We rested for a long time, and then, as the eastern sky began to break
into light, he rose to his feet and saying, "It is time to go on," he
set out again. I followed close behind him as before. He walked with
his hands clasped behind his back, his two thumbs revolving ceaselessly
round each other.
Out of the ebb of night, day rose like a goddess. Before me was beauty
unspeakable. The moorland was covered by a thin vale of mist. Here and
there, where the sun was reflected from it, it shone like silver, and
where some mischievous hill-wind had torn a rent in it, a splash of
brown heath or a tussock of purple heather broke colouringly through.
The world was waking up from its slumber. A hare, startled, sprang
along the hill-side before us--its ears acock, its body zig-zagging as
though to evade some apprehended missile. The whaups called to each
other mournfully, and, high above us, unseen, a lark poured out its soul
in sparkling song.
I was beginning to wonder when we should arrive at our destination, when
my companion turned suddenly to the left and walked downhill into the
valley. Here, for a time, we followed what had been the bed of an
ancient stream, long since dried up, until we came to a cleft between
the hills which gradually widened out into a kind of amphitheatre.
Almost for the first time since we had left our hiding-place, my
companion spoke.
"This is the trysting-place," he said. "The folk will be here ere long.
I'll leave ye while I complete my preparations," and saying "Rest ye,"
he walked on through the amphitheatre and disappeared.
I stretched myself upon my back and drew my bonnet over my eyes. I know
not how long I lay thus, but suddenly I was conscious that someone was
standing beside me, and opening my eyes I saw the minister at my side.
"They are beginning to come," he said, as he looked out through the
cleft by which we had entered the hollow. My gaze followed his, and I
saw at some distance a man of middle age, followed by two younger men,
coming in single file towards us. My companion left me and hurried to
meet them. I saw him approach the eldest with outstretched hand which
was taken and shaken vigorously; then he greeted the two younger men,
and the four stood, a little knot in the morning light, talking
earnestly.
From glances that were cast from time to time in my direction, I knew
they were talking of me. The colloquy lasted for some time. My friend
was apparently vouching for my trustworthiness with many protestations,
for I could see him strike the palm of his left hand with his clenched
right fist. At last the minister and the elder man came towards me.
The two younger men separated, one climbing to the top of the ridge on
one side of the amphitheatre and the other ascending the slope upon its
other side.
I surmised that these two younger men were to play the part of sentinels
to give timely warning, if need arose, of the coming of the dreaded
troopers. They had no weapons but shepherd's crooks.
As the two elder men approached me, I rose, and as they drew nearer I
heard my friend still pleading for me. "I believe that, at heart, he is
no' a bad young man, but being English, his opportunities have been few,
and he is strangely lacking in a knowledge o' the fundamentals, but I am
hoping that he may yet prove to be a brand plucked from the burning."
With difficulty I restrained a smile, but I took a step towards them
and, bowing to my friend's companion who stood straight-backed and
stalwart before me, I said: "My uniform is but a poor passport to your
trust, but the heart beneath it is not a false heart and none of your
people need fear ill from me."
The old man offered me his hand. "Young man," he said, "I hae little
cause to trust your coat, but if your creedentials satisfy the
meenister, they're guid enough for Tammas Frazer."
"That's richt, Thomas!" cried the minister, "that's richt. As the Buik
says: 'Charity suffereth long and is kind'!"
We stood silent for an embarrassed moment, until the hill-man said: "And
noo, Meenister, ye'll gi'e us a word afore I set the kirk in order," and
lifting their bonnets the two men closed their eyes.
I followed their example, and then the minister lifted up his voice and,
in tones of pathetic earnestness, besought the blessing of God upon all
the doings of the day; sought, too, for divine protection for all who at
the hazard of their lives should come to worship there that Sabbath
morning.
When the prayer was over, Thomas turned to me, and said: "You are a
likely young man and a hefty; we had better leave the man o' God to his
meditations. Come and lend me a hand."
For a moment I was at a loss to understand what he meant, but I followed
him, and when he picked up a small boulder I did likewise and together
we carried the stones to the sloping hillside and arranged them at short
intervals from each other. Altogether we gathered some thirty or forty
stones, which we set in semi-circular rows. Opposite to these, on the
other side of the amphitheatre, we built a little mound of boulders and
laid upon the top of it a great flat rock. This was to be the
preacher's pulpit, and I was struck with the care that Thomas devoted to
its building. When it was finished he stood upon it and tested it.
Satisfied, he descended from it, saying: "It'll dae fine. There's
naething like a guid foundation for a sermon," and in his austere eyes a
light flickered.
By this time other worshippers had begun to gather and were thronging
round the minister in little clusters. From the looks cast in my
direction I knew that I was the object of more than one inquiry, and
while my recent companion went forward to greet some other of the
worshippers, I hung back a little shamefacedly. Seeing my hesitation the
minister beckoned me, and when I came near he placed a hand upon my
shoulder and said:
"My friends, here is the prodigal. He has eaten of the husks of the
swine, but, I think, he has at last set his foot on the road to his
Father's house."
It was a strange introduction, received in silence by the little group,
and with a mounting colour I looked at the people and they looked at me.
There was a glint of challenge in the eyes of some of the men and a hint
of suspicion in others. The older women looked at me with something I
took for pity; the younger ones pretended not to look at all. The
silence was embarrassing, but it was broken by the minister who said:
"And now, my friends, it is time to begin our service. Will you take
your places?" and turning to me he said, "Young man, I think ye'd better
come and sit near the pulpit, where I can see that ye behave yersel'!"
In silence, and with a demure sobriety as though they were crossing the
threshold of a holy place, they stepped across the dip in the
amphitheatre and seated themselves upon the stones laid ready for them.
I walked behind the minister towards his pulpit. A couple of paces from
it he stopped and raised his right hand high above his head. On the top
of the hill that faced us I saw one of the sentinels spring erect and
hold his hand aloft, and turning, we saw that the sentinel on the other
hill top had made a like signal. It was a sign that all was well, and
that the service might safely begin.
The minister mounted his pulpit and I sat down a little below it. In a
voice which rang melodiously through the silence he said: "Let us
worship God by singing to His praise the 121st psalm." He read the
psalm from beginning to end and then the congregation, still sitting,
took up the refrain and sang slowly the confident words. It was a psalm
which to these hill-folk must have been charged with many memories.
There was more of earnestness than of melody in the singing, but
suddenly I was aware of one voice that sounded clear and bell-like among
the jumble of raucous notes. My ears guided my eyes and I was able to
pick the singer out.
*CHAPTER XI*
*FLOWER O' THE HEATHER*
She was a girl of some twenty years who sat on the slope opposite to me.
Her features were regular and fine and in strange contrast to the rugged
countenances that surrounded her. From underneath the kerchief that
snooded her hair a wanton lock of gold strayed over the whiteness of her
high forehead. I caught a glimpse of two pink ears set like wild roses
among the locks that clustered round them. She sat demurely, unaware of
my rapt scrutiny. Her lips were red as ripe cherries, and as she sang I
saw behind them the glint of white and regular teeth. Her eyes I could
not catch; they were lifted to the distant sky over the hill-tops; her
soul was in her singing. One hand rested in her lap, the other hung down
by her side, and almost touched the grass beside her rough seat. The
open book upon her knees was open for form's sake only. She was singing
from her heart and she knew the words without appeal to the printed
page. I took my eyes from her with difficulty and let them wander over
the little congregation of which she was a part, but I found no face
there which could hold them, and quickly they turned again to look upon
this winsome maid.
She had lowered her eyes now, and as I glanced across at her I met their
level gaze. There was a glint of light in them such as I have seen upon
a moorland tarn when the sunbeams frolic there, and as I looked at her I
was aware that something within me was beating against my ribs like a
wild caged bird.
When the psalm was ended the minister behind me said solemnly, "Let us
pray," and over against me I saw the heads of the congregation bend
reverently. Some sat with clasped hands, others buried their faces in
the hollow of their palms. My devotions were divided, and before the
preacher had completed his sentences of invocation I found myself
peeping through my separated fingers at the girl. Her eyes were closed,
her dainty hands were clasped delicately. I had never, till that moment,
known that the human hand may become as subtle an instrument for
expressing the feelings as the human eye. In her clasped hands I saw
the rapture of a splendid faith: I saw devotion that would not shrink
from death; I saw love and sacrifice.
