Вальтер Скотт
Waverley Novels — Volume 12
No. II
[Extracts from THE BRUCE. — "Liber compositus per Magistrum Johannem Barber Archidiaeonum Abyrdonensem, de gestis, bellis, et vertutibus, Domini Roberti Brwyes, Regis Scocie illustrissimi, et de conquestu regni Scocie per eundem, et de Domino Jacobo de Douglas." — Edited by John Jamieson, D.D. F.R.S.F. &c. &c. Edinburgh, 1820.]
Now takis James his waige Towart Dowglas, his heretage, With twa yemen, for his owtyn ma; That wes a symple stuff to ta, A land or a castell to win. The quhethir he yarnyt to begyn Till bring purposs till ending; For gud help is in gud begynnyng, For gud begynning, and hardy, Gyff it be folwit wittily, May ger oftsyss unlikly thing Cum to full conabill ending. Swa did it here: but he wes wyss And saw he mycht, on nakyn wyss, Werray his fa with evyn mycht; Tharfur he thocht to wyrk with slycht. And in Dowglas daile, his countre, Upon an evymiyng entryt he. And than a man wonnyt tharby. That was off freyndis weill mychty, And ryche of moble, and off cateill; And had bene till his fadyr leyll; And till him selff in his yowthed. He haid done mony a thankfull deid. Thom Dicson wes his name perlay. Till him he send; and gan him pray, That he wald cum all anerly For to spek with him priuely. And he but daunger till him gais: Bot fra he tauld him quhat he wais, He gret for joy, and for pite; And him rycht till his houss had he; Quhar in a chambre priuely He held him, and his cumpany, That nane had off him persaving. Off mete, and drynk, and othyr thing, That mycht thuim eyss, thai had plente. Sa wrocht he thorow sutelte, That all the lele men off that land, That with his fadyr war duelland, This gud man gert cum, ane and ane, And mak him manrent cuir ilkane; And he him selff fyrst homage maid. Dowglas in part gret glaidschip haid, That the gud men off his cuntre Wald swagate till him bundyn be. He speryt the conwyne off the land, And quha the castell had in hand. And thai him tauld all halily; And syne amang them priuely Thai ordanyt, that he still suld be In hiddillis, and in priwete, Till Palme Sonday, that wes ner hand, The thrid day eftyr folowand. For than the folk off that countre Assemblyt at the kyrk wald be; And thai, that in the castell wer, Wald als be thar, thar palmys to ber, As folk that had na dreid off ill; For thai thoucht all wes at thair will. Than suld he cum with his twa men. Bot, for that men suld nocht him ken, He suld ane mantill haiff auld and bar, And a flaill, as he a thresscher war. Undyr the mantill nocht for thi He suld be armyt priuely. And quhen the men off his countre, That suld all boune befor him be, His ensenye mycht her hym cry. Then suld thai, full enforcely, Rycht ymyddys the kyrk assaill The Ingliss men with hard bataill Swa that nane mycht eschap them fra; For thar throwch trowyt thai to ta The castell, that besid wes ner And quhen this, that I tell you her, Wes diuisyt and undertane, Ilkane till his howss hame is gane; And held this spek in priuete, Till the day off thar assembly.
The folk upon the Sonounday Held to Saynct Bridis kyrk thair way, And tha that in the castell war Ischyt owt, bath les and mar, And went thair palmys for to her; Owtane a cuk and a porter. James off Dowglas off thair cummyng, And quhat thai war, had witting; And sped him till the kyrk in hy Bot or he come, too hastily Ane off his criyt, "Dowglas! Dowglas!" Thomas Dicson, that nerrest was Till thaim that war off the castell, That war all innouth the chancell, Quhen he "Dowglas!" swa hey herd cry, Drew owt his swerd; and fellely Ruschyt amang thaim to and fra. Bot ane or twa, for owtyn ma, Than in hy war left lyand Quhill Dowglas come rycht at hand. And then enforcyt on thaim the cry. Bot thai the chansell sturdely Held, and thaim defendyt wele, Till off thair men war slayne sumdell. Bot the Dowglace sa weill him bar, That all the men, that with him war, Had comfort off his wele doyng; And he him sparyt nakyn thing. Bot provyt swa his force in fycht, That throw his worschip, and his mycht, His men sa keynly helpyt than, That thai the chansell on thaim wan. Than dang thai on swa hardyly, That in schort tyme men mycht se ly The twa part dede, or then deand. The lave war sesyt sone in hand, Swa that off thretty levyt nane, That thai ne war slayne ilkan, or tane.
