The Moon Endureth: Tales and Fancies

by John Buchan

  VII

  THE RIDING OF NINEMILEBURN

  Sim bent over the meal ark and plumbed its contents with his fist. Twofeet and more remained: provender--with care--for a month, till heharvested the waterside corn and ground it at Ashkirk mill. Hestraightened his back better pleased; and, as he moved, the fine dustflew into his throat and set him coughing. He choked back the soundtill his face crimsoned.

  But the mischief was done. A woman's voice, thin and weary, came fromthe ben-end. The long man tiptoed awkwardly to her side. "Canny,lass," he crooned. "It's me back frae the hill. There's a mune and aclear sky, and I'll hae the lave under thack and rape the morn. SyneI'm for Ninemileburn, and the coo 'ill be i' the byre by Setterday.Things micht be waur, and we'll warstle through yet. There was mairtint at Flodden."

  The last rays of October daylight that filtered through the strawlattice showed a woman's head on the pillow. The face was white anddrawn, and the great black eyes--she had been an Oliver out ofMegget--were fixed in the long stare of pain. Her voice had the highlilt and the deep undertones of the Forest.

  "The bairn 'ill be gone ere ye ken, Sim," she said wearily. "He cannalive without milk, and I've nane to gie him. Get the coo back or losethe son I bore ye. If I were my ordinar' I wad hae't in the byre,though I had to kindle Ninemileburn ower Wat's heid."

  She turned miserably on her pillow and the babe beside her set up afeeble crying. Sim busied himself with re-lighting the peat fire. Heknew too well that he would never see the milk-cow till he took withhim the price of his debt or gave a bond on harvested crops. He hadhad a bad lambing, and the wet summer had soured his shallow lands.The cess to Branksome was due, and he had had no means to pay it. Hisfather's cousin of the Ninemileburn was a brawling fellow, who neverlacked beast in byre or corn in bin, and to him he had gone for theloan. But Wat was a hard man, and demanded surety; so the one cow hadtravelled the six moorland miles and would not return till the bond wascancelled. As well might he try to get water from stone as move Wat byany tale of a sick wife and dying child.

  The peat smoke got into his throat and brought on a fresh fit ofcoughing. The wet year had played havoc with his chest and his leanshoulders shook with the paroxysms. An anxious look at the bed toldhim that Marion was drowsing, so he slipped to the door.

  Outside, as he had said, the sky was clear. From the plashy hillsidecame the rumour of swollen burns. Then he was aware of a man's voiceshouting.

  "Sim," it cried, "Sim o' the Cleuch ... Sim." A sturdy figure camedown through the scrog of hazel and revealed itself as his neighbour ofthe Dodhead. Jamie Telfer lived five miles off in Ettrick, but his wasthe next house to the Cleuch shieling. Telfer was running, and hisround red face shone with sweat.

  "Dod, man, Sim, ye're hard o' hearing. I was routin' like to wake thedeid, and ye never turned your neck. It's the fray I bring ye. Mountand ride to the Carewoodrig. The word's frae Branksome. I've butRanklehope to raise, and then me and William's Tam will be on the roadto join ye."

  "Whatna fray?" Sim asked blankly.

  "Ninemileburn. Bewcastle's marching. They riped the place atcockcrow, and took twenty-six kye, five horse and a walth o'plenishing. They were seen fordin' Teviot at ten afore noon, butthey're gaun round by Ewes Water, for they durstna try the HermitageSlack. Forbye they move slow, for the bestial's heavy wark to drive.They shut up Wat in the auld peel, and he didna win free till byemidday. Syne he was off to Branksome, and the word frae Branksome isto raise a' Ettrick, Teviotdale, Ale Water, and the Muirs o' Esk. Welook to win up wi' the lads long ere they cross Liddel, and that at thespeed they gang will be gey an' near sunrise. It's a braw mune for thejob."

  Jarnie Telfer lay on his face by the burn and lapped up water like adog. Then without another word he trotted off across the hillsidebeyond which lay the Ranklehope.

