by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XXII
THE SIEGE OF THRUMS
The man in the moon is a native of Thrums, who was put up there forhacking sticks on the Sabbath, and as he sails over the Den his interestin the bit placey is still sufficient to make him bend forward and cry"Boo!" at the lovers. When they jump apart you can see the agedreprobate grinning. Once out of sight of the den, he cares not a boddlehow the moon travels, but the masterful crittur enrages him if she is ina hurry here, just as he is cleverly making out whose children'schildren are courting now. "Slow, there!" he cries to the moon, but sheanswers placidly that they have the rest of the world to view to-night."The rest of the world be danged!" roars the man, and he cranes his neckfor a last glimpse of the Cuttle Well, until he nearly falls out of themoon.
Never had the man such a trying time as during the year now before him.It was the year when so many scientific magnates sat up half the nightin their shirts, spying at him through telescopes. But every effort todiscover why he was in such a fidget failed, because the spy-glasseswere never levelled at the Thrums den. Through the whole of theincidents now to tell, you may conceive the man (on whom sympathy wouldbe wasted) dagoning horribly, because he was always carried past the denbefore he could make head or tail of the change that had come over it.
The spot chosen by the ill-fated Stuart and his gallant remnant fortheir last desperate enterprise was eminently fitted for their purpose.Being round the corner from Thrums, it was commanded by no fortifiedplace save the farm of Nether Drumgley, and on a recent goustie nightnearly all the trees had been blown down, making a hundred hiding-placesfor bold climbers, and transforming the Den into a scene of wild andmournful grandeur. In no bay more suitable than the flooded field calledthe Silent Pool could the hunted prince have cast anchor, for the Poolis not only sheltered from observation, but so little troubled by galesthat it had only one drawback: at some seasons of the year it was notthere. This, however, did not vex Stroke, as it is cannier to call him,for he burned his boats on the night he landed (and a dagont, tediousjob it was too), and pointed out to his followers that the drouth whichkept him in must also keep the enemy out. Part of the way to the lairthey usually traversed in the burn, because water leaves no trace, andthough they carried turnip lanterns and were armed to the teeth, thiswas often a perilous journey owing to the lovers close at hand on thepink path, from which the trees had been cleared, for lads and lassesmust walk whate'er betide. Ronny-On's Jean and Peter Scrymgeour, littleLisbeth Doak and long Sam'l from Pyotdykes were pairing that year, andnever knew how near they were to being dirked by Corp of Corp, who,lurking in the burn till there were no tibbits in his toes, mutteredfiercely, "Cheep one single cheep, and it will be thy hinmost,methinks!" under the impression that Methinks was a Jacobite oath.
For this voluntary service, Stroke clapped Corp of Corp on the shoulderwith a naked sword, and said, "Rise, Sir Joseph!" which made Corp moreconfused than ever, for he was already Corp of Corp, Him of MuckleKenny, Red McNeil, Andrew Ferrara, and the Master of Inverquharity(Stroke's names), as well as Stab-in-the-Dark, Grind-them-to-Mullins,and Warty Joe (his own), and which he was at any particular moment henever knew, till Stroke told him, and even then he forgot and had to beput in irons.
The other frequenters of the lair on Saturday nights (when alone therebellion was active) were the proud Lady Grizel and Widow Elspeth. Ithad been thought best to make Elspeth a widow, because she was soreligious.
The lair was on the right bank of the burn, near the waterfall, and youclimbed to it by ropes, unless you preferred an easier way. It is now adripping hollow, down which water dribbles from beneath a sluice, but atthat time it was hidden on all sides by trees and the huge clods ofsward they had torn from the earth as they fell. Two of these clods werethe only walls of the lair, which had at times a ceiling not unlikeAaron Latta's bed coverlets, and the chief furniture was two barrels,marked "Usquebach" and "Powder." When the darkness of Stroke's fortunessat like a pall upon his brow, as happened sometimes, he sought to driveit away by playing cards on one of these barrels with Sir Joseph, butthe approach of the Widow made him pocket them quickly with a warningsign to his trusty knight, who did not understand, and asked what hadbecome of them, whereupon Elspeth cried, in horror:
"Cards! Oh, Tommy, you promised--"
But Stroke rode her down with, "Cards! Wha has been playing cards? You,Muckle Kenny, and you, Sir Joseph, after I forbade it! Hie, there,Inverquharity, all of you, seize those men."
