Barbour

“ Dew-gems shimmered under the caressing breeze and the tips of the spreading, reaching branches [142] nodded and whispered together. Beyond, the little silver-voiced river laughed amongst its shallows and flashed in the sunlight. From the marshland came the happy gurgle of a flock of red-winged blackbirds, while fainter, yet sweet and clear, the light-hearted tinkle of the bobolink floated across from the rising meadows. Sleek, well-conditioned robins balanced amidst the apple-trees and sang contentedly between groomings of their red waistcoats. And louder, clearer, gladder sang Ethan’s heart. ”

“ Unlike Chaucer, Barbour has a scorn of astrology: no man ever (he says) made three correct prophecies, by knowledge of the stars! He is far from scrupulous, and does not blame Douglas when, like Achilles, he slays prisoners of war: apparently because he could not take them with him in his retreat, and secure their ransoms. Barbour has not, of course, the genius of Chaucer; but he has a touch of the genius of Scott, he has spirit, and a true sense of loyalty, chivalry, and patriotism ”

“ Barbour ends his book by telling of how the Douglas set out to carry the heart of the Bruce to Palestine, and of how he fell fighting in Spain, and of how his dead body and the King's heart were brought back to Scotland.
Barbour was born about six years after the battle of Bannockburn. As a boy he must have heard many stories of these stirring times from those who had taken part in them. He must have known many a woman who had lost husband or father in the great struggle. He may even have met King Robert himself. ”

“ Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is supposed that David II.—who died in 1370—had urged Barbour to engage in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. ”

“ My kind friends did all the housekeeping, and the servants in the house, and on the plantation, were so faithful, that I feel indebted to all who have made my time so easy; and your absence has not, I am sure, been attended with any ill effects, without you find me a little cross and complaining, and Mr. Barbour out of his senses with joy, on your return. Good Mr. Barbour! he has superintended and encouraged the servants, and visited us forlorn ladies frequently, so that he must come in for a portion of our thanks too. ”

“ What wearies us in Barbour is the common defect of mediaeval poets, the occasional display of learning, references to what Cato did, or Hannibal, or Scipio, and the like, but Barbour is not tedious when, after giving a minute portrait of the good Lord James of Douglas, he compares him to Hector, though, for valour,
To Hector dare I none compare
Of all that ever in world were.
The story never drags, adventure follows adventure, and there is none of the weary exaggeration of romance. Bruce does not slay his thousands, like Arthur. ”

“ Considerable controversy has arisen regarding Barbour’s literary work. If he be the author of the five or six long poems which have been ascribed to him by different writers, he adds to his importance as the father of Scots poetry the reputation of being one of the most voluminous writers in Middle English, certainly the most voluminous of all Scots poets.
(1) The Brus, in twenty books, and running to over 13,500 four-accent lines, in couplets, is a narrative poem with a purpose partly historical, partly patriotic. ”

“ He has a true story which is more thrilling than any invented romance.
Barbour notoriously, perhaps in the interests of poetic perspective, rolls up three Bruces, the grandfather, the father, and the hero himself, into one personage. Yet his statements of the numbers of the English engaged are sometimes corroborated by the English muster rolls. Before he has written three hundred lines he strikes the sonorous keynote of his narrative in that praise of Freedom which is worthy of the poet who fought at Marathon.
"Ah! freedom is a noble thing!" ”

“ And Barbour had often heard tell that wives would frighten their wayward children into obedience by threatening to deliver them to the Black Douglas. The Leicester chronicler says 'the English feared him more than all other Scotsmen'; for 'every archer he could take, either his right hand he cut off or his right eye he plucked out,' and, for the sake of the archers, he always took his vengeance on an Englishman in the severest form he could devise. ”

“ Here, therefore, we see one more explanation of the plentifulness of our ‘Barbers,’ ‘Barbours,’ ‘Barbors,’ and more uncouth-seeming ‘Barbars.’ The old records give us an equal or even greater variety in such registrations as ‘John le Barber,’ ‘Richard le Barbour,’ ‘Nicholas le Barbur,’ ‘Thomas le Barbitonsor,’ or ‘Ralph Tonsor;’ [393] while feminine skill in operating upon the chins of our forefathers is commemorated in such an entry as ‘Matilda la Barbaresse.’ It is just possible, however, that she kept an apprentice, although such things are still to be seen, I believe, as women-shavers. ”

