THE BAILLIES OF NO MAN'S LAND
The next period in my life lies still in my mind like a dream. I have a
remembrance of awaking and an impression of light, and strange faces,
and then all was dark again. Of those days my memory is a blank; there
is nothing but a medley of sickness and weariness, light and blackness,
and the wild phantoms of a sick man's visions.
When I first awoke to clear consciousness, it was towards evening in a
wild glen just below the Devil's Beef Tub at the head of the Annan. I
had no knowledge where I was. All that I saw was a crowd of men and
women around me, a fire burning and a great pot hissing thereon. All
that I heard was a babel of every noise, from the discordant cries of
men to the yelping of a pack of curs. I was lying on a very soft couch
made of skins and cloaks in the shade of a little roughly-made tent.
Beyond I could see the bare hillsides rising shoulder on shoulder, and
the sting of air on my cheek told me that it was freezing hard. But I
was not cold, for the roaring fire made the place warm as a baker's
oven.
I lay still and wondered, casting my mind over all the events of the
past that I could remember. I was still giddy in the head, and the
effort made me close my eyes with weariness. Try as I would I could
think of nothing beyond my parting from Marjory at Smitwood. All the
events of my wanderings for the moment had gone from my mind.
By and by I grew a little stronger, and bit by bit the thing returned to
me. I remembered with great vividness the weary incidents of my flight,
even up to its end and my final sinking. But still the matter was no
clearer. I had been rescued, it was plain, but by whom, when, where,
why? I lay and puzzled over the thing with a curious mixture of
indifference and interest.
Suddenly a face looked in upon me, and a loud strident voice cried out
in a tongue which I scarce fully understood. The purport of its words
was that the sick man was awake and looking about him. In a minute the
babel was stilled, and I heard a woman's voice giving orders. Then some
one came to me with a basin of soup.
"Drink, lad," said she; "ye've had a geyan close escape but a' is richt
wi' ye noo. Tak this and see how ye feel."
The woman was tall and squarely built like a man; indeed, I cannot think
that she was under six feet. Her face struck me with astonishment, for I
had seen no woman for many a day since Marjory's fair face, and the
harsh commanding features of my nurse seemed doubly strange. For dress
she wore a black hat tied down over her ears with a 'kerchief, and
knotted in gipsy fashion beneath her chin. Her gown was of some
dark-blue camlet cloth, and so short that it scarce reached her knees,
though whether this fashion was meant for expedition in movement or
merely for display of gaudy stockings, I know not. Certainly her
stockings were monstrously fine, being of dark blue flowered with
scarlet thread, and her shoon were adorned with great buckles of silver.
Her outer petticoat was folded so as to make two large pockets on either
side, and in the bosom of her dress I saw a great clasp-knife.
I drank the soup, which was made of some wild herbs known only to the
gipsy folk, and lay back on my couch.
"Now, sleep a wee, lad," said the woman, "and I'll warrant ye'll be as
blithe the morn as ever."
I slept for some hours, and when I awoke sure enough I felt mightily
strengthened. It was now eventide and the camp-fire had been made
larger to cook the evening meal. As I looked forth I could see men
squatting around it, broiling each his own piece of meat in the ashes,
while several cauldrons sputtered and hissed on the chains. It was a
wild, bustling sight, and as I lay and watched I was not sorry that I
had fallen into such hands. For I ever loved to see new things and
strange ways, and now I was like to have my fill.
They brought me supper, a wild duck roasted and coarse home-made bread,
and a bottle of very tolerable wine, got I know not whence unless from
the cellars of some churlish laird. I ate it heartily, for I had fasted
long in my sickness, and now that I was recovered I had much to make up.
Then the woman returned and asked me how I did. I told her, "Well," and
thanked her for her care, asking her how I had been rescued and where I
was. And this was the tale she told me.
She was of the clan of the Baillies, the great gipsies of Tweeddale and
Clydesdale, offshoots of the house of Lamington, and proud as the devil
or John Faa himself. They had been encamped in the little haugh at the
foot of the Wormel on the night of my chase. They had heard a cry, and a
man with a face like death had staggered in among them and fainted at
their feet. Captain William Baillie, their leader, of whom more anon,
had often been well-entreated at Barns in my father's time, and had
heard of my misfortunes. He made a guess as to who I was and ordered
that I should be well looked after. Meantime the two companies of
soldiers passed by, suspecting nothing, and not troubling to look for
the object of their search, who all the while was lying senseless
beneath a gipsy tent. When all was safe they looked to my condition,
and found that I was in a raging fever with cold and fatigue. Now the
gipsies, especially those of our own countryside, are great adepts in
medicine, and they speedily had all remedies applied to me. For three
weeks I lay ill, delirious most of the time, and they bore me with them
in a litter in all their wanderings. I have heard of many strange
pieces of generosity, but of none more strange than this--to carry with
much difficulty a helpless stranger over some of the roughest land in
Scotland, and all for no other motive than sheer kindliness to a house
which had befriended them of old. With them I travelled over the wild
uplands of Eskdale and Ettrick, and with them I now returned to the
confines of Tweeddale.
"The Captain's awa' just noo," added she, "but he'll be back the morn,
and blithe he'll be to see ye so weel."
And she left me and I slept again till daybreak.
