see him on his old white mare, who died the week after her master,
and the passing of the two did our hearts good. It was not that he
rode beautifully, for he broke every canon of art, flying with his
arms, stooping till he seemed to be speaking into Jess's ears, and
rising in the saddle beyond all necessity. But he could rise faster,
stay longer in the saddle, and had a firmer grip with his knees than
any one I ever met, and it was all for mercy's sake. When the
reapers in harvest time saw a figure whirling past in a cloud of
dust, or the family at the foot of Glen Urtach, gathered round the
fire on a winter's night, heard the rattle of a horse's hoofs on the
road, or the shepherds, out after the sheep, traced a black speck
moving across the snow to the upper glen, they knew it was the
doctor, and, without being conscious of it, wished him God speed.
Before and behind his saddle were strapped the instruments and
medicines the doctor might want, for he never knew what was before
him. There were no specialists in Drumtochty, so this man had to do
everything as best he could, and as quickly. He was chest doctor and
doctor for every other organ as well; he was accoucheur and surgeon;
he was oculist and aurist; he was dentist and chloroformist, besides
being chemist and druggist. It was often told how he was far up Glen
Urtach when the feeders of the threshing mill caught young Burnbrae,
and how he only stopped to change horses at his house, and galloped
all the way to Burnbrae, and flung himself off his horse and
amputated the arm, and saved the lad's life.
"You wud hae thocht that every meenut was an hour," said Jamie
Soutar, who had been at the threshing, "an' a'll never forget the
puir lad lying as white as deith on the floor o' the loft, wi' his
head on a sheaf, an' Burnbrae haudin' the bandage ticht an' prayin'
a' the while, and the mither greetin' in the corner.
"'Will he never come?' she cries, an' a' heard the soond o' the
horse's feet on the road a mile awa in the frosty air.
"'The Lord be praised!' said Burnbrae, and a' slippit doon the
ladder as the doctor came skelpin' intae the close, the foam fleein'
frae his horse's mooth.
"'Whar is he?' wes a' that passed his lips, an' in five meenuts he
hed him on the feedin' board, and wes at his wark--sic wark,
neeburs--but he did it weel. An' ae thing a' thocht rael thochtfu'
o' him: he first sent aff the laddie's mither tae get a bed ready.
"'Noo that's feenished, and his constitution 'ill dae the rest,' and
he carried the lad doon the ladder in his airms like a bairn, and
laid him in his bed, and waits aside him till he wes sleepin', and
then says he: 'Burnbrae, yir a gey lad never tae say "Collie, will
ye lick?" for a' hevna tasted meat for saxteen hoors.'
"It was michty tae see him come intae the yaird that day, neeburs;
the verra look o' him wes victory."
Jamie's cynicism slipped off in the enthusiasm of this reminiscence,
and he expressed the feeling of Drumtochty. No one sent for MacLure
save in great straits, and the sight of him put courage in sinking
hearts. But this was not by the grace of his appearance, or the
advantage of a good bedside manner. A tall, gaunt, loosely made man,
without an ounce of superfluous flesh on his body, his face burned a
dark brick colour by constant exposure to the weather, red hair and
beard turning grey, honest blue eyes that look you ever in the face,
huge hands with wrist bones like the shank of a ham, and a voice
that hurled his salutations across two fields, he suggested the moor
rather than the drawing-room. But what a clever hand it was in an
operation, as delicate as a woman's, and what a kindly voice it was
in the humble room where the shepherd's wife was weeping by her
man's bedside. He was "ill pitten thegither" to begin with, but many
of his physical defects were the penalties of his work, and endeared
him to the Glen. That ugly scar that cut into his right eyebrow and
gave him such a sinister expression, was got one night Jess slipped
on the ice and laid him insensible eight miles from home. His limp
marked the big snowstorm in the fifties, when his horse missed the
road in Glen Urtach, and they rolled together in a drift. MacLure
escaped with a broken leg and the fracture of three ribs, but he
never walked like other men again. He could not swing himself into
the saddle without making two attempts and holding Jess's mane.
