MacMillan's Reading Books Part 26

Thou art my guest:--I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford: Nor would I call a clansman's brand, For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.

So move we on;--I only meant To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pa.s.s from Roderick Dhu."

The Chief in silence strode before, And reached that torrent's sounding sh.o.r.e, Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines, On Bochastle the mouldering lines.

Where "Rome, the Empress of the world.

Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.

And here his course the Chieftain staid; Threw down his target and his plaid, And to the Lowland warrior said:-- "Bold Saxon! to his promise just, Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.

This murderous Chief, this ruthless man.

This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.

Now, man to man, and steel to steel, A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel, See, here, all vantageless, I stand, Armed like thyself, with single brand: For this is Coilantogle ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

The Saxon paused:--"I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death: Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved:-- Can nought but blood our feud atone?

Are there no means?"--"No, stranger, none!

And hear,--to fire thy flagging zeal,-- The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred Between the living and the dead: "Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife."-- "Then by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff,-- There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me.

To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favour free, I plight mine honour, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, That aids thee now to guard thy land."-- Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye-- "Soars thy presumption then so high, Because a wretched kern ye slew, Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:-- My clansman's blood demands revenge.-- Not yet prepared?--By Heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valour light As that of some vain carpet-knight, Who ill-deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair."-- "I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein.

Now, truce, farewell; and ruth, begone!

Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown: Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle, clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast.

But fear not--doubt not--which thou wilt-- We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."-- Then each at once his faulchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, As what they ne'er might see again: Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed.

Ill-fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside: For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.

He practised every pa.s.s and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war.

Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood: No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed.

Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock or castle-roof, Against the winter shower is proof, The foe invulnerable still Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And, backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

"Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"-- "Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!

Let recreant yield, who fears to die."-- Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, Received, but reck'd not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round.-- Now gallant Saxon, hold thine own!

No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, Through bars of bra.s.s and triple steel!-- They tug, they strain!--down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below.

The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd, His knee was planted on his breast; His clotted locks he backward threw, Across his brow his hand he drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!

--But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, Keeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye, Down came the blow! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath.

The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; Unbounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

SCOTT.

[Notes: _Fitz-James_ is James V. in disguise.

_Holy Rood_, or Holy Cross, where was the royal palace of the Scottish kings.

_Albany_. The Duke of Albany, who was regent of Scotland during part of the minority of James V.

_Where Rome, the Empress, &c._ And where remnants of Roman encampments are still to be traced.]

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.

BY five o'clock in the morning, the whole army, in order of battle, began to descry the enemy from the rising grounds about a mile from Naseby, and moved towards them. They were drawn up on a little ascent in a large common fallow-field, in one line, extending from one side of the field to the other, the field something more than a mile over; our army in the same order, in one line, with the reserves.

The king led the main battle of foot, Prince Rupert the right wing of the horse, and Sir Marmaduke Langdale the left. Of the enemy Fairfax and Skippon led the body, Cromwell and Roseter the right, and Ireton the left. The numbers of both armies so equal, as not to differ five hundred men, save that the king had most horse by about one thousand, and Fairfax most foot by about five hundred. The number was in each army about eighteen thousand men.

The armies coming close up, the wings engaged first. The prince with his right wing charged with his wonted fury, and drove all the parliament's wing of horse, one division excepted, clear out of the field. Ireton, who commanded this wing, give him his due, rallied often, and fought like a lion; but our wing bore down all before them, and pursued them with a terrible execution.

Ireton, seeing one division of his horse left, repaired to them, and keeping his ground, fell foul of a brigade of our foot, who coming up to the head of the line, he like a madman charges them with his horse. But they with their pikes tore them to pieces; so that this division was entirely ruined. Ireton himself, thrust through the thigh with a pike, wounded in the face with a halberd, was unhorsed and taken prisoner.

