by John Buchan
CHAPTER XIII
I RUN A NARROW ESCAPE FOR MY LIFE
This was in April, and now the summer began to grow over the land. Thedays grew longer and the air more mild, the flowers came out on thehills, little mountain pansies and eyebright and whortleberry, and thefirst early bells of the heath; the birds reared their young and the airwas all filled with the cries of them; and in the streams the trout grewfull-fleshed and strong.
And all through these days I lay close hid in the wilds, now in oneplace, now in another, never wandering far from Tweeddale. My firsthiding was in a narrow glen at the head of the Polmood Burn in a placecalled Glenhurn. It was dark and lonesome, but at first the pursuit washot after me and I had no choice in the matter. I lived ill on the fishof the burn and the eggs of wildfowl, with what meal I got from ashepherd's house at the burn foot. These were days of greatcontemplation, of long hours spent on my back in the little glen ofheather, looking up to the summer sky and watching the great cloudsfleeting athwart it. No sound came to disturb me, I had few cares tovex me; it was like that highest state of being which Plotinus spoke of,when one is cumbered not with the toils of living. Here I had muchgrave communing with myself on the course of my life, now thinking uponit with approval, now much concerned at its futility. I had three verywarring moods of mind. One was that of the scholar, who would flee fromthe roughness of life. This came upon me when I thought of thedegradation of living thus in hiding, of sorting with unlettered men, ofhaving no thoughts above keeping body and soul together. The second wasthat of my father's son, whose pride abhorred to flee before any man andhide in waste places from low-born soldiers and suffer others to devourmy patrimony. But the third was the best, and that which I ever soughtto keep with me. It was that of the gentleman and cavalier who had awide, good-humoured outlook upon the world, who cared not for houses andlands, but sought above all things to guard his honour and love. Whenthis was on me I laughed loud at all my misfortunes, and felt brave tomeet whatever might come with a light heart.
In this place I abode till near the middle of the month of June. TwiceI had gone to the cairn on Caerdon and left a letter, which I wrote withvast difficulty on fragments of paper which I had brought with me, andreceived in turn Marjory's news. She was well and in cheerful spirits,though always longing for my return. The days passed easily inSmitwood, and as none came there she was the better hidden. I wrote myanswers to these letters with great delight of mind, albeit muchhardship. The ink in the inkhorn which I had always carried with mesoon became dry, and my pen, which I shaped from a curlew's feather, wasnever of the best. Then after the writing came the long journey,crouching in thickets, creeping timorously across the open spaces,running for dear life down the hill-slopes, until I came at length tothe cairn on Caerdon, and hid the letter 'neath the grey stones.
But about mid June I bethought me that I had stayed long enough in thatlonely place and resolved to move my camp. For one thing I wished toget nearer Barns, that I might be within reach of my house for suchprovisions as I required. Also there were signs that the place was nolonger safe. Several times of late I had heard the voice of soldiers onthe moors above my hiding, and at any moment a chance dragoon mightstray down the ravine. So late one evening about midsummer I bade adieuto the dark Glenhurn, and took off across the wild hills to the lowervale of Tweed.
The place I chose was just at the back of Scrape, between that mountainand a wild height called the Pyke-stone hill. It was a stretch ofmoss-hags and rough heather, dry as tinder at this time, but, as I wellknew, in late autumn and winter a treacherous flow. Thither I had beenwont to go to the duck-shooting in the months of November and February,when great flocks of mallard and teal settled among the pools. Then onehas to look well to his feet, for if he press on eager and unthinking,he is like to find himself up to the armpits. But if he know the way ofthe thing, and walk only on the tufted rushes and strips of black peat,he may take the finest sport that I know of. Here then I came, for theplace was high and lonesome, and with a few paces I could come to thetop of the Little Scrape and see the whole vale of Tweed fromDrummelzier to Neidpath. I had the less fear of capture, for the placewas almost impassable for horses; also it was too near the house ofBarns to be directly suspected, and the country below it was still loyaland with no taint of whiggery.
