HOW I RODE TO THE SOUTH
The night was full of wind, light spring airs, which rustled and
whistled down every street and brought a promise of the hills and the
green country. The stars winked and sparkled above me, but I had no mind
to them or aught else save a grey house in a wood, and a girl sitting
there with a heavy heart. 'Faith, my own was heavy enough as I led
Maisie through the West Vennel, shunning all but the darkest streets,
for I knew not when I might be challenged and recognised, losing my way
often, but nearing always to the outskirts of the town. Children
brawled on the pavement, lights twinkled from window and doorway, the
smell of supper came out of chink and cranny. But such things were not
for me, and soon I was past all, and near the hamlet of Liberton and the
highway to Tweeddale.
Now there was safety for me to mount, and it was blessed to feel the
life between my knees and the touch of my mare's neck. By good luck I
had found her saddled and bridled, as if some careless, rascally groom
had left her untouched since her arrival. But I would have cared little
had there been no equipment save a bridle-rope. I could guide a horse
on the darkest night by the sway of my body, and it was not for nothing
that I had scrambled bareback about the hills of Barns. Maisie took the
road with long, supple strides, as light and graceful as a bird. The
big mass of Pentland loomed black before me; then in a little it fell
over to the right as we advanced on our way. The little wayside
cottages went past like so many beehives; through hamlet and village we
clattered, waking the echoes of the place, but tarrying not a moment,
for the mare was mettlesome, and the rider had the best cause in the
world for his speed. Now this errand which seems so light, was, in
truth, the hardest and most perilous that could be found. For you are to
remember that I was a man proscribed and all but outlawed, that any
chance wayfarer might arrest me; and since in those troubled times any
rider was suspected, what was a man to say if he saw one dressed in
gentleman's apparel, riding a blood horse, coatless and hatless? Then,
more, all the way to Peebles lay through dangerous land, for it was the
road to the southwest and the Whigs of Galloway, and, since the Pentland
Rising, that part had been none of the quietest. Also it was my own
country, where I was a well-kenned man, known to near everyone, so what
might have been my safety in other times, was my danger in these. This,
too, was the road which my cousin Gilbert had travelled from Barns, and
well watched it was like to be if Gilbert had aught to do with the
matter. But the motion of my mare was so free, the air so fine, the
night so fair, and my own heart so passionate, that I declare I had
forgotten all about danger, and would have ridden down the High Street
of Edinburgh, if need had been, in my great absence of mind.
I was recalled to my senses by a sudden warning. A man on horseback
sprang out from the shelter of a plantation, and gripped my bridle. I
saw by the starlight the gleam of a pistol-barrel in his hand.
"Stop, man, stop! there's nae sic great hurry. You and me 'ill hae some
words. What hae ye in your pouches?"
Now I was unarmed, and the footpad before me was a man of considerable
stature and girth. I had some remnants of sense left in me, and I
foresaw that if I closed with him, besides the possibility of getting a
bullet in my heart, the contest would take much time, and would have an
uncertain ending. I was fairly at my wit's end what with hurry and
vexation, when the thought struck me that the law and military which I
dreaded, were also the terror of such men as this. I made up my mind to
throw myself on his mercy. Forbye, being a south-country man, the odds
were great that my name would be known to him.
"I have no money," I said, "for I came off this night hot-speed, with a
regiment of dragoons waiting behind me. I am the Laird of Barns, in
Tweeddale, and this day an outlaw and a masterless man. So I pray you
not to detain me, for there's nothing on me worth the picking. I have
not a groat of silver, and, as you see, I ride in my shirt."
"Are ye the Laird o' Barns?" said the man, staring. "Man, I never kent
it or I wadna hae been sae unceevil as to stop ye. Be sure that I'm wi'
ye, and sae are a' guid fellows that likena thae langnebbit dragoons and
thae meddlesome brocks o' lawyers in Embro. Gang your ways for me. But
stop, ye've nae airms. This 'ill never dae. Tak yin o' my pistols, for
I'll never miss it. And see, gin ye tak my advice and gin ye're gaun to
Barns, gang off the Peebles road at Leadburn, and haud doun by the
Brochtoun and Newlands ways, for a' the way atween Leadburn and Peebles
is hotchin' wi' sodgers and what-ye-may-ca'-thems. Guid e'en to ye, and
a safe journey." The man rode off and almost instantly was lost to my
sight; but his act gave me assurance that there was still some good left
in the world, though in the most unlikely places.
And now I saw before me the black woods of Rosslyn and Hawthornden, and
in the near distance the roofs of the clachan of Penicuik. There I knew
danger would await me, so taking a random turning to the right, I struck
towards the hills in the direction of Glencorse. The place was rough
and moory, and full of runlets of water, but Maisie was well used to
such land, for it was no worse than the haughs of Manor, and level turf
compared with the brow of the Deid Wife or the shoulder of Scrape. So
in a little, when the lights of Penicuik were well on the left, I came
to the Hawes Burn, which passes the Inn of Leadburn, and tracking it
downward, came to the bald white house which does duty for a hostel.