  Sim had a fit of coughing and looked stupidly at the sky. Here was thelast straw. He was dog-tired, for he had had little sleep the pastweek. There was no one to leave with Marion, and Marion was too weakto tend herself. The word was from Branksome, and at another timeBranksome was to be obeyed. But now the thing was past reason. Whatuse was there for a miserable careworn man to ride among the swank,well-fed lads in the Bewcastle chase? And then he remembered his cow.She would be hirpling with the rest of the Ninemileburn beasts on theroad to the Border. The case was more desperate than he had thought.She was gone for ever unless he helped Wat to win her back. And if shewent, where was the milk for the child?

  He stared hopelessly up at a darkening sky. Then he went to thelean-to where his horse was stalled. The beast was fresh, for it hadnot been out for two days--a rough Forest shelty with shaggy fetlocksand a mane like a thicket. Sim set his old saddle on it, and went backto the house.

  His wife was still asleep, breathing painfully. He put water on thefire to boil, and fetched a handful of meal from the ark. With this hemade a dish of gruel, and set it by the bedside. He drew a pitcher ofwater from the well, for she might be thirsty. Then he banked up thefire and steeked the window. When she woke she would find food anddrink, and he would be back before the next darkening. He dared notlook at the child.

  The shelty shied at a line of firelight from the window, as Sim flunghimself wearily on its back. He had got his long ash spear from itsplace among the rafters, and donned his leather jacket with the ironstuds on breast and shoulder. One of the seams gaped. His wife hadbeen mending it when her pains took her.

  He had ridden by Commonside and was high on the Caerlanrig before hesaw signs of men. The moon swam in a dim dark sky, and the hills wereas yellow as corn. The round top of the Wisp made a clear mark to rideby. Sim was a nervous man, and at another time would never have daredto ride alone by the ruined shieling of Chasehope, where folk said awitch had dwelt long ago and the Devil still came in the small hours.But now he was too full of his cares to have room for dread. With hishead on his breast he let the shelty take its own road through themosses.

  But on the Caerlanrig he came on a troop of horse. They were a lustycrowd, well-mounted and armed, with iron basnets and corselets thatjingled as they rode. Harden's men, he guessed, with young Harden atthe head of them. They cried him greeting as he fell in at the tail."It's Long Sim o' the Cleuch," one said; "he's sib to Wat or he wadnabe here. Sim likes his ain fireside better than the 'Bateable Land'."

  The companionship of others cheered him. There had been a time, beforehe brought Marion from Megget, when he was a well kenned figure on theBorders, a good man at weaponshows and a fierce fighter when his bloodwas up. Those days were long gone; but the gusto of them returned. Noman had ever lightlied him without paying scot. He held up his headand forgot his cares and his gaping jackets. In a little they hadtopped the hill, and were looking down on the young waters of Ewes.

  The company grew, as men dropped in from left and right. Simrecognised the wild hair of Charlie of Geddinscleuch, and the squareshoulders of Adam of Frodslaw. They passed Mosspaul, a twinkle fardown in the glen, and presently came to the long green slope which iscalled the Carewoodrig, and which makes a pass from Ewes to Hermitage.To Sim it seemed that an army had encamped on it. Fires had been litin a howe, and wearied men slept by them. These were the runners, whoall day had been warning the dales. By one fire stood the great figureof Wat o' the Ninemileburn, blaspheming to the skies and counting hislosses. He had girded on a long sword, and for better precaution hadslung an axe on his back. At the sight of young Harden he held hispeace. The foray was Branksome's and a Scott must lead.

  Dimly and stupidly, for he was very weary, Sim heard word of the enemy.The beasts had travelled slow, and would not cross Liddel till sunrise.Now they were high up on Tarras water, making for Liddel at a fordbelow the Castletown. There had been no time to warn the Elliots, butthe odds were that Lariston and Mangerton would be out by morning.

  "Never heed the Elliots," cried young Harden. "We can redd our ainfrays, lads. Haste and ride, and we'
ll hae Geordie Musgrave long erehe wins to the Ritterford, Borrowstonemoss is the bit for us." Andwith a light Scott laugh he was in the saddle.

  They were now in a land of low hills, which made ill-going. Acompanion gave Sim the news. Bewcastle and five-score men and theScots four-score and three. "It's waur to haul than to win," said theman. "Ae man can take ten beasts when three 'ill no keep them.There'll be bluidy war on Tarras side ere the nicht's dune."

