Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times
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*CHAPTER XV*
*IN THE HAVEN OF DALDOWIE*
A man may go to the very gate of death without knowing that he has stoodwithin its shadow till he returns once more to the sunshine of life. Iknow not how long I lay, an unconscious mass, at the foot of the dreamprecipice of my delirium, but an hour came when I opened my eyes again.I opened them slowly, for even to lift my lids was an effort, and Ilooked above me to see if the carrion crows were still watching me.Instead I saw a low thatched roof, and in amazement I let my eyes wanderto every side. I was lying on a soft mattress laid on a garret floor.My head was pillowed on a snowy pillow of down. Beside my couch stood athree-legged stool and on it there was a bowl of flowers. I stretchedout a weak hand to take one. I picked up a buttercup that flaunted itsproud gold before me, and I pressed it to my lips. I lay in a reverieand tried to gather together all I could remember of the past. Irecollected my flight from the troopers, the thunderstorm and the rain,and then I remembered my injured limb. I tried to move it and foundthat it was firmly bound. I was too weak to raise myself and turn downthe bedclothes to examine it, but there was further food for thought inthe fact that my injury had been cared for.
Where was I?--and who had brought me here and nursed me back to lifeagain?
Perplexed I could find no light to guide me, and weary with fruitlessthoughts I fell asleep.
When I woke up again my eyes rested upon a woman who was just beginningto appear through a trap-door in the floor. She entered the garret,bearing a cup whose contents gave off a generous odour. She came to mybedside and, carefully removing the flowers from the stool, sat downupon it, and looked at me. My wide-awake eyes met her astonished gaze.
"Thank God," she said, "ye're better. Ye've been queer in the heid formair than a fortnicht, and me and Andra' had lang syne gi'en ye up."
She dropped on her knees beside me and, slipping her left arm gentlyunder my pillow, raised me and put the cup to my lips.
"Here," she said, "drink some o' this."
I drank a long draught, and never have I tasted anything with savour soexquisite.
All too soon the cup was empty and the warmth of its contents sent aglow through my wasted body. I was about to ask where I was and how Ihad come there, when I remembered that I had another duty to perform.So, in a voice that shook from weakness and emotion, I said:
"I know not who you are, but you have saved my life, and I would thankyou."
"Wheesht," she said. "You are far ower weak to talk yet. When you havehad a guid nicht's sleep and a wee drap mair nourishment, it will betime enough. Haud yer wheesht the noo like a guid bairn and gang tosleep," and she drew the coverlet up round my neck and tucked it aboutme. Some old memory buried in the margin of my consciousness stirredwithin me. Just so had my mother tucked me to sleep many a time and oft,when I was a little lad, and the memory brought the tears to my eyes. Isaid nothing, for the will of the woman was stronger than mine at themoment, and I must needs obey it. I watched her place the bowl offlowers upon the stool: then, after smoothing my pillow, she went to thetrap-door, passed through it and disappeared.
For a time I lay looking up at the straw roof. My eyes followed theblack rafters that supported it, and I tried to count the knots in thebeams: but the light which trickled through the window had begun tofade, and as I tried to count I fell asleep.
When I woke again it was dark, but a faint beam from the moon made apool of silver on the coverlet that lay over me. I heard a voice in theroom beneath me. I listened eagerly, but could not distinguish anywords, and as I listened it dawned upon me that the voice was that ofsomeone reading aloud. Then there was a pause: and in the silence thatfollowed I heard a grating sound as though a chair were pushed a little,over a sandstone floor, and again the voice spoke. Then I knew that, inthe kitchen beneath me the people under whose roof I rested wereworshipping their God. I, a trooper and deserter, had been succoured bysome of the moorland folk, and had found refuge in a Covenanter'scottage!
I lay and thought long of all that I owed to these hunted hill-folk.Twice had I, one of their persecutors, been succoured from death throughtheir charity.
Some time soon after dawn I was wakened by sounds in the room beneathme. I heard a creak as though a hinge were moved, and the clank of achain, and I knew that the good wife had swung her porridge-pot over thefire and was preparing breakfast for her family. The delicious aroma ofslow-cooked porridge began to assail my nostrils and I was consciousthat I was hungry.
