Eager to kill time in any way whatever, Robin Hood offered, for a small wage, to complete the number of boatmen, and the peasant woman, much taken with her guest’s kindly disposition, gladly accepted the offer of his services.

  “What are you called, fair lad?” asked the woman, when the arrangements for Robin’s installation in the hut were complete.

  “I am called Simon of Lee, good dame,” replied Robin Hood.

  “Well, then, Simon of Lee, to-morrow you will begin your work; and if the trade suits you, we shall long live together.”

  Early next day, Robin Hood embarked with his new companions, but it must be owned that, despite his will, Robin, who was ignorant of the most elementary details of the work, was of no use whatever to the experienced fishermen. Luckily for our friend, he had not to deal with evil comrades, and, instead of grumbling at his stupidity, they only laughed at the idea of his bringing with him his bow and arrows.

  “If I had these fellows in Sherwood Forest,” thought Robin, “they would not be so ready to laugh at my expense; but there every one to his own trade. I certainly am not their match in the one they follow.”

  After loading up the boat to the gunwale with fish, the men unfurled the sails and made for the jetty. As they sped along, they saw a little French corvette making for them. The corvette did not appear to have many men on board, but none the less the fishermen seemed terrified at her approach, and cried out that they were lost. “Lost, and wherefore?” questioned Robin.

  “Wherefore? Simpleton that thou art!” returned one of the fishermen. “Because the corvette is manned by the enemies of our nation; because we are at war with them; because, an they board us, they will take us prisoners.”

  “I trust indeed that they will never do that,” replied Robin; “we will e’en try to defend ourselves.”

  “What defence can we offer? They are fifteen, we are three.”

  “Then you do not count me, my man?” asked Robin.

  “Nay, my lad; thy hands have never been blistered by handling oars. Thou art no sailor, and shouldst thou chance to fall into the water, there would be one fool the less upon the earth. Nay, never take offence, thou art a pretty fellow, I bear thee no ill will; but thou art not worth thy keep.”

  A half smile hovered on Robin’s lips. “I am not very sensitive,” said he; “however, I will prove to you that I am some good in the presence of danger. My bow and arrows will help us out of this difficulty. Bind me to the mast, for my hand must be sure; then let the corvette come within range.”

  The fishermen obeyed; Robin was firmly lashed to the mainmast, where he waited with bended bow.

  As the corvette drew nearer, Robin took aim at a man standing in the bows, and sent him rolling on the deck with an arrow through his throat. A second sailor met a like fate. The fishermen overwhelmed with wonder and delight uttered a shout of triumph, and the foremost among them pointed out to Robin the commander of the corvette. Robin killed him as quickly as he had killed the others. The two vessels placed themselves side by side. There were only ten men left upon the corvette, and soon Robin had reduced the numbers of the unhappy Frenchmen to three. As soon as the fishermen perceived that only three men were left alive on board the boat, they determined to seize her, and this was made still easier because the Frenchmen seeing that all opposition was dangerous and useless, had laid down their arms and surrendered at discretion. The sailors were given their lives, and allowed to reurn to France on board a fishing smack.

  The French corvette was a fine prize, for she was carrying a large sum of money to the King of France, twelve thousand silver pieces.

  Needless to add, that, in taking possesion of this unlooked-for treasure, the gallant sailors made excuses to him at whom they had been poking fun so short a time before; then, with heartfelt disinterestedness, they declared that the whole prize belonged to Robin, because he had won the victory by his skill and bravery.

  “Good friends,” said Robin, “the right of settling this question is mine alone, and thus will I arrange matters half the corvette and her contents is to be the property of the poor widow to whom this boat belongs, and the rest will be divided betwixt the three of you.”

  “Nay, nay,” said the men; “we will not allow thee to deprive thyself of the wealth thou hast acquired without our aid. The vessel doth belong to thee, and if thou wilt, we will be thy servants.”

