Читать книгу Flower o' the Heather - Robert William MacKenna - Страница 4

"God save the King! Whereas Margaret Lauchlison, widow of John Mulligan, wright in Drumjargon, and Margaret Wilson, daughter of Gilbert Wilson, farmer in Penninghame, were indicted on April 13th, in the year of grace 1685 before Sheriff Graham, Sir Robert Grierson of Lag, Colonel Winram, and Captain Strachan, as being guilty of the Rebellion of Bothwell Brig, Aird's Moss, twenty field Conventicles, and twenty house Conventicles, the Assize did sit, and after witnesses heard did bring them in guilty, and the judges sentenced them to be tied to palisadoes fixed in the sand, within the floodmark of the sea, and there to stand till the flood overflows them. The whilk sentence, being in accordance with the law of this Kingdom, is decreed to be carried out this day, the 11th of May in the year of grace 1685. God Save the King."

When he ceased there was silence for a space, and then Grier of Lag, his sword scraping the gravel as he moved, walked up to the older prisoner, and shouted:

"Margaret Lauchlison, will ye recant?"

She raised her head, looked him in the eyes with such a fire in hers that his gaze fell before it, and in a steady voice replied:

"Goodness and mercy ha'e followed me a' the days o' my life, and I'm no' gaun back on my Lord in the hour o' my death,"--and she bowed her head again, as though there was nothing more to be said, but her lips kept moving silently.

Lag turned from her with a shrug of the shoulders, and approached the younger prisoner. She turned her head to meet him with a winsome smile that would have softened a heart less granite hard; but to him her beauty made no appeal.

"Margaret Wilson," he said, "you have heard your sentence. Will ye recant?"

I can still hear her reply:

"Sir, I count it a high honour to suffer for Christ's truth. He alone is King and Head of His Church."

It was a brave answer, but it was not the answer that Lag required, so he turned on his heel and rejoined the Sheriff and the Provost. I did not hear what passed between them, but it was not to the advantage of the prisoners, for the next moment I saw that the gaoler was fastening the old woman's left wrist to the stirrup leather of one of the troopers who had been ordered to bring his horse up nearer the Town Cross. Many a time since I have wondered whether it was ill-luck or good fortune that made them hit on me to do such a disservice for Margaret Wilson. It may have been nothing more than blind chance, or it may have been the act of Providence--I am no theologian, and have never been able to settle these fine points--but, at a word from Lag, her gaoler brought the girl over beside me, and shackled her wrist to my stirrup leather. I dared not look at her face, but I saw her hand, shapely and brown, close round the stirrup leather as though she were in pain when the gaoler tightened the thong.

"Curse you," I growled, "there's no need to cut her hand off. She'll not escape," and I would fain have hit the brute over the head with the butt of my musket. He slackened the thong a trifle, and as he slouched off I was conscious that my prisoner looked up at me as though to thank me: but I dared not meet her eyes, and she spoke no word.

There was a rattle of drums, and we wheeled into our appointed places, and began our woeful journey to the sea. Heading our procession walked two halberdiers, their weapons glistening above their heads. Followed them the Sheriff and the Provost: and after these Winram and the troopers in two lines, between which walked the prisoners. Lag rode behind on his great black horse. It was a brave sight for the old town of Wigtown--but a sight of dule.

Down the street we went, but this time there were no glances of admiration cast upon us: nothing but silent looks of awe, touched with pity. Ahead I saw anxious mothers shepherding their children into the shelter of their doors, and when we came near them I could see that some of the children and many of the women were weeping. I dared not look Margaret Wilson in the face, but I let my eyes wander to her hair, brown and lustrous in the sunshine. My hand on the reins was moist, my lips were dry, and I cursed myself that ever I had thrown in my lot with such a horde of murderers. Agnew's words about conscience kept ringing in my ears, and I felt them sear my brain. Conscience indeed! What kind of conscience had I, that I could take part in such a devilish ploy? If I had had the courage of a rabbit I would have swung the girl up before me, set spurs to my horse, broken from the line and raced for life. But I was a coward. I had no heart for such high adventure, and many a time since, as I have lain in the dark before the cock-crowing, I have been tortured by remorse for the brave good thing I was too big a craven to attempt.

The procession wound slowly on, then wheeled to the left and descended to the river bank. I believe the Blednoch has altered its course since that day. I have never had the heart to revisit the scene, but men tell me so. Then, it flowed into the sea over a long stretch of brown sand just below the town. It was neither broad, nor yet very deep: but when the tide of Solway was at its full it flooded all the sand banks, and filled the river-mouth so that the river water was dammed back, and it became a broad stream.

Far out on the sand I saw a stake planted: and another some thirty paces nearer shore. They led the old woman, weary with her walk, to the farther stake, and tying her to it left her there. Down the channel one could see the tide coming in--its brown and foam-sprinkled front raised above the underlying water. Cruel it looked, like some questing wild beast raising its head to spy out its prey. A halberdier came and severed the thong that fastened Margaret Wilson to my stirrup leather, and led her away. My eyes followed her, and as she passed my horse's head she looked at me over her shoulder and our eyes met. I shall see those eyes until the Day of Judgment: blue as the speedwell--blue, and unafraid.