James off Dowglas, quhen this wes done, The presoneris has he tane alsone; And, with thaim off his cumpany, Towart the castell went in hy, Or noyiss, or cry, suld ryss. And for he wald thaim sone suppriss, That levyt in the castell war, That war but twa for owtyn mar, Fyve men or sex befor send he, That fand all opyn the entre; And entryt, and the porter tuk Rycht at the gate, and syne the cuk. With that Dowglas come to the gat, And entryt in for owtyn debate; And fand the mete all ready grathit, With burdys set, and clathis layit. The gaitis then he gert sper, And sat, and eyt all at layser. Syne all the gudis turssyt thai That thaim thocht thai mycht haiff away; And namly wapnys, and armyng, Siluer, and tresour, and clethyng. Vyctallis, that, mycht nocht tursyt be, On this manner destroyit he. All the vrctalis, owtane salt, Als quheyt, and flour, and meill, and malt In the wyne sellar gert he bring; And samyn on the flur all flyng. And the presoneris that he had tane Rycht thar in gert he heid ilkane; Syne off the townnys he hedis outstrak: A foule melle thar gane he mak. For meile, and malt, and bluid, and wyne Ran all to gidder in a mellyne, That was unsemly for to se. Tharfor the men of that countre, For swa fele thar mellyt wer, Callit it the "Dowglas Lardner." Syne tuk he salt, as Ic hard tell, And ded horss, and sordid the well. And brynt all, owtakyn stane; And is forth, with his menye, gayne Till his resett; for him thoucht weill, Giff he had haldyn the caslell, It had bene assegyt raith; And that him thoucht to mekill waith. For he ne had hop of reskewyng. And it is to peralous thing In castell assegyt to be, Quhar want is off thir thingis thre; Victaill, or men with their armyng, Or than gud hop off rescuyng. And for he dred thir thingis suld faile, He chesyt furthwart to trawaill, Quhar he mycht at his larges be; And swa dryve furth his destane.
On this wise wes the castell tan, And slayne that war tharin ilkan. The Dowglas syne all his menye Gert in ser placis depertyt be; For men suld wyt quhar thai war, That yeid depertyt her and thar. Thim that war woundyt gert he ly In till hiddillis, all priuely; And gert gud leechis till thaim bring Quhill that thai war in till heling. And him selff, with a few menye, Quhile ane, quhile twa and quhile thre, And umqumll all him allane. In hiddillis throw the land is gane. Sa dred he Inglis men his mycht, That he durst nocht wele cum in sycht. For thai war that tyme all weldand As maist lordis, our all the land.
Bot tythandis, that scalis sone, Off this deid that Dowglas has done, Come to the Cliffurd his ere, in hy, That for his tynsaill wes sary; And menyt his men that thai had slayne, And syne has to purpos tane, To big the castell up agayne. Thar for, as man of mekill mayne, He assemblit grret cumpany, And till Dowglas he went in hy. And biggyt wp the castell swyth; And maid it rycht stalwart and styth And put tharin victallis and men Ane off the Thyrwallys then He left behind him Capitane, And syne till Ingland went agayne. Book IV. v. 255-460.
