CHAPTER XVIII.
AULD ANTON OF THE DUCHRAE.
It was a wintry-like morning in the later spring when at last we got outof hiding in the house of Gordonstoun. During our stay there I had oftengone to see my mother just over the hill at Earlstoun, to give her whatcomfort I could, and in especial to advise about Sandy, who was then onhis travels in the Low Countries. That morning Matthew of the Dub camewith us, and we took our legs to it, despising horses in our new qualityof hill-folk. The wind blew bitter and snell from the east. And May--thebleakest of spring months, that ought to be the bonniest--was doing herworst to strengthen the cold, in proportion as she lengthened herunkindly days.
Matthew told us not whither we were going, and as for me, I had nothought or suspicion. Yet the tear was in my eye as we saw the bonnywoods of Earlstoun lying behind us, with the grey head of the old towersetting its chin over the tree-tops and looking wistfully after us.
But we marched south along the Ken, by New Galloway, and the seat of myLord Kenmuir, where there was now a garrison with Clavers himself inhold. We saw the loch far beneath us, for we had to keep high on theside of Bennan. It ruffled its breast as a dove's feathers are blownawry by a sudden gusty wind. It was a cheerless day, and the gloom onour faces was of the deepest. For we were in the weird case of sufferingfor conscience' sake, and with no great raft either of conscience or ofreligion to comfort us.
Not that our case was uncommon. For all were not saints who hatedtyranny.
"Wat," I said, arguing the matter, "the thing gangs in the husk o' ahazel. I wear a particular make of glove chevron. It likes me well, butI am not deadly set on it. Comes the Baron-bailie or my Lord Provost,and saith he: 'Ye shall not henceforth wear that glove of thine, but oneof my colour and of the fashion official!' Then says I to theBaron-bailie, 'To the Ill Thief wi' you and your pattern gauntlet!' AndI take him naturally across the cheek with it, and out with mywhinger----"
"Even so," said my cousin, who saw not whither I was leading him, "letno man drive you as to the fashion of your gloves. Out with yourwhinger, and see what might be the colour of his blood!"
"And what else are the Covenant men doing?" cried I, quick to takeadvantage. "We were none so fond o' the Kirk that I ken of--we that areof the lairds o' Galloway, when we could please ourselves when and wherewe would go. Was there one of us, say maybe your father and mine, thathad not been sessioned time and again? Many an ill word did we speak o'the Kirk, and many a glint did we cast at the sandglass in the pulpit asthe precentor gied her another turn. But after a' the Kirk was oor ainmither, and what for should the King misca' or upturn her? Gin shewhummelt us, and peyed us soondly till we clawed where we werena yeuky,wha's business was that but oor ain? But comes King Charlie, and sayshe, 'Pit awa' your old mither, that's overly sore on you, an' tak' thisbraw easy step-minnie, that will never steer ye a hair or gar ye clawyour hinderlands!' What wad ye say, Wat? What say ye, Wat? Wad ye gieyour mither up for the King's word?"
"No," said Wat, sullenly, for now he saw where he was being taken, andliked it little, "I wadna."
I thought I had him, and so, logically, I had. But he was nothing but adour, donnert soldier, and valued good logic not a docken.
"Hear me," he said, after a moment's silence; "this is my way of it. Iam no preacher, and but poor at the practice. But I learned, no matterwhere, to be true to the King--and, mind you, even now I stand byCharles Stuart, though at the horn I be. Even now I have no quarrel withhim, though for the dirty sake of the Duke of Wellwood, he has one withme."
"That's as may be," I returned; "but mind where you are going. Ye willbe eating the bread of them that think differently, and surely ye'll haethe sense and the mense to keep a calm sough, an' your tongue far benwithin your teeth."
We were passing the ford of the Black Water as I was speaking, and soonwe came to the steading of the Little Duchrae in the light of themorning. It was a long, low house, well thatched, like all the houses inthe neighbourhood. And it was sending up a heartsome pew of reek intothe air, that told of the stir of breakfast. The tangle of the wood grewright up to the windows of the back, and immediately behind the housethere was a little morass with great willow trees growing and manyhiding-places about it--as well I knew, for there Maisie Lennox and Ihad often played the day by the length.
Now "Auld Anton" of the Duchrae was a kenned man all over thecountry-side. The name of Anthony Lennox of Duchrae was often on myfather's lips, and not seldom he would ride off to the south in the highdays of Presbytery, to have fellowship with him whenever he was low inthe spirit, and also before our stated seasons of communion. Thitheralso I had often ridden in later years on other errands, as has alreadybeen said.
Never had I been able to understand, by what extraordinary favourAnthony Lennox had not only been able to escape so far himself, butcould afford a house of refuge to others in even more perilous plight.Upon the cause of this immunity there is no need at present tocondescend, but certain it is that the house of the Duchrae had beenfavoured above most, owing to an influence at that time hidden from me.For Auld Anton was never the man to hide his thoughts or to set a curbupon his actions.
With a light hand Matthew of the Dub knocked at the door, which wascarefully and immediately opened. A woman of a watchful and rathersevere countenance presented herself there--a serving woman, butevidently one accustomed to privilege and equality, as was common inGalloway at that day.
"Matthew Welsh," she said, "what brings you so far from hame so early inthe morning?"
"I come wi' thae twa callants--young Gordon o' Earlstoun, and a youngman that is near kin to him. It may be better to gie the particulars thego-by till I see you more privately. Is the good man about the doors?"
For answer the woman went to the window at the back and cried thrice.Instantly we saw a little cloud of men disengage themselves irregularlyfrom the bushes and come towards the door. Then began a curious scene.The woman ran to various hiding-places under the eaves, behind dressers,in aumries and presses, and set a large number of bowls of porridge onthe deal table. Soon the house was filled with the stir of men and thevoices of folk in earnest conversation.
Among them all I was chiefly aware of one young man of very strikingappearance, whose dark hair flowed back from a broad brow, white as alady's, and who looked like one born to command. On the faces of many ofthe men who entered and overflowed the little kitchen of the Duchrae,was the hunted look of them that oftentimes glance this way and that fora path of escape. But on the face of this man was only a free soldierlyindifference to danger, as of one who had passed through many perils andcome forth scatheless.
Last of all the Master of the House entered with the familiarity of thewell-accustomed. He was alert and active, a man of great height, yetholding himself like a soldier. Three counties knew him by his long greybeard and bushy eyebrows for Anthony Lennox, one of the most famousleaders of the original United Societies. To me he was but MaisieLennox's father, and indeed he had never wared many words on a boy suchas I seemed to him.
But now he came and took us both by the hand in token of welcome, and tome in especial he was full of warm feeling.
"You are welcome, young sir," he said. "Many an hour at the dyke-backhave we had, your father and I, praying for our bairns and for poorScotland. Alack that I left him on the way to Bothwell last year androde forward to tulzie wi' Robin Hamilton--and now he lies in his quietresting grave, an' Auld Anton is still here fighting away among thecontenders."
With Walter also he shook hands, and gave him the welcome that one trueman gives to another. Lochinvar sat silent and watchful in the strangescene. For me I seemed to be in a familiar place, for Earlstoun was onevery tongue. And it was not for a little that I came to know that theymeant my brother Sandy, who was a great man among them--greater thanever my father had been, though he had "sealed his testimony with hisblood," as their phrase ran.
I thought it best not to give my cousin's name, excusing myself in themeantime by vouching that his
father had suffered to the death, even asmine had done, for the cause and honour of Scotland's Covenant.