by John Buchan
CHAPTER X
OF THE MAN WITH THE ONE EYE AND THE ENCOUNTER IN THE GREEN CLEUCH
I promise you I slept little that night, and it was with a heavy heartthat I rose betimes and dressed in the chill of the morning. There wasno one awake, and I left the house unobserved, whistling softly to keepup my spirits.
Just without, someone came behind me and cried my name. I turned roundsharply, and there was my servant Nicol, slinking after me for all theworld like a collie-dog which its master has left at home.
"What do you want with me?" I cried.
"Naething," he groaned sadly. "I just wantit to see ye afore ye gaed.I am awfu' feared, sir, for you gaun awa' yoursel'. If it werena forMistress Marjory, it wad be a deal mair than your word wad keep me fraeyour side. But I cam to see if there was nae way o' gettin' word o' ye.My leddy will soon turn dowie, gin she gets nae sough o' yourwhereabouts. Ye'd better tell me where I can get some kind o' aletter."
"Well minded!" I cried. "You know the cairn on the backside of Caerdonjust above the rising of Kilbucho Burn. This day three weeks I willleave a letter for your mistress beneath the stones, which you mustfetch and give her. And if I am safe and well every three weeks it willbe the same. Good day to you, Nicol, and see you look well to the chargeI have committed to you."
"Guid day to you, sir," he said, and I protest that the honest fellowhad tears in his eyes; and when I had gone on maybe half a mile andlooked back, he was still standing like a stone in the same spot.
At first I was somewhat depressed in my mind. It is a hard thing thus topart from one's mistress when the air is thick with perils to both. Soas I tramped through the meadows and leaped the brooks, it was with asad heart, and my whole mind was taken up in conjuring back the pleasanthours I had spent in my lady's company, the old frolics in the wood ofDawyck, the beginnings of our love-making, even the ride hither from theCor Water. Yesterday, I reflected, she was with me here; now I am aloneand like to be so for long. Then I fell to cursing myself for a fool,and went on my way with a better heart.
But it was not till I had crossed the wide stream of the Douglas Waterand begun to ascend the hills, that I wholly recovered my composure.Before, I had been straggling in low meadows which do not suit mytemper, since I am above all things hill-bred and a lover of darkmountains. So now on the crisp spring grass of the slopes my spiritsrose. Was not I young and strong and skilled in the accomplishments ofa man? The world was before me--that wide, undiscovered world which hadalways attracted the more heroic spirits. What hardship was there tolive a free life among the hills, under the sunshine and the wind, theclouds and the blue sky?
But my delight could never be unmixed though I tried. After all, was Ifree? I felt of a sudden that I was not one half equipped for a gipsy,adventurous life. I was tied down to custom and place with too manyties. I came of a line of landed gentlemen. The taint of possession, ofmastery and lordship over men and land, was strong in me. I could notbring me to think of myself as a kinless and kithless vagabond, havingno sure place of abode. Then my love of letters, my learning, myphilosophy, bound me down with indissoluble bands. To have acquired ataste for such things was to have unfitted myself for ever for the lifeof careless vagabondage. Above all there was my love; and ever, as Iwent on, my thoughts came home from their aerial flights and settledmore and more in a little room in a house in a very little portion ofGod's universe. And more and more I felt myself a slave to belovedtyrants, and yet would not have been free if I could.
It was always thus with me when alone: I must fall to moralising andself-communing. Still perhaps the master feeling in my mind was one ofcuriosity and lightheartedness. So I whistled, as I went, all the oldtunes of my boyhood which I was wont to whistle when I went out to thehills with my rod and gun, and stepped briskly over the short heather,and snapped my fingers in the face of the world.