Neither can you "warstle" through the peat bogs and snow drifts for
forty winters without a touch of rheumatism. But they were
honourable scars, and for such risks of life men get the Victoria
Cross in other fields. MacLure got nothing but the secret affection
of the Glen, which knew that none had ever done one-tenth as much
for it as this ungainly, twisted, battered figure, and I have seen a
Drumtochty face soften at the sight of MacLure limping to his horse.
Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for ever by criticising
the doctor's dress, but indeed it would have filled any townsman
with amazement. Black he wore once a year, on Sacrament Sunday, and,
if possible, at a funeral; topcoat or waterproof never. His jacket
and waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw
off the wet like a duck's back, and below he was clad in shepherd's
tartan trousers, which disappeared into unpolished riding boots. His
shirt was grey flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, but
certain as to a tie which he never had, his beard doing instead, and
his hat was soft felt of four colours and seven different shapes.
His point of distinction in dress was the trousers, and they were
the subject of unending speculation.
"Some threep that he's worn thae eedentical pair the last twenty
year, an' a' mind masel him gettin' a tear ahint, when he was
crossin' oor palin', and the mend's still veesible.
"Ithers declare 'at he's got a wab o' claith, and hes a new pair
made in Muirtown aince in the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the
garden till the new look wears aft.
"For ma ain pairt," Soutar used to declare, "a' canna mak up my
mind, but there's ae thing sure, the Glen wud not like tae see him
withoot them: it wud be a shock tae confidence. There's no muckle o'
the check left, but ye can aye tell it, and when ye see thae breeks
comin' in ye ken that if human pooer can save yir bairn's life it
'ill be dune."
The confidence of the Glen--and tributary states--was unbounded, and
rested partly on long experience of the doctor's resources, and
partly on his hereditary connection.
"His father was here afore him," Mrs. Macfadyen used to explain;
"atween them they've hed the countyside for weel on tae a century;
if MacLure disna understand oor constitution, wha dis, a' wud like
tae ask?"
For Drumtochty had its own constitution and a special throat
disease, as became a parish which was quite self-contained between
the woods and the hills, and not dependent on the lowlands either
for its diseases or its doctors.
"He's a skilly man, Doctor MacLure," continued my friend Mrs.
Macfadyen, whose judgment on sermons or anything else was seldom at
fault; "an' a kind-hearted, though o' coorse he hes his faults like
us a', an' he disna tribble the Kirk often.
"He aye can tell what's wrang wi' a body, an' maistly he can put ye
richt, and there's nae new-fangled wys wi' him: a blister for the
ootside an' Epsom salts for the inside dis his wark, an' they say
there's no an herb on the hills he disna ken.
"If we're tae dee, we're tae dee; an' if we're tae live, we're tae
live," concluded Elspeth, with sound Calvinistic logic; "but a'll
say this for the doctor, that whether yir tae live or dee, he can
aye keep up a shairp meisture on the skin.
"But he's no verra ceevil gin ye bring him when there's naethin'
wrang," and Mrs. Macfadyen's face reflected another of Mr. Hopps'
misadventures of which Hillocks held the copyright.
"Hopps' laddie ate grosarts (gooseberries) till they hed to sit up
a' nicht wi' him, an' naethin' wud do but they maun hae the doctor,
an' he writes 'immediately' on a slip o' paper.
"Weel, MacLure had been awa a' nicht wi' a shepherd's wife Dunleith
wy, and he comes here withoot drawin' bridle, mud up tae the een.
"'What's a dae here, Hillocks?" he cries; 'it's no an accident,
is't?' and when he got aff his horse he cud hardly stand wi'
stiffness and tire.
"'It's nane o' us, doctor; it's Hopps' laddie; he's been eatin' ower
mony berries.'
"If he didna turn on me like a tiger.
"'Div ye mean tae say--'
"'Weesht, weesht,' an' I tried tae quiet him, for Hopps wes comin'
oot.
"'Well, doctor,' begins he, as brisk as a magpie, 'you're here at
last; there's no hurry with you Scotchmen. My boy has been sick all
night, and I've never had one wink of sleep. You might have come a
little quicker, that's all I've got to say.'
"'We've mair tae dae in Drumtochty than attend tae every bairn that
hes a sair stomach,' and a' saw MacLure wes roosed.
