John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER IV

  UP HILL AND DOWN DALE

  I rushed up the street, leaving the gates swinging wide behind me, anddown the lane to where Nicol waited. In brief, panting words I told himmy tale. He heard it without a movement, save to turn his horse's headup the street. I swung myself into the saddle, and, with no more delay,we made for our lodgings.

  "There is but one thing that we may do," said I. "The night is an illone, but if it is ill for us 'tis ill for them." And at the words Igroaned, for I thought of my poor Marjory in the storm and cold.

  At Mistress Macmillan's I paid the lawing, and having eaten a heartymeal, we crammed some food into our saddle-bags and bade the hostessgood-bye. Then we turned straight for the west port of the city.

  It was as I had expected. The gates were just at the closing when thetwain of us rode up to them and were suffered to pass. The man lookedcuriously at my strange dress, but made no remark, as is the fashion ofthese taciturn Westland folk, and together we rode through and into thebleak night. The snow had ceased to fall early in the day, but now itcame on again in little intermittent driftings, while a keen windwhistled from the hills of the north. The land was more or less strangeto me, and even my servant, who had a passing acquaintance with manycountrysides, professed himself ignorant. It was the way to the wildhighlands--the county of Campbells and Lennoxes--and far distant fromkindly Christian folk. I could not think why my cousin had chosen thispath, save for the reason of its difficulty and obscurity. I was stillin doubt of his purpose, whether he was bound for his own house ofEaglesham or for the more distant Clyde coast. He had clearly gone bythis gate from the city, for this much we had learned from the man atthe port. Now, if he sought Eaglesham, he must needs cross the river,which would give us some time to gain on his track. But if he stillheld to the north, then there was naught for it but to follow himhot-foot and come up with him by God's grace and our horses' speed.

  I have been abroad on many dark nights, but never have I seen one soblack as this. The path to the west ran straight from our feet to therugged hills which dip down to the river edge some ten miles off. But ofit we could make nothing, nor was there anything to tell us of itspresence save that our horses stumbled when we strayed from it to themoory land on either side. All about us were the wilds, for the town ofGlasgow stood on the last bounds of settled country, near to the fiercemountains and black morasses of the Highlandmen. The wind crooned andblew in gusts over the white waste, driving little flakes of snow aboutus, and cutting us to the bone with its bitter cold. Somewhere in theunknown distances we heard strange sounds--the awesome rumble of wateror the cry of forlorn birds. All was as bleak as death, and, in thethick darkness, what might otherwise have seemed simple and homelike,was filled with vague terrors. I had shaped no path--all that I soughtwas to hasten somewhere nearer those we followed, and on this mad questwe stumbled blindly forward.

  When we had gone some half-dozen miles a light shone out from thewayside, and we descried a house. It was a little, low dwelling, withmany sheds at the rear; clearly a smithy or a humble farm. My servantleaped down and knocked. The door was opened, a warm stream of lightlay across the snowy road. I had a glimpse within, and there was acheerful kitchen with a fire of logs crackling. A man sat by thehearth, shaping something or other with a knife, and around him twochildren were playing. The woman who came to us was buxom and comely,one who delighted in her children and her home. The whole place gave mea sharp feeling of envy and regret. Even these folk, poor peasants, hadthe joys of comfort and peace, while I, so long an outlaw and awanderer, must still wander hopeless seeking the lost, cumbered aboutwith a thousand dangers.

  "Did any riders pass by the road to-day?" I asked.

  "Ay, four passed on horses about midday or maybe a wee thing after it,twae stoot fellows, and a braw-clad gentleman and a bonny young leddy.They didna stop but gaed by at a great rate."

  "What was the lady like?" I asked, breathlessly.

  "Oh, a bit young thing, snod and genty-like. But I mind she looked geydowie and I think she had been greetin'. But wherefore d'ye speir, sir?And what are ye daein' oot hereaways on siccan a nicht? Ye best come inand bide till mornin'. We've an orra bed i' the house for the maister,and plenty o' guid, saft straw i' the barn for the man."

