*CHAPTER VIII*
*A COVENANTER'S CHARITY*
The footsteps drew nearer and stopped. I had been seen. There was along pause, then a voice in level, steady tones said: "Are you a kentbody in this country-side?"
I rose quickly to my feet and faced the speaker. I could see him as adark but indistinct figure standing some yards from me on the slope ofthe brae, but I knew from the lack of austerity in his tones that he wasno trooper, and I thought that in all likelihood he would prove to bethe player of the flute.
"Need a man answer such a question?" said I. "What right have you to askwho I am?"
"I have no right," he replied, as he drew nearer--"no title butcuriosity. Strangers here are few and far between. As for me, I am ashepherd."
"A strange time of night," said I, "for a shepherd to look for hissheep."
"Ay," answered the voice, "and my flock has been scattered by wolves."
"I understand," I said. "You are a minister of the Kirk, a Covenanter,a hill-man in hiding."
He came quite close to me and said: "I'm no' denying that you speak thetruth. Who are you?"
"Like you," I replied, "I am a fugitive--a man with a price on hishead."
"A Covenanter?"
"No; a deserter from Lag's Horse."
"From Lag's Horse?" he exclaimed, repeating my words. "A deserter?"
Uncertain what to say, I waited. Then he continued:
"May I make so bold as to ask if your desertion is the fruit ofconviction of soul, or the outcome of some drunken spree?"
I have not the Scottish faculty for analysing my motives, and I hardlyknew what to say. Was I a penitent, ashamed and sorry for the evilthings in which I had played a part, or did I desert merely to escapepunishment for my part in the drunken brawl in the tavern? I had notyet made a serious attempt to assess the matter; and here, taken atunawares in the stillness of the night among the silent hills, I wasconscious of the near presence of God before whose bar I was arraignedby this quiet interlocutor.
"I am wet to the skin and chilled to the bone, for only an hour ago Ifoundered in a bog, but if you will walk with me," I said, "I will tellyou the story and you shall judge."
"It is not for man to judge, for he cannot read the heart aright, but ifyou will tell me your story I will know as much of you as you seemalready to know of me," he said, as he took me by the arm. "Like you,"he continued, "I am a fugitive; and if you are likely to stop for longin this hiding-place, it were well that we should understand eachother."
As we paced up and down, I told him the whole shameful tale.
When I had finished he sat down on the hill-side and, burying his facein his hands, was silent for a space. Then he rose, and laying a handupon my shoulder peered into my face. The darkness was yet too greatfor us to see each other clearly, but his eyes were glistening.
"It is not," he said, "for me to judge. God knows! but I am thinkingthat your desertion was more than a whim, though I would not go thelength of saying that you have repented with tears for the evil you havedone. May God forgive you, and may grace be given you to turn ere it istoo late from the paths of the wicked."
As I told him my story I had feared that when he heard it he would havenothing more to do with me: but I had misjudged his charity. Suddenlyhe held his hand out to me, saying:
"Providence has cast us together, mayhap that your soul may be saved,and mine kept from withering. I am ready to be your friend if you willbe mine."
I took his outstretched hand. I had longed for his friendship for myown selfish ends, and he, who had nothing to gain from my friendship,offered me his freely.
The night had worn thin as we talked, and now in the growing light Icould see my companion more clearly. He seemed a man well past middlelife; before long I was to learn that he was more than three score yearsand ten, but neither at this moment nor later should I have imagined it.He was straight as a ramrod, spare of body and pallid of face, savewhere on his high cheek-bones the moorland wind and the rays of thesummer sun had burned him brown. The hair of his head was black,streaked here and there by a few scanty threads of silver. His foreheadwas broad and high, his nose was well-formed and somewhat aquiline, andhis brown eyes were full of light. It was to his eyes and to his mouth,around which there seemed to lurk some wistful playfulness, that hisface owed its attraction. He was without doubt a handsome man--I haverarely seen a handsomer.
As I peered into his face and looked him up and down, somewhat rudely Ifear, he was studying me with care. My woebegone appearance seemed toamuse him, for when his scrutiny was over he said:
"Ye're no' ill-faured: but I'm thinking Lag would be ill-pleased if hesaw one of his dragoons in sic a mess."
"I trust he won't," I said with fervour, and my companion laughedheartily.
He laid a hand upon my arm, and with a twinkle in his eye said: "The oldBook says: 'If thine enemy hunger, feed him.' Have you anything toeat?"
I showed him what I had and invited him to help himself, as I picked upmy tunic and slipped it on.
