CHAPTER VIII
HOW NICOL PLENDERLEITH SOUGHT HIS FORTUNE ELSEWHERE
Now, at last, I am come to the end of my tale, and have little more toset down. It was on a very fresh, sweet May morning, that Marjory and Iwere married in the old Kirk of Lyne, which stands high on a knoll abovethe Lyne Water, with green hills huddled around the door. There was agreat concourse of people, for half the countryside dwelled on our land.Likewise, when all was done, there was the greatest feast spread inBarns that living man had ever seen. The common folk dined without ontables laid on the green, while within the walls the gentry from far andnear drank long life and health to us till sober reason fled hot-footand the hilarity grew high. But in a little all was over, the lastguest had clambered heavily on his horse and ridden away, and we wereleft alone.
The evening, I remember, was one riot of golden light and rich shadow.The sweet-scented air stole into the room with promise of the fragrantout-of-doors, and together we went out to the lawn and thence down bythe trees to the brink of Tweed, and along by the great pool and thewater-meadows. The glitter of that brave, romantic stream came on mysight, as a sound of old music comes on the ears, bringing a thousandhalf-sad, half-joyful memories. All that life held of fair was init--the rattle and clash of arms, the valour of men, the loveliness ofwomen, the glories of art and song, the wonders of the great motherearth, and the re-creations of the years. And as we walked together, Iand my dear lady, in that soft twilight in the green world, a peace, adelight, a settled hope grew upon us, and we went in silence, speakingno word the one to the other. By and by we passed through the gardenwhere the early lilies stood in white battalions, and entered thedining-hall.
A band of light lay on the east wall where hung the portraits of myfolk. One was a woman, tall and comely, habited in a grey satin gown ofantique fashion.
"Who was she?" Marjory asked, softly.
"She was my mother, a Stewart of Traquair, a noble lady and a good. Godrest her soul."
"And who is he who stands so firmly and keeps hand on sword?"
"That was my father's brother who stood last at Philiphaugh, when theGreat Marquis was overthrown. And he with the curled moustachios was hisfather, my grandfather, of whom you will yet hear in the countryside.And beyond still is his father, the one with the pale, grave face, andsolemn eyes. He died next his king at the rout of Flodden. God restthem all; they were honest gentlemen."
Then there was silence for a space, while the light faded, and the old,stately dames looked down at us from their frames with an air, as itseemed to me, all but kindly, as if they laughed to see us playing inthe old comedy which they had played themselves.
I turned to her, with whom I had borne so many perils.
"Dear heart," I said, "you are the best and fairest of them all. Theseold men and women lived in other times, when life was easy and littlelike our perplexed and difficult years. Nevertheless, the virtue of oldtimes is the same as for us, and if a man take but the world as he findit, and set himself manfully to it with good heart and brave spirit, hewill find the way grow straight under his feet. Heaven bless you, dear,for now we are comrades together on the road, to cheer each other whenthe feet grow weary."
On the morning of the third day from the time I have written of, I wassurprised by seeing my servant, Nicol, coming into my study with a graveface, as if he had some weighty matter to tell. Since I had come home,I purposed to keep him always with me, to accompany me in sport and seeto many things on the land, which none could do better than he. Now hesought an audience with a half-timid, bashful look, and, when I bade himbe seated, he flicked his boots uneasily with his hat and lookedaskance.
"I hae come to bid ye fareweel, sir," at length he said, slowly.
I sprang up in genuine alarm.
"What nonsense is this?" I cried. "You know fine, Nicol, that youcannot leave me. We have been too long together."
"I maun gang," he repeated, sadly; "I'm loth to dae 't, but there's naehelp for 't."
"But what?" I cried. "Have I not been a good friend to you, and yourcomrade in a thousand perils? Is there anything I can do more for you?Tell me, and I will do it."
"Na, na, Maister John, ye've aye been the best o' maisters. I've a'thing I could wish; dinna think I'm no gratefu'."
"Then for Heaven's sake tell me the reason, man. I never thought youwould treat me like this, Nicol."
"Oh, sir, can ye no see?" the honest fellow cried with tears in hiseyes. "Ye've been sae lang wi' me, that I thocht ye kenned my natur'.Fechtin' and warstlin' and roamin' aboot the warld are the very breatho' life to me. I see ye here settled sae braw and canty, and the auldhoose o' Barns lookin' like itsel' again. And I thinks to mysel','Nicol Plenderleith, lad, this is no for you. This is no the kind oflife that ye can lead. Ye've nae mair business here than a craw amongthrostles.' And the thocht maks me dowie, for I canna get by 't. Iwhiles think o' mysel' bidin' quiet here and gettin' aulder and aulder,till the time passes when I'm still brisk and venturesome, and I'm leftto naething but regrets. I maun be up and awa', Laird, I carena whither.We a' made different, and I was aye queer and daft and no like itherfolk. Ye winna blame me."
