*CHAPTER XL*
*I SEEK A FLOWER*
Many a time in the weeks that followed I pondered over Hector's story.Andrew--dour, stout-hearted, and faithful--and Jean--shrewd, loving, andwhimsical--had borne themselves valiantly in the hour of doom, and thedarkness of the tragedy was illumined by the thought of their highheroism. My sorrow was flushed with pride, though the pride was akin totears; but ever in my mind there was a torturing doubt. Reason urged meto believe that Mary was dead. But love, and desire which is the childof love, bade me hope on.
More than once I laid bare my heart to the minister, and from his wisewords I gained much solace; but, though he would not say so, I knew thatin his heart he believed that Mary had fallen into the hands of thetroopers and been done to death like her father and mother.
A day came when I could bear the suspense no longer. Inaction servedonly to increase my torture of mind. I must seek Mary myself.
I told my companions what I purposed. With one voice they tried todissuade me. They pointed out that such an enterprise was beset withhazard and might lead to death. Little did they know that death had noterrors for such a love as mine, and that I would have counted it apleasant thing when weighed against the unquenchable torment that burnedin my breast. So I beat down all their objections until, convinced thatI was set in my purpose, they ceased to oppose me and planned meanswhereby I might the better carry out my quest. It was from Hector thatthe most useful suggestion came.
"Ye micht," he said, "gang through the country as a packman, but fraewhat I mind o' your puir success at New Abbey, you wouldna fill thepairt." His eyes twinkled. "Besides," he continued, "I feel that Iha'e a proprietary richt to ony customers there are to be had inGalloway, and you micht be interferin' wi' my business--an affront Icouldna weel thole. Better pose as a puir gangrel body, wounded, if yelike, in the wars. Yer game leg is evidence eneuch o' that, and when yecome to a toon or a wee bit clachan, ye can aye turn an honest penny bysingin' a sang. I mind ye tellin' me Mary was a bonnie singer. Belikeye min' some o' the songs she sang--dootless weel-kent auld Scots sangs.If she were to hear ye singin' ane or ither o' them, mair than likely,oot o' curiosity, she would come oot to see wha it was that was singin'ane o' her ain sangs. If ye keep yer e'en open as weel as yer ears, whakens but what ye may find her. Besides, the disguise o' a puir gangrelbody is hardly likely to be seen through by ony dragoons ye may comeacross, for ye can aye, if ye like, if ye imagine there are troopersaboot, sing a King's song, sic as 'Awa, Whigs, awa!' and they'll neversuspect ye o' bein' a Covenanter. And dinna forget this; if ye ever wantword o' Hector the packman, ask at Phemie McBride's. She'll no haeforgotten ye, and she'll aye be able to tell ye where ye'll find me. Ifye will gang, gang ye must; but ae last word o' advice I would gi'eye--dinna be runnin' yersel' into needless danger and aye remember thata guid ash stick laid on tae the heid o' a trooper will mony a timethwart an evil deed devised in his black he'rt. There's nae ither man Iwould dae it for, but I'm makin' ye a present o' 'Trusty,'" and hepressed his own stick into my hand.
So, just as the darkness had closed in, one January night I set out.Hector and the minister accompanied me to the edge of the wood and, withmany good wishes and the blessing of the saintly man still ringing in myears, I took the road. Before morning broke I was close to LincludenAbbey, and, under the shelter of its hoary walls, I lay down and restedfor a while. I slept till the late afternoon and, having refreshedmyself with food, which I procured from a cottage near, I took the roadagain in the twilight and, avoiding the town of Dumfries that lay on theother side of the river, I made for the heart of Galloway.
Day after day I wandered--hither and thither--not blindly, but of setpurpose. Sometimes I travelled upon the high road, and at other times Iwould leave it and take to the less frequented by-paths in order that nolittle sequestered cottage might escape me. Here, there and everywhere Isought--one day close down by the sea, the next far back in the solitaryplaces of the hills, questing--questing--questing--but ever withoutavail. Sometimes, when in a village street I would essay to sing one ofthe sweet old songs which I had heard so often fall golden from the lipsof her I loved, memories of happier days would surge over me, and forvery pain my voice would falter and I would cease to sing.