Cromwell, who commanded the parliament's right wing, charged Sir Marmaduke Langdale with extraordinary fury; but he, an old tried soldier, stood firm, and received the charge with equal gallantry, exchanging all their shot, carabines, and pistols, and then fell on sword in hand, Roseter and Whaley had the better on the point of the wing, and routed two divisions of horse, pushed them behind the reserves, where they rallied, and charged again, but were at last defeated; the rest of the horse, now charged in the flank, retreated fighting, and were pushed behind the reserves of foot.

While this was doing, the foot engaged with equal fierceness, and for two hours there was a terrible fire. The king's foot, backed with gallant officers, and full of rage at the rout of their horse, bore down the enemy's brigade led by Skippon. The old man wounded, bleeding, retreats to their reserves. All the foot, except the general's brigade, were thus driven into the reserves, where their officers rallied them, and brought them on to a fresh charge; and here the horse having driven our horse above a quarter of a mile from the foot, face about, and fall in on the rear of the foot.

Had our right wing done thus, the day had been secured; but Prince Rupert, according to his custom, following the flying enemy, never concerned himself with the safety of those behind; and yet he returned sooner than he had done in like cases too. At our return we found all in confusion, our foot broken, all but one brigade, which, though charged in the front, flank, and rear, could not be broken, till Sir Thomas Fairfax himself came up to the charge with fresh men, and then they were rather cut in pieces than beaten; for they stood with their pikes charged every way to the last extremity.

In this condition, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, we saw the king rallying his horse, and preparing to renew the fight; and our wing of horse coming up to him, gave him opportunity to draw up a large body of horse; so large, that all the enemy's horse facing us, stood still and looked on, but did not think fit to charge us, till their foot, who had entirely broken our main battle, were put into order again, and brought up to us.

The officers about the king advised his majesty rather to draw off; for, since our foot were lost, it would be too much odds to expose the horse to the fury of their whole army, and would be but sacrificing his best troops, without any hopes of success.

The king, though with great regret at the loss of his foot, yet seeing there was no other hope, took this advice, and retreated in good order to Harborough, and from thence to Leicester.

This was the occasion of the enemy having so great a number of prisoners; for the horse being thus gone off, the foot had no means to make their retreat, and were obliged to yield themselves.

Commissary-General Ireton being taken by a captain of foot, makes the captain his prisoner, to save his life, and gives him his liberty for his courtesy before.

Cromwell and Roseter, with all the enemy's horse, followed us as far as Leicester, and killed all that they could lay hold on straggling from the body, but durst not attempt to charge us in a body. The king expecting the enemy would come to Leicester, removes to Ashby-de-la-Zouch, where we had some time to recollect ourselves.

This was the most fatal action of the whole war; not so much for the loss of our cannon, ammunition, and baggage, of which the enemy boasted so much, but as it was impossible for the king ever to retrieve it. The foot, the best that he was ever master of, could never be supplied; his army in the west was exposed to certain ruin; the north overrun with the Scots; in short, the case grew desperate, and the king was once upon the point of bidding us all disband, and shift for ourselves.

We lost in this fight not above two thousand slain, and the parliament near as many, but the prisoners were a great number; the whole body of foot being, as I have said, dispersed, there were four thousand five hundred prisoners, besides four hundred officers, two thousand horses, twelve pieces of cannon, forty barrels of powder; all the king's baggage, coaches, most of his servants, and his secretary; with his cabinet of letters, of which the parliament made great improvement, and, basely enough, caused his private letters between his majesty and the queen, her majesty's letters to the king, and a great deal of such stuff, to be printed.

DEFOE.

[Note: _The battle of Naseby_, fought on June 14th, 1645. The king's forces were routed, and his cannon and baggage fell into the enemy's hands. Not only was the loss heavy, but it was made more serious by his correspondence falling into the hands of the parliamentary leaders, which exposed his dealings with the Irish Roman Catholics. The most remarkable point about this description is the air of reality which Defoe gives to his account of an event which took place nearly twenty years before his birth.]