"I willingly agree," said Albany. "If the King heard of this loss,
he could not witness the combat; and if he appear not in person,
these men are likely to refuse to fight, and the whole work is
cast loose. But I pray you sit down, my lord, while I read these
melancholy papers respecting poor Rothsay."

He passed the papers through his hands, turning some over with a
hasty glance, and dwelling on others as if their contents had been
of the last importance. When he had spent nearly a quarter of an
hour in this manner, he raised his eyes, and said very gravely: "My
lord, in these most melancholy documents, it is yet a comfort to
see nothing which can renew the divisions in the King's councils,
which were settled by the last solemn agreement between your
lordship and myself. My unhappy nephew was by that agreement to
be set aside, until time should send him a graver judgment. He is
now removed by Fate, and our purpose in that matter is anticipated
and rendered unnecessary."

"If your Grace," replied the Earl, "sees nothing to disturb the
good understanding which the tranquillity and safety of Scotland
require should exist between us, I am not so ill a friend of my
country as to look closely for such."

"I understand you, my Lord of Douglas," said Albany, eagerly. "You
hastily judged that I should be offended with your lordship for
exercising your powers of lieutenancy, and punishing the detestable
murderers within my territory of Falkland. Credit me, on the
contrary, I am obliged to your lordship for taking out of my hands
the punishment of these wretches, as it would have broken my heart
even to have looked on them. The Scottish Parliament will inquire,
doubtless, into this sacrilegious deed; and happy am I that the
avenging sword has been in the hand of a man so important as your
lordship. Our communication together, as your lordship must well
recollect, bore only concerning a proposed restraint of my unfortunate
nephew until the advance of a year or two had taught him discretion?"

"Such was certainly your Grace's purpose, as expressed to me," said
the Earl; "I can safely avouch it."

"Why, then, noble earl, we cannot be censured because villains,
for their own revengeful ends, appear to have engrafted a bloody
termination on our honest purpose?"

"The Parliament will judge it after their wisdom," said Douglas.
"For my part, my conscience acquits me."

"And mine assoilzies me," said the Duke with solemnity. "Now, my
lord, touching the custody of the boy James, who succeeds to his
father's claims of inheritance?"

"The King must decide it," said Douglas, impatient of the conference.
"I will consent to his residence anywhere save at Stirling, Doune,
or Falkland."

With that he left the apartment abruptly.

"He is gone," muttered the crafty Albany, "and he must be my ally,
yet feels himself disposed to be my mortal foe. No matter, Rothsay
sleeps with his fathers, James may follow in time, and then--a
crown is the recompense of my perplexities."



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 combat
would have been accounted a profanity worthy of excommunication. The
Church of Rome, to her infinite honour, had decided that during the
holy season of Easter, when the redemption of man from his fallen
state was accomplished, the sword of war should be sheathed, and
angry monarchs should respect the season termed the Truce of God.
The ferocious violence of the latter wars betwixt Scotland and
England had destroyed all observance of this decent and religious
Ordinance. Very often the most solemn occasions were chosen by one
party for an attack, because they hoped to find the other engaged
in religious duties and unprovided for defence. Thus the truce,
once considered as proper to the season, had been discontinued; and
it became not unusual even to select the sacred festivals of the
church for decision of the trial by combat, to which this intended
contest bore a considerable resemblance.

On the present occasion, however, the duties of the day were observed
with the usual solemnity, and the combatants themselves took share
in them. Bearing branches of yew in their hands, as the readiest
substitute for palm boughs, they marched respectively to the Dominican
and Carthusian convents, to hear High Mass, and, by a show at least
of devotion, to prepare themselves for the bloody strife of the
day. Great care had of course been taken that, during this march,
they should not even come within the sound of each other's bagpipes;
for it was certain that, like game cocks exchanging mutual notes
of defiance, they would have sought out and attacked each other
before they arrived at the place of combat.