  “I thank you, good lads,” returned Robin; “but I cannot accept this testimony of your devotion. The division of the prize is to be according to my wishes, and I will employ the twelve thousand pieces in building for you and the poor inhabitants of the village of Scarborough healthier houses than you possess at present.”

  The fishermen tried, but in vain, to change Robin’s plans. They tried to persuade him that in giving a quarter of the twelve thousand pieces to the widow, to the poor, and to themselves, he would still be acting very generously. But Robin would not listen to a word, and ended by imposing silence on his honest companions.

  Robin Hood stayed for several weeks with the good people who had been made so happy by his generosity. Then one morning, tired of the sea, hungering to see the old woods and his dear companions once more, he called the fishermen together and announced his departure to them.

  “My good friends,” said Robin, “I leave you with a heart full of gratitude for all the care and kindness ye have lavished upon me. Probably we shall never meet again; but I hope that ye will preserve a pleasant memory of him who hath been your guest, of your friend Robin Hood.”

  Before the wonderstruck fishermen had recovered their power of speech, Robin Hood had disappeared. To this day the little bay, upon whose shores stood the hut which sheltered the noble Outlaw, bears the name of Robin Hood’s bay.

  It was in the early hours of a beautiful June morning that Robin Hood reached the confines of Barnsdale Forest. With a spirit stirred by deep emotion he entered a narrow path, where often, alas! the dear creature, whose absence he must ever mourn, had awaited him with merry heart and smiling lips. After some moments’ silent contemplation of the spots which bore witness to his lost happiness, Robin breathed more freely. He lived again in the past, and the memory of Marian stole lightly and sweetly like a perfumed vapour along the dim alleys, on the flowery meads, and into the glades shaded from the sun’s rays by the foliage of the old oaks. Robin Hood followed the beloved shadow, with it he penetrated into the thick groves, in its steps he descended into the vales, and, still accompanied by the sweet vision, he arrived at the crossroad where the greater part of the Merrie Men were usually to be found.

  To-day, however, the large open space was empty. Robin raised his hunting-horn to his lips and made the old wood resound with a vigorous call. A cry, or rather a sort of clamour, answered the notes of the horn; the branches of the surrounding trees were abruptly pushed aside, and Will Scarlett, followed by the whole band, threw himself upon Robin Hood with open arms.

  “Robin, my dear, dear Robin,” murmured Will in a broken voice, “so thou art returned at last, the Lord be praised! We have awaited thee with much impatience, have we not, Little John?”

  “Yea, ‘tis so indeed,” replied John, whose eyes were sadly contemplating the traveller’s pale face; “and Robin hath pitied our anguish and anxiety, since he is come back to us.”

  “Yea, good John, and I trust never to leave thee again.”

  John took Robin Hood’s hand and wrung it with a violence so full of tenderness, that he had not the heart to complain of the pain which the too ardent pressure caused him.

  “Be welcome among us!” cried the Foresters, joyously; “be welcome a thousand times!”

  The transports of delight induced by his presence shed a refreshing balm upon our hero’s incurable heart wound. He felt that he must no longer give himself up to his grief, and leave helpless the brave men who had attached themselves to his evil fortunes.

  This courageous resolution caused the blood to mount to poor Robin’s face. His heart, alas! revolted against his will; but the latter was the stronger, and after addressing a mental farewell to Maid Marian’s memory, he held out his hand to his faithful followers, saying in a strong, calm voice, “Henceforth, dear friends, ye will have in me your friend, your guide, your chief, Robin Hood the Outlaw, your captain, Robin Hood!”

  “Hurrah!” cried the Foresters, throwing their bonnets in the air; “hurrah! hurrah!”

  “Be my Merrie Men once more,” said Robin, “and let happiness once more reign supreme here. To-day we will rest, to-morrow the chase, and let the Normans beware!”

  Robin Hood’s new exploits soon became the subject of men’s talk through the length and breadth of England, and the rich Lords of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and Yorkshire contributed to the needs of the poor and to the support of the band.

  Long years slipped by without bringing any change in the condition of the Outlaws. But before closing this book, we must acquaint our readers with the fate of some of our characters.