They led her to the nearer stake, and bound her there. There was a kind of mercy in their cruelty, for they thought that if the younger woman should witness the death of the elder one she might be persuaded to recant before she herself was engulfed. Quickly, as is its wont, the Solway tide rushed over the sand. Before Margaret Wilson was fastened to the stake, the water was knee-deep where Margaret Lauchlison stood: and soon it was at the maiden's feet. As the first wave touched her there was a murmur like a groan from some of the town folk who had followed us and stood behind us in little knots upon the river bank. The tide flowed on, mounting higher and higher, until old Margaret Lauchlison stood waist deep in a swirl of tawny water. She was too far out for us to hear her if she spoke, but we could see that she had raised her head and was looking fearlessly over the water. And then the younger woman did a strange thing. Out of the fold of her gown over her bosom she drew a little book, opened it and read aloud. A hush fell upon us: and our horses, soothed by the music of her voice, stopped their head-tossing and were still. She read so clearly that all of us could hear, and there was a proud note in her voice as she ended: "For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Then she kissed the open page, and returned her testament to her bosom, and in a moment burst into song:

"My sins and faults of youth

Do Thou, O Lord, forget!

After Thy mercy think on me,

And for Thy goodness great."

She sang like a bird, her clear notes soaring up to the blue vault of heaven, out of the depths of a heart untouched by fear. I heard Agnew, who was ranged next me, mutter "This is devil's work," but my throat was too parched for speech. Would she never cease? On and on went that pure young voice, singing verse after verse till the psalm was finished. When she had ended the tide was well about her waist, and had already taken Margaret Lauchlison by the throat.

"What see ye yonder, Marget Wilson?" shouted Lag, pointing with his sword to the farther stake.

She looked for a moment, and answered: "I see Christ wrestling there."

Then there was a great silence, and looking out to sea we saw a huge wave sweep white-crested over the head of the older woman, who bent to meet it, and was no more seen. The law had taken its course with her.

There was a murmur of angry voices behind us, but a stern look from Lag silenced the timorous crowd. Setting spurs to his horse he plunged into the water, and drew up beside the nearer stake. He severed the rope that bound the girl, whereat a cheer rose from the townsfolk who imagined that the law had relented and that its majesty was satisfied with the death of one victim. He turned his horse and dragged the girl ashore. As they reached the bank, he flung her from him and demanded:

"Will ye take the oath? Will ye say 'God Save the King?'"

"God save him an He will," she said. "I wish the salvation of all men, and the damnation of none."

Now to my thinking that was an answer sufficient, and for such the town folk took it, for some of them cried: "She's said it! She's said it! She's saved!"

Lag turned on them like a tiger: "Curse ye," he shouted, "for a pack o' bletherin' auld wives! The hizzy winna' recant. Back intil the sea wi' her," and gripping her by the arm he dragged her back, and with his own hands fastened her again to the stake. Her head fell forward so that for an instant her face lay upon the waters, then she raised it proudly again. But a halberdier, with no pity in his foul heart, reached out his long halberd, and placing the blade of it upon her neck pushed her face down into the sea.

"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said, and leered at the townsfolk: but they cried shame upon him and Lag bade him desist.

On came the waters, wave after wave, mounting steadily till they reached her heart: then they swept over the curve of her bosom and mounted higher and higher till they touched her neck. She was silent now--silent, but unafraid. She turned her face to the bank, and, O wonder, she smiled, and in her eyes there was a mystic light as though she had seen the Invisible. The cruel waves came on, climbing up the column of her throat until, as though to show her a mercy which man denied her, the sea swirled over her and her face fell forward beneath the waves. Her brown hair floated on the water like a piece of beautiful sea-wrack, and the broken foam clung to it like pearls. Justice--God forgive the word--justice had been done: and two women, malignant and dangerous to the realm because they claimed the right to worship their Maker according to the dictates of their conscience, had been lawfully done to death.

There was a rattle of drums, and we fell into rank again. I looked across the water. Far off I saw a gull flash like a streak of silver into the waves, and near at hand, afloat upon the water, a wisp of brown seaweed--or was it a lassie's hair?

CHAPTER IV

THE TAVERN BRAWL

It was high noon as we cluttered up the hill, back to our camping-place. Our day's work was done, but it was not till evening that we were free to go about our own affairs. Try as I might I could not blot out the memory of the doings of the morning, and when night fell I took my way with half a dozen companions to the inn that stood not far from the Tolbooth in the hope that there I might find some relief from the scourge of my thoughts. In the sanded kitchen, round a glowing fire--for though it was May the nights were still chilly--we found many of the townsfolk already gathered. Some were passing a patient hour with the dambrod, seeking inspiration for crafty moves of the black or white men in tankards of the tavern-keeper's ale. Others were gathered round the fire smoking, each with a flagon of liquor at his elbow.

I sat down at a little table with Trooper Agnew, and called for something to drink. I was in no mood for amusement, and spurned Agnew's suggestion that we should play draughts. The inn-keeper placed a tobacco jar between us.

"Ye'll try a smoke?" he queried. "It's guid tobacco: a' the better, though I hardly daur mention it, that it paid nae duty."

