by John Buchan
CHAPTER VII
THE PEGASUS INN AT PEEBLES AND HOW A STRANGER RETURNED FROM THE WARS
Of my doings for some months after my father's death I must tellhastily. I fell heir to the lands of Barns, and being of age entered atonce into my possession. The place remained the same as in my father'stime, the same servants and the same ways about the house. I livedsimply as I had always lived, spending my days in seeing to the land, infield sports, and some little study, for I had not altogether forsakenthe Muses. But all the time I felt as one who is kept at home againsthis will, being conscious of a restlessness and an inclination to travelwhich was new to me, but which I doubt not is common to all young men atthis time of life. I talked much with Tam Todd of the lands which hehad visited, and heard of the Dutch towns with their strange shipping,their canals and orderly houses, and of the rough Norlanders, clad inthe skins of wild animals, who came down to the Swedish markets totrade; of the soldiery of Germany and France and the Scots who had goneover there to push their fortunes with their swords; and what I lovedbest, of the salt sea with its boundless waste of waters and wild talesof shipwreck. Formerly I had been wont often to bid Tam sharply to holdhis peace when he entered on one of his interminable narrations; but nowI sat and drank in every word like a thirsty man. It was thewinter-time, when the roads were often snowed up and all the folk of theplace gathered in the great kitchen at nights round the fire; so it wasthe time for stories and we had our fill of them.
One blustering day, the first Monday, I think, after the New Year, whenthe ice was beginning to melt from the burns and a wet, cold wind fromthe north-west was blowing, I rode down to Peebles to settle somematters about money with Saunders Blackett, who had managed my father'saffairs and was now intrusted with mine. All things were done to mysatisfaction; so bethinking myself that the way to Barns was cold andlong and that it was yet early in the afternoon, being scarce fouro'clock, I found myself thinking pleasantly of the warm inn-parlour ofthe _Pegasus_, so thither I went.
The _Pegasus_ or "Peg" Inn stands at the corner of the Northgate and theHigh Street, a black-gabled building, once the town-house of the Govansof Cardrona, and still retaining marks of its gentility in the armscarved above the door. A great sign flapped in the wind, bearing on awhite ground a gorgeous representation of a winged horse soaring throughclouds. The landlord at this time was one Horsbrock, a portly,well-looking man, who claimed to be kin to the Horsbrocks of that ilkand held his chin two inches higher in consequence. The place was famedin all the country round for good wine and comfort.
I stabled my horse and, bidding the host bring me a bottle of Rhenish(so fine a thing it is to have succeeded to lands and money), I wentinto the low-ceilinged room where the company sat. It was panelled in adarkish wood, and hung round with old weapons, halberds and falchionsand what not, which glimmered brightly in the firelight. A narrowwindow gave it light, but now it sufficed only to show the grey winterdusk coming swiftly on. Around the fire sat some few of the men ofPeebles, warming themselves and discussing the landlord's ale and thecharacters of their neighbours.
They rose to give me welcome when I entered, for my name and family werewell known in the countryside.
"It's awfu' weather for man and beast, Laird," said an old man with abent back, but still hale and hearty in the face. "A snawy winter I canabide, and a wet yin, but drizzlin', dreepin', seepin' weather wi' awind that taks the heart out o' ye is mair than my patience can stand."
"You have little need to speak, you folk," I said, "living in awell-paved town with stones beneath your feet and nothing more to dothan go round a street corner all day. Up at Barns, with Tweed swirlingin at the yard gate, and the stables flowing like a linn, and the windplaying cantrips day and night in and out of the windows, you mighttalk."
"Ay, but, good sir," put in a thin voice which came from a little man Ihad seen at the bowling-green, "ye may thank the Lord for a roof abuneyour heids and dry claes to put on, when sae many godly folks are hidinglike pelicans in the wilderness among the high hills and deep mosses. Ibless the Lord that my faither, that sant o' the Kirk, is not living inthae evil times. He was a man o' a truly great spirit, and had he beenalive, I'se warrant he wad hae been awa to join them. He was aye strongon his conscience. 'John Look-up' so the godless called him. 'JohnLook-up,' said my mother, 'ye'll never be pleased till we're a' joltin'in a cairt to the Grassmarket o' Edinburgh. And a braw sicht ye'll be,hanging there like a hoodie-craw wi' a' your bairns aside ye.' Ay,these were often her words, for she had a sarcastic tongue."
"Jock Look-up, my man," said another, "I kenned your faither a' hisdays, and he was na the man to hang. He lookit up and he lookit a'ways. He was yin whae could baith watch and pray. Gin ye were mairlike him, ye wad be a mair thrivin' man."
