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Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Woodstock; or, The Cavalier




The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and notwithstanding
a secret suspicion which he had of trick or connivance, returned on his
mind at this dead and solitary hour. Harrison, he remembered, had
described the vision by a circumstance of its appearance different from
that which his own remark had been calculated to suggest to the mind of
the visionary;--that bloody napkin, always pressed to the side, was then
a circumstance present either to his bodily eye, or to that of his
agitated imagination. Did, then, the murdered revisit the living haunts
of those who had forced them from the stage with all their sins
unaccounted for? And if they did, might not the same permission
authorise other visitations of a similar nature, to warn--to instruct--
to punish? Rash are they, was his conclusion, and credulous, who receive
as truth every tale of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to limit
the power of the Creator over the works which he has made, and to
suppose that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of
Nature may not, in peculiar cases, and for high purposes, be temporarily
suspended.

While these thoughts passed through Everard's mind, feelings unknown to
him, even when he stood first on the rough and perilous edge of battle,
gained ground upon him. He feared he knew not what; and where an open
and discernible peril would have drawn out his courage, the absolute
uncertainty of his situation increased his sense of the danger. He felt
an almost irresistible desire to spring from his bed and heap fuel on
the dying embers, expecting by the blaze to see some strange sight in
his chamber. He was also strongly tempted to awaken Wildrake; but shame,
stronger than fear itself, checked these impulses. What! should it be
thought that Markham Everard, held one of the best soldiers who had
drawn a sword in this sad war--Markham Everard, who had obtained such
distinguished rank in the army of the Parliament, though so young in
years, was afraid of remaining by himself in a twilight-room at
midnight? It never should be said.

This was, however, no charm for his unpleasant current of thought. There
rushed on his mind the various traditions of Victor Lee's chamber,
which, though he had often despised them as vague, unauthenticated, and
inconsistent rumours, engendered by ancient superstition, and
transmitted from generation to generation by loquacious credulity, had
something in them, which, did not tend to allay the present unpleasant
state of his nerves. Then, when he recollected the events of that very
afternoon, the weapon pressed against his throat, and the strong arm
which threw him backward on the floor--if the remembrance served to
contradict the idea of flitting phantoms, and unreal daggers, it
certainly induced him to believe, that there was in some part of this
extensive mansion a party of cavaliers, or malignants, harboured, who
might arise in the night, overpower the guards, and execute upon them
all, but on Harrison in particular, as one of the regicide judges, that
vengeance, which was so eagerly thirsted for by the attached followers
of the slaughtered monarch.

He endeavoured to console himself on this subject by the number and
position of the guards, yet still was dissatisfied with himself for not
having taken yet more exact precautions, and for keeping an extorted
promise of silence, which might consign so many of his party to the
danger of assassination. These thoughts, connected with his military
duties, awakened another train of reflections. He bethought himself,
that all he could now do, was to visit the sentries, and ascertain that
they were awake, alert, on the watch, and so situated, that in time of
need they might be ready to support each other.--"This better befits
me," he thought, "than to be here like a child, frightening myself with
the old woman's legend, which I have laughed at when a boy. What
although old Victor Lee was a sacrilegious man, as common report goes,
and brewed ale in the font which he brought from the ancient palace of
Holyrood, while church and building were in flames? And what although
his eldest son was when a child scalded to death in the same vessel? How
many churches have been demolished since his time? How many fonts
desecrated? So many indeed, that were the vengeance of Heaven to visit
such aggressions in a supernatural manner, no corner in England, no, not
the most petty parish church, but would have its apparition.--Tush,
these are idle fancies, unworthy, especially, to be entertained by those
educated to believe that sanctity resides in the intention and the act,
not in the buildings or fonts, or the form of worship."

As thus he called together the articles of his Calvinistic creed, the
bell of the great clock (a token seldom silent in such narratives)
tolled three, and was immediately followed by the hoarse call of the
sentinels through vault and gallery, up stairs and beneath, challenging
and answering each other with the usual watch-word, All's Well. Their
voices mingled with the deep boom of the bell, yet ceased before that
was silent, and when they had died away, the tingling echo of the
prolonged knell was scarcely audible. Ere yet that last distant tingling
had finally subsided into silence, it seemed as if it again was
awakened; and Everard could hardly judge at first whether a new echo had
taken up the falling cadence, or whether some other and separate sound
was disturbing anew the silence to which the deep knell had, as its
voice ceased, consigned the ancient mansion and the woods around it.