  "Did they go straight on?" I cried, "and whither does this way lead?"

  "They went straight on," said she, "and the road is the road to the touno' Dumbarton." And she would have told me more, but with a hasty wordof thanks, I cut her short, and once more we were off into the night.

  From this place our way and the incidents thereof are scarce clear in mymemory. For one thing the many toils of the preceding time began atlast to tell upon me, and I grew sore and wearied. Also a heavydrowsiness oppressed me, and even in that cold I could have slept on myhorse's back. We were still on the path, and the rhythmical jog of themotion served to lull me, till, as befell every now and then, there camea rut or a tussock, and I was brought to my senses with a sharp shock.Nicol rode silently at my side, a great figure in the gloom, bent low,as was always his custom, over his horse's neck. In one way the statewas more pleasing than the last, for the turmoil of cares in my heartwas quieted for the moment by the bodily fatigue. I roused myself attimes to think of my purpose and get me energy for my task, but the dulllanguor would not be exorcised, and I always fell back again into mysloth. Nevertheless we kept a fair pace, for we had given the rein toour animals, and they were fresh and well-fed.

  Suddenly, ere I knew, the way began to change from a level road into asteep hill-path. Even in the blackness I could see a great hillsiderising steeply to right and to left. I pulled up my horse, for herethere would be need of careful guidance, and was going on as before whenNicol halted me with his voice.

  "Laird, Laird," he cried, "I dinna ken muckle aboot the Dumbarton road,but there's yae thing I ken weel and that is that it keeps i' the laighland near the waterside a' the way, and doesna straiggle owerbrae-faces."

  This roused me to myself. "Did we pass any cross-road?" I asked, "forGod knows the night is dark enough for any man to wander. Are you sureof what you say?"

  "As sure as I am that my fingers are cauld and my een fair dazed wi'sleep," said he.

  "Then there is naught for it but to go back and trust to overtaking thepath. But stay, are these not the hills of Kilpatrick, which stretchdown from the Lennox to the Clyde and front the river at this veryDumbarton? I have surely heard of such. Our highway must lie to ourleft, since we clearly have turned to the right, seeing that if we hadturned to the left we should have reached the water. If then we strikestraight from here along the bottom of this slope, will we not reach thetown? The chances are that we should never find our path, whereas thisway will bring us there without fail, if we can stomach some roughriding."

  "Weel, sir, I'm wi' ye wherever ye like to gang. And I'll no deny butthat it's the maist reasonable road to tak, if ye're no feared o'breakin' your craig ower a stane or walkin' intil a peat-bog. But wemaun e'en lippen to Providence and tak our chance like better men."

  So wheeling sharply to our left, we left the path and rode as best wecould along the rough bottom of the hills. It was a tract of rushyground where many streams ran. Huge boulders, tumbled down from thesteeps, strewed it like the leaves of a hazel wood in autumn. On onehand the land lay back to the haughlands and ordered fields, on theother it sloped steeply to the hills. Stumps of birk-trees and straygnarled trunks came at times, but in general the ground was open and notunsuited for horses in the light of day. Now it was something more thandifficult, for we came perilous near oftentimes to fulfilling myservant's prophecy. Once, I remember, I floundered fair into a trenchof moss-water with a vile muddy bottom, where I verily believe bothhorse and man would have perished, had not Nicol, who saw my misfortuneand leaped his beast across, pulled me fiercely from my saddle to thebank, and the twain of us together extricated
the horse. In thisfashion, floundering and slipping, we must have ridden some half-dozenmiles. All drowsiness had vanished with the rough and ready mode oftravel. Once more the thought of my lady and her plight, of my wrongsand my misfortunes, tormented me with anxiety and wrath, and stamped yetmore firmly my errand on my soul.

