I RUN A NARROW ESCAPE FOR MY LIFE
This was in April, and now the summer began to grow over the land. The
days grew longer and the air more mild, the flowers came out on the
hills, little mountain pansies and eyebright and whortleberry, and the
first early bells of the heath; the birds reared their young and the air
was all filled with the cries of them; and in the streams the trout grew
full-fleshed and strong.
And all through these days I lay close hid in the wilds, now in one
place, now in another, never wandering far from Tweeddale. My first
hiding was in a narrow glen at the head of the Polmood Burn in a place
called Glenhurn. It was dark and lonesome, but at first the pursuit was
hot after me and I had no choice in the matter. I lived ill on the fish
of the burn and the eggs of wildfowl, with what meal I got from a
shepherd's house at the burn foot. These were days of great
contemplation, of long hours spent on my back in the little glen of
heather, looking up to the summer sky and watching the great clouds
fleeting athwart it. No sound came to disturb me, I had few cares to
vex me; it was like that highest state of being which Plotinus spoke of,
when one is cumbered not with the toils of living. Here I had much
grave communing with myself on the course of my life, now thinking upon
it with approval, now much concerned at its futility. I had three very
warring moods of mind. One was that of the scholar, who would flee from
the roughness of life. This came upon me when I thought of the
degradation of living thus in hiding, of sorting with unlettered men, of
having no thoughts above keeping body and soul together. The second was
that of my father's son, whose pride abhorred to flee before any man and
hide in waste places from low-born soldiers and suffer others to devour
my patrimony. But the third was the best, and that which I ever sought
to keep with me. It was that of the gentleman and cavalier who had a
wide, good-humoured outlook upon the world, who cared not for houses and
lands, but sought above all things to guard his honour and love. When
this was on me I laughed loud at all my misfortunes, and felt brave to
meet whatever might come with a light heart.
In this place I abode till near the middle of the month of June. Twice
I had gone to the cairn on Caerdon and left a letter, which I wrote with
vast difficulty on fragments of paper which I had brought with me, and
received in turn Marjory's news. She was well and in cheerful spirits,
though always longing for my return. The days passed easily in
Smitwood, and as none came there she was the better hidden. I wrote my
answers to these letters with great delight of mind, albeit much
hardship. The ink in the inkhorn which I had always carried with me
soon became dry, and my pen, which I shaped from a curlew's feather, was
never of the best. Then after the writing came the long journey,
crouching in thickets, creeping timorously across the open spaces,
running for dear life down the hill-slopes, until I came at length to
the cairn on Caerdon, and hid the letter 'neath the grey stones.
But about mid June I bethought me that I had stayed long enough in that
lonely place and resolved to move my camp. For one thing I wished to
get nearer Barns, that I might be within reach of my house for such
provisions as I required. Also there were signs that the place was no
longer safe. Several times of late I had heard the voice of soldiers on
the moors above my hiding, and at any moment a chance dragoon might
stray down the ravine. So late one evening about midsummer I bade adieu
to the dark Glenhurn, and took off across the wild hills to the lower
vale of Tweed.
The place I chose was just at the back of Scrape, between that mountain
and a wild height called the Pyke-stone hill. It was a stretch of
moss-hags and rough heather, dry as tinder at this time, but, as I well
knew, in late autumn and winter a treacherous flow. Thither I had been
wont to go to the duck-shooting in the months of November and February,
when great flocks of mallard and teal settled among the pools. Then one
has to look well to his feet, for if he press on eager and unthinking,
he is like to find himself up to the armpits. But if he know the way of
the thing, and walk only on the tufted rushes and strips of black peat,
he may take the finest sport that I know of. Here then I came, for the
place was high and lonesome, and with a few paces I could come to the
top of the Little Scrape and see the whole vale of Tweed from
Drummelzier to Neidpath. I had the less fear of capture, for the place
was almost impassable for horses; also it was too near the house of
Barns to be directly suspected, and the country below it was still loyal
and with no taint of whiggery.
