[Transcribers notes: The only changes made in this text are obvious
printer's errors. Everything else remains unchanged. Words in _italics_
and =bold= denoted thus]
SIR QUIXOTE OF THE MOORS
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[Illustration:"_He came at me with his sword in a great heat._"--P. 131.]
SIR QUIXOTE
OF THE MOORS
_BEING SOME ACCOUNT OF AN
EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF
THE SIEUR DE ROHAINE_
BY
JOHN BUCHAN
[Illustration: logo]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1895
COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY
HENRY HOLT & CO.
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
TO
GILBERT MURRAY
WHATSOEVER IN THIS BOOK IS NOT
WORTHLESS IS DEDICATED
BY HIS FRIEND.
PREFACE.
The narrative, now for the first time presented to the world, was written
by the Sieur de Rohaine to while away the time during the long period and
painful captivity, borne with heroic resolution, which preceded his death.
He chose the English tongue, in which he was extraordinarily proficient,
for two reasons: first, as an exercise in the language; second, because he
desired to keep the passages here recorded from the knowledge of certain
of his kins-folk in France. Few changes have been made in his work. Now and
then an English idiom has been substituted for a French; certain tortuous
expressions have been emended; and in general the portions in the Scots
dialect have been rewritten, since the author's knowledge of this manner of
speech seems scarcely to have been so great as he himself thought.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON THE HIGH MOORS, 1
II. I FARE BADLY INDOORS, 27
III. I FARE BADLY ABROAD, 58
IV. OF MY COMING TO LINDEAN, 76
V. I PLEDGE MY WORD, 100
VI. IDLE DAYS, 134
VII. A DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS, 155
VIII. HOW I SET THE SIGNAL, 174
IX. I COMMUNE WITH MYSELF, 202
X. OF MY DEPARTURE, 222
SIR QUIXOTE OF THE MOORS.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE HIGH MOORS.
Before me stretched a black heath, over which the mist blew in gusts, and
through whose midst the road crept like an adder. Great storm-marked hills
flanked me on either side, and since I set out I had seen their harsh
outline against a thick sky, until I longed for flat ground to rest my
sight upon. The way was damp, and the soft mountain gravel sank under my
horse's feet; and ever and anon my legs were splashed by the water from
some pool which the rain had left. Shrill mountain birds flew around, and
sent their cries through the cold air. Sometimes the fog would lift for a
moment from the face of the land and show me a hilltop or the leaden
glimmer of a loch, but nothing more--no green field or homestead; only a
barren and accursed desert.
Neither horse nor man was in any spirit. My back ached, and I shivered in
my sodden garments, while my eyes were dim from gazing on flying clouds.
The poor beast stumbled often, for he had traveled far on little fodder,
and a hill-road was a new thing in his experience. Saladin I called
him--for I had fancied that there was something Turkish about his black
face, with the heavy turban-like band above his forehead--in my old
fortunate days when I bought him. He was a fine horse of the Normandy
breed, and had carried me on many a wild journey, though on none so forlorn
as this.
But to speak of myself. I am Jean de Rohaine, at your service; Sieur de
Rohaine in the province of Touraine--a gentleman, I trust, though one in a
sorry plight. And how I came to be in the wild highlands of the place
called Galloway, in the bare kingdom of Scotland, I must haste to tell. In
the old days, when I had lived as became my rank in my native land, I had
met a Scot,--one Kennedy by name,--a great man in his own country, with
whom I struck up an intimate friendship. He and I were as brothers, and he
swore that if I came to visit him in his own home he would see to it that I
should have the best. I thanked him at the time for his bidding, but
thought little more of it.
Now, by ill fortune, the time came when, what with gaming and pleasuring, I
was a beggared man, and I bethought me of the Scot's offer. I had liked
the man well, and I considered how it would be no ill thing to abide in
that country till I should find some means of bettering my affairs. So I
took ship and came to the town of Ayr, from which 'twas but a day's ride to
the house of my friend. 'Twas in midsummer when I landed, and the place
looked not so bare as I had feared, as I rode along between green meadows
to my destination. There I found Quentin Kennedy, somewhat grown old and
more full in flesh than I remembered him in the past. He had been a tall,
black-avised man when I first knew him; now he was grizzled,--whether from
hard living or the harshness of northern weather I know not,--and heavier
than a man of action is wont to be. He greeted me most hospitably, putting
his house at my bidding, and swearing that I should abide and keep him
company and go no more back to the South.
So for near a month I stayed there, and such a time of riot and hilarity I
scarce remember. _Mon Dieu_, but the feasting and the sporting would have
rejoiced the hearts of my comrades of the Rue Margot! I had already learned
much of the Scots tongue at the college in Paris, where every second man
hails from this land, and now I was soon perfect in it, speaking it all but
as well as my host. 'Tis a gift I have, for I well remember how, when I
consorted for some months in the low countries with an Italian of Milan, I
picked up a fair knowledge of his speech. So now I found myself in the
midst of men of spirit, and a rare life we led. The gentlemen of the place
would come much about the house, and I promise you 'twas not seldom we saw
the morning in as we sat at wine. There was, too, the greatest sport at
coursing and hunting the deer in Kennedy's lands by the Water of Doon.