I tried to dissuade him, but it was to no purpose. He heard mepatiently, but shook his head. I did not tax him with ingratitude, forI knew how little the charge was founded. For myself I was more sorrythan words, for this man was joined to me by ties of long holding. Ilonged to see him beside me at Barns, an unceasing reminder of my stormydays. I longed to have his sage counsel in a thousand matters, to havehim at my hand when I took gun to the hills or rod to the river. I hadgrown to love his wind-beaten face and his shrewd, homely talk, till Icounted them as necessary parts of my life. And now all such hopes weredashed, and he was seeking to leave me.
"But where would you go?" I asked.
"I kenna yet," he said. "But there's aye things for man like mesomewhere on the earth. I'm thinkin' o' gaun back to the abroad, whaurthere's like to be a steer for some time to come. It's the life I wantand no guid-fortine or bad-fortine, so I carena what happens. I trust Imay see ye again, Maister John, afore I dee."
There was nothing for it but to agree, and agree I did, though with aheavy heart and many regrets. I gave him a horse to take him to Leith,and offered him a sum of money. This he would have none of, but took,instead, a pair of little old pistols which had been my father's.
I never saw him again, though often I have desired it, but years after Iheard of him, and that in the oddest way. I corresponded to some littleextent with folk in the Low Countries, and in especial with one MasterEbenezer van Gliecken, a learned man and one of great humour inconverse. It was at the time when there was much fighting between theFrench and the Dutch, and one morn I received a letter from this Mastervan Gliecken, written from some place whose name I have forgot, arascally little Holland town in the south. He wrote of many things--ofsome points in Latin scholarship, of the vexatious and most unpoliticstate of affairs in the land, and finally concluded with this which Itranscribe.... "Lastly, my dear Master John, I will tell you a talewhich, as it concerns the glory of your countrymen, you may think worthhearing. As you know well, this poor town of ours has lately been thecentre of a most bloody strife, for the French forces have assaulted iton all sides, and though by God's grace they have failed to take it, yetit has suffered many sore afflictions. In particular there was a fierceattack made upon the side which fronts the river, both by boat and onfoot. On the last day of the siege, a sally was made from the gate ofthe corner tower, which, nevertheless, was unsuccessful, our men beingall but enclosed and some of the enemy succeeding in entering the gate.One man in particular, a Scot, as I have heard, Nicolo Plenderleet byname, with two others who were both slain, made his way to thebattlements. The gate was shut, and, to all appearance, his death wascertain. But they knew not the temper of their enemy, for springing onthe summit of the wall, he dared all to attack him. When the defen
derspressed on he laid about him so sturdily that three fell under hissword.
"Then when he could no longer make resistance, and bullets werepattering around him like hail, and his cheek was bleeding with a deepwound, his spirit seemed to rise the higher. For, shouting out tauntsto his opponents, he broke into a song, keeping time all the while withthe thrusts of his sword. Then bowing gallantly, and saluting with hisblade his ring of foes, he sheathed his weapon, and joining his handsabove his head, dived sheer and straight into the river, and, swimmingeasily, reached the French lines. At the sight those of his own sidecheered, and even our men, whom he had so tricked, could scarce keepfrom joining.
"Touching the editions which you desired, I have given orders to thebookseller on the quay at Rotterdam to send them to you. I shall beglad, indeed, to give you my poor advice on the difficult matters youspeak of, if you will do me the return favour of reading through myexcursus to Longinus, and giving me your veracious opinion. Of this Isend you a copy.
"As regards the Scot I have already spoken of, I may mention for yoursatisfaction that in person he was tall and thin, with black hair, andthe most bronzed skin I have ever seen on a man...."
When I read this letter to Marjory, her eyes were filled with tears, andfor myself I would speak to no one on that day.
CHAPTER IX
THE END OF ALL THINGS
I am writing the last words of this tale in my house of Barns after manyyears have come and gone since the things I wrote of. I am now no moreyoung, and my wife is no more a slim maid, but a comely woman. The yearshave been years of peace and some measure of prosperity. Here inTweeddale life runs easily and calm. Our little country matters are allthe care we know, and from the greater world beyond there comes onlychance rumours of change and vexation. Yet the time has not been idle,for I have busied myself much with study and the care of the land. Manyhave sought to draw me out to politics and statecraft, but I have everresisted them, for after all what are these things of such importancethat for them a man should barter his leisure and piece of mind? So Ihave even stayed fast in this pleasant dale, and let the bustle andclamour go on without my aid.
It is true that more than once I have made journeys even across thewater, and many times to London, on matters of private concern. It wasduring one of these visits to Flanders that I first learned theimportance of planting wood on land, and resolved to make trial on myown estate. Accordingly I set about planting on Barns, and now haveclothed some of the barer spaces of the hills with most flourishingplantations of young trees, drawn in great part from the woods ofDawyck. I can never hope to reap the benefit of them myself, but haplymy grandchildren will yet bless me, when they find covert and shadewhere before was only a barren hillside.
