Waitabout stood with a little lad beside him, that hooted like an owl as we came up, two or three times. Waitabout smiled on him and said he looked to see feathers and two great eyes on the child, for sure he was a hoolet indeed. “So perch by the hanging stone,” says he, “and let me hear ye when they come in eyeshot, and twice again as they pass. Awa’, good lad!”
I asked him what it meant, and he said we should see anon, and bade Wattie and Adam build up the fires that had burned low, which they did, “for the moon serves us poorly in the mist, father, so we must have moons of our own to see by.”
“What need of light?” cries I. “Are the Nixons come indeed? What will you do? Where are they?” For to the north was but the misty field, and no sight or sound. He answered not, but lay down on the wet ground, putting by his steel cap that he might set his ear on the turves, bidding us all be still. So we waited in the silence while the fires burned higher, and myself in a great dread what time he listened and then sat up, and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“An embassy cometh from Scotland,” says he, “but I doubt King Jamy sent it. Five riders, not a mile hence. Now God damn Ill Will Nixon, and Fingerless Will that got him! Brisk up the fire, Wattie boy, and get you to your station! Bide the whistle, Adam! To it, and bid Charlie dry his fingers!”
I cried out in terror what was to do, and he stood up and clapped his bonnet on his head, signing me to be still.
“What, man?” cries I, “are they come indeed? Now, Mary help us!”
“Mary and ye will, and all other saints,” says he, “but I had rather six Robsons or Grahams to my back than all the names in your calendar, father. Yet we shall do, aye, we shall do. Now, bide you with me, and never a cheep if you would look on my lady’s face again.”
Which saying he drew me in to the side of the cabin nearest, and behind a cart that lay there, where we might look out beyond the fires to the meadow ground. The fires were burning high, and cast light all around, but never a man in sight among the cabins, and all as still as the grave save for the crackling firebrands. I asked him what it meant, “for will ye not post your men up in plain sight, that these thieves will see them in their gear?”
“In good time,” says he. “They are but five, by God’s mercy; I had feared half a score. So lie we like mice till we have them in view – whisht, there it is!”
I heard an owl hoot out in the mist, which was the little lad that Waitabout had posted out before. Then silent all, and my mouth was dry with fear as I looked on the wreathing mist, and in a moment sounds therein, as soft hooves on the turf, and a jingling of harness, and a hoarse voice that sang some doggerel and laughed thereon, and of a sudden a great rough voice that called: “Geordie Bell! Are ye waking, Geordie man? Come aff your wife and oot your bed, ye bugger!” And more of the sort, ribald cries and laughter that came ever nearer through the mist. And the owl hooted twice.
Waitabout took me by the arm and whispered. “Ye’ve seen devils painted, father? Now look to see them in the flesh, for this is their hour, half past midnight to dawn and their foray before them. Now, not a word or a sigh. Lie close, and wait. Aye, and watch – and remember!”
It needed not the caution, for I could not have stirred or spoken for my terror, to see presently dark shapes in the mist that were of mounted men, swollen to giant size by some trick of the fire glow in the murk. They came slowly on into clear view and halted beyond the fires, and I was like to swoon as I looked on them, for never had I beheld night reivers or the terror of them, that are but men by day, yet from the dark they are goblins from the nethermost pit. All five they sat in line on their hobblers, in their jacks of black leather and steel caps above, and I might not make out their faces ’neath the skips which made them the more terrible, silent fell shapes without feature as they were. They spake among themselves, and then one cried out for George Bell to come out and kneel before them, and lay his black mail at their feet. Now, I thought, Waitabout must go out to them, lest they be angered, for still they roared for Bell, and called him scab and cuckold and bastard and such foulness as I would have stopped my ears had I dared to move. But he was quiet yet at my shoulder, nor moved, and then the five came on again, slowly, bawling and cursing for George Bell to come out or it should be the worse for him.
