University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE GOOD SERVICE.

There is something exceedingly singular in the depth of
almost palpable silence which seems to fall upon a tract of
woodland country, on the sudden cessation of a full cry of
stag-hounds; which cry has in itself, apart from its stirring
harmony of discords, something of cheerfulness and sociality,
conveyed by its sound, even to the lonely wayfarer.

Although, during that hush of the woods, the carol of the
birds, the hum of insects, the breezy voice of the tree-tops, the
cooing of the ringdove, the murmur of falling waters, and all
the undistinguished harmonies of nature, unheard before, and
drowned in that loud brattling, sound forth and fill the listener's
ear, yet they disturb it not, nor seem to dissipate, but
rather to augment, the influence of the silence.

Kenric had not the educated sentiments which lead the
most highly civilized of men to sympathize most deeply with
the beautiful sounds and sights of nature. Yet still, as is
mostly the case with dwellers in the forest or on the wild

mountain tops, he had a certain untutored eye to take in and
note effects—an unlearned ear with which to receive pleasant
sounds, and acquire a fuller pleasure from them than he could
perfectly comprehend or explain to his own senses. And now,
when the tumult of the chase had fallen asleep, he leaned
against the gnarled and mossy trunk, with his boar-spear resting
listlessly against his thigh, and a quiet, meditative expression
replacing on his grave, stern features the earnest and
excited gaze, with which he had watched the approach of the
hunt.

The check, however, lasted not long; the clear, shrill challenge
of a favorite hound soon rose from the woodlands, accompanied
by loud cheers, “Taró, Taró, tantáro!” and followed
by the full crash of the reassembled pack, as they rallied
to their leader, and struck again on the hot and steaming
scent.

Nearer and nearer came the cry, and ever and anon uprose,
distant and mellow, the cadenced flourishes of the clear French
horns, giving new life to the trackers of the deer, and filling
the hearts of the riders with almost mad excitement. Ere
long, several cushats might be seen wheeling above the tree-tops,
disturbed from their procreant cradles by the progress
of the fierce din below them. A moment afterward, dislodged
from their feeding-grounds along the boggy margin of the
Idle, a dozen woodcock flapped up from the alder-bushes near
the brink, and came drifting along before the soft wind, on
their feebly whistling pinions, and, fluttering over the head of
the watcher, dropped into the shelter of the dingle in his rear,
with its thick shade of varnished hollies. The next instant, a
superb red deer, with high branching antlers, leaped with a

mighty spring over and partly through the crashing branches
of the thicket, and swept with long, graceful bounds across
the clear savanna. A single shout, “Tayho!” announced the
appearance of the quarry in the open, and awakened a responsive
clangor of the horns, which, all at once, sounded their
gay tantivy, while the sharp, redoubled clang of the whips,
and the cries of “arriere! arriere!” which succeeded, told
Kenric that the varlets and attendants of the chase were busy
stopping the slow hounds, whose duty was accomplished so
soon as the stag was forced into the field; and which were
now to be replaced by the fleet and fiery alans, used to course
and pull down the quarry by dint of downright strength and
speed.

The stretch of green savanna, of which I have spoken as
running along the northern margin of the Idle, below the
wooded ridges of the lower hills, could not have been less than
four miles in length, and was traversed by two sandy paths,
unguarded by any fence or hedge-row, which intersected each
other within a few hundred yards of the belt of underwood,
whence the hunted deer had broken covert. At this point of
intersection, known as the Four-Lane-Ends, a general term in
Yorkshire for such cross-roads, stood a gigantic oak, short-boughed,
but of vast diameter, with gnarled and tortuous
branches sweeping down almost to the rank greensward
which surrounded it, and concealing any person who stood
within their circumference, as completely as if he were within
an artificial pavilion.

