Part 21

"This proposal was agreeable to all, and they directly separated to arm and prepare themselves. About an hour after dinner Sir Amauri and his party set off; and having had the principal gate of Hennebon opened for them, which led to the road that went straight to the army of Lord Charles, they rushed forward, making great cries and noise, to the tents and huts, which they cut down, and killed all that came in their way. The enemy was much alarmed, and putting themselves in motion, got armed as quickly as possible, and advanced towards the English and Bretons, who received them very warmly. The skirmish was sharp, and many on each side were slain.

"When Sir Amauri perceived that almost the whole of the army was in motion and drawn out, he retreated very handsomely, fighting all the time, to the barriers of the town, when he suddenly halted: then the archers, who had been posted on each side of the ditch beforehand, made such good use of their bows that the engagement was very hot, and all the army of the enemy ran thither except the servants.

"During this time Sir Walter Manny, with his company, issued out privily by the postern, and, making a circuit, came upon the rear of the enemy's camp. They were not perceived by any one, for all were gone to the skirmish upon the ditch. Sir Walter made straight for the tent of Lord Charles, where he found the two knights, Sir John Boteler and Sir Mw. Trelawney, whom he immediately mounted on two coursers which he had ordered to be brought for them, and retiring as fast as possible, entered Hennebon by the same way as he sallied forth. The Countess of Montfort came to see them, and received them with great joy."--Froissart, by Col. Johnes, vol. ii. p. 9.

The Butlers continued to occupy Bewsey till the year 1603, when Edward Butler sold this estate to the Irelands of Hale. It then passed from the Irelands to the Athertons, and is now enjoyed by Thomas Powis, Lord Lilford, of Lilford, Northamptonshire, in virtue of the marriage of his father, in the year 1797, with Henrietta Maria, daughter and heiress of Robert Vernon Atherton, of Atherton Hall, Esq.--Vide Baines's Lancashire.

Oh listen to my roundelay, Oh listen a while to me, And I'll tell ye of a deadly feud That fell out in the north countrie.

The summer leaves were fresh and green When Earl Derby forth would ride; For King Henry and his company To Lathom briskly hied.

A bridge he had builded fair and strong, With wondrous cost and pain, O'er Mersey's stream, by Warrington, For to meet that royal train.

And lord, and knight, and baron bold, That dwelt in this fair countrie, With the Derby train a-riding were, Save Sir John of proud Bewsey.

"Now foul befa' that scornfu' knight," Cried Stanley in his pride; "For he hath my just and honest suit Discourteously denied:

"Such hatred of our high estate, This traitor sore shall rue; I'll be avenged, or this good sword Shall rot the scabbard through!"

He swore a furious oath, I trow, And clenched his iron hand, As he rode forth to meet his son, The monarch of merry England.

* * * * *

The summer leaves were over and gone, But the ivy and yew were green, When to Bewsey hall came a jovial crew On the merry Christmas e'en.

It was mirth and feasting in hall and bower On that blessed and holy tide, But ere the morning light arose, There was darkness on all their pride!

Dark wonne the night, and the revellers gay From the laughing halls are gone; The clock from the turret, old and grey, With solemn tongue tolled one.

The blast was moaning down the glen, Through the pitch-like gloom it came, Like a spirit borne upon demon wings To the pit of gnawing flame!

But Sir John was at rest, with his lady love, In a pleasant sleep they lay; Nor felt the sooning, shuddering wind Round the grim, wide welkin play.

Their little babe, unconscious now, Lay slumbering hard by; And he smiled as the loud, loud tempest rocked His cradle wondrously.

There comes a gleam on the billowy moat Like a death-light on its wave, It streams from the ivied lattice, where Sits a grim false-hearted knave.

He saw it on the soft white snow, And across the moat it passed: "'Tis well," said that false and grim porter, And a fearsome look he cast.

A look he cast so wild and grim, And he uttered a deadly vow; "For thy dool and thy doom this light shall be, Thy foes are hastening now!

"Sleep on, sleep on, thou art weary, Sir John; Thy last sleep shall it be: Sleep on, sleep on, with thy next good sleep Thou shalt rest eternally!"

The traitor watched the waters dance, In the taper's treacherous gleam; And they hissed, and they rose, by the tempest tossed Through that pale and lonely beam.

What hideous thing comes swift and dark Athwart that flickering wave? A spectre boat there seems to glide, With many an uplift glaive.

The bolts are unslid by that grim porter, And a gladsome man was he, When three foemen fierce strode up the stair, All trim and cautiously.

"Now who be ye," cried the chamberlain, "That come with stealth and staur?" "We come to bid thy lord good den, So open to us the door."

"Ere I will open to thieves like ye, My limbs ye shall hew and hack. Awake, Sir John! awake and flee; These blood-hounds are on thy track!"

"We'll stop thy crowing, pretty bird! Now flutter thy wings again:" With that they laid him a ghastly corpse, And the red blood ran amain.