The citizens of Perth crowded to see the unusual procession on the
streets, and thronged the churches where the two clans attended
their devotions, to witness their behaviour, and to form a judgment
from their appearance which was most likely to obtain the advantage
in the approaching conflict. Their demeanour in the church, although
not habitual frequenters of places of devotion, was perfectly
decorous; and, notwithstanding their wild and untamed dispositions,
there were few of the mountaineers who seemed affected either
with curiosity or wonder. They appeared to think it beneath their
dignity of character to testify either curiosity or surprise
at many things which were probably then presented to them for the
first time.

On the issue of the combat, few even of the most competent judges
dared venture a prediction; although the great size of Torquil
and his eight stalwart sons induced some who professed themselves
judges of the thewes and sinews of men to incline to ascribe the
advantage to the party of the Clan Quhele. The opinion of the female
sex was much decided by the handsome form, noble countenance, and
gallant demeanour of Eachin MacIan. There were more than one who
imagined they had recollection of his features, but his splendid
military attire rendered the humble glover's apprentice unrecognisable
in the young Highland chief, saving by one person.

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

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

The congregation was moving from the church of the Dominicans when
the smith formed this determination, which he endeavoured to carry
into speedy execution, by thrusting through the crowd as hastily
as the solemnity of the place and occasion would permit. In making
his way through the press, he was at one instant carried so close
to Eachin that their eyes encountered. The smith's hardy and embrowned
countenance coloured up like the heated iron on which he wrought,
and retained its dark red hue for several minutes. Eachin's features
glowed with a brighter blush of indignation, and a glance of fiery
hatred was shot from his eyes. But the sudden flush died away in
ashy paleness, and his gaze instantly avoided the unfriendly but
steady look with which it was encountered.

Torquil, whose eye never quitted his foster son, saw his emotion,
and looked anxiously around to discover the cause. But Henry was
already at a distance, and hastening on his way to the Carthusian
convent. Here also the religious service of the day was ended; and
those who had so lately borne palms in honour of the great event
which brought peace on earth and goodwill to the children of men
were now streaming to the place of combat--some prepared to take
the lives of their fellow creatures or to lose their own, others to
view the deadly strife with the savage delight which the heathens
took in the contests of their gladiators.

The crowd was so great that any other person might well have despaired
of making way through it. But the general deference entertained
for Henry of the Wynd, as the champion of Perth, and the universal
sense of his ability to force a passage, induced all to unite in
yielding room for him, so that he was presently quite close to the
warriors of the Clan Chattan. Their pipers marched at the head of
their column. Next followed the well known banner, displaying a
mountain cat rampant, with the appropriate caution, "Touch not the
cat, but (i.e. without) the glove." The chief followed with his two
handed sword advanced, as if to protect the emblem of the tribe. He
was a man of middle stature, more than fifty years old, but betraying
neither in features nor form any decay of strength or symptoms of
age. His dark red close curled locks were in part chequered by a
few grizzled hairs, but his step and gesture were as light in the
dance, in the chase, or in the battle as if he had not passed his
thirtieth year. His grey eye gleamed with a wild light expressive
of valour and ferocity mingled; but wisdom and experience dwelt
on the expression of his forehead, eyebrows, and lips. The chosen
champions followed by two and two. There was a cast of anxiety on
several of their faces, for they had that morning discovered the
absence of one of their appointed number; and, in a contest so
desperate as was expected, the loss seemed a matter of importance
to all save to their high mettled chief, MacGillie Chattanach.

"Say nothing to the Saxons of his absence," said this bold leader,
when the diminution of his force was reported to him. "The false
Lowland tongues might say that one of Clan Chattan was a coward,
and perhaps that the rest favoured his escape, in order to have a
pretence to avoid the battle. I am sure that Ferquhard Day will be
found in the ranks ere we are ready for battle; or, if he should
not, am not I man enough for two 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, yet
there were anxious looks thrown out in hopes of espying the return
of the deserter; and perhaps the chief himself was the only one of
the determined band who was totally indifferent on the subject.

They marched on through the streets without seeing anything of
Ferquhard Day, who, many a mile beyond the mountains, was busied
in receiving such indemnification as successful love could bestow
for the loss of honour. MacGillie Chattanach marched on without
seeming to observe the absence of the deserter, and entered upon
the North Inch, a beautiful and level plain, closely adjacent to
the city, and appropriated to the martial exercises of the inhabitants.

