*CHAPTER XXIX*
*BESIDE THE NITH*
When the afternoon was mellowing into early evening I stood uponDevorgilla's Bridge watching the river. Much had happened to me sincelast I was there. I had drunk deep of joy and sorrow; and as I lookeddown upon the slow-moving water, memory smote me with both hands. Ilaid my arms upon the parapet of the wall and stood at gaze, but thoughI looked before me, my mind was wandering backwards across thechequered, love-lit, blood-stained months that lay behind me. The moodpassed and my eyes followed the stream as it issued from underneath thedark arches and flowed slowly on until, in the distance, glistening likea silver band, it swept round a bend and was lost to view. To my right,on the brow of a hill, stood a windmill, its great arms aswing withhesitant gait in the wind. Beyond the windmill the hills sloped down tothe river, studded here and there by a copse of trees, or the whitegable of a cottage flinging back a ray of sunlight. To my left was thetown of Dumfries, with the Sands sloping down from the nearer houses tothe river, and the stately spire of St. Michael's Church challenging thesky in the near distance. Beyond, rose a pleasant, tree-crowned hill,on whose slopes I could see the figures of sheep and cattle.
There were yet two hours before I had to meet Hector at the Town HeadPort, so, crossing the bridge, I made for the Friar's Vennel, which Iknew to be the main thoroughfare from the brig-end to the centre of thetown. It was a busy artery of traffic, lined upon one side by shops andupon the other by comfortable dwelling-places. Some of the houses hadgardens, well-kept and orderly. Here and there, between the houses, wasa narrow entry and looking down one of these I discovered that it openedinto a little court upon each side of which stood small thatchedcottages.
I sauntered up the Vennel, and shortly came to the High Street--a broadand roomy thoroughfare. Each side of it was occupied by shops,well-stocked and prosperous-looking, and in the centre of the streetwere the booths of market-gardeners and fishermen, who were making abrave display of their wares.
Leaving the booths behind me, I continued my journey up the High Street.By and by I came to a wider portion of the street which the inhabitantsknow as the Plain Stanes. Here was the house of Lag, and I gazed at itcuriously. A couple of soldiers stood at the door, from which I judgedthat Sir Robert himself was in residence; so, remembering I was adeserter, I did not tarry long, but went on towards St. Michael'sChurch.
I entered the churchyard and, sitting down under the shadow of one ofthe gigantic tombstones, I waited until I judged it was time to go andmeet Hector.
As I was going out I met a man whom I took to be the grave-digger, andasked him to direct me to the Town Head Port.
"Oh, ye're a stranger in these pairts," he said, as he pointed out theway. I made no answer save to thank him and bid him good evening, andthen I hurried in the direction he had indicated.
I found the Port without difficulty and stood just outside it, listeningto the cawing of the rooks in the tall trees on the green mound thatseparated me from the river.
I had not long to wait ere Hector arrived. He slipped his arm throughmine, and said:
"Let's awa' doon to the bank o' the water."
He was whistling merrily as we scrambled down the bank, so I judged thatthe widow had been kind, and ventured to say as much. His only replywas:
"_Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo dulce loquentem._" I asked after herhealth.
"Oh, she's fine, fine. She was pleased wi' the bonny kaim I took her.Here's a bit o' wisdom for ye, my lad. If ye want to please a womanthat ye like, gi'e her some gaud to adorn hersel' wi'. If she's plainand no' weel-faured she'll tak' it as a compliment that ye should wishto mak' her bonnie. If she's bonnie to begin wi', she'll tak' your bitgiftie as a proof that ye ha'e noticed wi' your ain een that she'sweel-faured and weel-lookin'."
Alas, for me all such joys were things of the dead past.
When we reached the river's edge we walked upstream.
I have not the pen of a poet, nor has the poet yet been born whose pencould paint with fitting words the glory of the shining Nith. Hectorsays Virgil could have done it; but I wonder. There are beauties beyondthe range of words. The eye can drink them in; the soul can interpretthem: and as the soul interprets them, so are they revealed to the eyethat sees them.
