I returned from town by the night express, which landed me at Borrowmuir
about seven on the Friday morning. To my surprise there was no dog-cart
to meet me, as had been arranged, and I was compelled to hire from the
inn. The omission filled me with forebodings. Things must have gone
badly at More in my absence, or the careful Sybil would never have
forgotten. I grudged the time occupied in that weary drive. The horse
seemed intolerably slow, the roads unaccountably steep. It was a sharp
morning, with haze on the fields and promise of bright sunshine at
midday; but, tired as I was with my two days' journey, I was in the
humour to see little good in my case. I was thankful when we drew up at
the house-door, and, cold and stiff, I hobbled up the steps.
The door was open, and I entered. The hall was empty, there was no sign
of any servant, and all the doors were wide to the wall. I tried one
room after another without success. Then I made my voice heard in that
place. I shouted for Ladlaw, and then I shouted for Sybil. There came no
answer, and in despair I rushed to the kitchen wing. There I found a
cluster of frightened maids, and by dint of much questioning learned the
truth.
Ladlaw, it seemed, had disappeared from the house about a quarter-past
six on the previous night. The minister had decamped and found sanctuary
in the manse; but there was no trace of the other. Sybil had gone to
Morefoot in the afternoon, and, returning about half-past six, found
her husband gone. She had been distracted with anxiety, had gone to the
manse, where she found Mr Oliphant in a state of nervous collapse and
quite unable to make any coherent statement, and had then roused some of
the neighbouring shepherds and organised a search-party. They had
searched all night, but so far no word had come of the result.
Meanwhile, Sybil, utterly wearied and a little hysterical, was in bed,
sleeping, for her anxiety of the past week had culminated in a sort of
deep languor, which in the circumstances was the best thing that could
have happened. There was no question of wakening her; but, as I snatched
a hurried breakfast, it seemed to me that I must at once follow the
search. They were to meet in the morning at a farm called Mossrigging,
beneath a hill of the same name, and if I went there I might get word of
them. In the meantime I must interview Mr Oliphant.
I found him in bed, unshaven, and very hollow about the eyes. He told me
a lame story, and indeed his fright was so palpable that I had not the
heart to blame him. But I insisted that he should get up and come with
me, for every man would be needed to search those mossy uplands. I was
dog-tired, sleepy, and irritable, and yet I must go: why should not
this man, who had had his night's rest?
He made some feeble objection; but he had a conscience of his own and
rose obediently. We set out to the nearest part of the moor, he in his
clergyman's garb, and I in a dark suit and a bowler; and I remember
thinking how oddly unsuited was our dress for this stalking-game. I was
wretchedly anxious, for I liked Ladlaw, and God alone knew where he
might have got to in the night. There were deep bogs and ugly old
pit-shafts on the moor, and there were ravines with sheer red sides. At
any moment we might find tragedy, and I dreaded the report of the
searchers at Mossrigging. When we left the road, we followed an old
cart-track up a shallow glen, where stood some curious old stone
chimneys, which had been built by a speculator who hoped to make a
fortune from peat. The sun was beginning to break through the haze, and
miles of low moorland were disclosed to left and right. But the hills in
front were still cloudy, and we were close on the cottage before we knew
its whereabouts. It stood high in a crinkle of hill, with a wide
prospect north and east to the sea, and as I turned I saw Morebrig
smoking clear in the autumn light, and the chimneys of the House above
the fir-trees. Out on the waters three ships were sailing like
toy-boats, a reminder of the bustling modern life beyond this antique
place of horrors.
The house was full of men, devouring their morning porridge. They were
shepherds of the neighbourhood, and two boys from the village, as well
as John Ker, the head-keeper from More. One man, Robert Tod by name,
answered my unspoken question. "We havena gotten him, but we've gotten
his whereabouts. We got a glisk o' him about six this mornin' on the
backside o' the Lowe Moss. I kent him fine by the way he ran. Lord, but
he was souple! Nane o' us could come within a hunner yairds o' him.
We'll hae to wyse him gently, sir, and some o' us'll hae to tak a lang
cast round the hill."
I had no ambition to "tak a lang cast round the hill"; but these men had
been abroad all night, and I and the minister must undertake the duty.
Tod agreed to come with us, and the shaggy silent men of the party
expounded the plan of campaign. The Lowe Moss was impassable on one
side, on another bounded by a steep hill-shoulder, and on the others by
two narrow glens. They would watch the glens; we three should make a
circuit and come back over the hill, driving the fugitive before us.
