John Burnet of Barns Part 30

Nicol went off alone, while I kept guard-an aimless guard-by the gate.

In a little he returned with an old boat-hook, with the cleek at the end somewhat unusually long. Then he proposed his method. I should stand on horseback as before, and hang the hook on the flat surface of the wall. When, by dint of sc.r.a.ping, I had fixed it firmly, I should climb it hand over hand, as a sailor mounts a rope, and with a few pulls I might hope to be at the summit.

I did as he bade, and, with great labour, fixed the hook in the hard stone. Then I pulled myself up, very slowly and carefully, with the shaft quivering in my hands. I was just gripping the stone when the wretched iron slipped and rattled down to the ground, cutting me sharply in the wrist. Luckily I did not go with it, for in the moment of falling, I had grasped the top and hung there with aching hands and the blood from the cut trickling down my arm. Then, with a mighty effort, I swung myself up and stood safe on the top.

Below me was a sloping roof of wood which ended in a sheer wall of maybe twelve feet. Below that in turn was the great yard, flagged with stone, but now hidden under a cloak of snow. Around it were stables, empty of horses, windy, cold, and dismal. I cannot tell how the whole place depressed me. I felt as though I were descending into some pit of the dead.

Staunching the blood from my wrist-by good luck my left-as best I might with my kerchief, I slipped down the white roof and dropped into the court. It was a wide, empty place, and, in the late afternoon, looked grey and fearsome. The dead black house behind, with its many windows all shuttered and lifeless, shadowed the place like a pall. At my back was the back door of the house, like the other locked and iron-clamped.

I seemed to myself to have done little good by my escapade in coming thither.

Wandering aimlessly, I entered the stables, scarce thinking what I was doing. Something about the place made me stop and look. I rubbed my eyes and wondered. There, sure enough, were signs of horses having been recently here. Fresh hay and a few oats were in the mangers, and straw and dung in the stalls clearly proclaimed that not long agone the place had been tenanted.

I rushed out into the yard, and ran hither and thither searching the ground. There were hoof-marks-fool that I was not to have marked them before-leading clearly from the stable door to the gate on the High Street. I rushed to the iron doors and tugged at them. To my amazement I found that they yielded, and I was staring into the darkening street.

So the birds had been there and flown in our brief absence. I cursed my ill-fortune with a bitter heart.

Suddenly I saw something dark lying amid the snow. I picked it up and laid it tenderly in my bosom. For it was a little knot of blue velvet ribbon, such as my lady wore.

CHAPTER IV

UP HILL AND DOWN DALE

I rushed up the street, leaving the gates swinging wide behind me, and down the lane to where Nicol waited. In brief, panting words I told him my tale. He heard it without a movement, save to turn his horse's head up the street. I swung myself into the saddle, and, with no more delay, we made for our lodgings.

"There is but one thing that we may do," said I. "The night is an ill one, but if it is ill for us 'tis ill for them." And at the words I groaned, for I thought of my poor Marjory in the storm and cold.

At Mistress Macmillan's I paid the lawing, and having eaten a hearty meal, we crammed some food into our saddle-bags and bade the hostess good-bye. Then we turned straight for the west port of the city.

It was as I had expected. The gates were just at the closing when the twain of us rode up to them and were suffered to pa.s.s. The man looked curiously at my strange dress, but made no remark, as is the fas.h.i.+on of these taciturn Westland folk, and together we rode through and into the bleak night. The snow had ceased to fall early in the day, but now it came on again in little intermittent driftings, while a keen wind whistled from the hills of the north. The land was more or less strange to me, and even my servant, who had a pa.s.sing acquaintance with many countrysides, professed himself ignorant. It was the way to the wild highlands-the county of Campbells and Lennoxes-and far distant from kindly Christian folk. I could not think why my cousin had chosen this path, save for the reason of its difficulty and obscurity. I was still in doubt of his purpose, whether he was bound for his own house of Eaglesham or for the more distant Clyde coast. He had clearly gone by this gate from the city, for this much we had learned from the man at the port. Now, if he sought Eaglesham, he must needs cross the river, which would give us some time to gain on his track. But if he still held to the north, then there was naught for it but to follow him hot-foot and come up with him by G.o.d's grace and our horses' speed.

