by John Buchan
CHAPTER III
THE SPATE IN TWEED
The year 1683 was with us the driest year in any man's memory. From theend of April to the end of July we had scarce a shower. The hay-harvestwas ruined beyond repair, and man and beast were sick with the sultrydays. It was on the last Monday of July that I, wearied with wanderinglistlessly about the house, bethought myself of riding to Peebles to seethe great match at bowls which is played every year for the silver horn.I had no expectation of a keen game, for the green was sure to bewell-nigh ruined with the sun, and men had lost spirit in such weather.But the faintest interest is better than purposeless idleness, so Iroused myself from languor and set out.
I saddled Maisie the younger, for this is a family name among ourhorses, and rode down by the Tweed side to the town. The river ran inthe midst of a great bed of sun-baked gravel--a little trickle that aman might step across. I do not know where the fish had gone, but they,too, seemed scared by the heat, for not a trout plashed to relieve thehot silence. When I came to the Manor pool I stood still in wonder, forthere for the first time in my life I saw the stream dry. Manor, whichis in winter a roaring torrent and at other times a clear, full stream,had not a drop of running water in its bed; naught but a few stagnantpools green with slime. It was a grateful change to escape from the suninto the coolness of the Neidpath woods; but even there a change wasseen, for the ferns hung their fronds wearily and the moss had lost allits greenness. When once more I came out to the sun, its beating on myface was so fierce that it almost burned, and I was glad when I came tothe town, and the shade of tree and dwelling.
The bowling-green of Peebles, which is one of the best in the country,lies at the west end of the High Street at the back of the Castle Hill.It looks down on Tweed and Peebles Water, where they meet at theCuddie's Pool, and thence over a wide stretch of landscape to the highhills. The turf had been kept with constant waterings, but,notwithstanding, it looked grey and withered. Here I found half themen-folk of Peebles assembled and many from the villages near, to seethe match which is the greatest event of the month. Each player wore aribband of a special colour. Most of them had stripped off their coatsand jerkins to give their arms free play, and some of the best werebusied in taking counsel with their friends as to the lie of the green.The landlord of the Crosskeys was there with a great red favour stuck inhis hat, looking, as I thought, too fat and rubicund a man to have asteady eye. Near him was Peter Crustcrackit the tailor, a little wiryman with legs bent from sitting cross-legged, thin active hands, andkeen eyes well used to the sewing of fine work. Then there were cartersand shepherds, stout fellows with bronzed faces and great brawny chests,and the miller of the Wauk-mill, who was reported the best bowl-playerin the town. Some of the folk had come down like myself merely towatch; and among them I saw Andrew Greenlees, the surgeon, who hadtended me what time I went over the cauld. A motley crowd of the oddsand ends of the place hung around or sat on the low wall--poachers andblack-fishers and all the riff-raff of the town.
The jack was set, the order of the game arranged, and the playcommenced. A long man from the Quair Water began, and sent his bowlcurling up the green not four inches from the mark.
"Weel dune for Quair Water," said one. "They're nane sae blindthereaways."
Then a flesher's lad came and sent a shot close on the heels of theother and lay by his side.
At this, there were loud cries of "Weel dune, Coo's Blether," which wasa name they had for him; and the fellow grew red and withdrew to theback.
Next came a little nervous man, who looked entreatingly at thebystanders as if to bespeak their consideration. "Jock Look-up, mydear," said a man solemnly, "compose your anxious mind, for thae auldwizened airms o' yours 'll no send it half-road." The little man sighedand played his bowl: it was even as the other had said, for his shot wasadjudged a _hogg_ and put off the green.
Then many others played till the green was crowded at one end with theballs. They played in rinks, and interest fell off for some little timetill it came to the turn of the two acknowledged champions, MasterCrustcrackit and the miller, to play against one another. Then theonlookers crowded round once more.
The miller sent a long swinging shot which touched the jack and carriedit some inches onward. Then a bowl from the tailor curled round and laybetween them and the former mark. Now arose a great dispute (for theplayers of Peebles had a way of their own, and to understand their rulesrequired no ordinary share of brains) as to the propriety of MasterCrustcrackit's shot, some alleging that he had played off the cloth,others defending. The miller grew furiously warm.
"Ye wee, sneck-drawin' tailor-body, wad ye set up your bit feckless faceagainst a man o' place and siller?"
"Haud your tongue, miller," cried one. "Ye've nae cause to speak ill o'the way God made a man."
Master Crustcrackit, however, needed no defender. He was ready in asecond.
"And what dae ye ca' yoursel' but a great, God-forsaken dad o' a man,wi' a wame like Braid Law and a mouth like the bottomless pit for yilland beef and a' manner o' carnal bakemeats. You to speak abune yourbreath to me," and he hopped round his antagonist like an enragedfighting-cock.
