CHAPTER X.
THE GRAVE IN THE WILDERNESS.
But on the morrow I, who desired to see the ways of the Compellers,learned a lesson that ended my scholarship days with them. JamesJohnstone seemed somewhat moved by the matter of the bairns, but by themorning light he had again hardened his heart, like Pharaoh, morebitterly than before. For he was now on his own land, and because histhought was that the King would hold him answerable for the behaviourand repute of his people, he became more than ordinarily severe. This hedid, being a runnagate from the wholesome ways of the Covenant; and,therefore, the more bitter against all who remained of that way.
He drove into the yards of the farm-towns, raging like a tiger of theIndies, now calling on the names of the goodman of the house, and nowupon other suspected persons. And if they did not run out to him at thefirst cry, he would strike them on the face with the basket hilt of hisshable till the blood gushed out. It was a sick and sorry thing to see,and I think his Majesty's troopers were ashamed; all saving theJohnstone's own following, who laughed as at rare sport.
But I come now to tell what I saw with my own eyes of the famous matterof Andrew Herries, which was the cause of my cousin of Lochinvar leavingtheir company and riding with me and Hugh Kerr all the way to Edinburgh.As, indeed, you shall presently hear. And the manner of its happeningwas as follows. We were riding full slowly along the edge of a boggyloch in the parish of Hutton, and, as usual, quartering the ground forWhig refugees, of whom it was suspected that there were many lurking inthe neighbourhood. We had obtained no success in our sport, andWesterhall was a wild man. He ran about crying "Blood and wounds!" whichwas a favourite oath of his, and telling what he would do to those whodared to rebel, and harbour preachers and preachers' brats on hisestate. For we had heard that the lass who had bearded us on thebrae-face by the school, with her little brother Alec in her hand, wasthe daughter of Roger Allison, a great preacher of the hill-folk who hadcome to them over from Holland, to draw them together into some of theirancient unity and power.
Westerhall, then, knew not as yet in whose house she was dwelling, butonly that she had been received by one of his people. But this, if itshould come to Claverhouse's ears, was enough to cause him to set a fineupon the Johnstone--so strict as against landlords were the lawsconcerning intercommuning with rebels or rebels' children on theirestates. This was indeed the cause of so many of the lairds, who atfirst were all on the side of the Covenant, turning out Malignants andpersecutors. And more so in the shire of Dumfries than in Galloway,where the muirs are broader, the King's arm not so long, and men moredesperately dour to drive.
All of a sudden, as we went along the edge of a morass, we came uponsomething that stayed us. It was, as I say, in Hutton parish, a verypleasant place, where there is the crying of many muir-fowl, and thetinkle of running water everywhere. All at once a questing dragoon heldup his arm, and cried aloud. It was the signal that he had foundsomething worthy of note. We all rode thither--I, for one, praying thatit might not be a poor wanderer, too wearied to run from before the faceof the troopers' wide-spreading advance.
However, it was but a newly-made grave in the wilderness, hastily dug,and most pitifully covered with green fresh-cut turves, in order to giveit the look of the surrounding morass. It had very evidently been madeduring the darkness of the night, and it might have passed withoutnotice then. But now, in the broad equal glare of the noon-tide, it layconfessed for what it was--a poor wandering hill-man's grave in thewild.
"Who made this?" cried Westerhall. "Burn me on the deil's brander, butI'll find him out!"
"Hoot," said Clavers, who was not sharp set that day, perhaps having hadenough of Westerhall's dealing with the bairns yesterday, "come away,Johnstone; 'tis but another of your Eskdale saints. Ye have no lack ofthem on your properties, as the King will no doubt remember. Whatsignifies a Whig Johnstone the less? There's more behind every dyke, andthen their chief is aye here, able and willing to pay for them!"
This taunt, uttered by the insolent scorning mouth of Claverhouse, madeWesterhall neither to hold nor bind. Indeed the fear of mulet and finerode him like the hag of dreams.
"Truth of God!" cried he; for he was a wild and blasphemous man, veryreckless in his words; "do so to me, and more also, if I rack not theirlimbs, that gied the clouts to wrap him in. I'se burn the bed he lay in,bring doon the rafter and roof-tree that sheltered him--aye, though itwere the bonny hoose o' St. Johnstone itsel', an' lay the harbourer ofthe dead Whig cauld i' the clay, gin it were the mither that bore me!Deil reestle me gin I keep not this vow."
Now, the most of the men there were upon occasion bonny swearers, nottaking lessons in the art from any man; but to the Johnstone they wereas children. For, being a runnagate Covenanter, and not accustomed inhis youth to swear, he had been at some pains to learn the habit withcare, thinking it a necessary accomplishment and ornament to such as didthe King's business, especially to a captain of horse. Which, indeed, ithath ever been held, but in moderation and with discretion. Westerhallhad neither, being the man he was.