But the doubt was soon cleared up. The musical tones which had mingled
with the dying echoes of the knell, seemed at first to prolong, and
afterwards to survive them. A wild strain of melody, beginning at a
distance, and growing louder as it advanced, seemed to pass from room to
room, from cabinet to gallery, from hall to bower, through the deserted
and dishonoured ruins of the ancient residence of so many sovereigns;
and, as it approached, no soldier gave alarm, nor did any of the
numerous guests of various degrees, who spent an unpleasant and
terrified night in that ancient mansion, seem to dare to announce to
each other the inexplicable cause of apprehension.

Everard's excited state of mind did not permit him to be so passive. The
sounds approached so nigh, that it seemed they were performing, in the
very next apartment, a solemn service for the dead, when he gave the
alarm, by calling loudly to his trusty attendant and friend Wildrake,
who slumbered in the next chamber with only a door betwixt them, and
even that ajar. "Wildrake--Wildrake!--Up--Up! Dost thou not hear the
alarm?" There was no answer from Wildrake, though the musical sounds,
which now rung through the apartment, as if the performers had actually
been, within its precincts, would have been sufficient to awaken a
sleeping person, even without the shout of his comrade and patron.

"Alarm!--Roger Wildrake--alarm!" again called Everard, getting out of
bed and grasping his weapons--"Get a light, and cry alarm!" There was no
answer. His voice died away as the sound of the music seemed also to
die; and the same soft sweet voice, which still to his thinking
resembled that of Alice Lee, was heard in his apartment, and, as he
thought, at no distance from him.

"Your comrade will not answer," said the low soft voice. "Those only
hear the alarm whose consciences feel the call!"

"Again this mummery!" said Everard. "I am better armed than I was of
late; and but for the sound of that voice, the speaker had bought his
trifling dear."

It was singular, we may observe in passing, that the instant the
distinct sounds of the human voice were heard by Everard, all idea of
supernatural interference was at an end, and the charm by which he had
been formerly fettered appeared to be broken; so much is the influence
of imaginary or superstitious terror dependent (so far as respects
strong judgments at least) upon what is vague or ambiguous; and so
readily do distinct tones, and express ideas, bring such judgments back
to the current of ordinary life. The voice returned answer, as
addressing his thoughts as well as his words.

"We laugh at the weapons thou thinkest should terrify us--Over the
guardians of Woodstock they have no power. Fire, if thou wilt, and try
the effect of thy weapons. But know, it is not our purpose to harm
thee--thou art of a falcon breed, and noble in thy disposition, though,
unreclaimed and ill-nurtured, thou hauntest with kites and carrion
crows. Wing thy flight from hence on the morrow, for if thou tarriest
with the bats, owls, vultures and ravens, which have thought to nestle
here, thou wilt inevitably share their fate. Away then, that these halls
may be swept and garnished for the reception of those who have a better
right to inhabit them."

Everard answered in a raised voice.--"Once more I warn you, think not to
defy me in vain. I am no child to be frightened by goblins' tales; and
no coward, armed as I am, to be alarmed at the threats of banditti. If I
give you a moment's indulgence, it is for the sake of dear and misguided
friends, who may be concerned with this dangerous gambol. Know, I can
bring a troop of soldiers round the castle, who will search its most
inward recesses for the author of this audacious frolic; and if that
search should fail, it will cost but a few barrels of gunpowder to make
the mansion a heap of ruins, and bury under them the authors of such an
ill-judged pastime."

"You speak proudly, Sir Colonel," said another voice, similar to that
harsher and stronger tone by which he had been addressed in the gallery;
"try your courage in this direction."

"You should not dare me twice," said Colonel Everard, "had I a glimpse
of light to take aim by."

As he spoke, a sudden gleam of light was thrown with a brilliancy which
almost dazzled the speaker, showing distinctly a form somewhat
resembling that of Victor Lee, as represented in his picture, holding in
one hand a lady completely veiled, and in the other his leading-staff,
or truncheon. Both figures were animated, and, as it appeared, standing
within six feet of him.

"Were it not for the woman," said Everard, "I would not be thus mortally
dared."

"Spare not for the female form, but do your worst," replied the same
voice. "I defy you."

