Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried--
“Prepare ye all for blows and blood!
Wat Tinlinn, from the Liddle-side,
Comes wading through the flood.”
--_Lay of the Last Minstrel._
When our two road-companions left their pallets and returned to the
kitchen or main-room of the cottage, the goodwife was setting out
materials for breakfast. The windows were wide open, admitting the
fresh breath of dewy morn to purify and sweeten the atmosphere that
had pervaded the domicile during the night. Early as was the hour, the
village was astir for the labours and duties of the new day, and the
horn of the cowherd who was driving the “milky mothers” to the
pastures--the singing of birds--the cawing of rooks--and the ceaseless
babble of the burn--formed a medley of sounds right cheerful to hear.
With fair appetite our wayfarers attacked the viands spread before
them; but ere they had finished their repast a sudden clamouring of
tongues and a trampling of horses made them pause and listen. Am I
pursued? thought Eustace--or, as we shall now call him, Ruthven
Somervil--and he and his companion rose, and going to a window, saw a
band of armed troopers riding slowly through the village, their
appearance causing a general commotion among its denizens. But at the
first glance our hero satisfied himself that the strangers were not
retainers of Hawksglen.
The better to observe the party, Harthill and the old host went out to
the door, but Ruthven remained at the window. The horsemen were seven
in number, jackmen or retainers of Laird or Baron. All wore strong
leathern “jacks” or doublets; iron bascinet caps or round helmets with
cheek plates, but no visors; and heavy jack boots with large spurs.
They were armed, after the usual fashion, with spears, swords, and
daggers--the spears being of the enormous length of nearly six ells,
according to the regulation in the Act of the Scottish Parliament of
2nd April, 1481. The foremost rider, the apparent leader of the party,
wore, in the front of his bascinet, a few sprigs of the golden broom,
which Ruthven knew was the cognizance or badge of Gilbert Lauder, a
grasping and restless laird, whose Peel was a number of miles distant.
“There maun be something in the wind,” said the gaberlunzie to his
host, “when gentle Edie Johnston is in the saddle sae early.”
Edie Johnston? Yea, the leader was the very man who had left the child
at Hawksglen gate! He looked much older now, older than perhaps he
actually was. Twenty years and more of a habitual course of “sturt and
strife” had done their work upon him: his complexion was darker, his
form more spare, and the scar on his cheek, which he would carry to
the grave with him, gave his countenance a settled and forbidding
gloom. Ruthven gazed at him with surprise, for, though he could not
remember having ever seen the man before, yet the face seemed one that
had frequently haunted his dreams, and now the figment was embodied to
his view.
Johnston, on coming up to the cottage, uttered an exclamation, and
halting with his men, leaned aside, and tapped the gaberlunzie
good-humouredly on the shoulder with his long lance, saying--“My
worthy crony! Hard to tell where friends may meet. Troth, I ha’ena
seen your blythesome face for near a twalmonth since yon nicht I fell
foul o’ you instead o’ gleyed Hecky Lapstane, the Selkirk souter; but
I hope you soon forgot the broil.”
“My cloured pow wasna sae soon forgotten,” answered Harthill. “But I
bore you nae grudge, kenning that you ettled at the souter’s croon and
no at mine.”
“Richt, Willie,” replied the trooper. “When the drink’s in, the wit’s
out--a saying as true as Gospel. But I was sair vexed next day when I
cam’ to my sober senses, and minded o’ what befell.”
“It was weel for you,” cried a village youth, on the other bank of the
burn, who was hacking wood; “it was weel for you that you had to do
wi’ souters and gaberlunzies, else you michtna seen the neist day.”
“Hooly, hooly, Dandie,” whispered a companion in the speaker’s ear.
“Dinna raise his ill bluid. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Hooly yoursel’,” returned the youth. “If a’ tales be true, he has
done ill to my kin, as weel as to fremit folk no far awa’. He canna
deny--and though he denies wha cares?--he whiles sell’d himsel’ to
our auld enemies ower the Border, and harried Scots land for them.”