The preacher prayed on, embracing in his petitions the furthest corners
of the universe. His words fell on my ears, but I did not hear them,
for at that moment my whole world centred in this alluring daughter of
the Covenant.
Once again I was conscious that my heart was thumping wildly, and I was
selfish enough to wonder whether my presence was disturbing her
devotions as much as hers was destroying mine. But she gave no sign.
The lustrous pools of her eyes were hidden from my gaze behind the
dropped lids. So long as she was unaware of it, I felt no hesitation in
letting my eyes dwell upon her, to drink in the beauty of her
soul-filled face.
I was still gazing upon this vision when suddenly the prayer ended. I
can tell no more of the service. I only know that in that little band of
worshippers I was one of the most fervent--but I fear that I was
worshipping one of God's creatures rather than God Himself.
After the benediction had been pronounced over the standing
congregation, I looked up at the sky and judged that well-nigh three
hours must have elapsed since we sang the opening psalm, and to me it
had passed in a flash. Never before had I known the minutes fly upon
such winged feet.
I shook myself out of my dream and turned towards the minister. He had
dropped on his knees and was engaged in silent prayer. Unwilling to
disturb him, I turned once more toward the congregation which had
already arisen from its stony pews and was standing clustered in little
knots. I hesitated for a moment, and as I hung uncertain I felt an arm
slip through mine. It was the minister.
"Come," he said, "you must get to know some of my flock. I could tell,
my lad, as ye sat at my feet during the service that you were strangely
moved."
Good honest man! I had been strangely moved, but by other emotions than
those for which he gave me credit!
As he talked, we had descended the slope and stood in the hollow. The
congregation gathered round us; many of the men, and some of the older
women, grasped the preacher warmly by the hand. There was no
effusiveness in these salutations, but a quiet earnestness that bespoke
their love for him.
"Ye were michty in prayer the day," said one, while I heard another
exclaim: "Ye divided the word maist skilfully, sir. The twalfth heid
micht ha'e been expanded wi' advantage, but your fourteenth was
by-ordinar'. I never heard finer words o' grace, no even frae godly
Samuel Rutherford himself. God keep ye, sir." "Ay," said another.
"When ye gied oot yer sixth heid says I tae masel', 'Noo, how will he
handle that ane: but, sir, ye were maisterfu', an' I was mair than
satisfied."
These words of praise were accepted by the minister with a modest
derogation: "I am but a frail mouthpiece," he said. "The message has
suffered through my poor imperfections."
In the press around him I was suddenly conscious of _her_ presence. I
saw his face light up with a smile as he stretched his hand out to her:
"Mary, lass," he said, as he drew her towards him, "ye're a woman grown.
It seems but yesterday that I baptised you."
My eyes were on her face, and I saw the colour mount beneath her healthy
brown as she smiled. I felt I would have given all of life that might
lie before me had that smile been for me. With ears alert I waited to
hear her speak. Softly, and in sweet accents, within whose music there
was a note of roguery, she answered:
"If the wee ravens didna grow up, wha would bring food to Elijah?"
The minister laughed. "It was a fine cheese, Mary, and your oatcakes
couldna be bettered in the shire. What say you, young man?" he said,
turning to me.
The moment I had dreamed of had come, and the eyes of the girl were
turned expectantly upon me, and then, fool that I was, any readiness of
wit I had, oozed through the soles of my feet and left me standing in
the adorable presence, an inarticulate dolt. I mumbled I know not what,
but she laughed my confusion aside.
"If there are twa mouths to fill," she said, "the ravens will ha'e to
fly into the wilderness a wee oftener. I maun tell mither."
She looked at me, and then with a glint in her beautiful eyes that made
me think she had not been altogether unaware of my scrutiny during the
service, said: "For a trooper, ye behaved very weel," and then lest I
might imagine that I was more to her than the merest insect that hides
among the heather, she turned once more to the minister.
I was too young then to know that, be she Covenanter's daughter or Court
lady, woman is ever the same, with the same arts to provoke, the same
witchery to allure, the same artfully artless skill to torture and to
heal the heart of man. She had turned away from me, but in doing so she
had drawn me closer to herself, and I was rivetted to the ground where I
stood, ready to stand there for ever--just to be within sound of her
voice, within arm's length of her hand. Suddenly she disentangled
herself from the little group and going to its outskirts placed her hand
upon the arm of a middle-aged bearded man and brought him to the
minister. There was something in the shape of the forehead and eyebrows
of the man that made me think he might be her father, and my thought was
confirmed when the minister, taking him by the hand, said:
"Andrew, you have a daughter to be proud of. Her mither's ain bairn, and
a bonnie lass."
Her father paid no attention to the compliment, and as though to bring
back the thoughts of the man of God from such a worldly object as a
pretty girl, said:
"And when may we expect ye tae honour our hoose by comin' for the
catechisin'?"
"God willing, I shall be at Daldowie on Friday next, and, Andrew, I'll
expect ye to be sounder in the proofs than ye were last time."
"And now," he said, turning to me, "we must be going. We have a long
road before us. God keep you all. Good-bye," and without another word
he strode away. I followed him, and as I passed the girl she glanced at
me and her lips moved. I hesitated and stopped, and O wonder! she had
stretched out her hand to me.
"Good-bye," she said. "Tak' care of the minister. Maybe you'll convoy
him to the catechisin'."
"Trust me," I said. "No harm shall touch a hair of his head if I can
fend it off."
"Thank you," she replied. "I think I can trust you, in spite o' your
coat," and she dropped my hand.
That was all: but her words and the trust she was ready to place in me
had made my whole world glow. I hurried after the minister, walking on
air, and felt sorely tempted to burst into song, but I knew that, on
such a day, to have done so would have rendered me suspect of wanton
godlessness and I restrained myself; but it was only outwardly. My
heart was singing like a clutch of larks, and the rugged hill-side was
covered with springing flowers. Once before I had felt the spell of a
woman, but never till now had any daughter of Eve cast such a glamour
over me. Was it love? Was it love? And if it were--was it love on my
side alone? It must be, for how dare I think that a renegade trooper,
hall-marked by a uniform that to these simple folk meant blood and
death, could awaken in the sweet soul of that innocent girl feelings
such as she had stirred within my breast, I pictured her again: I saw
her sweet brown eyes, and I remembered the glory of her hair, which for
a moment I had seen in all its beauty when her kerchief had slipped
back. It was chestnut-brown, coiled in great masses, save just above
her brow, where in some mood of whim nature had set a golden curl like
an aureole. And as I fondly recalled her features one by one I found
myself thinking that behind the demure repose of her face there lurked
some elfin roguishness--something elusive that gave her a mysterious
charm.
I walked on in a maze of dreams, but was called sharply back to earth by
the voice of the minister.
"Where are you going, my lad? Are you making for the border, or where?
Our road lies up the brae face," and turning I discovered that, in my
dreams, instead of following the minister I was walking obliquely away
from him. I ran to rejoin him, but I had no excuse ready to explain my
error, nor did he ask for one. We resumed our walk together and in a
moment or two he said:
"Well, what think you o' a Conventicle?"
There was no mental reservation in my reply: "Never, sir, did I so enjoy
a religious service."
"Enjoy?" he repeated, questioningly. "Enjoy? that is a worldly word to
use concerning such a privilege."
I looked at him sharply, half suspecting that he had guessed the cause
of my appreciation of the field-meeting; but there was nothing in his
solemn countenance to make me think he suspected me of duplicity.
"You English folk," he continued, "have queer ways of using your own
language. I can understand a hungry man enjoying a hearty meal; but
enjoying a privilege seems wrong. One accepts a privilege with a
thankful and humble heart." Then he stopped suddenly, stamping his foot
upon the ground. "Alexander Main," he said, "ye're wrong. You are
misjudging the young man; ye're growing old, and the sap in your heart
is drying up. Shame on you that you should ever doubt that a man may
rejoice at being privileged to enter the presence of God." Then he
stretched out his hand: "Forgive me, young man. We Scots have perhaps
lost our sense of joy in our sense of duty, but we are wrong, wrong,
wrong!"