I have been abroad on many dark nights, but never have I seen one so black as this. The path to the west ran straight from our feet to the rugged hills which dip down to the river edge some ten miles off. But of it we could make nothing, nor was there anything to tell us of its presence save that our horses stumbled when we strayed from it to the moory land on either side. All about us were the wilds, for the town of Glasgow stood on the last bounds of settled country, near to the fierce mountains and black mora.s.ses of the Highlandmen. The wind crooned and blew in gusts over the white waste, driving little flakes of snow about us, and cutting us to the bone with its bitter cold. Somewhere in the unknown distances we heard strange sounds-the awesome rumble of water or the cry of forlorn birds. All was as bleak as death, and, in the thick darkness, what might otherwise have seemed simple and homelike, was filled with vague terrors. I had shaped no path-all that I sought was to hasten somewhere nearer those we followed, and on this mad quest we stumbled blindly forward.

When we had gone some half-dozen miles a light shone out from the wayside, and we descried a house. It was a little, low dwelling, with many sheds at the rear; clearly a smithy or a humble farm. My servant leaped down and knocked. The door was opened, a warm stream of light lay across the snowy road. I had a glimpse within, and there was a cheerful kitchen with a fire of logs crackling. A man sat by the hearth, shaping something or other with a knife, and around him two children were playing. The woman who came to us was buxom and comely, one who delighted in her children and her home. The whole place gave me a sharp feeling of envy and regret. Even these folk, poor peasants, had the joys of comfort and peace, while I, so long an outlaw and a wanderer, must still wander hopeless seeking the lost, c.u.mbered about with a thousand dangers.

"Did any riders pa.s.s by the road to-day?" I asked.

"Ay, four pa.s.sed on horses about midday or maybe a wee thing after it, twae stoot fellows, and a braw-clad gentleman and a bonny young leddy.

They didna stop but gaed by at a great rate."

"What was the lady like?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Oh, a bit young thing, snod and genty-like. But I mind she looked gey dowie and I think she had been greetin'. But wherefore d'ye speir, sir?

And what are ye daein' oot hereaways on siccan a nicht? Ye best come in and bide till mornin'. We've an orra bed i' the house for the maister, and plenty o' guid, saft straw i' the barn for the man."

"Did they go straight on?" I cried, "and whither does this way lead?"

"They went straight on," said she, "and the road is the road to the toun o' Dumbarton." And she would have told me more, but with a hasty word of thanks, I cut her short, and once more we were off into the night.

From this place our way and the incidents thereof are scarce clear in my memory. For one thing the many toils of the preceding time began at last to tell upon me, and I grew sore and wearied. Also a heavy drowsiness oppressed me, and even in that cold I could have slept on my horse's back. We were still on the path, and the rhythmical jog of the motion served to lull me, till, as befell every now and then, there came a rut or a tussock, and I was brought to my senses with a sharp shock.

Nicol rode silently at my side, a great figure in the gloom, bent low, as was always his custom, over his horse's neck. In one way the state was more pleasing than the last, for the turmoil of cares in my heart was quieted for the moment by the bodily fatigue. I roused myself at times to think of my purpose and get me energy for my task, but the dull languor would not be exorcised, and I always fell back again into my sloth. Nevertheless we kept a fair pace, for we had given the rein to our animals, and they were fresh and well-fed.

Suddenly, ere I knew, the way began to change from a level road into a steep hill-path. Even in the blackness I could see a great hillside rising steeply to right and to left. I pulled up my horse, for here there would be need of careful guidance, and was going on as before when Nicol halted me with his voice.

"Laird, Laird," he cried, "I dinna ken muckle aboot the Dumbarton road, but there's yae thing I ken weel and that is that it keeps i' the laigh land near the waterside a' the way, and doesna straiggle ower brae-faces."

This roused me to myself. "Did we pa.s.s any cross-road?" I asked, "for G.o.d knows the night is dark enough for any man to wander. Are you sure of what you say?"

"As sure as I am that my fingers are cauld and my een fair dazed wi'

sleep," said he.

"Then there is naught for it but to go back and trust to overtaking the path. But stay, are these not the hills of Kilpatrick, which stretch down from the Lennox to the Clyde and front the river at this very Dumbarton? I have surely heard of such. Our highway must lie to our left, since we clearly have turned to the right, seeing that if we had turned to the left we should have reached the water. If then we strike straight from here along the bottom of this slope, will we not reach the town? The chances are that we should never find our path, whereas this way will bring us there without fail, if we can stomach some rough riding."

"Weel, sir, I'm wi' ye wherever ye like to gang. And I'll no deny but that it's the maist reasonable road to tak, if ye're no feared o'

breakin' your craig ower a stane or walkin' intil a peat-bog. But we maun e'en lippen to Providence and tak our chance like better men."