“Ralph Kerr’s nowte were driven last Martinmas,” said another voice.
“Wha did that?”
“And Widow Janfarrie’s hoggs the Michaelmas before,” added a third.
It was evident that the gentle Johnston was in bad repute among some,
at least, of the Greenholm folks; and he was constrained to notice
their aspersions.
“What?” he ejaculated, with a sardonic grin, which showed that he had
lost some of his front teeth. “Are a’ the misdeeds on the Border to be
laid to my charge?”
“Your hand has been in a hantle o’ them,” retorted a fourth voice.
Edie’s eyes glowed with dusky fire, and shaking his spear, he
said--“If another foul word be spoken against me, by the mass! but
I’ll gi’e some o’ ye bluidy croons for your pains. Let the man that I
ha’e wranged stand forward, and I’ll answer him. If it werena that him
I serve and your ain Laird are hand and glove, I wad tak’ amends for
what has passed already.”
The mention of their own superior had a good effect upon the
traducers; for, one by one, they slunk away, muttering to themselves
what they did not venture to speak aloud.
“Cowardly tykes!” said Edie. “Weel did I ken that a word frae my lips
wad be worth mair than anither man’s blow.”
The gaberlunzie now stepped out from the doorway, and patted the neck
of Johnston’s nag, saying--“You wear Ballinshaw’s favour in your cap
again. I thocht that when you left his service, on a quarrel, it was
for gude an’ a’.”
“Sae I thocht, and sae I said,” answered Johnston. “But the Laird soon
found out that he couldna want me; for I had been to him as his richt
hand. He sent for me and southered up matters, and I put the bonnie
broom in my cap again.”
“And what’s your errand this morning, if ane may daur to speir?”
“A peacefu’ errand,” responded Edie. “Ballinshaw and Royston Scott o’
Altoncroft ha’e differed anent the marches o’ their lands. In my
judgment, a wheen spear-thrusts and sword-slashes wad ha’e decided the
dispute speedily and honourably, according to Border use and wont, and
I ga’e Ballinshaw my mind to that effect. But, by ill luck, Sir Robert
Home, the Shirra, got inkling o’ the affair, and sent word to baith
Lairds that if they broke the peace, he wad visit them baith wi’ the
King’s vengeance. On the ither hand, he advised them to appoint him as
arbiter atwixt them, and he wad decide justly on the plea.”
“He’s a worthy man Sir Robert,” said Willie. “Ever since he cam’ into
power in this shire, he has done his best to mak’ the law respected.”
“Law respected! whew!” exclaimed Edie, with a scoffing whistle. “Baith
Lairds swithered about coming to blows, and agreed to mak’ the Shirra
their arbiter, and to gi’e leal and true obedience to his award. They
are to meet him on the disputed ground this day at noon-tide: and I
ha’e been gaun the rounds, warning men that can mak’ aith in
Ballinshaw’s favour to attend at the place and hour appointed, and
bear soothfast testimony, as I am to do mysel’. Will you gang ower the
way? I’ll be glad to toom a tankard wi’ you after the sport.”
“Whaur’s the ground?”
“The meeting is to be at the Deadman’s Holm--ten lang mile awa.”
“I ken the place weel,” said the gaberlunzie, “and I’m a-mind to gang,
just as I gang to a’ gatherings whaur there’s chance o’ bountith and
gude cheer.”
“See that you keep tryst, Willie,” responded the gentle Johnston. “Now
lads,” he cried, “the day is advancing, and we maun mak’ speed. We
ha’e mair witnesses to warn.”
Instantly he and his band shook their bridles, spurred their horses,
and clattered at the gallop through the village. The gaberlunzie came
in from the door, and he and Ruthven proceeded to finish their morning
meal.