I dared not enter, though I was wofully thirsty, but kept straight on to
the crossroads where the two paths to Tweeddale part asunder. One--the
way by which I had gone when I set out on my travels--goes over the moor
and down by the springs of the Eddleston Water, through the village of
that name, and thence down the vale to Peebles. The other, longer and
more circuitous, cuts straight over the rough moorlands to the little
village of Newlands, then over much wild country to Kirkurd, and the
high hills which hem in the hamlet of Broughton, whence it is but five
miles to the house of Dawyck. It is a road which I have always hated as
being dismal and wild beyond any of my knowledge, but now I was glad to
be on it, for every step brought me nearer to my love.
The country, in the main, is desolate heather and bog, with here and
there a white cot-house where dwells a shepherd. Of late I hear that
many trees have been planted and the bogs are being drained, but at the
time I speak of, all was still in its virginal wildness. The road, by a
good chance, is dry and easy to find, else there had been difficulties
awaiting me. The night was clear and sharp, and a bright moon made the
path as plain as daylight. I found time to curse that moon whenever I
neared human dwellings, and to bless it heartily when I was in the
desert morasses again.
In a little I saw a hilltop which, by its broad, flat shape I knew for
the Black Mount, which lies above the village of Dolphinton on the way
to the west country. This is a landmark of great note in the
countryside, and now I could guess my whereabouts. I made out that I
must be scarce two miles from the jumble of houses lining the highway
which is named Kirkurd, at which spot the road fords the deep, sullen
stream of Tarth. Now this same Tarth a little way down flows into the
Lyne, which enters Tweed almost opposite the house of Barns. At other
times I had ridden the path down its side, for it is many miles the
shorter way. But I knew well that Barns would be watched like the
courtyard of the Parliament House, and I durst not for my life venture
near it. I deemed it unprofitable to run the risk of capture for the
sake of an hour or two saved. So after passing Kirkurd, I held straight
on over the black moors which lie towards the watershed of the Broughton
burn.
Now by good luck I had dismounted just after the bridge and buckled
Maisie's girth tight and eased the saddle, for I suspected that now I
was entering the more dangerous country. The issue showed that I had
guessed rightly, for just at the sharp turn of the road over the Hell's
Cleuch burn, I came near to my end. I was riding carelessly at a rapid
pace through the thick wood of pines which cloaks the turn, when
suddenly, ere ever I knew, I was into the middle of a detachment of
horse riding leisurely in the sime direction.
I do not well know how I acted, save that my pistol went off in the
mellay, and I saw a man clap his hand to his shoulder in a vast hurry
and swear freely. Half a dozen hands were stretched to my bridle, half a
dozen pistols covered me at once. Now I had no leave to use my hands,
my pistol I had fired, so I was wholly at their mercy. What happened I
can only guess, for I was in too great a flurry to have any clear
remembrance of the thing. I was conscious of striking one man fiercely
on the cheek with my empty pistol, and of kicking another on the shins
with all my might. But my sudden appearance had startled the horses so
thoroughly that all the soldiers' time was taken up in curbing them, so
they had no leisure to take aim at me. A dozen shots cracked around me,
all going high into the air, and in a second I was through them and on
the highroad beyond, some twenty paces in advance.
But by this time they were getting their horses under, and I felt that
there was no time to be lost if I wished to see many more days on the
earth. I patted Maisie's neck, which to a beast of her spirit was the
best encouragement, and set myself to a race for life. I kicked off my
great boots to ease her, and then, leaning forward, began the trial of
speed. Behind me I heard shouting and the beat of horses getting into
their stride. Before me was the long, thin highway, and black hills,
and endless peatmosses. I had half a mind to leave the road and ride
for the hills, where I made sure no man of them could ever follow me.
But I reflected that this would shut for me the way to Dawyck, and I
should have to lie hid in these regions for weeks, for when my path was
once seen they would guard it more closely. My only chance was to
outstrip them and so keep the country open before me.
Now began the most terrible and desperate race that I was ever engaged
in. I had tried my cousin Gilbert and beaten him on the side of Scrape;
now his men were taking revenge for that episode in good earnest. At
this time I was no more than out of pistol shot, and though I kept this
interval, and all their balls fell short, it was an unpleasing thing to
be riding with shots behind you, any one of which, for all you knew,
might lodge in your spine. So I strained every nerve to increase the
distance.