The plain is washed on one side by the deep and swelling Tay. There
was erected within it a strong palisade, inclosing on three sides
a space of one hundred and fifty yards in length and seventy-four
yards in width. The fourth side of the lists was considered as
sufficiently fenced by the river. An amphitheatre for the accommodation
of spectators surrounded the palisade, leaving a large space free
to be occupied by armed men on foot and horseback, and for the more
ordinary class of spectators. 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 gilded ornaments, that the spot retains
to this day the name of the Golden, or Gilded, Arbour.

The mountain minstrelsy, which sounded the appropriate pibrochs
or battle tunes of the rival confederacies, was silent when they
entered on the Inch, for such was the order which had been given.
Two stately but aged warriors, each bearing the banner of his
tribe, advanced to the opposite extremities of the lists, and,
pitching their standards into the earth, prepared to be spectators
of a fight in which they were not to join. The pipers, who were also
to be neutral in the strife, took their places by their respective
brattachs.

The multitude received both bands with the same general shout with
which on similar occasions they welcome those from whose exertion
they expect amusement, or what they term sport. The destined combatants
returned no answer to this greeting, but each party advanced to the
opposite extremities of the lists, where were entrances by which
they were to be admitted to the interior. A strong body of men at
arms guarded either access; and the Earl Marshal at the one and the
Lord High Constable at the other carefully examined each individual,
to see whether he had the appropriate arms, being steel cap, mail
shirt, two handed sword, and dagger. They also examined the numbers
of each party; and great was the alarm among the multitude when the
Earl of Errol held up his hand and cried: "Ho! The combat cannot
proceed, for the Clan Chattan lack one of their number."

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

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

Of all present there were only two perhaps who rejoiced at the
prospect of the combat being adjourned, and these were the captain
of the Clan Quhele and the tender hearted King Robert. Meanwhile
the two chiefs, each attended by a special friend and adviser, met
in the midst of the lists, having, to assist them in determining
what was to be done, the Earl Marshal, the Lord High Constable,
the Earl of Crawford, and Sir Patrick Charteris. The chief of the
Clan Chattan declared himself willing and desirous of fighting upon
the spot, without regard to the disparity 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 a subterfuge, that you may say when you are defeated, as you
know you will be, 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 of the 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 chief is to the clan the breath of our nostrils, nor will
we ever consent that our chief shall be exposed to dangers which
the captain of Clan Quhele does not share."

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

"I will not hear," he said, "of a scheme which will leave my sword
sheathed during this day's glorious combat. If I am young in arms,
there are 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
perhaps on 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
tardy spirit which besieged him would fly at the sound of the pipe
and the first flutter of the brattach!"

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

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

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

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

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

"If there be any man willing to fight for honour," replied MacGillis
Chattanach, "the price will be enough; and I want not the service
of a fellow 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
been directed, without the least apparent disposition on the part
of any one to accept of the proffered enlistment. Some sneered at
the poverty of the Highlanders, who set so mean a price upon such
a desperate service. Others affected resentment, that they should
esteem the blood of citizens so lightly. None showed the slightest
intention to undertake the task proposed, until the sound of the
proclamation reached Henry of the Wynd, as he stood without the
barrier, speaking from time to time with Baillie Craigdallie, or
rather listening vaguely to what the magistrate was saying to him.

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

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

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

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

He had hardly said the word, when he beheld the smith clear the
barriers at a single bound and alight in the lists, saying: "Here
am I, sir herald, Henry of the Wynd, willing to battle on the part
of the Clan Chattan."

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 of fighting. The provost was especially shocked.

"Thou art mad," he said, "Henry! Thou hast neither two handed sword
nor shirt of mail."