"Aboot the hill-folk," said the old man who had first spoken, drinkinghis ale and turning up the measure to see that no more was left, "did yeever hear o' my son Francie and what happened to him when he gaed awa toMoffat wi' 'oo'? He gaed ower by Traquair and keepit the road till hegot to Moffat, for he had a horse that wasna ower sure o' its feet onthe hills. But when he had it a' sellt, whae does he meet in wi' butWull Hislop the travelling packman, whae's sair needing a beast. SoFrancie sells him his horse and comes aff hame walking ower the muirs.He gaed up Moffat Water and ower the muckle hill they ca'Corriefragauns, and got on nane sae bad till he cam to the awfu' craigsabune Loch Skene. He was walking briskly, thinking o' hame and thesiller in his pouch and how he wad win to Peebles that nicht, when hesaw afore him the awfu'est sicht that ever he had seen. It was a man o'maybe the same heicht as himsel, wi' a heid of red hair, and nae claesto speak o', but just a kind o' clout about his middle. He began tospeak in an outlandish voice and Francie kenned at yince that he maun beyin o' thae Hieland deevils brocht doun to hunt up the Whigs. He wasfor Francie's money, and he oot wi' a big knife and flashed it up anddoun. But this was no to Francie's liking. 'Put that doun, yeill-looking deevil,' says he, 'ye'll find I'm nane o' your hill-folk,but an honest man frae Peebles wi' a nieve as hard as your heid's saft,and if ye dinna let me by, I'll put ye in the loch as sure as my name'sFrancie Trummle.' The body understood him brawly, and wi' a grunt slunkaff among the heather, and Francie had nae mair bother wi' him. But O!it's an awfu' thing to think o' men o' your ain blood hunted and killedwi' thae foreign craturs. It maks me half-mindit to turn Whig mysel."
"Dinna fash yoursel, Maister Trummle," said a younger man, a farmer byhis looks, "ye're better bidin' in peace and quiet at hame. The Lordnever meant folk to gang among hills and peat-bogs, unless after sheep.It's clean against the order o' things. But there's yae thing thatreconciles me to this Whig-hunting. They're maistly wast-country folk,and wast-country folk are an ill lot, aye shoving their nebs wherethey're no want it. There's no mony Whigs in Tweeddale. Na, na,they're ower canny."
Master Turnbull made as if he would have answered, when a clatter offeet was heard in the passage, and the door opened. Two men entered,one a great swarthy fellow well known for his poaching escapades whenthe salmon came up the water, and the other, Peter Crustcrackit thetailor. They did not enter in company, for Peter swaggered in with asgallant an air as two bent legs and a small body could permit, while theother slunk in with a half-apologetic look, glancing keenly round to seewho were the other occupants of the room.
"The 'Peg' is honoured with your company tonight, I see," said Peter,making a bow to me. "'Tis the finest gathering that I remember: theLaird o' Barns, worthy Maister Trumbull, myself, and my honoured freend,Maister Simon Doolittle."
The black fisher lifted his face from the ale which the landlord hadbrought. "Your guid health, gentlemen. I'm prood o' your company,though I'm no just fit for't, since I'm no half an 'oor oot o' theDookit Pool."
All eyes were turned to the speaker, and we saw that his clothes hunglimp and wet.
"And pray, how did you get there, Maister Doolittle? Was't by theworking o' Providence
, or the wiles o' sinfu' man?"
"A mixture o' baith. I took a bit daunder up Tweed to the Castle Rockto see how the water was rinnin'. It's been raither grimily for fishin'o' late. Ye a' ken the rocks that they're no exactly the sort o' placethat a man wad choose for dancin' a reel in tackety boots. Weel, I wasadmiring the works o' God as manifested in a big, deep, swirlin' hole,when afore ever I kenned I was admirin' the hole frae the middle o't. Iwas gey near chokit wi' Tweed water, but I wabbled a bit, and synegrippit a birk and held on."
There was a pause and he took a draught of ale.
"Weel, I roared as loud as I could, and the auld runt whae bides i' theCastle heard me. He cam doun and askit me what was wrang. 'Wrang,'says I. 'If ye dinna ca' ten feet o' water and you no able to soom,wrang, I just wis ye were here yoursel.' So he gangs cannily back andbrings anither man to look at me; and the twae thocht for a while, andthen each grippit an airm and after a gey wammlin' I got oot. I wasangry at their delay, for I couldna hae held on muckle langer, so Ikickit them baith an' cam aff here. I've muckle need o' yill, fur I feelas if I had eaten ten pund o' snaw."
"Come nearer the fire, Simon," said one. "Ye're a muckle tried man."
"I'm a' that," said the brown-faced poacher, and relapsed into silence.