His wonted kindliness of heart was bubbling over. My joy had come from a
very human source and sorely was I tempted to explain myself: but I held
my peace.
We took the path again and plodded along the hillside until we came to
the top of a long ridge. As we drew near it the minister signalled to
me to crouch down, and on his hands and knees he crawled up and peered
long and earnestly over the other side. I knew the reason of his
caution. If he stood erect on the brow-top his dark figure, sharp-cut
against the sky, might be seen by some patrol of troopers on the
moorland. His caution brought me back sharply from the land of dreams.
He and I were hunted men.
Apparently his scrutiny satisfied him, for he turned round and, sitting
down, said: "We may rest here awhile." I sat beside him and together we
scanned the valley that lay below us. It seemed to be a vast solitude,
but as I looked I began to pick out here and there a moving figure, and
startled, I called his attention to them. He looked and, after a pause,
made answer: "They are only the moorland folk making their ways home.
See yonder, that is no trooper, but a woman. Poor, harried sheep! May
the Great Shepherd guide them all to the fold of home, and in His own
good time to the fold abune." I looked again, scanning the moorland
with sharpened eyes in the hope that afar I might catch a glimpse of her
whose life had touched mine so tenderly that day; but I could not
discern her.
I was stirred by a strange desire to talk, and I began to put to my
companion questions about some of his flock, and by devious paths I led
him to the subject that was really in my heart.
"Mary," he said, "what would you know about Mary?" and then he smiled.
"Oh, that is how the land lies, is it? Well, I'm no' surprised. She's
a bonnie lass, and as good as she is bonnie, and a likely lass to take a
young man's eye. But put her out of your mind. She's no' for you. The
dove maunna' mate wi' the corbie."
"She must be a brave woman," I said, "for I understand that she brings
us our food."
"Wha tell't ye that?" he exclaimed, turning upon me sharply and lapsing
into the fashion of speech which was ever his refuge when he was moved.
"Well, sir," I answered, "you said as much, and I put two and two
together."
"Did I?" he exclaimed. "Well, ye maun guess nae mair; dinna forget this
is the Sabbath day."
*CHAPTER XII*
*THE GREATER LOVE*
Idly I pulled a little sprig of thyme which grew beside me, and crushing
it between my fingers inhaled its perfume.
My companion watched me, saying: "Wonderful! wonderful! what glories
there are in creation. Many a time I've lain awake at nights and
thought about it all. Flowers on the moor, far bonnier than anything
that ever man fashioned; birds in the air lilting sweeter melodies than
man can make; the colour spilled across the sky when the sun sets; the
mist on the hills. Glory everywhere; but nothing to the glory
yonder"--and he raised his eyes to the heavens.
When we had rested for a time, my companion rose and we set out again.
The sun was setting when we came within sight of our hiding places.
"Come to my side of the loch," he said. "Ye'll want your supper before
ye make for your bed," and together we made for the place where we had
already enjoyed so many meals together. I went to the little stream to
see if haply I might discover a trout there, but he forbade me sternly.
"Must I tell ye again that it is the Sabbath day? Ye maunna catch fish
the nicht."
He left me for a moment, and sought his little store, and when he came
back, we took our meal in silence. When we had finished he said: "I am
wearied to-night; God send us sweet repose," and kneeling down he
commended us both and "all good hill-folk" to the protection of the
Almighty. He prayed too for his little congregation, and as he did so I
wondered if another prayer might at that hour be ascending like incense
from the lips of the girl who had begun to haunt my heart; and I
wondered if in her petitions there would be any thought of me.
When his prayer was over the old man rose to his feet, and laying a hand
upon my shoulder while I bowed my uncovered head he lifted his face to
the sky and gave me his blessing. There was a catch in my voice as,
touched at heart and humbled, I bade him "Good night."
I walked round the end of the loch and sought my hiding-place, but
though I was fatigued I could not fall asleep. The stars were
glittering afar, and I wondered if at that moment she, too, were looking
up at their beauty. I lived through once again all the incidents of the
day in which she had played a part. I heard her sweet voice singing, I
saw the light upon her hair, the glint in her eyes and, once again, I
felt the pressure of her hand. There in the darkness I lifted my own
right hand to my lips and kissed it--for had she not touched it? Then I
fell asleep, but even as I slept she walked, an angel, through my
dreams.
When I awoke my first thought was of her: then, as I looked up at the
sky, I judged that the day was already some hours past the dawn.
Cautiously I separated the fronds of brackens and looked along the moor.
What I saw made me draw back in horror: then, with a beating heart, I
took courage and peeped carefully through once more.
The troopers were upon us, and on my side of the loch there were some
twenty who, scattered about, on horseback, were quartering and
requartering the whole hill-side. I looked warily across to the other
side of the loch. There I could see none. I knew that my safety lay in
absolute stillness. A movement of one of the bracken stems beneath
which I lay might betray me--even my breathing might be heard, and I
knew the uncanny instinct with which a trooper's horse was sometimes
aware of the presence of a fugitive when his rider might be ignorant.
As I listened to the voices of the troopers, and heard the hoofs of
their horses, I felt a sudden love for all the timorous hunted creatures
of the earth. In imagination I saw a hare, with ears laid back, and
eyes dilate with fear, lying clapped in her form.
In my extremity I thought of Mary, and wondered if she knew of my peril.
My lips were dry as sand, my hands were moist, and my heart was beating
loudly, so that I thought the sound of it must be heard by my pursuers.
Would it be a speedy death there on the moorland, or would I be taken to
Wigtown and given a trial? Life had never seemed sweeter than in that
morning hour, and now fate was about to dash the cup of happiness from
my lips. I dared not stir to look again through the brackens, but I
knew from the sound of the voices that some of the troopers were now
close to my hiding-place. With ears alert I listened. Surely that was
Agnew's voice. I heard the jangle of bridle chains, and the creak of
stirrup leathers: I could hear the heavy breathing of the horses--they
were closing in upon me on every side. One minute more and I should be
discovered, and then, death! And I, because I had learned to love, had
grown afraid to die.
Suddenly, clear and shrill, the sound of a flute came from the far side
of the loch. What madness was this? Did not the old man know that the
troopers were upon us? In the very teeth of danger he was calmly
playing a tune that I had heard more than once in the moonlit hours of
the night. O fool! What frenzy had seized him?
The sound reached the troopers. I heard a voice shout, "What the devil
is that?" and the tramp of the horses ceased. The player played on....
There was a sharp word of command; the horses were spurred to the
gallop, and raced to the other side of the loch. As they passed my
hiding-place one of them almost brushed my feet with its hoofs. The
player played on.... There was no tremor in his notes; clear and shrill
they cleft the moorland air. I took courage and peered out. Look where
I might I could see no trooper on my side of the loch, but on the other
side I saw them rapidly converging to the place from which the music
came. The player ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and lying there in
my hiding-place I cursed him for his folly. Never before had I heard
his flute save in the hours of darkness. And then the truth flashed
upon me. It was not madness: it was sacrifice! He had seen my danger,
and to save me, with no thought of self, he had done this thing.
Would they find him? I, with no skill in prayer, found myself praying
fervently that he might escape. Then something within me cried: "You can
save him--show yourself." It was the voice of Mary, and, startled, I
peered through the brackens to see if she could be near, but there was
no one to be seen on my side of the loch and nothing to be heard but the
trailing of the wind along the tops of the heather. "Save him!" cried
the voice again. I sprang to my feet and shouted, but the wind carried
my voice away over my shoulder. Then I heard loud cries on the other
side of the loch and I knew that the troopers had found the Minister....
Could I save him now? ... Was any good purpose to be served by my
surrender, or did it mean simply that two lives would be taken in place
of one? Again I heard the voice: "Too late," it said, "too late," and
it was the voice of Mary, choked with tears.
I threw myself down again, and cursed myself for a coward. I could not
see what was happening on the other side of the loch. For a time there
was the tumult of many voices, and then all was still. I knew what that
meant. Lag or Claver'se or whatever devil incarnate might be at the
head of the troop was putting my friend to the test. Would he take the
oath? I knew that to him allegiance to his God was far more precious
than fealty to an earthly king. I could see the whole scene: he, calm,
in the circle of his accusers, with the firing party charging their
weapons. I could hear the bullying voice of the commander trying to
break his spirit, and then I knew--for I had seen it--that he would be
given five minutes to make his peace with God. Little need for that!
