John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

In this place I abode till near the middle of the month of June. Twice I had gone to the cairn on Caerdon and left a letter, which I wrote with vast difficulty on fragments of paper which I had brought with me, and received in turn Marjory's news. She was well and in cheerful spirits, though always longing for my return. The days passed easily in Smitwood, and as none came there she was the better hidden. I wrote my answers to these letters with great delight of mind, albeit much hardship. The ink in the inkhorn which I had always carried with me soon became dry, and my pen, which I shaped from a curlew's feather, was never of the best. Then after the writing came the long journey, crouching in thickets, creeping timorously across the open spaces, running for dear life down the hill-slopes, until I came at length to the cairn on Caerdon, and hid the letter 'neath the grey stones.

But about mid June I bethought me that I had stayed long enough in that lonely place and resolved to move my camp. For one thing I wished to get nearer Barns, that I might be within reach of my house for such provisions as I required. Also there were signs that the place was no longer safe. Several times of late I had heard the voice of soldiers on the moors above my hiding, and at any moment a chance dragoon might stray down the ravine. So late one evening about midsummer I bade adieu to the dark Glenhurn, and took off across the wild hills to the lower vale of Tweed.

The place I chose was just at the back of Scrape, between that mountain and a wild height called the Pyke-stone hill. It was a stretch of moss-hags and rough heather, dry as tinder at this time, but, as I well knew, in late autumn and winter a treacherous flow. Thither I had been wont to go to the duck-shooting in the months of November and February, when great flocks of mallard and teal settled among the pools. Then one has to look well to his feet, for if he press on eager and unthinking, he is like to find himself up to the armpits. But if he know the way of the thing, and walk only on the tufted rushes and strips of black peat, he may take the finest sport that I know of. Here then I came, for the place was high and lonesome, and with a few paces I could come to the top of the Little Scrape and see the whole vale of Tweed from Drummelzier to Neidpath. I had the less fear of capture, for the place was almost impassable for horses; also it was too near the house of Barns to be directly suspected, and the country below it was still loyal and with no taint of whiggery.

Here then I settled myself, and made a comfortable abode in a dry burn-channel, overarched with long heather. The weather was unusually warm and dry, the streams were worn to a narrow thread of silver trickling among grey stones, and the hot sun blazed from morn to night in a cloudless sky. The life, on the whole, was very pleasing. There was cold water from a mossy well hard by when I was thirsty. As for food, I made at once an expedition to the nearest cottage on my lands, where dwelt one Robin Sandilands, who straightway supplied all my needs and gave me much useful information to boot. Afterwards he came every second day to a certain part of the hill with food, which he left there for me to take at my convenience. Hence the fare was something better than I had had in my previous hiding-place. Also it was a cheerful life. Up there on the great flat hill-top, with nothing around me but the sky and the measureless air, with no noises in my ear but the whistle of hill-birds, with no view save great shoulders of mountain, the mind was raised to something higher and freer than of old. Earthly troubles and little squabbles and jealousies seemed of less account. The more than Catonian gravity of these solemn uplands put to flight all pettiness and small ambition. It has been an immemorial practice in our borderland that those of ruined fortunes, broken men, should take to the hills for concealment, if need be, and in any case for satisfaction. Verily twelve months of that pure air would make a gentleman of a knave, and a hero of the most sordid trader.

However, ere June had merged in July, I found myself in want of some companion to cheer my solitude. I would have given much for some like-minded fellow-wayfarer, but since that might not be had I was fain to content myself with a copy of Plotinus, which I had got with all the difficulty in the world from the house of Barns. It happened on a warm afternoon, when, as I lay meditating as was my wont in the heather, a great desire came upon me for some book to read in. Nothing would do but that I must straightway set out for Barns at the imminent peril of my own worthless life. It was broad daylight; men were working in the fields at the hay; travellers were passing on the highway; and for all I knew soldiers were in the house. But with a mad recklessness I ventured on the quest, and, entering the house boldly, made my way to the library and was choosing books. Then I was startled by the noise of approaching steps, and seizing hastily the first volume I could lay hands on, set off for the hills at the top of my speed. The visit had renewed old recollections, and I spent a bitter evening reflecting upon my altered position.

But toward the end of August, when the nights grew longer and the sunsets stormy, a change came over the weather. The Lammas floods first broke the spell of the drought, and for three clear days the rain fell in torrents, while I lay in my hole, cold and shivering. These were days of suffering and hunger, though I shrink from writing of them and have never told them to anyone. On the fourth I made an incursion down to my own lands to the cottage of my ally. There I heard evil news. The soldiers had come oftener than of late and the hunt had been renewed. The reward on my head had been doubled, and with much sorrow I had the news that the miller of Holmes Mill had been taken and carried to Edinburgh. In these dim grey days my courage fell, and it took all the consolations of philosophy, all my breeding and manly upbringing to keep up my heart. Also it became more difficult to go at the three weeks' end to the cairn on Caerdon with the letter for Marjory.