  Sim was feeling his weariness too sore for speech. He remembered thathe had tasted no food for fifteen hours. He found his meal-poke andfilled his mouth, but the stuff choked him. It only made him coughfiercely, so that Wat o' the Ninemileburn, riding before him, cursedhim for a broken-winded fool. Also he was remembering about Marion,lying sick in the darkness twenty miles over the hills.

  The moon was clouded, for an east wind was springing up. It was illriding on the braeface, and Sim and his shelty floundered among thescrees. He was wondering how long it would all last. Soon he mustfall down and be the scorn of the Border men. The thought put Marionout of his head again. He set his mind on tending his horse andkeeping up with his fellows.

  Suddenly a whistle from Harden halted the company. A man came runningback from the crown of the rig. A whisper went about that Bewcastlewas on the far side, in the little glen called the Brunt Burn. The menheld their breath, and in the stillness they heard far off the sound ofhooves on stones and the heavy breathing of cattle.

  It was a noble spot for an ambuscade. The Borderers scattered over thehillside, some riding south to hold the convoy as it came down theglen. Sim's weariness lightened. His blood ran quicker; he rememberedthat the cow, his child's one hope, was there before him. He foundhimself next his cousin Wat, who chewed curses in his great beard.When they topped the rig they saw a quarter of a mile below them themen they sought. The cattle were driven in the centre, with horsemenin front and rear and flankers on the braeside.

  "Hae at them, lads," cried Wat o' the Ninemileburn, as he dug spursinto his grey horse. From farther down the glen he was answered with agreat shout of "Branksome".

  Somehow or other Sim and his shelty got down the steep braeface. Thenext he knew was that the raiders had turned to meet him--to meet himalone, it seemed; the moon had come out again, and their faces showedwhite in it. The cattle, as the driving ceased, sank down wearily inthe moss. A man with an iron ged turned, cursing to receive Wat'ssword on his shoulder-bone. A light began to blaze from down theburn--Sim saw the glitter of it out of the corner of an eye--but themen in front were dark figures with white faces.

  The Bewcastle lads were stout fellows, well used to hold as well astake. They closed up in line around the beasts, and the moon lit thetops of their spears. Sim brandished his ash-shaft, which had weighedheavily these last hours, and to his surprise found it light. He foundhis voice, too, and fell a-roaring like Wat.

  Before he knew he was among the cattle. Wat had broken the ring, andmen were hacking and slipping among the slab sides of the weariedbeasts. The shelty came down over the rump of a red bullock, and Simwas sprawling on his face in the trampled grass. He struggled to rise,and some one had him by the throat.

  Anger fired his slow brain. He reached out his long arms and grappleda leather jerkin. His nails found a seam and rent it, for he hadmighty fingers. Then he was gripping warm flesh, tearing it like awild beast, and his assailant with a cry slackened his hold. "Whatnawull-cat..." he began, but he got no further. The hoof of Wat's horsecame down on his head and brained him. A splatter of blood fell onSim's face.

  The man was half wild. His shelty had broken back for the hill, buthis spear lay a yard off. He seized it and got to his feet, to findthat Wat had driven the English over the burn. The cattle were losingtheir weariness in panic, and tossing wild manes among the Scots. Itwas like a fight in a winter's byre. The glare on the right grewfiercer, and young Harden's voice rose, clear as a bell, above thetumult. He was swearing by the cross of his sword.

  On foot, in the old Border way, Sim followed in Wat's wake, into thebog and beyond the burn. He laired to his knees, but he scarcelyheeded it. There was a big man before him, a foolish, red-hairedfellow, who was making great play with a cudgel. He had shivered twospears and was singing low to himself. Farther off Wat had his axe inhand and was driving the enemy to the brae. There were dead men in themoss. Sim stumbled over a soft body, and a hand caught feebly at hisheel. "To me, lads," cried Wat. "Anither birse and we hae thembroken."

