas a general, though momentary, pause, as if both parties were willingto obtain an omen of the fate of the day from the event of this duel.The Highlander advanced, with his large sword uplifted, as in act tostrike; but, just as he came within sword's length, he dropt the longand cumbrous weapon, leapt lightly over the smith's sword, as he fetcheda cut at him, drew his dagger, and, being thus within Henry's guard,struck him with the weapon (his own gift) on the side of the throat,directing the blow downwards into the chest, and calling aloud, at thesame time, "You taught me the stab!"

  But Henry Wynd wore his own good hauberk, doubly defended with a liningof tempered steel. Had he been less surely armed, his combats had beenended for ever. Even as it was, he was slightly wounded.

  "Fool!" he replied, striking Norman a blow with the pommel of his longsword, which made him stagger backwards, "you were taught the thrust,but not the parry"; and, fetching a blow at his antagonist, which clefthis skull through the steel cap, he strode over the lifeless body toengage the young chief, who now stood open before him.

  But the sonorous voice of Torquil thundered out, "Far eil air sonEachin!" (Another for Hector!) and the two brethren who flanked theirchief on each side thrust forward upon Henry, and, striking both atonce, compelled him to keep the defensive.

  "Forward, race of the tiger cat!" cried MacGillie Chattanach. "Save thebrave Saxon; let these kites feel your talons!"

  Already much wounded, the chief dragged himself up to the smith'sassistance, and cut down one of the leichtach, by whom he was assailed.Henry's own good sword rid him of the other.

  "Reist air son Eachin!" (Again for Hector!) shouted the faithful fosterfather.

  "Bas air son Eachin!" (Death for Hector!) answered two more of hisdevoted sons, and opposed themselves to the fury of the smith and thosewho had come to his aid; while Eachin, moving towards the left wing ofthe battle, sought less formidable adversaries, and again, by some showof valour, revived the sinking hopes of his followers. The two childrenof the oak, who had covered, this movement, shared the fate of theirbrethren; for the cry of the Clan Chattan chief had drawn to that partof the field some of his bravest warriors. The sons of Torquil did notfall unavenged, but left dreadful marks of their swords on the personsof the dead and living. But the necessity of keeping their mostdistinguished soldiers around the person of their chief told todisadvantage on the general event of the combat; and so few were nowthe number who remained fighting, that it was easy to see that the ClanChattan had fifteen of their number left, though most of them wounded,and that of the Clan Quhele only about ten remained, of whom there werefour of the chief's bodyguard, including Torquil himself.

  They fought and struggled on, however, and as their strength decayed,their fury seemed to increase. Henry Wynd, now wounded in many places,was still bent on breaking through, or exterminating, the band of boldhearts who continued to fight around the object of his an
imosity.But still the father's shout of "Another for Hector!" was cheerfullyanswered by the fatal countersign, "Death for Hector!" and though theClan Quhele were now outnumbered, the combat seemed still dubious. Itwas bodily lassitude alone that again compelled them to another pause.

  The Clan Chattan were then observed to be twelve in number, but two orthree were scarce able to stand without leaning on their swords. Fivewere left of the Clan Quhele; Torquil and his youngest son were of thenumber, both slightly wounded. Eachin alone had, from the vigilanceused to intercept all blows levelled against his person, escaped withoutinjury. The rage of both parties had sunk, through exhaustion, intosullen desperation. They walked staggering, as if in their sleep,through the carcasses of the slain, and gazed on them, as if again toanimate their hatred towards their surviving enemies by viewing thefriends they had lost.

  The multitude soon after beheld the survivors of the desperate conflictdrawing together to renew the exterminating feud on the banks of theriver, as the spot least slippery with blood, and less encumbered withthe bodies of the slain.

  "For God's sake--for the sake of the mercy which we daily pray for,"said the kind hearted old King to the Duke of Albany, "let this beended! Wherefore should these wretched rags and remnants of humanity besuffered to complete their butchery? Surely they will now be ruled, andaccept of peace on moderate terms?"