Once enclosed between the moss and our three parties, he should be an
easy capture. I implored them to go to work gently, for I feared that he
might be driven into the bog. They shook their heads and laughed: it was
all a kind of crazy sport to them, and their one idea was to carry out
their orders.
I confess I was desperately tired before we had forded the upper waters
of the More, crossed the Redscaurhead, and looked over the green
pasture-lands to the south. It was a most curious sight; for whereas one
side of the range was rough and mossy and hideous with red scaurs, the
other was a gentle slope with sweet hill-grass and bright shallow
waters. It was a new country where the old curse could not reign, and an
idea took possession of me that if once Ladlaw came into the place he
would be healed of his malady. The air seemed clearer, the sky softer,
the whole world simple and clean. We fetched a circuit down one of the
little streams till we came to the back of the hill which on its face is
called Mossrigging. I was abominably tired, but in better spirits. As
for the minister, he groaned occasionally, but never spoke a word.
At the foot we separated to the distance of half a mile, and began the
ascent. So far there was no sign of our man. Tod was on the far east, I
was in the centre, and Mr Oliphant took the west. I cannot profess to
remember exactly all the incidents of that climb. I was too stupid with
sleep and exertion, and the little distant figures of my companions
danced in a kind of haze. The ascent was simple,--short grass, varied by
short heather, with at wide intervals a patch of shingle. The shepherd
walked with an easy swing, the minister stumbled and groaned, while I,
in sheer bravado and irritation at my weakness, kept up a kind of
despairing trot. The Devil and Ladlaw combined might confront me, but I
was too tired to care. Indeed, in a little I had forgotten all about the
purpose of our quest.
Then, quite suddenly, almost at the summit, in a little hollow of the
ridge, I saw our man. He was sitting on the ground, directly in the
minister's line, and his head was sunk on his breast. I remember being
taken with a horrid thought that he was dead, and quickened my trot to a
run. Meanwhile the minister was approaching very near, but apparently
quite unconscious of his presence. His eyes were in the ends of the
earth, and he ambled along with no purpose in the world.
What happened rests mainly on my authority; but Robert Tod, shepherd in
Nether Mossrigging, is ready to swear to the essentials. Mr Oliphant
stumbled on into the hollow till he was within ten yards of the sitting
figure. Ladlaw never moved; but the subtle influence which tells of
human presence came suddenly upon the minister's senses, for he lifted
his eyes and started. The man was still scared to death, and he
naturally turned to run away, when something happened which I cannot
well explain. Ladlaw was still sitting with his head on his breast, and
yet it was clear to my mind that Ladlaw had somehow risen and was
struggling with the minister. I could see the man's wrists strained and
twisted as if in a death-grapple, and his white face reddening with
exertion. He seemed to be held round the middle, for his feet tottered
several times, and once he lurched to the left side, so that I thought
he was thrown. And yet he was only battling with the air, for there was
Ladlaw sitting quietly some yards from him.
And then suddenly the contest seemed to cease. Mr Oliphant ran straight
past the sitting man and over the brow of the hill. Surprise had held
Tod and myself motionless. Now the spell was broken, and from our
several places we ran towards Ladlaw. I heard the shepherd's loud voice
crying, "Look at Oliphant! Oliphant's no wise!" and I thought I heard a
note of sardonic mirth. In any case, it was the minister he was after,
for a moment later he disappeared down the further slope.
Mr Oliphant might go where he pleased, but my business was with my
friend. I caught Ladlaw by the shoulder and shook him fiercely. Then I
pulled him to his feet, let him go, and he rolled over. The sight was so
comic that I went into a fit of nervous laughter; but the shock seemed
to have restored his wits, for he opened sleepy eyes and regarded me
solemnly. I do not propose to analyse my reasons, but I was conscious
that it was the old Ladlaw who was looking at me. I knew he was healed
of his malady, but how I knew it I do not know. He stuck both fists into
his eyes like a sleepy child. Then he yawned, and looked down ruefully
at soaked, soiled, and ragged clothing. Then he looked reproachfully at
me.
"What's up?" he asked. "Stop that hideous row and tell me what has
happened. Have I had an accident?"
Then I spoke cunningly. "Nothing much. A little bit of a fall, but
you'll be all right soon. Why, you look better already." And again I
went into a fit of laughter.
He grew wholesomely cross. "Oh, don't be a confounded jackass!" he
cried. "I feel as if I hadn't slept for a week, and I'm hungry and
thirsty."
He swallowed the contents of my flask, and wolfed my sandwiches in a
disgusting way. Then he proposed that we should go home. "I'm tired, and
I'm sick of shooting for the day. By the bye, where's my gun?"
