John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER IX

  I RIDE OUT ON MY TRAVELS AND FIND A COMPANION

  It was on a fine sharp morning, early in February, that I finally badegood-bye to the folk at Barns and forded Tweed and rode out into theworld. There was a snell feel in the air which fired my blood, and mademe fit for anything which Providence might send. I was to ride Maisieas far as Leith, where I was to leave her with a man at theHarbour-Walk, who would send her back to Tweeddale; for I knew it wouldbe a hard thing to get passage for a horse in the small ships whichsailed between our land and the Low Countries at that time of year.

  At the Lyne Water ford, Michael Veitch was waiting for me. He waved hishat cheerfully, and cried, "Good luck to you, John, and see that youbide not too long away." I told him of a few things which I wished himto see to, and then left him, riding up the little burn which comes downbetween the Meldon hills, and whither lies the road to Eddleston Water.When I was out of sight of him, I seemed to have left all my home behindme, and I grew almost sorrowful. At the top of the ridge I halted andlooked back. There was Barns among its bare trees and frosted meadows,with Tweed winding past, and beyond, a silvery glint of the Manor comingdown from its blue, cold hills. There was Scrape, with its long slopesclad in firs, and the grey house of Dawyck nestling at its foot. I sawthe thin smoke curling up from the little village of Lyne, and Lyne Kirkstanding on its whin-covered brae, and the bonny holms of Lyne Water,where I had often taken great baskets of trout. I must have stayedthere, gazing, for half an hour; and, whenever I looked on the brownmoors and woods, where I had wandered from boyhood, I felt sorrowful,whether I would or no.

  "But away with such thoughts," I said, steeling my heart. "There's manya fine thing awaiting me, and, after all, I will be back in a year ortwo to the place and the folk that I love." So I went down to thevillage of Eddleston whistling the "Cavalier's Rant," and firmlyshutting my mind against thoughts of home. I scarce delayed inEddleston, but pushed on up the valley, expecting to get dinner at theinn at Leadburn, which stands at the watershed, just where the county ofEdinburgh touches our shire of Tweeddale. The way, which is a paradisein summer, was rugged and cold at this season. The banks of the streamwere crusted with ice, and every now and then, as I passed, I raised astring of wild duck, who fled noisily to the high wildernesses.

  I came to Leadburn about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, somewhat coldin body, but brisk and comforted in spirit. I had Maisie stabled, andmyself went into the hostel and bade them get ready dinner. The inn isthe most villainous, bleak place that I have ever seen, and I who writethis have seen many. The rooms are damp and mouldy, and thechimney-stacks threaten hourly to come down about the heads of theinmates. It stands in the middle of a black peat-bog, which stretchesnigh to the Pentland Hills; and if there be a more forsaken countrysideon earth, I do not know it. The landlord, nevertheless, was an active,civil man, not spoiled by his surroundings; and he fetched me anexcellent dinner--a brace of wild-fowl and a piece of salted beef,washed down with very tolerable wine.

  I had just finished, and was resting a little before ordering my horse,when the most discordant noise arose in the inn-yard; and, going to thewindow, I beheld two great, strong serving-men pulling a collie by arope tied around the animal's neck. It was a fine, shaggyblack-and-white dog, and I know not what it could have done to meritsuch treatment. But its captors had not an easy task, for it struggledand thrawed at the rope, and snarled savagely, and every now and thenmade desperate sallies upon the hinder-parts of its leaders. Theycursed it, not unnaturally, for an ill-conditioned whelp, and some ofthe idlers, who are usually found about an inn, flung stones or beat itwith sticks from behind. Now I hate, above all things, to see a beastsuffer, no matter how it may have deserved it; so I had it in my mind togo down and put a stop to the cruelty, when some one else came beforeme.

  This was a very long, thin man, with a shock of black hair, and asunburnt face, attired in a disorder of different clothes--a fine,though tarnished coat, stout, serviceable small-clothes, and thecoarsest of shoes and stockings. He darted forward like a hawk from acorner of the yard, and, ere I could guess his intentions, had caughtthe rope and let the dog go free. The beast ran howling to seekshelter, and its preserver stood up to face the disappointed rascals.They glared at him fiercely, and were on the point of rushing on him,had not something in his demeanour deterred them.

  "Oh," said he, in a scornful voice, "ye're fine folk, you Leidburn folk.Braw and kindly folk. Graund at hangin' dowgs and tormentin' dumbbeasts, but like a wheen skelpit puppies when ye see a man."