Nothing loth, Agnew and I filled our pipes, and the inn-keeper picking up a piece of red peat with the tongs held it to our pipes till they were aglow. It was, as mine host had said, good tobacco, and under its soothing influence and the brightening effect of his ale my gloom began to disappear. From time to time other troopers dropped in, and they were followed by sundry of the townsfolk with whom, in spite of the events of the morning, we red-coat men were on good terms. Close by the fire sat one of the halberdiers--the man who had pushed the head of the drowning girl under the water with his halberd. The ale had loosened his tongue.

"I dinna ken," he said, "but the thing lies here: if thae stiff-necked Covenanters winna' tak' the oath to the King, it is the end o' a' proper order in the country." He spat a hissing expectoration upon the glowing peat. "I'm a man o' order masel'. I expect fowk to obey me in virtue o' ma office just as I'm ready to obey them as God and the King ha'e set abune me."

He spoke loudly as though challenging his audience; but no one made answer.

The silence was broken by the clatter of draughts as two players ended a game and set about replacing the men for another joust. The halberdier took a long draught from his mug.

"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said, reminiscently, as he set the tankard down. Then drawing the back of his hand across his mouth he continued: "It was a fine bit work we did this mornin', lads. I rarely ta'en pairt in a better job. There's naethin' like making an example o' malignants, and I'm thinkin' it will be lang before ony mair o' the women o' this countryside are misguided enough to throw in their lot wi' the hill-preachers. She was a thrawn auld besom was Marget Lauchlison. I have kent her mony a year--aye psalm-singing and gabbling texts. Will ye believe it, she's even flung texts at me. Me! the toon's halberdier! 'The wicked shall fall by his own wickedness,' said she: 'The wicked shall be turned into Hell'; 'The dwelling place of the wicked shall come to naught.' Oh, she had a nesty tongue. But noo she's cleppin' wi' the partans, thank God. Here, Mac, fill me anither jorum. It tak's a lot o' yill tae wash the taste o' the auld besom's texts off ma tongue."

The inn-keeper placed a full tankard beside him.

"Tak' anither sup, hinny," he said with a laugh, and drank deeply. "Lag was by-ordnar' the day; I thocht he was gaun to let the bit lassock off when he dragged her oot o' the water. But nae sic thing, thank God! Ma certes, he's a through-gaun chiel, Lag. The women-fowk thocht she had ta'en the aith when she said 'God save him, an He will.' But Lag kent fine what was in her black heart. She wanted only to save her life. She was far better drooned--the young rebel! Naethin' like makin' an example o' them when they are young. Certes, I settled her. Tak' anither sup, hinny."

A peal of laughter rang through the kitchen. It was more than I could stand; for notwithstanding all I had seen and done as a trooper some spark of chivalry still glowed in my heart, and I was under the spell of her blue and dauntless eyes. I sprang to my feet.

"Curse you for a black-hearted ruffian!" I shouted. "None but a damned cur would make sport of two dead women."

A silence absolute and cold fell upon the gathering at my first words, and as I stood there I felt it oppress me.

"Whit's this, whit's this," cried the halberdier. "A trooper turned Covenanter! I'm thinkin' Lag and Winram will ha'e something to say to this, an they hear o't."

"Be silent!" I thundered. "I am no Covenanter, but it would be good for Scotland if there were more such women as we drowned this morning, and fewer men with such foul hearts as yours."

It was an ill-judged place and time for such a speech, but I was on fire with anger. The halberdier rose to his feet, flung the contents of his tankard in my face, roared with laughter, and cried, "Tak' anither sup, hinny."

This was beyond endurance. With one leap I was upon him and hurled him to the ground. He fell with a crash; his head struck the flagged floor with a heavy thud, and he lay still. I had fallen with him, and as I rose I received a blow which flung me down again. In an instant, as though a match had been set to a keg of powder, the tavern was in an uproar. What but a moment before had been a personal conflict between myself and the halberdier had waxed into a general mêlée.

Some joined battle on my side, others were against me, and townsmen and troopers laid about them wildly with fists, beer-pots, and any other weapons to which they could lay their hands. The clean sanded floor became a mire of blood and tumbled ale, in which wallowed a tangle of cursing, fighting men.

Just when the fray was at its hottest the door of the kitchen was thrown open, and the sergeant of our troop stood in its shadow.

"What's this?" he shouted, and, as though by magic, the combat ceased.

None of us spoke, but the inn-keeper, finding speech at last, said: "A maist unseemly row, sergeant, begun by ane o' your ain men, wha wi' oot provocation felled ma frien' the halberdier wha lies yonder a'maist deid."

The sergeant strode to the body of the halberdier and dropped on his knees beside it.

"What lousy deevil has done this?" he cried.

"The Englishman," said the inn-keeper; "Nae Scotsman would ha'e felled sic a decent man unprovoked."

I looked at the halberdier, and saw with relief that he was beginning to recover from his stupor.

"Fetch us a gill o' your best, Mac," said the sergeant. "We'll see if a wee drap o' Blednoch will no' bring the puir fellow roon'. And you, Agnew, and MacTaggart, arrest Trooper Bryden. Lag will ha'e somethin' to say aboot this."