"'I'm astonished to hear you speak. Our doctor at home always says
to Mrs. 'Opps, "Look on me as a family friend, Mrs. 'Opps, and send
for me though it be only a headache."'
"'He'd be mair sparin' o' his offers if he hed four and twenty mile
tae look aifter. There's naethin' wrang wi' yir laddie but greed.
Gie him a gude dose o' castor oil and stop his meat for a day, an'
he 'ill be a' richt the morn.'
"'He 'ill not take castor oil, doctor. We have given up those
barbarous medicines.'
"'Whatna kind o' medicines hae ye noo in the Sooth?'
"'Well, you see, Dr. MacLure, we're homoeopathists, and I've my
little chest here, 'and oot Hopps comes wi' his boxy.
"'Let's see't,' an' MacLure sits doon and taks oot the bit bottles,
and he reads the names wi' a lauch every time.
"'Belladonna; did ye ever hear the like? Aconite; it cowes a'. Nux
Vomica. What next? Weel, ma mannie,' he says tae Hopps, 'it's a fine
ploy, and ye 'ill better gang on wi' the Nux till it's dune, and gie
him ony ither o' the sweeties he fancies.
"'Noo, Hillocks, a' maun be aff tae see Drumsheugh's grieve, for
he's doon wi' the fever, and it's tae be a teuch fecht. A' hinna
time tae wait for dinner; gie me some cheese an' cake in ma haund,
and Jess 'ill tak a pail o' meal an' water.
"'Fee; a'm no wantin' yir fees, man; wi' that boxy ye dinna need a
doctor; na, na, gie yir siller tae some puir body, Maister Hopps,'
an' he was doon the road as hard as he cud lick."
His fees were pretty much what the folk chose to give him, and he
collected them once a year at Kildrummie fair.
"Weel, doctor, what am a' awin' ye for the wife and bairn? Ye 'ill
need three notes for that nicht ye stayed in the hoose an' a' the
veesits."
"Havers," MacLure would answer, "prices are low, a'm hearing; gie's
thirty shillings."
"No, a'll no, or the wife 'ill tak ma ears off," and it was settled
for two pounds.
Lord Kilspindie gave him a free house and fields, and one way or
other, Drumsheugh told me, the doctor might get in about £150 a
year, out of which he had to pay his old housekeeper's wages and a
boy's, and keep two horses, besides the cost of instruments and
books, which he bought through a friend in Edinburgh with much
judgment.
There was only one man who ever complained of the doctor's charges,
and that was the new farmer of Milton, who was so good that he was
above both churches, and held a meeting in his barn. (It was Milton
the Glen supposed at first to be a Mormon, but I can't go into that
now.) He offered McLure a pound less than he asked, and two tracts,
whereupon MacLure expressed his opinion of Milton, both from a
theological and social standpoint, with such vigour and frankness
that an attentive audience of Drumtochty men could hardly contain
themselves.
Jamie Soutar was selling his pig at the time, and missed the
meeting, but he hastened to condole with Milton, who was complaining
everywhere of the doctor's language.
"Ye did richt tae resist him; it 'ill maybe roose the Glen tae mak a
stand; he fair hauds them in bondage.
"Thirty shillings for twal veesits, and him no mair than seeven mile
awa, an' a'm telt there werena mair than four at nicht.
"Ye 'ill hae the sympathy o' the Glen, for a' body kens yir as free
wi' yir siller as yir tracts.
"Wes't 'Beware o' gude warks' ye offered him? Man, ye chose it weel,
for he's been colleckin' sae mony thae forty years, a'm feared for
him.
"A've often thocht oor doctor's little better than the Gude
Samaritan, an' the Pharisees didna think muckle o' his chance aither
in this warld or that which is tae come."
II
THROUGH THE FLOOD
Doctor MacLure did not lead a solemn procession from the sick bed to
the dining-room, and give his opinion from the hearthrug with an air
of wisdom bordering on the supernatural, because neither the
Drumtochty houses nor his manners were on that large scale. He was
accustomed to deliver himself in the yard, and to conclude his
directions with one foot in the stirrup; but when he left the room
where the life of Annie Mitchell was ebbing slowly away, our doctor
said not one word, and at the sight of his face her husband's heart
was troubled.