  "Compose yourself, my liege," said his brother. "These men are the pestof the Lowlands. Both chiefs are still living; if they go back unharmed,the whole day's work is cast away. Remember your promise to the council,that you would not cry 'hold.'"

  "You compel me to a great crime, Albany, both as a king, who shouldprotect his subjects, and as a Christian man, who respects the brotherof his faith."

  "You judge wrong, my lord," said the Duke: "these are not lovingsubjects, but disobedient rebels, as my Lord of Crawford can bearwitness; and they are still less Christian men, for the prior of theDominicans will vouch for me that they are more than half heathen."

  The King sighed deeply. "You must work your pleasure, and are too wisefor me to contend with. I can but turn away and shut my eyes from thesights and sounds of a carnage which makes me sicken. But well I knowthat God will punish me even for witnessing this waste of human life."

  "Sound, trumpets," said Albany; "their wounds will stiffen if they dallylonger."

  While this was passing, Torquil was embracing and encouraging his youngchief.

  "Resist the witchcraft but a few minutes longer! Be of good cheer, youwill come off without either scar or scratch, wem or wound. Be of goodcheer!"

  "How can I be of good cheer," said Eachin, "while my brave kinsmen haveone by one died at my feet--died all for me, who could never deserve theleast of their kindness?"

  "And for what were they born, save to die for their chief?" saidTorquil, composedly. "Why lament that the arrow returns not to thequiver, providing it hit the mark? Cheer up yet. Here are Tormot and Ibut little hurt, while the wildcats drag themselves through the plainas if they were half throttled by the terriers. Yet one brave stand, andthe day shall be your own, though it may well be that you alone remainalive. Minstrels, sound the gathering."

  The pipers on both sides blew their charge, and the combatants againmingled in battle, not indeed with the same strength, but with unabatedinveteracy. They were joined by those whose duty it was to have remainedneuter, but who now found themselves unable to do so. The two oldchampions who bore the standards had gradually advanced from theextremity of the lists, and now approached close to the immediate sceneof action. When they beheld the carnage more nearly, they were mutuallyimpelled by the desire to revenge their brethren, or not to survivethem. They attacked each other furiously with the lances to which thestandards were attached, closed after exchanging several deadly thrusts,then grappled in close strife, still holding their banners, until atlength, in the eagerness of their conflict, they fell together into theTay, and were found drowned after the combat, closely locked in eachother's arms. The fury of battle, the frenzy of rage and despair,infected next the minstrels. The two pipers, who, during the conflict,had done their utmost to keep up the spirits of their brethren, now sawthe dispute well nigh terminated for want of men to support it. Theythrew down their instruments, rushed desperately upon each other withtheir daggers, and each being more intent on despatching his opponentthan in defending himself, the piper of Clan Quhele was almost instantlyslain and he of Clan Chattan mortally wounded. The last, nevertheless,again grasped his instrument, and the pibroch of the clan yet pouredits expiring notes over the Clan Chattan, while the dying minstrel hadbreath to inspire it. The instrument which he used, or at least thatpart of it called the chanter, is preserved in the family of a Highlandchief to this day, and is much honoured under the name of the federandhu, or, "black chanter."'

  Meanwhile, in the final charge, young Tormot, devoted, like hisbrethren, by his father Torquil to the protection of his chief, hadbeen mortally wounded by the unsparing sword of the smith. The othertwo remaining of the Clan Quhele had also fallen, and Torquil, with hisfoster son and the wounded Tormot, forced to retreat before eight or tenof the Clan Chattan, made a stand on the bank of the river, while theirenemies were making such exertions as their wounds would permit to comeup with them. Torquil had just reached the spot where he had resolvedto make the stand, when the young Tormot dropped and expired. His deathdrew from his father the first and only sigh which he had breathedthroughout the eventful day.