Agnew and MacTaggart laid each a hand on my shoulder, but my gorge was up and I resented being made a prisoner. I looked towards the door; there were four or five troopers in a knot beside it and escape in that direction was impossible; but behind me there was a stair. One sudden wrench and I tore myself from my captors and raced wildly up it. At the top, a door stood open. I flung it to in the faces of Agnew and MacTaggart, who were racing up behind me, and shot the bolt. Frail though it was, this barrier would give me a moment's respite. I found myself in an attic room, and to my joy saw, in the light of the moon, a window set in the slope of the roof. Rapidly I forced it open, and threw myself up and out upon the thatched roof. In a moment I was at its edge, and dropped into the garden at the back of the inn. As I dropped I heard the door at the stair-head crash and I knew that my pursuers would soon be upon me. Crouching low I dashed to the bottom of the garden, broke my way through the prickly hedge and flew hot-foot down the hill.

In the fitful light I saw the gleam of the river, and knew that my escape was barred in that direction. I saw that I must either run along the brae-face towards the sea, or inland up-river to the hills. As I ran I came to a quick decision and chose the latter course. I glanced over my shoulder, and, though I could see by the lights in their windows the houses in the main street of the town, I could not distinguish any pursuers. Behind me I heard confused shoutings, and the loud voice of the sergeant giving orders. Breathless, I plunged into a thick growth of bracken on the hill-side and lay still. I knew that this could afford me only a temporary refuge, but it served to let me regain breath, and as I lay there I heard the sergeant cry: "Get lanterns and quarter the brae-side. He canna ford the water."

I lay in my hiding-place until the lights of the lanterns began to appear at the top of the brae, then I rose stealthily and, bent double, hurried to the edge of the bed of brackens. Here, I knew, I was sufficiently distant from my nearest pursuer to be outside his vision, while his twinkling light gave me the clue to his whereabouts. Then I turned and tore along the hillside away from the town. When I had covered what I thought was the better part of a mile, I lay down under the cover of a granite boulder. Far behind me I could see the wandering lights, and I knew that for the moment I had outdistanced my pursuers; and then to my great belief I heard the notes of the Last Post rise and fall upon the night air. I smiled as I saw the scattered lights stop, then begin to move compactly up the hill. At least half an hour, I judged, must elapse before the pursuit could be renewed, and I felt with any luck that interval ought to suffice for my escape. It was too dark--and I was not sufficiently acquainted with the country-side--to take my bearings, but I knew that the river Cree flowed past the town of Newton-Stewart, and behind the town were the hills which had afforded many a Covenanter a safe hiding-place from pursuit. Caution prevented me from making for the high road, though the speed of my progress might there be greater. Caution, too, forbade my keeping to the brink of the river. My greatest safety seemed to lie along the tract between them, so I set boldly out.

CHAPTER V

IN THE DARK OF THE NIGHT

I had not gone far when my ears caught a familiar sound--the beat of hoofs on the high road. I paused to listen, and concluded that two horsemen were making for Newton-Stewart. I guessed the message they carried, and I knew that not only was I likely to have pursuers on my heels, but that, unless I walked warily, I was in danger of running into a cordon of troopers who would be detailed from Newton-Stewart to search for me. I was a deserter, to whom Lag would give as little quarter as to a Covenanter. The conviction that there was a price on my head made me suddenly conscious of the sweetness of life, and drove me to sudden thought.

By some means or other, before I concealed myself in the fastnesses of the hills, I must obtain a store of food. The hiding Covenanter, I remembered, was fed by his friends. I was friendless; and unless I could manage to lay up some store of food before I forsook the inhabited valleys nothing but death awaited me among the hills. As I thought of this, an inspiration of courage came to me. Though it would be foolishness to walk along the high road I might with advantage make better speed and possibly find a means of obtaining food if I walked just beyond the hedge which bordered it. Sooner or later I should in this way come to a roadside inn. With this thought encouraging me, I plodded steadily on. The highway was deserted, and no sound was to be heard but the muffled beat of my own steps upon the turf. If pursuers were following me from Wigtown, I had left them far behind. It might be that Lag, thinking shrewdly, had decided that no good purpose was to be served by continuing the pursuit that night, for he knew that a man wandering at large in the uniform of a trooper would have little opportunity of escaping. So, possibly, he had contented himself by sending the horsemen to Newton-Stewart to apprise the garrison there. Perhaps at this very moment he was chuckling over his cups as he thought how he would lay me by the heels on the morrow. In fancy I could see the furrows on his brow gather in a knot as he brooded over my punishment.

Then, borne on the still night air, I heard the click and clatter of uncertain footsteps coming towards me. I crouched behind the hedge and peered anxiously along the road: then my ears caught the sound of a song. The wayfarer was in a jovial mood, and I judged, from the uncertainty of his language, that he was half-drunk. I waited to make sure that the man was alone, then I stole through the hedge and walked boldly to meet him.

"It is a fine night," I said, as I came abreast of him. He stopped in the middle of a stave and looked me up and down.

"Aye, it's a fine nicht," he replied. "Nane the waur for a drap o' drink. Here! Tak' a dram, an pledge the King's health." He searched his pockets and after some difficulty withdrew a half-empty bottle from the inside of his coat and offered it to me. "The King, God bless him," I said, as I put it to my lips.