What the miller would have said no one may guess, had not a middle-agedman, who had been sitting on a settle placidly smoking a long whitepipe, come up to see what was the dispute. He was dressed in a longblack coat, with small-clothes of black, and broad silver-buckled shoon.The plain white cravat around his neck marked him for a minister.
"William Laverlaw and you, Peter Crustcrackit, as the minister of thisparish, I command ye to be silent. I will have no disturbance on thispublic green. Nay, for I will adjudge your difference myself."
All were silent in a second, and a hush of interest fell on the place.
"But that canna be," grumbled the miller, "for ye're nae great hand atthe bowls."
The minister stared sternly at the speaker, who sank at once into anaggrieved quiet. "As God has appointed me the spiritual guide of thisunworthy town, so also has He made me your master in secular affairs. Iwill settle your disputes and none other. And, sir, if you or any otherdare gainsay me, then I shall feel justified in leaving argument forforce, and the man who offends I shall fling into the Cuddie's Pool forthe clearing of his brain and the benefit of his soul." He spoke in aslow, methodical tone, rolling the words over his tongue. Then Iremembered the many stories I had heard of this man's autocratic ruleover the folk of the good town of Peebles; how he, alien like to whigand prelatist, went on his steadfast path caring for no man and snappinghis fingers at the mandates of authority. And indeed in the quietfierce face and weighty jaws there was something which debarred men frommeddling with their owner.
Such was his influence on the people that none dared oppose him, and hegave his decision, which seemed to me to be a just and fair one. Afterthis they fell to their play once more.
Meantime I had been looking on at the sport from the vantage-ground ofthe low wall which looked down on the river. I had debated a questionof farriery with the surgeon, who was also something of a horse-doctor;and called out greetings to the different players, according as Ifavoured their colours. Then when the game no longer amused me, I hadfallen to looking over the country, down to the edge of the water wherethe small thatched cottages were yellow in the heat, and away up thebroad empty channel of Tweed. The cauld, where salmon leap in thespring and autumn, and which is the greatest cauld on the river unlessit be the one at Melrose, might have been crossed dryshod. I began tohate the weariful, everlasting glare and sigh for the clouds once more,and the soft moist turf and the hazy skyline. Now it was so heavilyoppressive that a man could scarce draw a free breath. The playersdripped with sweat and looked nigh exhausted, and for myself thesulphurous air weighed on me like a mount of lead and confused such witsas I had.
Even as I looked I saw a strange thing on the river bank which chainedmy languid curiosity. For down the haugh
, swinging along at a greatpace, came a man, the like of whom I had seldom seen. He ran at asteady trot more like a horse than a human creature, with his arms setclose by his sides and without bonnet or shoes. His head swung fromside to side as with excessive weariness, and even at that distance Icould see how he panted. In a trice he was over Peebles Water and hadascended the bank to the bowling-green, cleared the low dyke, and stoodgaping before us. Now I saw him plainer, and I have rarely seen astranger sight. He seemed to have come a great distance, but no sweatstood on his brow; only a dun copper colour marking the effect of thehot sun. His breeches were utterly ragged and in places showed his longsupple limbs. A shock of black hair covered his head and shaded hisswarthy face. His eyes were wild and keen as a hawk's, and his tonguehung out of his mouth like a dog's in a chase. Every man stopped hisplay and looked at the queer newcomer. A whisper went round the placethat it was that "fule callant frae Brochtoun," but this brought no newsto me.
The man stood still for maybe three minutes with his eyes fixed on theground as if to recover breath. Then he got up with dazed glances, likeone wakening from sleep. He stared at me, then at the players, andburst into his tale, speaking in a high, excited voice.
"I hae run frae Drummeller to bring ye word. Quick and get the folk outo' the waterside hooses or the feck o' the toun 'll be soomin' toBerwick in an 'oor."
No one spoke, but all stared as if they took him for a madman.
"There's been an awfu' storm up i' the muirs," he went on, panting, "andTweed's com in' doun like a mill-race. The herd o' Powmood tellt me,and I got twae 'oors start o't and cam off here what I could rin. Getthe folk out o' the waterside hooses when I bid ye, wi' a' their gearand plenishing, or there'll no be sae muckle as a groat's worth left bynicht. Up wi' ye and haste, for there's nae time to lose. I heard theroar o' the water miles off, louder than ony thunderstorm and mairterrible than an army wi' banners. Quick, ye auld doited bodies, if yedinna want to hae mourning and lamentation i' the toun o' Peebles."
