The Three Perils of Man Volume Iii Part 4

The maids and their angelic guide went on following the cross; and as they went, they sung in sweet and humble aspirations the song of the Lamb. They met the gorgeous files. Fair met with fair. The hideous idols sat an hundred cubits high; whereas the cross a maiden's hand upbore. But when they met, the proud and mighty peal, swelling from Odin's worshippers, was hushed as with a sob. The hills rang with the sound; and the o'erburdened air bore the last knell up to the skies.

It quavered through the spheres, and died in distance, to be heard no more, while nought but the sweet notes the virgins sung rose on the paths of night. The motely ma.s.s of heathens stood amazed, and as they stood they listened and they quaked. The words were these at which they paused, and which the virgins sung:

Silence the blasphemers thee that defy, Strike down the mighty, Son of the Most High; Rise in thy power, that the heathen may see, What dust are their G.o.ds and their glory to thee; Raise thy right hand, and in pieces them shiver, That to the true G.o.d may the praise be for ever.

At every line the bearers and their G.o.ds trembled the more, and as the last notes closed, the mighty Odin toppled from his throne, and crashed amid his powerless worshippers. His wooden spouse and son fell with the sire of G.o.ds and men, and in a thousand pieces their gilded frames were dashed. Confusion reigned. The host fled in dismay; but Odin's priests sunk down in low prostration, groaning and howling for the fall of Odin,--the shield and glory of the Danish host.

From out this wild confusion the bright guide conducted the three virgins, to a cave close by the river's brink, and charged them hide until the wrath of the enraged foe should be abated. Here, said he, you are in perfect safety. No one living knows of this retreat. Here sleep and take your rest. May angels watch around your flinty couch.

Farewell, I must begone on the employ a.s.signed me by your father and by mine. He left the lamp and went his way. Forthwith they kneeled in prayer, thanking their Saviour for their great deliverance, then laid them down to rest. They kissed the cross, and folded closely in each other's arms, cheek leaning unto cheek, with holy hymns they sung themselves asleep.

Great was the rage among the Danish chiefs, and wide the search for these presumptuous and bold aggressors. The host was all discouraged and amazed, and nought but terror reigned. Earldoms were offered for the audacious maids, dead or alive. But nor alive nor dead could they be found, either by friend or foe. O dreadful were the execrations uttered by the Danes. They called them demons, witches, and the worst of all incendiaries. Well they might. The terror of their arms was broken. Great was the rejoicing mid the hills and glens of Albyn, but the eastern vallies groaned beneath the fury of the savage Dane, and Christian blood was shed on every cross.

The virgins waked at morn, and still the lamp sent forth its feeble glimmer through the cave. The day-beam through the crevice of the rock streamed in and mixed with it. The virgins strove to rise, to speak--to sing a morning hymn. But all their limbs were cold, and their tongues clove fast to their thirsty palates. Lena, first of all the three, upraised her pallid form, and on the lamp turning her drowsy eye, there did it settle, closed, and oped again, but still with faded and uncertain light, as if the mind were lacking. Long she sat, half raised in this uneasy torpid state,--this struggle 'twixt oblivion and life. Oft she a.s.sayed her sisters to awake, by naming them; but still as oft the names died in a whisper. By degrees her mind dawned into recollection, as the moon breaks o'er the sullen twilight. Then the wonders, that she had seen o'ernight, aroused her soul to all its wonted energy. She kneeled, and thanked her Maker for the great deliverance to them vouchsafed. And when her sisters woke, they woke to join her in a heavenly song.

"What ails our sister? Here we are in safety. Why does our dear beloved not rest in peace? The night is not far spent: the dawn of morn is yet far distant. O dear Lena sleep. Sleep on, and take your rest. The morning sun is yet beneath the deep. Our limbs are cold; our eyes are heavy; yet we cannot rise, for we are weary, and not half awake."