That way, winged by terror, bounded the beautiful hart
royal; for no less did his ten-tined antlers, with their huge
cupped tops denote him; and, though it presented no real obstacle

to his passage, when he saw the yellow road, winding
like a rivulet through the deep grass, he gathered all his feet
together, made four or five quick, short buck-leaps, and then,
soaring into the air like a bird taking wing, swept over it,
and alighted ten feet on the hither side, apparently without
an effort—a miracle of mingled grace, activity, and
beauty.

As he alighted, he paused a moment, turned his long, swan-like
neck, and gazed backward for a few seconds with his
large, lustrous, melancholy eyes, until, seeing no pursuers, nor
hearing any longer the crash which had aroused him from his
harbor, he tossed his antlers proudly, and sailed easily and
leisurely across the gentle green.

But at this moment, Eadwulf the Red, who was stationed
beneath that very oak-tree with the first relay of grayhounds,
uttered a long, shrill whoop, and casting loose the leashes,
slipped the two snow-white alans on the quarry. The whoop
was answered immediately, and, at about half a mile's distance
from the spot where the deer had issued, two princely-looking
Norman nobles, clearly distinguishable as such by
their richly-furred short hunting-coats, tight hose, and golden
spurs of knighthood, came into sight, spurring their noble
Andalusian coursers—at that period the fleetest strain in the
world, which combined high blood with the capacity to endure
the weight of a man-at-arms in his full panoply—to their
fullest speed; and followed by a long train of attendants—
some mounted, some on foot, huntsmen and verdurers, and
yeomen prickers, with falconers, and running footmen, some
leading alans in the leash, and some with nets and spears for
the chase of the wild boar, which still roamed not unfrequent

in the woody swamps that intersected the lower grounds and
lined many of the river beds of Sherwood.

It was a gay and stirring scene. The meadow, late so quiet
in its uniform green garniture, was now alive with fluttering
plumes, and glittering with many-colored scarfs and cassocks,
noble steeds of all hues, blood-bay and golden chestnut, dappled
and roan, and gleamy blacks, and one, on which rode the
foremost of the noble Normans, white as December's snow;
and in the middle of the picture, aroused by the shouts in his
rear, and aware of the presence of his fresh pursuers, the superb
stag, with his neck far stretched out, and his grand antlers
pressed close along his back, straining every nerve, and literally
seeming to fly over the level sward; while the snow-white
alans, with their fierce black eyes glowing like coals of fire,
and their blood-red tongues lolling from their open jaws,
breathless and mute, but stanch as vindictive fiends, hung
hard upon his traces.

At first, the hunted stag laid his course upward, diagonally,
aiming for the forest land on the hillside; and although, at
first, he had scarce thirty yards of law, and was, moreover,
so nearly matched in speed by his relentless enemies, that, for
many hundred yards, he neither gained nor lost a yard's distance,
still he gradually gathered way, as yards fell into furlongs,
furlongs into miles, and drew ahead slowly, but surely,
until it appeared almost certain that he must soon gain the
shelter of the tall timber, where the keen eyes of the alans,
impotent of scent, would be worthless in pursuit, and where
he must again be dislodged by slow hounds, or the chase
abandoned.

Just as he was within fifty yards, however, of the desired

covert's edge, Sir Philip de Morville—for he it was who rode
the foremost—raised his bugle to his lips, and sounded it long
and shrill, in a most peculiar strain, to which a whoop responded,
almost from the point for which the stag was making, and,
at the same time, a second brace of alans—one a jet black,
and the other a deep-brindled fawn color—darted out, and
flew down the gentle slope, right at the head of the yet unwearied
quarry.

Springing high into air, he instantly made a perfect demivolte,
with an angry toss of his antlers, and shot, with redoubled
efforts in the contrary direction, cutting across the
very noses of his original pursuers, which, when they had
turned likewise, were brought within fifty yards of his
haunches, and away like an arrow toward the bridge across
the Idle. From this moment, the excitement of the spectacle
was redoubled; nor could any one, even the coldest of spectators,
have looked on without feeling the blood course, like
molten lava, through his veins.