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

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

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

The cry had in the mean while run through the multitude and passed
into the town, that the dauntless smith was about to fight without
armour, when, just as the fated hour was approaching, the shrill
voice of a female was heard screaming for passage through the crowd.
The multitude gave place to her importunity, and she advanced,
breathless with haste under the burden of a mail hauberk and
a large two handed sword. The widow of Oliver Proudfute was soon
recognised, and the arms which she bore were those of the smith
himself, which, occupied by her husband on the fatal evening when
he was murdered, had been naturally conveyed to his house with the
dead body, and were now, by the exertions of his grateful widow,
brought to the lists at a moment when such proved weapons were of
the last consequence to their owner. Henry joyfully received the
well known arms, and the widow with trembling haste assisted in
putting them on, and then took leave of him, saying: "God for the
champion of the widow and orphan, and ill luck to all who come
before him!"

Confident at feeling himself in his well proved armour, Henry shook
himself as if to settle the steel shirt around him, and, unsheathing
the two handed sword, made it flourish over his head, cutting the
air through which it whistled in the form of the figure eight with
an ease and sleight of hand that proved how powerfully and skilfully
he could wield the ponderous weapon. The champions were now ordered
to march in their turns around the lists, crossing so as to avoid
meeting each other, and making obeisance as they passed the Golden
Arbour where the King was seated.

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

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

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

"Ay, he wishes to save his hopeful son in law that is, or is to be,
from the smith's handling," was Henry's first thought; his second
was to turn and speak with him; and his third, that he could on no
pretext desert the 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
parties were disposed by the respective chiefs in three lines, each
containing ten men. They were arranged with such intervals between
each individual as offered him scope to wield his sword, the blade
of which was five feet long, not including the handle. The second
and third lines were to come up as reserves, in case the first
experienced disaster. On the right of the array of Clan Quhele,
the chief, Eachin MacIan, placed himself in the second line betwixt
two of his foster brothers. Four of them occupied the right of the
first line, whilst the father and two others protected the rear of
the beloved chieftain. Torquil, in particular, kept close behind,
for the purpose of covering him. Thus Eachin 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 in his 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 of being on the extreme right. This induced Henry Smith, who
saw in the opposing bands only one enemy, and that was the unhappy
Eachin, to propose placing himself on the left of the front rank of
the Clan Chattan. But the leader disapproved of this arrangement;
and having reminded Henry that he owed him obedience, as having
taken wages at his hand, he commanded him to occupy the space
in the third line immediately behind himself--a post of honour,
certainly, which Henry could not decline, though he accepted of it
with reluctance.

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

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

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

At once, however, and as if by mutual agreement, the instruments
sounded a retreat; it was expressed in wailing notes, which seemed to
imply a dirge for the fallen. The two parties disengaged themselves
from each other, to take breath for a few minutes. The eyes of the
spectators greedily surveyed the shattered array of the combatants
as they drew off from the contest, but found it still impossible
to decide which had sustained the greater loss. It seemed as if
the Clan Chattan had lost rather fewer men than their antagonists;
but in compensation, the bloody plaids and skirts of their party
(for several on both sides had thrown their mantles away) showed
more wounded men than the Clan Quhele. About twenty of both sides
lay on the field dead or dying; and arms and legs lopped off,
heads cleft to the chin, slashes deep through the shoulder into
the breast, showed at once the fury of the combat, the ghastly
character of the weapons used, and the fatal strength of the arms
which wielded them. The chief of the Clan Chattan had behaved himself
with the most determined courage, and was slightly wounded. Eachin
also had fought with spirit, surrounded by his bodyguard. His sword
was bloody, his bearing bold and warlike; and he smiled when old
Torquil, folding him in his arms, loaded him with praises and with
blessings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It is enough," said Henry; and, shouldering his heavy weapon, he
joined the rest of the combatants with alacrity, and placed himself
opposite to the 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 its neighbourhood could bring into the lists. His hatred to
him as a rival was mingled with recollection of the ease with which
he had once, though unarmed, foiled his own sudden and desperate
attack; and when he beheld him with his eyes fixed in his direction,
the dripping sword in his hand, and obviously meditating an attack
on him individually, his courage fell, and he gave symptoms of
wavering, which did not escape his foster father.