“Tarry, will ye, by God!” bawls one that was foremost, a hulking fellow and old, for I saw his beard white above his jack. “Tarry on me, ye bastard, and ye’ll roast on your own fire! Come oot, and your clowns with ye! Hobbie – see’s a brand frae the fire yonder, and we’ll light the bastard afoot wi’ his own thatch!”
One of them rode to the fire, and stooping took up a flaming brand from the fire. I heard Waitabout by me hiss through his teeth “Light down, light down!” and as though to command he of the beard dismounted and another with him, and came on, leading their beasts, and the three riding behind, of whom one sprang from the saddle.
“Three afoot, ’twill do!” says Waitabout, and whistled on a sharp note, whereon the five stopped, and in that instant I heard the harping of strings and the swish of shafts, and two of the five staggered and cried out, shot through with shafts, and Waitabout was over the cart with his sword in hand, crying, “On them, on them! A red bull! A red bull!” And of a sudden, where none had been a moment since, there were Triermain men that leaped from the cover of the cabin sides, with swords and lances, and rushed upon the thieves, and all crying “A red bull!” And now I saw such a sight as never I saw of slaughter and horror among Christian men, and all in a moment betwixt the fires at Triermain.
The rider with the burning brand being still ahorse, Adam Bell ran in on him with a lance and gored him a great thrust in the belly, whereof he fell on the ground, and his horse upon him. Another that was shot of the arrows fell also, and the Triermains came at him with their swords and spears, but one of the Nixons bestrode him and laid about so handily, roaring amain, that they gave back from him, crying for Charlie of the Bow, who shot upon him, two shafts, but still he fought, though on his knees, when the Triermains came to him again.
This I saw, but could make out no more for that the press was so thick, with men striking and cursing and all in disorder what time the steel clashed and rang on helm and jack, but Waitabout I saw, yelling like a very devil with sword and dagger, and Adam at handstrokes with him of the beard that had an arrow in his arm, and the loon Wattie with a lance also, crying out like one mad. I stood stricken by the cart for the horror of it, having looked to see some parley or truce beforehand, and not this fray of ambush, and indeed I cried out which brought a Liddesdale down on me that burst from the fight all torn and bloody of face and made at me with an axe, to ding me down. The boy Wattie came between and was like to have taken the stroke had not I, never thinking, run and gripped me the Nixon by the arm, in the which doing I took a dint of my left breast that I thought had broken it in, and a grievous cut to my arm, for he swashed me such a stroke as was like to take off limb and all. I fell swooning for the very pain of it and was trampled on until one dragged me from the press and the hellish clash of arms, so that I lay clear but all wet with blood mine own and others, and everywhere was blood and screaming to heaven and vile cursing and worrying like hounds, and my senses left me as they fought betwixt the fires at Triermain.
How long I lay a-swoon I know not, but not long I think, for when I came to myself there was still clash of steel and shrieking terrible to hear, and the boy Wattie knelt by me as I lay against a tree that grew by the cabin nearest the fire. He had torn away my shirt, and the woman Meg made shift to clean my hurt arm with a hot clout, and I was aware of Triermain men before me that dragged upon a rope, and saw above my head one that kicked and struggled hanging, and there were shafts in his body, and blood fell about and some on my face, and George Bell dancing and cursing what time he thrust at the hanged man with a lance. So more blood spilled and ran down upon me until the Triermains, seeing this, bade Bell desist, which he was loth to do, but ran where was another Nixon hel
d between men of the village, and a shaft in his breast also.
“Hang him up!” cries George Bell. “Give him his own Jeddart justice! Fyle his bill! Fyle his bill! Oh! Oh! Oh! Up, lads, up!”
One cried that the Nixon was dead, but Bell said it was all one, he should hang by the heels, and they put a cord about his ankles and swung him beside his fellow, and gored him with their spears and knives also, and he ran blood like a collander.
All this I saw in a maze, not understanding what I saw, but my senses coming to me again I would have cried to them to let be, but my tongue failed me for the pain of my wounds. Waitabout came and asked me how I did, and looked to my hurt that was himself wounded with a gash to his forearm. I said I did but poorly, and bade him make them leave off their horrid slaughter on the Nixons, but to this he made no answer. I commanded him again, but weakly, and know not in what words, but something of bearing them to Carlisle for justice, and he looked up from binding a moss upon his wound and looked on those two that swung grisly above.