"Broken," I said, "broken in the fall. The keeper is going to look after
it." And with the aid of my arm he began with feeble steps his homeward
journey.
* * * * * * *
The minister--this is the tale of Robert Tod and his colleagues--ran
down the precipitous part of Mossrigging like a thing inspired. Tod,
labouring heavily in his wake, declared that he went down the hillside
like a loose stone, slipping, stumbling, yet never altogether losing his
feet, and clearing dangers solely by the grace of God. As he went, said
the men, he made clutches at the air, and his face was the face of one
distraught. They ran together from their different places to intercept
him on the edge of the bog, for at first they thought he was Ladlaw.
When they saw their mistake they did not stop, for Tod was making
frantic signals for pursuit. John Ker, the More keeper, was nearest, and
he declared afterwards that he never approached a business so
unwillingly. "I wad hae grippit a wild stot or a daft staig suner nor
yon man," he said. But the business was too public for sheer cowardice.
John assaulted him on the left flank while the other attacked in front,
and John was bowled over like a ninepin. It was not the minister, he
said, but something else, something with an arm two yards long, which
flew out like a steam-hammer. But the others were more fortunate. One
caught Mr Oliphant's right arm, another hung on to the flaps of his
coat, while a third tripped him up gallantly, till the whole body of
them rolled on the ground. Then ensued an indescribable fray. Tod got a
black eye from some unknown source, and one of the boys lost several
front teeth. Howls of rage filled the moorland air, and all the while,
they declared, the minister was praying with an unction which was never
heard in the kirk. "Lord, give me peace!" he cried. "Lord, take the
thing away!" and then again, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"
The end came very suddenly, for the company rolled into the bog. The
minister, being lowest, saved the others, but he floundered in the green
slime up to his middle. The accident seemed to inspire sobriety. He
ceased his prayers, his face lost its horror, and took on a common human
fear. Then Tod and his friends laboured heroically to rescue him, and
all the while, they declared, something was pommelling them and bruising
them, and they showed four long black marks on their bodies. Slowly they
raised Mr Oliphant from the slough, and on a bridge of coats he crept
back to solid land. And then something happened which was the crowning
marvel of the business. It was a still sharp day; but suddenly there
came a wind, hot and harsh, and like nothing they had ever known. It
stung them like nettles, played for a moment in their midst, and then in
a kind of visible cloud passed away from them over the bog in the
direction of the Red Loch. And with the wind went the Thing which had so
long played havoc in the place; and the men were left with an unkempt
figure, coated with slime and shivering with fright, but once more the
sane and prosaic Mr Oliphant, the minister of the parish of More.
* * * * * * *
We got Ladlaw and the minister back to the house with much trouble, for
both were weak on their legs, and one was still in a pitiable fright.
The two kept eyeing each other, one with a sort of disgusted amusement,
the other with a wondering fear. The shepherds were mystified; but they
were matter-of-fact beings, who, having fulfilled their orders, gave no
more thought to the business. The wounded nursed their bruises and swore
cheerfully, and the boy with the broken teeth whistled his complaints. A
good dinner restored them to humour, and the last I saw was Ker and Tod
going over the Odyssey of their adventures to a circle of critical
spectators.
When Ladlaw and the minister had washed and fed, and sat smoking in the
library, I went to talk to Sybil. I have often wondered how much she
understood. At any rate she took my word that the trouble had passed,
and in a fit of tears thanked me for my labours. Then she said she would
go to her husband, and I led her to the library, where the two heroes
were smoking the pipe of peace.
Ladlaw greeted her cheerily as if nothing had happened. "I feel a bit
shaken," he said, "but I'll be all right after a night's rest. You
needn't be nervous, Sib. By the bye, Harry, where's that gun?"
Then he wandered round the room, casting an unfriendly eye on his new
acquisitions. "Look here! Somebody has been playing the fool in this
place. I can't see a single Badminton, and where did this stuff come
from?" And he tapped a row of books in old vellum. "I never remember the
things before. St Adelbert! Who on earth was he? Why, any one who came
in suddenly and did not know me might think I was a minor poet. I wish
you'd tell Harrison to clear all this truck away."
The minister sat by the fire and said nothing. The marvellous had
intruded upon his easy life and spoiled the balance. I was sorry for the
man as I thanked him in a low tone and asked how he felt.
The words came from between chattering teeth.
"I am getting b-better," he said, "but I have had a terrible
sh-shock.--I am a Christian man and I have been tempted. I thought we
lived in a progressive age, but now I know that we d-d-don't. And I am
going to write to Dr Rintoul."