"Repeat your defiance when I have counted thrice," said Everard, "and
take the punishment of your insolence. Once--I have cocked my pistol--
Twice--I never missed my aim--By all that is sacred, I fire if you do
not withdraw. When I pronounce the next number, I will shoot you dead
where you stand. I am yet unwilling to shed blood--I give you another
chance of flight--once--twice--THRICE!"

Everard aimed at the bosom, and discharged his pistol. The figure waved
its arm in an attitude of scorn; and a loud laugh arose, during which
the light, as gradually growing weaker, danced and glimmered upon the
apparition of the aged knight, and then disappeared. Everard's
life-blood ran cold to his heart--"Had he been of human mould," he
thought, "the bullet must have pierced him--but I have neither will nor
power to fight with supernatural beings."

The feeling of oppression was now so strong as to be actually sickening.
He groped his way, however, to the fireside, and flung on the embers
which were yet gleaming, a handful of dry fuel. It presently blazed, and
afforded him light to see the room in every direction. He looked
cautiously, almost timidly, around, and half expected some horrible
phantom to become visible. But he saw nothing save the old furniture,
the reading desk, and other articles, which had been left in the same
state as when Sir Henry Lee departed. He felt an uncontrollable desire,
mingled with much repugnance, to look at the portrait of the ancient
knight, which the form he had seen so strongly resembled. He hesitated
betwixt the opposing feelings, but at length snatched, with desperate
resolution, the taper which he had extinguished, and relighted it, ere
the blaze of the fuel had again died away. He held it up to the ancient
portrait of Victor Lee, and gazed on it with eager curiosity, not
unmingled with fear. Almost the childish terrors of his earlier days
returned, and he thought the severe pale eye of the ancient warrior
followed his, and menaced him with its displeasure. And although he
quickly argued himself out of such an absurd belief, yet the mixed
feelings of his mind were expressed in words that seemed half addressed
to the ancient portrait.

"Soul of my mother's ancestor," he said, "be it for weal or for woe, by
designing men, or by supernatural beings, that these ancient halls are
disturbed, I am resolved to leave them on the morrow."

"I rejoice to hear it, with all my soul," said a voice behind him.

He turned, saw a tall figure in white, with a sort of turban upon its
head, and dropping the candle in the exertion, instantly grappled with
it.

"_Thou_ at least art palpable," he said.

"Palpable?" answered he whom he grasped so strongly--"'Sdeath, methinks
you might know that--without the risk of choking me; and if you loose me
not, I'll show you that two can play at the game of wrestling."

"Roger Wildrake!" said Everard, letting the cavalier loose, and stepping
back.

"Roger Wildrake? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger Bacon, come to
help you raise the devil?--for the place smells of sulphur consumedly."

"It is the pistol I fired--Did you not hear it?"

"Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me--for that nightcap which I
pulled on, made me sleep like a dormouse--Pshaw, I feel my brains giddy
with it yet."

"And wherefore came you not on the instant?--I never needed help more."

"I came as fast as I could," answered Wildrake; "but it was some time
ere I got my senses collected, for I was dreaming of that cursed field
at Naseby--and then the door of my room was shut, and hard to open, till
I played the locksmith with my foot."

"How! it was open when I went to bed," said Everard.

"It was locked when I came out of bed, though," said Wildrake, "and I
marvel you heard me not when I forced it open."

"My mind was occupied otherwise," said Everard.

"Well," said Wildrake, "but what has happened?--Here am I bolt upright,
and ready to fight, if this yawning fit will give me leave--Mother
Redcap's mightiest is weaker than I drank last night, by a bushel to a
barleycorn--I have quaffed the very elixir of malt--Ha--yaw."

"And some opiate besides, I should think," said Everard.

"Very like--very like--less than the pistol-shot would not waken me;
even me, who with but an ordinary grace-cup, sleep as lightly as a
maiden on the first of May, when she watches for the earliest beam to go
to gather dew. But what are you about to do next?"

"Nothing," answered Everard.

"Nothing?" said Wildrake, in surprise.

"I speak it," said Colonel Everard, "less for your information, than for
that of others who may hear me, that I will leave the Lodge this
morning, and, if it is possible, remove the Commissioners."

"Hark," said Wildrake, "do you not hear some noise like the distant
sound of the applause of a theatre? The goblins of the place rejoice in
your departure."