Yet there was that I liked not among the fellows who came thither, nay,
even in my friend himself. We have a proverb in France that the devil when
he spoils a German in the making turns him into a Scot, and for certain
there was much boorishness among them, which to my mind sits ill on
gentlemen. They would jest at one another till I thought that in a
twinkling swords would be out, and lo! I soon found that 'twas but done for
sport, and with no evil intent. They were clownish in their understanding,
little recking of the feelings of a man of honor, but quick to grow fierce
on some tittle of provocation which another would scarce notice. Indeed,
'tis my belief that one of this nation is best in his youth, for Kennedy,
whom I well remembered as a man of courage and breeding, had grown grosser
and more sottish with his years, till I was fain to ask where was my friend
of the past.
And now I come to that which brought on my departure and my misfortunes.
'Twas one night as I returned weary from riding after a stag in the haugh
by the river, that Quentin cried hastily, as I entered, that now he had
found something worthy of my attention.
"To-morrow, Jock," says he, "you will see sport. There has been some cursed
commotion among the folk of the hills, and I am out the morrow to redd the
marches. You shall have a troop of horse and ride with me, and, God's
death, we will have a taste of better work!"
I cried out that I could have asked for naught better, and, indeed, I was
overjoyed that the hard drinking and idleness were at an end, and that the
rigors of warfare lay before me. For I am a soldier by birth and by
profession, and I love the jingle of steel and the rush of battle.
So, on the morrow, I rode to the mountains with a score of dragoons behind
me, glad and hopeful. _Diable!_ How shall I tell my disappointment? The
first day I had seen all--and more than I wished. We fought, not with men
like ourselves, but with women and children and unarmed yokels, and
butchered like Cossacks more than Christians. I grew sick of the work, and
would have none of it, but led my men to the rendezvous sullenly, and hot
at heart. 'Twas well the night was late when we arrived, else I should have
met with Kennedy there and then, and God knows what might have happened.
The next day, in a great fit of loathing, I followed my host again, hoping
that the worst was over, and that henceforth I should have something more
to my stomach. But little I knew of the men with whom I journeyed. There
was a cottage there, a shepherd's house, and God! they burned it down, and
the man they shot before his wife and children, speaking naught to him but
foul-mouthed reproaches and jabber about some creed which was strange to
me. I could not prevent it, though 'twas all that I could do to keep myself
from a mad attack.
I rode up to Quentin Kennedy.
"Sir," I said, "I have had great kindness at your hands, but you and I must
part. I see that we are made of different stuff. I can endure war, but not
massacre."
He laughed at my scruples, incredulous of my purpose, until at last he saw
that I was fixed in my determination. Then he spoke half kindly:
"This is a small matter to stand between me and thee. I am a servant of the
king, and but do my duty. I little thought to have disloyalty preached from
your lips; but bide with me, and I promise that you shall see no more of
it."
But my anger was too great, and I would have none of him. Then--and now I
marvel at the man's forbearance--he offered me money to recompense me for
my trouble. 'Twas honestly meant, and oft have I regretted my action, but
to me in my fury it seemed but an added insult.
"Nay," said I angrily; "I take no payment from butchers. I am a gentleman,
if a poor one."
At this he flushed wrathfully, and I thought for an instant that he would
have drawn on me; but he refrained, and I rode off alone among the moors. I
knew naught of the land, and I must have taken the wrong way, for noon
found me hopelessly mazed among a tangle of rocks and hills and
peat-mosses. Verily, Quentin Kennedy had taken the best revenge by
suffering me to follow my own leading.
In the early hours of my journey my head was in such a whirl of wrath and
dismay, that I had little power to think settled thoughts. I was in a
desperate confusion, half angry at my own haste, and half bitter at the
coldness of a friend who would permit a stranger to ride off alone with
scarce a word of regret. When I have thought the matter out in after days,
I have been as perplexed as ever; yet it still seems to me, though I know
not how, that I acted as any man of honor and heart would approve. Still
this thought was little present to me in my discomfort, as I plashed
through the sodden turf.
I had breakfasted at Kennedy's house of Dunpeel in the early morning, and
since I had no provision of any sort with me, 'twas not long ere the
biting of hunger began to set in. My race is a hardy stock, used to much
hardships and rough fare, but in this inclement land my heart failed me
wholly, and I grew sick and giddy, what with the famishing and the cold
rain. For, though 'twas late August, the month of harvest and fruit-time in
my own fair land, it seemed more like winter. The gusts of sharp wind came
driving out of the mist and pierced me to the very marrow. So chill were
they that my garments were of no avail to avert them; being, indeed, of the
thinnest, and cut according to the fashion of fine cloth for summer wear
at the shows and gallantries of the town. A pretty change, thought I, from
the gardens of Versailles and the trim streets of Paris to this surly land;
and sad it was to see my cloak, meant for no rougher breeze than the gentle
south, tossed and scattered by a grim wind.
