the distance; all is wild and mysterious. It seems as though we are about to invade the hold of some robber-chieftain, not to visit the demesne of a peaceable member of the Danish Parliament. We arrive, drive through an ancient gateway into the second court, whiz again round a corner into a third, are landed on the stone steps, where the dame châtelaine stands, with her youthful daughters, ready to receive us on our arrival. CHAPTER XLIIL Legend of the English prince and his bed of gold - The luck of Vosborg manor - Little Peter the cow-driver-The industrious Nisses-Long Margaret and her eight murders - Private tutor of Prince George of Denmark - Story of Havelock the Dane - Customs on Christmas-eve - The corporal and his little child. VOSBORG. July 17th.-IT is a queer old place, Vosborg, with its triple range of vallums and its moats, the first of which, on the western side, quite out-tops the house; in former days a protection against marauding bands; in the present more peaceful times, against the equally troublesome west wind. The château, like most of these ancient manors, is of different periods: the oldest wing dates from some five hundred years, and here, too, we are again en pays de connaissance, for within these walls was born Niels Bugge, leader of the ever-revolting Jutland nobility against Valdemar Atterdag. He never enjoyed the rites of Christian burial; but from the drops of gore which fell trickling from his body upon the sands at Middelfart sprang the plants of the red cabbage, which alone are there found growing on the shore, and still mark the spot of his assassination. It was in Niels Bugge's time that near Vosborg took place the well-known shipwreck of the English prince, still sung, set to music, one of the most popular ballads among the peasantry of this country. Who he was I cannot ascertain; but he travelled like a "real VOL. II. prince" not swung up, like Prince Alfred, in a vulgar hammock, but with his "real bed of gold." He came to grief on the lands of Ridder Frost, a very bad man, who not only plundered him of his goods and chattels, golden bed included, but allowed him even to be sacked and insulted by his "kokkedreng," cook's boy. "Oh!" exclaims the unlucky prince, blubbering like a schoolboy "Oh! had I ne'er fallen in Frost's hands, But come to shore on Bugge's lands, Sir Niels would have sent me both knight and svend,* When this news comes to the ears of Sir Niels Bugge, he despatches to his assistance his two sons, and recovers among other things the celebrated golden bed from the hands of the robber Frost; invites the prince to his castle of Hald, gives him a fresh outfit, and sends him back to England loaded with honours. The English prince was not of an ungrateful disposition, for he leaves his golden bed behind him. The altarpiece of the church of Holstebro is carved from the oak of the vessel in which he was wrecked, the head of his golden bed is preserved in the church of Sal, while the foot forms the altar-table of that of Stadil-where you may see them both if you have any curiosity. This old château of Vosborg, like most of the Jutland manors, has its mystic number on which its fate depends. Vosborg always passes away in marriage or by sale in the third generation. From the Bugges it passed to the Vendel Bos; † on to the Podebusk, or Putbus, * Retainers. An early illustration: Bo Henderson, of the household troops of Knud the Holy, stood firm to the fortunes of King Niels, and from a some of Lille Tove's German relations who came over to look after the loaves and fishes of Denmark. Then passing over the Juels, Langes, and the Winds-one of whom was a celebrated mineralogist, and first discovered the silver-mines of Kongsborg; he lies buried in Tronyem Cathedral-we come to Svanevedel, the last of whom sold his soul to the devil; then to the Leths, from whom it passed to the grandfather of the present proprietor. We are now in the third generation, a blooming family of six daughters enliven this mysterious mansion, but no son-no heir. Vosborg will again fall into the possession of some other name by marriage. The story of the Tang family is too interesting to be passed over in silence. I have it from the mouth of the proprietor himself, who is justly proud of the industry and talents of his forefathers. It was in the early part of the eighteenth century a family of Vendel peasants emigrated to these parts, and settled on the lands of the domain of Vosborg. Hemet Leth was at that time lord of the manor, a bad extravagant man, always in want of money, and oppressive over those who depended on him. Tang was the only man who dared to remonstrate with him on his injustice, and who possessed any influence over his mind. Vosborg is not far removed from the Nissum Fiorde; the sea-water at the spring-tides runs up to the outer vallum, inundating the intervening meadows with its flow. Vendel peasant became ennobled, and ranked among the most illustrious of the land. * One of the family, Wenceslaus, really was rightful Duke of Rugen, but unjustly disinherited; he and his family were prayed for in the churches of their native isle for generations after the usurper had gained the ducal power. It was the custom each succeeding spring for the peasants of the domain to drive up their cows and turn them loose into the meadows, to eat off the salt grass-a good alterative it was considered for the cattle-the fields themselves benefiting by the operation. One morning, young Peter Tang, a boy of eleven years of age, while driving his beasts to grass, meets by the bridge of Vosborg an old woman seated on a waggon laden with apples.* Little Peter as he passes by holds up his hands, childlike, and begs an apple from the old woman, who refused, crying out, "You little miscreant! you ask an apple from me, a poor woman, when in your own hand you hold a golden one of your own!" Later in life these words of the old woman often crossed his mind, and encouraged him in his industry and perseverance. Peter is now eighteen years of age. The Jutlanders were less slaves to their landowners than the peasants of Zealand; still they were subject to the feudal conscription, from which, with the good will of the lord, they could purchase freedom by the payment of fifty dollars. So old Tang goes up to the manor with a bag containing the necessary sum, and begs to purchase the freedom of his boy. "No, no," replies the lord of the castle, "your son is a fine clever lad, and in these days good soldiers are wanted. I can't let him off." The peasant saw well enough that it was something else his lord wanted, so determined to know his terms. * Apples were not then cultivated in this part of Jutland; so the Holsteiners and people from the East sent up their refuse to sell to the peasantry, who were glad to purchase them in exchange for eels. + People's good fortune was always foretold-afterwards. |