"Wake, my beloved sisters. It is time. The noon is at its height. See how the sun peeps through the granite cliffs, and on the stream sheds ray of trembling silver. Let us rise and talk of all the wonders we have seen."

Long they conversed in tears of grat.i.tude, still peeping from their cavern, lest the Dane again should find and drag them to the altar. Sore were they pressed by hunger. From the stream they drank abundantly with thankful hearts. But food for many a day and many a night they scarce had tasted, and they longed for it with more than ordinary longing. Night approached; and there they sat, not knowing what to do, a prey to gnawing hunger. At the last, young Lena said, "I cannot ween that heaven hath wrought a miracle for our relief, and for no higher purpose than that we should be left to die of hunger in this dark and hideous den. Again I'll put my life into its hand, and go into the city after twilight in search of bread; and if I die I die: Heaven's will be done." Her sisters looked at her, and blessed her in the holy Virgin's name. They could not bid her go where danger waited, so great, so imminent; and yet they felt they could not press her stay. With cautious eye, and with enfeebled step, trembling she sought the city gate. But when, afar, she saw by torch-light porters striding to and fro, with glittering lances of enormous length, and ponderous battle axes, her heart failed, and she drew back. But then she thought again of those she left behind, and all the throes of perishing with hunger, and resolved to risk all hazards. The huge gate stood open, and strangers went and came. "I'll join," thought she, "this straggling crew, and enter among them; they speak my native tongue.

Ah! they must be a band of traitorous base renegades, that have renounced the cross and joined the Dane; else wherefore free to go and come and trade? I'm all unsafe with such. The strangers eyed her with most curious and piercing looks, and whispered as they went. They seemed afraid, and shunned her by the way, as they who shun a being infected by the pestilence, or spirit from the dead. No one addressed a word to her, but hurried to the gate.

She came alone, for feeble was her step, and her breast palpitating as with throb of burning fever, hopeless of admission.

The porters stared with wide extended gaze, and eyes protruding; but no word they spoke, nor crossed their lances. Straight she entered in. "What can this mean?" thought she; "There is a change since yester-even that it pa.s.ses thought to comprehend. These keepers are not Danes; I heard them speak in Albyn's ancient tongue; and yet methinks they wear the Danish garb. How's this? that I am free to come and go, as in my childhood, when the land was free?"

She pa.s.sed the sacred fane, and there beheld crowds entering in; but fast she sped away, weening they went to Odin's cursed rites.

She went to those that sold, and asked for bread. The woman stared at her with silent gaze. She asked again, and straight the huckster fled in floundering haste. Poor Lena stood amazed. "How's this?" said she, "where'er I show my face the people shun me. Here I shall remain, for I am faint with hunger, till I taste some of these cakes, which I can well repay."

She stood not long until she was accosted by holy bedesman, who, with cautious step, and looks of terror, entered, fast repeating his _Ave Maria_. "In the Virgin's name," cried he, "and under sanction of this cross, I charge thee tell who or from whence thou art."

The virgin kneeled, and kissed the holy symbol, but waived direct reply. "I lack some bread to give to those that famish, and I'll pay for that which I receive," was her reply.

"Then 'tis the bread of life that thou dost lack; man's natural food I fear thou can'st not use, for thou art not a being of this world, but savour'st of the grave. Thy robes are mouldy, and fall from off thy frame? Thy lips are parched and colourless. These eyes have not the light of human life. Thou ominous visitant, declare from whence thou art, and on what mission thou com'st to this devoted wasted land?"

Lena looked up. The holy father's face to her appeared familiar. But how great the change since last she saw it. "Father Brand, dost thou not know me?" was her home reply.

With blenching cheek and with unstable eye the father gazed, and, faultering, stammered forth, "No. Jesu Maria, be thy servant's shield!

Yes. Now I know thee. Art thou not the spirit of the hapless Ellamere, who was put down within our convent for a wilful breach of its most sacred law? Avaunt! Begone! Nor come thou here t' accuse those that grieved for thee, while they executed just vengeance on thy life.