  "Ye meddlin' deevil," said one, "whae askit ye to come here? The dowgwas an ill, useless beast, and it was time it was hangit."

  "And what d'ye ca' yoursel?" said the stranger. "I ken ye fine, TamTiddup, for a thievin', idle vaigabond, and if every useless beast washangit, there wadna be yin o' ye here."

  This made them grumble, and a stone was thrown, but still something inthe easy, dauntless air of their enemy kept them back.

  "But I'm no the man to let a dowg gang free wi'oot giein' some kind o'return. Ye're a' brave men, dour warlike men, and I've nae doot uncokeen o' a fecht. Is there no some kind o' green bit hereaways whaur Icould hae a fling wi' yin o' ye? I'll try ye a' in turn, but no to makill-feelin', I'll tak the biggest yin first. Will ye come, ye mucklehash?" he said suddenly, addressing the tallest of the number.

  Now the man addressed had clearly no stomach for fight, but he was talland stout, and stood in fear of the ridicule of his companions, andfurther, he doubtless thought that he would have an easy victory overthe lean stranger, so he accepted with as good a show of readiness as hecould muster.

  "Come on, ye flee-up-i'-the-air, and I'll see if I canna pit thaefushionless airms o' yours oot o' joint."

  I heard them appoint a flat place beside the burn, just on the edge ofthe bog, and watched them trooping out of the yard. The rabble wentfirst, with a great semblance of valour, and the brown-faced stranger,with a sardonic grin on his countenance, stepped jauntily behind. Now Idearly love a fight, but yet I scarce thought fit to go and look on withthe rest; so I had Maisie saddled, and rode after them, that I mightlook like some chance passer-by stopping to witness the encounter.

  When I came up to the place, there were already some thirty mencollected. It was a green spot by the side of the Hawes burn, with thefrost not lifted from the grass; and in the burn itself the ice laythick, for it flows sluggishly like all bogland waters, The place wasbeaten down as if folk were used to go there, and here the men made aring about their champion, some helping him to unbuckle his belt, somegiving advice about how to close with his adversary. The adversaryhimself stood waiting their pleasure with the most unconcerned air,whistling "The Green Holms o' Linton," and stamping his feet on theground to keep himself warm.

  In a little the two were ready, and stood facing each other on the coldmoor. A whistling wind came in short blasts from the hills, and madetheir ears tingle, and mine also, till I wished that I were one of thetwo to have some chance of warming my blood. But when once the fightbegan, I thought little more of the cold.

  The countryman gripped the stranger round the middle and tuggeddesperately to throw him. Up and down, backwards and forwards theywent, kicking up in their struggle pieces of turf and little stones.Once they were all but in the water, but the stranger, seeing his peril,made a bold leap back and dragged the other with him. And now I fearedthat it was going to go hard with the succourer of distressed dogs; forhis unwieldy opponent was pressing so heavily upon him that I expectedevery moment to see him go down. Once I caught sight of his face, and,to my surprise, it was calm as ever; the very straw he had been chewingbefore being still between his teeth.

  Now the fight took another turn; for my friend, by an adroit movement,slipped below the other's arms, flung himself backwards, just as I haveseen a tumbler do at a fair at Peebles, and before the other knew hisdesign, stood smiling before him. The man
's astonishment was so greatthat he stood staring, and if the stranger had used his advantage, hemight have thrown him there and then. By and by he recovered and cameon, swearing and wrathful. "Ye've slippit awa' yince, ye ether, butI'll see that ye'll no dae't again;" and with his sluggish blood rousedto some heat, he flung himself on his foe, who received him much as acomplacent maid receives the caresses of a traveller. The fellowthought his victory certain, and put out all his strength; but now, of asudden, my friend woke up. He twisted his long arms round hisadversary, and a mighty struggle began. The great, fat-bellied man wasswaying to and fro like a basket on a pack-horse; his face grew purpleand pale at the lips, and his body grew limper and weaker. I expectedto see a good fight, but I was disappointed; for before I knew, theywere on the edge of the pool, tottered a second, and then, with a mightycrunching and splashing, bounded through the thin ice into the frostywater.

  A great brown face, with draggled, black hair, followed closely by a redand round one, appeared above the surface, and two dripping human beingsdragged themselves to the bank. The teeth of both chattered like asmith's shop, but in the mouth of one I espied a yellowish thing, sorelybitten and crumbled. It was the piece of straw. A loud shout greetedtheir appearance, and much laughter. The one slunk away with hiscomrades, in no very high fettle, leaving the other shaking himself likea water-dog on the grass.

