Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  Then, when we were alone, the Quaker turned to me. “Man, Andrew,” he said, “it was a good thing that I had a Bible upbringing. I can manage the part fine, but I flounder among the ‘thees’ and ‘thous.’ I would be the better of a drink to wash my mouth of the accursed pronouns. Will you be alone to-night about the darkening? Then I’ll call in to see you, for I’ve much to tell you.”

  * * * * *

  That evening about nine the Quaker slipped into my room.

  “How about that tobacco-shed?” he asked. “Is it well guarded?”

  “Faulkner and one of the men sleep above it, and there are a couple of fierce dogs chained at the door. Unless they know the stranger, he will be apt to lose the seat of his breeches.”

  The Quaker nodded, well pleased. “That is well, for I heard word in the town that to-night you might have a visitor or two.” Then he walked to a stand of arms on the wall and took down a small sword, which he handled lovingly. “A fair weapon, Andrew,” said he. “My new sect forbids me to wear a blade, but I think I’ll keep this handy beside me in the chimney corner.”

  Then he gave me the news. Lawrence had been far inland with the Monacans, and had brought back disquieting tales. The whole nation of the Cherokees along the line of the mountains was unquiet. Old family feuds had been patched up, and there was a coming and going of messengers from Chickamauga to the Potomac.

  “Well, we’re ready for them,” I said, and I told him the full story of our preparations.

  “Ay, but that is not all. I would not give much for what the Cherokees and the Tuscaroras could do. There might be some blood shed and a good few blazing roof-trees in the back country, but no Indian raid would stand against our lads. But I have a notion — maybe it’s only a notion, though Lawrence is half inclined to it himself — that there’s more in this business than a raid from the hills. There’s something stirring in the West, away in the parts that no White man has ever travelled. From what I learn there’s a bigger brain than an Indian’s behind it.”

  “The French?” I asked.

  “Maybe, but maybe not. What’s to hinder a blackguard like Cosh, with ten times Cosh’s mind, from getting into the Indian councils, and turning the whole West loose on the Tidewater??

  “Have you any proof?” I asked, much alarmed.

  “Little at present. But one thing I know. There’s a man among the tribes that speaks English.”

  “Great God, what a villain!” I cried, “But how do you know?”

  “Just this way. The Monacans put an arrow through the neck of a young brave, and they found this in his belt.”

  He laid before me a bit of a printed Bible leaf. About half was blank paper, for it came at the end of the Book of Revelation. On the blank part some signs had been made in rude ink which I could not understand.

  “But this is no proof,” I said. “It’s only a relic from some plundered settlement. Can you read those marks?”

  “I cannot, nor could the Monacans. But look at the printed part.”

  I looked again, and saw that some one had very carefully underlined certain words. These made a sentence, and read, “John, servant of the prophecy, is at hand.”

  “The underlining may have been done long ago,” I hazarded.

  “No, the ink is not a month old,” he said, and I could do nothing but gape.

  “Well what’s your plan?” I said at last.

  “None, but I would give my right hand to know what is behind the hills. That’s our weakness, Andrew. We have to wait here, and since we do not know the full peril, we cannot fully prepare. There may be mischief afoot which would rouse every sleepy planter out of bed, and turn the Tidewater into an armed camp. But we know nothing. If we had only a scout—”.

  “What about Shalah?” I asked.

  “Can you spare him?” he replied; and I knew I could not.

  “I see nothing for it,” I said, “but to wait till we are ready, and then to make a reconnaissance, trusting to be in time. This is the first week of July. In another fortnight every man on our list will be armed, and every line of communication laid. Then is our chance to make a bid for news.”

  He nodded, and at that moment came the growling of dogs from the sheds. Instantly his face lost its heavy preoccupation, and under his Quaker’s mask became the mischievous countenance of a boy. “That’s your friends,” he said. “Now for a merry meeting.”