Bot yeit than Janvss of Dowglas In Dowglas Daile travailland was; Or ellys weill ner hand tharby, In hyddillys sumdeill priuely. For he wald se his gouernyng, That had the castell in keping: And gert mak mony juperty, To se quhethyr he wald ische blythly. And quhen he persavyt that he Wald blythly ische with his menye, He maid a gadringr priuely Off thaim that war on his party; That war sa fele, that thai durst fych With Thyrwall, and all the mycht Off thaim that in the castell war. He schupe him in the nycht so far To Sandylandis: and thar ner by He him enbuschyt priuely, And send a few a trane to ma; That sone in the mornyng gan ga, And tuk catell, that wes the castell by, And syne withdrew thaim hastely Towart thaim that enbuschit war. Than Thyrwall, for owtyn mar, Gert arme his men, forowtyn baid; Aud ischyt with all the men he haid: And foiowyt fast eftir the cry. He wes armyt at poynt clenly, Owtane [that] his hede wes bar. Than, with the men that with him war, The catell folowit he gud speid, Rycht as a man that had na dreid, Till that he gat off thaim a sycht. Than prekyt thai with all thar mycht, Folowand thaim owt off aray And thai sped thaim fleand, quhill thai Fer by thair buschement war past: And Thyrwall ay chassyt fast. And than thai that enbuschyt war Ischyt till him, bath les and mar And rayssyt sudanly the cry. And thai that saw sa sudanly That folk come egyrly prikand Rycht betuix thairn and thair warank, Thai war in to full gret effray. And, for thai war owt off aray, Sum off thaim fled, and some abad. And Dowglas, that thar with him had A gret mengye, full egrely Assaylyt, and scalyt thaim hastyly: And in schort tyme ourraid thaim swa, That weile nane eschapyt thaim fra. Thyrwall, that wes thair capitane, Wes thar in the bargane slane: And off his men the mast party. The lave fled full effraytly. Book V. v. 10-60
CASTLE DANGEROUS
CHAPTER THE FIRST
Hosts have been known at that dread sound to yield,
And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.
JOHN HOME.
It was at the close of an early spring day, when nature, in a cold province of Scotland, was reviving from her winter's sleep, and the air at least, though not the vegetation, gave promise of an abatement of the rigour of the season, that two travellers, whose appearance at that early period sufficiently announced their wandering character, which, in general, secured a free passage even through a dangerous country, were seen coming from the south-westward, within a few miles of the Castle of Douglas, and seemed to be holding their course in the direction of the river of that name, whose dale afforded a species of approach to that memorable feudal fortress. The stream, small in comparison to the extent of its fame, served as a kind of drain to the country in its neighbourhood, and at the same time afforded the means of a rough road to the castle and village. The high lords to whom the castle had for ages belonged, might, had they chosen, have made this access a great deal smoother and more convenient; but there had been as yet little or no exercise for those geniuses, who have taught all the world that it is better to take the more circuitous road round the base of a hill, than the direct course of ascending it on the one side, and descending it directly on the other, without yielding a single step to render the passage more easy to the traveller; still less were those mysteries dreamed of which M'Adam has of late days expounded. But, indeed, to what purpose should the ancient Douglasses have employed his principles, even if they had known them in ever so much perfection? Wheel-carriages, except of the most clumsy description, and for the most simple operations of agriculture, were totally unknown. Even the most delicate female had no resource save a horse, or, in case of sore infirmity, a litter. The men used their own sturdy limbs, or hardy horses, to transport themselves from place to place; and travellers, females in particular, experienced no small inconvenience from the rugged nature of the country. A swollen torrent sometimes crossed their path, and compelled them to wait until the waters had abated their frenzy. The bank of a small river was occasionally torn away by the effects of a thunder-storm, a recent inundation, or the like convulsions of nature; and the wayfarer relied upon his knowledge of the district, or obtained the best local information in his power, how to direct his path so as to surmount such untoward obstacles.
The Douglas issues from an amphitheatre of mountains which bounds the valley to the south-west, from whose contributions, and the aid of sudden storms, it receives its scanty supplies. The general aspect of the country is that of the pastoral hills of the south of Scotland, forming, as is usual, bleak and wild farms, many of which had, at no great length of time from the date of the story, been covered with trees; as some of them still attest by bearing the name of shaw, that is, wild natural wood. The neighbourhood of the Douglas water itself was flat land, capable of bearing strong crops of oats and rye, supplying the inhabitants with what they required of these productions. At no great distance from the edge of the river, a few special spots excepted, the soil capable of agriculture was more and more mixed with the pastoral and woodland country, till both terminated in desolate and partly inaccessible moorlands.