“Yon’s a dare-deevil.” said Willie. “He wad as soon drive cauld, cauld
steel through a man’s brisket as I cut up this black pudding”: and
then, in answer to Ruthven’s anxious enquiry, the wanderer related
what he knew of the gentle Johnston’s history: “Edie canna be muckle
blamed; for, like mony anither Border lad, he was brocht up to rough
living frae his young years--his faither being a famous reiver and
lifter till he met his death in a fray with the Warden’s men. Edie was
but a stripling when he was cuisten upon the world. For some time he
lived by his ain hand, like his forbears, but syne took service as a
common jackman, whiles on this side o’ the Border, whiles on the
ither--Edie caring only for the side that brocht him the best pay.
Mair nor ance he has rubbit shouthers wi’ the gallows, whilk, I fear,
will be his end.”
The gaberlunzie then began to suggest that our adventurer might
accompany him to the Deadman’s Holm to witness the proceedings of the
arbitration. After some dubiety, the youth, who had decided as yet on
no special destination, gave his consent, but deemed it absolutely
necessary that, in going to the meeting, he should adopt a disguise to
baffle recognition, and accordingly he requested his host to procure a
humble garb for him. What he wanted was obtained for a small sum of
money, and he donned a common dress, which was likely to suit his
purpose. Retaining only his sword and dagger, he left his cast attire,
with his hunting horn and spear, to be kept by the old villager until
reclaimed.
Everything being satisfactorily arranged, Ruthven and the wanderer
bade good-day to their host, who, being liberally rewarded for his
hospitality, stuffed Willie’s wallet with what victuals would suffice
for the day; and the strangely-assorted companions set forth.
The day was beautiful, the welkin pure as the brow of childhood, and
the earth robed in all the flowery freshness of the merry month of
May. The heart of the exile was lightened of its brooding despondency
by the sweet influences of Nature, and seemed to beat in unison with
the summer joy. But the relief was transient. Gloomy thoughts
returned, like dark clouds over a sunny sky, imparting a sadness to
his countenance, which, his fellow-traveller observing, he sought to
divert his mind by singing legendary ballads, and telling tales of
haunted ruins, fairies, and general diablerie--all which, if failing
in their true object, served to beguile the tedium of the way.
Travelling leisurely, our wayfarers, in a few hours, approached the
scene of the judicial meeting. A company of troopers and footmen, with
the Sheriff at their head, marched past, showing that the appointed
hour was drawing nigh. Our travellers, on reaching a sparse wood,
halted in the cool shade, and partook of refreshments from the
gaberlunzie’s wallet, which, being well stored, furnished a “feast of
good things,” and their drink was supplied by a slender streamlet that
flowed murmuring among the trees, and sparkling in the broken sunbeams
that glinted through the foliage overhead. After satisfying their
appetite, they pursued their route, and, having ascended an eminence,
descried a dark tower with turrets in the distance, which the
gaberlunzie said was the Keep of Ballinshaw, near which stretched a
wide expanse of level moorland, yellow with the broom and whin.
They quickened their pace, and soon heard an occasional winding of
horns and the loud voices of men, which directed their steps to a
broad hollow, or holm, on the verge of the moor farthest from the
tower of Ballinshaw, and traversed by a burn, the banks of which were
lined with aged saughs. There a considerable concourse of men had
assembled, partly armed, retainers and partly peasantry, straggled
about on both sides of the water, some of the former trotting up and
down on horseback, some lounging on the grass casting dice, whilst
their steeds grazed at random. In the midst of a well-appointed band
of jackmen appeared a knight in half-armour, Sir Robert Home, the
Sheriff, a man of middle age, with a grey beard. A young page attended
him, bearing aloft a spear with a gauntlet or glove on the point of
it, as the well-known border emblem of peace and amity. Behind their
superior stood the footmen of the party, some six Sheriff Officers or
“Serjeants,” as they are distinctively termed in the old Acts of the
Scottish Parliament. Their status was denoted by _white wands_ in
their hands; _blazons_, or medallions of brass, charged with the royal
arms, displayed upon their breasts; and _horns_ (for denouncing
rebels) hanging from their necks by iron chains; while, for greater
security in those troublous times, when law was so often defied, each
officer was armed with a sword, and wore an iron bascinet cap, and
gloves of mail.