Injurious ghost! Thy curses have fallen heavy on our heads, and brought the wrath of heaven upon our land in tenfold measure. In the Saviour's name, whose delegate I am, I charge thee hence unto thy resting-place,--to that award that heaven's strict justice hath ordained for thee; and come not, with that pale and withering look, more curses and more judgments to p.r.o.nounce."

"Reach me thine hand," said she, and held her's forth, meaning to work conviction on his mind that she was flesh and blood. Her arm was wan as death itself, emaciated and withered, and furred with lines, livid and colourless, as by corrodent vapours of the grave. The monk withdrew his hand within his frock, shook his grey locks, and, with slow palsied step, moved backward till the threshold stone he gained; then turned and fled amain. The household dame fled also from her inner door, from which she peered and listened, and the wondering virgin again was left alone. She waited there in wild and dumb incert.i.tude a s.p.a.ce; then took some bread, some fruits, and baken meat, laid some money down as an equivalent, and went away to seek her dark retreat.

But as she pa.s.sed the fane, with wary step she ventured to the porch, and, marvelling, heard the whole a.s.sembly, joined in rapt devotion, praising the name of Jesus. Close she stood, and, darkling as it was, joined in the choir so much beloved. But all the wonders she so late had seen yielded to this. In one short night, one strange eventful night, such things were done as human intellect, with all its cunning, could not calculate.

She pa.s.sed the gate. The gaping sentinels stood, as they did before, immoveable, each casting sidelong glances unto his mate, to note who first should fly or call the word. She beckoned them as with intent to speak; but in one moment porters, spears, and axes scattered and vanished in the darksome shade.

Reaching the cave, she found the lamp gone out that their mysterious deliverer had left them over night. First she regaled her sisters'

hearts with the miraculous tidings that all the people worshipped Jesus' name without dismay or molestation, who, but the night before, not for their lives durst have acknowledged him: That all seemed free to go and come, and pray to whom they listed. The tale seemed a romance,--a dream of wild delirium. The Danes could not be banished in a night, and all the land cleared of the vile idolatry of Odin. They disbelieved the whole, as well they might, but held their peace, dreading their sister's mind mazed in derangement. Still, as she went on, saying that all whom she had met or seen supposed her one arisen from the dead, or ghost of some departed criminal, strangled for breach of a monastic vow, then did they grasp each other's hands, and weep for their dear sister's sad mishap. They deemed her mad as raving whirlwind, or the music of mountain cataract. Yet she had brought them food of various sorts, which in the dark she gave them; and they fed, or strove to feed,--but small indeed the portion they devoured.

"How's this," cried Morna, "that my little cake grows ne'er the less?

Can it be so that we are truly spirits,--ghosts of the three maids that overthrew the Danish G.o.d last night? I hunger and I thirst, 'tis true. Tell me, Can spirits drink the element of water? Certes they may. But then, how did we die, or when? for I cannot remember me of pa.s.sing death's hideous and dreary bourn, though something of a weary painful dream hangs round my heart."

This vague disjointed speech, the wayward visions of distemperature, struck the two others motionless, and set them on cogitations wandering and wild as meteors o'er a dreary wilderness. The thought of being in a new existence, with all its unknown trials, powers, and limits, their struggling minds essayed in vain to grasp.

Reason returned, but as a step-mother returns to frenzied orphan's dying bed. They felt each other's pulses. There was life,--corporeal life; but still there was a change, which no one chose to mention,--yet a change quite unaccountable for one night's sleep to have effected.

From their cavern's porch they viewed the stars of heaven. They were the same as they were wont. They saw the golden wain, the polar plough tilling his ample field with slow unwearied furrow, and the sisters,--the seven lovely sisters of the sky, arching their gorgeous path. Far to the east they spied a star beloved, which in their childhood they oft had watched, and named the "tiger's eye," changing its vivid colours as of yore. And then they wept to think of former days of innocence and joy. And thus in tears, clasped in each other's arms, they laid them down their mazed and oppressed spirits to compose.