Then Corp blinked, came to his senses and marched himself off to theprison on the lonely promontory called the Queen's Bower, sayingferociously, "Jouk, Sir Joseph, and I'll blaw you into posterity."
It is sable night when Stroke and Sir Joseph reach a point in the Denwhence the glimmering lights of the town are distinctly visible. Neitherspeaks. Presently the distant eight-o'clock bell rings, and then SirJoseph looks anxiously at his warts, for this is the signal to begin,and as usual he has forgotten the words.
"Go on," says someone in a whisper. It cannot be Stroke, for his headis brooding on his breast. This mysterious voice haunted all the doingsin the Den, and had better be confined in brackets.
("Go on.")
"Methinks," says Sir Joseph, "methinks the borers--"
("Burghers.")
"Methinks the burghers now cease from their labors."
"Ay," replied Stroke, "'tis so, would that they ceased from themforever!"
"Methinks the time is at hand."
"Ha!" exclaims Stroke, looking at his lieutenant curiously, "what makestthou say so? For three weeks these fortifications have defied my cannon,there is scarce a breach yet in the walls of yonder town."
"Methinks thou wilt find a way."
"It may be so, my good Sir Joseph, it may be so, and yet, even when I ammost hopeful of success, my schemes go a gley."
"Methinks thy dark--"
("Dinna say Methinks so often.")
("Tommy, I maun. If I dinna get that to start me off, I go throughother.")
("Go on.")
"Methinks thy dark spirit lies on thee to-night."
"Ay, 'tis too true. But canst thou blame me if I grow sad? The townstill in the enemy's hands, and so much brave blood already spilt invain. Knowest thou that the brave Kinnordy fell last night? My nobleKinnordy!"
Here Stroke covers his face with his hands, weeping silently, and--andthere is an awkward pause.
("Go on--'Still have me.'")
("So it is.") "Weep not, my royal scone--"
("Scion.")
"Weep not, my royal scion, havest thou not still me?"
"Well said, Sir Joseph," cries Stroke, dashing the sign of weakness fromhis face. "I still have many brave fellows, and with their help I shallbe master of this proud town."
"And then ghost we to fair Edinburgh?"
"Ay, 'tis so, but, Sir Joseph, thinkest thou these burghers love theStuart not?"
"'_Nay,_ methinks they are true to thee, but their starchcommander--(give me my time, this is a lang ane,) but their archcommander is thy bitterest foe. Vile spoon that he is! (It's no spoon,it's spawn.)"
"Thou meanest the craven Cathro?"
"Methinks ay. (I like thae short anes.)"
"'Tis well!" says Stroke, sternly. "That man hath ever slipped betweenme and my right. His time will come."
"He floppeth thee--he flouteth thee from the battlements."
"Ha, 'tis well!"
("You've said that already.")
("I say it twice.")
("That's what aye puts me wrang.) Ghost thou to meet the proud LadyGrizel to-night?"
"Ay."
"Ghost thou alone?"
"Ay."
("What easy anes you have!) I fear it is not chancey for thee to go."
"I must dree my dreed."
"These women is kittle cattle."
"The Stuart hath ever a soft side for them. Ah, my trustyfoster-brother, knowest thou not what it is to love?"
"Alas, I too have had my fling. (Does Grizel kiss you
r hand yet?)"
"(No, she winna, the limmer.) Sir Joseph, I go to her."
