OF A HIGH-HANDED LADY.
The storm died away in the night, and I awoke to a clear, rain-washed
world and the chill of an autumn morn. I was as stiff and sore as if I
had been whipped, my clothes were sodden and heavy, and not till I had
washed my face and hands in the burn and stretched my legs up the
hill-side did I feel restored to something of my ordinary briskness.
The encampment looked weird indeed as seen in the cruel light of day.
The women were cooking oatmeal on iron girdles, but the fire burned
smokily, and the cake I got was no better than dough. They were a
disjaskit lot, with tousled hair and pinched faces, in which shone
hungry eyes. Most were barefoot, and all but two--three were ancient
beldames who should have been at home in the chimney corner. I noticed
one decent-looking young woman, who had the air of a farm servant; and
two were well-fed country wives who had probably left a brood of
children to mourn them. The men were little better. One had the sallow
look of a weaver, another was a hind with a big, foolish face, and
there was a slip of a lad who might once have been a student of
divinity. But each had a daftness in the eye and something weak and
unwholesome in the visage, so that they were an offence to the fresh,
gusty moorland.
All but Muckle John himself. He came out of his tent and prayed till
the hill-sides echoed. It was a tangle of bedlamite ravings, with long
screeds from the Scriptures intermixed like currants in a bag-pudding.
But there was power in the creature, in the strange lift of his voice,
in his grim jowl, and in the fire of his sombre eyes. The others I
pitied, but him I hated and feared. On him and his kind were to be
blamed all the madness of the land, which had sent my father overseas
and desolated our dwelling. So long as crazy prophets preached
brimstone and fire, so long would rough-shod soldiers and cunning
lawyers profit by their folly; and often I prayed in those days that
the two evils might devour each other.
It was time that I was cutting loose from this ill-omened company and
continuing my road Edinburgh-wards. We were lying in a wide trough of
the Pentland Hills, which I well remembered. The folk of the plains
called it the Cauldstaneslap, and it made an easy path for sheep and
cattle between the Lothians and Tweeddale. The camp had been snugly
chosen, for, except by the gleam of a fire in the dark, it was
invisible from any distance. Muckle John was so filled with his
vapourings that I could readily slip off down the burn and join the
southern highway at the village of Linton.
I was on the verge of going when I saw that which pulled me up. A rider
was coming over the moor. The horse leaped the burn lightly, and before
I could gather my wits was in the midst of the camp, where Muckle John
was vociferating to heaven.
My heart gave a great bound, for I saw it was the girl who had sung to
me in the rain. She rode a fine sorrel, with the easy seat of a skilled
horsewoman. She was trimly clad in a green riding-coat, and over the
lace collar of it her hair fell in dark, clustering curls. Her face was
grave, like a determined child's; but the winds of the morning had
whipped it to a rosy colour, so that into that clan of tatterdemalions
she rode like Proserpine descending among the gloomy Shades. In her
hand she carried a light riding-whip.
A scream from the women brought Muckle John out of his rhapsodies. He
stared blankly at the slim girl who confronted him with hand on hip.
"What seekest thou here, thou shameless woman?" he roared.
"I am come," said she, "for my tirewoman, Janet Somerville, who left me
three days back without a reason. Word was brought me that she had
joined a mad company called the Sweet-Singers, that lay at the
Cauldstaneslap. Janet's a silly body, but she means no ill, and her
mother is demented at the loss of her. So I have come for Janet."
Her cool eyes ran over the assembly till they lighted on the one I had
already noted as more decent-like than the rest. At the sight of the
girl the woman bobbed a curtsy.
"Come out of it, silly Janet," said she on the horse; "you'll never
make a Sweet-Singer, for there's not a notion of a tune in your head."
"It's not singing that I seek, my leddy," said the woman, blushing. "I
follow the call o' the Lord by the mouth o' His servant, John Gib."
"You'll follow the call of your mother by the mouth of me, Elspeth
Blair. Forget these havers, Janet, and come back like a good Christian
soul. Mount and be quick. There's room behind me on Bess."
The words were spoken in a kindly, wheedling tone, and the girl's face
broke into the prettiest of smiles. Perhaps Janet would have obeyed,
but Muckle John, swift to prevent defection, took up the parable.
"Begone, ye daughter of Heth!" he bellowed, "ye that are like the
devils that pluck souls from the way of salvation. Begone, or it is
strongly borne in upon me that ye will dree the fate of the women of
Midian, of whom it is written that they were slaughtered and spared
not."
The girl did not look his way. She had her coaxing eyes on her halting
maid. "Come, Janet, woman," she said again. "It's no job for a decent
lass to be wandering at the tail of a crazy warlock."
