John Burnet of Barns Part 25

I FALL IN WITH STRANGE FRIENDS

I lay there, still with fright and anxiety, while the wind roared around my hiding-place, and the noise of the horses' feet came to my ears. My first thought was to rush out and meet them, engage the company and get the letter back by force. But a moment's reflection convinced me that this was equal to rus.h.i.+ng on my death. There was nothing for it but to bide where I was, and pray that I might not be discovered.

The noise grew louder, and the harsh voices of the men echoed in the little glen. I lay sweating with fear and I know not what foreboding, as I heard the clatter of hooves among the slates and the heavy tread of those who had dismounted and were searching every tuft of heather. I know not to this day how I escaped. It may be that their eyes were blinded with mist and rain; it may be that my hiding-place was securer than I thought, for G.o.d knows I had no time to choose it; it may be that their search was but perfunctory, since they had got the letter; it may be that they thought in their hearts that I had escaped ever the back of Caerdon and searched only to satisfy their leader. At any rate, in a little all was still, save for the sound of distant voices, and with vast caution and great stiffness of body I drew myself from the hole.

I have rarely felt more utterly helpless and downcast. I had saved my skin, but only by a hairbreadth, and in the saving of it I had put the match to my fortunes. For that luckless letter gave the man into whose hands it might fall a clue to Marjory's whereabouts. It is true that the thing was slight, but still it was there, and 'twas but a matter of time till it was unravelled. All was up with me. Now that I was thus isolated on Caerdon and the far western ridges of the Tweedside hills I could have little hope of getting free, for to return to safety I must cross either Holmes Water, which was guarded like a street, or the lower Tweed, which, apart from the fact that it was in roaring flood, could no more be pa.s.sed by me than the gates of Edinburgh. But I give my word it was not this that vexed me; nay, I looked forward to danger, even to capture, with something akin to hope. But the gnawing anxiety gripped me by the throat that once more my poor la.s.s would be exposed to the amenities of my cousin, and her easy, quiet life at Smitwood shattered forever. An unreasoning fit of rage took me, and I dashed my foot on the heather in my hopeless vexation. I cursed every soldier, and d.a.m.ned Gilbert to the blackest torments which my heart could conjure.

But rage, at the best, is vain and I soon ceased. It was indeed high time that I should be bestirring myself. I could not stay where I was, for in addition to being without food or decent shelter, I was there on the very confines of the most dangerous country. Not two miles to the north from the place where I lay the hills ceased, and the low-lying central moorlands succeeded, which, as being a great haunt of the more virulent Whigs, were watched by many bands of dragoons. If my life were to be saved I must get back once more to the wild heights of the upper Tweed.

I climbed the gully and, keeping lower down the hill, made for the mountain, named Coulter Fell, which is adjacent to Caerdon. I know not why I went this way, save through a fantastic idea of getting to the very head of the Holmes Water and crossing there. Every step I took led me into more perilous ground, for it took me farther to the westward.

It was my sole chance, and in the teeth of the wind I wrestled on over the long heather and grey sklidders, slipping and stumbling with weariness and dispirit. Indeed I know not if anything could have sustained me save the motto of my house, which came always to my mind.

_Virescit vulnere virtus_! The old proud saw cheered my heart wondrously. I shall not shame my kin, said I to myself; it shall never be said that misfortune did aught to one of my name save raise his valour.

When I reached the head of the ridge I thought that the way was clear before me and that I had outdistanced my pursuers. I stood up boldly on the summit and looked down on the Holmes Water head. The next minute I had flung myself flat again and was hastening to retrace my steps. For this was what I saw. All up the stream at irregular intervals dragoons were beating the heather in their quest for me. Clearly they thought that I had made for the low ground. Clearly, also, there was no hope of escape in that quarter.

With a heavy heart I held along the bald face of the great Coulter Fell.

I know no more heartless mountain on earth than that great black scarp, which on that day flung its head far up into the mist. The storm, if anything, had increased in fury. Every now and then there came a burst of sharp hail, and I was fain to shelter for a moment by lying on the earth. Very circ.u.mspectly I went, for I knew not when through the wall of mist a gleam of buff coats or steel might meet me. In such a fas.h.i.+on, half-creeping, half running, I made my way down the hills which flank the Coulter Water, and came at length to the range of low hills which look down upon Biggar and the lowlands of Clyde.

I struggled to the top and looked over into the misty haughs. The day was thick, yet not so thick that I could not see from this little elevation the plain features of the land below. I saw the tail trees of Coulter House and the grey walls and smoking chimney. Beyond was the road, thick in mud, and with scarce a traveller. All seemed quiet, and as I looked a wild plan came into my head. Why should I not go through the very den of the lion? What hindered me from going down by the marsh of Biggar and the woods of Rachan, and thence to my hiding-place? It was the high roads that were unwatched in these days, and the byways which had each their sentinel.

