Chapter II: Part 2

“The bold foresters, ever on the alert, heard the unusual sound of the tramp of armed men, and with their bugles gave notice to each other of the danger. Little John had been in pursuit of a fat doe, which he was bringing home upon his shoulders, when the warning sounded upon his ears. Concealing his booty among the underwood, he bounded through the forest to the scene of danger, where he found that Will Stutely and many of his comrades were urging their utmost speed to escape from some of the sheriff’s men, and two bold foresters lying dead upon the grass. Little John’s wrath was kindled. Forgetful of the imprudence of the action, he drew his bow, and let fly an arrow at the cause of this mischief, but the treacherous weapon brake in his hand, and the shaft flew wide of the sheriff, but striking one of his followers stretched him lifeless upon the turf.

“Left almost defenceless by the loss of his bow, Little John could make but a poor resistance to the crowd of men who instantly surrounded him. By the sheriff’s order he was bound hand and foot, and tied to a young oak, receiving at the same time a promise that so soon as more of his comrades were taken he should with them be hanged on the highest tree in Barnesdale. Just then a loud blast from a bugle rang through the wood.

“‘Here comes good Guy of Gisborne,’ quoth the sheriff; ‘and by his blast I know that he hath slain that bold knave, Robin Hood. Come hither, good Guy,’ he continued as the outlaw appeared, effectually concealed in the yeoman’s clothing. ‘What reward wilt thou have of me?’

“‘I must finish my work first, good master sheriff,’ replied the disguised hero. ‘I’ve slain the master, and now I must kill the knave; but ’twere cruel ere he has confessed his sins.’

“‘Thou’rt a pretty fellow truly to turn father-confessor,’ replied the sheriff; ‘but go, do as thou list, only be quick about it.’

“The outlaw stepped to the side of Little John,—who had easily recognised his beloved master’s voice,—and pretended to listen attentively to what the poor captive might be saying, but drawing his dagger, he gently cut the cords that bound his comrade, and gave him the bow and arrow that he had taken from Guy of Gisborne.

“Robin Hood then placed his own bugle to his lips and sounded a peculiarly shrill blast, that rung in the sheriff’s ears as a death knell, so well did he remember the sound. The two outlaws were quickly supported by a band of sixty foresters, who had collected together, and all drew their bows at once against the intruders. A dense flight of arrows fell upon them. Those who were not too badly wounded immediately set spurs to their horses, or took to their heels in the most abrupt confusion. One poor forester, Will Stutely, they bore off with them. Robin Hood and his men pursued, and it was not till they had got half way on their road back to Nottingham that the defeated sheriff and his attendants drew rein.

THE CAPTURE OF WILL STUTELY.

“Robin Hood was sorely grieved when he learned that his bold follower had been carried off. Calling his men together, he made them swear that they would rescue their brave comrade, or die in the attempt. Will Scarlet was despatched at once to learn to what place he was taken; and hastening with all speed to Nottingham, he found that the news of the terrible affray, and the sheriff’s precipitate flight, had already caused a great sensation among the gossips of the town. From them he easily ascertained that the captive outlaw was imprisoned in the castle, and that he was to be hanged on the following morning at sun-rise. Scarlet flew back with this intelligence to Robin Hood, who communicated it to his men, and all again swore to bring Will Stutely safely back to Barnesdale, or fearfully avenge his death.

“Early on the morning after his capture, the unfortunate prisoner, tightly bound and guarded on every side, was led from his cell towards the gallows that had been erected on the plain in front of the castle. He cast his eyes anxiously around, in the hope that succour might be at hand, but he could perceive no signs of the presence of his comrades. Turning to the sheriff, who attended in person at the execution of so notorious an outlaw,

“‘Grant me one boon, I pray thee,’ cried he; ‘never has one of Robin Hood’s men died like a thief; let me not be the first. Give me my good sword in my hand, and do ye all set upon me. I shall then die as a brave man should.’

“‘I’ve sworn to hang thee on the highest gallows in Nottingham,’ replied the sheriff; ‘and when I catch that still greater villain, Robin Hood, he shall dance by thy side.’

“‘Thou’rt a dastard coward!’ cried Stutely in a rage, ‘a faint-hearted peasant slave! By’r lady, if e’er thou meet’st bold Robin Hood, thou’lt have payment for the deed thou’rt doing. He scorns and despises thee, and all thy cowardly crew, who will as soon take King Henry prisoner as brave Robin Hood;’ and the forester laughed loudly in defiance.

“At the sheriff’s command the executioner seized him by the arms, and hurried him to the fatal tree; he was just about to affix the rope, when a tall yeoman leaped out of an adjacent bush, and with a stroke of his sword felled the officer to the earth.

“‘I’m come to take leave of thee, Will, before thou diest,’ cried the intruder; ‘and, good master sheriff, thou must spare him to me awhile.’”

“‘As I live,’ cried the sheriff, to his attendants, ‘yon varlet’s a rebel too, and one of Robin Hood’s men,—seize him—five pounds for his head, dead or alive.’ But, in a moment, Little John, for he it was, cut the bonds that secured his comrade, and snatching a sword from one of the soldiers, gave it him, shouting, ‘Fight, Will, defend thyself, man—Help is near.—To the rescue—To the rescue.’—And turning back to back, the two outlaws gallantly parried the attacks of their assailants.

“‘To the rescue! To the rescue!’ echoed a host of voices from a neighbouring wood; and Robin Hood, with seven-score men, bounded across the green plain. A flight of arrows from their bows rattled upon the armour of the soldiers, and more than one stuck into the sheriff’s robe.