The word roused Muckle John to fury. He sprang forward, caught the
sorrel's bridle, and swung it round. The girl did not move, but looked
him square in the face, the young eyes fronting his demoniac glower.
Then very swiftly her arm rose, and she laid the lash of her whip
roundly over his shoulders.
The man snarled like a beast, leaped back and plucked from his seaman's
belt a great horse-pistol. I heard the click of it cocking, and the
next I knew it was levelled at the girl's breast. The sight of her and
the music of her voice had so enthralled me that I had made no plan as
to my own conduct. But this sudden peril put fire into my heels, and in
a second I was at his side. I had brought from home a stout shepherd's
staff, with which I struck the muzzle upwards. The pistol went off in a
great stench of powder, but the bullet wandered to the clouds.
Muckle John let the thing fall into the moss, and plucked another
weapon from his belt. This was an ugly knife, such as a cobbler uses
for paring hides. I knew the seaman's trick of throwing, having seen
their brawls at the pier of Leith, and I had no notion for the steel in
my throat. The man was far beyond me in size and strength, so I dared
not close with him. Instead, I gave him the point of my staff with all
my power straight in the midriff. The knife slithered harmlessly over
my shoulder, and he fell backwards into the heather.
There was no time to be lost, for the whole clan came round me like a
flock of daws. One of the men, the slim lad, had a pistol, but I saw by
the way he handled it that it was unprimed. I was most afraid of the
women, who with their long claws would have scratched my eyes out, and
I knew they would not spare the girl. To her I turned anxiously, and,
to my amazement, she was laughing. She recognized me, for she cried
out, "Is this the way to Kirknewton, sir?" And all the time she
shook with merriment. In that hour I thought her as daft as the
Sweet-Singers, whose nails were uncommonly near my cheek.
I got her bridle, tumbled over the countryman with a kick, and forced
her to the edge of the sheepfold. But she wheeled round again, crying,
"I must have Janet," and faced the crowd with her whip. That was well
enough, but I saw Muckle John staggering to his feet, and I feared
desperately for his next move. The girl was either mad or
extraordinarily brave.
"Get back, you pitiful knaves," she cried. "Lay a hand on me, and I
will cut you to ribbons. Make haste, Janet, and quit this folly."
It was gallant talk, but there was no sense in it. Muckle John was on
his feet, half the clan had gone round to our rear, and in a second or
two she would have been torn from the saddle. A headstrong girl was
beyond my management, and my words of entreaty were lost in the babel
of cries.
But just then there came another sound. From the four quarters of the
moor there closed in upon us horsemen. They came silently and were
about us before I had a hint of their presence. It was a troop of
dragoons in the king's buff and scarlet, and they rode us down as if we
had been hares in a field. The next I knew of it I was sprawling on the
ground with a dizzy head, and horses trampling around me, I had a
glimpse of Muckle John with a pistol at his nose, and the sorrel
curveting and plunging in a panic. Then I bethought myself of saving my
bones, and crawled out of the mellay behind the sheepfold.
Presently I realized that this was the salvation I had been seeking.
Gib was being pinioned, and two of the riders were speaking with the
girl. The women hung together like hens in a storm, while the dragoons
laid about them with the flat of their swords. There was one poor
creature came running my way, and after her followed on foot a long
fellow, who made clutches at her hair. He caught her with ease, and
proceeded to bind her hands with great brutality.
"Ye beldame," he said, with many oaths, "I'll pare your talons for ye."
Now I, who a minute before had been in danger from this very crew, was
smitten with a sudden compunction. Except for Muckle John, they were so
pitifully feeble, a pack of humble, elderly folk, worn out with fasting
and marching and ill weather. I had been sickened by their crazy
devotions, but I was more sickened by this man's barbarity. It was the
woman, too, who had given me food the night before.
So I stepped out, and bade the man release her.
He was a huge, sunburned ruffian, and for answer aimed a clour at my
head. "Take that, my mannie," he said. "I'll learn ye to follow the
petticoats."
His scorn put me into a fury, in which anger at his brutishness and the
presence of the girl on the sorrel moved my pride to a piece of naked
folly. I flew at his throat, and since I had stood on a little
eminence, the force of my assault toppled him over. My victory lasted
scarcely a minute. He flung me from him like a feather, then picked me
up and laid on to me with the flat of his sword.
"Ye thrawn jackanapes," he cried, as he beat me. "Ye'll pay dear for
playing your pranks wi' John Donald."
I was a child in his mighty grasp, besides having no breath left in me
to resist. He tied my hands and legs, haled me to his horse, and flung
me sack-like over the crupper. There was no more shamefaced lad in the
world than me at that moment, for coming out of the din I heard a
girl's light laughter.