"I shall leave Woodstock," said Everard, "to the occupation of my uncle
Sir Henry Lee, and his family, if they choose to resume it; not that I
am frightened into this as a concession to the series of artifices which
have been played off on this occasion, but solely because such was my
intention from the beginning. But let me warn," (he added, raising his
voice,)--"let me warn the parties concerned in this combination, that
though it may pass off successfully on a fool like Desborough, a
visionary like Harrison, a coward like Bletson"--

Here a voice distinctly spoke, as standing near them--"or a wise,
moderate, and resolute person, like Colonel Everard."

"By Heaven, the voice came from the picture," said Wildrake, drawing his
sword; "I will pink his plated armour for him."

"Offer no violence," said Everard, startled at the interruption, but
resuming with firmness what he was saying--"Let those engaged be aware,
that however this string of artifices may be immediately successful, it
must, when closely looked into, be attended with the punishment of all
concerned--the total demolition of Woodstock, and the irremediable
downfall of the family of Lee. Let all concerned think of this, and
desist in time."

He paused, and almost expected a reply, but none such came.

"It is a very odd thing," said Wildrake; "but--yaw-ha--my brain cannot
compass it just now; it whirls round like a toast in a bowl of
muscadine; I must sit down--haw-yaw--and discuss it at leisure--
Gramercy, good elbow-chair."

So saying, he threw himself, or rather sank gradually down on a large
easy-chair which had been often pressed by the weight of stout Sir Henry
Lee, and in an instant was sound asleep. Everard was far from feeling
the same inclination for slumber, yet his mind was relieved of the
apprehension of any farther visitation that night; for he considered his
treaty to evacuate Woodstock as made known to, and accepted in all
probability by, those whom the intrusion of the Commissioners had
induced to take such singular measures for expelling them. His opinion,
which had for a time bent towards a belief in something supernatural in
the disturbances, had now returned to the more rational mode of
accounting for them by dexterous combination, for which such a mansion
as Woodstock afforded so many facilities.

He heaped the hearth with fuel, lighted the candle, and examining poor
Wildrake's situation, adjusted him as easily in the chair as he could,
the cavalier stirring his limbs no more than an infant. His situation
went far, in his patron's opinion, to infer trick and confederacy, for
ghosts have no occasion to drug men's possets. He threw himself on the
bed, and while he thought these strange circumstances over, a sweet and
low strain of music stole through the chamber, the words "Good
night--good night--good night," thrice repeated, each time in a softer
and more distant tone, seeming to assure him that the goblins and he
were at truce, if not at peace, and that he had no more disturbance to
expect that night. He had scarcely the courage to call out a "good
night;" for, after all his conviction of the existence of a trick, it
was so well performed as to bring with it a feeling of fear, just like
what an audience experience during the performance of a tragic scene,
which they know to be unreal, and which yet affects their passions by
its near approach to nature. Sleep overtook him at last, and left him
not till broad daylight on the ensuing morning.

* * * * *

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.


And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger.
At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyard.

MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

With the fresh air and the rising of morning, every feeling of the
preceding night had passed away from Colonel Everard's mind, excepting
wonder how the effects which he had witnessed could be produced. He
examined the whole room, sounding bolt, floor, and wainscot with his
knuckles and cane, but was unable to discern any secret passages; while
the door, secured by a strong cross-bolt, and the lock besides, remained
as firm as when he had fastened it on the preceding evening. The
apparition resembling Victor Lee next called his attention. Ridiculous
stories had been often circulated, of this figure, or one exactly
resembling it, having been met with by night among the waste apartments
and corridors of the old palace; and Markham Everard had often heard
such in his childhood. He was angry to recollect his own deficiency of
courage, and the thrill which he felt on the preceding night, when by
confederacy, doubtless, such an object was placed before his eyes.

"Surely," he said, "this fit of childish folly could not make me miss my
aim--more likely that the bullet had been withdrawn clandestinely from
the pistol."

He examined that which was undischarged--he found the bullet in it. He
investigated the apartment opposite to the point at which he had fired,
and, at five feet from the floor in a direct line between the bed-side
and the place where the appearance had been seen, a pistol-ball had
recently buried itself in the wainscot. He had little doubt, therefore,
that he had fired in a just direction; and indeed to have arrived at the
place where it was lodged, the bullet must have passed through the
appearance at which he aimed, and proceeded point blank to the wall
beyond. This was mysterious, and induced him to doubt whether the art of
witchcraft or conjuration had not been called in to assist the
machinations of those daring conspirators, who, being themselves mortal,
might, nevertheless, according to the universal creed of the times, have
invoked and obtained assistance from the inhabitants of another world.