"Methinks she is a haughty onion. I prithee go not to-night."
"I have given my word."
"Thy word is a band."
"Adieu, my friend."
"Methinks thou ghost to thy damn. (Did we no promise Elspeth thereshould be no swearing?)"
The raft Vick Lan Vohr is dragged to the shore, and Stroke steps onboard, a proud solitary figure. "Farewell!" he cries hoarsely, as heseizes the oar.
"Farewell, my leech," answers Corp, and then helps him to disembark.Their hands chance to meet, and Stroke's is so hot that Corp quails.
"Tommy," he says, with a shudder, "do you--you dinna think it's a' true,do you?" But the ill-fated prince only gives him a warning look andplunges into the mazes of the forest. For a long time silence reignsover the Den. Lights glint fitfully, a human voice imitates theplaintive cry of the peewit, cautious whistling follows, comes next theclash of arms, and the scream of one in the death-throes, and againsilence falls. Stroke emerges near the Reekie Broth Pot, wiping hissword and muttering, "Faugh! it drippeth!" At the same moment the air isfilled with music of more than mortal--well, the air is filled withmusic. It seems to come from but a few yards away, and pressing his handto his throbbing brow the Chevalier presses forward till, pushing asidethe branches of a fallen fir, he comes suddenly upon a scene of suchromantic beauty that he stands rooted to the ground. Before him, softlylit by a half-moon (the man in it perspiring with curiosity), is aminiature dell, behind which rise threatening rocks, overgrown here andthere by grass, heath, and bracken, while in the centre of the dell is abubbling spring called the Cuttle Well, whose water, as it overflows anatural basin, soaks into the surrounding ground and so finds a way intothe picturesque stream below. But it is not the loveliness of the spotwhich fascinates the prince; rather is it the exquisite creature whosits by the bubbling spring, a reed from a hand-loom in her hands, fromwhich she strikes mournful sounds, the while she raises her voice insong. A pink scarf and a blue ribbon are crossed upon her breast, herdark tresses kiss her lovely neck, and as she sits on the only drystone, her face raised as if in wrapt communion with the heavens, andher feet tucked beneath her to avoid the mud, she seems not a humanbeing, but the very spirit of the place and hour. The royal wandererremains spellbound, while she strikes her lyre and sings (with but onetrivial alteration) the song of MacMurrough:--
Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,Brave sons of the mountains, the frith and the lake!'Tis the bugle--but not for the chase is the call;'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.
'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath;They call to the dirk, the claymore and the targe,To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.
Be the brand of each Chieftain like Stroke's in his ire!May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.
As the fair singer concluded, Stroke, who had been deeply moved, heaveda great sigh, and immediately, as if in echo of it, came a sigh from theopposite side of the dell. In a second of time three people had learnedthat a certain lady had two lovers. She starts to her feet, stillcarefully avoiding the puddles, but it is not she who speaks.
("Did you hear me?")
("Ay.")
("You're ready?")
("Ca' awa'.")
Stroke dashes to the girl's side, just in time to pluck her from thearms of a masked man. The villain raises his mask and reveals the faceof--it looks like Corp, but the disguise is thrown away on Stroke.
"Ha, Cathro," he exclaims joyfully, "so at last we meet on equal terms!"
"Back, Stroke, and let me pass."
"Nay, we fight for the wench."
"So be it. The prideful onion is his who wins her."
"Have at thee, caitiff!"
A terrible conflict ensues. Cathro draws first blood. 'Tis but ascratch. Ha! well thrust, Stroke. In vain Cathro girns his teeth. Inchby inch he is driven back, he slips, he recovers, he pants, he isapparently about to fling himself down the steep bank and so find safetyin flight, but he comes on again.
("What are you doing? You run now.")
("I ken, but I'm sweer!")
("Off you go.")
Even as Stroke is about to press home, the cowardly foe flings himselfdown the steep bank and rolls out of sight. He will give no more troubleto-night; and the victor turns to the Lady Grizel, who had beenrepinning the silk scarf across her breast, while the issue of thecombat was still in doubt.