It was, as far as I remember, for I did not keep good count, on the second day of September, that I set out for Caerdon on my wonted errand. I had had word from Robin Sandilands that the countryside was perilous; but better, I thought, that I should run into danger than that my lady should have any care on my account. So I clapped the written letter in my pocket and set out over the hills in a fine storm of wind.

I went down the little burn of Scrape, which flows into Powsail about a mile above the village of Drummelzier. Had I dared I would have crossed the low lands just above the village, and forded Tweed at Merlin's Grave, and so won to Caerdon by Rachan and Broughton. But now it behooved me to be cautious, so I kept straight over the hills; and, striking the source of a stream called Hopecarton, followed it to where it joined the river in the Mossfennan haughs. All the time the wind whistled in my teeth and the sharpest of showers bit into my skin. I was soon soaked to the bone, for which I cared very little, but pushed steadfastly on through the rapidly-rising waters of Tweed, and scrambled up the back of the Wormel. Here it was stiff work, and my legs ached mightily ere I reached the top and flung myself on the damp heather to spy out the Holmes valley.

All seemed quiet. The stream, now changed from its clearness to a muddy brown, was rolling on its way though the fields of stubble. The few houses smoked in peace. The narrow road was empty of travellers… Without hesitation I ran down the slopes, caring not to look circumspectly to the left and right…

I had not run far till something before me brought me to a halt and sent me flat among the grass. Just below the house of Quarter, coming from the cover of the trees, were half a score of soldiers.

My first thought was to turn back and give up the project. My second, to go forward and find a way to cross the valley. Happily the foliage was still there, the heath was still long, the grass was dense: a man might succeed in crossing under cover.

With a beating heart I crawled through the heather to the rushes beside a little stream. This I followed, slowly, painfully, down to the valley, looking sharply at every bare spot, and running for dear life when under cover of bank or brae. By and by I struck the road, and raised myself for a look. All was quiet. There was no sign of any man about, nothing but the beating of the rain and the ceaseless wind. It was possible that they had gone down the vale, and were by this time out of sight. Or maybe they had gone up the water on their way to the moors of Clyde. Or still again they might have gone back to the house of Quarter, which they doubtless loved better than the rainy out-of-doors. In any case they were not there, and nothing hindered me from making a bold sally across the open.

I rose and ran through the corn-field, cleaving my way amid the thick stubble. The heavy moisture clung to my soaked clothes and the sweat ran over my face and neck, but I held straight on till I gained the drystone dyke at the other side and scrambled across it. Here I fell into the stream and was soaked again, but the place was not deep and I was soon through. Now I was direct beneath the house, but somewhat under the cover of the trees; and still there was no sign of man and beast. I began to think that after all my eyes had deceived me, and taken nowt for dragoons. Such a trick was not impossible; I had found it happen before at the winter's shooting. With this pleasing hope I straightened my back and ran more boldly up the planting's side till I gained the moorlands above. Here I paused for a second to enjoy my success and look back upon the house.

Suddenly something cracked in the thicket, and a voice behind me cried, "Stop. Gang another step and I fire." So the cup of safety was dashed from my lips at the very moment of tasting it.

I did not obey, but dashed forward to the high moors with all my speed. It was conceivable that the men were unmounted and their horses stabled, in which case I might get something of a lead. If not, I should very soon know by the clear convincing proof of a shot in my body.

My guess was right, and it was some little time ere I heard the cries of pursuers behind me. I had made straight for the top of the ridge where the ground was rough for horses, and I knew that they could not follow me with any speed. I was aye a swift runner, having been made long and thin in the shanks and somewhat deep-chested. I had often raced on the lawn at Barns with my cousin for some trifling prize. Now I ran with him again, but for the prize of my own life.

I cannot tell of that race, and to this day the thought of it makes my breath go faster. I only know that I leaped and stumbled and ploughed my way over the hillside, sobbing with weariness and with my heart almost bursting my ribs. I never once looked behind, but I could measure the distance by the sound of their cries. The great, calm face of Caerdon was always before me, mocking my hurry and feebleness. If I could but gain the ridge of it, I might find safety in one of the deep gullies. Now I had hope, now I had lost it and given myself up for as good as dead. But still I kept on, being unwilling that anyone should see me yield, and resolving that if I needs must die I would stave it off as long as might be.

In the end, after hours – or was it minutes? – I reached the crest and crawled down the other side. They were still some distance behind and labouring heavily. Near me was a little ravine down which a slender trickle of flood-water fell in a long cascade. I plunged down it, and coming to a shelter of overlapping rock crawled far in below, and thanked God for my present safety.

Then I remembered my errand and my letter. I clapped my hand to my pocket to draw it forth. The place was empty – the letter was gone. With a sickening horror I reflected that I had dropped it as I ran, and that my enemies must have found it.

CHAPTER XIV

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 rushing 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 God 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 passed 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 lass 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 damned 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 circumspectly 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 fashion, 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 passed 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 shieling 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 ship'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 anticipation.

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 Scrape, 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 fashion beneath her chin. Her gown was of some dark-blue camlet cloth, and so short that it scarce reached her knees, though whether this fashion 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.