I wondered if by any chance I should be forgotten; then I banished theuncharitable thought. By and by I heard the sound of footsteps in thekitchen and then a confused murmur of voices. I knew that the familyhad gathered to break their fast, and I waited with all the patience Icould command. The minutes passed slowly and every moment my hungergrew more and more intolerable: but at last the time of waiting wasover. I heard footsteps ascending the ladder to my garret. Thetrap-door was thrown open, the top of a head appeared, a hand reached upand placed a bowl on the floor, and the head disappeared once more.Then again I heard footsteps ascending the ladder, and this time thewoman came into the room bearing a second bowl. She picked up the oneshe had laid upon the floor and came to my bedside.
"Ye've sleepit weel?" she said, inquiry in her voice. "Ye're lookin'somethin' like a man this mornin'. See, I ha'e brocht you yourbreakfast."
She laid her burden down, and clearing the bowl of flowers from thestool, placed a hand adroitly behind my pillow and propped me up. For amoment the room spun round me. Then she placed the bowl of porridge inmy lap and poured a stream of milk over it, saying: "Can ye feedyersel', or maun I feed ye like a bairn?" She gave me a horn spoon, andwith a shaky hand I fed myself. She sat watching me, but did not speakagain till I had finished my meal.
"That's better," she said. "You'll soon be yersel' again. It's theprood woman I am. I never yet knew a man sae ill as you ha'e been pu'through. Man, but for the grace o' God and our Mary, the craws on themoor would ha'e picked yer banes white long ere noo."
Startled, I looked at her. She had said "Mary." Could it be that thisMary was the Mary of my dreams? I ventured to speak.
"I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me. But I do notknow where I am nor how I came here. I remember nothing since I layupon the moor, waiting for death."
"Weel," she said, "to make a long story short, ye're in the laft o'Andrew Paterson's fairm-hoose at Daldowie. Mary fand ye lyin' on themoor, in a kin' o' stupor. She got an awfu' fricht, puir lassie. Firstshe thocht ye micht be ane o' the hill-fowk, and then she thocht ye hada kent face, and lookin' again, she minded that she had seen ye wi' themeenister at the field-meeting, the Sabbath afore. She saw ye were geynear deid, but she jaloused ye werena' quite, because ye kept mutteringtae yoursel'. So she raced hame like a hare and wadna' rest till shehad ta'en her faither oot to fin' ye. They carried ye here on thetail-board o' a cairt, and that's three weeks sin'; and here ye lie andhere ye'll bide till ye're a weel man aince mair."
As the full meaning of her words dawned upon me, I was uplifted withjoy. Mary had found me! She had known me! She had cared enough for meto think that I was worth saving! Her big heart had pitied mynecessity, and to her I owed my life! A sudden access of strength ranthrough my being. The blood coursed in my veins; I felt it pulse in mytemples. It must have brought a glow to my cheeks, for the woman said:
"Ye're better--a lot better the day. The parritch has put a bit o'colour in your cheeks."
I found my tongue. "Will you," I said, "please thank your husband andyour daughter"--I had fain said Mary with my lips: I said it in myheart--"for what they have done for me. Later, I hope to thank themmyself."
"Oh, aye," she said, "ye'll be seein' them later on when ye're better.But I'll tell them. Meantime, maybe the nicht, when his work's dune, theguid-man'll be comin' up to see ye himsel'. He's got a wheen questionshe wants to ask ye. For instance, we'r
e sairly troubled because youwere wearin' the meenister's claes when Mary found ye, and in ane o'your pockets ye had the meenister's Bible. And though ane or twa o' thehill-fowk hae been up to look for the guid man in his hiding-place,naebody has seen him and we're mair than a wee troubled. We ken ye werea trooper, and though the meenister vouched for ye himsel' at themeeting, Andra says that ye canna make a blackfaced tup into a white aneby clippin' its 'oo', and we hope ye haena dune the guid man a mischief.To tell ye the truth, when we got ye here and found the meenister'sclaes on ye, my guid-man was for puttin' ye oot on the moor again andleavin' ye to dee. But Mary pleaded for ye, and I minded my aan lad, sowe hid ye here and nursed ye."
She said no more, and before I could explain she had descended theladder and shut the trap-door.
The day passed rapidly; I slept and woke and slept and woke again. Thegood woman came to me more than once with food, but she did not talk tome again nor would she let me talk to her.
"The morn is the Sabbath day. I ha'e nae doot Andra' will come up tosee ye sometime, and ye can tell him your story then." That was hergood night to me, and when she had descended I heard again, as on theprevious evening, the sound of these devout folk at their eveningprayer.
Then all was silent and I slept.