Above all, it was war-time, and of necessity all circumstances of mere convenience were obliged to give way to a paramount sense of danger; the inhabitants, therefore, instead of trying to amend the paths which connected them with other districts, were thankful that the natural difficulties which surrounded them rendered it unnecessary to break up or to fortify the access from more open countries. Their wants, with a very few exceptions, were completely supplied, as we have already said, by the rude and scanty produce of their own mountains and holms, [Footnote: Holms, or flat plains, by the sides of the brooks and rivers, termed in the south, Ings.] the last of which served for the exercise of their limited agriculture, while the better part of the mountains and forest glens produced pasture for their herds and flocks. The recesses of the unexplored depths of these sylvan retreats being seldom disturbed, especially since the lords of the district had laid aside, during this time of strife, their constant occupation of hunting, the various kinds of game had increased of late very considerably; so that not only in crossing the rougher parts of the hilly and desolate country we are describing, different varieties of deer were occasionally seen, but even the wild cattle peculiar to Scotland sometimes showed themselves, and other animals, which indicated the irregular and disordered state of the period. The wild-cat was frequently surprised in the dark ravines or the swampy thickets; and the wolf, already a stranger to the more populous districts of the Lothians, here maintained his ground against the encroachments of man, and was still himself a terror to those by whom he was finally to be extirpated. In winter especially, and winter was hardly yet past, these savage animals were wont to be driven to extremity for lack of food, and used to frequent, in dangerous numbers, the battle-field, the deserted churchyard — nay, sometimes the abodes of living men, there to watch for children, their defenceless prey, with as much familiarity as the fox now-a-days will venture to prowl near the mistress's [Footnote: The good dame, or wife of a respectable farmer, is almost universally thus designated in Scotland.] poultry-yard.
From what we have said, our readers, if they have made — as who in these days has not — the Scottish tour, will be able to form a tolerably just idea of the wilder and upper part of Douglas Dale, during the earlier period of the fourteenth century. The setting sun cast his gleams along a moorland country, which to the westward broke into larger swells, terminating in the mountains called the Larger and Lesser Cairntable. The first of these is, as it were, the father of the hills in the neighbourhood, the source of an hundred streams, and by far the largest of the ridge, still holding in his dark bosom, and in the ravines with which his sides are ploughed, considerable remnants of those ancient forests with which all the high grounds of that quarter were once covered, and particularly the hills, in which the rivers — both those which run to the east, and those which seek the west to discharge themselves into the Solway — hide, like so many hermits, their original and scanty sources.
The landscape was still illuminated by the reflection of the evening sun, sometimes thrown back from pool or stream; sometimes resting on grey rocks, huge cumberers of the soil, which labour and agriculture have since removed, and sometimes contenting itself with gilding the banks of the stream, tinged, alternately grey, green, or ruddy, as the ground itself consisted of rock, or grassy turf, or bare earthen mound, or looked at a distance like a rampart of dark red porphyry. Occasionally, too, the eye rested on the steep brown extent of moorland as the sunbeam glanced back from the little tarn or mountain pool, whose lustre, like that of the eye in the human countenance, gives a life and vivacity to every feature around.
The elder and stouter of the two travellers whom we have mentioned, was a person well, and even showily dressed, according to the finery of the times, and bore at his back, as wandering minstrels were wont, a case, containing a small harp, rote or viol, or some such species of musical instrument for accompanying the voice. The leathern case announced so much, although it proclaimed not the exact nature of the instrument. The colour of the traveller's doublet was blue, and that of his hose violet, with slashes which showed a lining of the same colour with the jerkin. A mantle ought, according to ordinary custom, to have covered this dress; but the heat of the sun, though the season was so early, had induced the wearer to fold up his cloak in small compass, and form it into a bundle, attached to the shoulders like the military greatcoat of the infantry soldier of the present day. The neatness with which it was made up, argued the precision of a practised traveller, who had been long accustomed to every resource which change of weather required. A great profusion of narrow ribands or points, constituting the loops with which our ancestors connected their doublet and hose, formed a kind of cordon, composed of knots of blue or violet, which surrounded the traveller's person, and thus assimilated in colour with the two garments which it was the office of these strings to combine. The bonnet usually worn with this showy dress, was of that kind with which Henry the Eighth and his son, Edward the Sixth, are usually represented. It was more fitted, from the gay stuff of which it was composed, to appear in a public place, than to encounter a storm of rain. It was party-coloured, being made of different stripes of blue and violet; and the wearer arrogated a certain degree of gentility to himself, by wearing a plume of considerable dimensions of the same favourite colours. The features over which this feather drooped were in no degree remarkable for peculiarity of expression. Yet in so desolate a country as the west of Scotland, it would, not have been easy to pass the man without more minute attention than he would have met with where there was more in the character of the scenery to arrest the gaze of the passengers.