When I awoke again it was morning, just such a day as the last, frosty
and clear and bright. I saw by the bustle that the camp was making
preparations for starting, and I was so well recovered that I felt fit
to join them. I no longer needed to be borne like a child in a litter,
but could mount horse and ride with the best of them.
I had risen and gone out to the encampment and was watching the activity
of man and beast, when one advanced from the throng toward me. He was a
very tall, handsome man, dark in face as a Spaniard, with fine curling
moustachios. He wore a broad blue bonnet on his head, his coat was of
good green cloth and his small-clothes of black. At his side he carried
a sword and in his belt a brace of pistols, and save for a certain
foreign air in his appearance he seemed as fine a gentleman as one could
see in the land. He advanced to me and made me a very courtly bow,
which I returned as well as my still-aching back permitted me.
"I am glad you are recovered, Master John Burnet," said he, speaking
excellent English, though with the broad accent which is customary to
our Scots lowlands. "Permit me to make myself known to you. I have the
honour to be Captain William Baillie at your service, captain of the
ragged regiment and the Egyptian guards." All this he said with as fine
an air as if he were His Majesty's first general.
At the mention of his name I called to mind all I had heard of this
extraordinary man, the chief of all the south-country gipsies, and a
character as famous in those days and in those parts as Claverhouse or
my lord the King. He claimed to be a bastard of the house of Lamington,
and through his mother he traced descent, also by the wrong side of the
blanket, to the Gay Gordons themselves. Something of his assumed
gentrice showed in his air and manner, which was haughty and lofty as
any lord's in the land. But in his face, among wild passions and
unbridled desires, I read such shrewd kindliness that I found it in my
heart to like him. Indeed, while the tales of his crimes are hawked at
every fair, the tales of his many deeds of kindness are remembered in
lonely places by folk who have cause to bless the name of Baillie. This
same captain had indeed the manners of a prince, for when he bought
anything he was wont to give his purse in payment, and indignantly
refuse to receive change of any kind. It is only fair to add that the
money was not got by honest means, but by the plunder of the rich and
churlish. Yet though his ways were roguish his acts were often most
Christian-like and courteous, and there were worse men in higher places
that this William Baillie. More, he was reputed the best swordsman in
all Scotland, though, as being barred from the society of men of birth
and education, his marvellous talent was seldom seen. He was of the
most indomitable courage and self-possession, and even in the court,
when on his trial, he spoke fearlessly to his judges. I do not seek to
defend him; but to me and mine he did a good deed and I would seek to be
grateful. When long afterwards he was killed in a brawl in the alehouse
of Newarthill, I heard the tidings with some sorrow, for he died
bravely, though in an ignoble quarrel.
He now informed me with great civility of the incidents of my escape and
sickness. When I thanked him he waved me off with a great air.
"Tut, tut," said he, "that is a small matter between gentlefolk. I have
often had kindness from your father, and it is only seemly that I should
do my best for the son. Besides, it is not in my nature to see a man so
sore pressed by the soldiery and not seek to deliver him. It is a
predicament I have so often been in myself."
A horse was brought for me, a little wiry animal, well suited for hills
and sure-footed as a goat. When I felt myself in the saddle once again,
even though it were but a gipsy hallion, I was glad; for to one who has
scrambled on his own feet for so many days, a horse is something like an
earnest of better times. Captain Baillie bade me come with him to
another place, where he showed me a heap of gipsy garments. "It is
necessary," said he, "if you would ride with us that you change your
appearance. One of your figure riding among us would be too kenspeckle
to escape folk's notice. You must let me stain your face, too, with the
juice which we make for our bairns' cheeks. It will wash off when you
want it, but till that time it will be as fast as sunburn." So taking a
crow's feather and dipping it in a little phial, he with much skill
passed it over my whole face and hands. Then he held a mirror for me to
look, and lo and behold, I was as brown as a gipsy or a Barbary Moor. I
laughed loud and long at my appearance, and when I was bidden put on a
long green coat, the neighbour of the captain's, and a pair of stout
untanned riding-boots, I swear my appearance was as truculent as the
roughest tinker's.
Thus accoutred we set out, the men riding in front in pairs and threes,
the women behind with donkeys and baggage shelties. It was a queer
picture, for the clothing of all was bright-coloured, and formed a
strange contrast with the clear, chilly skies and the dim moor. There
was no fear of detection, for apart from the company that I was with, my
disguise was so complete that not even the most vigilant dragoon could
spy me out. Our road was that which I had already travelled often to my
own great weariness--down Tweed by Rachan and the Mossfennan haughs. I
had no guess at our destination; so when at Broughton we turned to the
westward and headed through the moss towards the town of Biggar, I was
not surprised. Nay, I was glad, for it brought me nearer to the west
country and Smitwood, whither I desired to go with the utmost speed.
For with my returning health my sorrows and cares came back to me more
fiercely than ever. It could not be that my cousin should find out
Marjory's dwelling-place at once, for in the letter there was no clear
information; only indefinite hints, which in time would bring him there.
The hope of my life was to reach the house before him and rescue my
love, though I had no fixed plan in my mind and would have been at a
sore loss for aid. Nevertheless, I was quieter in spirit, and more
hopeful. For, after all, thought I, though Gilbert get my lass, he yet
has me to deal with, and I will follow him to the world's end ere I let
him be.