Now I dared not go back to Tweeddale by the way by which I had come, forthe Clyde valley above Abington would be a hunting-ground of dragoonsfor many days. There was nothing for it but to make for the lowerwaters, ford the river above Coulter, and then come to Tweeddale in thelower parts, and thence make my way to the Water of Cor. Even thiscourse was not without its dangers; for the lower glen of Tweed wasaround Dawyck and Barns, and this was the very part of all the land themost perilous to me at the moment. To add to this, I was well at homeamong the wilder hills; but it was little I knew of Clydesdale belowAbington, till you come to the town of Lanark. This may at first seem atrifling misfortune, but in my present case it was a very great one. Forunless a man knows every house and the character of its inmates he islike to be in an ill way if close watched and threatened. However, Idreaded this the less, and looked for my troubles mainly after I hadonce entered my own lands in Tweeddale.
At the time when the sun rose I was on a long hill called Craigcraw,which hangs at the edge of the narrow crack in the hills through whichgoes the bridle-road from Lanark to Moffat. I thought it scarce worthmy while to be wandering aimlessly among mosses and craigs whensomething very like a road lay beneath me; so I made haste to get downand ease my limbs with the level way. It was but a narrow strip ofgrass, running across the darker heath, and coiling in front like agreen ribbon through nick or scaur or along the broad brae-face.
Soon I came to the small, roofless shieling of Redshaw, where aforetimelived a villain of rare notoriety, with whose name, "Redshaw Jock," JeanMorran embittered my childhood. I thought of all these old pleasingdays, as I passed the bare rickle of stones in the crook of the burn.Here I turned from the path, for I had no desire to go to Abington, andstruck up a narrow howe in the hills, which from the direction I guessedmust lead to the lower Clyde. It was a lonesome place as ever I haveseen. The spring sunshine only made the utter desolation the moreapparent and oppressive. Afar on the hillside, by a clump of rowantrees, I saw the herd's house of Wildshaw, well named in its remotesolitude. But soon I had come to the head of the burn and mounted theflat tableland, and in a little came to the decline on the other side,and entered the glen of the Roberton Burn.
Here it was about the time of noon, and I halted to eat my midday meal.I know not whether if was the long walk and the rough scrambling, or theclean, fresh spring air, or the bright sunshine, or the clear tinkle ofthe burn at my feet, or the sense of freedom and adventurous romance,but I have rarely eaten a meal with such serene satisfaction. All thisextraordinary day I had been alternating between excessive gaiety andsad regrets. Now the former element had the mastery, and I was ashilarious as a young horse when he is first led out to pasture.
And after a little as I sat there my mirth grew into a sober joy. Iremembered all the poets who had sung of the delights of the open airand the unshackled life. I laughed at my former feeling of shame in thematter. Was there any ignominy in being driven from the baseness ofsettled habitation to live like a prince under God's sky? And yet, as Iexulted in the thought, I knew all too well that in a little my feelingswould have changed and I would be in the depths of despondency.
In less than an hour I had turned a corner of hill and there before melay the noble strath of Clyde. I am Tweedside born and will own noallegiance save to my own fair river, but I will grant that next to itthere is none fairer than the upper Clyde. Were it not that in itslower course it flows through that weariful west country among the dullwhigamores and Glasgow traders, it would be near as dear to me as my ownwell-loved Tweed. There it lay, glittering in light, and yellow withthat strange yellow glow that comes on April waters. The little scrubsof wood were scarce seen, the few houses were not in the picture;nothing caught the eye save the giant mouldings of the hills, the severebarren vale, and the sinuous path of the stream.
I crossed it without any mishap, wading easily through at one of theshallows. There was no one in sight, no smoke from any dwelling; allwas as still as if it were a valley of the dead. Only from the upperair the larks were singing, and the melancholy peewits
cried ever overthe lower moorlands. From this place my course was clear; I went up theprattling Wandel Burn, from where it entered the river, and soon I wasonce more lost in the windings of the dark hills. There is a narrowbridle-path which follows the burn, leading from Broughton in Tweeddaleto Abington, so the way was easier walking.