A quick eye, a sociable look, seeming to say, "Ay, look at me, I am a man worth noticing, and not unworthy your attention," carried with it, nevertheless, an interpretation which might be thought favourable or otherwise, according to the character of the person whom the traveller met. A knight or soldier would merely have thought that he had met a merry fellow, who could sing a wild song, or tell a wild tale, and help to empty a flagon, with all the accomplishments necessary for a boon companion at an hostelry, except perhaps an alacrity at defraying his share of the reckoning. A churchman, on the other hand, might have thought he of the blue and violet was of too loose habits, and accustomed too little to limit himself within the boundaries of beseeming mirth, to be fit society for one of his sacred calling. Yet the Man of Song had a certain steadiness of countenance, which seemed fitted to hold place in scenes of serious business as well as of gaiety. A wayfaring passenger of wealth (not at that time a numerous class) might have feared in him a professional robber, or one whom opportunity was very likely to convert into such; a female might have been apprehensive of uncivil treatment; and a youth, or timid person, might have thought of murder, or such direful doings. Unless privately armed, however, the minstrel was ill-accoutred for any dangerous occupation. His only visible weapon was a small crooked sword, like what we now call a hanger; and the state of the times would have justified any man, however peaceful his intentions, in being so far armed against the perils of the road.
If a glance at this man had in any respect prejudiced him in the opinion of those whom he met on his journey, a look at his companion would, so far as his character could be guessed at — for he was closely muffled up — have passed for an apology and warrant for his associate. The younger traveller was apparently in early youth, a soft and gentle boy, whose Sclavonic gown, the appropriate dress of the pilgrim, he wore more closely drawn about him than the coldness of the weather seemed to authorize or recommend. His features, imperfectly seen under the hood of his pilgrim's dress, were prepossessing in a high degree; and though he wore a walking sword, it seemed rather to be in compliance with general fashion than from any violent purpose he did so. There were traces of sadness upon his brow, and of tears upon his cheeks; and his weariness was such, as even his rougher companion seemed to sympathize with, while he privately participated also in the sorrow which left its marks upon a countenance so lovely. They spoke together, and the elder of the two, while he assumed the deferential air proper to a man of inferior rank addressing a superior, showed in tone and gesture, something that amounted to interest and affection.
"Bertram, my friend," said the younger of the two, "how far are we still from Douglas Castle? We have already come farther than the twenty miles, which thou didst say was the distance from Cammock — or how didst thou call the last hostelry which we left by daybreak?"
"Cummock, my dearest lady — I beg ten thousand excuses — my gracious young lord."
"Call me Augustine," replied his comrade, "if you mean to speak as is fittest for the time."
"Nay, as for that," said Bertram, "if your ladyship can condescend to lay aside your quality, my own good breeding is not so firmly sewed to me but that I can doff it, and resume it again without its losing a stitch; and since your ladyship, to whom I am sworn in obedience, is pleased to command that I should treat you as my own son, shame it were to me if I were not to show you the affection of a father, more especially as I may well swear my great oath, that I owe you the duty of such, though well I wot it has, in our case, been the lot of the parent to be maintained by the kindness and liberality of the child; for when was it that I hungered or thirsted, and the black stock[Footnote: The table dormant, which stood in a baron's hall, was often so designated.] of Berkley did not relieve my wants?"
"I would have it so," answered the young pilgrim; "I would have it so. What use of the mountains of beef, and the oceans of beer, which they say our domains produce, if there is a hungry heart among our vassalage, or especially if thou, Bertram, who hast served as the minstrel of our house for more than twenty years, shouldst experience such a feeling?"
"Certes, lady," answered Bertram, "it would be like the catastrophe which is told of the Baron of Fastenough, when his last mouse was starved to death in the very pantry; and if I escape this journey without such a calamity, I shall think myself out of reach of thirst or famine for the whole of my life."
"Thou hast suffered already once or twice by these attacks, my poor friend," said the lady.
"It is little," answered Bertram, "any thing that I have suffered; and I were ungrateful to give the inconvenience of missing a breakfast, or making an untimely dinner, so serious a name. But then I hardly see how your ladyship can endure this gear much longer. You must yourself feel, that the plodding along these high lands, of which the Scots give us such good measure in their miles, is no jesting matter; and as for Douglas Castle, why it is still three good miles off."