It was no longer a stern chase, where the direct speed only
of the rival and hostile animals was brought into play; for, as
the stag turned to the left about, the black and brindled alans,
which had been started at his head, were thrown by the
movement some thirty yards wide on his right quarter; while
the white dogs, who had pursued him so savagely from the
beginning, were brought to a position nearly equidistant on
his left flank.

Henceforth it was a course of fleet bounds, short turns, and
windings of wonderful agility; and at this instant a new
spectator, or spectatress rather, was added to the scene.

This was a young girl of some sixteen or seventeen years,

at the utmost, beautifully formed, and full of easy grace and
symmetry, who came careering down the road, from the direction
of the castle, as fast as the flying bounds of a beautiful
red roan Arab—with mane and tail of silver, scarcely larger
or less fleet than the deer in the plain below—could carry her.

Her face and features were not less beautiful than her form;
the latter would have been perfectly Grecian and classical but
for the slightest possible upward turn in the delicate thin nose,
which imparted an arch, half-saucy meaning to her rich,
laughing face. Her eyes were clear, bright blue, with long,
dark lashes, a pure complexion, ripe, crimson lips, and a flood
of dark auburn tresses, which had escaped from the confinement
of her purple velvet bonnet, and flowed on the light
breeze in a flood of glittering ringlets, completed her attractions.

Her garb was the rich attire peculiar to her age, rank, and
the period of which we write—the most picturesque, perhaps,
and appropriate to set off the perfections of a female figure of
rare symmetry, that ever has been invented. A closely-fitting
jacket, following every curve and sinuous line of her beauteous
shape, of rich green velvet, furred deeply at the cape and
cuffs with white swansdown, and bordered at the hips by a
broad band of the same pure garniture; loose-flowing skirts,
of heavy sendal of the same hue, a crimson velvet shoulder-belt
supporting a richly-embroidered hawking-pouch, a floating
plume of white ostrich feathers, and a crimson-hooded
merlin on her wrist, with golden bells and jesses, completed
her person's adornment; and combined, with the superb housings
and velvet headstall of her exquisite palfrey, to form a
charming picture.

So rapidly did she ride, that a single page—a boy of ten or
twelve years, who followed her—spurring with all his might,
could scarcely keep her in sight; and, as she careered down
toward the bridge, which she had almost reached, was lost to
view in the valley immediately behind the ridge, the southern
slope of which she was descending.

The stag, by this time, which had been aiming hitherto to
cross the road on which she was galloping, had been turned
several times by the fresh relay of alans, which were untired
and unimpaired of speed, and had been thus edged gradually
away from the road and bridge, toward the white dogs, which
were now running, as it is technically termed, cunning, laying
up straight ahead, on a parallel line, and almost abreast with
the deer. Now they drew forward, shot ahead, and passed
him. At once, seeing his peril, he wheeled on his haunches,
and, with a desperate last effort, headed once more for the
road, striving, for life! for life! to cut across the right-hand
couple of deer grayhounds; but, fleet as he was, fleeter now
did they show themselves, and once more he was forced to
turn, only to find the white dogs directly in his path.

One, the taller and swifter of the two, was a few yards in
advance of the other, and, as the stag turned full into his foaming
jaws, sprang at its throat with a wild yell. But the deer
bounded too, and bounded higher than the dog, and, as they
met in mid air, its keen, sharp-pointed hoofs struck the brave
staghound in the chest, and hurled him to the ground stunned,
if not lifeless. Four strides more, and he swept like a swallow
over a narrow reach of the little river; and then, having
once more brought the three surviving hounds directly astern,
turned to the westward along the river shore, and cantering

away lightly, no longer so hard pressed, seemed likely to make
his escape toward a broad belt of forest, which lay some mile
and a half that way, free from ambuscade or hidden peril.