"Fetch the Whig dog up!" he commanded.
The men hesitated, for it was a job not at all to their stomachs, aswell it might not be that hot day, with the sun fierce upon themoverhead.
"Tut, man," said Clavers, "let him lie. What more can ye do but smellhim? Is he not where you and I would gladly see all his clan? Let theill-favoured Whig be, I say!"
"I shall find out who sheltered him on my land. Howk him up!" criedWesterhall, more than ever set in his mad cruelty at Colonel Graham'swords. So to the light of the merciless day they opened out the looseand shallow grave, and came on one wrapped in a new plaid, with windingsheets of pure linen underneath. These were all stained and soaked withthe black brew of the moss, for the man had been buried, as was usual atthe time, hastily and without a coffin. But the sleuthhound instinct ofthe Johnstone held good. "Annandale for the hunt, Nithsdale for themarket, and Gallowa' for the fecht!" is ever a true proverb.
"Let me see wha's aucht the sheet?" he said.
So with that, Westerhall unwound the corner and held it up to the light.
"Isobel Allison!" he exclaimed, holding the fine linen up to the light,and reading the name inwoven, as was then the custom when a bride didher providing. "The widow Herries, the verra woman--ain dam's sister tothe Whig preacher--sant amang the hill-folk. Weel ken I the kind o' her.To the hill, lads, and we will burn the randy oot, even as I said. I'lllearn the Hutton folk to play wi' the beard o' St. Johnstone."
"Foul Annandale thief!" said I, but stilly to myself, for who was I tostand against all of them? Yet I could see that, save and except thechief's own ragged tail, there were none of the soldiers that thoughtthis kind of work becoming.
Ere he mounted, Westerhall took the poor, pitiful body, and with hisfoot despitefully tumbled it into a moss-hole.
"I'll show them what it is to streek dead Whigs like honest men, and rowthem dainty in seventeen hunder linen on my land!" cried Westerhall.
And indeed it seemed a strange and marvellous Providence to me, thatyoung Isobel Allison, when she wove in that name with many hopes andprayers, the blood of her body flushing her cheek with a maiden's shyexpectation, should have been weaving in the ruin of her house and thebreaking of her heart.
Now the cot of the widow Herries was a bonny place. So I believe, but ofits beauty I will not speak. For I never was back that way again--andwhat is more, I never mean to be.
We came to the gavel end of the house. Westerhall struck it with hissword.
"We'll sune hae this doon!" he said to us that followed. Then louder hecried, "Mistress, are ye within?" as the custom of the country is.
A decent woman with a white widow's cap on her head was scraping out adish of hen's meat as we rode to the door. When she saw us on our horsesabout the close, the wooden bowl fell from her hands and played clash onthe floor.
"Aye, my bonny woman," quoth Westerhall, "this comes o' keeping Whigsaboot your farm-toon. Whatna Whig re
bel was it ye harboured? Oot wi't,Bell Allison! Was it the brither o' ye, that cursed spawn o' the lowcountry? Doon on your knees an' tell me, else it is your last hour onthe earth."
The poor woman fell on her knees and clasped her hands.
"O Westerha'!" she stammered, "I'll no lee till ye. It was but a puirWestland man that we kenned not the name o'. We fand him i' the fields,and for very God's pity brocht him hame to our door and laid him on thebed. He never spak' 'yea' or 'nay' to us all the time he abode in ourhoose-place, and so passed without a word late yestreen."
"Lying Whig!" cried Westerhall, "who was it that found him? Whatna yino' your rebel sons--chasing up hill and doon dale after your blackguardbrither, was it that brocht him hame?"
"I kenna wha it was that brocht him. It was a wee bit lass that fand himwhen she was playin' i' the moss wi' her brither."
"I ken your wee bit lasses," said Westerhall; "she's a bonny sprig o'that braw plant o' grace, Roger Allison, wha's heid shall yet lookblythe on the West Port o' Edinburgh, wi' yin o' his cantin' thief'shands on ilka side o't."
The poor woman said no word, but out from the chamber door came ourlittle lass of yesterday and stood beside her.
"Wha's plaidie is this?" again quoth Westerhall, holding up the plaid inwhich the dead man had been wrapped, like an accusation in his hand; "tothe hill, boys, and lay hand on this honest woman's honest sons. KingCharles wull hae something to say to them, I'm thinkin'."
With that he leapt from his horse, throwing the reins to the widow.
"Hae, haud my horse," he said, "an' gin ye stir an inch, ye'll get anounce o' lead in you, ye auld shakin' limb o' Sawtan."