... The crash of muskets tore the silence and I knew that Alexander
Main, hillman, and Saint, had won his crown of glory at the last.
I felt the tears brim in my eyes, and trickle scalding down my cheeks.
Then I was seized with dread once more. Would the troopers be content
with this one victim, or would they come again to my side of the loch
and continue their search? I knew not; I could only wait for whatever
might happen. In a few minutes I should know.
I could hear the sound of the troopers' voices and their laughter, and
peering through the brackens I saw the little cavalcade go back to the
edge of the loch where they gave their horses to drink. In a body they
marched to the end of the loch. If they swung round to the left and
came again to quarter my side of the hill, my fate was sealed. With
hands clenched I waited, watching. I was taut as a bow-string with
suspense. The string snapped: I was free!--for when they reached the
end of the loch, they set their horses to the ascent that led to the top
of the hill, and in half an hour the last of them had disappeared. And
there on my bed of heather beneath the brackens I lay and cried like a
child.
I lay there till the sun went down; then in the gloaming I stole round
to the other side of the loch to look for my friend. I found him at
last. He was lying on his back, with eyes open, looking into the depth
of the sky. There was a smile upon his face, a smile of pride and
unspeakable joy. A great bloody gash, where the murderous bullets had
struck him, lay over his heart. Beside him, face downward, lay an open
book. I picked it up reverently. It was his Bible, and a splash of
blood lay upon the open page across these words: "They shall hunger no
more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor
any heat." Gently I closed the book, and sat down beside him. I had
lost a friend; a friend who had shown me the greater love; he was a
Covenanter, and I--God help me!--I had been a persecutor. My heart was
torn by shame and remorse: but in the dim light his quiet pale face was
smiling, as though he was satisfied.
Suddenly a thought struck me. I must give him burial, and quick on the
heels of the thought came another: The dead need no covering but the
kindly earth; would it be sacrilege to strip him of his clothes? He had
no further need of them, while I was in sore straits to get rid of my
uniform. I knelt down and peered into his face. The smile there gave
me courage. In life he had been shrewd and kindly, and I knew that in
death he would understand. So, very gently, I began to strip him. As I
took his coat off something fell from the pocket. It was his flute. I
put it beside his Bible. I have kept both till this day.
Then when I had stripped him, I cast about in my mind for some means to
give him burial. Not far away I knew there was a gash in the hill-side
where once some primeval tarn had been. Reverently I lifted his body
and bore it thither. Gently I laid it down, and standing with bowed
head under the starlit sky, I pronounced over that noble dust all I
could remember of the English burial service. Did ever Covenanter have
a stranger burial? I trow not. Then reverently I happed him over with
heather and brackens and turf which I tore from the hill-side, and
laboured on until the trench was filled and I had built a cairn of
stones over it.
So I left him sleeping there, and, as I turned away, I was overwhelmed
by a sense of loss and loneliness.
I gathered up the clothing which I had taken from his body, and bore it
to the side of the loch. There, from the coat, I washed the stains of
blood, and laid it on the sward to dry.
Occupied as I had been, I was unconscious of the flight of time; but I
was reminded by a sudden access of hunger. A problem faced me, for I
had no food of my own. For days I had been depending on the charity of
my friend; and I did not know where his store lay hidden. In that
wilderness it was well secreted lest any questing bird or four-footed
creature of the moorlands might find it. A sudden apprehension seized
me, and, with its coming, my hunger disappeared. I hurried to the place
where we were wont to take our evening meal together, and then I walked
in the direction which he had usually taken when he went to fetch the
provender. I sought beneath likely tussocks of heather and under the
shadow of boulders and beneath the shelves of overhanging turf, where
some sheep, aforetime, had had a rubbing place. But nowhere could I
find a trace of his store. Baffled, I determined that I would seek my
hiding-place and lie down to sleep for the rest of the night. In the
morning, with the help of the light, perhaps my quest would be rewarded.
So I betook myself to my heather bed, and as I crawled under the
bracken--and laid myself down, I thought how, but for the divine charity
of my dead friend, I should at that hour have been sleeping the sleep of
death.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*PURSUED*
Morning came, clear and bright, and as I stepped out from my
hiding-place I was conscious that the air of the dawn had served to whet
my hunger. I hurried to the other side of the loch and renewed my
search. Crouching down I ferreted in every likely nook and corner, but
found nothing. Was it that there was nothing to find? Was the larder
already empty, or had the troopers discovered it after they had done
their deed of blood, and rifled it of its poor contents? Whatever the
case, my search, repeated over and over again during the course of the
morning--till I knew every blade of grass and bracken-frond on that side
of the loch--revealed nothing. While I searched, my hunger abated; when
I paused I was painfully conscious of it, and then, suddenly, I
remembered the little trickling stream and in a moment I was bending
over it seeking for trout. My search was rewarded and ere long I had
caught enough to make a meal. Hunger made me forget discretion, and I
lit a fire to cook them.
While the stone on which I was to broil my meal was warming in the
flames, I went to the loch side and picked up the garments of my dead
friend. Hastily I divested myself of my uniform, and filling the
pockets, which I had emptied of my possessions, with large stones, I
swam into the middle of the loch and let the heavy burden drop into its
depths. Then I made for the shore, and ran in the sunlight till the air
had dried me, and then aglow and breathless I donned the clothing of the
dead preacher. I felt the flute in the pocket of his coat and drew it
out, looking at it with fond eyes, and placed it to my lips--but as I
was about to blow, I stopped. It would be sacrilege for unclean lips
like mine to call one note from this the plaything and the solace of the
dead saint, so I replaced it in my pocket.
I cooked my fish, and, forgetful of the risk I ran, omitted to
extinguish my fire. I stretched my hands out to enjoy its warmth and
watched the silver grey spirals of smoke coil like ghostly things into
the blue atmosphere.
I sat in a reverie, and after awhile I rose to make another search for
the undiscovered hiding-place of the old man's hoard.
I had wandered afield, and had come to the brow of the hill. When I
rose from my crouching position to stretch myself, I saw a sight that
chilled me. Less than half a mile away was a company of troopers who
were riding at a gallop. I flung myself upon my face and prayed that my
dark figure against the horizon had escaped notice, and then the thought
flashed upon me that they were coming direct to the place where I was,
and the fire which I had left burning was the beacon that had attracted
them. Doubtless they had been continuing their search for me in another
quarter of these mountain fastnesses, and now through my own folly I had
shown them where to find me.
Crouching low, I raced to the loch side. Then, remembering that the
loch was in the cup of the hills, and that until they reached the summit
of the slope they could not see me. I rose erect and raced with all my
speed to the end of the loch and on. Fear lent wings to my feet. To be
safe at all I must put many miles between my pursuers and myself before
I thought of hiding. The country was practically unknown to me, but I
remembered roughly the way we had taken when we went to the
hill-meeting, and I imagined that somewhere in that direction my
greatest safety would lie.
Never stopping to look back, but with panting breath, hot-foot I ran,
leaping over boulders and crashing through the heather, until my limbs
almost refused to respond to my desires; then I flung myself down into a
deep bed of bracken and turned to scan the way I had come. Already I
had travelled far, and, when I looked back, piercing the distance with
eager eyes, I could see no trace of my pursuers.
Though there was no sign of them, I dared not count on safety till I had
placed a much greater distance between us or until night should fall.
So, when I had recovered my breath, I left my shelter and hurried on.
As I went I recognised some of the landmarks I had passed two days
before, and by and by I came to the gorge in the hills where the service
had taken place. As I entered the little amphitheatre my eyes wandered
instinctively to the stone where Mary had sat, but, to my surprise, the
stones were no longer there in orderly array. I looked to where the
pulpit had been, but it was scattered. Then I knew that some of the
worshippers before they left that hallowed spot had, with crafty
foresight, scattered the stones that might have been a witness to some
band of troopers that a "field preaching" had taken place. Wearily I
ascended the slope on one side of the amphitheatre and crouching low
among the heather I scanned the surrounding country. The afternoon was
now far advanced, and the evening shadows were beginning to gather.