At this turn of the chase, fiercer was the excitement, and
wilder waxed the shouting and the bugle blasts of the discomfited
followers of the chase, none of whom were nearer to the
bridge than a full half mile. But so animated was the beautiful
young lady, whose face had flushed crimson, and then
turned ashy pale, with the sudden excitement of that bold
exploit of dog and deer, that she clapped her hands joyously
together, unhooding and casting loose her merlin, though
without intention, in the act, and crying, gayly, “Well run,
brave Hercules! well leaped, brave Hart o' Grease;” and, as she
saw the hunters scattered over the wide field, none so near to
the sport as she, she flung her arm aloft, and with her pretty
girlish voice set up a musical whoop of defiance.

Now, at the very moment when the deer's escape seemed
almost more than certain—as often is the case in human affairs,
no less than cervine—“a new foe in the field” changed
the whole aspect of the case. The great brindled gray deer-hound,
which had lain thus far peaceful by Kenric's side, seeing
what had passed, sprang out of the fern, unbidden, swam
across the Idle in a dozen strokes, and once more headed the
hunted deer.

The young girl was now within six horses' length of the
bridge, when the deer, closely pursued by its original assailants,
and finding itself now intercepted by Kenric's dog “Kilbuck”
in front, turned once again in the only direction now
left it, and wheeled across the bridge at full speed, black with
sweat, flecked with white foam-flakes, its tongue hanging from

its swollen jaws, its bloodshot eyeballs almost starting from its
head, mad with terror and despair. All at once, the Arab
horse and the gorgeous trappings of the rider glanced across
its line of vision; fire seemed, to the affrighted girl, to flash
from its glaring eyes, as it lowered its mighty antlers, and
charged with a fierce, angry bray.

Pale as death, the gallant girl yet retained her courage and
her faculties; she pulled so sharply on her left rein, striking
the palfrey on the shoulder with her riding-rod, that he
wheeled short on his haunches, and presented his right flank
to the infuriated deer, protecting his fair rider by the inter-position
of his body.

No help was nigh, though the Norman nobles saw her peril,
and spurred madly to the rescue; though Kenric started from
his lair with a portentous whoop, and, poising his boar spear,
rushed down, in the hope to turn the onset to himself. But
it was too late; and, strong as was his hand, and his eyes
steady, he dared not to hurl such a weapon as that he held, in
such proximity to her he would defend.

With an appalling sound, a soft, dead, crushing thrust, the
terrible brow antlers were plunged into the defenseless flanks
of the poor palfrey; which hung, for a second on the cruel
prongs, and then, with a long, shivering scream, rolled over
on its side, with collapsed limbs, and, after a few convulsive
struggles, lay dead, with the lovely form of its mistress rolled
under it, pale, motionless, with the long golden hair disordered
in the dust, and the blue eyes closed, stunned, cold, and spiritless,
at least, if not lifeless.

Attracted by the gay shoulder-belt of the poor girl, again
the savage beast stooped to gore; but a strong hand was on

his antler, and a keen knife-point buried in his breast. Sore
stricken he was, yet, not slain; and, rearing erect on his hind
legs, he dealt such a storm of blows from his sharp hoofs, each
cutting almost like a knife, about the head and shoulders of
his dauntless antagonist, as soon hurled him, in no better condition
than she, beside the lady he had risked so much to
rescue.

Then the dogs closed and seized him, and savage and appalling
was the strife of the fierce brutes, with long-drawn,
choking sighs, and throttling yells, as they raved, and tore,
and stamped, and battled, over the prostrate group.

It was a fearful sight that met the eyes of the first comer.
He was the Norman who had ridden second in the chase, but
now, having outstripped his friendly rival in the neck-or-nothing
skurry that succeeded, thundered the first into the road,
where the dogs were now mangling the slaughtered stag, and
besmearing the pale face of the senseless girl with blood and
bestial foam.

To spring from his saddle and drop on his knees beside her,
was but a moment's work.

“My child! my child! they have slaughtered thee. Woe!
woe!”