“‘Away, my men, away!’ cried he, flying to the castle for shelter. ‘’Tis Robin Hood himself;’ and the knowledge that the outlaw would especially choose him for a mark added wings to the speed of the valiant sheriff. His men—nothing loth to follow such an example, vied with each other in the race, so greatly to the amusement of the merry outlaws that they could not for laughter discharge an arrow in pursuit of them.

“‘I little thought, good master, to have seen thy face again,’ said Will Stutely; ‘and to thee, my bold comrade,’ he added, addressing Little John, ‘to thee I owe my best thanks. ’Twill be a long day ere Will Stutely forgets thy kindness.’

“‘May we ever thus support each other in danger,’ said Robin Hood, loud enough for the whole band to hear him. ‘But, my brave yeomen, we must away, or we shall have the whole nest of hornets about our ears;’ and, with many a laugh at the sudden flight of the sheriff, and the glorious rescue of one of their favourite companions, the bold foresters plunged again into the woods and returned to Barnesdale, where they celebrated the joyful occasion with feasting and music, till the stars glittering through the topmost branches of the trees warned them that the hour of rest was at hand.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE BEGGAR

“For some long time after this last daring adventure, Robin Hood and his men were so hotly pressed by the sheriff that it was with difficulty that they eluded the pursuit. Now concealing themselves in the recesses of a cavern, now in the thickest coverts of the forest, they were obliged almost daily to change their abode, until at last, tired of the incessant chase, the sheriff disbanded his forces and returned to Nottingham.

“When the outlaws were well assured of this, they quickly came back to their old haunts in Barnesdale and Sherwood, and pursued their usual course of life. One evening Robin Hood was roving through the woods, when he espied a sturdy-looking beggar, clad in an old patched cloak, come jogging along. In his hand he carried a thick oaken staff, with which he assisted himself in walking, and round his neck a well-filled meal-bag was suspended by a broad leathern belt, while three steeple crowned hats placed within each other, sheltered his bald pate from the rain and snow.

“‘Stay, good friend,’ said Robin Hood to him as they met; ‘thou seem’st in haste to-night.’

“‘I’ve far to go yet,’ answered the beggar, still pushing onwards, ‘and should look foolish enough to get to my lodging house when all the supper’s done.’

“‘Ay! ay!’ returned Robin Hood, walking by his side. ‘So long as thou fillest thine own mouth, thou carest but little about mine. Lend me some money, my friend, till we meet again. I’ve not dined yet, and my credit at the tavern is but indifferent.’

“‘If thou fastest till I give thee money,’ replied the mendicant, ‘thou’lt eat nothing this year. Thou’rt a younger man than I am, and ought to work:’ and the old fellow pushed on still more briskly.

“‘Now, by my troth, thou’rt but a churl,’ cried the outlaw. ‘If thou hast but one farthing in thy pouch, ’tshall part company with thee before I go. Off with thy ragged cloak, and let’s see what treasures it conceals, or I’ll make a window in it with my good broad arrows.’

“‘Dost think I care for wee bits of sticks like them?’ said the beggar, laughing; ‘they’re fit for nothing but skewers for a housewife’s pudding-bag.’ Robin Hood drew back a pace or two, and fitted an arrow to his bow-string, but before he could let it fly the beggar swung his staff round his head, and with one stroke splintered bow and arrow into twenty pieces. The outlaw drew his sword, and was about to repay this with interest, when a second blow from the old man’s stick lighted upon his wrist, and so great was the pain it caused that his blade fell involuntarily from his grasp. Poor Robin Hood was now completely in the beggar’s power;—

“‘He could not fight—he could not flee,—
He wist not what to do;
The beggar, with his noble tree,
Laid lusty slaps him to.

“‘He paid good Robin back and side,
And baste him up and down;
And with his pike-staff laid on loud,
Till he fell in a swoon.’

“‘Stand up, man,’ cried the beggar jeeringly, ‘’tis hardly bed-time yet. Count thy money, man—buy ale and wine with it, and give thy friends a jovial carouse. How they’ll laugh at the poor beggar.’

“Robin Hood answered not a word, but lay still as a stone; his cheeks pale as ashes, and his eyes closed. The beggar gave him a parting thwack, and thinking that he had killed the saucy highwayman, went boldly on his way.

“It fortunately happened that Will Scarlet and two of his comrades were soon after passing by, and seeing a man lying by the road-side, apparently dead, walked up to him. What was their consternation and grief when they beheld their loved chief weltering in his blood. Will Scarlet bended upon one knee, and raised his master’s head upon the other. One forester ran to a brook that flowed close by, and brought back his cap filled with water, which they sprinkled upon his face, and his companion drew from his pouch a little leathern bottle, the contents of which speedily revived the unfortunate outlaw.

“‘Tell us, dear master,’ exclaimed Will Scarlet, ‘who has done this?’

“Robin Hood sighed deeply. ‘I’ve roved in these woods for many years,’ he said, ‘but never have I been so hard beset as on this day. A beggar with an old patched cloak, for whom I would not have given a straw, has so hasted my back with his pike-staff that it will be many a day ere Robin Hood will lead his merry men again.—See! see!’ he added as he raised his head;—‘there goes the man, on yonder hill, with three hats upon his head. My friends,—if you love your master,—go and revenge this deed;—bring him back to me, and let me see with mine own eyes the punishment you’ll give him.’

“‘One of us shall remain with thee,’ replied Will; ‘thou’rt ill at ease. The other two will quickly bring back yon evil-minded miscreant.’