“ Barbour possesses, unlike most of the narrative poets of the Middle Ages, one supreme advantage. He is not telling, for the twentieth time, the Tale of Troy, of Alexander the Great, of King Arthur, or of any dim mythical hero. The events in the history of Scotland which his own father witnessed, make one of the best stories in the world. Bruce was far from a faultless hero, but his adventures are picturesque facts, not inventions: though sometimes Barbour tells the same story twice, with variations. ”

“ He went toward her over the springy turf until the few yards that separated them were out of his life and hers. Their hands flew together. He was looking into the shadowy depths of her eyes. The moonlight enhanced the velvety softness of her face and threw deep shadows under the billow of her shining hair. ”

“ He would stay where he was as long as he could. Time enough to cast adrift when his fingers no longer performed their task. He shouted no more now. He only waited and endured.
Moments passed, and then light beat on his closed lids and he opened his eyes. A wave hissed over him, but through it a white glare penetrated. The water passed, the boat rolled, and, choking and gasping, his aching body tossed sprawling against the hull, he heard a voice issue from the fierce radiance that still engulfed him. ”

“ If you don’t agree with me we’ll just let it drop.”
“Of course,” said Polly. “Come on, every one! Oh, I do hope that Miss Comfort will like it!”
“How about the owners?” asked Bob as, a minute later, they were all on the way to the river. “Well, not the owners, for I suppose there aren’t any. But what about the quarry people, Nod? Think they’ll let us have it?”
They all accompanied Laurie to the Pequot Queen
“Don’t see why not. ”

“ Then eleven brown-stockinged youths ran out from one side of the barred battlefield and eleven blue-stockinged youths from the other, and the cheers began again and the Wolcott bass-drummer thumped mightily and several thousand persons, many of them normally unemotional, experienced a sudden shortness of breath accompanied by a fluttery sensation of the heart. And at about that moment, on the east side of the field, a man in a black derby confided to a man in a chauffeur’s livery that, “That’s the captain of our side, Henry. Lothrop his name is. He’s to kick the ball away.” ”

“ He came to his own chair and sat down, his form silhouetted vividly black on the gravel, his gaze fixed upon the avenue beyond, a fairy lane of intense white radiance and somber shadow.
In the act of relighting his cigarette, he paused, dropped the match from his hand and slowly drew himself from the chair. Halfway up the avenue, slowly moving from shadow to light and from light to shadow, coming and going to his sight, was a white-gowned figure—tall, feminine, ethereal. Even as he looked the darkness swallowed it. ”

“ John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen, comes, as regards time, between Langtoft and Wyntoun; but he was no mere chronicler, he was a great epic poet. In his day there were men still alive who had fought under Robert I., and from the lips of202 some of those warriors he learnt the particulars of many of the incidents presented in his poem, The Brus. Barbour is at his best in battle scenes, which he describes with clearness and power, and in those deft touches by which he reveals the characteristics of the hero and his companions. ”

“ He crouched far over the saddle horn and lashed Scamp with the dripping quirt. Urging was unnecessary, for it seemed the horse knew that Death was rushing along behind them. He raced as Roy had never seen him run before. The walls rushed by, dim and misty. In a minute Boy gathered courage to glance back over his shoulder. His heart sank—only a yard or two behind them rushed the foam-topped wave. Here and there the sides of the arroyo melted in the flood and toppled downward, yards at a time, sending the yellow water high in air, but making no sound above its roaring. ”

“ The air had grown lifeless. Far off to the westward a flash of lightning ripped the darkness.
If they did meet—what? What was to be said that had not already been said? It was not likely that five months had shaken her determination. He had allowed her to choose and she had chosen; and he had accepted the verdict with what he prided himself was good grace; would it be fair to try to alter it all now?
The sound of running steps half a block ahead broke into his thoughts. A dark figure crossed the boulevard from one of the streets leading toward the lake and paused under a lamp-post. ”