While thus they lay, romantic Morna said: "My sisters, it is evident to all that some great change has happed to us last night. We are not what we were. What can it be but change from one existence to another?

A mortal creature cannot touch or feel a disembodied spirit; but we know not how spirits feel each other. Sure as life and death hold opposition in this world, from the one into the other we have pa.s.sed.

I feel it in my being. So do you, though unacknowledged. Let us rise and walk as spirits do by night, and we shall see the change in us, not over a whole land in one short night. Come, let us roam abroad.

I feel a restlessness,--a strong desire to flit from place to place,--perchance to fly between the mountain and the cloud, and view the abodes of those we love.

This wild romance waked in the virgins' hearts an energy between despair and madness. All extremes erratic and unnatural, on the minds of females, act like the infection of virulent disease. Up they arose, and, stepping from their cavern, took their way along the river's brink. Midnight was past. The tiger's eye had climbed the marble path that branches through the heaven, and goggled forth, now red, now blue, now purple and now green, down from his splendid ceiling far on high. 'Twas like a changeful spirit. In the east the hues of morning rose in towering streaks, as if the Almighty had caused light to grow like cedars from the summits of the hills. It was a scene for spirits!

There were three abroad that morn before the twilight rose,--three creatures spiritual, yet made of flesh! First they espied an aged fisherman, who pa.s.sed without regard. Then did they deem they were invisible, and wilder still their fancies worked. The suburbs now they gained of the resplendent ancient Otholine, the emporium of the east, and hand in hand, with hurried, but enfeebled step, they trode its lanes and alleys. Those who saw them said their motions were erratic, like the gait of beings overcome with wine, or creatures learning to walk for the first time on earth. The early matron, and the twilight groom, fled with hysteric cries at their approach. The gates were left a-jar, the streets a waste: porter and sentinel joined in the flight, and nought but terror and confusion reigned.

The virgin sisters wist not what to do, or what to dread. Within the convent's porch, they halted, turned, and gazed on one another, and wondered what they were, that nature thus shuddered at their approach, and held aloof. Three creatures spiritual yet made of flesh, belonging not to heaven nor earth! but shunned by the inhabitants of both. Just then, while standing in despondency, they heard the grey c.o.c.k crow; the eldritch clarion note chilled every heart, and tw.a.n.ged on every nerve.

"That is our warning call," wild Morna said: "My sisters now we must hence and begone: that is the roll-call of the murdering spirits. We shall be missed at matins. To your homes! your damp and mouldering homes, ye ghastly shades! The daylight will dissolve you! Does that voice not say so?"

"Hush thee, gentle Morna! drive us not to distraction. Here we'll wait until the convent matin; then we'll ask the holy prioress what things we are. What say you, gentle sisters? can we live outcasts on earth in such incert.i.tude? Our father's towers are distant. We can glide, like pa.s.sing shades with slow and feeble motion, but nothing more spirits;--can sail the air in skiff of mist or on the breeze's wing.

Such powers we have not; and to journey there we lack ability. Here then we stay until we are resolved what strange events have happened to us, to our native land, and church, of late so grievously oppressed."

"Yes, here we'll stay. Come, rouse the porteress! For see the sun tips the far hills with gold, and we shall melt before his tepid ray, all gentle as it is at early morn! My frame is like a mildew. The h.o.a.r frost of death hath fallen on it. Oh, for the guide--the angelic youth that left us yester-eve. Ho! daughters of the Cross! If any here hath 'scaped the murderous Dane, come forth and welcome the conquerors of Odin. Ho! within! Wake ere the sun upbraids you. He is up, on service to his Maker, yet you sleep. I say, wake."

"Who calls? What are you there?"

"We know not what we are. For that we come, to see if any here can us resolve. But two short nights ago, we were three maids of royal lineage. Thou stern porteress, come forth and look on us. Canst thou not tell what we are made of? Why stand'st thou aloof?"