And though, over and over again, the sound of my singing would bringwomen, old and young, to the open doors of their cottages, my hungeringeyes never caught a sight of that face for which they longed. Sometimesa girl, standing in the doorway, pitying my poor attempt at melody,would join her voice to mine and lend to my singing a beauty that itlacked; but though my ears were ever alert for the lute-like voice ofMary, they were never gladdened by the sound for which they ached.
And once on a day I stood blinded by tears beside the ruins of Daldowie.
Day followed day, and still I wandered on. Week after week found myquest still fruitless, and at last I stood upon the confines of the landwhere the sea expends its futile thunder upon the black rocks byCorsewall point. I had reached the uttermost limit of the journey I hadset myself, and my journey had been in vain. So, with a heavy heart, Iturned, crushing down the sudden desire that had risen within me to makean end of it all by hurling myself into the sea. The temptation wassore upon me--for life gaped empty before me--but something within meshouted "Coward," and I crushed the impulse down.
On my homeward way I made greater speed than I had done upon myoutgoing. Still I searched, and still my search was vain. At last whenApril had come with laughter and tears and all her promise of summer, Iwas within sight of Dumfries once more.
I had cause to remember Dumfries. I knew that within its gates dangermight await me, but danger had ceased to have any terrors for mystricken heart. At the most, discovery could only mean death, and deathwas preferable to a life without her whom I loved. When the town camewithin view I quickened my steps and in the late afternoon I descendedthe hill that led down to the bridge. As I approached it I was temptedto turn aside and seek the house of Phemie McBride at once, for Iremembered Hector's parting words; but some impulse to stand again uponthe spot where Fate had descended upon me, all bloody in the uniform ofa Sergeant of Dragoons, drove me onward.
When I reached the bridge I stepped into the little alcove whereaforetime my destiny had been so strangely moulded, and leaning overlooked down upon the rushing stream. My eyes followed the water as itflowed into the distance. Suddenly my gaze was arrested by a crowdwhich I saw coming along the Sands. At such a distance I was unable tosee clearly, but I could make out mounted men and the gleam from theirtrappings told me they were dragoons. In their wake was a crowd, and asI watched I saw it grow steadily. Men and women and children dashed outof the streets and alleys which opened on to the Sands and joined therabble behind the troopers. Discretion bade me have a care, butcuriosity impelled me and I crossed the bridge and descended to theSands. Already a throng of folk who had seen, in the distance, theapproaching company of troopers, had begun to assemble and I mingledmyself with them. The soldiers were advancing at a walking pace andfrom this and the presence of the rabble at their heels I knew that theyhad prisoners. Ere long the sound of the horses' hoofs was audible andrumour began to be busy among the people around me.
"What's a' the steer?" asked a woman who had just joined the crowd, hershawl slipping back from her head on to her shoulders. Her question wasaddressed to the crowd, and out of it somebody made answer.
"It's the troopers. They say they've ta'en twa Covenanters, a man and awoman, somewhere ayont the Kingholm."
Steadily at a march the soldiers approached us. With necks cranedeagerly forward we tried to get a glimpse of the prisoners.
"Wha are they?" asked a voice; but to this there was no answer, for thecavalcade was almost upon us. Just as it came to the Port of Vennel theofficer turned in his saddle and rapped out a few words of command. Thecompany divided into two, the front half coming to a halt, and I sawthat tied
to the stirrup leather of one of the troopers was a man.Wheeling to the right, without pause, the second half of the companycontinued its march. The crowd broke and ran across the interveningspace to catch a closer glimpse of the female prisoner. Almost againstmy will I was carried on by the surge of the people. I could not seethe woman's face, but the sunlight fell upon her hair, and--God inheaven! it was chestnut brown, and over her forehead, where the lightstruck it, it shone like burnished gold. My heart shouted within me,but something--was it the finger of God?--was laid upon my lips and theywere still. Rudely flinging men and women aside, I sprang forward thatI might see the woman's face. It was Mary in very deed--Mary, in thehands of the persecutors, beautiful as a flower, pride in the poise ofher head, courage in her dauntless eyes.
Flower o' the Heather: A Story of the Killing Times Page 40