But as I looked again the plan pa.s.sed from my mind. For there below, just issuing from the gateway of Coulter House, I saw a man on horseback, and another, and still another. I needed no more. A glance was sufficient to tell me their character and purport. Gilbert verily had used his brains to better advantage than I had ever dreamed of. He had fairly outwitted me, and the three airts of north and south and west were closed against me.

There still remained the east, and thither I turned. I was shut in on a triangle of hill and moorland, some three miles in length and two in breadth. At the east was the spur of hill at the foot of the Holmes Water and above the house of Rachan. If I went thither I might succeed in crossing the breadth of the valley and win to the higher hills. It was but a chance, and in my present weakness I would as soon have laid me down on the wet earth and gone to sleep. But I forced myself to go on, and once more I battled with the snell weather.

I do not very well remember how I crossed the Kilbucho glen, and stumbled through the maze of little streams and sheep drains which cover all the place. I had no more stomach for the work than an old dog has for coursing. To myself I could give no reason for my conduct save a sort of obstinacy which would not let me give in. At a place called Blendewing I lay down on my face and drank pints of water from the burn-a foolish action, which in my present condition was like to prove dangerous. In the pine-wood at the back of the s.h.i.+eling I laid me down for a little to rest, and when once more I forced myself to go on, I was as stiff as a s.h.i.+p's figure-head. In this state I climbed the little hills which line the burn, and came to the limit of the range above the place called Whiteslade.

It was now about two o'clock in the afternoon, and the storm, so far from abating, grew every moment in fierceness. I began to go hot and cold all over alternately, and the mist-covered hills were all blurred to my sight like a boy's slate. Now, by Heaven, thought I, things are coming at last to a crisis. I shall either die in a bog-hole, or fall into my cousin's hands before this day is over. A strange perverted joy took possession of me. I had nothing now to lose, my fortunes were so low that they could sink no farther; I had no cause to dread either soldier or weather. And then my poor silly head began to whirl, and I lost all power of antic.i.p.ation.

To this day I do not know how I crossed the foot of the Holmes valley-for this was what I did. The place was watched most jealously, for Holmes Mill was there, and the junction of the roads to the upper Tweed and the moors of Clyde. But the thing was achieved, and my next clear remembrance is one of crawling painfully among the low birk trees-and cliffs on the far side of the Wormel. My knees and hands were bleeding, and I had a pain in my head so terrible that I forgot all other troubles in this supreme one.

It was now drawing towards evening. The grey rain-clouds had become darker and the shadows crept over the sodden hills. All the world was desert to me, where there was no shelter. Dawyck and Barns were in the hands of the enemy. The cave of the Cor Water was no more. I had scarce strength to reach my old hiding-place in the hags above Sc.r.a.pe, and if I did get there I had not the power to make it habitable. A gravelled and sanded couch with a heathery roof is pleasant enough in the dry weather, but in winter it is no better than a bog-hole.

Nevertheless I slid down the hill as best I could and set myself to crossing the valley. It was half-filled with water pools which the flood had left, and at the far side I saw the red, raging stream of Tweed. I remember wondering without interest whether I should ever win over or drown there. It was a matter of little moment to me. The fates had no further power to vex me.

But ere I reached the hillfoot I saw something which gave me pause, reckless though I had come to be. On the one hand there was a glimpse of men coming up the valley-mounted men, riding orderly as in a troop.

On the other I saw scattered soldiers dispersing over the haughland.

The thought was borne in upon me that I was cut off at last from all hope of escape. I received the tidings with no fear, scarcely with surprise. My sickness had so much got the better of me that though the heavens had opened I would not have turned my head to them. But I still staggered on, blindly, nervelessly, wondering in my heart how long I would keep on my feet.

But now in the little hollow I saw something before me, a glimpse of light, and faces lit by the glow. I felt instinctively the near presence of men. Stumbling towards it I went, groping my way as if I were blindfold. Then some great darkness came over my brain and I sank on the ground.

CHAPTER XV

THE BAILLIES OF NO MAN'S LAND

The next period in my life lies still in my mind like a dream. I have a remembrance of awaking and an impression of light, and strange faces, and then all was dark again. Of those days my memory is a blank; there is nothing but a medley of sickness and weariness, light and blackness, and the wild phantoms of a sick man's visions.

When I first awoke to clear consciousness, it was towards evening in a wild glen just below the Devil's Beef Tub at the head of the Annan. I had no knowledge where I was. All that I saw was a crowd of men and women around me, a fire burning and a great pot hissing thereon. All that I heard was a babel of every noise, from the discordant cries of men to the yelping of a pack of curs. I was lying on a very soft couch made of skins and cloaks in the shade of a little roughly-made tent.