"It's a peety ye're no' traivellin' my road," said the wayfarer. "A braw young callant like you wi' the King's uniform on his back would mak' a graun convoy for an auld man alang this lanely road."

"No," I answered, as I handed him his bottle, "My way lies in another direction."

"Ye'll no' happen to be ane o' Lag's men, are ye?" He did not await my reply, but continued: "He's a bonnie deevil, Lag! He kens the richt medicine for Covenanters: but I ken the richt medicine for Jock Tamson," and putting the bottle to his lips he drank deep and long. Then he staggered to the side of the road and sat down, and holding the bottle towards me said: "Sit doon and gi'es yer crack."

Now I had no wish to be delayed by this half-drunken countryman; but I thought that he might be of service to me, so I seated myself and pretended once again to take a deep draught from his bottle. He snatched it from my lips.

"Haud on," he said, "ye've got a maist uncanny drouth, and that bottle maun last me till Setterday."

"Unless you leave it alone," I said, "it will be empty ere you reach home."

"Weel, what if it is?" he hiccoughed. "The Lord made guid drink and I'm no' the man to spurn the mercies o' the Creator."

"Well," I said, "your drink is good, and I'm as dry as ashes. Can you tell me where I can get a bottle."

"Oh, weel I can, an' if ye're minded to gang and see Luckie Macmillan, I'll gi'e ye a convoy. The guid woman'll be bedded sine, but she'll rise tae see to ony frien' o' Jock Tamson's. Come on, lad," and he raised himself unsteadily to his feet and, taking me by the arm, began to retrace his steps in the direction from which he came.

We followed the high road for perhaps a mile, and as we went he rambled on in good-natured but somewhat incoherent talk, stopping every now and then while he laid hold of my arm and tapped my chest with the fingers of his free hand to emphasise some empty confidence. He had imparted to me, as a great secret, some froth of gossip, when he exclaimed:

"Weel: here we are at Luckie's loanin' and the guid-wife is no' in her bed yet; I can see a licht in the window."

We turned from the high road and went down the lane, at the bottom of which I could discern the dark outline of a cottage. As we drew near I was startled by the sound of a restless horse pawing the ground and, quick in its wake, the jangle of a bridle chain. A few more steps and I saw two horses tethered to the gatepost, and their harness was that of the dragoons. I was walking into the lion's den!

"So Luckie's got company, guid woman," hiccoughed my companion. "I hope it's no' the gaugers."

I seized on the suggestion in hot haste:

"Wheesht, man," I hissed, "they are gaugers sure enough, and if you are caught here with a bottle of Luckie's best, you'll be up before Provost Coltran at the next Session in Wigtown."

"Guid help us! an' me a God-fearin' man. Let's rin for't."

As he spoke, the door of the cottage was thrown open and in the light from it I saw one of the troopers. Placing a firm hand over my companion's mouth I dragged him into the shadow of the hedge, and pushing him before me wormed my way through to its other side.

Here we lay, still and silent, while I, with ears alert, heard the troopers vault into their saddles and with a cheery "Good night, Luckie," clatter up the lane to the high road to continue their way to Newton-Stewart.

We lay hidden till the noise of their going died in the distance, then we pushed our way back through the hedge and made for the cottage. Jock beat an unsteady tattoo on the door.

"Wha's knockin' at this time o' nicht?" asked a woman's voice from behind the door.

"Jock Tamson, Luckie, wi' a frien'."

"Jock Tomson!--he's awa' hame to his bed an 'oor sin'."

"Na, Luckie, it's me richt eneuch, and I've brocht a frien', a braw laddie in the King's uniform, to see ye."

The King's uniform seemed to act as a charm, for the door was at once thrown open and we entered.

With a fugitive's caution I lingered to see that the old woman closed the door and barred it. Then, following the uncertain light of the tallow candle which she carried, we made our way along the sanded floor of the passage and passed through a low door into a wide kitchen. Peat embers still glowed on the hearth, and when Luckie had lit two more candles which stood in bottles on a long deal table I was able to make some note of my surroundings. Our hostess was a woman far gone in years. Her face was expressionless, as though set in a mould, but from beneath the shadow of her heavy eyebrows gleamed a pair of piercing eyes that age had not dimmed. She moved slowly with shuffling gait, half-bowed as though pursuing something elusive which she could not catch. I noticed, too, for danger had quickened my vision, that her right hand and arm were never still.

She stooped over the hearth and casting fresh peats upon it said: "And what's yer pleesure, gentlemen?"

"A bottle o' Blednoch, Luckie, a wheen soda scones and a whang o' cheese; and dinna forget the butter--we're fair famished," answered Jock, his words jostling each other. Our hostess brought a small table and set it before us, and we sat down. Very speedily, for one so old, Luckie brought our refreshment, and Thomson, seizing the black bottle, poured himself out a stiff glass, which he drank at a gulp. I helped myself to a moderate dram and set the bottle on the table between us. Thomson seized it at once and replenished his glass, and then said as he passed the bottle to the old woman:

"Will ye no tak' a drap, Luckie, for the guid o' the hoose?"