“How carry them?” says he. “And if I could, what’s the bill? Blackmail, of which they would ride free upon assurance, and so to harry again! Let be, father. Triermain is safe this night, seest thou.”
Now I saw that he looked not on me, but beyond, and turning saw the other Nixons held and bound by the people, and the women clawing at them, and they sore hurt and all besmirched in blood and mire, and they were three, the old stout fellow, and two others. The old man they beat and slashed at with sticks, and the women tore his white beard in bloody tufts, and he never left off bellowing lustily and cursing them. Another they took by arms and legs and held him spreadeagled against a cabin, and tore off his clothes, all naked as he was, and George Bell struck him in his face and cursed and railed at him, and fell to pricking his belly with a pitchfork, again and again, so that the blood ran down, and the fellow prayed for his life to those people that raved against him like not men but beasts, for they glared and laughed demented and the women like witches. George Bell thrust the fork into his belly, and others the same with knives and swords so that his bowels fell out, yet he lived and cried to heaven, but they had no pity of him but thrust his hands through with knives and left him crucified. And all this I saw, but could not be heard for their shouting and cursing.
Now Waitabout went to the prisoner that was by the bearded man, and took him away from the Triermains, though they cried he should not, and cast the fellow down by me, and said they should not have him, and to my wonder said that he was now under the arm of the Kirk. At this they grumbled but let him be, and the Nixon, that was a stripling but right hard of face, had his hands bound and bled of his wounds. He cursed them, and then presently asked was I a priest. I though almost shent with my wounds and the beastly sight of all, answered as best might that I was.
“And I John Nixon, that they call Hungry Jock,” says he. “Now do thy duty upon me, priest, for ’tis my time this road. Hear my sins and assoil me, and that quickly, and mind I am that Hungry Jock called Patie’s Jock also, and not Hungry Jock o’ Stobs my cousin. Father, forgive me for I have sinned . . .”
And I heard him as in a nightmare, his face close to mine, and such a tale of horror he told, of four great murthers, and above twenty women other men’s wives that he had lain with in Scotland and England both, and of thefts and woundings and oppressions and iniquities that galled my soul to listen. I asked did he repent, and he cried by God that he did, and would sin no more, for the Triermains would see to it, and begged that in absolving him I would give separate absolution to his right hand, for it of all his members had been left out when they baptised him so that it might strike unblessed blows upon his enemies in feud – and this, as God sees me, is also the custom of the country!
There was great commotion about the bearded Nixon, him that was the leader and called Ill Will, and they tugged him all ways, some saying he should hang and others for having at him with their blades, and Waitabout stood by watching but silent. The old man, that was a very spectre what with blood and mire, besought them for his life and cried “Blackmail nae mair!” and swore to let them be, but they dragged him to the great dunghill that lay beside the cattle pen, and there heaved him up, and drave him down head foremost into the filth, and held him there, and all the trunk of him within the dunghill what time they held his legs. They laughed and cried to him to eat his fill of Triermain, and presently his legs gave over kicking for he was drowned in the dung, and naught but his feet to be seen. And ever Hungry Jock pattered his sins in my ear, and the Triermains men and women, aye, and even the bairns, danced ring-around the dunghill, sneezing and laughing and fell down all.
Perchance I swooned again, but I know not, for thereafter was a time of voices crying, and George Bell to the fore, and Hungry Jock taken from where he lay, and I cried out for them to spare him being so moved by their horrid cruelty that I babbled of cursing and excommunication, but Waitabout came to me and said I should have content, for all was done. And looking, I saw that the four corpses of the Nixons slain were laid all in a row, and headless, which blasted my sight to see, and with ropes about their feet they hung up all four in the one tree, and Waitabout bade Hungry Jock look well upon them.