He was a dull man, Tammas, who could not read the meaning of a sign,
and laboured under a perpetual disability of speech; but love was
eyes to him that day, and a mouth.
"Is't as bad as yir lookin', doctor? tell's the truth; wull Annie no
come through?" and Tammas looked MacLure straight in the face, who
never flinched his duty or said smooth things.
"A' wud gie onything tae say Annie hes a chance, but a' daurna; a'
doot yir gaein' tae lose her, Tammas."
MacLure was in the saddle, and as he gave his judgment, he laid his
hand on Tammas's shoulder with one of the rare caresses that pass
between men.
"It's a sair business, but ye 'ill play the man and no vex Annie;
she 'ill dae her best, a'll warrant."
"An' a'll dae mine," and Tammas gave MacLure's hand a grip that
would have crushed the bones of a weakling. Drumtochty felt in such
moments the brotherliness of this rough-looking man, and loved him.
Tammas hid his face in Jess's mane, who looked round with sorrow in
her beautiful eyes, for she had seen many tragedies, and in this
silent sympathy the stricken man drank his cup, drop by drop.
"A' wesna prepared for this, for a' aye thocht she wud live the
langest.... She's younger than me by ten years, and never wes
ill.... We've been mairit twal year laist Martinmas, but its juist
like a year the day.... A' wes never worthy o' her, the bonniest,
snoddest (neatest), kindliest lass in the Glen.... A' never cud mak
oot hoo she ever lookit at me, 'at hesna hed ae word tae say aboot
her till it's ower late.... She didna cuist up tae me that a' wesna
worthy o' her, no her, but aye she said, 'Yir ma ain gudeman, and
nane cud be kinder tae me.'... An' a' wes minded tae be kind, but a'
see noo mony little trokes a' micht hae dune for her, and noo the
time is bye.... Naebody kens hoo patient she wes wi' me, and aye
made the best o' me, an' never pit me tae shame afore the fouk....
An' we never hed ae cross word, no ane in twal year.... We were mair
nor man and wife, we were sweethearts a' the time.... Oh, ma bonnie
lass, what 'ill the bairnies an' me dae withoot ye, Annie?"
The winter night was falling fast, the snow lay deep upon the
ground, and the merciless north wind moaned through the close as
Tammas wrestled with his sorrow dry-eyed, for tears were denied
Drumtochty men. Neither the doctor nor Jess moved hand or foot, but
their hearts were with their fellow creature, and at length the
doctor made a sign to Marget Howe, who had come out in search of
Tammas, and now stood by his side.
"Dinna mourn tae the brakin' o' yir hert, Tammas," she said, "as if
Annie an' you hed never luved. Neither death nor time can pairt them
that luve; there's naethin' in a' the warld sae strong as luve. If
Annie gaes frae the sicht o' yir een she 'ill come the nearer tae
yir hert. She wants tae see ye, and tae hear ye say that ye 'ill
never forget her nicht nor day till ye meet in the land where
there's nae pairtin'. Oh, a' ken what a'm sayin', for it's five year
noo sin George gied awa, an' he's mair wi' me noo than when he wes
in Edinboro' and I wes in Drumtochty."
"Thank ye kindly, Marget; thae are gude words and true, an' ye hev
the richt tae say them; but a' canna dae without seein' Annie comin'
tae meet me in the gloamin', an' gaein' in an' oot the hoose, an'
hearin' her ca' me by ma name, an' a'll no can tell her that a' luve
her when there's nae Annie in the hoose.
"Can naethin' be dune, doctor? Ye savit Flora Cammil, and young
Burnbrae, an' yon shepherd's wife Dunleith wy, an' we were a sae
prood o' ye, an' pleased tae think that ye hed keepit deith frae
anither hame. Can ye no think o' somethin' tae help Annie, and gie
her back tae her man and bairnies?" and Tammas searched the doctor's
face in the cold, weird light.