She shuffled to the dresser and came back with a glass which she filled.

"A toast," said Thomson. "The King, God bless him," and we stood up, and drank. The potent spirit burned my mouth like liquid fire, but my companions seemed to relish it as they drank deeply. I had no desire to dull my wits with strong drink, so, as I helped myself to a scone and a piece of cheese, I asked Luckie if she could let me have a little water.

"Watter!" cried Thomson. "Whit the deevil d'ye want wi' watter? Surely you're no' gaun to rot your inside wi' sic' feckless trash."

"No," I said, "I just want to let down the whisky."

"Whit!" he shouted, "spile guid Blednoch wi' pump watter!--it's a desecration, a fair abomination in the sicht o' the Lord. I thought frae yer brogue ye were an Englishman. This proves it; nae stammick for guid drink; nae heid for theology. Puir deevil!"--and he shook his head pityingly.

I laughed as I watched my insatiable companion once more empty his glass and refill it.

"An' whit are ye daein' on the road sae late the nicht, young man?" said Luckie, suddenly. "Lag's men are usually bedded long afore noo. Are ye after the deserter tae, like the twa dragoons that were here a bittock syne?"

I had made up my mind that my flight and identity would best be concealed by an appearance of ingenuous candour, so I replied without hesitation:

"Yes, I am. He has not been here to-night, has he?"

"Certes, no," exclaimed the old woman. "This is a law-abiding hoose and I wad shelter neither Covenanter nor renegade King's man."

My words seemed to disarm her of any suspicion she might have had about me, and she busied herself stirring the peat fire.

Its warmth and the whisky which he had consumed were making Jock drowsy. He had not touched any of the food, and his chin had begun to sink on his chest. Soon he slipped from his seat and lay huddled, a snoring mass, on the flagged floor. Luckie made as though to lift him, but I forbade her.

"Let him be: he'll only be quarrelsome if you wake him, and he's quite safe on the floor."

"That's as may be," said Luckie, "but ye're no' gaun to stop a' nicht, or ye'll never catch the deserter, and ye canna leave Jock Tamson to sleep in my kitchen. I'm a dacint widda' woman, and nae scandal has ever soiled my name; and I'll no' hae it said that ony man ever sleepit in my hoose, and me by my lane, since I buried my ain man thirty years sin'."

"That's all right," I replied, "have no fear. If Jock is not awake when I go, I'll carry him out and put him in the ditch by the roadside."

The old woman laughed quietly. "Fegs, that's no' bad; he'll get the fricht o' his life when he waukens up in the cauld o' the mornin' and sees the stars abune him instead o' the bauks o' my kitchen."

I had been doing justice to the good fare of the house, but a look at the "wag-at-the-wa'" warned me that I must delay no longer. But there was something I must discover. I took my pipe from my pocket and as I filled it said: "I should think, Luckie, that you are well acquainted with this countryside."

"Naebody better," she replied. "I was born in Blednoch and I've spent a' my days between there and Penninghame Kirk. No' that I've bothered the kirk muckle," she added.

"Then," I said, "suppose a deserter was minded to make for the hills on the other side o' the Cree, where think you he would try to cross the river?"

"If he wisna a fule," she said, "he'd ford it juist ayont the Carse o' Bar. Aince he's ower it's a straicht road to the heichts o' Millfore."

"And where may the Carse o' Bar be?" I asked. "For unless I hurry, my man may be over the water before I can reach it."

"It's no' far," she said, "and ye canna miss it. Ony fule could see it in the dark."

"Well, I must be off," I said. "Grier o' Lag is no easy taskmaster and I must lay this man by the heels. I'll haste me and lie in wait by the Carse of Bar, and if my luck's in, I may catch him there. What do I owe you, and may I have some of your good scones and a bit of cheese to keep me going?"

She brought me a great plateful of scones, which I stowed about my person with considerable satisfaction; then I paid her what she asked, and, picking up Jock, bore him towards the door. He made no resistance, and his head fell limply over my arm as though he were a person dead, though the noise of his breathing was evidence sufficient that he was only very drunk. Luckie opened the door and stood by it with a candle in her hand. I carried Jock down the lane and deposited him underneath the hedge. Then I went back to the cottage to bid my hostess good night.

"If ye come through to the back door," she said. "I'll pit ye on the straicht road for the Carse o' Bar."

I followed her through the kitchen, and she opened a door at the rear of the house and stood in its shadow to let me pass.

"Gang richt doon the hill," she said, "and keep yon whin bush on yer left haun; syne ye'll come to a bed o' bracken,--keep that on yer richt and haud straicht on. By an' by ye'll strike the water edge. Haud up it till ye come to a bend, and that's the place whaur the deserter will maist likely try to cross it. Ony fule can ford the Cree; it tak's a wise body to ken whaur. Guid nicht to ye."

"Good night," I answered, as I set out, turning for a moment for a last look at the bent old woman as she stood in the dancing shadows thrown by the candle held in her shaking hand.