Look where I might I could see no sign of my pursuers, and, glad at
heart, I decided that here I should rest for an hour or two and then
continue my flight when the darkness fell. There was something holy
about the place, for she had worshipped here.
My long run had exhausted me, so I crawled into a clump of bracken and
was soon asleep, my last waking thoughts being of Mary, and not of my
danger.
When I woke the moon was high in the heavens. I was conscious of hunger
and thirst, but I had not the wherewithal to appease them: but I hoped
that on my way I might stumble upon some moorland rivulet, or at the
worst a pool of brackish water among the moss-hags. Hunger a man can
bear, but thirst is torture to a fugitive.
Somewhere an owl hooted drearily and the eerie sound in that place of
desolation startled me, alive in every sense to anything unexpected.
As I began my flight once more I was conscious that my limbs were stiff,
but in a few moments, as movement began to warm me, the stiffness
disappeared. On a trackless moor it is ever a hard thing for a man
unacquainted with the country-side to make much speed, and I had to go
warily lest I should stumble, as once before, into some treacherous bog.
The wind had risen and was bringing with it an army of clouds that
swept, a dark host, across the sky. Suddenly the darkness was rent by a
flashing blade of light which shook like a sword of molten metal held by
some giant in the skies, and then, as though a thousand iron doors were
flung against their doorposts, the heavens crashed round me. The wild
peal of thunder rolled through the night air. Caught by every trembling
hill-top, it reverberated and reverberated again till it pulsed into
silence. My ears ached. The lightning and the thunder had brought me to
a standstill, when again the sky was torn by a blaze of fire. Hard on
its heels came another thunderclap and with it a deluge of rain. Every
drop was a missile, stinging my face like a whip-lash. Startled, I made
haste to seek cover from the storm, but I had left the hills behind me
and there was no friendly boulder near at hand.
I turned to look to the hill-side, when, again, a shaft of lightning
like a mighty javelin hurtled earthward from the sky. The whole
hill-side was lit up by its blaze, and I saw its point strike a great
rock of granite that stood on the slope and cleave it in twain. The
darkness closed like a door and ere the following peal hammered upon my
ears I heard the crash of the shattered boulder as headlong it roared
down the hillside.
The air was heavy with the smell of sulphur; the earth was sodden
beneath my feet. My clothes hung heavily upon me and at every step the
water oozed from my shoes.
Remembering a trick of the moor men I dropped on my knees and tore up a
piece of turf and scooped away some of the underlying earth with my
hands. Quickly the water oozed into the bowl from the ground round about
it, and when I had given it a moment to settle, I bent and drank deeply.
Then I rose and hurried on and, in the hope of discovering some shelter
ere long, I broke into a run. It was a foolish thing to do, for save
when a lightning flash lit up the ground I could not see more than a
yard or two ahead.
Suddenly, as though a red-hot knife had struck me, I felt a stab of pain
in my right ankle, and I fell upon my face. The fall winded me, and as
I lay while the pitiless rain beat upon me, I tried to realise what had
happened. I had trodden upon a stone which had betrayed my foot; my
foot had slipped on its edge, and I knew from the pain that I had done
myself an injury.
I tried to gather myself up, but every effort sent a pang to my heart.
Slowly I raised myself upon my hands and knees, and then with a great
effort I lifted myself to my feet, but I found that I could not bear the
pressure of my injured foot upon the ground. I tried to raise it, but
the movement only redoubled my agony, and, bemoaning my fate, I lowered
myself gently to a sitting posture on the wet earth.
*CHAPTER XIV*
*IN THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND*
It was too dark to see the injured part, but from the increasing
pressure on the edge of my shoe I knew my foot was swelling. Soon the
pain of the pressure became intolerable, and with an effort I leaned
over and undid the lace. This gave me some relief, but when I tried to
remove the shoe the pain compelled me to desist. But, taking courage, I
made trial once more and succeeded at last in getting it off. Then I
removed my sock. Very gently I passed a hand over the injured part. I
could feel that it was greatly swollen. My foot lay at an angle which
led me to think that one or other of the bones of my leg had been
broken. My heel dropped backwards, and the inner edge of my foot was
twisted outward. If I kept the limb at rest the pain was tolerable; if
I moved it the agony was more than I could support. The falling rain
upon it was like a cooling balm, and gave me relief, but as I sat
there--sodden, helpless--alone amid the desolation of that vast
moorland, I was overwhelmed by a sense of my misfortune. Twice already
had I escaped from the troopers' hands, and now, unless succour, which
seemed outside the range of hope, should come to me, I was doomed to a
lingering death.
I prayed for the dawn to break, and then I realised that dawn could
bring me no hope, and I ceased to care whether it were light or dark.
But the dawn came nevertheless, and with it a wind that swept the
rain-clouds out of the sky. I tore up some tufts of heather and made a
soft couch upon which to rest my injured limb; then, wet though I was
and cold, I lay down and ere long had fallen asleep. I know not how
long I slept, but when I woke my head was on fire and I was aching in
every limb. My tongue was parched like a piece of leather and I was
tortured by a burning thirst, so that I was fain to pluck the grass and
heather that lay within my reach and suck from them the scanty drops of
moisture that still clung to them. To add to my distress, I was seized
with a violent shivering which shook my whole body and caused my injured
limb to send stabbing darts of pain all through my being. I laid a hand
upon my forehead and found that it was burning hot, and I knew that I
was in the grip of some deadly fever. I called for help in my
extremity, but my voice was weak as a child's and the only reply that
came to me was the cry of a startled whaup. Well, what did it matter if
I had to die? Surely it were better to be freed by a speedy death, than
to lie there a helpless log until I should die of starvation.
I closed my eyes again and drifted into a dreamy state of partial
comfort, from which I was awakened by a violent pain in my right side.
My breathing had become difficult. Every movement of my chest was
torment, and, to add to my miseries, I began to cough. I opened my eyes
and looked into the depths of the sky as though to summon help out of
the infinite; but all I could see was a pair of carrion crows that were
circling above me, waiting, I had little doubt, for the moment when the
breath should leave my body and their foul feasting could begin.
So this was to be the end of it--a week or two, and all that would be
left would be a heap of bones, bleaching in the wind and rain of that
vast moor.
I closed my eyes again, and drifted once more into a pleasant state of
drowsiness, and suddenly I was my own man again, strong and sound in
limb as I had ever been: free from pain, and without a care in the
world. I was walking gaily along a road that stretched before me into
infinite distance. Birds were singing around me and in the sweet air of
the morning there was the scent of hedgerow flowers. Far off, near the
summit of the hill where the road seemed to end, a woman was waiting for
me. She was beckoning to me to make haste, and though I hurried
fleet-foot towards her, she remained as far away as ever. The woman was
Mary. Try as I might, I could not reach her. Then a miracle happened:
she came towards me. A radiant welcome shone in her face: her arms were
outstretched I called to her and held out eager hands towards her: but
she drifted past me, and was gone, and, heavy at heart, I fell back, a
sodden, tortured thing, on the cold wet moors. My eyes opened. The
carrion crows still circled above me: but not for long.
Once more I was on a journey, moving, a formless mass, beneath a leaden
sky with no moon or sun or stars to guide me; myself a part of the
darkness that surrounded me. In this strange world in which I found
myself there were other formless shapes like my own, each drifting
noiselessly and without contact through infinite leagues of space. The
mass that was me was not me. It was separate from me, yet indissolubly
united to me. I was perplexed. Was I the mass or was the mass some
other being? I had no being of my own apart from the mass, and yet the
mass was not me. Where was I?--What was I?--Who was I? I had no pain,
no hands or feet, no torturing thirst, no fever-racked body. Was I
disembodied? If so, what was I now? In agony of mind, I, who had no
mind, struggled to puzzle the problem out; and then, suddenly, the grey
mass that had perplexed me rolled from my sight, and I found myself once
more lying upon the moor in pain, alone. The sky above me was sprinkled
with stars; night had come again: the day had brought me no succour.