It was lucky for Eachin that Torquil was incapable, from the
formation of his own temper, and that of those with whom he had
lived, to conceive the idea of one of his own tribe, much less of his
chief and foster son, being deficient in animal courage. Could he
have imagined this, his grief and rage might have driven him to the
fierce extremity of taking Eachin's life, to save him from staining
his honour. But his mind rejected the idea that his dault was a
personal coward, as something which was monstrous and unnatural.
That he was under the influence of enchantment was a solution which
superstition had suggested, and he now anxiously, but in a whisper,
demanded of Hector: "Does the spell now darken thy spirit, Eachin?"

"Yes, wretch that I am," answered the unhappy youth; "and yonder
stands the 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 own ear has heard, and my own tongue has told, that Eachin shall
leave the battle whole, free, and unwounded; let us see the Saxon
wizard who can gainsay that. He may be a strong man, but the fair
forest of the oak shall fall, stock and bough, ere he lay a finger
on my dault. Ring around him, my sons; bas air son Eachin!"

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

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

The wild pibroch again sounded the onset; but the two parties
approached each other more slowly than at first, as men who knew
and respected each 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 there was a general, though momentary, pause,
as if both parties were willing to 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 to strike; but, just as he
came within sword's length, he dropt the long and cumbrous weapon,
leapt lightly over the smith's sword, as he fetched a 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 the same
time, "You taught me the stab!"

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

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

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

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

Already much wounded, the chief dragged himself up to the smith's
assistance, 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
foster father.

"Bas air son Eachin!" (Death for Hector!) answered two more of his
devoted sons, and opposed themselves to the fury of the smith and
those who had come to his aid; while Eachin, moving towards the left
wing of the battle, sought less formidable adversaries, and again,
by some show of valour, revived the sinking hopes of his followers.
The two children of the oak, who had covered, this movement, shared
the fate of their brethren; for the cry of the Clan Chattan chief
had drawn to that part of the field some of his bravest warriors.
The sons of Torquil did not fall unavenged, but left dreadful
marks of their swords on the persons of the dead and living. But
the necessity of keeping their most distinguished soldiers around
the person of their chief told to disadvantage on the general
event of the combat; and so few were now the number who remained
fighting, that it was easy to see that the Clan Chattan had fifteen
of their number left, though most of them wounded, and that of the
Clan Quhele only about ten remained, of whom there were four 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 bold hearts who continued to fight around the object
of his animosity. But still the father's shout of "Another for
Hector!" was cheerfully answered by the fatal countersign, "Death
for Hector!" and though the Clan Quhele were now outnumbered, the
combat seemed still dubious. It was bodily lassitude alone that
again compelled them to another pause.

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

The multitude soon after beheld the survivors of the desperate
conflict drawing together to renew the exterminating feud on the
banks of the river, as the spot least slippery with blood, and less
encumbered with the 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 be ended! Wherefore should these wretched rags and remnants of
humanity be suffered to complete their butchery? Surely they will
now be ruled, and accept of peace on moderate terms?"

"Compose yourself, my liege," said his brother. "These men are the
pest of 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
should protect his subjects, and as a Christian man, who respects
the brother of his faith."

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

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

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

While this was passing, Torquil was embracing and encouraging his
young chief.

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

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

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

The pipers on both sides blew their charge, and the combatants
again mingled in battle, not indeed with the same strength, but
with unabated inveteracy. They were joined by those whose duty it
was to have remained neuter, but who now found themselves unable to
do so. The two old champions who bore the standards had gradually
advanced from the extremity of the lists, and now approached close
to the immediate scene of action. When they beheld the carnage
more nearly, they were mutually impelled by the desire to revenge
their brethren, or not to survive them. They attacked each other
furiously with the lances to which the standards were attached,
closed after exchanging several deadly thrusts, then grappled in
close strife, still holding their banners, until at length, in the
eagerness of their conflict, they fell together into the Tay, and
were found drowned after the combat, closely locked in each other'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
saw the dispute well nigh terminated for want of men to support
it. They threw down their instruments, rushed desperately upon each
other with their daggers, and each being more intent on despatching
his opponent than in defending himself, the piper of Clan Quhele
was almost instantly slain and he of Clan Chattan mortally wounded.
The last, nevertheless, again grasped his instrument, and the pibroch
of the clan yet poured its expiring notes over the Clan Chattan,
while the dying minstrel had breath to inspire it. The instrument
which he used, or at least that part of it called the chanter, is
preserved in the family of a Highland chief to this day, and is
much honoured under the name of the federan dhu, or, "black chanter."'