We walked for more than a mile till we came to a lofty eminence, settree-crowned above the stream. When we had climbed to its summit Hectorpaused beneath a giant beech tree which stood perilously near thedeclivity that fell sheer to the river brink. "Look," he said, andpointed down the river. Lit by the rays of the setting sun, itstretched like a ruddy band of bronze into the distance, leading the eyedirectly to the ruins of the old College of Lincluden with its Gothicwindow and shattered tower. Beyond, the blue hills raised their browsto the sky, from which, as from a golden chalice, a stream of glorypoured.
For each of Nature's pictures there is one divine moment in the day. Itwas now.
I stood in rapture till Hector touched my arm. "It's bonnie," he said."I should say ye've naething to match it in England, but we maun awa'hame. Come on," and he led the way across a field to the road. "This,"he said, "is the shortest way back to the toon. I ha'e been alang itaince the day already, for it leads tae Locharbriggs, and mair thanlikely I'll be alang it the morn, for the widda was wonderfu' kind, andthough she wouldna exactly gang the length o' namin' the day, she wasmair amenable to reason than I've ever kent her afore. So the morn'smornin' I'm makin' my way oot to her again: and maybe I'll be lucky. Yenever can tell, for didna' Virgil himsel' say '_Varium et mutabilesemper femina_'--'Woman is a fickle jade onyway ye like to tak' her.'Oh, these auld poets, but they had the wise word every time. Noo thatwe're comin' near the toon we'd better settle what we are gaun to daethe morn. As for me, I ha'e mony things on haun and my time'll be a'ta'en up. But I'll be free at six o'clock. Ye can spend the day as yelike, and I'll meet ye at that oor at the Vennel Port."
I promised that I should be at the trysting-place at the time appointed.
We were now drawing near the town. By and by we came to the mound knownas Christie's Mount, and soon we could see the Plain Stones before us.As we swung round into the lower part of the High Street we heard soundsof revelry coming from Lag's house at the corner of the Turnpike Wynd.We crossed to the other side of the street and looked up. Every windowwas a blaze of light. From an upper room came the sound of wild voicesof men far gone in their cups, and every now and then shouts oflaughter. One laugh, a great raucous bellow, dominated all the rest.
"That's Lag himsel'," whispered Hector. "Eh, it's awfu', awfu'. Whilethae men o' blood are feastin' and drinkin' there, saints o' theCovenant are sleepin' under the cauld sky awa' on the hills."
Suddenly out of the darkness stepped a soldier, who, seeing us gazing upat the house approached, and as he passed scanned us keenly. I nudgedthe packman with my elbow and at once he led the way up the High Street.He did not speak until we were near the Tolbooth, then he whispered:
"Ay, ye'll min' what I tellt ye; it's true ye've to be carefu' what yesay in the toon o' Dumfries. Dinna forget that. A scarlet-coated loonlike yon kens nocht aboot Horace, and he, worthy man, as always, has thericht word for the occasion: '_Redeat miseris, abeat fortuna superbis._'Ye can translate that literally for yersel', but I'll drap my renderin'in yer lug." Putting his mouth close to my ear he whispered: "'May Godbless the puir hill-men, and damn Lag and a' his stiff-necked tribe.'Noo a guid nicht tae ye; I'll meet ye the morn at six o'clock at theVennel Port."
With some difficulty, for it was dark and the streets were ill paved, Ibetook me down the Vennel, and crossing the river made my way to mylodgings. My sleep was dreamless, and when I awoke in the morning asparrow was twittering on the sill. I dressed quickly and wentdownstairs. In the kitchen, I found the old woman sitting at awell-scrubbed deal table. She had a pair of spectacles on her nose, andon the table beside her lay an open Bible. She did not raise her eyesat my a
pproach, but continued to read in a sibilant whisper, keepingtime to the words as she pronounced them by beating the air with heropen hand. I waited patiently until her devotions were finished.
"A good morning to you, sir. Ha'e ye sleepit weel?" she asked.
"Thank you," I replied, "none better. I am sorry that I interrupted youin your religious duties."