The lights were now lit in the streets of Peebles, as we could see bythe glimmer through the windows; but in our room no lamp was needed, forthe bright firelight was sufficient for a man to read a little book by.The great shadows danced on the wall, bent and crooked into a thousandphantasies; and the men by the fire nodded and spoke little. Then theold man Turnbull began an argument with the tailor about some clothes inwhich he said he had been cheated; and Peter Crustcrackit, never aquiet-tempered man, was rejoining with vigour. I heard only fragmentsof their talk, being taken up in dreaming of my future course, and whenI should go to see the world.
The mild-mannered man, him they called John Look-up, was sleeping in hischair, and his jug of ale which he had emptied hung limply in his hand.In a little it fell to the floor and rolled beneath his chair; but thesleeper never stirred. The poacher sat shrouded in vapour, which theheat of the fire had brought out of his wet garments, and a mingledsmell of damp cloth and burning wood filled the room. The discordantvoices of the tailor and his antagonist rose and fell, now sinking to amumbled whisper, and now rising to sharp recrimination. By and by theycame to an end of their dispute, and silence reigned undisturbed; and Iverily believe that in five minutes we should all have been soundasleep, had not something occurred to rouse us.
This was no less than the entrance of another guest. The door was flungopen and a man entered, swaggering with a great air and bearing into theslumbrous place a breath of the outer world. He was the finest man Ihad ever seen, two inches and more taller than myself, who am not short,and clean made as a greyhound. His face was tanned a deep brown, andbare save for a yellow moustachio on his upper lip. His hair hung longand fine over his shoulders, setting off the erect poise of his head.He had removed his cloak and hat, and showed a dress of the height offashion; his cravat was of delicate foreign lace and the sash around hismiddle of the finest silk. But what I marked especially were hisfeatures, the thin, straight nose, the well-bred chin, and the cleareyes; but for a certain weakness in the jaw I should have called it thehandsomest face I had ever seen. More, it was a face that wis familiarto me. I had seen the like of it before; but where I could not tell, andI cudgelled my brains to think of it.
"Ah, my faith," said the stranger, speaking with a foreign accent, "whathave we here? A room-full of sleepy citizens. Or drunk, egad, drunk, Ibelieve."
And he walked over to where Peter Crustcrackit sat nodding, and staredin his face. Now the noise wakened the rest; and Peter also, whositting up with a stupid air thought that he was still in the shop, andcried hurriedly, "What d'ye lack, sir? Silks or satins or plainkersey," and ran into a recital of his wares.
The newcomer looked at him with an amused smile. "It is not difficultto tell your profession, my friend. The ninth of a man."
Then he surveyed the rest of us in turn with his restless eyes, untilhis look fell upon me. He must have marked something about myappearance distinct from the others, for he bowed and addressed mepolitely.
"You are not one of these fellows, I think. May I ask the favour ofyour name? I have been long absent from this country and have forgotfaces."
"You are welcome to it," said I. "They call me John Burnet--of Barns,"I added, for the first time using my new-found title.
He crossed to my side in an instant and held out his hand. "Your hand,Master Burnet. You and I should be well known to each other, for weshall be near neighbours. You may have heard of Michael Veitch ofDawyck, him that was soldiering abroad. I am that same, returned likethe prodigal from far countries."
Now I knew where I had seen the face before. It was but a coarse andmanly counterpart of Marjory's, though I fancied that hers was still thebraver and stronger, if all were told.
"I have often heard of you," I said, "and I am glad to be the first tobid you welcome to your own countryside. These are some men of thetown, honest fellows, who come here for their evening ale."
"Your health, gentlemen," he cried, bowing to the company. "Landlord,bring ale and a bottle of your best Burgundy till I pledge these honestfellows."
"Eh, sirs," I heard Peter Crustcrackit mutter under his breath, "sic aninvasion o' gentles. The Northgate o' Peebles micht be the High Streeto' Embro', for a' the braw folk that are coming tae't. I maun thinkaboot shifting my shop."
It would be well on for eight o'clock ere Master Veitch and I left the_Pegasus_ to ride homeward. The night was quieter and milder, andoverhead a patch of clear sky showed the stars. He had with him twoserving-men who carried his belongings, but they rode some littledistance behind. He was full of questions about Dawyck and his kinsfolkthere and the countryside around; so I must needs tell him something ofwhat had passed between Marjory and myself. He seemed not ill-pleased."What," he cried, "little Marjory, who was scarce higher than my kneewhen I left! To think that she should have grown into a woman already!And you say she is pretty?"
Which question gave me much opportunity for such talk as one must usewhen he feels the littleness of words.
Then he must ask me about myself, of my father, of whose death he wasignorant, and what I purposed to do. "For I doubt," said he, "that youwill have but a dull time of it at Barns in that great desolate house.It little befits an active man to pine at home like a mouse in a cell."
So from one thing to another, he had me to tell him of all my desires,of how I longed above all things to travel and see the world; and hespoke to me in such a fashion that ere we had come to the ford of Tweedmy intention was fixed to ride out like the Spanish Don to see whatmight befall me.