  Sir Guy Gamwell and his wife died at very advanced ages, leaving their sons at Barnsdale Hall, to which they had retired on ceasing to form part of Robin Hood’s band.

  Will Scarlett had followed his brothers’ example; he lived in a charming house with his dear Maude, already the mother of several children, and still as tenderly loved by her husband as in the first days of their union. Much and Barbara settled down near Maude; but Little John, who had had the misfortune to lose Winifred, having no reason to desert the Forest, remained faithful to Robin’s commands. Besides, let us hasten to add, John loved Robin too dearly to have ever thought for a single moment of leaving him, and the two companions lived side by side, thoroughly convinced that nothing but death would have the power to separate them.

  Let us not forget to mention good Tuck, the pious chaplain who had consecrated so many marriages. Tuck remained faithful to Robin; he was still the spiritual adviser of the band, and he had lost none of his remarkable qualities; he was still the dignified drunken monk, noisy and boastful.

  Halbert Lindsay, Maude’s foster-brother, appointed Warden of Nottingham Castle by Richard Coeur-de-Lion, fulfilled, the duties of his post so well that he succeeded in keeping it. Hal’s wife, pretty Grace May, retained her charms in spite of passing years, and her little Maude promised to be the living image of her mother later on.

  Sir Richard of the Plain lived quietly and happily with his wife and two children, Herbert and Lilas. The meanest Saxon preserved an affection and gratitude for Robin Hood which would only end with life; and there was merrymaking in the Castle whenever the gallant Outlaw, drawn by the magnet of affection, came there with Little John to rest from his fatigues.

  Shortly after signing Magna Carta, King John, after a series of monstrous actions, started personally in pursuit of the young King of Scotland, who fled before him, and marched towards Nottingham, scattering desolation and terror in his path. John was accompanied by several generals whose exploits had earned for them pithy surnames, such as Jaleo the Ruthless, Mauleon the Bloody-Minded, Walter Much the Murderer, Sottim the Cruel, and Godeschal of the Iron Heart. These wretches were the chiefs of a band of foreign mercenaries, and their footsteps were marked by rape, fire, and death. The news of the approach of this robber band fell like a funeral knell upon the ears of the terrified populace, who fled in dismay, leaving their homes at the mercy of the Normans.

  Robin Hood heard of the odious conduct of the soldiers, and resolved thereupon to inflict upon them the same tortures to which they forced their unlucky victims to submit.

  The Foresters responded to their leader’s appeal with an enthusiasm which would have made King John’s men tremble, for all the old hatred of the conquered for their conquerors, of Saxon for Norman, remained unappeased.

  The band prepared for battle; Robin Hood awaited his opportunity.

  In approaching Sherwood Forest, the Norman chiefs sent a small body of scouts in advance, and when the greater part of the army penetrated into the wood, they saw, hanging motionless from the branches of trees along the roadside, or expiring in the dust, the men whose return they had vainly looked for. This terrifying spectacle chilled some of their warlike ardour; but as they were in large numbers, they continued their march. Robin could not openly attack a whole army; he could only hope to succeed by stratagem; and he therefore skilfully turned to advantage the agility and inimitable dexterity of his men. He harassed the soldiers, killing them with arrows that came they knew not whence; he pursued them, slaughtering the stragglers, and pitilessly massacring all those who had the ill-luck to fall into his hands. A general terror paralysed the movements of the army; it had quite lost its bearings, and the superstitious ideas of the age led the men to believe that they were the victims of some infernal witchcraft. One of the foreign leaders, Sottim the Cruel, endeavoured to put an end to a massacre which threatened to cause terror and confusion throughout the army. He called a halt, conjured his men in the interests of their own safety to overcome their fears, and at the head of fifty determined Normans, he started to explore the underwood. But scarcely had the little band plunged into the inextricable windings of a by-path than a volley of arrows descended from the tree-tops and arose from the depths of the thickets, striking down Sottim the Cruel and his fifty companions.