If I lay here any longer, surely the troopers would find me. I must up
and on. It seemed to me that a great hand came out of the sky and
blotted out my pain as someone might blot out an error upon a child's
slate. I was strong again. I sprang to my feet. My limb was sound once
more. I ran across the moor like a hind let loose and in the darkness I
stepped over a precipice and fell unendingly down. The minutes passed,
and I saw them gather themselves into little heaps of hours that stood
like cairns of stone on the top of the precipice. The hours piled
themselves into days and the days into weeks, till the top of the
precipice was covered with stones, and still I was falling through
unending space. Some time--I know not when--I must have come to the
bottom of the precipice. I felt no crash, but the heaped-up cairns of
the minutes and hours and days disappeared from my sight, and I ceased
to know anything. I cannot tell how long this deep oblivion lasted.
Once only did I wake from it partially. I felt a twinge of pain as
though someone had moved me, and then all was dark again.
*CHAPTER XV*
*IN THE HAVEN OF DALDOWIE*
A man may go to the very gate of death without knowing that he has stood
within its shadow till he returns once more to the sunshine of life. I
know not how long I lay, an unconscious mass, at the foot of the dream
precipice of my delirium, but an hour came when I opened my eyes again.
I opened them slowly, for even to lift my lids was an effort, and I
looked above me to see if the carrion crows were still watching me.
Instead I saw a low thatched roof, and in amazement I let my eyes wander
to every side. I was lying on a soft mattress laid on a garret floor.
My head was pillowed on a snowy pillow of down. Beside my couch stood a
three-legged stool and on it there was a bowl of flowers. I stretched
out a weak hand to take one. I picked up a buttercup that flaunted its
proud gold before me, and I pressed it to my lips. I lay in a reverie
and tried to gather together all I could remember of the past. I
recollected my flight from the troopers, the thunderstorm and the rain,
and then I remembered my injured limb. I tried to move it and found
that it was firmly bound. I was too weak to raise myself and turn down
the bedclothes to examine it, but there was further food for thought in
the fact that my injury had been cared for.
Where was I?--and who had brought me here and nursed me back to life
again?
Perplexed I could find no light to guide me, and weary with fruitless
thoughts I fell asleep.
When I woke up again my eyes rested upon a woman who was just beginning
to appear through a trap-door in the floor. She entered the garret,
bearing a cup whose contents gave off a generous odour. She came to my
bedside and, carefully removing the flowers from the stool, sat down
upon it, and looked at me. My wide-awake eyes met her astonished gaze.
"Thank God," she said, "ye're better. Ye've been queer in the heid for
mair than a fortnicht, and me and Andra' had lang syne gi'en ye up."
She dropped on her knees beside me and, slipping her left arm gently
under my pillow, raised me and put the cup to my lips.
"Here," she said, "drink some o' this."
I drank a long draught, and never have I tasted anything with savour so
exquisite.
All too soon the cup was empty and the warmth of its contents sent a
glow through my wasted body. I was about to ask where I was and how I
had come there, when I remembered that I had another duty to perform.
So, in a voice that shook from weakness and emotion, I said:
"I know not who you are, but you have saved my life, and I would thank
you."
"Wheesht," she said. "You are far ower weak to talk yet. When you have
had a guid nicht's sleep and a wee drap mair nourishment, it will be
time enough. Haud yer wheesht the noo like a guid bairn and gang to
sleep," and she drew the coverlet up round my neck and tucked it about
me. Some old memory buried in the margin of my consciousness stirred
within me. Just so had my mother tucked me to sleep many a time and oft,
when I was a little lad, and the memory brought the tears to my eyes. I
said nothing, for the will of the woman was stronger than mine at the
moment, and I must needs obey it. I watched her place the bowl of
flowers upon the stool: then, after smoothing my pillow, she went to the
trap-door, passed through it and disappeared.
For a time I lay looking up at the straw roof. My eyes followed the
black rafters that supported it, and I tried to count the knots in the
beams: but the light which trickled through the window had begun to
fade, and as I tried to count I fell asleep.
When I woke again it was dark, but a faint beam from the moon made a
pool of silver on the coverlet that lay over me. I heard a voice in the
room beneath me. I listened eagerly, but could not distinguish any
words, and as I listened it dawned upon me that the voice was that of
someone reading aloud. Then there was a pause: and in the silence that
followed I heard a grating sound as though a chair were pushed a little,
over a sandstone floor, and again the voice spoke. Then I knew that, in
the kitchen beneath me the people under whose roof I rested were
worshipping their God. I, a trooper and deserter, had been succoured by
some of the moorland folk, and had found refuge in a Covenanter's
cottage!
I lay and thought long of all that I owed to these hunted hill-folk.
Twice had I, one of their persecutors, been succoured from death through
their charity.
Some time soon after dawn I was wakened by sounds in the room beneath
me. I heard a creak as though a hinge were moved, and the clank of a
chain, and I knew that the good wife had swung her porridge-pot over the
fire and was preparing breakfast for her family. The delicious aroma of
slow-cooked porridge began to assail my nostrils and I was conscious
that I was hungry.
I wondered if by any chance I should be forgotten; then I banished the
uncharitable thought. By and by I heard the sound of footsteps in the
kitchen and then a confused murmur of voices. I knew that the family
had gathered to break their fast, and I waited with all the patience I
could command. The minutes passed slowly and every moment my hunger
grew more and more intolerable: but at last the time of waiting was
over. I heard footsteps ascending the ladder to my garret. The
trap-door was thrown open, the top of a head appeared, a hand reached up
and placed a bowl on the floor, and the head disappeared once more.
Then again I heard footsteps ascending the ladder, and this time the
woman came into the room bearing a second bowl. She picked up the one
she had laid upon the floor and came to my bedside.
"Ye've sleepit weel?" she said, inquiry in her voice. "Ye're lookin'
somethin' like a man this mornin'. See, I ha'e brocht you your
breakfast."
She laid her burden down, and clearing the bowl of flowers from the
stool, placed a hand adroitly behind my pillow and propped me up. For a
moment the room spun round me. Then she placed the bowl of porridge in
my lap and poured a stream of milk over it, saying: "Can ye feed
yersel', or maun I feed ye like a bairn?" She gave me a horn spoon, and
with a shaky hand I fed myself. She sat watching me, but did not speak
again till I had finished my meal.
"That's better," she said. "You'll soon be yersel' again. It's the
prood woman I am. I never yet knew a man sae ill as you ha'e been pu'
through. Man, but for the grace o' God and our Mary, the craws on the
moor would ha'e picked yer banes white long ere noo."
Startled, I looked at her. She had said "Mary." Could it be that this
Mary was the Mary of my dreams? I ventured to speak.
"I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me. But I do not
know where I am nor how I came here. I remember nothing since I lay
upon the moor, waiting for death."
"Weel," she said, "to make a long story short, ye're in the laft o'
Andrew Paterson's fairm-hoose at Daldowie. Mary fand ye lyin' on the
moor, in a kin' o' stupor. She got an awfu' fricht, puir lassie. First
she thocht ye micht be ane o' the hill-fowk, and then she thocht ye had
a kent face, and lookin' again, she minded that she had seen ye wi' the
meenister at the field-meeting, the Sabbath afore. She saw ye were gey
near deid, but she jaloused ye werena' quite, because ye kept muttering
tae yoursel'. So she raced hame like a hare and wadna' rest till she
had ta'en her faither oot to fin' ye. They carried ye here on the
tail-board o' a cairt, and that's three weeks sin'; and here ye lie and
here ye'll bide till ye're a weel man aince mair."
As the full meaning of her words dawned upon me, I was uplifted with
joy. Mary had found me! She had known me! She had cared enough for me
to think that I was worth saving! Her big heart had pitied my
necessity, and to her I owed my life! A sudden access of strength ran
through my being. The blood coursed in my veins; I felt it pulse in my
temples. It must have brought a glow to my cheeks, for the woman said:
"Ye're better--a lot better the day. The parritch has put a bit o'
colour in your cheeks."
I found my tongue. "Will you," I said, "please thank your husband and
your daughter"--I had fain said Mary with my lips: I said it in my
heart--"for what they have done for me. Later, I hope to thank them
myself."