"There's nae pooer in heaven or airth like luve," Marget said to me
afterwards; "it maks the weak strong and the dumb tae speak. Oor
herts were as water afore Tammas's words, an' a' saw the doctor
shake in his saddle. A' never kent till that meenut hoo he hed a
share in a'body's grief, an' carried the heaviest wecht o' a' the
Glen. A' peetied him wi' Tammas lookin' at him sae wistfully, as if
he hed the keys o' life an' deith in his hands. But he wes honest,
and wudna hold oot a false houp tae deceive a sore hert or win
escape for himsel'."
"Ye needna plead wi' me, Tammas, to dae the best a' can for yir
wife. Man, a' kent her lang afore ye ever luved her; a' brocht her
intae the warld, and a' saw her through the fever when she wes a bit
lassikie; a' closed her mither's een, and it wes me hed tae tell her
she wes an orphan, an' nae man wes better pleased when she got a
gude husband, and a' helpit her wi' her fower bairns. A've naither
wife nor bairns o' ma own, an' a coont a' the fouk o' the Glen ma
family. Div ye think a' wudna save Annie if I cud? If there wes a
man in Muirtown 'at cud dae mair for her, a'd have him this verra
nicht, but a' the doctors in Perthshire are helpless for this
tribble.
"Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail, a' tell ye a' wud lay
doon this auld worn-oot ruckle o' a body o' mine juist tae see ye
baith sittin' at the fireside, an' the bairns roond ye, couthy an'
canty again; but it's no tae be, Tammas, it's no tae be."
"When a' lookit at the doctor's face," Marget said, "a' thocht him
the winsomest man a' ever saw. He wes transfigured that nicht, for
a'm judging there's nae transfiguration like luve."
"It's God's wull an' maun be borne, but it's a sair wull for me, an'
a'm no ungratefu' tae you, doctor, for a' ye've dune and what ye
said the nicht," and Tammas went back to sit with Annie for the last
time.
Jess picked her way through the deep snow to the main road, with a
skill that came of long experience, and the doctor held converse
with her according to his wont.
"Eh, Jess wumman, yon wes the hardest wark a' hae tae face, and a'
wud raither hae ta'en ma chance o' anither row in a Glen Urtach
drift than tell Tammas Mitchell his wife wes deein'.
"A' said she cudna be cured, and it wes true, for there's juist ae
man in the land fit for't, and they micht as weel try tae get the
mune oot o' heaven. Sae a' said naethin' tae vex Tammas's hert, for
it's heavy eneuch withoot regrets.
"But it's hard, Jess, that money wull buy life after a', an' if
Annie wes a duchess her man wudna lose her; but bein' only a puir
cottar's wife, she maun dee afore the week's oot.
"Gin we hed him the morn there's little doot she wud be saved, for
he hesna lost mair than five per cent, o' his cases, and they 'ill
be puir toon's craturs, no strappin' women like Annie.
"It's oot o' the question, Jess, sae hurry up, lass, for we've hed a
heavy day. But it wud be the grandest thing that was ever dune in
the Glen in oor time if it could be managed by hook or crook.
"We 'ill gang and see Drumsheugh, Jess; he's anither man sin'
Geordie Hoo's deith, and he wes aye kinder than fouk kent;" and the
doctor passed at a gallop through the village, whose lights shone
across the white frost-bound road.
"Come in by, doctor; a' heard ye on the road; ye 'ill hae been at
Tammas Mitchell's; hoo's the gudewife? a' doot she's sober."
"Annie's deein', Drumsheugh, an' Tammas is like tae brak his hert."
"That's no lichtsome, doctor, no lichtsome ava, for a' dinna ken ony
man in Drumtochty sae bund up in his wife as Tammas, and there's no
a bonnier wumman o' her age crosses oor kirk door than Annie, nor a
cleverer at her wark. Man, ye 'ill need tae pit yir brains in steep.
Is she clean beyond ye?"
"Beyond me and every ither in the land but ane, and it wud cost a
hundred guineas tae bring him tae Drumtochty."
"Certes, he's no blate; it's a fell chairge for a short day's work;
but hundred or no hundred we 'ill hae him, an' no let Annie gang,
and her no half her years."
"Are ye meanin' it, Drumsheugh?" and MacLure turned white below the
tan.