("Now, then, Grizel, you kiss my hand.")
("I tell you I won't.")
("Well, then, go on your knees to me.")
("You needn't think it.")
("Dagon you! Then ca' awa' standing.")
"My liege, thou hast saved me from the wretch Cathro."
"May I always be near to defend thee in time of danger, my prettychick."
("Tommy, you promised not to call me by those silly names.")
("They slip out, I tell you. That was aye the way wi' the Stuarts.")
("Well, you must say 'Lady Grizel.') Good, my prince, how can I thankthee?"
"By being my wife. (Not a word of this to Elspeth.)"
"Nay, I summoned thee here to tell thee that can never be. The Grizelsof Grizel are of ancient lineage, but they mate not with monarchs. Mysire, the nunnery gates will soon close on me forever."
"Then at least say thou lovest me."
"Alas, I love thee not."
("What haver is this? I telled you to say 'Charles, would that I lovedthee less.'")
("And I told you I would not.")
("Well, then, where are we now?")
("We miss out all that about my wearing your portrait next my heart, andput in the rich apparel bit, the same as last week.")
("Oh! Then I go on?) Bethink thee, fair jade--"
("Lady.")
"Bethink thee, fair lady, Stuart is not so poor but that, if thou comewith him to his lowly lair, he can deck thee with rich apparel andribbons rare."
"I spurn thy gifts, unhappy man, but if there are holes in--"
("Miss that common bit out. I canna thole it.")
("I like it.) If there are holes in the garments of thy loyal followers,I will come and mend them, and have a needle and thread in my pocket.(Tommy, there is another button off your shirt! Have you got thebutton?")
"(It's down my breeks.) So be it, proud girl, come!"
It was Grizel who made masks out of tin rags, picked up where tinkershad passed the night, and musical instruments out of broken reeds thatsmelled of caddis and Jacobite head-gear out of weaver's night-caps; andshe kept the lair so clean and tidy as to raise a fear that intrudersmight mistake its character. Elspeth had to mind the pot, which AaronLatta never missed, and Corp was supposed to light the fire by strikingsparks from his knife, a trick which Tommy considered so easy that herefused to show how it was done. Many strange sauces were boiled in thatpot, a sort of potato-turnip pudding often coming out even when notexpected, but there was an occasional rabbit that had been bowled overby Corp's unerring hand, and once Tommy shot a--a haunch of venison,having first, with Corp's help, howked it out of Ronny-On's swine, thensuspended head downward, and open like a book at the page of contents,steaming, dripping, a tub beneath, boys with bladders in the distance.When they had supped they gathered round the fire, Grizel knitting ashawl for they knew whom, but the name was never mentioned, and Tommytold the story of his life at the French court, and how he fought in the'45 and afterward hid in caves, and so did he shudder, as he describedthe cold of his bracken beds, and so glowed his face, for it was allreal to him, that Grizel let the wool drop on her knee, and Corpwhispered to Elspeth, "Dinna be fleid for him; I'se uphaud he found awy." Those quiet evenings were not the least pleasant spent in the Den.
But sometimes they were interrupted by a fierce endeavor to carry the
lair, when boys from Cathro's climbed to it up each other's backs, therope, of course, having been pulled into safety at the first sound, andthen that end of the Den rang with shouts, and deeds of valor on bothsides were as common as pine needles, and once Tommy and Corp were onlysaved from captors who had them down, by Grizel rushing into the midstof things with two flaring torches, and another time bold Birkie, mostdaring of the storming party, was seized with two others and made towalk the plank. The plank had been part of a gate, and was suspendedover the bank of the Silent Pool, so that, as you approached the fartherend, down you went. It was not a Jacobite method, but Tommy feared thatrows of bodies, hanging from the trees still standing in the Den, mightattract attention.