"No, no," he replied, "I am better provided than you. The Lord thatsent the ravens to Elijah has spread for me a table in the wildernessand my cup runneth over. Come with me and let us break our fasttogether. They do say that to eat a man's salt thirls another to him asa friend. I have no salt to offer you, but"--and he smiled--"I haveplenty of mutton ham, and I am thinking you will find that salt enough."
The light was rapidly flooding the hill-side as we took our way round tohis side of the loch.
"Bide here a minute," he said, as he left me beside a granite boulder.
I guessed that, with native caution, he was as yet averse to let me seehis resting-place, or the place in which he stored his food. In myheart of hearts the slight stung me, and then I realised that I had noright to expect that a Covenanter should trust me absolutely, on theinstant. In a few moments he was back again, and I was amazed at thequantity of food he brought with him. It was wrapped in a fair cloth oflinen, which he spread carefully on the hill-side, arranging the foodupon it. There were farles of oatcake, and scones, besides the remainsof a goodly leg of mutton. When the feast was spread he stood up andtaking off his bonnet began to pray aloud. I listened till he hadfinished his lengthy prayer, refraining from laying hands upon any ofthe toothsome food that lay before me. When he had ground out a long"Amen," he opened his eyes and replaced his bonnet. Then he cut agenerous slice of mutton and passed it to me.
"I never break my fast," he said, "without thanking God, and I am gladto see that you are a well-mannered young man. I dare hardly haveexpected so much from a trooper."
"Ah," I answered, "I have had advantages denied to most of thetroopers."
He nodded his head, and lapsing into the speech of the country-side, asI had yet to learn was his wont whenever his feelings were stirred, hesaid:
"That reminds me of what once befell mair than thirty years sin' when Iwas daunnerin' along the road from Kirkcudbright to Causewayend. It wasa summer day just like this, and on the road I foregathered wi' asailor-body that had come off a schooner in Kirkcudbright. We walkedalong and cracked, and I found him, like every other sailor-man, to bean interesting chiel. By and by we cam' to a roadside inn. I asked himto join me in a bite and sup. The inn-keeper's lass brocht us sconesand cheese and a dram apiece, and when they were set afore us, I, as ismy custom, took off my bonnet and proceeded to thank the Lord for thesetemporal mercies. When I opened ma een I found that my braw sailor ladhad gulped doon my dram as weel as his ain, while I was asking theblessing. 'What dae ye mean by sic a ploy?' says I; but the edge wasta'en off ma anger when the sailor-man, wiping his moo' wi' the back o'his haun', said, 'Weel, sir, the guid Book says ye should watch as weelas pray.'"
At the memory of the trick played upon him my companion burst intolaughter, and I have rarely heard a happier laugh.
He was a generous host, and pressed me to take my fill.<
br />
"There is plenty for us both," he said. "Dinna be blate, my lad, helpyersel'." Then as he offered me another slice of mutton, he said: "I amthinking that the ravens are kinder to me than they were to Elijah, for,so far as I know, they never brocht him a mutton ham. But who everheard o' a braxy sheep in the wilds o' Mount Carmel!" and he laughedagain.
When our meal was over he looked me up and down again. I could see thathe was distressed at the condition of my clothing, but I explained tohim that I considered my fall into the bog a blessing in disguise, sinceit toned down the bright colour of my garments and would make them lesseasily seen upon the moorland.
"That's as may be, but ye're an awfu' sicht. However, I've no doubtthat when the glaur dries it winna look so bad."
As he talked I was divesting myself of my uniform, and as I stood beforehim in my shirt he looked me over again and said: "You might disguiseyourself by making a kilt out o' your coat, but twa sic' spindle shankso' legs would gi'e you awa' at once. I know well, since ye're anEnglishman, ye werena' brought up on the carritches, and I can see formyself ye got no oatmeal when ye were a bairn."
I laughed, as I tossed my last garment aside, and running to the edge ofthe loch plunged into its depths. He watched me as I swam, and when Icame to the shore again I found him drying my outer garments over a firewhich he had kindled.
"It'll be time for bed," he said, "in a few minutes. You take your waysto your own hidie-hole and I will take my way to mine; and may God sendus sweet repose. No man can tell, but I am thinking there will be notroopers up here the day. They combed this loch-side a fortnight sin',and when they had gone I came and hid here. Maist likely they'll no' beback here for a long time."
I thanked him for his hospitality, and as I turned to go I said: "Whereshall I find you to-night, for I should like to have more of yourcompany?"
"Well," he answered, "I always sleep on this side of the loch; and whennight falls and a' thing seems safe, it is mair than likely ye'll hearme playing a bit tune on the flute. When ye hear that, if ye come roundto this side and just wait a wee, ye'll likely see me again. Goodmorning! and God bless you!"
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times Page 8