“‘Nay, nay,’ returned the discomfited outlaw; ‘by my troth ye will have enough to do if he once get scope for that villanous staff of his.—Go, all of ye,—seize him suddenly—bind him fast, and bring him here, that I may repay him for these hard blows that he has given me.’

“Will Scarlet and his two companions started off as fast as they could run, dashing onward through many a miry pool, and over many a tiring hill, until they arrived at a part of the road that wound through the forest by a way at least a mile and a half nearer than the beaten path that the beggar had taken. There was a dense copse of trees in the bottom of a valley through which a little brook gently streamed, and the road-way ran close to it. The foresters, well acquainted with every acre of the ground which they so often traversed, took advantage of this grove, and concealed themselves behind the well covered branches. In the mean while the old beggar rejoicing in the victory he had so lately obtained, walked sturdily on, as briskly as age and his weary limbs would allow him. He passed by the copse without the least suspicion of lurking danger, but had proceeded only a step or two farther when his staff was violently seized by one of the foresters, and a dagger was pointed to his breast, with threats of vengeance if he resisted.

“‘Oh! spare my life,’ cried the beggar, at once relinquishing his hold, ‘and take away that ugly knife. What have I done to deserve this? I am but a poor beggar, who has never wronged thee or thine.’

“‘Thou liest, false carle,’ replied Will, ‘thou hast well nigh slain the noblest man that e’er trod the forest grass. Back shalt thou go to him, and before yon sun sinks down thy carcase shall be dangling from the highest tree in Barnesdale.’

“The beggar was sorely frightened at this terrible threat; he had lost his only weapon, and his aged limbs were but a poor match against three stout young men. He began to despair and to give himself up as lost, when a thought struck him. ‘Brave gentlemen,’ he said, ‘why take ye a poor man’s blood? ’Twill make ye none the richer. If ye will give me liberty, and promise to do me no more harm, I have a hundred golden pounds in this meal-bag, that shall be yours.’ The foresters whispered together and determined to get the money first, come afterwards what might.

“‘Give us thy money,’ said Will, ‘and we’ll let thee go thy way.’ The beggar unfastened the clasp of his belt, and taking it from his neck, spread the meal-bag upon the grass, while the young men anxious for the gold, bent over, eager to seize upon the expected prize. The old fellow pretended to search very diligently at the bottom of the bag, and pulled out a peck or two of meal, which he piled into a heap; then watching his opportunity, he filled both hands full, and threw it violently in the faces of the outlaws, who, blinded and astonished, began to rub their eyes most woefully. The beggar sprung up in a moment, seized his staff, and in a twinkling began to belabour their backs and shoulders.

“‘I have mealed your coats,’ he cried, ‘but I’ve a good pike-staff here that will soon beat them clean again;’ and before the youths could recover from their consternation the old man plied his staff so manfully that his arm ached from the exertion, and he was obliged to stay for rest.

“The young outlaws did not attempt to retaliate; indeed they could not see where to strike; but trusting to their swiftness, scampered away even more briskly than they had come; and the beggar laughing at the success of his wile, plunged into the woods, and made the best of his way from Barnesdale forest.

“When Will Scarlet and his comrades presented themselves before Robin Hood, the bold outlaw, ill as he was, could not refrain from bursting into laughter at their sheepish appearance. They hung down their heads, and still rubbed their eyes, while the meal on their coats made known the trick that had been played upon them.

“‘What have ye done with the bold beggar?’ inquired Robin Hood; ‘surely three of ye were a match for him.’ Will Scarlet replied; told him of their first success, and the old man’s promise of money; but when he came to the meal and the drubbing they had received, Robin Hood laughed till his bruised limbs ached. Although he would fain have revenged himself upon his opponent, yet the cleverness of the trick so pleased his fancy that he swore that if ever he met the sturdy beggar again, he would, by fair means or foul, make him join his band in merry Barnesdale.”

This tale was frequently interrupted with the loud laughter of my hearers, who all praised the dexterity of the old beggar-man.

THE THIRD EVENING.

THE OUTLAW’S SPORTS.

Upon the next evening that we met together I found my school-fellows waiting for me under the old tree, and taking my usual seat, I immediately began:—

“Many a gay meadow bedecked with daisies and buttercups stretches its verdant surface by the banks of the fair river Trent; and many a wood filled with merry birds lines its brink so closely that the pendent branches of the trees lave themselves in its transparent waters. It was upon the evening of a lovely day in spring, when every flower looked fresh and beautiful, and the early leaves of the forest shone in their brightest green tint, that a party of young men emerging upon one of these meadows from the surrounding woods, began to amuse themselves in the athletic exercises in which our forefathers so much delighted. Some of them struck slight branches into the earth, and placing a pole transversely upon them, leaped over it at nearly their own height from the ground. Presently a signal was given, and four or five youths bounded across the lawn with the speed of young stags, vieing with each other in the first attainment of the solitary elm that graced the centre of the meadow. High swelled the bosom of the victor as, breathless and panting, he received the reward of his achievement, perhaps a new scarlet cap, or a bright new girdle, and proud was he to know that the chief to whom he had sworn allegiance beheld and smiled approvingly on his success.

“But now a more important contest began. One of the foresters stood forward, and fixed up a target, the face of which was rudely painted in circles of various colours, a small white spot serving as a centre. A line was drawn at the distance of five hundred feet from this mark, near which about twenty bowmen took their station; one after another each stept up to it, bent his bow, and let fly an arrow with all the force he could command. Many shafts had flown far wide of the target, and some few had struck it near the side, when the turn arrived for a gaily-dressed archer to make his trial. Walking deliberately to the line, he very carefully placed his arrow upon the bow-string, raised it till it was on a level with his ear, and instantly discharged it. The quivering shaft sank deeply within two inches of the white centre.