"William MacLure," said Drumsheugh, in one of the few confidences
that ever broke the Drumtochty reserve, "a'm a lonely man, wi'
naebody o' ma ain blude tae care for me livin', or tae lift me intae
ma coffin when a'm deid.
"A' fecht awa at Muirtown market for an extra pund on a beast, or a
shillin' on the quarter o' barley, an' what's the gude o't? Burnbrae
gaes aff tae get a goon for his wife or a buke for his college
laddie, an' Lachlan Campbell 'ill no leave the place noo withoot a
ribbon for Flora.
"Ilka man in the Kildrummie train has some bit fairin' in his pooch
for the fouk at hame that he's bocht wi' the siller he won.
"But there's naebody tae be lookin' oot for me, an' comin' doon the
road tae meet me, and daffin' (joking) wi' me aboot their fairing,
or feeling ma pockets. Ou ay, a've seen it a' at ither hooses,
though they tried tae hide it frae me for fear a' wud lauch at them.
Me lauch, wi' ma cauld, empty hame!
"Yir the only man kens, Weelum, that I aince luved the noblest
wumman in the glen or onywhere, an' a' luve her still, but wi'
anither luve noo.
"She hed given her heart tae anither, or a've thocht a' micht hae
won her, though nae man be worthy o' sic a gift. Ma hert turned tae
bitterness, but that passed awa beside the brier bush whar George
Hoo lay yon sad simmer time. Some day a'll tell ye ma story, Weelum,
for you an' me are auld freends, and will be till we dee."
MacLure felt beneath the table for Drumsheugh's hand, but neither
man looked at the other.
"Weel, a' we can dae noo, Weelum, gin we haena mickle brichtness in
oor ain hames, is tae keep the licht frae gaein' oot in anither
hoose. Write the telegram, man, and Sandy 'ill send it aff frae
Kildrurnmie this verra nicht, and ye 'ill hae yir man the morn."
"Yir the man a' coonted ye, Drumsheugh, but ye 'ill grant me ae
favour. Ye 'ill lat me pay the half, bit by bit--a' ken yir wullin'
tae dae't a',--but a' haena mony pleesures, an' a' wud like tae hae
ma ain share in savin' Annie's life."
Next morning a figure received Sir George on the Kildrummie
platform, whom that famous surgeon took for a gillie, but who
introduced himself as "MacLure of Drumtochty." It seemed as if the
East had come to meet the West when these two stood together, the
one in travelling furs, handsome and distinguished, with his strong,
cultured face and carriage of authority, a characteristic type of
his profession; and the other more marvellously dressed than ever,
for Drumsheugh's topcoat had been forced upon him for the occasion,
his face and neck one redness with the bitter cold; rough and
ungainly, yet not without some signs of power in his eye and voice,
the most heroic type of his noble profession. MacLure compassed the
precious arrival with observances till he was securely seated in
Drumsheugh's dogcart--a vehicle that lent itself to history--with
two full-sized plaids added to his equipment--Drumsheugh and
Hillocks had both been requisitioned--and MacLure wrapped another
plaid round a leather case, which was placed below the seat with
such reverence as might be given to the Queen's regalia. Peter
attended their departure full of interest, and as soon as they were
in the fir woods MacLure explained that it would be an eventful
journey.
"It's a' richt in here, for the wind disna get at the snaw, but the
drifts are deep in the Glen, and th'ill be some engineerin' afore we
get tae oor destination."
Four times they left the road and took their way over fields, twice
they forced a passage through a slap in a dyke, thrice they used
gaps in the paling which MacLure had made on his downward journey.
"A' seleckit the road this mornin', an' a' ken the depth tae an
inch; we 'ill get through this steadin' here tae the main road, but
oor worst job 'ill be crossin' the Tochty.
"Ye see the bridge hes been shakin' wi' this winter's flood, and we
daurna venture on it, sae we hev tae ford, and the snaw's been
melting up Urtach way. There's nae doot the water's gey big, and
it's threatenin' tae rise, but we 'ill win through wi' a warstle.
"It micht be safer tae lift the instruments oot o' reach o' the
water; wud ye mind haddin' them on yir knee till we're ower, an'
keep firm in yir seat in case we come on a stane in the bed o' the
river."