Beyond I could see the bare hillsides rising shoulder on shoulder, and the sting of air on my cheek told me that it was freezing hard. But I was not cold, for the roaring fire made the place warm as a baker's oven.

I lay still and wondered, casting my mind over all the events of the past that I could remember. I was still giddy in the head, and the effort made me close my eyes with weariness. Try as I would I could think of nothing beyond my parting from Marjory at Smitwood. All the events of my wanderings for the moment had gone from my mind.

By and by I grew a little stronger, and bit by bit the thing returned to me. I remembered with great vividness the weary incidents of my flight, even up to its end and my final sinking. But still the matter was no clearer. I had been rescued, it was plain, but by whom, when, where, why? I lay and puzzled over the thing with a curious mixture of indifference and interest.

Suddenly a face looked in upon me, and a loud strident voice cried out in a tongue which I scarce fully understood. The purport of its words was that the sick man was awake and looking about him. In a minute the babel was stilled, and I heard a woman's voice giving orders. Then some one came to me with a basin of soup.

"Drink, lad," said she; "ye've had a geyan close escape but a' is richt wi' ye noo. Tak this and see how ye feel."

The woman was tall and squarely built like a man; indeed, I cannot think that she was under six feet. Her face struck me with astonishment, for I had seen no woman for many a day since Marjory's fair face, and the harsh commanding features of my nurse seemed doubly strange. For dress she wore a black hat tied down over her ears with a 'kerchief, and knotted in gipsy fas.h.i.+on beneath her chin. Her gown was of some dark-blue camlet cloth, and so short that it scarce reached her knees, though whether this fas.h.i.+on was meant for expedition in movement or merely for display of gaudy stockings, I know not. Certainly her stockings were monstrously fine, being of dark blue flowered with scarlet thread, and her shoon were adorned with great buckles of silver.

Her outer petticoat was folded so as to make two large pockets on either side, and in the bosom of her dress I saw a great clasp-knife.

I drank the soup, which was made of some wild herbs known only to the gipsy folk, and lay back on my couch.

"Now, sleep a wee, lad," said the woman, "and I'll warrant ye'll be as blithe the morn as ever."

I slept for some hours, and when I awoke sure enough I felt mightily strengthened. It was now eventide and the camp-fire had been made larger to cook the evening meal. As I looked forth I could see men squatting around it, broiling each his own piece of meat in the ashes, while several cauldrons sputtered and hissed on the chains. It was a wild, bustling sight, and as I lay and watched I was not sorry that I had fallen into such hands. For I ever loved to see new things and strange ways, and now I was like to have my fill.

They brought me supper, a wild duck roasted and coa.r.s.e home-made bread, and a bottle of very tolerable wine, got I know not whence unless from the cellars of some churlish laird. I ate it heartily, for I had fasted long in my sickness, and now that I was recovered I had much to make up.

Then the woman returned and asked me how I did. I told her, "Well," and thanked her for her care, asking her how I had been rescued and where I was. And this was the tale she told me.

She was of the clan of the Baillies, the great gipsies of Tweeddale and Clydesdale, offshoots of the house of Lamington, and proud as the devil or John Faa himself. They had been encamped in the little haugh at the foot of the Wormel on the night of my chase. They had heard a cry, and a man with a face like death had staggered in among them and fainted at their feet. Captain William Baillie, their leader, of whom more anon, had often been well-entreated at Barns in my father's time, and had heard of my misfortunes. He made a guess as to who I was and ordered that I should be well looked after. Meantime the two companies of soldiers pa.s.sed by, suspecting nothing, and not troubling to look for the object of their search, who all the while was lying senseless beneath a gipsy tent. When all was safe they looked to my condition, and found that I was in a raging fever with cold and fatigue. Now the gipsies, especially those of our own countryside, are great adepts in medicine, and they speedily had all remedies applied to me. For three weeks I lay ill, delirious most of the time, and they bore me with them in a litter in all their wanderings. I have heard of many strange pieces of generosity, but of none more strange than this-to carry with much difficulty a helpless stranger over some of the roughest land in Scotland, and all for no other motive than sheer kindliness to a house which had befriended them of old. With them I travelled over the wild uplands of Eskdale and Ettrick, and with them I now returned to the confines of Tweeddale.

"The Captain's awa' just noo," added she, "but he'll be back the morn, and blithe he'll be to see ye so weel."

And she left me and I slept again till daybreak.

When I awoke again it was morning, just such a day as the last, frosty and clear and bright. I saw by the bustle that the camp was making preparations for starting, and I was so well recovered that I felt fit to join them. I no longer needed to be borne like a child in a litter, but could mount horse and ride with the best of them.