“‘Bravely done, Will Scarlet,’ exclaimed a forester who stood apart from the rest, and who evidently controlled their movements; ‘thou’lt soon become as good a bowman as e’er trod the green-wood.’

“‘I do my best, good master,’ replied Will to Robin Hood, who had taken advantage of the cool evening, in order to exercise his men; ‘but here is one whom I fear I scarcely equal:’ and a bold forester, who was known to his companions by the cognomen of ‘Much, the Miller’s Son,’ stood forward, and drew his bow. The nicely-balanced arrow shot swift as lightning through the air, and pierced the very centre of the target. A loud huzza followed this achievement, and Robin Hood himself shouted louder than the rest. In a moment after all was hushed, for the tall forester, brave Little John, took the last turn, and his comrades, knowing well his dexterity, breathlessly awaited the result of the contest. After carefully selecting a well-feathered arrow, he stood erect as a young tree, drew back his bow-string with the strength of a giant, and suddenly let it slip. For a minute or two no one could tell where the arrow had gone; it was just possible to trace its flight as it whizzed through the air, but it was not to be seen on the target. Little John, smiling as he beheld the looks of surprise, ran swiftly across the intervening space, and, to their astonishment, drew forth his shaft from out of that of the miller’s, which it had struck, and cloven about half way down.

“Robin Hood and his followers shouted with rapture, and the victor bending upon one knee, received from his master, as a reward for his prowess, a beautiful arrow of silver.

“‘By my troth,’ said the outlaw, as he gave it to him, ‘I would ride a hundred miles, any day, to find an archer like thee.’

“‘Thou’st no need to go so far,’ cried Will Scarlet, rather envious of the better success of his companions. ‘There’s a friar in Fountains’ Dale that will bend a bow against him or thee, ay, or against all thy men.’

“‘I’ll neither eat nor drink till I find him,’ said the bold outlaw. ‘’Tis too late to seek him this evening, but ere I break my fast to-morrow I’ll see this valiant friar.’ And as he spake he drew an arrow from his quiver, and fixed it upon his bow-string.

“A young hart had innocently trotted forth from the shelter of the woods, and was making its way towards the brink of the river, when the noise of the foresters reached its ear. Startled at the sound, the creature turned its pretty head, gazed for a moment, and, frightened at the unaccustomed scene, bounded at full speed back towards the concealment of the forest. The outlaw’s keen eye had followed its motions, and wishing to display the superiority of his skill, he let fly an arrow at it while in its swiftest flight; the poor fawn immediately dropped, although the distance between it and the archer was, at the least, a quarter of a mile.

“‘Dost think the friar of Fountains’ Abbey will beat that?’ asked Robin Hood as he slackened his bow-string.

“‘Ay marry, that will he,’ replied Will Scarlet; ‘many’s the buck he has killed at half a mile.’

“‘I’ll never draw bow again,’ returned the chief, ‘if a lazy friar once beats me in archery. What say ye, my friends, shall we find out this gallant priest?’

“‘Make him join us,’ cried several voices.

“‘To-morrow at earliest dawn be ready to attend me,’ said Robin Hood; and with Little John by his side, he left the meadow.

“The foresters then parted into groups and strolled away, some to the banks of the stream, others to the darkening woods, while a few, not yet content as to their inferiority, sought again to try their speed against the victors.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE FRIAR.

“Upon the next morning, ere the sun had risen above the horizon, Robin Hood started from his couch, and armed himself. He put on his helmet and breast-plate, he took up his good broadsword, his long tried buckler, and his trustiest bow, and then placing his bugle-horn to his lips, he played so loud a _réveille_ that his men, frightened from their slumbers, seized their nearest weapons, as if an army had appeared against them. A few gentler notes made them remember the appointed time, and soon fifty bold youths attended the summons of their master. He bade them hasten to Fountains’ Dale by the shortest path, but on no account to show themselves till he had sounded three blasts upon his bugle; and with a light foot and merry heart he sprang into his horse’s saddle, and set out to encounter the renowned friar.

“This friar, whose fame was spread far and wide, had once been an inmate and one of the brethren of Fountains’ Abbey, but his irregular course of life and lawless pursuits had brought down upon him the wrath of the superior, and he had been expelled. Friar Tuck, so was he called, bore his disgrace boldly; he immediately retired to the forests, and there built himself a rude hut of the large stones with which the country abounded, thatching it with branches of trees. There he lived in solitude, gaining from the country people, who frequently came to him for religious consolation, a character of the greatest sanctity. The friar took care to turn this to his advantage, and many were the presents of butter, milk, and sometimes of a more enlivening liquid, that he received. But these did not constitute his chief means of livelihood; early in the morning the friar had more than once been seen with a good long bow in his hand, and a quiver of arrows at his side, and a report had gone abroad that few could equal him in the use of this favourite weapon.

“The friar was a tall burly man, at least six feet high, with a broad expanded chest, and a muscular arm that the sturdiest blacksmith might have been proud of. He usually wore a dark mulberry coloured cloak that reached nearly to his ancles, and girded it with a black woollen rope, the two ends of which hung down before him, about half a yard in length. On the morning upon which Robin Hood had determined to discover him, from some unaccountable reason friar Tuck had put a steel cap upon his head, and a corslet upon his breast, and with his long oaken staff in his hand had rambled to the margin of the fair river Skell, where he stood gazing steadfastly upon the waves, as they rippled by. Presently he heard the sound of a horse’s step, and turning, he beheld within a few feet of him an armed horseman. The stranger quickly dismounted, and fastening his steed by his bridle, to the branch of a tree, advanced towards him.