At this, as you may believe, a great change passed over all. Some madeno words about it, but rushed into the town to give the alarm; othersstared stupidly as if waiting for more news; while some were disposed totreat the whole matter as a hoax. This enraged the newsbearer beyondtelling. Springing up, he pointed to the western sky, and far off wesaw a thick blackness creeping up the skyline. "If ye'll no believeme," said he, "will ye believe the finger of God?" The word and thesight convinced the most distrusting.
Now Tweed, unlike all other rivers of my knowledge, rises terribly atthe first rain and travels slowly, so that Tweedsmuir may be under fivefeet of water and Peebles high and dry. This makes the whole valley aplace of exceeding danger in sultry weather, for no man knows when athunderstorm may break in the hills and send the stream down a ragingtorrent. This, too, makes it possible to hear word of a flood before itcomes, and by God's grace to provide against it.
The green was soon deserted. I rushed down to the waterside houses,which were in the nearest peril, and in shorter time than it takes totell, we had the people out and as much of their belongings as wereworth the saving; then we hastened to the low-lying cottages on TweedGreen and did likewise. Some of the folk seemed willing to resist,because, as they said, "Whae kenned but that the body micht be a leearand they werena to hae a' this wark for naething?" For the great floodswere but a tradition, and only the old men had seen the ruin which thespate could work. Nevertheless, even these were convinced by athreatening sky and a few words from the newsbearer's trenchant tongue.Soon the High Street and the wynds were thick with household belongings,and the Castle Hill was crowded with folk to see the coming of theflood.
By this time the grim line of black had grown over half the sky, anddown fell great drops of rain into the white, sun-baked channel. It wasstrange to watch these mighty splashes falling into the little stagnantpools and the runlets of flowing water. And still the close, thick heathung over all, and men looked at the dawnings of the storm with sweatrunning over their brows. With the rain came a mist--a white ghastlyhaze which obliterated the hills and came down nigh to the stream. Asound, too, grew upon our ears, at first far away and dim, butincreasing till it became a dull hollow thunder, varied with a strangecrackling, swishing noise which made a man eery to listen to. Then allof a sudden the full blast of the thing came upon us. Men held theirbreaths as the wind and rain choked them and drove them back. It wasscarce possible to see far before, but the outlines of the gorge ofNeidpath fleeted through the drift, whence the river issued. Every manturned his eyes thither and strained them to pierce the gloom.
Suddenly round the corner of the hill appeared a great yellow wavecrested with white foam and filling the whole space. Down it cameroaring and hissing, mowing the pines by the waterside as a reaper mowsdown hay with a scythe. Then with a mighty bound it broke from thehill-barriers and spread over the haugh. Now, the sound was like thebubbling of a pot ere it boils. We watched it in terror and admiration,as it swept on its awful course. In a trice it was at the cauld, andthe cauld disappeared under a whirl of foam; now it was on the houses,and the walls went in like nutshells and the rubble was borne onward. Acry got up of "the bridge," and all hung in wonder as it neared the oldstonework, the first barrier to the torrent's course, the brave bridgeof Peebles. It flung itself on it with fiendish violence, but the stoutmasonwork stood firm, and the boiling tide went on through the narrowarches, leaving the bridge standing unshaken, as it had stood againstmany a flood. As we looked, we one and all broke into a cheer in honourof the old masons who had made so trusty a piece of stone.
I found myself in the crowd of spectators standing next to the man whohad brought the tidings. He had recovered his breath and was watchingthe sight with a look half of interest and half of vexation. When allwas past and only the turbid river remained, he shook himself like a dogand made to elbow his way out. "I maun be awa'," he said, speaking tohimself, "and a sair job I'll hae gettin' ower Lyne Water." When Iheard him I turned round and confronted him. There was something sopleasing about his face, his keen eyes and alert head, that I could notforbear from offering him my hand, and telling him of my admiration forhis deed. I was still but a boy and he was clearly some years my elder,so I made the advance, I doubt not, with a certain shyness andhesitancy. He looked at me sharply and smiled.
"Ye're the young laird o' Barns," said he; "I ken ye weel though yemaybe are no aquaint wi' me. I'm muckle honoured, sir, and gin ye'llcome Brochtoun-ways sometime and speir for Nicol Plenderleith, he'll takye to burns that were never fished afore and hills that never heard thesound o' a shot."
I thanked him, and watched him slipping through the crowd till he waslost to view. This was my first meeting with Nicol Plenderleith, ofwhose ways and doings this tale shall have much to say. The glamour ofthe strange fellow was still upon me as I set myself to make my roadhome. I am almost ashamed to tell of my misfortunes; for after crossingthe bridge and riding to Manor Water, I found that this stream likewisehad risen and had not left a bridge in its whole course. So I had to goup as far as St. Gordians' Cross before I could win over it, and did notreach Barns till after midnight, where I found my father half-crazy withconcern for me and Tam Todd making ready to go and seek me.