Also in Tweed I have made two caulds, both for the sake of the fish andto draw off streams to water the meadows. In the wide reaches of waterin Stobo Haughs I have cut down much of the encumbering brushwood andthus laid the places open for fishing with the rod. Also with muchlabour I have made some little progress in clearing the channel of theriver in places where it is foully overlaid with green weed. The result,I am pleased to think, has been good, and the fish thrive and multiply.At any rate, I can now make baskets that beforetime were countedimpossible. My crowning triumph befell me two years ago in a wet,boisterous April, when, fishing with a minnow in the pool above Barns, Ilanded a trout of full six pound weight.
The land, which had fallen into neglect in my father's time and my ownyouth, I did my utmost to restore, and now I have the delight of seeingaround me many smiling fields and pleasant dwellings. In the house ofBarns itself I have effected many changes, for it had aforetime beenliker a border keep than an orderly dwelling. But now, what with manyworks of art and things of interest gathered from my travels abroad,and, above all, through the dainty fingers of my wife, the place hasgrown gay and well-adorned, so that were any of its masters of old timeto revisit it they would scarce know it for theirs.
But the work which throughout these years has lain most near to my hearthas been the studies which I have already spoken of. The fruit of them,to be sure, is less than the labour, but still I have not been idle. Ihave already in this tale told of my exposition of the philosophy of theFrenchman Descartes, with my own additions, and my writings on thephilosophy of the Greeks, and especially of the Neo-Platonists--both ofwhich I trust to give to the world at an early time. As this story ofmy life will never be published, it is no breach of modesty here tocounsel all, and especially those of my own family, who may see it, togive their attention to my philosophical treatises. For though I do notpretend to have any deep learning or extraordinary subtlety in thematter, it has yet been my good fate, as I apprehend it, to notice manythings which have escaped the eyes of others. Also I think that mymind, since it has ever been clear from sedentary humours and theblunders which come from mere knowledge of books, may have had in manymatters a juster view and a clearer insight.
Of my own folk I have little to tell. Tam Todd has long since gone theway of all the earth, and lies in Lyne Kirkyard with a flat stone abovehim. New faces are in Barns and Dawyck, and there scarce remains one ofthe old serving-men who aided me in my time of misfortune. Also manythings have changed in all the countryside, and they from whom I used tohear tales as a boy are now no more on the earth. In Peebles there aremany new things, and mosses are drained and moors measured out, till thewhole land wears a trimmer look. But with us all is still the same, forI have no fancy for change in that which I loved long ago, and wouldfain still keep the remembrance. Saving that I have planted thehillsides, I have let the moors and marshes be, and to-day the wild-duckand snipe are as thick on my land as of old.
As for myself, I trust I have outgrown the braggadocio and folly ofyouth. God send I may not have also outgrown its cheerfulness andspirit! For certain I am a graver man and less wont to set my delightin trifles. Of old I was the slave of little things--weather, scene,company; but advancing age has brought with it more of sufficiency untomyself. The ringing of sword and bridle has less charm, since it is thereward of years that a man gets more to the core of a matter and hasless care for externals. Yet I can still feel the impulses of highpassion, the glory of the chase, the stirring of the heart at a martialtale. Now, as I write, things are sorely changed in the land. For thoughpeace hangs over us at home, I fear it is a traitor's peace at the best,and more horrific than war. Time-servers and greedy sycophants sit inhigh places, and it is hard to tell if generous feeling be not ousted bya foul desire of gain. It is not for me to say. I have no love forking or parliament, though much for my country. I am no hot-headedking's man; nay, I never was; but when they who rely upon us are soldfor a price, when oaths are broken and honour driven away, I amsomething less of one than before. It may be that the old kings werebetter, who ruled with a strong hand, though they oft ruled ill. But,indeed, I can say little; here in this valley of Tweed a man hears ofsuch things only as one hears the roar of a stormy sea from a greeninland vale.
As I write these last words, I am sitting in my old library at Barns,looking forth of the narrow window over the sea of landscape. Theafternoon is just drawing to evening, the evening of a hot August day,which is scarce less glorious than noon. From the meadow come thetinkling of cattle bells and the gentle rise and fall of the stream.Elsewhere there is no sound, for the summer weather hangs low and heavyon the land. Just beyond rise the barrier ridges, green and shimmering,and behind all the sombre outlines of the great hills. Below in thegarden my wife is plucking flowers to deck the table, and playing withthe little maid, who is but three years old to-day. Within the room lieheavy shadows and the mellow scent of old books and the faint fragranceof blossoms.
And as I look forth on this glorious world, I know not whether to beglad or sad. All the years of my life stretch back till I see as in aglass the pageant of the past. Faint regrets come to vex me, but theyhardly stay, and, as I look and thi
nk, I seem to learn the lesson of theyears, the great precept of time. And deep in all, more clear as thehours pass and the wrappings fall off, shines forth the golden star ofhonour, which, if a man follow, though it be through quagmire anddesert, fierce faces and poignant sorrow, 'twill bring him at length toa place of peace.
But these are words of little weight and I am too long about mybusiness. Behold how great a tale I have written unto you. Take it,and, according to your pleasure, bless or ban the narrator. Haply itwill help to while away a winter's night, when the doors are barred andthe great logs crackle, and the snow comes over Caerdon.
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