  I found the stranger looking up at me, as I sat my horse, with a glancehalf-quizzical and half-deprecatory. The water ran down his odd clothesand formed in pools in the bare places of the ground. He shivered inthe cold wind, and removed little fragments of ice from his coat. Thenhe spoke.

  "Ye'll be the Laird o' Barns settin' oot on your traivels?"

  "Good Lord! What do you know of my business?" I asked, and, as I lookedat him, I knew that I had seen the face before. Of a sudden he liftedhis arm to rub his eyebrows, and the motion brought back to me at once avision of excited players and a dry, parched land, and a man perplexedlyseeking to convince them of something; and I remembered him for the manwho had brought the news to Peebles of the rising of Tweed.

  "I know you," I said. "You are the man who came down with news of thegreat flood. But what do you here?"

  "Bide a wee and I'll tell ye. Ye'll mind that ye tellt me if ever I wasin need o' onything, to come your way. Weel, I've been up Tweed, anddoun Tweed, and ower the hills, and up the hills, till there's nae mairplaces left for me to gang. So I heard o' your gaun ower the seas, andI took it into my heid that I wad like to gang tae. So here I am, atyour service."

  The fellow's boldness all but took my breath away. "What, in Heaven'sname, would I take you with me for?" I asked. "I doubt we would suiteach other ill."

  "Na, na, you and me wad gree fine. I've heard tell o' ye, Laird, thoughye've heard little o' me, and by a' accoonts we're just made for eachither."

  Now if any other one had spoken to me in this tone I should have madeshort work of him; but I was pleased with this man's conduct in theaffair just past, and, besides, I felt I owed something to my promise.

  "But," said I, "going to Holland is not like going to Peebles fair, andwho is to pay your passage, man?"

  "Oh," said he, "I maun e'en be your body-servant, so to speak."

  "I have little need of a body-servant. I am used to shifting formyself. But to speak to the purpose, what use could you be to me?"

  "What use?" the man repeated. "Eh, sir, ye ken little o' NicolPlenderleith to talk that gait. A' the folk o' Brochtoun and Tweedsmuir,and awa' ower by Clyde Water ken that there's no his match for rinnin'and speelin' and shootin' wi' the musket; I'll find my way oot o' a holewhen a' body else 'ill bide in't. But fie on me to be blawin' my aintrumpet at siccan a speed. But tak me wi' ye, and if I'm no a' I say,ye can cry me for a gowk at the Cross o' Peebles."

  Now I know not what possessed me, who am usually of a sober, prudentnature, to listen to this man; but something in his brown, eager faceheld me captive, and his powerful make filled me with admiration. He washonest and kindly; I had had good evidence of both; and his bravery wasbeyond doubting. I thought how such a man might be of use to me in aforeign land, both as company and protection. I had taken a liking tothe fellow, and, with our family, such likings go for much.Nevertheless, I was almost surprised at myself when I said:

  "I like the look of you, Nicol Plenderleith, and am half-minded to takeyou with me as my servant."

  "I thank ye kindly, Laird. I kenned ye wad dae't. I cam to meet yehere wi' my best claes for that very reason."

  "You rascal," I cried, half laughing at his confidence, and half angryat his audacity. "I've a good mind to leave you behind after all. Youtalk as if you were master of all the countryside. But come along; wewill see if the landlord has not a more decent suit of clothes for yourback if you are going into my service. I will have no coughing,catarrhy fellows about me."

  "Hech," muttered my attendant, following, "ye micht as weel expect aheron to get the cauld frae wadin' in the water, as Nicol Plenderleith.Howbeit, your will be done, sir."

  From the landlord at the inn I bought a suit of homespun clothes which,by good fortune, fitted Nicol; and left his soaked garments as partpayment. Clad decently, he looked a great, stalwart man, though somewhatbent in the back, and with a strange craning forward of the neck,acquired, I think, from much wandering among hills. I hired a horse totake him to Edinburgh, and the two of us rode out of the yard, followedby the parting courtesies of the host.

  Of our journey to Edinburgh, I have little else to tell. We came to thetown in the afternoon, and went through the streets to the port ofLeith, after leaving our horses at the place arranged for. I wasgrieved to part from Maisie, for I had ridden her from boyhood, and shehad come to know my ways wondrous well. We found a vessel to sail thenext morn for Rotterdam, and bargained with the captain for our passage.When all had been settled, and we had looked our fill upon the harbourand the craft, and felt the salt of the sea on our lips, we betookourselves to an inn, _The Three Herrings_, which fronted the quay, andthere abode for the night.

  BOOK II--THE LOW COUNTRIES