  In the sultry weather I had left open window and door, and every sound came clear from the outside. I heard the scuffling of feet, and some confused talk, and presently there stumbled into my house half a dozen wild-looking figures. They blinked in the lamplight, and one begged to know if “Mr. Garbled” were at home. All had decked themselves for this play in what they fancied was the dress of pirates — scarlet sashes, and napkins or turbans round their heads, big boots, and masks over their eyes. I did not recognize a face, but I was pretty clear that Mr. Grey was not of the number, and I was glad, for the matter between him and me was too serious for this tomfoolery. All had been drinking, and one at least was very drunk. He stumbled across the floor, and all but fell on Ringan in his chair.

  “Hullo, old Square-Toes,” he hiccupped; “what the devil are you?”

  “Friend, thee is shaky on thy legs,” said Ringan, in a mild voice, “It were well for thee to be in bed.”

  “Bed,” cried the roysterer; “no bed for me this night! Where is that damnable Scots packman?”

  I rose very quietly, and lit another lamp. Then I shut the window, and closed the shutters. “Here I am,” I said, “very much at your service, gentlemen.”

  One or two of the sober ones looked a little embarrassed, but the leader, who I guessed was the youth from Gracedieu, was brave enough.

  “The gentlemen of Virginia,” he said loudly, “being resolved that the man Garvald is an offence to the dominion, have summoned the Free Companions to give him a lesson. If he will sign a bond to leave the country within a month, we are instructed to be merciful. If not, we have here tar and feathers and sundry other adornments, and to-morrow’s morn will behold a pretty sight. Choose, you Scots swine.” In the excess of his zeal, he smashed with the handle of his sword a clock I had but lately got from Glasgow.

  Ringan signed to me to keep my temper. He pretended to be in a great taking.

  “I am a man of peace,” he cried, “but I cannot endure to see my friend outraged. Prithee, good folk, go away. See, I will give thee a guinea each to leave us alone.”

  This had the desired effect of angering them. “Curse your money,” one cried. “You damned traders think that you can buy a gentleman. Take that for your insult.” And he aimed a blow with the flat of his sword, which Ringan easily parried.

  “I had thought thee a pirate,” said the mild Quaker, “but thee tells me thee is a gentleman.”

  “Hold your peace, Square-Toes,” cried the leader, “and let’s get to business.”

  “But if ye be gentlefolk,” pleaded Ringan, “ye will grant a fair field. I am no fighter, but I will stand by my friend.”

  I, who had said nothing, now broke in. “It is a warm evening for sword-play, but if it is your humour, so be it.”

  This seemed to them hugely comic. “La!” cried one. “Sawney with a sword!” And he plucked forth his own blade, and bent it on the floor.

  Ringan smiled gently, “Thee must grant me the first favour,” he said, “for I am the challenger, if that be the right word of the carnally minded.” And standing up, he picked up the blade from beside him, and bowed to the leader from Gracedieu.

  Nothing loath he engaged, and the others stood back expecting a high fiasco. They saw it. Ringan’s sword played like lightning round the wretched youth, it twitched the blade from his grasp, and forced him back with a very white face to the door. In less than a minute, it seemed, he was there, and as he yielded so did the door, and he disappeared into the night. He did not return, so I knew that Ringan must have spoke a word to Faulkner.

  “Now for the
next bloody-minded pirate,” cried Ringan, and the next with a very wry face stood up. One of the others would have joined in, but, crying, “For shame, a fair field,” I beat down his sword.

  The next took about the same time to reach the door, and disappeared into the darkness, and the third about half as long. Of the remaining three, one sulkily declined to draw, and the other two were over drunk for anything. They sat on the floor and sang a loose song.

  “It seems, friends,” said the Quaker, “that ye be more ready with words than with deeds. I pray thee” — this to the sober one—”take off these garments of sin. We be peaceful traders, and cannot abide the thought of pirates.”

  He took them off, sash, breeches, jerkin, turban, and all, and stood up in his shirt. The other two I stripped myself, and so drunk were they that they entered into the spirit of the thing, and themselves tore at the buttons. Then with Ringan’s sword behind them, the three marched out of doors.