"The question then is," quoth the lady, heaving a sigh, "what we are to do when we have so far to travel, and when the castle gates must be locked long before we arrive there?"
"For that I will pledge my word," answered Bertram. "The gates of Douglas, under the care of Sir John de Walton, do not open so easily as those of the buttery hatch at our own castle, when it is well oiled; and if your ladyship take my advice, you will turn southward ho! and in two days at farthest, we shall be in a land where men's wants are provided for, as the inns proclaim it, with the least possible delay, and the secret of this little journey shall never be known to living mortal but ourselves, as sure as I am sworn minstrel, and man of faith."
"I thank thee for thy advice, mine honest Bertram," said the lady, "but I cannot profit by it. Should thy knowledge of these parts possess thee with an acquaintance with any decent house, whether it belong to rich or poor, I would willingly take quarters there, if I could obtain them from this time until to-morrow morning. The gates of Douglas Castle will then be open to guests of so peaceful an appearance as we carry with us, and — and — it will out — we might have time to make such applications to our toilet as might ensure us a good reception, by drawing a comb through our locks, or such like foppery."
"Ah, madam!" said Bertram, "were not Sir John de Walton in question, methinks I should venture to reply, that an unwashed brow, an unkempt head of hair, and a look far more saucy than your ladyship ever wears, or can wear, were the proper disguise to trick out that minstrel's boy, whom, you wish to represent in the present pageant."
"Do you suffer your youthful pupils to be indeed so slovenly and so saucy, Bertram?" answered the lady. "I for one will not imitate them in that particular; and whether Sir John be now in the Castle of Douglas or not, I will treat the soldiers who hold so honourable a charge with a washed brow, and a head of hair somewhat ordered. As for going back without seeing a castle which has mingled even with my very dreams — at a word, Bertram, thou mayst go that way, but I will not."
"And if I part with your ladyship on such terms," responded the minstrel, "now your frolic is so nearly accomplished, it shall be the foul fiend himself, and nothing more comely or less dangerous, that shall tear me from your side; and for lodging, there is not far from hence the house of one Tom Dickson of Hazelside, one of the most honest fellows of the Dale, and who, although a labouring man, ranked as high as a warrior, when I was in this country, as any noble gentleman that rode in the band of the Douglas."
"He is then a soldier?" said the lady.
"When his country or his lord need his sword," replied Bertram — "and, to say the truth, they are seldom at peace; but otherwise, he is no enemy, save to the wolf which plunders his herds."
"But forget not, my trusty guide," replied the lady, "that the blood in our veins is English, and consequently, that we are in danger from all who call themselves foes to the ruddy Cross."
"Do not fear this man's faith," answered Bertram. "You may trust to him as to the best knight or gentleman of the land. We may make good our lodging by a tune or a song; and it may remember you that I undertook (provided it pleased your ladyship) to temporize a little with the Scots, who, poor souls, love minstrelsy, and when they have but a silver penny, will willingly bestow it to encourage the gay science— I promised you, I say, that we should be as welcome to them as if we had been born amidst their own wild hills; and for the best that such a house as Dickson's affords, the glee-man's son, fair lady, shall not breathe a wish in vain. And now, will you speak your mind to your devoted friend and adopted father, or rather your sworn servant and guide, Bertram the Minstrel, what it is your pleasure to do in this matter?"
"O, we will certainly accept of the Scot's hospitality," said the lady, "your minstrel word being plighted that he is a true man. Tom Dickson, call you him?"
"Yes," replied Bertram, "such is his name; and by looking on these sheep, I am assured that we are now upon his land."
"Indeed?" said the lady, with some surprise; "and how is your wisdom aware of that?"
"I see the first letter of his name marked upon this flock," answered the guide. "Ah, learning is what carries a man through the world, as well as if he had the ring by virtue of which old minstrels tell that Adam understood the language of the beasts in paradise. Ah, madam! there is more wit taught in the shepherd's shieling than the lady thinks of, who sews her painted seam in her summer bower."
"Be it so, good Bertram. And although not so deeply skilled in the knowledge of written language as you are, it is impossible for me to esteem its value more than I actually do; so hold we on the nearest road to this Tom Dickson's, whose very sheep tell of his whereabout. I trust we have not very far to go, although the knowledge that our journey is shortened by a few miles has so much recovered my fatigue, that methinks I could dance all the rest of the way."