  Now, however, we were suddenly brought to an end in our progress.Before us lay a little ravine, clogged with snow, in whose bottom a burnroared. It was a water of little size, and, in summer weather, one mightall but have leaped it. Now the snow had swollen it to the semblance ofa torrent, and it chafed and eddied in the little gorge, a streak ofdark, angry water against the dim white banks. There was nothing for itbut to enter and struggle across, and yet, as I looked at the uglyswirl, I hesitated. I was nigh numbed with cold, my horse was achingfrom its stumbling, there was little foothold on the opposing bank. Iturned to Nicol, who sat with his teeth shaking with the bitter weather.

  "There is naught for it," said I, "but to risk it. There is no use infollowing it, for we shall find no better place in a ravine like this."

  Even as I spoke my servant had taken the plunge, and I saw horse and manslip off the snowy bank into the foam. I followed so closely that Ilost all sight of them. To this day I remember the feelings of themoment, the choking as an icy wave surged over my mouth, the franticpulling at the bridle-rein, the wild plunging of my horse, the roar ofwater and the splash of swimming. Then, with a mighty effort, my braveanimal was struggling up the further side, where my servant was alreadyshaking the water from his clothes.

  This incident, while it put me in better heart, vastly added to mybodily discomfort. An icy wind shivering through dripping garments maywell chill the blood of the stoutest. And for certain the next part ofthe way is burned on my memory with a thousand recollections of utterweariness and misery. Even my hardy servant could scarce keep fromgroaning, and I, who was ever of a tenderer make, could have leaned myhead on my horse's neck and sobbed with pure feebleness.

  The country was now rough with tanglewood, for we were near the lastspur of the hills, ere they break down on the river. Somewhere throughthe gloom lights were shining and moving, as I guessed from a ship onthe water. Beyond were still others, few in number, but fixed as iffrom dwelling-houses. Here at last, I thought, is the town of Dumbartonwhich I am seeking, and fired with the hope we urged on the more ourjaded beasts.

  But lo! when we came to it, 'twas but a wayside inn in a little clachan,where one solitary lamp swung and cast a bar of light over the snowystreet. I hammered at the door till I brought down the landlord,shivering in his night-dress. It might be that my cousin had haltedhere, so I asked the man if he had any travellers within.

  "Nane, save twae drunk Ayr skippers and a Glesca packman, unless yourhonour is comin' to keep them company."

  "Has anyone passed then?" I cried.

  "How could I tell when I've been sleepin' i' my bed thae sax 'oor?" hecoughed, and, seeing we were no sojourners, slammed the door in ourface.

  We were numb and wretched, but there was naught for it but to ride onfurther to the town. It could not be far, and there were signs of mornalready in the air. The cold grew more intense and the thick pall ofdarkness lifted somewhat toward the east. The blurred woods and cloggedfields at our side gradually came into view, and as, heart-sick and nighfordone with want of sleep, we rounded the great barrier ridge of hill,an array of twinkling lights sprang up in front and told us that we werenot far from our journey's end. Nevertheless, it was still dark when werode into a narrow, cobbled street and stopped at the first hostelry.

  Now, both the one and the other were too far gone with weariness to domore than drop helplessly from the horses and stagger into the innparlour. They gave us brandy, and then led us to a sleeping-room, wherewe lay down like logs and dropped into a profound slumber.

  When we awoke the morning was well advanced. I was roused by Nicol, whowas ever the more wakeful, and without more delay we went down andrecruited our exhausted strength with a meal. Then I summoned thelandlord, and asked, more from habit than from any clear expectation,whether any travellers had lodged over night.

  The man answered shortly that there had been a gentleman and a maid,with two serving-men, who had but lately left.

  In a great haste I seized on my hat and called loudly for the horses."Where did they go?" I said; "by what way? Quick, tell me."

  "They took the road doun to the ferry," said he, in great amazement."It's no an 'oor since they gaed."

  Thereupon I flung him his lawing, and we rushed from the house.