  There we found their companions stripped and sullen, with Faulkner and the men to guard them. We made up neat parcels of their clothes, and I extorted their names, all except one who was too far gone in drink.

  “To-morrow, gentlemen,” I said, “I will send back your belongings, together with the tar and feathers, which you may find useful some other day. The night is mild, and a gentle trot will keep you from taking chills. I should recommend hurry, for in five minutes the dogs will be loosed. A pleasant journey to you.”

  They moved off, and then halted and apparently were for returning. But they thought better of it, and presently they were all six of them racing and stumbling down the hill in their shifts.

  The Quaker stretched his legs and lit a pipe. “Was it not a scurvy trick of fate,” he observed to the ceiling, “that these poor lads should come here for a night’s fooling, and find the best sword in the Five Seas?”

  CHAPTER 13. I STUMBLE INTO A GREAT FOLLY

  I never breathed a word about the night’s doings, nor for divers reasons did Ringan; but the story got about, and the young fools were the laughing-stock of the place. But there was a good deal of wrath, too, that a trader should have presumed so far, and I felt that things were gathering to a crisis with me. Unless I was to suffer endlessly these petty vexations, I must find a bold stroke to end them. It annoyed me that when so many grave issues were in the balance I should have these troubles, as if a man should be devoured by midges when waiting on a desperate combat.

  The crisis came sooner than I looked for. There was to be a great horse-racing at Middle Plantation the next Monday, which I had half a mind to attend, for, though I cared nothing for the sport, it would give me a chance of seeing some of our fellows from the York River. One morning I met Elspeth in the street of James Town, and she cried laughingly that she looked to see me at the races. After that I had no choice but go; so on the Monday morning I dressed myself with care, mounted my best horse, and rode to the gathering.

  ‘Twas a pretty sight to see the spacious green meadow, now a little yellowing with the summer heat, set in the girdle of dark and leafy forest. I counted over forty chariots which had brought the rank of the countryside, each with its liveried servant and its complement of outriders. The fringe of the course blazed with ladies’ finery, and a tent had been set up with a wide awning from which the fashionables could watch the sport. On the edge of the woods a multitude of horses were picketed, and there were booths that sold food and drink, merry-go-rounds and fiddlers, and an immense concourse of every condition of folk, black slaves and water-side Indians, squatters from the woods, farmers from all the valleys, and the scum and ruck of the plantations. I found some of my friends, and settled my business with them, but my eyes were always straying to the green awning where I knew that Elspeth sat.

  I am no judge of racing, but I love the aspect of sleek, slim horses, and I could applaud a skill in which I had no share. I can keep my seat on most four-legged beasts, but my horsemanship is a clumsy, rough-and-ready affair, very different from the effortless grace of your true cavalier. Mr. Grey’s prowess, especially, filled me with awe. He would leap an ugly fence without moving an inch in his saddle, and both in skill and the quality of his mounts he was an easy victor. The sight of such accomplishments depressed my pride, and I do not think I would have ventured near the tent had it not been for the Governor.

  He saw me on the fringe of the crowd, and called me to him. “What bashfulness has taken you to-day, sir?” he cried, “That is not like your usual. There are twenty pretty dames here who pine for a word from you.”

  I saw his purpose well enough. He loved to make mischief, and knew that the sight of me among the Virginian gentry would infuriate my unfriends. But I took him at his word and elbowed my way into the enclosure.

  Then I wished to Heaven I had stayed at home. I got insolent glances from the youths, and the cold shoulder from the ladies. Elspeth smiled when she saw me, but turned the next second to gossip with her little court. She was a devout lover of horses, and had eyes for nothing but the racing. Her cheeks were flushed, and it was pretty to watch her excitement; how she hung breathless on the movements of the field, and clapped her hands at a brave finish. Pretty, indeed, but exasperating to one who had no part in that pleasant company.

  I stood gloomily by the rail at the edge of the ladies’ awning, acutely conscious of my loneliness. Presently Mr. Grey, whose racing was over, came to us, and had a favour pinned in his coat by Elspeth’s fingers. He was evidently high in her good graces, for he sat down by her and talked gleefully. I could not but admire his handsome eager face, and admit with a bitter grudge that you would look long to find a comelier pair.