Here then I settled myself, and made a comfortable abode in a dryburn-channel, overarched with long heather. The weather was unusuallywarm and dry, the streams were worn to a narrow thread of silvertrickling among grey stones, and the hot sun blazed from morn to nightin a cloudless sky. The life, on the whole, was very pleasing. Therewas cold water from a mossy well hard by when I was thirsty. As forfood, I made at once an expedition to the nearest cottage on my lands,where dwelt one Robin Sandilands, who straightway supplied all my needsand gave me much useful information to boot. Afterwards he came everysecond day to a certain part of the hill with food, which he left therefor me to take at my convenience. Hence the fare was something betterthan I had had in my previous hiding-place. Also it was a cheerfullife. Up there on the great flat hill-top, with nothing around me butthe sky and the measureless air, with no noises in my ear but thewhistle of hill-birds, with no view save great shoulders of mountain,the mind was raised to something higher and freer than of old. Earthlytroubles and little squabbles and jealousies seemed of less account.The more than Catonian gravity of these solemn uplands put to flight allpettiness and small ambition. It has been an immemorial practice in ourborderland that those of ruined fortunes, broken men, should take to thehills for concealment, if need be, and in any case for satisfaction.Verily twelve months of that pure air would make a gentleman of a knave,and a hero of the most sordid trader.
However, ere June had merged in July, I found myself in want of somecompanion to cheer my solitude. I would have given much for somelike-minded fellow-wayfarer, but since that might not be had I was fainto content myself with a copy of Plotinus, which I had got with all thedifficulty in the world from the house of Barns. It happened on a warmafternoon, when, as I lay meditating as was my wont in the heather, agreat desire came upon me for some book to read in. Nothing would dobut that I must straightway set out for Barns at the imminent peril ofmy own worthless life. It was broad daylight; men were working in thefields at the hay; travellers were passing on the highway; and for all Iknew soldiers were in the house. But with a mad recklessness I venturedon the quest, and, entering the house boldly, made my way to the libraryand was choosing books. Then I was startled by the noise of approachingsteps, and seizing hastily the first volume I could lay hands on, setoff for the hills at the top of my speed. The visit had renewed oldrecollections, and I spent a bitter evening reflecting upon my alteredposition.
But toward the end of August, when the nights grew longer and thesunsets stormy, a change came over the weather. The Lammas floods firstbroke the spell of the drought, and for three clear days the rain fellin torrents, while I lay in my hole, cold and shivering. These weredays of suffering and hunger, though I shrink from writing of them andhave never told them to anyone. On the fourth I made an incursion downto my own lands to the cottage of my ally. There I heard evil news.The soldiers had come oftener than of late and the hunt had beenrenewed. The reward on my head had been doubled, and with much sorrow Ihad the news that the miller of Holmes Mill had been taken and carriedto Edinburgh. In these dim grey days my courage fell, and it took allthe consolations of philosophy, all my breeding and manly upbringing tokeep up my heart. Also it became more difficult to go at the threeweeks' end to the cairn on Caerdon with the letter for Marjory.
It was, as far as I remember, for I did not keep good count, on thesecond day of September, that I set out for Caerdon on my wonted errand.I had had word from Robin Sandilands that the countryside was perilous;but better, I thought, that I should run into danger than that my ladyshould have any care on my account. So I clapped the written letter in
my pocket and set out over the hills in a fine storm of wind.
I went down the little burn of Scrape, which flows into Powsail about amile above the village of Drummelzier. Had I dared I would have crossedthe low lands just above the village, and forded Tweed at Merlin'sGrave, and so won to Caerdon by Rachan and Broughton. But now itbehooved me to be cautious, so I kept straight over the hills; and,striking the source of a stream called Hopecarton, followed it to whereit joined the river in the Mossfennan haughs. All the time the windwhistled in my teeth and the sharpest of showers bit into my skin. Iwas soon soaked to the bone, for which I cared very little, but pushedsteadfastly on through the rapidly-rising waters of Tweed, and scrambledup the back of the Wormel. Here it was stiff work, and my legs achedmightily ere I reached the top and flung myself on the damp heather tospy out the Holmes valley.
