John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE COMING OF THE BRIG SEAMAW

  It was the third day of April, a day so cool and mild that every one whocould was in the open air, that I sat in the little strip of gardenbehind my lodging, reading the Symposium of Plato in the light ofcertain digests of Master Quellinus. The beds of hyacinth, yellow andblue and red, were flaunting before my eyes, and down by the water'sedge the swallows were twittering and skimming. The soft spring windfluttered the leaves of my book and stirred my hair, so that I found ithard indeed to keep my attention fixed. Some yards behind me Nicol satcleaning a fishing-rod, for in the idle days he amused himself withtrying his skill among the sleepy streams. He was whistling some barsof "Leezie Lindsay," and the tune, which I had often heard in Tweeddale,put me much in mind of home and inclined my heart violently to the placeI had left. So soon I found my Plato lying listlessly on my lap, and mythoughts far away over sea.

  Just now, I knew, would be the lambing-time in the Tweed hills, and allthe valleys would be filled with the noise of sheep. The shepherds,too, would be burning the bent, and the moors sending up wreaths ofpungent smoke. I minded the smell so well that I almost fancied it wasin my nostrils in place of the moist perfume of hyacinth and violet. AtBarns, Tam Todd would be seeing to the young trees and fishing in thefull streams. At Dawyck, Marjory would be early abroad, plucking thespring flowers and bringing in armfuls of apple-blossom to deck therooms. The thought of Marjory gave me sudden discomfort. I reflectedfor the thousandth time that I had heard nothing of her for months, andI fell to wondering greatly at her silence. By and by, what withthinking of home and of her and chafing at her neglect, I found myselfin a very pretty state of discontentment.

  It was just then that I heard a voice behind me, and turning round sawNicol approaching in company with another. The stranger was a man ofremarkable appearance. He was scarcely the middle height, but hisbreadth across the shoulders was so great that he seemed almostdwarfish. He had arms of extraordinary length, so long that theyreached almost to his knees, like the Tartars in Muscovy that I haveread of. His square, weather-beaten face was filled with much goodhumour, and the two eyes which looked out from beneath his shaggy browswere clear and shrewd.

  "This is Maister Silas Steen o' the brig Seamaw," said Nicol, making anintroduction, "whae has come from Scotland this morning, and says he hasletters wi' him for you." Having delivered himself, my servantretreated, and left the newcomer alone with me.

  "You'll be Master John Burnet of Barns?" said he, looking at me sharply.

  "The same, at your service," said I.

  "It's just a bit letter for you," and he dived into his pocket andproduced a packet.

  I took it hastily, for I had some guess who was the writer. Nor was Iwrong, for one glance at the superscription told me the truth. And thisis how it ran:

  "_For Master John Burnet in the house of Mistress Vanderdecker near theBreedestraat, at Leyden_.

  "DEAR JOHN: I have not written thee for long, and I trust that thereby Ihave not given thee trouble. I am well and happy, when this leaves me,though desiring thy return. I trust your studies are to yoursatisfaction. Tam Todd, from the Barns, was over yestreen, and gave agood account of all things there."

  Then came a pause, and the writing was resumed in a hurried, irregularhand.

  "I am not free to write my will. O John, dear John, come back to me. Iam so unhappy. I cannot survive without thee another day" (this latterword had been scored out and _month_ put in its place). "I am indreadful perplexity. Come quick.

  "MARJORY."

  You may imagine into what state of mind the reading of this letter threwme. My lady was in trouble, that was enough for me, and she desired myaid. I guessed that the letter had been written stealthily and thatsome trouble had been found in its conveyance, for it bore the marks ofmuch crumpling and haste. I could make no conjecture as to its meaning,and this doubt only the more increased my impatience.

  "From whom did you get this?" I asked.

  "From a great, thin, swart man, who brought it to me at Leith, and bademe deliver it. I came post haste from Rotterdam this day."

  I ran over in my mind the serving-folk at Dawyck, and could think ofnone such. Then, like a flash, I remembered Tam Todd. This doublyincreased my fears. If Marjory could get no porter for her message saveone of my own servants, then the trouble must be at Dawyck itself.

  I can find no words for the depths of my anxiety. To think of Marjory insorrow and myself separated by leagues of land and sea well-nigh droveme distracted. There and then I resolved on my course.

  "Your ship is at Rotterdam?" I asked.

  "Yes," said the captain.

  "When does she sail?"

  "To-morrow night, when the cargo is on board."

  "I'll give you twenty pieces of gold if you'll sail to-night."

  The captain shook his head. "It canna be done," he cried; "my freightis lace and schiedam, worth four times twenty pieces, and I canna have avoyage for naething."

  "Listen," said I, "I am in terrible perplexity. I would give you ahundred, if I had them; but I promise you, if you bring me safely to theport of Leith, they shall be paid. Ride back to your vessel and shipall the stuff you can, and I will be with you at eleven o'clock thisnight, ready to sail."