CHAPTER VI

IN THE LAP OF THE HILLS

As I set out I saw that the moon was rapidly sinking. Much time had been lost, and I must needs make haste. I hurried past the whin bush, and by-and-by came to the bed of brackens. Just as I reached it the moon sank, but there was still enough light to let me see dimly things near at hand. I judged that the river must lie about a mile away, and to walk that distance over unknown ground in the dark tests a man in a hundred ways. I did not know at what moment some lurking figure might spring upon me from the shelter of the brackens, and, clapping a hand on my shoulder, arrest me in the King's name. I had no weapon of defence save a stout heart and a pair of iron fists. Even a brave man, in flight, is apt to read into every rustle of a leaf or into every one of the natural sounds that come from the sleeping earth an eerie significance, and more than once I halted and crouched down to listen closely to some sound, which proved to be of no moment.

Conscience is a stern judge who speaks most clearly in the silences of the night when a man is alone, and as I groped my way onward the relentless pursuing voice spoke in my ear like some sibilant and clinging fury of which I could not rid myself. The avenger of blood was on my heels: some ghostly warlock, some awesome fiend sent from the pit to take me thither! The horror of the deed in which I had taken part in the morning gripped me by the heart. I stumbled on distraught, and as I went I remembered how once I had heard among the hills a shrill cry as of a child in pain, and looking to see whence the cry had come I saw dragging itself wearily along the hillside, with ears dropped back and hind-limbs paralysed with fear, a young rabbit, and as I looked I saw behind it a weasel trotting briskly, with nose up and gleaming eyes, in the track of its victim. I knew enough of wood-craft to realise that the chase had lasted long and that from the time the weasel began the pursuit until the moment when I saw them, the issue had been certain; and I knew that the rabbit knew. Such tricks of fancy does memory play upon a man in sore straits. I saw, again, the end of the chase--the flurry of fur as the weasel gripped the rabbit by the throat; I heard its dying cry as the teeth of its pursuer closed in the veins of its neck; and there in the dark, I was seized with sudden nausea. I drew a long breath and tried to cry aloud, but my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth; fear had robbed me of speech. Then a sudden access of strength came to me and I began to run. Was it only the fevered imaginings of a disordered brain, or was it fact, that to my racing feet the racing feet of some pursuer echoed and echoed again? Suddenly my foot struck a boulder. I was thrown headlong and lay bruised and breathless on the ground--and as I lay the sound of footsteps that had seemed so real to me was no more heard.

I was bruised by my fall and my limbs were still shaking when I struggled up, but I hurried on again, and by and by the tinkle of the river as it rippled over its bed fell on my ear like delicate, companionable music. When I reached its edge I sat down for a moment and peered into the darkness towards the other side; but gaze as I might I could not see across it. It looked dark and cold and uncertain, and though I was a swimmer I had no desire to find myself flung suddenly out of my depth. So, before I took off my shoes and stockings, I cut a long wand from a willow near, and with this in my hand I began warily to adventure the passage. I stood ankle deep in the water and felt for my next step with my slender staff. It gave me no support, but it let me know with each step the depth that lay before me. By-and-by I reached the other side, and painfully--because of my naked feet--I traversed it until I came to the green sward beyond. Here I sat down in the shelter of a clump of bushes and put on my shoes and stockings. The cold water had braced me, and I was my own man again.

As I set out once more I calculated that the sun would rise in three hours' time, and I knew that an hour after sunrise it would be dangerous for me to continue my flight in the open. For, though the country-side was but thinly peopled, some shepherd on the hills or some woman from her cottage door might espy a strange figure trespassing upon their native solitude. To be seen might prove my undoing, so I hurried on while the darkness was still upon the earth.

When day broke I was up among the hills. Now I began to walk circumspectly, scanning the near and distant country before venturing across any open space; and when the sun had been up for an hour, and the last silver beads of dew were beginning to dry on the tips of the heather, I set about finding a resting-place. It was an easy task, for the heather and bracken grew luxuriantly. I crawled into the middle of a clump of bracken, and drawing the leafy stems over me lay snugly hid. I was foot-sore and hungry, but I helped myself to Luckie's good provender, and almost as soon as I had finished my meal I was fast asleep.

When I awoke I was, for a moment, at a loss to understand my surroundings. Then I remembered my flight, and all my senses were alive again. I judged from the position of the sun that it must be late afternoon. Caution made me wary, and I did not stir from my lair, for I knew that questing troopers might already be on the adjacent hill-sides looking for me, and their keen eyes would be quick to discern any unusual movement in the heart of a bed of bracken, so I lay still and waited. Then I dozed off again, and when I awoke once more, the stars were beginning to appear.

Secure beneath the defence of the dark, I quitted my resting-place. So far, fortune had smiled upon me; I had baffled my pursuers, and during the hours of the night the chase would be suspended. The thought lent speed to my feet and flooded my heart with hope. Ere the break of morn I should have covered many a mile. So I pressed on resolutely, and when the moon rose I had already advanced far on my way.

As I went I began to consider my future. My aim was to reach England. Once across the border I should be safe from pursuit: but in reaching that distant goal I must avoid the haunts of men, and until such time as I could rid myself of my trooper's uniform and find another garb, my journey would be surrounded with countless difficulties. I estimated that with care my store of food would last three days. After that the problem of procuring supplies would be as difficult as it would be urgent. I dared not venture near any cottage: I dared not enter any village or town, and the more I thought of my future the blacker it became. Defiantly I choked down my fears and resolved that I should live for the moment only. There was more of boldness than wisdom in the decision, and when I had come to it I trudged on blithely with no thought except to cover as many miles as possible before the day should break.

