CHAPTER XVII.
OVER THE MUIR AMANG THE HEATHER.
When I came to myself my cousin Walter Gordon was standing over me. Hewas dressed in countryman's apparel, and seemed most like a chapman,with a small pack of goods upon his back for sale in the farm-towns andcottars' houses. It was grey day.
"Where is the beast?" I asked, for I was greatly bewildered by myswound.
"What beast? There is no beast," he replied, thinking that I dreamed.
Then I told him of what I had seen; but as I might have expected he tooklittle heed, thinking that I did but dream in that uncouth place. And inthe grey light he went forward with a fair white cloth in his handwherewith to wrap his father's head for the burial. But when he came tothe corner of the vault, lo! there was naught there, even as I had said.And saving that the earth seemed newly stirred, no trace of the horror Ihad seen, which staggered him no little. Yet me it did not surprise, forI knew what I had seen.
But in a little he said, "That is all folly, William--you and yourbeasts. Ye buried it yourself in your sleep. How many times have yewalked the ramparts of Earlstoun in your sark!"
This indeed seemed likely, but I still maintain that I saw themowdiewort.
Nevertheless, when we came to consider the matter, it was in sooth notime to think of freits or portents. It was no question of our fathers'heads. Our own were in danger whether the Duke of Wellwood lived ordied; and we behoved to look limber if we were to save them at all. Itis a strange feeling that comes and stays about the roots of the neck,when one first realises that the headsman may have to do therewith ormany weeks pass by. And it is a feeling that I have taken to bed with mefor years at a time.
Wat Gordon had warned my men as well as his own. So at the outside ofthe town toward the back of the Boroughmuir, Hugh Kerr met us with thebeasts. Here we took horse and rode, having happily seen nothing of thecity guard. It was judged best that my cousin and I should ride alone.This we wished, because we knew not whom to trust in the strange case inwhich we found ourselves. Besides we could the better talk over ourchances during the long night marches in the wilderness, and in ourweary hidings among the heather in the daytime.
So we steadily rode southward toward Galloway, our own country, forthere alone could we look for some ease from the long arm of the PrivyCouncil. Not that Galloway was safe. The dragoons paraded up and down itfrom end to end, and searched every nook and crevice for intercommunedfugitives. But Galloway is a wide, wild place where the raw edges ofcreation have not been rubbed down. And on one hillside in the Dungeonof Buchan, there are as many lurking places as Robert Grier of Lag hassins on his soul--which is saying no light thing, the Lord knows.
Once, as we went stealthily by night, we came upon a company of muirlandmen who kept their conventicle in the hollows of the hills, and whenthey heard us coming they scattered and ran like hares. I cried out tothem that we were of their own folk. Yet they answered not but only ranall the faster, for we might have been informers, and it was a commoncustom of such-like to claim to be of the hill-people. Even dragoons didso, and had been received among them to the hurt of many.
Our own converse was the strangest thing. Often a kind of wickedperverse delight came over me, and I took speech to mock and stir up mycousin of Lochinvar, who was moody and distraught, which was very farfrom his wont.
"Cousin Wat," I said to him, "'tis a strange sight to see your mother'sson so soon of the strict opinions. To be converted at the instance ofher Grace of Wellwood is no common thing. Wat, I tell thee, thou shaltlead the psalm-singing at a conventicle yet!"
Whereat he would break out on me, calling me "crop-ear" and other names.But at this word play I had, I think, as much the mastery as he at theplay of sword-blades.
"Rather it is you shall be the 'crop-head'--of the same sort as his lateMajesty!" I said. For it is a strange thing that so soon as men are atperil of their lives, if they be together, they will begin to jest aboutit--young men at least.
To get out of the country was now our aim. It pleased Wat not at all tohave himself numbered among the hill-folk and be charged with religion.For me I had often a sore heart and a bad conscience, that I had made solittle of all my home opportunities. My misspent Sabbaths stuck in mythroat, although I had no stomach for running and hiding with theintercommuned. Perhaps, if I had loved my brother Sandy better, it hadnot been so hard a matter. But that, God forgive me, I never did, thoughI knew that he was a good Covenant man and true to his principles. Yetthere is no mistake but that he gave us all a distaste at his way ofthinking.
So we wandered by night and hid by day till we reached the hills of ourown south country.
At last we came to the white house of Gordonstoun, which stands on thehill above the clachan of Saint John. It was a lodge of my cousin's, andthe keeper of it was a true man, Matthew of the Dub by name. From him welearned that there were soldiers both at Lochinvar and Earlstoun.Moreover, the news had come that very day, with the riding post fromEdinburgh, of the wounding of the Duke of Wellwood, and how both of uswere put to the horn and declared outlaw.
I do not think that this affected us much, for almost every man inGalloway, even those that trooped with Graham and Lag, half a dozen inall, had been time and again at the horn. One might be at the horn--thatis, outlawed, for forgetting to pay a cess or tax, or for a privatelittle tulzie that concerned nobody, or for getting one's lum on firealmost. It was told that once Lauderdale himself was put to the horn inthe matter of a reckoning he had been slack in paying, for Seekin'Johnnie was ever better at drawing in than paying out.
But to think of my mother being harassed with a garrison, and to knowthat rough blades clattered in and out of our bien house of Earlstoun,pleased me not at all. Yet it was far out of my hap to help it. And Icomforted me with the thought, that it had been as bad as it could bewith us, even before our affray with the Wellwood.
So there was nothing for it, but to turn out our horses to grass atGordonstoun and take to the hills like the rest. Matthew of the Dub gaveus to understand that he could put us into a safe hold if we would trustourselves to him.
"But it is among the hill-folk o' Balmaghie!" he said, lookingdoubtfully at his laird.
"Ah, Gordieston," said Lochinvar, making a wry face, and speakingreproachfully, "needs must when the devil drives! But what for did yousign all the papers and take all the oaths against intercommuning, andyet all the time be having to do with rebels?" For Matthew was a cunningman, and had taken all the King's oaths as they came along, holding theparritch and feather beds of Gordieston on the Hill worth any form ofwords whatsoever--which indeed could be swallowed down like anapothecary's bolus, and no more ado about it.
"'Deed, your honour," said Matthew of the Dub, slyly, "it's a wershbreakfast to streek your neck in a tow, an' I hae sma' stammach for theWhig's ride to the Grassmarket. But a man canna juist turn informer an'gie the gang-by to a' his auld acquaintances. Wha in Gallowa' wants toride an' mell wi' Clavers an' the lads on the Grey Horses, save siccanloons as red-wud Lag, roaring Baldoun, and Lidderdale, the Hullion o'the Isle?"
"I would have you remember, Matthew," said my cousin, speaking in Scots,"that I rode wi' them no lang syne mysel'."
"Ou, ay, I ken," said independent Matthew, dourly, "there was my leddyto thank for that. The women fowk are a' great gomerils when they meddlewi' the affairs o' the State. But a' the Glen jaloosed that ye wad comeoot richt, like the daddy o' ye, when ye tired o' leading-strings, an'gang to the horn like an honest man, e'en as ye hae dune the day."