“‘Art thou the Friar of Fountains’ Abbey?’ he asked, when each had regarded the other in silence for a short space.

“‘They that speak of me call me so,’ replied the priest; ‘why dost thou seek me?’

“‘Carry me over this stream, thou burly friar, and I will tell thee,’ replied Robin Hood. The priest, without a word, tucked up his garments to the waist, took the daring outlaw upon his back, and gravely waded across the stream. Robin Hood leaped off lightly upon the opposite bank.

“‘Now do thou carry me back, thou gay gallant,’ said the friar. The outlaw stooped, took him upon his shoulders, and with great difficulty bore his weighty burden across.

“‘Now by my faith thou’rt double the weight that I am,’ cried Robin Hood as the priest alighted, ‘and I’ll have two rides to thy one.’ The friar did not answer, but taking up the merry forester again, bore him to the middle of the stream, and bending down, pitched him headlong into the water.

“‘Choose thee, my fine fellow, whether thou’lt sink or swim!’ he said; ‘a morning bath will do thine health good.’ Robin Hood scrambled to the bank, fitted an arrow to his bow, and let it fly at the treacherous friar; but the wet had sodden both the bow-string and the feathers of the shaft, and it flew far wide. The priest not wishing to stand a second trial, flourished his staff and knocked the bow from the grasp of the forester, who quickly drew his sword and retaliated by severely wounding his vigorous opponent upon the shoulder. The friar at this grew wrathful, and returned a most terrible thwack upon the outlaw’s head. Blow followed upon blow; now the thick oaken staff beat down the less weighty but more deadly weapon, and again the sharp edge of the sword drank blood. They fought thus for more than an hour, and each began to weary of such warm work before breakfast.

“‘A boon, a boon,’ cried Robin Hood, retiring from the contest. ‘Give me leave to sound three blasts upon my bugle-horn.’

J. Gilbert]

“‘Blow till thy cheeks crack,’ returned the friar. ‘Think’st thou I fear a bugle blast?’ The outlaw sounded the horn thrice, so loudly that the friar clapped his hands to his ears, and beat a retreat for several yards. The signal was immediately returned, and apparently from close at hand. In two minutes more a tall yeoman leaped from the adjacent wood, and followed by fifty young foresters, with bows ready in their hands, ran to the side of their commander.

“‘Whose men are these?’ asked the friar, greatly surprised at this sudden reinforcement.

“‘They’re Robin Hood’s bold foresters,’ said the outlaw; ‘and I am Robin Hood. Wilt join our merry troop? Thou’rt the bravest friar that e’er wore cowl, and if thou canst let fly an arrow as well as thou canst wield a quarter-staff, thou’rt a match for my boldest man.’

“‘Let’s have a bout,’ said friar Tuck, unwilling to fight against such odds as were opposed to him. ‘If there’s an archer here that can beat me at the long-bow, I’ll be thy man. If I’m the best, swear that thou wilt leave me free in mine own woods.’

“‘Agreed!’ cried the outlaw. ‘Stand forth, brave Little John, and for the credit of Robin Hood choose thy truest shaft.’

“‘Ne’er fear me,’ replied the tall forester, as he carelessly advanced. ‘Shoot on, my brave fellow, and at what mark you may, only for St. Hubert’s sake, let it be some five hundred feet or so from us.’

“‘Seest thou yon bird?’ said the friar, pointing to a hawk that, with fluttering wings, hovered at a considerable height above a neighbouring brake. ‘I will kill it. If thou canst strike it again ere it reaches the earth, I’ll say thou art a better man than friar Tuck.’ Drawing an arrow from his quiver, with apparent ease he shot the ill-fated bird, which instantly fell to the earth, but not before a second shaft had transfixed its body. A young forester darted away, and quickly returned with the prize, when it appeared that the friar’s arrow had pinioned the hawk’s wings to its sides, and that Little John’s had pierced through from its breast to its back.

“‘Well done, my brave archers,’ cried the outlaws’ chief; ‘there’s many a bowman in merry England would give his best weapon to shoot like ye. What says my gallant friar? will he keep his promise?’

‘What I have said, that will I do,’ replied the priest; ‘but first I must return to my hut, and possess myself of its valuable contents.’ Robin Hood offered to accompany him, and dismissing his followers, he and the friar by turns rode upon the horse, first to the hut and then to the green woods of Sherwood.

ROBIN HOOD AND THE BISHOP OF HEREFORD.

“Robin Hood used frequently to disguise himself, and pay visits to the neighbouring villages, in order to learn if any thing were going on in which he might take a part. In one of these excursions, he overheard a conversation between two priests, by which he learned that the bishop of Hereford was expected to pass that way very shortly, upon a visit to his holy brother, the archbishop of York. The outlaw lost no time in ascertaining the route which the reverend father would travel, and with a merry heart he hurried back to his followers in Sherwood forest. At the sound of his well known bugle, two-score yeomen quickly surrounded him, Little John and Will Scarlet among them.

“‘We shall have noble company to dine with us,’ said Robin Hood. ‘Kill a good fat buck or two, and prepare a feast.’ Three or four foresters quickly darted away to execute this commission.

“‘Who may it be, master,’ asked Little John, ‘that loves to be merry under the green-wood tree?’

“‘Love or not love,’ cried the captain laughing, ‘a holy bishop dines with us to-day, though he brings a dozen companions with him. But ’tis time to meet his reverence. Do thou and Will Scarlet attend me, and thou too,—and thou,—and thou,’—he added, tapping with his bow the heads of three of his tallest followers, who most willingly and joyfully complied.