When that hour came I found myself standing by the side of a lone grey loch laid in the lap of the hills. On each side the great sheet of water was surrounded by a heather-clad ridge, from whose crest some ancient cataclysm had torn huge boulders which lay strewn here and there on the slopes that led down to the water edge. Remote from the haunts of man, it seemed to my tired eyes a place of enchanting beauty; and I stood there as though a spell were upon me and watched the sun rise, diffusing as it came a myriad fairy tints which transformed the granite slabs to silver, and lighted up the mist-clad hill-side with colours of pearl and purple and gold.

I watched a dove-grey cloud roll gently from the face of the loch and, driven by some vagrant wind, wander ghost-like over the hill-side. The moor-fowl were beginning to wake and I heard the cry of the cock-grouse challenge the morn. Pushing my way through the dew-laden beds of heather, I ascended to the crest of the slope which ran up from the loch, and looked across the country. Before me rolled a panorama of moor and hill, while in the far distance the morning sky bent down to touch the earth. There was no human habitation in sight; no feather of peat-smoke ascending into the air from a shepherd's cot; no sheep or cattle or living thing; but the silence was broken by the wail of the whaups, which, in that immensity of space, seemed charged with woe. I descended from the hill-top and passed round the end of the loch to reconnoitre from the ridge on the other side. My eyes were met by a like expanse of moor and hills. Here, surely, I thought, is solitude and safety. Here might any fugitive conceal himself till the fever of the hue and cry should abate. For a time at least I should make this peaceful mountain fastness my home.

When I came down from the ridge I walked along the edge of the loch till I came upon a little stream which broke merrily away from the loch-side and rippled with tinkling chatter under the heather and across the moorland till the brown ribbon of its course was lost in the distance. Half-dreaming I walked along its bank. Suddenly in a little pool I saw a trout dart to the cover of a stone. With the zest of boyhood, but the wariness of maturer years, I groped with cautious fingers beneath the stone and in a few seconds felt the slight movements of the little fish as my hands closed slowly upon it. In a flash it was out on the bank--yards away, and soon other four lay beside it. I had found an unexpected means of replenishing my larder. With flint and steel and tinder I speedily lit a handful of dry grass placed under the shelter of a boulder, and adding some broken stems of old heather and bits of withered bracken I soon made a pleasant fire over which I cooked my trout on a flat stone. I have eaten few breakfasts so grateful since.

The meal over, I took care to extinguish the fire. Then, in better cheer than I had yet been since the moment of my desertion, looking about for a resting-place I found a great granite boulder projecting from the hill-side and underneath its free edge a space where a man might lie comfortably and well hidden by the tall bracken which over-arched the opening. Laying a thick bed of heather beneath the rock, I crawled in, drawing back the brackens to their natural positions over a hiding-place wonderfully snug and safe.

I judged from the position of the sun that it was near six of the morning when I crawled into my bed, and soon I was fast asleep. It was high noon when I awoke and peered cautiously through the fronds of the bracken on a solitude as absolute as it was in the early hours of the morning. I felt sorely tempted to venture out for a little while; but discretion counselled caution, and I lay down once more and was soon fast asleep. When I awoke again I saw that the sun was setting.

I rose and stretched my stiffened limbs. The loch lay in the twilight smooth as a sheet of polished glass. I went down to its edge and, undressing, plunged into its waters, still warm from the rays of the summer sun. Greatly refreshed, I swam ashore, dressed, and ate some food from my rapidly diminishing store. I had found in the burn-trout an unexpected addition to my larder, but it was evident that very soon I should be in sore straits.

Suddenly, I heard a shrill sound cleave the air. Quickly I crawled under the shelter of the nearest rock and listened. The sound was coming from the heather slopes on the other side of the loch and I soon became aware that it was from a flute played by a musician of skill. I was amazed and awed. The gathering darkness, the loneliness of the hills, the stillness of the loch, gave to the music a weird and haunting beauty. I could catch no glimpse of the player, but now I knew that I was not alone in this mountain solitude. The music died away only to come again with fresh vigour as the player piped a jigging tune. It changed once more, and out of the darkness and distance floated an old Scots melody--an echo of hopeless sorrow from far off years. It ceased.

I waited until the darkness was complete, and, taking a careful note of the bearings of my hiding-place, I set out with silent footsteps to the other side of the loch to see if I could discover, without myself being seen, this hill-side maker of music. Slowly I rounded the end of the loch, and stole furtively along its edge till I came to a point below the place from which I judged the melody had come. There, crouching low, and pausing frequently, I went up the slope. Suddenly I heard a voice near me, and sank to the ground. No man in his senses speaks aloud to himself! There must be two people at least on this hill-side, and my solitude and safety were delusions! I cursed myself for a fool, and then as the speaker raised his voice I knew that I was not listening to men talking together, but to a man praying to his Maker--a Covenanter--a fugitive like myself--hiding in these fastnesses. Silently as I had come I stole away and left the moorland saint alone with his God.