"Oh, aye," she said, "ye'll be seein' them later on when ye're better.
But I'll tell them. Meantime, maybe the nicht, when his work's dune, the
guid-man'll be comin' up to see ye himsel'. He's got a wheen questions
he wants to ask ye. For instance, we're sairly troubled because you
were wearin' the meenister's claes when Mary found ye, and in ane o'
your pockets ye had the meenister's Bible. And though ane or twa o' the
hill-fowk hae been up to look for the guid man in his hiding-place,
naebody has seen him and we're mair than a wee troubled. We ken ye were
a trooper, and though the meenister vouched for ye himsel' at the
meeting, Andra says that ye canna make a blackfaced tup into a white ane
by clippin' its 'oo', and we hope ye haena dune the guid man a mischief.
To tell ye the truth, when we got ye here and found the meenister's
claes on ye, my guid-man was for puttin' ye oot on the moor again and
leavin' ye to dee. But Mary pleaded for ye, and I minded my aan lad, so
we hid ye here and nursed ye."
She said no more, and before I could explain she had descended the
ladder and shut the trap-door.
The day passed rapidly; I slept and woke and slept and woke again. The
good woman came to me more than once with food, but she did not talk to
me again nor would she let me talk to her.
"The morn is the Sabbath day. I ha'e nae doot Andra' will come up to
see ye sometime, and ye can tell him your story then." That was her
good night to me, and when she had descended I heard again, as on the
previous evening, the sound of these devout folk at their evening
prayer.
Then all was silent and I slept.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*ANDREW PATERSON, HILL-MAN*
The shrill crowing of a cock woke me, just as the first rays of the sun
were stealing through the skylight. I lay adrowse, half sleeping, half
awake, listening for the first sound of the house coming to life. The
cock sounded his bugle again. Somewhere a hen cackled, and then all was
still.
My eyes wandered round the garret. A mouse had stolen out of some
cranny and was examining the room. He seemed unaware of my presence,
for he sat solemnly in the middle of the floor with his tail curved like
a sickle and proceeded to preen himself, till some unwitting movement of
mine startled him and he scampered to his hole.
Slowly the minutes passed, then I heard movements in the kitchen beneath
me. I knew that the day might be a difficult one for me, for sometime
during its course I had to explain to the master of the house how I came
to be disguised in the garb of the minister. My tale was a plain enough
one, and I thought it would not be hard to clear myself of any suspicion
of having had a hand in his death; but I could not be sure. Kind though
my succourers had been, I knew that they were likely to be distrustful
of one who had once been a trooper. The minister had been their friend,
and it was but natural that they should feel his death keenly and be all
too ready to suspect me of complicity in bringing it about. I
determined to tell the tale simply, and I trusted that my words would
carry conviction. If not, what then? I knew the fanatic spirit with
which the hill-folk were sometimes charged. Would the master of the
house, in his wrath, lay hands upon me and wring the life from my body?
The evil, uncharitable thought was crushed down. They had shown me such
love in the hours of my weakness that they were hardly likely to
sacrifice me to their suspicions now.
As I pondered, the trap-door was raised, and, bearing my breakfast, the
master of the house entered the garret. "Hoo are ye the day?" he asked.
"Better, I thank you, much better;--I owe my life to you and yours;--I
shall never be able to repay you."
He set the food upon the stool before he answered. "Ye're gey gleg wi'
your tongue. Naebody was talkin' aboot payin'. Haud your wheesht, and
sup your parritch. I jalouse ye need them. Later on I'll be comin' up
for a crack. There's a wheen things that are no' clear in my min'. The
thing lies here: hoo did ye come by the minister's claes and his Bible?"
and he looked at me with a steely glance, that, had I not been
guiltless, would have covered me with confusion.
"I am ready," I said, "to tell you the whole story as soon as you are
ready to listen."
"Weel," he answered, "I'm comin' back sune," and he went to the
trap-door and descended, closing it behind him.
I made a hearty meal and was pleased to discover my strength was coming
back to me. When I had finished I must have dropped into a sleep, from
which I was wakened by hearing footsteps in the room once more. The man
had returned, and under his arm he was carrying a bundle of heather,
while in his hand there was a mass of wool. He knelt beside my bed and,
turning up the blankets, said:
"Afore we begin to talk I think I'd better see aboot this leg o' yours."
He undid the bandages, and looking down I saw that beneath them the
ankle had been carefully padded with wool and heather. I knew now the
purpose of the things he had brought with him, for he stripped off the
pad with which the ankle was surrounded and began to make a fresh one.
Apparently he had some knowledge of the healing art. He ran his fingers
gently over the joint and then bade me try to move the foot. I found
that movement was difficult, but that though it was painful it did not
provoke such suffering as that which I remembered having experienced
upon the moor.
"It's daein' fine," he said. "It was a bad break, but by and by ye'll
be able to walk again, though I fear ye'll aye be a lamiter. But Jacob
himsel'--a better man than you--hirpled for the maist pairt o' his
life."
As he talked he was binding my foot again, and when he had finished, it
felt most comfortable.
"And noo," he said, "let me hear what ye ha'e to say for yersel'. The
facts are black against ye. We fand you on the moor in the meenister's
claes: ye had the guid man's Bible in your pocket: when last he was seen
you were in his company: and nocht has been heard o' him frae that day
to this. What say ye?" and he looked at me piercingly.
Without more ado I told him how the brave old saint had given his life
that mine might be saved, and how I had buried his body in the silence
of the hills, taking his clothes to disguise myself and bringing away
his Bible as a precious possession.
As I talked I watched the changing emotions chase each other across his
face. At first his eyes were watchful with suspicion, but as I
continued he seemed thrilled with a tensity of expectation, and when I
told him how the end had come with the rattle of muskets I saw his
strong, gnarled hands clench, and, through his tightened lips, he
muttered, "The black deevils," and then the tears stole down his
weather-beaten cheeks.
When I had finished there was a silence which at last he broke:
"A man o' God, a saint if ever there was ane. We'll miss him sairly here
I'm thinkin', but they will be glad to ha'e him on the other side."
Then he rose from the stool and gripping my right hand, crushed it in
his own. "I believe you, my lad, I believe you, and if Alexander Main
counted you worthy to die for, Andrew Paterson o' Daldowie may count you
worthy o' a share of his kail and saut. I maun gang and tell the wife;
her and Mary are anxious to ken the truth": and he made for the
trap-door and began to go down. But just before his head disappeared he
turned and called: "Maybe I'll come back the day to see ye again, but if
I dinna', the wife'll be up to look after ye, and if I'm spared I'll be
up masel' the morn. This is nae day to talk aboot the dambrod. I'll
speir ye aboot it some ither time."
*CHAPTER XVII*
*AN ADOPTED SON*
It is needless to trace day by day the events of the next fortnight.
Each morning found me with increasing strength. The good wife of the
house was continually solicitous for my welfare, and had I been son of
hers she could not have bestowed more care upon me. She took a pride in
every sign of returning strength. Daily she brought me shreds of family
gossip; news of the crops; news of the cattle; told me, with housewifely
pride, how many chickens had come from her last sitting of eggs.
More than once, in our talk, I tried to turn the conversation to Mary;
but never with much success. Shyness kept me from advances too direct.
Sometimes she would tell me of the hill-men; and once she told me, with
pride flashing in her eyes, of her son.
"He died," she said, "at Drumclog. It was a short, sharp fecht, and the
dragoons reeled and fled before the Bonnets o' Blue. My laddie was sair
wounded, and died in the arms o' guid Maister Main. His last words were:
'Tell my mither no' to greet. It's been a graun' fecht, and oor side's
winnin'.'" There were no tears in her eyes as she told me the tale, but
when she had finished she laid a hand upon my head and gently stroked my
hair. "He was sic' anither as you, when he fell," and she turned and
left me. Of an evening the farmer would sometimes come up, bringing
with him a dambrod, and many a well-fought game we had together. He
played skilfully and usually won, which gave him considerable
satisfaction.
"Ye canna' beat Daldowie on the dambrod," he would say, with a twinkle
in his eyes. "Scotland owes little enough to Mary Stuart, the Jezebel,
but she or some o' her following brocht this game wi' them, and that is
something they'll be able to say for themselves on the Judgment Day.