"Speak calmly, sister Morna. See she trembles and dares not answer.

Gentle dame, we pray admission to your lady prioress, for sake of him who died upon the cross, whose name we worship." Straight she vanished upon her fearful mission, glad to 'scape from such a colloquy. Soon then arrived the aged prioress, who them approached with dauntless countenance, and, unappalled, asked of their errand. "Venerable dame, dost thou not know, or hast thou never heard of the three maids of Stormont, who of late, led by a heavenly messenger, o'erthrew the G.o.d of Denmark, and upheld the cross triumphant o'er the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of prostrate heathens?"

"Ay, I have heard of them; and often joined in prayer and thanksgiving for the deliverance wrought by these royal virgins. That was a conquest that roused the spirit of the Christian to deeds of more than mortal energy, and humbled the proud confidence the Dane placed in his idols. Ay, that was a conquest shall cloud the brow of the idolater while the world stands! But what was it you spoke of yester eve?

Either you are deranged, or shallow poor impostors: for that time hath long gone past, and the three wondrous maids were in the sight, and from the middle of that mighty host translated into heaven. Unless you came from thence on sacred mission, and bringest evidence of ident.i.ty by further miracle, better you had keep silence and depart."

"We are those maids, the maids of Stormont, nieces to the king; and we require of you lodging and fair protection, till we prove our lineage. There is something pa.s.sing strange hath happed to us. But what the circ.u.mstance, or how accordant with the works of G.o.d, is far beyond the fathom and the height of our capacity. We are the maids of Stormont. To that truth we will make oath upon the holy cross."

The prioress crossed herself, commended her to heaven, and, with deep awe and dire astonishment, admitted them. She gazed upon them: their fair cheeks were pale, and their benignant eyes looked through a haze that was not earthly; it was like the blue mists of the dawning. All their robes were of the fashion of a former day; and they were damp and mouldy, falling piecemeal from off their bodies with their rottenness.

"I dread to question you, mysterious things. That you are earthly forms, I see and feel. Whence are you? In what dreary unknown clime have you been sojourning? Or are you risen from out your graves? If you have truth in you, and power to tell it, pray resolve me this; for I am lost in wonder."

"What we are we know not. For that purpose we came hither, that you might tell us. All we know is this: Last night but one we were the maids of Stormont, doomed to a dreadful fate. An heavenly one came to our rescue; led us through the gates of iron and of bra.s.s. Still as we went, we conquered. Ranks of proud idolaters fell prostrate in the dust; and the great G.o.d, the mighty Odin, was o'erthrown, and dashed into a thousand pieces. Straight our blessed guide conducted us into a lonely cave close by the river's brink, and bade us sleep and take our rest until the day should dawn and shadows fly away. We slept, and yester-morn, when we awoke, the lamp our guide had left still feebly burned. Impelled by hunger, from our cave we ventured. All people fly from us; the Danes are gone; the name of Christ is mentioned. Nought we see and nought we hear is comprehensible."

"A miracle! a mighty miracle! Within that secret cavern you have slept for days and years, in quiet sweet repose, the lamp of heaven still burning over you, until the day hath dawned,--such day of grace as Scotland hath not seen. The heathen Dane, with all his hideous G.o.ds, was vanquished, but days of darkness and contention rose, until this time, when all the glorious rays of mercy and of grace have shed their influence on this benighted persecuted land; and you are waked to enjoy it. Let us go straight to the altar, and beneath the cross join in elated thanksgiving."

The chancel door opened before the altar. When the three virgins entered in, and saw the figure on the cross, they cried aloud with one combined voice, "'Tis he, 'Tis he! What? Have these heathens dared to lay their impious hands on him? 'Tis he! 'Tis he! Our heavenly guide that saved us from the death. And have they slain him? Has the cursed Dane----"

"Hold, hold, for mercy's sake; you do not know the things you utter.