I have marked it often, and here I proved its truth, that man's thoughts
turn always to the opposites of his present state. Here was I, set in the
most uncharitable land on earth; and yet ever before my eyes would come
brief visions of the gay country which I had forsaken. In a gap of hill I
fancied that I descried a level distance with sunny vineyards and rich
orchards, to which I must surely come if I but hastened. When I stooped to
drink at a stream, I fancied ere I drank it that the water would taste like
the Bordeaux I was wont to drink at the little hostelry in the Rue Margot;
and when the tasteless liquid once entered my mouth, the disenchantment was
severe. I met one peasant, an old man bent with toil, coarse-featured, yet
not without some gleams of kindness, and I could not refrain from
addressing him in my native tongue. For though I could make some shape at
his barbarous patois, in my present distress it came but uneasily from my
lips. He stared at me stupidly, and when I repeated the question in the
English, he made some unintelligible reply, and stumbled onward in his way.
I watched his poor figure as he walked. Such, thought I, are the _canaille_
of the land, and 'tis little wonder if their bodies be misshapen, and their
minds dull, for an archangel would become a boor if he dwelt here for any
space of time.
But enough of such dreams, and God knows no man had ever less cause for
dreaming. Where was I to go, and what might my purpose be in this
wilderness which men call the world? An empty belly and a wet skin do not
tend to sedate thinking, so small wonder if I saw little ahead. I was
making for the end of the earth, caring little in what direction, weary and
sick of heart, with sharp anger at the past, and never a hope for the
morrow.
Yet, even in my direst days, I have ever found some grain of expectation to
console me. I had five crowns in my purse; little enough, but sufficient to
win me a dinner and a bed at some cheap hostelry. So all through the gray
afternoon I looked sharply for a house, mistaking every monstrous bowlder
for a gable-end. I cheered my heart with thinking of dainties to be looked
for; a dish of boiled fish, or a piece of mutton from one of the wild-faced
sheep which bounded ever and anon across my path. Nay, I was in no mood to
be fastidious. I would e'en be content with a poor fare, provided always I
could succeed in swallowing it, for my desire soon became less for the
attainment of a pleasure than for the alleviation of a discomfort. For I
was ravenous as a hawk, and had it in my heart more than once to dismount,
and seek for the sparse hill-berries.
And, indeed, this was like to have been my predicament, for the day grew
late and I came no nearer a human dwelling. The valley in which I rode
grew wider, about to open, as I thought, into the dale of a river. The
hills, from rising steeply by the wayside, were withdrawn to the distance
of maybe a mile, where they lifted their faces through the network of the
mist. All the land between them, save a strip where the road lay, was
filled with a black marsh, where moor birds made a most dreary wailing. It
minded me of the cries of the innocents whom King Herod slew, as I had seen
the dead represented outside the village church of Rohaine in my far-away
homeland. My heart grew sore with longing. I had bartered my native
country for the most dismal on earth, and all for nothing. Madman that I
was, were it not better to be a beggar in France than a horse-captain in
any other place? I cursed my folly sorely, as each fresh blast sent a
shiver through my body. Nor was my horse in any better state--Saladin, whom
I had seen gayly decked at a procession with ribbons and pretty favors, who
had carried me so often and so far, who had always fared on the best. The
poor beast was in a woeful plight, with his pasterns bleeding from the
rough stones and his head bent with weariness. Verily, I pitied him more
than myself, and if I had had a crust we should have shared it.
The night came in, black as a draw-well and stormy as the Day of Doom. I
had now no little trouble in picking out the way from among the treacherous
morasses. Of a sudden my horse would have a forefoot in a pool of black
peat-water, from which I would scarce, by much pulling, recover him. A
sharp jag of stone in the way would all but bring him to his knees. So we
dragged wearifully along, scarce fearing, caring, hoping for anything in
this world or another.
It was, I judge, an hour after nightfall, about nine of the clock, when I
fancied that some glimmer shot through the thick darkness. I could have
clapped my hands for joy had I been able; but alas! these were so stiff,
that clapping was as far from me as from a man with the palsy.
"Courage!" said I, "courage, Saladin! There is yet hope for us!"
The poor animal seemed to share in my expectations. He carried me quicker
forward, so that soon the feeble gleam had grown to a broad light. Inn or
dwelling, thought I, there I stay, for I will go not a foot further for man
or devil. My sword must e'en be my _fourrier_ to get me a night's lodging.
Then I saw the house, a low, dark place, unillumined save for that front
window which shone as an invitation to travelers. In a minute I was at the
threshold. There, in truth, was the sign flapping above the lintel. 'Twas
an inn at length, and my heart leaped out in gratitude.