They'll mak' a puir enough show that day, or I'm mistaken, but the
dambrod will coont on their side."
When we had played for a week, and Saturday night came, he brought up a
slate with a record of the score.
"It's like this, ye see," he said. "We've played a score and half o'
games. I ha'e won a score and seven, and you won three--which ye
shouldna' ha'e done ava' if I had opened richt and no foozled some o'
the moves wi' my king. So ye're weel bate, and it's as weel for you
that I dinna' believe in playin' for money, or it is a ruined lad ye'd
be the nicht."
There was a gleam of satisfaction in his grey eyes, and I could see that
to have beaten me so soundly had given him great pleasure.
"We'll no play the nicht; it's gettin' ower near the Sabbath," he
continued, "but I'll bate ye even better next week."
I should have been lacking in gratitude if I had not begun to develop a
warm affection for my friends. Simple folks, their joys were simple
ones, but they were both filled with the zest of life; and in spite of
the daily peril in which they lived, sunshine, rather than clouds,
seemed to overhang their dwelling.
There came a day when, after examining my ankle with care, the old man
said: "I think we micht try to get ye on your legs," and he raised me in
his arms and set me on my feet. The garret spun round me, and the floor
rose like the billows of the sea and would have swept me down had it not
been for his strong arm.
"Steady lad, steady," he said. "Ye'll fin' your feet in a wee. Just
shut your een for a minute and then open them again. I'll haud ye fast;
dinna' be feart!"
I did as he bade me and found that the floor had become steady again;
then, supported by his arm, I essayed to walk. To my joy I discovered
that, though the effort cost me pain, I was able to walk from one end of
the room to the other. The old man was delighted.
"Jean," he cried, "come awa' up to the laft. Bryden can walk," and I saw
the trap-door rise to admit her.
She stood with her hands on her hips: "It bates a'," she said. "The
nicht ye cam' I never thocht to see you on your legs again, but ha'e a
care, Andra, the lad's weak yet; help him back intil his bed and I'll
fetch him a bowl o' sheep's-heid broth for his supper."
And when I was comfortably settled once more, she was as good as her
word.
Next day she brought me a strong ash stick, and with its help and the
aid of her arm I was able to walk round the loft in some comfort.
Day by day my strength grew and I began to look forward to the hour when
I should be able to join my friends in the kitchen below, when I hoped
to see Mary face to face. It may have been nothing more than a
coincidence--though, as I listened eagerly, I flattered myself it might
be for joy that I was so far recovered--that on the night I first began
to walk again, I heard Mary singing a song.
As the hour drew nearer when I should meet her, I began to be covered
with confusion. How would she receive me?
At last the great day came. In the late afternoon Andrew brought me a
suit of clothes.
"The wife sent ye them," he said. "She thocht they were nearer your
size than the meenister's," and he laid them on the stool beside my bed
and turned his back upon me: then brushing a sleeve across his eyes, he
said: "I'm thinkin' it cost Jean a lot to tak' them oot o' the drawer;
ye see they were Dauvit's."
Had I needed any proof of the love they bore me, I had it now. I was to
enter the circle round their hearth clad in the garments of their dead
son. I had learned enough of the quiet reserve of these hill-folks to
know that any words of mine would have been unseemly, so I held my
peace, and with the help of the good man put the garments on. Then
leaning on my stick and aided by his strong arm I walked to the
trap-door. Slowly I made my way down the ladder, guided at every step by
Andrew who had preceded me, and by and by my feet touched the flagged
floor of the kitchen. The old woman hurried to my side, and between
them they guided me to a large rush-bottomed chair set in the ingle-nook
beside the fire.
"Nae sae bad, nae sae bad," said the good wife. She looked at me when I
was seated and with a sudden "Eh, my!" she turned and shoo'd with her
apron a hen that had wandered into the kitchen.
Eagerly I looked round, but there was no sign of Mary. The peat smoke
which circled in acrid coils round the room stung my eyes and blurred my
vision, but I was able to take note of the things around me. The kitchen
was sparsely furnished and scrupulously clean. Against one wall stood a
dresser with a row of china bowls, and above them a number of pewter
plates. A "wag-at-the-wa'" ticked in a corner near. A settle stood on
the other side of the peat fire from that on which I was seated, and a
table, with well-scoured top, occupied the middle of the floor.
The good man having satisfied himself that I was all right, went out,
and his wife, taking a bowl from the dresser, filled it with water. I
watched her as she proceeded with her baking. As she busied herself she
talked briskly.
"Ye ken," she said, "you ha'e been under this roof weel ower a month,
and yet ye've never tellt us a word aboot yersel', mair than we fand
oot. Hae ye got a mither o' your ain, and hoo did you, an Englishman,
fin' yer way to this pairt o' the country? Weel I ken that, ever since
Scotland gi'ed ye a king, Scotsmen ha'e been fond o' crossin' the
border, but I never heard tell o' an Englishman afore that left his ain
country to come North, unless," she added, with a twinkle in her eye,
"he cam' as a prisoner."
It was an invitation to unbosom myself, of which I was ready enough to
avail me, and I told her some of my story. "So ye're College bred," she
said. "That accounts for your nice ceevility.
"They tell me," she continued, "that England's a terrible rich country,
that the soil is far kindlier than it is up here and that farmer bodies
haena' sic' a struggle as we ha'e in Scotland." She did not wait for my
reply, but added: "I am thinkin' maybe that is why, as I ha'e heard, the
English ha'e na' muckle backbane, and are readier to listen to sic'
trash as the Divine Richt o' Kings."
I tried to explain to her that it was the strain of monarchs whom we had
imported from Scotland who laid most stress upon this right, but, as I
talked, a shadow filled the doorway, and, looking up, I saw Mary. With
a struggle I raised myself to my feet.
"Sit doon, sit doon," said the good-wife, "it's only oor Mary."
"You forget," I answered, "it is to your daughter, who found me, that I
owe my life. By rights I should kneel at her feet."
"Hear to him! If it hadna' been for Mary's mither and the wey she
looked efter ye and fed ye wi' chicken soup and sheep's-heid broth,
forby parritch and buttermilk and guid brose made by her ain hand, ye
wadna' be sittin' there!"
"Wheesht, mither, wheesht," said Mary: and with a smile in her eyes that
made me think of the stars of the morning in a rose tinged sky, she held
out both her hands to me. I took them and bent to kiss them, but they
were hastily withdrawn, and looking up I saw a flush upon her cheeks,
but I did not read resentment in her eyes.
"Ha'e ye fetched in the kye, Mary?" asked her mother.
"Aye," she replied, "they're a' in their stalls."
Indeed, one could hear the rattle of chains and the moving of hoofs on
the other side of the wall.
"Weel, ye'd better start the milkin'. I'll be oot in a wee to help ye,"
and without a word more Mary took her departure. My ears were all
alert, and, in a moment, I heard her slapping the flank of a cow. Then
her stool grated on the cobbles, and I caught the musical tinkle of the
milk as it was drawn into the pail; and to my delight Mary began to
sing.
I listened eagerly. She was singing a love song! The old woman heard
her too, for she said: "Dae ye ken ocht aboot kye?" I hastened to tell
her that I knew nothing. "Weel," she said, "it's a queer thing, but ye
can aye get mair milk frae a coo if ye sing at the milkin'. If ye sing
a nice bricht tune ye'll get twa or three mair gills than if ye dinna
sing ava. Noo, that's Meg she's milkin', and Meg has got near as muckle
sense as a human being. On Sabbath, ye ken, it would be a terrible sin
to sing a sang to the coo when ye're milkin' her, so I've got to fa'
back on the psalms. But ye've got to be carefu'. For instance, if ye
sang the 'Auld Hundred' to Meg, ye wadna' get near sae muckle milk,
because it's solemn-like, than ye wad if ye sang her a psalm that runs
to the tune o' 'French.' Forby, I aince had a servant-lass that sang a
paraphrase when she was milkin' Meg, and the puir cratur' was that upset
that she was milked dry before the luggy was a quarter filled, and when
I went masel' to strip her, she put her fit in the pail--a thing I've
never kent her dae afore or since."