  But something happened. Harden was pushing the van of the raiders upthe stream, and a press of them surged in from the right. Wat foundhimself assailed on his flank, and gave ground. The big man with thecudgel laughed loud and ran down the hill, and the Scots fell back onSim. Men tripped over him, and as he rose he found the giant above himwith his stick in the air.

  The blow fell, glancing from the ash-shaft to Sim's side. Somethingcracked and his left arm hung limp. But the furies of hell had hold ofhim now. He rolled over, gripped his spear short, and with a swiftturn struck upwards. The big man gave a sob and toppled down into apool of the burn.

  Sim struggled to his feet, and saw that the raiders were beginning tohough the cattle One man was driving a red spear into a helpless beast.It might have been the Cleuch cow. The sight maddened him, and like adestroying angel he was among them. One man he caught full in thethroat, and had to set a foot on breast before he could tug the spearout. Then the head shivered on a steel corselet, and Sim playedquarterstaff with the shaft. The violence of his onslaught turned thetide. Those whom Harden drove up were caught in a vice, and squeezedout, wounded and dying and mad with fear, on to the hill above theburn. Both sides were weary men, or there would have been a grimslaughter. As it was, none followed the runners, and every now andagain a Scot would drop like a log, not from wounds but from deadweariness.

  Harden's flare was dying down. Dawn was breaking and Sim's wild eyescleared. Here a press of cattle, dazed with fright, and the red andmiry heather. Queer black things were curled and stretched athwart it.He noticed a dead man beside him, perhaps of his own slaying. It was ashabby fellow, in a jacket that gaped like Sim's. His face was thinand patient, and his eyes, even in death, looked puzzled andreproachful. He would be one of the plain folk who had to ride,willy-nilly, on bigger men's quarrels. Sim found himself wondering ifhe, also, had a famished wife and child at home. The fury of the nighthad gone, and Sim began to sob from utter tiredness.

  He slept in what was half a swoon. When he woke the sun was well up inthe sky and the Scots were cooking food. His arm irked him, and hishead burned like fire. He felt his body and found nothing worse thanbruises, and one long shallow scar where his jacket was torn.

  A Teviotdale man brought him a cog of brose. Sim stared at it andsickened: he was too far gone for food. Young Harden passed, andlooked curiously at him. "Here's a man that has na spared himsel'," hesaid. "A drop o' French cordial is the thing for you, Sim." And outof a leathern flask he poured a little draught which he bade Simswallow.

  The liquor ran through his veins and lightened the ache of his head.He found strength to rise and look round. Surely they were short ofmen. If these were all that were left Bewcastle had been well avenged.

  Jamie Telfer enlightened him. "When we had gotten the victory, therewere some o' the lads thocht that Bewcastle sud pay scot in beasts asweel as men. Sae Wat and a score mair rade off to lowse GeordieMusgrave's kye. The road's clear, and they'll be back ower Liddell bythis time. Dod, there'll be walth o' plenishin' at the Ninemileburn."

  Sim was cheered by the news. If Wat got back more than his own hemight be generous. They were cooking meat round the fire, the flesh ofthe cattle killed in the fight. He went down to the nearest blaze, andwas given a strip of roast which he found he could swallow.

  "How mony beasts were killed?" he asked incuriously, and was toldthree. Saugh poles had been set up to hang the skins on. A notionmade Sim stagger to his f
eet and go to inspect them. There could be nomistake. There hung the brindled hide of Marion's cow.

  Wat returned in a cloud of glory, driving three-and-twenty Englishbeasts before him--great white fellows that none could match on theScottish side. He and his lads clamoured for food, so more flesh wasroasted, till the burnside smelt like a kitchen. The Scots had foundbetter than cattle, for five big skins of ale bobbed on their saddles.Wat summoned all to come and drink, and Harden, having no fear ofreprisals, did not forbid it.

  Sim was becoming a man again. He had bathed his bruises and scratchesin the burn, and Will o' Phawhope, who had skill as a leech, had sethis arm and bound it to his side in splints of ash and raw hide. Hehad eaten grossly of flesh--the first time since the spring, and thenit had only been braxy lamb. The ale had warmed his blood andquickened his wits. He began to feel pleased with himself. He haddone well in the fray--had not young Harden praised him?--and surly Wathad owned that the salvage of so many beasts was Sim's doing. "Man,Sim, ye wrocht michtily at the burnside," he had said. "The heidscrackit like nits when ye garred your staff sing. Better you wi' astick than anither than wi' a sword." It was fine praise, and warmedSim's chilly soul. For a year he had fought bitterly for bread, andnow glory had come to him without asking.