  The fellow shook his head, but said nothing.

  "Man, man," I cried, "for God's sake, I implore you. It's a matter tome of desperate import. See, there are your twenty pieces, and I'llgive you my bond for eighty, to be paid when we win to Leith."

  "Tut, Master Burnet," said he, "I will not be taking your money. ButI'm wae to see you in trouble. I'll take you over the nicht for thetwenty pieces, and if I lose on the venture, you can make it up to me.It's safer carrying you and running straight for the pier, than carryingschiedam and dodging about the Bass. And I'm not a man that need counthis pennies. Forbye, I see there's a lady in the case, and I deem it myduty to assist you."

  I was at first astonished by the man's ready compliance, but when I sawthat he was sincere, I thanked him to the best of my power. "Be sure Ishall not forget this service, Captain Steen," said I; "and if it isever in my power to serve you in return, you may count on me. You willtake some refreshment before you go;" and, calling Nicol, I bade him seeto the stranger's wants.

  Meantime it behooved me to be up and doing if I was to sail that night.I knew not what to think of the news I had heard, for, as I thought uponthe matter, it seemed so incredible that aught could have gone wrongthat I began to set it all down to mere loneliness and a girl's humours.The strangeness of the letter I explained with all the sophistry ofcare. She did not wish to disturb me and bring me home before my time.This was what she meant when she said she was not free to write herwill. But at the end her desolateness had overmastered her, and she hadfinished with a piteous appeal. Even so I began to reason, and thiscasuistry put me in a more hopeful frame of mind. It was right that Ishould go home, but when I got there I should find no cause for fear.But there was much to be done in the town and the college ere I couldtake my departure. So when I had paid all the monies that I owed, andbidden farewell to all my friends (among whom Sir William Crichtoun andMaster Quellinus were greatly affected), I returned to my lodgings.There I found Nicol in great glee, preparing my baggage. He waswhistling the "Lawlands of Holland," and every now and then he wouldstop to address himself. "Ye're gaun hame," I heard him saying, "ye'regaun hame to the hills and the bonny water o' Tweed, and guid kindlyScots folk, after thae frostit Hollanders, and fine tasty parritsh andhonest yill after the abominable meats and drinks o' this stawsome hole.And ye'd better watch your steps, Nicol Plenderleith, my man, I'mtellin' ye, and keep a calm sough, for there's a heap o' wark to bedune, and some o' it geyan wanchancy."

  "Good advice, Nicol," said I, breaking in upon him; "see that you keepto it."

  "Is that you, Maister John? Ye'll be clean high aboot gaun back. Ye'llh
ae seen a' that's to be seen here, for after a' it's no a great place.And ye maun mind and put a bottle o' French brandy in your valise, oryou'll be awfu' oot on the sea. I think it's likely to be coorse on thewater."

  I took my servant's advice, and when all was done to my liking, I walkeddown to the college gate for one last look at the place. I was in astrange temper--partly glad, partly sad--and wholly excited. When Ilooked on the grey, peaceful walls, breathing learning and repose, andthought of the wise men who had lived there, and the great books thathad been written, and the high thoughts that had been born, I felt akeen pang of regret. For there was at all times in me much of thescholar's spirit, and I doubted whether it had not been better for me,better for all, had I chosen the life of study. I reflected how littlemy life would lie now in cloisters and lecture halls, in whatdifficulties I would soon be plunged and what troublous waters I mightbe cast upon. My own land was in a ferment, with every man's handagainst his brother; my love might be in danger; of a surety it lookedas if henceforward quiet and gentleness might be to seek in my life. Iown that I looked forward to it without shrinking--nay, with a certainhopeful anticipation; but I confess also that I looked at the past andall that I was leaving with a certain regret. Indeed, I was bornbetween two stools; for, while I could never be content to stay at homeand spend my days among books, on the other hand, the life of unletteredaction was repugnant. Had it been possible, I should have gladly dweltamong wars and tumults with men who cared not for these things alone,and could return, when all violence was at an end, to books and studywith a cheerful heart. But no man has the making of the world, and hemust even fit himself to it as he finds it. Nor do I think italtogether evil to have many desires and even many regrets, for it keepsa man's spirit active, and urges him on to valiant effort. Of this I amsure, that contentment is the meanest of the virtues.

  As I left the place there was a cool, grey haze over all the gardens andtowers--mellow and soft and lucid. But to the north, where lay the sea,there was a broken sky, blue, with fitful clouds passing athwart. Itseemed, as it were, the emblem of my life--the tranquil and theunsettled. Yet in the broken sky there was a promise of sunshine andbrilliance, which was not in the even grey; and this heartened me.

  So at four that evening we mounted horse and rode forth by the way wehad come, and ere the hour of eleven were on the wharf at Rotterdam,sniffing the distant smell of the sea.