Meanwhile, in the final charge, young Tormot, devoted, like his
brethren, by his father Torquil to the protection of his chief,
had been mortally wounded by the unsparing sword of the smith. The
other two remaining of the Clan Quhele had also fallen, and Torquil,
with his foster son and the wounded Tormot, forced to retreat before
eight or ten of the Clan Chattan, made a stand on the bank of the
river, while their enemies were making such exertions as their
wounds would permit to come up with them. Torquil had just reached
the spot where he had resolved to make the stand, when the young
Tormot dropped and expired. His death drew from his father the
first and only sigh which he had breathed throughout the eventful
day.

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

While Torquil thus spoke, he unloosed the clasps of the young chief's
hauberk, in the simple belief that he could thus break the meshes
which fear 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 you put on the hauberk. God eternally bless thee, beloved of
my soul!"

And then, brandishing his sword, Torquil of the Oak rushed forward
with the same fatal war cry which had so often sounded over that
bloody field, "Bas air son Eachin!" The words rung three times in
a voice of thunder; and each time that he cried his war shout he
struck down one of the 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,
to threaten a change of the fortunes of the day. Suddenly these
cries were hushed into silence, and succeeded by a clashing of
swords so dreadful, as if the whole conflict had recommenced in
the person of Henry Wynd and Torquil of the Oak. They cut, foined,
hewed, and thrust as if they had drawn their blades for the first time
that day; and their inveteracy was mutual, for Torquil recognised
the foul wizard who, as he supposed, had cast a spell over his
child; and Henry saw before him the giant who, during the whole
conflict, had interrupted the purpose for which alone he had joined
the combatants--that of engaging in single combat with Hector.
They fought with an equality which, perhaps, would not have existed,
had not Henry, more wounded than his antagonist, been somewhat
deprived of his usual agility.

Meanwhile Eachin, finding himself alone, after a disorderly and
vain attempt to put on his foster brother's harness, became animated
by an emotion of shame and despair, and hurried forward to support
his foster father in the terrible struggle, ere some other of the
Clan Chattan should come up. When he was within five yards, and
sternly determined to take his share in the death fight, his foster
father fell, cleft from the collarbone well nigh to the heart, and
murmuring with his last breath, "Bas air son Eachin!" The unfortunate
youth saw the fall of his last friend, and at the same moment
beheld the deadly enemy who had hunted him through the whole field
standing within sword's point of him, and brandishing the huge
weapon which had hewed its way to his life through so many obstacles.
Perhaps this was enough to bring his constitutional timidity to
its highest point; or perhaps he recollected at the same moment
that he was without defensive armour, and that a line of enemies,
halting indeed and crippled, but eager for revenge and blood, were
closely approaching. It is enough to say, that his heart sickened,
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 which was aimed at him in return by bounding backward; and,
ere the former could 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 behaved otherwise in the like circumstances. Henry
looked after the fugitive in silence and surprise, but could not
speculate on the consequences of his flight, on account of the
faintness which seemed to overpower him as soon as the animation
of the contest had subsided. He sat down on the grassy bank, and
endeavoured to stanch such of his wounds as were pouring fastest.

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

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

"I thank you humbly, my lord," said the smith, dejectedly, "but
I have shed blood enough already, and Heaven has punished me by
foiling the only 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
own pleasure, not for your profit] said the smith, indifferently;
and the expression is still proverbial in Scotland.

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

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

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

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

Disregarding the taunt of the mighty earl, the Knight of Kinfauns
dismounted to take Henry in his arms, as he now sunk back from very
faintness. But he was prevented by Simon Glover, who, with other
burgesses of consideration, had now entered the barrace.