All seemed quiet. The stream, now changed from its clearness to a muddybrown, was rolling on its way though the fields of stubble. The fewhouses smoked in peace. The narrow road was empty of travellers....Without hesitation I ran down the slopes, caring not to lookcircumspectly to the left and right....
I had not run far till something before me brought me to a halt and sentme flat among the grass. Just below the house of Quarter, coming fromthe cover of the trees, were half a score of soldiers.
My first thought was to turn back and give up the project. My second,to go forward and find a way to cross the valley. Happily the foliagewas still there, the heath was still long, the grass was dense: a manmight succeed in crossing under cover.
With a beating heart I crawled through the heather to the rushes besidea little stream. This I followed, slowly, painfully, down to thevalley, looking sharply at every bare spot, and running for dear lifewhen under cover of bank or brae. By and by I struck the road, andraised myself for a look. All was quiet. There was no sign of any manabout, nothing but the beating of the rain and the ceaseless wind. Itwas possible that they had gone down the vale, and were by this time outof sight. Or maybe they had gone up the water on their way to the moorsof Clyde. Or still again they might have gone back to the house ofQuarter, which they doubtless loved better than the rainy out-of-doors.In any case they were not there, and nothing hindered me from making abold sally across the open.
I rose and ran through the corn-field, cleaving my way amid the thickstubble. The heavy moisture clung to my soaked clothes and the sweatran over my face and neck, but I held straight on till I gained thedrystone dyke at the other side and scrambled across it. Here I fellinto the stream and was soaked again, but the place was not deep and Iwas soon through. Now I was direct beneath the house, but somewhatunder the cover of the trees; and still there was no sign of man andbeast. I began to think that after all my eyes had deceived me, andtaken nowt for dragoons. Such a trick was not impossible; I had foundit happen before at the winter's shooting. With this pleasing hope Istraightened my back and ran more boldly up the planting's side till Igained the moorlands above. Here I paused for a second to enjoy mysuccess and look back upon the house.
Suddenly something cracked in the thicket, and a voice behind me cried,"Stop. Gang another step and I fire." So the cup of safety was dashedfrom my lips at the very moment of tasting it.
I did not obey, but dashed forward to the high moors with all my speed.It was conceivable that the men were unmounted and their horses stabled,in which case I might get something of a lead. If not, I should verysoon know by the clear convincing proof of a shot in my body.
My guess was right, and it was some little time ere I heard the cries ofpursuers behind me. I had made straight for the top of the ridge wherethe ground was rough for horses, and I knew that they could not followme with any speed. I was aye a swift runner, having been made long andthin in the shanks and somewhat deep-chested. I had often raced on thelawn at Barns with my cousin for some trifling prize. Now I ran with himagain, but for the prize of my own life.
I cannot tell of that race, and to this day the thought of it makes mybreath go faster. I only know that I leaped and stumbled and ploughedmy way over the hillside, sobbing with weariness and with my heartalmost bursting my ribs. I never once looked behind, but I couldmeasure the distance by the sound of their cries. The great, calm faceof Caerdon was always before me, mocking my hurry and feebleness. If Icould but gain the ridge of it, I might find safety in one of the deepgullies. Now I had hope, now I had lost it and given myself up for asgood as dead. But still I kept on, being unwilling that anyone shouldsee me yield, and resolving that if I needs must die I would stave itoff as long as might be.
In the end, after hours--or was it minutes?--I reached the crest andcrawled down the other side. They were still some distance behind andlabouring heavily. Near me was a little ravine down which a slendertrickle of flood-water fell in a long cascade. I plunged down it, andcoming to a shelter of overlapping rock crawled far in below, andthanked God for my present safety.
Then I remembered my errand and my letter. I clapped my hand to mypocket to draw it forth. The place was empty--the letter was gone.With a sickening horror I reflected that I had dropped it as I ran, andthat my enemies must have found it.