“ And as he spoke a smile hovered about his mouth and in and out of his eyes, and the farmer, who had made his first reply with the hostile suspicion of the New Englander accosted by a stranger, relaxed mentally and physically. He raised a thumb in the direction of his shoulder. “About a mile or so back,” he answered.
“Then, perhaps you can help me. You see”—the traveler seemed then to take the other into his confidence with a glance and a smile—“I am looking for a house.”
“A house?” The farmer digested it slowly. At last, “To live in?” he asked.
“And die in,” responded the traveler gaily. ”

“ There he turned to her questioningly.
“A hansom, please,” she answered.
He gave the order and returned to her side. It was still snowing and had grown colder.
“I want to thank you for your kindness,” he said. “It was good of you.”
“I wonder if you think that?” she asked, her black eyes trying to read his face.
“I usually mean what I say,” he answered simply.
“I believe you do,” she replied. “Is that my carriage?”
He led her down the steps, across the slushy sidewalk, and helped her into the hansom. Then he looked at her again inquiringly, smiling gravely. She shook her head. ”

“ Occasionally an automobile went by with a warning honk of its horn at the corner. Looking over the withered hedge, Laurie could see the colors of Hillman’s and Farview marching past, banners of dark blue bearing the white Old English H, maroon-and-white flags adorned with the letters “F. A.” Laughter and the merry, excited chatter of many voices came to him. The yard was empty, except for a boy hurrying down the steps of West Hall, and he too quickly disappeared through the gate. ”

“ There must be some one who has a launch around here. There are half a dozen on the river.”
“Why, there’s a man down there who rents boats, you idiot. I think he has some sort of a launch. I thought you meant—”
“What’s his name? Where’s he live?”
“Name’s Wilkins or Watkins or something, and he lives—I don’t know where he lives, but he keeps his boats up by the old chain-works.”
“Thanks. You fellows going to spend the day here? Let’s do something.”
“Want some tennis?” asked Bob eagerly. “I’ll take on you and Nid.”
Laurie looked inquiringly at his brother. “Would you?” he asked. ”

“ He is rather too anxious to be thought a great orator, and this over-ruling propensity is manifested even in common conversation; when, instead of ease, simplicity, and conciseness, he discovers the formal elocution of the public speaker, on the most unimportant and incidental subjects. In private circles, Mr. Barbour is always very [Pg 43] pleasant, and exhibits a politeness, which, flowing from the heart rather than the head, delights all who have the pleasure of his acquaintance, and renders him an acceptable guest, and an agreeable companion. ”

“ A more prolonged scraping of feet, followed by the sound of a moving chair, caused the girl at the desk to raise her head and pause at her work. A little frown of annoyance gathered and then gave place to a smile of humorous resignation as footfalls sounded on the echoing silence. From the reading room emerged a tall, thin youth of about twenty, a youth with a [193] pale, cadaverous face lighted by a pair of patient, contemplative brown eyes which looked strangely incongruous and out of place. He carried two books which he laid apologetically on the counter. ”

“ He has, indeed, derived advantages from an association with men of literary and scientific attainments, but he has still much to acquire to render him eminent as a statesman. The contributions, which, from this circumstance, he is compelled to levy on his own unaided native resources, have, however, tended to sharpen his intellectual powers, and to give them vivacity and quickness. Mr. Barbour seldom thinks deeply, but he is always rapid ”

“ The Vagabond lay peacefully at anchor at the mouth of Hempstead Harbor. It was almost midnight and a ragged-looking moon was tingeing the quiet water with silver light. In the cabin the crew were preparing for bed. Spencer had finished his narrative of events and was sitting on the edge of Bob’s berth looking almost happy.
“Then we guessed right about the empty boat,” said Nelson.
“Yes,” answered Spencer. “They seen me from the Henry the first thing. And when they had me aboard the captain told Joe—that’s the feller with the rings in his ears—to stave a hole in the bottom of your boat. ”