“Tell Liddesdale,” says he, and bade them bring a reiver’s hobbler, which done they hove up Hungry Jock to the saddle, for his hands were bound behind him. Then came George Bell and another bearing a leather sack leaking blood, and well I knew what gear was therein, the heads of the men slain. Waitabout made it fast to the saddle-bow.
“This for the widows and mothers of Riccarton,” says he, “from the Lady Margaret Dacre. Thus she pays her blackmail.”
Hungry Jock looked upon him, but spake no word, and then upon me to whom he said, “God keep you, father,” and bade Waitabout put the bridle ’twixt his teeth his hands being bound (such skilly horsemen they are). The Triermains in a great ring about watched him silent, and he put in his heels and rode away betwixt the fires at Triermain.
THEY BARE ME into the cabin that might not stand for dizziness and pain of my wound, where an old wife gave me hot water to drink and for my arm that stung me so sore I swooned again, and so lay between waking and swooning while she sewed up the wound right cunningly and bound over a poultice of moss. Looking to the dint on my breast she probed with her fingers so that I near wept for the hurt of it, but said I would do, and gave to Wat a bag of moss damp saying my wound should be bound with new moss daily to make it whole, which it did, healing in time to a great scaur. So, I say, for a wound give me an old village wife that knows her simples over any doctor of London that would have purged my bowels and cupped me to death, aye, Lopez or any of them. My breast is coloured with a bruise that aches now and then to this day, but my arm is whole and pains me never, for which I thank the good leeching of the old wife of Triermain, though it smarted a week after.
She had work that night, what with men that had taken hurts (though none so great as mine), what with one Jenny Bell that came to her time when the fray rose, and was delivered of a fine boy that grat loud to be heard in Cockermouth, a lusty lad. They in the cabin where I lay, a great press, bickered what he should be called other than Archie, which his grandam would have in honour of Waitabout that had saved all, some saying he should be Archie Four Knaves in memory of that night, and others Archie Rise-to-the-fray for that he had come forth roaring timely to the onset. I heard all this but partly, to my disgust that they should load a child with names of blood and strife, and bade them leave off their vile calling, at which they were abashed and the grandam bade me peace for they would think of a proper name at their more leisure. Which they did, and God help me he is called Archie a-Blackmail.
Now think not that I make much of petty things, as my wounds and a bairn’s eke-name, which I but noted at the time, for I was overweighed with sorrow and anger for the horrid slaughter that had been done of no necessity, aye, between the fires at Triermain, that shall haunt me to my last sleep. I would have spoken of it whe
n Waitabout came in to me, asking how I did, and with him George Bell that brayed his triumph as though he had won another Pinkie or Solway Moss and himself a very Hector in his steel bonnet and tattered breeks, calling off the names of the slain, as Ill Will and Half-drowned Geordie and Clem the Clash and Ringan’s Hob, with great jeers at Liddesdale that had gat its bane that night. For all my faintness I would have cried him down, but Waitabout cross-talked over me, saying I must be quiet for my hurts, and aside to Bell that I was feverish and should be left alone. Which abated his glee a little, though still he cried of four dead that had been great thieves, and what should they say now on the Scotch side, “hey-hey, what say Adam, will they talk o’ this in Branksome and Hermitage and Ferniehurst, how we fettled the Nixons at Candlemass, what say, Adam, hey, how now, Charlie lad, did we not fettle ’em, hey-hey, what say, brave lads?” And clapped Waitabout on the shoulder familiarly as to a brother-in-arms, “what a captain, hey, what a man to a fray, what say, did we not gi’ them auld gruel between us, thou and I, hey?” that himself had made more noise than action and slain a Nixon while others held him, out of fell cruelty, and gored the corpses with his fork.
I would have cried out on him for a beast and sinner, but again Waitabout came between saying I must for my health back to Askerton straight, and bade Bell and those there make a litter to convey me that might not ride. And all but Wattie being gone out, Waitabout looked on me and sighed and bade me speak my mind to him if I listed, “for I see ye must for lease of what is within you, but as quietly as ye may, I beseech you, lest ye grow fevered.”
The Candlemass Road Page 9