And now I come to the relation of one of the strangest adventures ofthis time, which as often as I think upon it fills me with delight. Forit was a ray of amusement in the perils and hardships of my wanderings.
A mile or more up this stream, just before the path begins to leave thewaterside and strike towards the highlands, there is a little greencleuch, very fair and mossy, where the hills on either side come closeand the glen narrows down to half a hundred yards. When I came to thisplace I halted for maybe a minute to drink at a pool in the rocks, for Iwas weary with my long wanderings.
A noise in front made me lift my head suddenly and stare before me. Andthere riding down the path to meet me was a man. His horse seemed tohave come far, for it hung its head as if from weariness and stumbledoften. He himself seemed to be looking all around him and humming someblithe tune. He was not yet aware of my presence, for he rodenegligently, like one who fancies himself alone. As he came nearer Imarked him more clearly. He was a man of much my own height, with ashaven chin and a moustachio on his upper lip. He carried no weaponssave one long basket-handled sword at his belt. His face appeared to bea network of scars; but the most noteworthy thing was that he had butone eye, which glowed bright from beneath bushy brows. Here, said I tomyself, is a man of many battles.
In a moment he caught my eye, and halted abruptly not six paces away.He looked at me quietly for some seconds, while his horse, which was aspavined, broken-winded animal at best, began to crop the grass. But ifhis mount was poor, his dress was of the richest and costliest, and muchgold seemed to glisten from his person.
"Good day, sir," said he very courteously. "A fellow-traveller, Iperceive." By this time I had lost all doubt, for I saw that the manwas no dragoon, but of gentle birth by his bearing. So I answered himreadily.
"I little expected to meet any man in this deserted spot, least of all amounted traveller. How did you come over these hills, which if I mindright are of the roughest?"
"Ah," he said, "my horse and I have done queer things before this," andhe fell to humming a fragment of a French song, while his eye wanderedeagerly to my side.
Suddenly he asked abruptly: "Sir, do you know aught of sword-play?"
I answered in the same fashion that I was skilled in the rudiments.
He sprang from his horse in a trice and was coming towards me.
"Thank God," he cried earnestly, "thank God. Here have I been thirstingfor days to feel a blade in my hands, and devil a gentleman have I met.I thank you a thousand times, sir, for your kindness. I beseech you todraw."
"But," I stammered, "I have no quarrel with you."
He looked very grieved. "True, if you put it in that way. But that isnaught between gentlemen, who love ever to be testing each other'sprowess. You will not deny me?"
"Nay," I said, "I will not," for I began to see his meaning, and Istripped to my shirt and, taking up my sword, confronted him.
So there in that quiet cleuch we set to with might and main, with vastrivalry but with no malice. We were far too skilled to butcher oneanother like common rufflers. Blow was given and met, point was takenand parried, all with much loving kindness. But I had not been twominutes at the work when I found I was in the hands of a master. Thegreat conceit of my play which I have always had ebbed away little bylittle. The man before me was fencing easily with no display, but everycut came near to breaking my guard, and every thrust to overcoming mydefence. His incomprehensible right eye twinkled merrily, anddiscomposed my mind, and gave me no chance of reading his intentions.It is needless to say more. The contest lasted scarce eight minutes.Then I made a head-cut which he guarded skilfully, and when on thereturn my blade hung more loose in my hand he smote so surely and wellthat, being struck near the hilt, it flew from my hand and fell in theburn.
He flung down his weapon and shook me warmly by the hand.
"Ah, now I feel better," said he. "I need something of this sort everylittle while to put me in a good humour with the world. And, sir, letme compliment you on your appearance. Most admirable, most creditable!But oh, am I not a master in the craft?"
So with friendly adieux we parted. We had never asked each other's nameand knew naught of each other's condition, but that single good-naturedcontest had made us friends; and if ever I see that one-eyed man againin life I shall embrace him like a brother. For myself, at that moment,I felt on terms of good-comradeship with all, and pursued my way in asettled cheerfulness.