  Men were drawn by lot to drive the cattle, and others to form arearguard. The rest set off for their homes by the nearest road. Theshelty had been recovered, and Sim to his pride found himself riding inthe front with Wat and young Harden and others of the Scott and Elliotgentry.

  The company rode fast over the green hills in the clear autumn noon.Harden's blue eyes danced, and he sang snatches in his gay voice. Watrumbled his own praises and told of the raid over Liddel. Sim felt anew being from the broken man who the night before had wearily joggedon the same road. He told himself he took life too gravely and letcare ride him too hard. He was too much thirled to the Cleuch and tiedto his wife's apron. In the future he would see his friends, and bendthe bicker with the rest of them.

  By the darkening they had come to Ninemileburn, where Harden's roadleft theirs. Wat had them all into the bare dwelling, and another skinof ale was broached. A fire was lit and the men sprawled around it,singing songs. Then tales began, and they would have sat till morning,had not Harden called them to the road. Sim, too, got to his feet. Hewas thinking of the six miles yet before him, and as home grew nearerhis spirits sank. Dimly he remembered the sad things that waited hishomecoming.

  Wat made him a parting speech. "Gude e'en to ye, Cousin Sim. Ye'vebeen a kind man to me the day. May I do as weel by you if ever thefray gangs by the Cleuch. I had a coo o' yours in pledge, and it wasane o the beasts the Musgraves speared. By the auld law your debtstill stands, and if I likit I could seek anither pledge. But there'llbe something awin' for rescue-shot, and wi' that and the gude warkye've dune the day, I'm content to ca' the debt paid."

  Wat's words sounded kind, and no doubt Wat thought himself generous.Sim had it on his tongue to ask for a cow--even on a month's loan. Butpride choked his speech. It meant telling of the pitiful straits atthe Cleuch. After what had passed he must hold his head high amongstthose full-fed Branksome lads. He thanked Wat, cried farewell to therest, and mounted his shelty.

  The moon was rising and the hills were yellow as corn. The shelty hadhad a feed of oats, and capered at the shadows. What with excitement,meat and ale, and the dregs of a great fatigue, Sim's mind was hazy,and his cheerfulness returned. He thought only on his exploits. Hehad done great things--he, Sim o' the Cleuch--and every man in theForest would hear of them and praise his courage. There would beballads made about him; he could hear the blind violer at the Ashkirkchange-house singing--songs which told how Sim o' the Cleuch smoteBewcastle in the howe of the Brunt Burn--ash against steel, one againstten. The fancy intoxicated him; he felt as if he, too, could make aballad. It would speak of the soft shiny night with the moon high inthe heavens. It would tell of the press of men and beasts by theburnside, and the red glare of Harden's fires, and Wat with his axe,and above all of Sim with his ash-shaft and his long arms, and howHarden drove the raiders up the burn and Sim smote them silently amongthe cattle. Wat's exploits would come in, but the true glory was Sim's.But for him Scots saddles might have been empty and every beast safeover Liddel.

  The picture fairly ravished him. It carried him over the six miles ofbent and down by the wood of hazel to where the Cleuch lay huddled inits nook of hill. It brought him to the door of his own silentdwelling. As he pushed into the darkness his heart suddenly sank...

  With fumbling hands he kindled a rushlight. The peat fire had longgone out and left only a heap of white ashes. The gruel by the bed hadbeen spilled and was lying on the floor. Only the jug of water wasdrained to the foot.

  His wife lay so still that he wondered. A red spot burned in eachcheek, and, as he bent down, he could hear her fast breathing. Heflashed the light on her eyes and she slowly opened them.

  "The coo, Sim," she said faintly. "Hae ye brocht the coo?"

  The rushlight dropped on the floor. Now he knew the price of hisriding. He fell into a fit of coughing.