Here then I settled myself, and made a comfortable abode in a dry
burn-channel, overarched with long heather. The weather was unusually
warm and dry, the streams were worn to a narrow thread of silver
trickling among grey stones, and the hot sun blazed from morn to night
in a cloudless sky. The life, on the whole, was very pleasing. There
was cold water from a mossy well hard by when I was thirsty. As for
food, I made at once an expedition to the nearest cottage on my lands,
where dwelt one Robin Sandilands, who straightway supplied all my needs
and gave me much useful information to boot. Afterwards he came every
second day to a certain part of the hill with food, which he left there
for me to take at my convenience. Hence the fare was something better
than I had had in my previous hiding-place. Also it was a cheerful
life. Up there on the great flat hill-top, with nothing around me but
the sky and the measureless air, with no noises in my ear but the
whistle of hill-birds, with no view save great shoulders of mountain,
the mind was raised to something higher and freer than of old. Earthly
troubles and little squabbles and jealousies seemed of less account.
The more than Catonian gravity of these solemn uplands put to flight all
pettiness and small ambition. It has been an immemorial practice in our
borderland that those of ruined fortunes, broken men, should take to the
hills for concealment, if need be, and in any case for satisfaction.
Verily twelve months of that pure air would make a gentleman of a knave,
and a hero of the most sordid trader.
However, ere June had merged in July, I found myself in want of some
companion to cheer my solitude. I would have given much for some
like-minded fellow-wayfarer, but since that might not be had I was fain
to content myself with a copy of Plotinus, which I had got with all the
difficulty in the world from the house of Barns. It happened on a warm
afternoon, when, as I lay meditating as was my wont in the heather, a
great desire came upon me for some book to read in. Nothing would do
but that I must straightway set out for Barns at the imminent peril of
my own worthless life. It was broad daylight; men were working in the
fields at the hay; travellers were passing on the highway; and for all I
knew soldiers were in the house. But with a mad recklessness I ventured
on the quest, and, entering the house boldly, made my way to the library
and was choosing books. Then I was startled by the noise of approaching
steps, and seizing hastily the first volume I could lay hands on, set
off for the hills at the top of my speed. The visit had renewed old
recollections, and I spent a bitter evening reflecting upon my altered
position.
But toward the end of August, when the nights grew longer and the
sunsets stormy, a change came over the weather. The Lammas floods first
broke the spell of the drought, and for three clear days the rain fell
in torrents, while I lay in my hole, cold and shivering. These were
days of suffering and hunger, though I shrink from writing of them and
have never told them to anyone. On the fourth I made an incursion down
to my own lands to the cottage of my ally. There I heard evil news.
The soldiers had come oftener than of late and the hunt had been
renewed. The reward on my head had been doubled, and with much sorrow I
had the news that the miller of Holmes Mill had been taken and carried
to Edinburgh. In these dim grey days my courage fell, and it took all
the consolations of philosophy, all my breeding and manly upbringing to
keep up my heart. Also it became more difficult to go at the three
weeks' end to the cairn on Caerdon with the letter for Marjory.
It was, as far as I remember, for I did not keep good count, on the
second day of September, that I set out for Caerdon on my wonted errand.
I had had word from Robin Sandilands that the countryside was perilous;
but better, I thought, that I should run into danger than that my lady
should have any care on my account. So I clapped the written letter in
my pocket and set out over the hills in a fine storm of wind.
I went down the little burn of Scrape, which flows into Powsail about a
mile above the village of Drummelzier. Had I dared I would have crossed
the low lands just above the village, and forded Tweed at Merlin's
Grave, and so won to Caerdon by Rachan and Broughton. But now it
behooved me to be cautious, so I kept straight over the hills; and,
striking the source of a stream called Hopecarton, followed it to where
it joined the river in the Mossfennan haughs. All the time the wind
whistled in my teeth and the sharpest of showers bit into my skin. I
was soon soaked to the bone, for which I cared very little, but pushed
steadfastly on through the rapidly-rising waters of Tweed, and scrambled
up the back of the Wormel. Here it was stiff work, and my legs ached
mightily ere I reached the top and flung myself on the damp heather to
spy out the Holmes valley.