“The bishop of Hereford, as many bishops were in those days, was very rich, very avaricious, and exceedingly tyrannical. By the nobles he was regarded as a powerful prelate, and a support to the dignity of the church; but the people looked upon him with fear, as a proud, overbearing priest. Upon the occasion of his visit to his brother of York, the bishop of Hereford rode on horseback, dressed in the white robes of his sacred office; a massive gold chain was suspended round his neck, supporting a golden crucifix, and in his right hand he carried his crosier, of the same precious metal. His milk-white steed, also, was richly caparisoned with silken trappings. The dean of Hereford, attired in a plain black cassock, rode humbly by the side of his superior, who, from time to time, deigned to hold converse with him upon the vanities of this wicked world. Behind them, twenty horsemen, armed at all points, with broad-swords by their sides and lances in rest, followed slowly upon chargers of the jettest black, and three or four servants leading sumpter mules closed the rear. Notwithstanding all this pompous array, it was with many a misgiving that the bishop ventured to enter upon the dangerous road through Sherwood forest.

“‘Holy brother,’ said he to the dean, ‘dost thou think that the man called Robin Hood will dare to molest the Lord’s anointed, if perchance he should have heard of our journeying?’

“‘They say, reverend father,’ replied the dean, ‘that he holds the holy brethren of the church but cheaply, and pays but little respect to any of our cloth. I would that we had taken a more circuitous route, and avoided the paths of this wicked man.’

“‘It is too late to return now,’ said the bishop; ‘and have we not twenty armed men to support us in the hour of trial!—Comfort ye, my brother,—with this will I drive off the enemies of holy church;’ and as he spake he flourished his crosier above his head. They had proceeded but a short way farther, when they suddenly came upon six shepherds, dancing merrily round a fire, with which they were cooking venison, by the road-side.

“‘Ha!’ cried the bishop when he smelt the savoury odour that exhaled from the roasting flesh. ‘Dare ye, villains as ye are, slay the king’s deer, and cook it upon the open road? By St. Paul, ye shall answer for this.’

“‘Mercy! mercy! good bishop,’ cried one of the shepherds; ‘surely it beseemeth not thy holy office to take away the lives of so many innocent peasants.’

“‘Guards, seize these villains,’ cried the prelate, indignant at the presumption of the serf;—‘away with them to York,—they shall be strung on the highest gibbet in the city.’ The armed horsemen turned not over-willingly against the offenders, and endeavoured to seize them, but with a loud laugh they darted among the trees, where the steeds could not possibly follow. Presently the shepherd who had begged for mercy pulled from under his frock a little bugle-horn, and blew a short call upon it. The bishop and his retinue started with affright, and had already begun to urge on their horses, when they found themselves surrounded on every side by archers, dressed in green, with bows drawn in their hands.

“‘Mercy! mercy!’ cried the bishop in great trepidation at the sight of fifty or more arrows ready to pierce him through. ‘Have mercy upon an unfortunate traveller.’

“‘Fear not, good father,’ replied Robin Hood, who was the shepherd that had before spoken; ‘we do but crave thy worshipful company to dine with us under the green-wood tree, and then, when thou hast paid the forest toll, thou shalt depart in safety;’ and, stepping into the road, the bold outlaw laid one hand upon the embossed bridle of the bishop’s steed, and held the stirrup with the other.

“‘Oh! that we had but gone the outer road,’ groaned the bishop to his holy brother; ‘we should have avoided these limbs of the evil one.’

“‘Nay, nay reverend father,’ cried Robin Hood, laughing at the poor bishop’s rueful countenance; ‘call us not by so bad a name. We do but take from the rich to administer to the necessities of the poor and if we do now and then slay a fat buck or two, our good king will never know his loss. But dismount, holy sir; and do ye, my friends, come likewise; right merry shall we be with such a jovial company.’ The horsemen quickly did as they were bidden, but the bishop most reluctantly unseated himself, and with many a deep sigh obeyed the injunction of the outlaw. Some of the foresters immediately seized the horses, and tied their bridles to the lower branches of the trees; but the sumpter mules were hurried away through the wood as quickly as the narrow foot-paths would allow.

“At Robin Hood’s command, two young fellows took the unwilling bishop between them upon their shoulders, and followed by the whole company, bore him to their favourite lawn. A solitary beech tree, whose arms, covered with thick foliage, extended far around, stood in the centre, affording a delightful shade from the bright summer sun. Robin Hood seated himself upon one of the twisted roots that grew above the surface of the turf, and commanded that his visitor should be brought before him. Little John, taking off his cap as he approached, gently led him to the outlaw, while, to show his spite against him, one of the young foresters had the audacity to tie the prelate’s arms behind his back.

“‘Thou art accused of deep crimes,’ exclaimed Robin Hood. ‘It is said that thou dost gripe the poor man with a hard hand, and showest but little mercy to the unfortunate. How answerest thou?’

“‘By what right, mean serf,’ replied the bishop, the blood rushing to his temples, ‘dost thou question an anointed servant of the church?’

“‘Pax vobiscum,’ cried friar Tuck, coming forward, and folding his arms in an attitude of defiance. ‘Wherefore not, good father? Answer boldly, and swear by St. Paul that thou ne’er robbed the fatherless and the widow.’

“‘What canting priest art thou?’ exclaimed the bishop. ‘For thine insolence thou shall be expelled the church; thy gown shall be stripped from thee, and thou shalt be branded as an impostor.’