  "My son Tormot!" he said, "my youngest and dearest! But if I saveHector, I save all. Now, my darling dault, I have done for thee all thatman may, excepting the last. Let me undo the clasps of that ill omenedarmour, and do thou put on that of Tormot; it is light, and will fitthee well. While you do so, I will rush on these crippled men, and makewhat play with them I can. I trust I shall have but little to do, forthey are following each other like disabled steers. At least, darling ofmy soul, if I am unable to save thee, I can show thee how a man shoulddie."

  While Torquil thus spoke, he unloosed the clasps of the young chief'shauberk, in the simple belief that he could thus break the meshes whichfear and necromancy had twined about his heart.

  "My father--my father--my more than parent," said the unhappy Eachin,"stay with me! With you by my side, I feel I can fight to the last."

  "It is impossible," said Torquil. "I will stop them coming up, while youput on the hauberk. God eternally bless thee, beloved of my soul!"

  And then, brandishing his sword, Torquil of the Oak rushed forwardwith the same fatal war cry which had so often sounded over that bloodyfield, "Bas air son Eachin!" The words rung three times in a voice ofthunder; and each time that he cried his war shout he struck down one ofthe Clan Chattan as he met them successively straggling towards him.

  "Brave battle, hawk--well flown, falcon!" exclaimed the multitude,as they witnessed exertions which seemed, even at this last hour, tothreaten a change of the fortunes of the day. Suddenly these cries werehushed into silence, and succeeded by a clashing of swords so dreadful,as if the whole conflict had recommenced in the person of Henry Wynd andTorquil of the Oak. They cut, foined, hewed, and thrust as if they haddrawn their blades for the first time that day; and their inveteracy wasmutual, for Torquil recognised the foul wizard who, as he supposed, hadcast a spell over his child; and Henry saw before him the giant who,during the whole conflict, had interrupted the purpose for which alonehe had joined the combatants--that of engaging in single combat withHector. They fought with an equality which, perhaps, would not haveexisted, had not Henry, more wounded than his antagonist, been somewhatdeprived of his usual agility.

  Meanwhile Eachin, finding himself alone, after a disorderly and vainattempt to put on his foster brother's harness, became animated by anemotion of shame and despair, and hurried forward to support his fosterfather in the terrible struggle, ere some other of the Clan Chattanshould come up. When he was within five yards, and sternly determinedto take his share in the death fight, his foster father fell, cl
eftfrom the collarbone well nigh to the heart, and murmuring with his lastbreath, "Bas air son Eachin!" The unfortunate youth saw the fall ofhis last friend, and at the same moment beheld the deadly enemy who hadhunted him through the whole field standing within sword's point ofhim, and brandishing the huge weapon which had hewed its way to hislife through so many obstacles. Perhaps this was enough to bring hisconstitutional timidity to its highest point; or perhaps he recollectedat the same moment that he was without defensive armour, and that aline of enemies, halting indeed and crippled, but eager for revenge andblood, were closely approaching. It is enough to say, that his heartsickened, his eyes darkened, his ears tingled, his brain turned giddy,all other considerations were lost in the apprehension of instant death;and, drawing one ineffectual blow at the smith, he avoided that whichwas aimed at him in return by bounding backward; and, ere the formercould recover his weapon, Eachin had plunged into the stream of the Tay.A roar of contumely pursued him as he swam across the river, although,perhaps, not a dozen of those who joined in it would have behavedotherwise in the like circumstances. Henry looked after the fugitive insilence and surprise, but could not speculate on the consequences ofhis flight, on account of the faintness which seemed to overpower himas soon as the animation of the contest had subsided. He sat down onthe grassy bank, and endeavoured to stanch such of his wounds as werepouring fastest.

  The victors had the general meed of gratulation. The Duke of Albany andothers went down to survey the field; and Henry Wynd was honoured withparticular notice.

  "If thou wilt follow me, good fellow," said the Black Douglas, "Iwill change thy leathern apron for a knight's girdle, and thy burgagetenement for an hundred pound land to maintain thy rank withal."