All seemed quiet. The stream, now changed from its clearness to a muddy
brown, was rolling on its way though the fields of stubble. The few
houses smoked in peace. The narrow road was empty of travellers....
Without hesitation I ran down the slopes, caring not to look
circumspectly to the left and right....
I had not run far till something before me brought me to a halt and sent
me flat among the grass. Just below the house of Quarter, coming from
the cover of the trees, were half a score of soldiers.
My first thought was to turn back and give up the project. My second,
to go forward and find a way to cross the valley. Happily the foliage
was still there, the heath was still long, the grass was dense: a man
might succeed in crossing under cover.
With a beating heart I crawled through the heather to the rushes beside
a little stream. This I followed, slowly, painfully, down to the
valley, looking sharply at every bare spot, and running for dear life
when under cover of bank or brae. By and by I struck the road, and
raised myself for a look. All was quiet. There was no sign of any man
about, nothing but the beating of the rain and the ceaseless wind. It
was possible that they had gone down the vale, and were by this time out
of sight. Or maybe they had gone up the water on their way to the moors
of Clyde. Or still again they might have gone back to the house of
Quarter, which they doubtless loved better than the rainy out-of-doors.
In any case they were not there, and nothing hindered me from making a
bold sally across the open.
I rose and ran through the corn-field, cleaving my way amid the thick
stubble. The heavy moisture clung to my soaked clothes and the sweat
ran over my face and neck, but I held straight on till I gained the
drystone dyke at the other side and scrambled across it. Here I fell
into the stream and was soaked again, but the place was not deep and I
was soon through. Now I was direct beneath the house, but somewhat
under the cover of the trees; and still there was no sign of man and
beast. I began to think that after all my eyes had deceived me, and
taken nowt for dragoons. Such a trick was not impossible; I had found
it happen before at the winter's shooting. With this pleasing hope I
straightened my back and ran more boldly up the planting's side till I
gained the moorlands above. Here I paused for a second to enjoy my
success and look back upon the house.
Suddenly something cracked in the thicket, and a voice behind me cried,
"Stop. Gang another step and I fire." So the cup of safety was dashed
from my lips at the very moment of tasting it.
I did not obey, but dashed forward to the high moors with all my speed.
It was conceivable that the men were unmounted and their horses stabled,
in which case I might get something of a lead. If not, I should very
soon know by the clear convincing proof of a shot in my body.
My guess was right, and it was some little time ere I heard the cries of
pursuers behind me. I had made straight for the top of the ridge where
the ground was rough for horses, and I knew that they could not follow
me with any speed. I was aye a swift runner, having been made long and
thin in the shanks and somewhat deep-chested. I had often raced on the
lawn at Barns with my cousin for some trifling prize. Now I ran with him
again, but for the prize of my own life.
I cannot tell of that race, and to this day the thought of it makes my
breath go faster. I only know that I leaped and stumbled and ploughed
my way over the hillside, sobbing with weariness and with my heart
almost bursting my ribs. I never once looked behind, but I could
measure the distance by the sound of their cries. The great, calm face
of Caerdon was always before me, mocking my hurry and feebleness. If I
could but gain the ridge of it, I might find safety in one of the deep
gullies. Now I had hope, now I had lost it and given myself up for as
good as dead. But still I kept on, being unwilling that anyone should
see me yield, and resolving that if I needs must die I would stave it
off as long as might be.
In the end, after hours--or was it minutes?--I reached the crest and
crawled down the other side. They were still some distance behind and
labouring heavily. Near me was a little ravine down which a slender
trickle of flood-water fell in a long cascade. I plunged down it, and
coming to a shelter of overlapping rock crawled far in below, and
thanked God for my present safety.
Then I remembered my errand and my letter. I clapped my hand to my
pocket to draw it forth. The place was empty--the letter was gone.
With a sickening horror I reflected that I had dropped it as I ran, and
that my enemies must have found it.