66

CHAPTER I.

"THERE is blood on that brow, There is blood on that band, There is blood on that hauberk, And blood on that brand.

Oh! bloody all over

Is his war cloak, I weet; And he's wrapped in the cover Of murder's red sheet.

There is pity in many,

Is there any in him?
No; ruth is a strange guest
To"

HALBERT THE GRIM.

IVE hundred years ago" the south part of Kent, called the "Weald," was one immense wood. It was terribly infested with wild animals and men. It is, perhaps, a question which was the fiercer of the two-which the most merciless. The animals were chiefly wolves and wild cats; the men, serfs, who, having broken their vassalage, had fled to the fastnesses of the wood, and subsisted upon the fruits of their predatory acts. To such a height did they carry their malpractices, that it was a matter of considerable danger for single travellers, bearing property to any amount upon their persons, to pass through the wood; murder too frequently accompanied the act of rob bery. Although the evil was felt equally by the inhabitants of Kent and Sussex, yet no means were exercised to remove it. Engaged in wars at home and abroad, the government did not trouble itself to legislate for in

Ori.

dividual safety; while the nobles around too frequently enlisted the villains in their service for the commission of dark deeds, to make any attempt to oust them from their abode thus, unmolested, they carried on their depredations and villanies to a fearful extent. ginally the wood was infested by a few, but the impunity with which they were suffered to commit their crimes, induced many to join them; thus, from a small number, acting upon their own account, they became a powerful band, acting for mutual benefit, taking with equal facility and indifference a purse or a life-usually both.

They possessed a leader whose atrocities had gained him a terrible notoriety. He was known by the name of 'Grif of the Bloody Hand,' for he spared none who were so unfortunate as to fall in his power. He had been a soldier, familiarised to scenes of blood in the fierce wars between the English and Scots; but, finding the work harder than the pay remunerative, he deserted from his troop; and the life and emoluments of the denizens of the wood being more to his taste, he joined them. His daring bravery, his huge person, and his terrible dexterity with his weapons, soon obtained for him the leadership of the baud.

No sooner had be succeeded to the post, than he proceeded to drill and organise his companions. He was well aware of the benefits arising from discipline, and failed not to make a thorough use of his knowledge. Such spirits as he governed, he knew must be ruled with a rod of iron, and the only mode of retaining his sway over them was by making them fear him. Any act of disobedience or insubordination was punished with instant death to the party originating it. The fatal blow he himself inflicted, being then assured that the punishment was duly administered, as well as that there was no grumbling on the part of

the administrator. An atrocity can scarcely be conceived which he had not perpetrated-a good imagined with which he could be charged. The attributes of his nature were of the worst character, and his person set his qualities off to advantage.

These features monopolised so much of his face that they left little room for his forehead, which, to use Shakspere's much hacknied expression, was indeed "villanous low;" in fact, the hair upon his head, of which he had a profusion straggling upon his neck and shoulders, seemed ashamed of it, and did its best to hide it, an act in which they were commonly successful; his voice was harsh, husky, and gruff, and his language exhibited no respect whatever for the saints. His dress was deep black; his men were habited in garments of the same colour, and he called them his "devils. They did their utmost not to belie the name he had given them. "Grif of the Bloody Hand and his devils," were the terror of the county they inhabited and those approximating.

It was in the year 1336, during the stormy reign of Edward III., that this band was at the height of its infamous celebrity. Grif had not joined them more than two years, and three-fourths of that period he had been their leader. Since his elevation he had advanced the monstrous reputation of the band fearfully, and in wealth considerably. His aid was frequently solicited by a neighbouring knight or baron who might have some piece of deep villany on hand, and the remuneration was as handsome as the service was ugly; added to this, the plunder of travellers, sometimes of villages-a circumstance of unfrequent occurrence, as there was little or nothing to be gained by it-and occasionally the robbery of their employers, who were seldom in a condition to resent the outrage for fear of disagreeable disclosures, increased their store so considerably, that in their hearts they believed nothing could be so lucrative or so desirable as to be one of the devils in the band of Grif of the Bloody Hand.

Early in the spring of the above year, towards the close of a stormy day, a stranger, closely enveloped in a mantle, his broad slouched hat pulled over his brows as though to shun observation, walked at a quick pace through the wood. As he wound among the trees, apparently heedless of a small path slightly indicated in the deep grass with which the surface of a greater portion of the wood was covered, he glanced quickly from right to left, as though he expected to see some one start from each thicket, or the shade of every tree he passed. Whatever his expectations were, they were not realised; no one met his view; nothing

living crossed his path; he hurried on, increasing his pace and his scrutiny of every place which could lend a shelter. The wind, which had been boisterous all day, was still rushing fiercely and noisily through the leaves and boughs, moaning and groaning as if they were mourning some misfortune which had happened to nature. Daylight was fast disappearing; the heavy masses of clouds, which were swiftly sailing over the forest, shortened the duration of the day, and the thickness of the trees anticipated night in the wood by half an hour. As the light diminished the stranger increased his speed, and penetrated deeper and deeper into the recesses of the forest; his bearing, save an occasional folding of his mantle closer around him, as the wind loosened its folds, was the same as hitherto; he still looked to the right and left, peering into each hollow and covert with intense eagerness; his penetration, however, was not rewarded by discovering aught, save the young-leaved shrubs dripping with moisture, and the tall gorse waving here and there in the wind. Had he been as active in before and on each side, his endeavours would probably have met with greater success. At some small distance in his rear, a man followed his footsteps with the greatest perseverance; very shortly after he had entered the wood he had caught sight of him, and was now watching his every motion. The man was habited in the dress of a soldier, but the whole of his garments were black; upon his head he wore a steel helmet, in his hand he bore a spear, and by his side hung a large sword. He followed the stranger in the cloak with the greatest caution, treading as noiselessly as he could, and occasionally darting behind the massive trunk of a tree when he fancied he saw any indication on the part of the stranger of an intention to look back. Suddenly the watched stopped; the watcher doing the same, screening himself from observation by getting behind a tree; from which position he commanded a view of the stranger's motions without being observed by him. The stranger seemed perplexed, not as if he had mistaken his path, but as though he was disappointed in meeting with some expected party; after standing still for a short time, seemingly puzzled how to act, he raised his hands to his mouth and uttered a loud halloo, very much to the surprise of the spy in the sombre attire, who started on hearing it, but instantly quitted his place of concealment, and stealing stealthily up to the stranger, managed to reach him unseen and unheard; the wind being still as boisterous as it had been, and tearing through the wood with such violence that his footsteps were drowned in the noise it made. He struck the stranger smartly on the shoulder, and in a gruff voice demanded

"What seek you?"