So wheeling sharply to our left, we left the path and rode as best we could along the rough bottom of the hills. It was a tract of rushy ground where many streams ran. Huge boulders, tumbled down from the steeps, strewed it like the leaves of a hazel wood in autumn. On one hand the land lay back to the haughlands and ordered fields, on the other it sloped steeply to the hills. Stumps of birk-trees and stray gnarled trunks came at times, but in general the ground was open and not unsuited for horses in the light of day. Now it was something more than difficult, for we came perilous near oftentimes to fulfilling my servant's prophecy. Once, I remember, I floundered fair into a trench of moss-water with a vile muddy bottom, where I verily believe both horse and man would have perished, had not Nicol, who saw my misfortune and leaped his beast across, pulled me fiercely from my saddle to the bank, and the twain of us together extricated the horse. In this fas.h.i.+on, floundering and slipping, we must have ridden some half-dozen miles. All drowsiness had vanished with the rough and ready mode of travel. Once more the thought of my lady and her plight, of my wrongs and my misfortunes, tormented me with anxiety and wrath, and stamped yet more firmly my errand on my soul.

Now, however, we were suddenly brought to an end in our progress.

Before us lay a little ravine, clogged with snow, in whose bottom a burn roared. It was a water of little size, and, in summer weather, one might all but have leaped it. Now the snow had swollen it to the semblance of a torrent, and it chafed and eddied in the little gorge, a streak of dark, angry water against the dim white banks. There was nothing for it but to enter and struggle across, and yet, as I looked at the ugly swirl, I hesitated. I was nigh numbed with cold, my horse was aching from its stumbling, there was little foothold on the opposing bank. I turned to Nicol, who sat with his teeth shaking with the bitter weather.

"There is naught for it," said I, "but to risk it. There is no use in following it, for we shall find no better place in a ravine like this."

Even as I spoke my servant had taken the plunge, and I saw horse and man slip off the snowy bank into the foam. I followed so closely that I lost all sight of them. To this day I remember the feelings of the moment, the choking as an icy wave surged over my mouth, the frantic pulling at the bridle-rein, the wild plunging of my horse, the roar of water and the splash of swimming. Then, with a mighty effort, my brave animal was struggling up the further side, where my servant was already shaking the water from his clothes.

This incident, while it put me in better heart, vastly added to my bodily discomfort. An icy wind s.h.i.+vering through dripping garments may well chill the blood of the stoutest. And for certain the next part of the way is burned on my memory with a thousand recollections of utter weariness and misery. Even my hardy servant could scarce keep from groaning, and I, who was ever of a tenderer make, could have leaned my head on my horse's neck and sobbed with pure feebleness.

The country was now rough with tanglewood, for we were near the last spur of the hills, ere they break down on the river. Somewhere through the gloom lights were s.h.i.+ning and moving, as I guessed from a s.h.i.+p on the water. Beyond were still others, few in number, but fixed as if from dwelling-houses. Here at last, I thought, is the town of Dumbarton which I am seeking, and fired with the hope we urged on the more our jaded beasts.

But lo! when we came to it, 'twas but a wayside inn in a little clachan, where one solitary lamp swung and cast a bar of light over the snowy street. I hammered at the door till I brought down the landlord, s.h.i.+vering in his night-dress. It might be that my cousin had halted here, so I asked the man if he had any travellers within.

"Nane, save twae drunk Ayr skippers and a Glesca packman, unless your honour is comin' to keep them company."

"Has anyone pa.s.sed then?" I cried.

"How could I tell when I've been sleepin' i' my bed thae sax 'oor?" he coughed, and, seeing we were no sojourners, slammed the door in our face.

We were numb and wretched, but there was naught for it but to ride on further to the town. It could not be far, and there were signs of morn already in the air. The cold grew more intense and the thick pall of darkness lifted somewhat toward the east. The blurred woods and clogged fields at our side gradually came into view, and as, heart-sick and nigh fordone with want of sleep, we rounded the great barrier ridge of hill, an array of twinkling lights sprang up in front and told us that we were not far from our journey's end. Nevertheless, it was still dark when we rode into a narrow, cobbled street and stopped at the first hostelry.

Now, both the one and the other were too far gone with weariness to do more than drop helplessly from the horses and stagger into the inn parlour. They gave us brandy, and then led us to a sleeping-room, where we lay down like logs and dropped into a profound slumber.

When we awoke the morning was well advanced. I was roused by Nicol, who was ever the more wakeful, and without more delay we went down and recruited our exhausted strength with a meal. Then I summoned the landlord, and asked, more from habit than from any clear expectation, whether any travellers had lodged over night.

The man answered shortly that there had been a gentleman and a maid, with two serving-men, who had but lately left.

In a great haste I seized on my hat and called loudly for the horses.