"Oh, ye didna interrupt me," she said; "besides, readin' the Book is no'a releegious duty, it's a releegious privilege. Belike ye dinna ken thedifference. Nae doot that comes frae bein' a frien' o' Hector's--Hectorthat is aye haverin' oot o' the auld heathen poets. If he kent asmuckle aboot the psalms o' a guid Presbyterian like Dauvit as he lets onhe kens aboot Horace, it wad, I'm thinkin', be a lot better for hissowl, the silly auld gommeril. Wantin' tae mairry a lassie a quarter o'a century younger than himsel'! Thank God she's got some o' the senseo' her mither. She winna ha'e him! Noo, lad, yer parritch is ready andI'll juist dish them for ye."
When my meal was over I entered into conversation with her again.
She had a caustic tongue and a good deal of quiet humour, and shereminded me in some ways of Jean at Daldowie; and with the thought ofDaldowie came memories of my lost love. The mellow hand of the yearsupon them may impart to our sorrows a fragrance that mitigates theirpain, but the wound in my heart was still a recent one, ready to bleedat a touch.
Almost unable to restrain myself, I picked up my bonnet and going outcrossed the bridge and came down upon the Sands. Along their length wasstretched a number of booths, and the Sands themselves were throngedwith people. Apparently it was a market day. Leisurely, as I hadnothing else to do, I joined the crowd--buirdly, well-clad farmers;robust looking farm-servants; sturdy farm wenches with large baskets ofbutter and eggs upon their arms.
On the outskirts of the crowd a sailor, with a bronzed face and greatrings depending from his ears, was putting a monkey through a series ofantics to the amusement of the young men and women who stood around himin open-mouthed amazement.
When I had grown tired of watching him I made my way to the Vennel Port,and then I walked leisurely through the main streets of the old town.When I came to its outskirts, just beside St. Michael's Church, I boughtsome food and making my way to the river-side I followed its coursedownwards. By and by I came to some rising ground, and climbing up mademy way through a rocky gorge and sat down on the soft turf beneath anoverhanging oak tree.
After a meal, I stretched myself upon my back, and pulling my bonnetover my eyes composed myself to sleep. When I awoke I remembered that Ihad promised to meet Hector at six o'clock. By the time I had retracedmy steps the appointed hour would be at hand. So I descended to theriver bank and made my way towards the Vennel Port.
Six o'clock was striking when I reached it, but Hector was not there.Moment succeeded moment and still he did not come. Impatient I began towalk up and down, crossing the Sands to look at the river wherefishermen were busy tempting the fish with their flies. I strolled backagain to the Vennel and walked up it for a short distance, descendingonce again to the Port. There was no sign of Hector, and when the clockstruck seven and I realised that an hour had elapsed since I had come tothe trysting-place, anxiety assailed me. This was not like the packman.Had some mischance befallen him? He had told me that his was dangerouswork, and I knew that he spoke the truth. One false step, and he wouldbe undone. At this very moment he might be in grave danger. Ill atease, I went up to the top of the Vennel, hoping to meet him. My questwas vain! The clock struck eight: he had not yet appeared. As the timedragged on its leaden way I remembered the long pathetic vigil I hadshared with Jean at Daldowie, and though the memory stabbed me to theheart, I hugged it to me. The hour of nine struck on the Tolboothclock; still there was no sign of Hector. Twilight gathered anddeepened; the stars stole out, and still he did not come. When anotherweary hour had passed I decided that it was useless to wait longer, so,at the last stroke of the hour, I crossed the bridge and made for mylodgings in Mitchell's Close. The good woman of the house had not yetretired to rest, and I was fain to partake of the supper which she hadprepared for me.
During the meal I said nothing to her of my anxiety. Hector had warnedme to be careful in my speech, and, fortunately, she showed no curiosityas to my doings. When supper was over I bade her good night and went tomy room. Before undressing and lying down, I looked through the window.It was a quiet summer night. All the world seemed at peace; but somedazed dread was knocking at the door of my heart and I was soretroubled. Something must have happened to Hector--of that there could belittle doubt. For a time I lay awake in a maze of anxiety: and it wasnot till after midnight had boomed from the Tolbooth clock, that languorstole over me and I slept.
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