  All this did not soothe my temper, and after an hour of it I was in desperate ill-humour with the world. I had just reached the conclusion that I had had as much as I wanted, when I heard Elspeth’s voice calling me.

  “Come hither, Mr. Garvald,” she said. “We have a dispute which a third must settle. I favour the cherry, and Mr. Grey fancies the blue; but I maintain that blue crowds cherry unfairly at the corners. Use your eyes, sir, at the next turning.”

  I used my eyes, which are very sharp, and had no doubt of it.

  “That is a matter for the Master of the Course,” said Mr. Grey. “Will you uphold your view before him, sir?”

  I said that I knew too little of the sport to be of much weight as a witness. To this he said nothing, but offered to wager with me on the result of the race, which was now all but ending. “Or no,” said he, “I should not ask you that. A trader is careful of his guineas.”

  Elspeth did not hear, being intent on other things, and I merely shrugged my shoulders, though my fingers itched for the gentleman’s ears.

  In a little the racing ceased, and the ladies made ready to leave. Doctor Blair appeared, protesting that the place was not for his cloth, and gave Elspeth his arm to escort her to his coach. She cried a merry good-day to us, and reminded Mr. Grey that he had promised to sup with them on the morrow. When she had gone I spied a lace scarf which she had forgotten, and picked it up to restore it.

  This did not please the other. He snatched it from me, and when I proposed to follow, tripped me deftly, and sent me sprawling among the stools. As I picked myself up, I saw him running to overtake the Blairs.

  This time there was no discreet girl to turn the edge of my fury. All the gibes and annoyances of the past months rushed into my mind, and set my head throbbing. I was angry, but very cool with it all, for I saw that the matter had now gone too far for tolerance. Unless I were to be the butt of Virginia, I must assert my manhood.

  I nicked the dust from my coat, and walked quietly to where Mr. Grey was standing amid a knot of his friends, who talked of the races and their losses and gains. He saw me coming, and said something which made them form a staring alley, down which I strolled. He kept regarding me with bright, watchful eyes.

  “I have been very patient, sir,” I said, “but there is a limit to what a man may endure from a mannerless fool.” And I
gave him a hearty slap on the face.

  Instantly there was a dead silence, in which the sound seemed to linger intolerably. He had grown very white, and his eyes were wicked.

  “I am obliged to you, sir,” he said. “You are some kind of ragged gentleman, so no doubt you will give me satisfaction.”

  “When and where you please,” I said sedately.

  “Will you name your friend now?” he asked. “These matters demand quick settlement.”

  To whom was I to turn? I knew nobody of the better class who would act for me. For a moment I thought of Colonel Beverley, but his age and dignity were too great to bring him into this squabble of youth. Then a notion struck me.

  “If you will send your friend to my man, John Faulkner, he will make all arrangements. He is to be found any day in my shop.”

  With this defiance, I walked nonchalantly out of the dumbfoundered group, found my horse, and rode homewards.

  My coolness did not last many minutes, and long ere I had reached James Town I was a prey to dark forebodings. Here was I, a peaceful trader, who desired nothing more than to live in amity with all men, involved in a bloody strife. I had sought it, and yet it had been none of my seeking. I had graver thoughts to occupy my mind than the punctilios of idle youth, and yet I did not see how the thing could have been shunned. It was my hard fate to come athwart an obstacle which could not be circumvented, but must be broken. No friend could help me in the business, not Ringan, nor the Governor, nor Colonel Beverley. It was my own affair, which I must go through with alone. I felt as solitary as a pelican.

  Remember, I was not fighting for any whimsy about honour, nor even for the love of Elspeth. I had openly provoked Grey because the hostility of the young gentry had become an intolerable nuisance in my daily life. So, with such pedestrian reasons in my mind, I could have none of the heady enthusiasm of passion. I wanted him and his kind cleared out of my way, like a noisome insect, but I had no flaming hatred of him to give me heart.