  "I thank you humbly, my lord," said the smith, dejectedly, "but I haveshed blood enough already, and Heaven has punished me by foiling theonly purpose for which I entered the combat."

  "How, friend?" said Douglas. "Didst thou not fight for the Clan Chattan,and have they not gained a glorious conquest?"

  "I fought for my own hand," [meaning, I did such a thing for my ownpleasure, not for your profit] said the smith, indifferently; and theexpression is still proverbial in Scotland.

  The good King Robert now came up on an ambling palfrey, having enteredthe barriers for the purpose of causing the wounded to be looked after.

  "My lord of Douglas," he said, "you vex the poor man with temporalmatters when it seems he may have short timer to consider those thatare spiritual. Has he no friends here who will bear him where his bodilywounds and the health of his soul may be both cared for?"

  "He hath as many friends as there are good men in Perth," said SirPatrick Charteris, "and I esteem myself one of the closest."

  "A churl will savour of churl's kind," said the haughty Douglas, turninghis horse aside; "the proffer of knighthood from the sword of Douglashad recalled him from death's door, had there been a drop of gentleblood in his body."

  Disregarding the taunt of the mighty earl, the Knight of Kinfaunsdismounted to take Henry in his arms, as he now sunk back from veryfaintness. But he was prevented by Simon Glover, who, with otherburgesses of consideration, had now entered the barrace.

  "Henry, my beloved son Henry!" said the old man. "Oh, what tempted youto this fatal affray? Dying--speechless?"

  "No--not speechless," said Henry. "Catharine--" He could utter no more.

  "Catharine is well, I trust, and shall be thine--that is, if--"

  "If she be safe, thou wouldst say, old man," said the Douglas, who,though something affronted at Henry's rejection of his offer, was toomagnanimous not to interest himself in what was passing. "She is safe,if Douglas's banner can protect her--safe, and shall be rich. Douglascan give wealth to those who value it more than honour."

  "For her safety, my lord, let the heartfelt thanks and blessings of afather go with the noble Douglas. For wealth, we are rich enough. Goldcannot restore my beloved son."

  "A marvel!" said the Earl: "a churl refuses nobility, a citizen despisesgold!"

  "Under your lordship's favour," said Sir Patrick, "I, who am knightand noble, take license to say, that such a brave man as Henry Wynd mayreject honourable titles, such an honest man as this reverend citizenmay dispense with gold."

  "You do well, Sir Patrick, to speak for your town, and I take nooffence," said the Douglas. "I force my bounty on no one. But," headded, in a whisper to Albany, "your Grace must withdraw the King fromthis bloody sight, for he must know that tonight which will ring overbroad Scotland when tomorrow dawns. This feud is ended. Yet even Igrieve that so many brave Scottishmen lie here slain, whose brands mighthave decided a pitched field in their country's cause."

  With dignity King Robert was withdrawn from the field, the tears runningdown his aged cheeks and white beard, as he conjured all around him,nobles and priests, that care should be taken for the bodies and soulsof the few wounded survivors, and honourable burial rendered tothe slain. The priests who were present answered zealously for bothservices, and redeemed their pledge faithfully and piously.

  Thus ended this celebrated conflict of the North Inch of Perth. Ofsixty-four brave men (the minstrels and standard bearers included)who strode manfully to the fatal field, seven alone survived, who wereconveyed from thence in litters, in a case little different from thedead and dying around them, and mingled with them in the sad processionwhich conveyed them from the scene of their strife. Eachin alone hadleft it void of wounds and void of honour.

  It remains but to say, that not a man of the Clan Quhele survived thebloody combat except the fugitive chief; and the consequence of thedefeat was the dissolution of their confederacy. The clans of which itconsisted are now only matter of conjecture to the antiquary, for, afterthis eventful contest, they never assembled under the same banner. TheClan Chattan, on the other hand, continued to increase and flourish; andthe best families of the Northern Highlands boast their descent from therace of the Cat a Mountain.