“‘Save thyself the trouble,’ replied the friar, laughing. ‘The holy abbot of Fountains’ Dale has forestalled thee in thy kind intentions.’

“‘Hold,’ cried Robin Hood, rising from his seat, ‘we’ll have no more of these priestly quarrels. Reverend father, accompany us to our trysting tree, and we’ll drink to thy speedy amendment.’ Then cutting his bonds with a dagger, he took the hand of his unwilling guest, and led him to the spot where they usually partook of their repasts.

“Upon the grass was spread a large cloth, covered with viands. Smoking haunches of venison perfumed the air, and huge pasties baked in pewter vessels, roasted wild swans, peacocks, and a host of minor dishes, filled up any vacancies upon the cloth. At Robin Hood’s request, the bishop said grace, and fifty or more foresters quickly seated themselves to partake of this gallant feast. The prelate, for one in his situation, ate most heartily. His merry host no sooner saw that his platter was empty than he again filled it from the most savoury dishes. Wine flowed in abundance, and when, in obedience to Robin Hood, every man filled his goblet to the brim, and quaffed its contents to the health of the bishop of Hereford, the good father for some moments quite forgot his misfortunes, and striking his palm into the sinewy hand of Robin Hood, swore that he was a jovial fellow.

J. Gilbert

Day & Haghe lithographers to the Queen]

“Many a ballad was then trolled forth by the foresters, and in the excitement of the scene even the bishop ventured upon a stave; but, at the moment he had concluded the first verse, his eye caught sight of one of his mules, from whose back an outlaw was busily removing the trunk that contained his treasure.

“‘Bring me the reckoning, good host,’ said he meekly, stopping short in his song; ‘I would fain discharge it, and proceed upon my journey.’

“‘Lend me thy purse, good bishop,’ cried Little John, ‘and I will save thee the trouble.’

“‘Take it,’ replied the prelate, throwing a very light bag of money to the forester, ‘and give the surplus to the poor.’

“Little John opened the mouth of the purse, and emptied out ten golden nobles upon the grass. ‘And dost thou think,’ he exclaimed, laughing heartily at the owner’s rueful countenance,—‘dost thou think that a bishop pays no more toll than this? Verily, reverend father, the meanest farmer in Nottinghamshire readily grants us so poor a trifle. Ho there!’ he cried to the man who was disburthening the mules, ‘bring hither yonder trunk.’ It was quickly brought, and with the help of a broadsword soon opened. Little John first pulled out a handsome cloak, which he spread upon the grass; a gown of the purest white lawn, an ermined robe, and a golden mitre, were each brought forth in succession, and greatly admired by the delighted foresters; but presently a clink of metal was heard, and the bold robber drew forth a beautiful ivory casket. The point of a dagger was in a moment applied to the fastening, and treasures invaluable were revealed. The bishop, who had sat shivering with anxiety during the search, now suddenly sprang to his feet with wonderful alacrity, and would have seized his precious wealth, had not Robin Hood caught him by the arm.

“‘Calm thyself, good father,’ said the outlaw; ‘do but fancy that thou art distributing this gold in alms to the poor, and thou wilt ne’er repent thee of thy charity.’ The bishop did not reply, but gazed steadfastly on the glittering coin, the sparkling jewels, and the holy beads, that Little John was exhibiting to his companions.

“‘Rouse ye, my merry men,’ cried the chief; ‘see ye not how sad ye have made our reverend guest!’ A young man quickly brought a rude harp, upon which he struck a lively air, and the gallant outlaw taking the bishop by the hand, led him forth, followed by the foresters in pairs. The dance commenced, and the poor prelate, unwilling to provoke his tormentors to extremities, joined in the nimble step, which was prolonged till his weary feet could no longer sustain their burden. The reverend father fell fairly to the earth from sheer exhaustion.

“At Robin Hood’s bidding, the two young men again took the bishop upon their shoulders, and bore him to the spot where his steed and those of his retinue were fastened. They placed him upon his saddle, with his face to the animal’s tail, and giving it him instead of the bridle, they pricked the creature with their daggers, and started it off at full gallop, the terrified rider clinging both with hands and knees to its back. The dean, the armed horsemen, and the servants were allowed to follow their superior in peace; but the sumpter mules and their burdens were detained as payment for the feast that had been given to their owners.”

OUR HALF-HOLIDAY.

THE WOOD.

It was, I remember, upon a Saturday afternoon that I was again asked to tell a tale of Robin Hood. On this, the last day of our week of seclusion, how great were the pleasures of our half-holiday! Frequently we had permission granted us to stroll among the fields in the neighbourhood; in the spring time, to gather the bright yellow primrose, or search for the nests of the poor innocent birds; and, in the autumn season, to pluck the delicious blackberries that, in some places,—and we knew them well,—abounded among the thorny hedges.

At about the distance of a quarter of a mile from our old school-house there was an extensive park. Many hundred acres of land were covered with fine trees—oaks, elms, and firs, variously intermixed—while here and there were open lawns, clothed only with grass and the beautiful wild flowers, that spring up, unnurtured, in their native soil. An ancient mansion stood in the midst, upon the summit of a hill, whence, looking over the woods, the face of the country for miles around could be traced as upon a map. The house was deserted—the owner resided in a foreign land, and his noble English park was neglected: it had once been paled round, but in many places the wooden staves were broken, and a gap made, through which every passenger might enter. We often did, and chased each other among the crowded thickets; and now, glad of the opportunity of escaping from our confined play-ground, we repaired to this delightful park, where, seated upon the grass, with my companions lying around me, I told them the tale of

ROBIN HOOD IN FINSBURY FIELD.