Maisie responded gallantly to my call. I felt her long, supple swing
below me and the gathering of her limbs. I began to glory in the
exhilaration of the thing, and my spirits rose at a bound. The keen,
cool air blew about my face, the moonlight danced on the mare's neck,
and the way in front was a long strip of light. Sometimes I could not
tell whether or not I was dreaming. Sometimes I thought I was back in
Holland asleep in the garden, and that all this shifting pageant of
light and scenery, these cries and shots behind, and this long, measured
fall of hooves were but the process of a dream. I experienced the most
acute enjoyment, for all heavy cares for the future were driven away by
the excitement of the chase. It was glorious, I thought, and I cared
not a straw for the loss of place and fortune if the free life of the
open air and the hills was to be mine. It was war to the hilt between
my cousin and myself; both had flung away the scabbards; but I would
master him yet and show him which was the better man. He should learn
that John Burnet was never so strong as when he was most sorely pressed.
But this braggadocio exhilaration soon passed, and in its place came
some measure of forethought. I reflected that though I might distance
my pursuers and win to Dawyck, I would surely be tracked, and so bring
misfortune on my mistress and myself. I had as yet no clear plans for
the future. I had already all but burned my boats, for this night's
work was like to get me into trouble on its own account. The wild
notion of fleeing to the hills and trusting to God for the rest
commended itself to me more and more. But one thing I must do--abide at
Dawyck till such time as Nicol should be able to join me. I had the
most perfect trust in him; I had proved him a hundred times, and I knew
well that if mortal man could do aught to mend my fortunes, he could do
it. So with this thought I matured a plan for the present. I must put
forth all my speed and win clean away from my pursuers. Now at
Broughton there was an inn, where abode an honest man, one Joshua
Watson, who had oft had dealings with me in the past. He was an old
retainer of my house, and I knew that he would see his roof and gear in
a blaze before his eyes ere he would see any harm come to a laird of
Barns. To him I purposed to go and hide till the dragoons had passed.
They had not recognised me, I knew, for they were not men of our
countryside; and if left to themselves, would keep the highway to
Moffat, and have never a thought of turning aside into Tweeddale.
I whispered something to Maisie, and the good mare set herself to the
task. She was still unjaded, for I had used her to long wanderings, and
she had not forgotten the lesson. I listened to her steady, rhythmical
breath and the measured beat of her hooves, and I thanked Heaven that I
had chanced on her. At first they were maybe an eighth of a mile
behind. Soon the distance increased, little by little at first, then by
more and more as my mare got into her long gallop and their coarse
beasts began to tire. We passed the little lonely cot of Lochurd,
nestling under great green hills where the sheep bleat and the plovers
cry alway. Then on by the lonely bog where men came once to dig marl
and left a monstrous wide pit, filled with black water and with no
bottom. I paused for a second to let Maisie drink from a burn which
comes down from the Mount Hill. Soon we were at the turning where the
road to Biggar and the West goes off from the highway. Here I stopped
to listen for a moment. Far off and faint I heard the noise of my
pursuers, and judged they were near a mile distant. Then off again; and
now the road inclines downward, and as one rises over the crest of brae,
which the shepherds call the Ruchill End, there bursts on the sight all
the vast circle of hills, crowded and piled together, which marks the
course of Tweed. Down the little glen of Broughton I rode, while the
burn made music by the highway, and it was hard to think that death
awaited a little behind. Soon the moors sank into fields, trees and
cottages appeared, a great stone mill rose by the water, and I clattered
into the village of Broughton.
The place was asleep, and, as I drew up at the inn, but one light was
apparent. I hammered rudely at the door till the landlord came, sleepy
and yawning, and bearing a candle in his hand. At the sight of me he
started, for my danger was known over all Tweeddale. In a few words I
told him of my pursuit and my request. He was a man of sparing speech,
and, saying nothing, he led me to the barn and showed me a hole in a
great bank of straw. Maisie he took to the stable. "Ha'e nae fear," he
said. "Trust me, I'll settle the hash o' thae gentry."
Sure enough, I had not been two minutes in the place when I heard voices
and the sound of horses, and creeping to the narrow, unglazed window,
saw the dragoons draw up at the inn-door. Much shouting brought down
the landlord, who made a great show of weariness, and looked like one
just aroused from sleep.
"Heard you or saw you any man pass on horseback about five minutes
syne?" they asked.
"I daresay I did," said he. "At ony rate, I heard the sound o' a horse,
and it's verra likely it was on the Moffat road. There's a hantle o'
folk pass by here at a' 'oors."
"Ye're sure he didna come in here?" they said again. "We'll search the
house to see."
"Weel," said the landlord, "ye can dae as ye like, but it seems a gey
fule's errand. I tell ye it's lang past midnight, and we've a' been
asleep here, and naebody could hae gotten in unless I had opened the
door, for I hae a' the keys. But come and look, gentlemen, and I'll
fetch ye some yill."
They drank the ale, and then seemed to think better of their purpose,
for they remounted. "He'll be aff to the hills at the heid o' Tweed,"
they said. "He would never, gin he had ony sense, gang doun Tweeddale,
where there's nae hiding for man or beast." So with many wanton oaths
they set off again at a lazy gallop.