I had risen and gone out to the encampment and was watching the activity of man and beast, when one advanced from the throng toward me. He was a very tall, handsome man, dark in face as a Spaniard, with fine curling moustachios. He wore a broad blue bonnet on his head, his coat was of good green cloth and his small-clothes of black. At his side he carried a sword and in his belt a brace of pistols, and save for a certain foreign air in his appearance he seemed as fine a gentleman as one could see in the land. He advanced to me and made me a very courtly bow, which I returned as well as my still-aching back permitted me.

"I am glad you are recovered, Master John Burnet," said he, speaking excellent English, though with the broad accent which is customary to our Scots lowlands. "Permit me to make myself known to you. I have the honour to be Captain William Baillie at your service, captain of the ragged regiment and the Egyptian guards." All this he said with as fine an air as if he were His Majesty's first general.

At the mention of his name I called to mind all I had heard of this extraordinary man, the chief of all the south-country gipsies, and a character as famous in those days and in those parts as Claverhouse or my lord the King. He claimed to be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of the house of Lamington, and through his mother he traced descent, also by the wrong side of the blanket, to the Gay Gordons themselves. Something of his a.s.sumed gentrice showed in his air and manner, which was haughty and lofty as any lord's in the land. But in his face, among wild pa.s.sions and unbridled desires, I read such shrewd kindliness that I found it in my heart to like him. Indeed, while the tales of his crimes are hawked at every fair, the tales of his many deeds of kindness are remembered in lonely places by folk who have cause to bless the name of Baillie. This same captain had indeed the manners of a prince, for when he bought anything he was wont to give his purse in payment, and indignantly refuse to receive change of any kind. It is only fair to add that the money was not got by honest means, but by the plunder of the rich and churlish. Yet though his ways were roguish his acts were often most Christian-like and courteous, and there were worse men in higher places that this William Baillie. More, he was reputed the best swordsman in all Scotland, though, as being barred from the society of men of birth and education, his marvellous talent was seldom seen. He was of the most indomitable courage and self-possession, and even in the court, when on his trial, he spoke fearlessly to his judges. I do not seek to defend him; but to me and mine he did a good deed and I would seek to be grateful. When long afterwards he was killed in a brawl in the alehouse of Newarthill, I heard the tidings with some sorrow, for he died bravely, though in an ign.o.ble quarrel.

He now informed me with great civility of the incidents of my escape and sickness. When I thanked him he waved me off with a great air.

"Tut, tut," said he, "that is a small matter between gentlefolk. I have often had kindness from your father, and it is only seemly that I should do my best for the son. Besides, it is not in my nature to see a man so sore pressed by the soldiery and not seek to deliver him. It is a predicament I have so often been in myself."

A horse was brought for me, a little wiry animal, well suited for hills and sure-footed as a goat. When I felt myself in the saddle once again, even though it were but a gipsy hallion, I was glad; for to one who has scrambled on his own feet for so many days, a horse is something like an earnest of better times. Captain Baillie bade me come with him to another place, where he showed me a heap of gipsy garments. "It is necessary," said he, "if you would ride with us that you change your appearance. One of your figure riding among us would be too kenspeckle to escape folk's notice. You must let me stain your face, too, with the juice which we make for our bairns' cheeks. It will wash off when you want it, but till that time it will be as fast as sunburn." So taking a crow's feather and dipping it in a little phial, he with much skill pa.s.sed it over my whole face and hands. Then he held a mirror for me to look, and lo and behold, I was as brown as a gipsy or a Barbary Moor. I laughed loud and long at my appearance, and when I was bidden put on a long green coat, the neighbour of the captain's, and a pair of stout untanned riding-boots, I swear my appearance was as truculent as the roughest tinker's.

Thus accoutred we set out, the men riding in front in pairs and threes, the women behind with donkeys and baggage shelties. It was a queer picture, for the clothing of all was bright-coloured, and formed a strange contrast with the clear, chilly skies and the dim moor. There was no fear of detection, for apart from the company that I was with, my disguise was so complete that not even the most vigilant dragoon could spy me out. Our road was that which I had already travelled often to my own great weariness-down Tweed by Rachan and the Mossfennan haughs. I had no guess at our destination; so when at Broughton we turned to the westward and headed through the moss towards the town of Biggar, I was not surprised. Nay, I was glad, for it brought me nearer to the west country and Smitwood, whither I desired to go with the utmost speed.

For with my returning health my sorrows and cares came back to me more fiercely than ever. It could not be that my cousin should find out Marjory's dwelling-place at once, for in the letter there was no clear information; only indefinite hints, which in time would bring him there.

The hope of my life was to reach the house before him and rescue my love, though I had no fixed plan in my mind and would have been at a sore loss for aid. Nevertheless, I was quieter in spirit, and more hopeful. For, after all, thought I, though Gilbert get my la.s.s, he yet has me to deal with, and I will follow him to the world's end ere I let him be.