  The disappearance of these scouts and their intrepid leader, redoubled the terror of the Normans, and lent them wings to fly through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham. Arrived there, spent with fatigue, and furious with rage, they abandoned themselves with fresh zest to the unqualified excesses which had signalised their sojourn in the valley of Mansfield.

  On the morrow of these fatal reprisals, the army, still led by King John, made its way into Yorkshire, burning and massacring at will the unoffending inhabitants of the villages through which it passed.

  Whilst the Normans thus ploughed for themselves a furrow of tears and blood and fire, the Saxons, some of whom had been despoiled of their wealth, others violently torn from their wives and children, joined themselves, drunk in their turn with murder and carnage, to Robin’s band, and our hero, at the head of eight hundred brave Saxons, started in pursuit of the blood-stained cohort.

  A providential chance protected the peaceful dwelling of Allan Clare and the Castle of Sir Richard of the Plain. Neither of these two houses was in the way of the pillagers, for it goes without saying that John did not spare the rich Saxons. He chased them from their dwellings, and permitted his favourites to instal themselves as masters in the homes of the unhappy gentlemen. But then Robin and his formidable companions would arrive, and the new owner and the soldiers whom he had paid to help him to maintain by force the rights of this unjust usurpation, fell into the hands of the Outlaws and were mercilessly put to death.

  The King learned from the public outcry, and the complaints of his men, of the Saxons’ triumphal avenging progress, and sent against him a small portion of his army, hoping that it would succeed in investing Robin Hood’s band, which was said to be encamped in a little wood. It is hardly necessary to say that John’s soldiers had not even the satisfaction of returning to announce their defeat to the King; they were killed without having so much as reached the supposed camp in which they were to surprise Robin Hood.

  Our hero’s prowess made a great noise throughout England, and his name became as formidable to the Normans as had been that of Hereward the Wake to their predecessors in the reign of William I.

  John reached Edinburgh, but not being able to capture the King of Scotland, he returned to Dover, leaving orders to his scattered troops to rejoin him. But the greater part of these troops were captured by Robin Hood’s men, some in Derbyshire and some in Yorkshire. In the mean time King John died and his son Henry succeeded him.

  In the reign of this Prince, Robin Hood’s existence was not so adventurous or active as it had been during the bloodstained reign of King John, for the Earl of Pembroke, tutor to the young King, set to work seriously to improve the condition of the people, and succeeded in maintaining peace throughout the kingdom.

  The sudden suspension of all physical and mental activity depressed Robin and weakened his powers. It is true our hero was no longer young; he had attained his fifty-fifth year, while Little John was gently nearing his sixty-sixth. As we have already mentioned, time had brought no solace to Robin’s grief, and the memory of Marian, as lively and fresh as on the morrow of their parting, had sealed Robin’s heart to any other love.

  Marian’s tomb, piously tended by the Merrie Men, was covered every year with fresh flowers; and many a time, after the return of peace, had the Foresters surprised their Chieftain, pale and sad, kneeling upon the greensward which extended like a green girdle around the Trysting Tree.

  Day by day, Robin’s sorrow grew deeper and more overpowering. Day by day, his face took a more dejected expression; the smile left his lips, and John, the patient and devoted John, could not always succeed in obtaining from his friend a reply to his anxious questions.

  It came about, however, at long last, that Robin was touched by his comrade’s care for him, and he consented, at his prayer, to seek the assistance of a Lady Abbess whose convent was a short distance from Sherwood Forest. The Abbess, who had already seen Robin Hood and knew all the particulars of his life, welcomed him heartily, and offered him every assistance in her power to bestow.

  Robin Hood showed himself sensible of the frank welcome of the kindly Nun, and asked her if she would be good enough to bleed him immediately. The Abbess consented. She led the sick man to a cell, and with wondrous skill she performed the wished-for operation; then, as skilfully as a clever physician could have done, she bandaged up the invalid’s arm and left him, nearly worn out, stretched upon a bed.