“In the time of Henry the Second, and for many years afterwards, until the use of gunpowder was known, the science of archery was greatly encouraged in England among all ranks and classes; and even the good citizens of London constantly exercised their bows in ‘Finsburie fielde.’

“The feast of St. Bartholomew was particularly celebrated by games of this kind: a finely wrought bow or a golden arrow was given as a prize to the best marksman, and the presence of the king and his court contributed not a little to add interest to the long looked-for contests.

“One year, towards the close of King Henry’s reign, proclamation was as usual made, that the ‘royal games of archery’ would be held in Finsbury field, upon St. Bartholomew’s day. Queen Eleanor was passionately fond of the sport, and rarely missed an opportunity of witnessing the superior skill displayed by the royal archers. She had heard much of Robin Hood, but had never seen that gallant outlaw; and as the fame of his rencontre with the bishop of Hereford had spread far and wide, she felt a secret desire to behold so daring and so celebrated a man. Summoning a young page who waited her commands, she gave him a beautiful golden ring, and bade him hasten with all speed to Sherwood forest, and deliver it to the forester, with her request that he would come to London and take a part in the approaching games. The youth lost no time in executing his mistress’ command, and in two days arrived at Nottingham, where, from a good yeoman, he learned the dwelling-place of Robin Hood, and on the next morning he appeared before the bold outlaw. Falling gracefully upon one knee, he doffed his cap, and presented the ring to him, saying,—‘My royal and most gracious mistress, Eleanor, queen of England, greets thee well. She bids thee haste with all speed to fair London court, that thou may’st be her champion in the sports upon the feast of St. Bartholomew, in token whereof accept this ring.’

“The outlaw took the royal present, and placed it upon his finger. ‘Rise, my pretty page,’ he said; ‘wend thou back upon the fleetest steed that thou canst find. Deliver this arrow to Queen Eleanor, and say that Robin Hood will claim it ere three suns have set.’ The young page rose, placed the arrow in his belt, and with much courtesy bade the outlaw adieu; then hastening to his inn at Nottingham, he chose the swiftest horse in the stables, and flew back again to his royal mistress.

“Early in the morning of St. Bartholomew’s day, Finsbury field presented a gay and most enlivening scene. The large open space, which then existed where streets and squares are now crowded together, was covered with the good citizens of London and their wives and daughters, bedecked in their newest holiday costume. Lists, three hundred yards in length, were marked out in the centre of the field, and railed round, to prevent the entrance of the spectators. At one end a scaffold was erected for the accommodation of the king and queen and their attendants; it was hung with green silk, emblazoned with the royal arms in gold, and covered over with a beautiful bright blue cloth, spangled with silver stars. Near it were tents pitched for the use of the contending bowmen, and immediately opposite, at the far end of the lists, a broad target was placed, with a large wooden screen behind it, to stop the flight of any stray arrows that did not hit the mark. All were in busy expectation,—for the royal party had not yet arrived,—and many were the wagers laid upon the favourite archers of Finsbury. At length a blast of trumpets was heard, and two heralds, dressed in glittering coats of golden tissue, with emblazoned banners hanging from their spirit-stirring instruments, entered the ground. The king, mounted on a barbed charger, and the queen upon a milk-white palfrey, both magnificently caparisoned, then appeared, amid the waving of caps, and the deafening acclamations of the assembled thousands. Next followed, upon steeds of the purest white, a bevy of fair ladies in attendance upon their royal mistress; and a band of knights and gentlemen, well mounted and richly dressed, closed the procession.

“As soon as the royal party had alighted, and had taken their seats upon the gallery, proclamation was made by sound of trumpet, that a tun of the best Rhenish wine, and a hundred of the fattest harts that ran in ‘Dallom Chase,’ would be given to the truest marksman. The archers were then ordered to advance to their posts, and a line was drawn upon which they were to step when they discharged their arrows. Six bowmen appeared, wearing the king’s livery, and marching to the gallery, they doffed their caps to their royal master, and took their appointed station.

“‘Is there no one,’ asked King Henry aloud,—‘is there no bold forester to oppose my gallant archers?’

“‘A boon, my liege,—a boon,’—cried Queen Eleanor. ‘Promise me by the saint whose feast we celebrate, that whoever draws bow on my side shall depart uninjured and free for forty days.’

“‘I grant thy boon, fair Eleanor,’ replied the king; ‘but who are these gallant bowmen that require thine intercession?’

“‘Bid the heralds sound again,’ said Eleanor, ‘and thou shalt see them.’ The trumpets again played, and the challenge from the king’s archers was repeated.

“‘The queen waved a light green scarf, and six tall yeomen entered the lists, and advancing to the gallery, bowed lowly to their royal patroness. One of them, evidently the commander of the little band, was clothed in a rich scarlet doublet and trunk hose of the same bright colour; a baldric of light blue silk, interwoven with threads of gold, crossed his shoulder, supporting his quiver and a small golden bugle, and in his hand he carried a most beautifully wrought bow. His companions were dressed in the favourite Lincoln green, and like their commander, each wore a black bonnet with a white streaming feather.

“‘Welcome, good Locksley,’ said the queen, addressing the yeoman in scarlet. ‘Thou must draw thy best bow for Queen Eleanor;’ then turning to the noblemen around her, ‘Who will support our brave party?’ she asked. ‘My good lord bishop of Hereford, wilt thou not in gallantry be on our side?’

“‘Thou hast six of the best archers of Finsbury to contend against, gracious madam,’ replied the prelate, ‘and thy men are all strangers; we know not if they can draw a bow-string.’

“‘Will your grace wager against us?’ asked Locksley of the bishop.