His next investigation respected the picture of Victor Lee itself. He
examined it minutely as he stood on the floor before it, and compared
its pale, shadowy, faintly-traced outlines, its faded colours, the stern
repose of the eye, and death-like pallidness of the countenance, with
its different aspect on the preceding night, when illuminated by the
artificial light which fell full upon it, while it left every other part
of the room in comparative darkness. The features seemed then to have an
unnatural glow, while the rising and falling of the flame in the chimney
gave the head and limbs something which resembled the appearance of
actual motion. Now, seen by day, it was a mere picture of the hard and
ancient school of Holbein; last night, it seemed for the moment
something more. Determined to get to the bottom of this contrivance if
possible, Everard, by the assistance of a table and chair, examined the
portrait still more closely, and endeavoured to ascertain the existence
of any private spring, by which it might be slipt aside,--a contrivance
not unfrequent in ancient buildings, which usually abounded with means
of access and escape, communicated to none but the lords of the castle,
or their immediate confidants. But the panel on which Victor Lee was
painted was firmly fixed in the wainscoting of the apartment, of which
it made a part, and the Colonel satisfied himself that it could not have
been used for the purpose which he had suspected.

He next aroused his faithful squire, Wildrake, who, notwithstanding his
deep share of the "blessedness of sleep," had scarce even yet got rid of
the effects of the grace-cup of the preceding evening. "It was the
reward," according to his own view of the matter, "of his temperance;
one single draught having made him sleep more late and more sound than a
matter of half-a-dozen, or from thence to a dozen pulls, would have
done, when he was guilty of the enormity of rere-suppers, [Footnote:
Rere-suppers (_quasi arriere_) belonged to a species of luxury
introduced in the jolly days of King James's extravagance, and continued
through the subsequent reign. The supper took place at an early hour,
six or seven o'clock at latest--the rere-supper was a postliminary
banquet, a _hors d'oeuvre_, which made its appearance at ten or eleven,
and served as an apology for prolonging the entertainment till
midnight.] and of drinking deep after them."

"Had your temperate draught," said Everard, "been but a thought more
strongly seasoned, Wildrake, thou hadst slept so sound that the last
trump only could have waked thee."

"And then," answered Wildrake, "I should have waked with a headache,
Mark; for I see my modest sip has not exempted me from that epilogue.--
But let us go forth, and see how the night, which we have passed so
strangely, has been spent by the rest of them. I suspect they are all
right willing to evacuate Woodstock, unless they have either rested
better than we, or at least been more lucky in lodgings."

"In that case, I will dispatch thee down to Joceline's hut, to negotiate
the re-entrance of Sir Henry Lee and his family into their old
apartments, where, my interest with the General being joined with the
indifferent repute of the place itself, I think they have little chance
of being disturbed either by the present, or by any new Commissioners."

"But how are they to defend themselves against the fiends, my gallant
Colonel?" said Wildrake. "Methinks had I an interest in yonder pretty
girl, such as thou dost boast, I should be loth to expose her to the
terrors of a residence at Woodstock, where these devils--I beg their
pardon, for I suppose they hear every word we say--these merry
goblins--make such gay work from twilight till morning."

"My dear Wildrake," said the Colonel, "I, as well as you, believe it
possible that our speech may be overheard; but I care not, and will
speak my mind plainly. I trust Sir Henry and Alice are not engaged in
this silly plot; I cannot reconcile it with the pride of the one, the
modesty of the other, nor the good sense of both, that any motive could
engage them in so strange a conjunction. But the fiends are all of your
own political persuasion, Wildrake, all true-blue cavaliers; and I am
convinced, that Sir Henry and Alice Lee, though they be unconnected with
them, have not the slightest cause to be apprehensive of their goblin
machinations. Besides, Sir Henry and Joceline must know every corner
about the place: it will be far more difficult to play off any ghostly
machinery upon him than upon strangers. But let us to our toilet, and
when water and brush have done their work, we will enquire--what is next
to be done."

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