Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  Meantime, as the young man and the girl gazed mutely at this new visitant, there entered from the left another intruder, clad in home-spun, with a mighty crook in his hand and a short black pipe between his teeth. He raised his eyes slightly at the vision of the two, but heaven and earth did not contain what might disturb his composure. But at the sight of the prostate tailor he stopped short, and stared.

  Slowly the thing dawned upon his brain. The sense of the ludicrous, which dwelled far down in his heart, was stirred to liveliness, and with legs apart he woke the echoes in boisterous mirth.

  ‘God, but it’s guid,’ and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. ‘That man,’ and again the humour of the situation shook him, ‘that man thocht to frichten me wi’ his ghaists and bogles, and look at him!’

  The tailor raised his scared eyes to the newcomer. ‘Dinna blaspheme, Jock Rorison,’ he moaned with solemn unction. ‘I hae seen it, the awfu’ thing — twae men fechtin’ a ghaistly battle, and yin o’ them wi’ the licht shinin’ through his breistbane.’

  ‘Hearken to him,’ said the shepherd, jocularly. ‘The wicked have digged a pit,’ he began with dignity, and then farcically ended with ‘and tumbled in’t themsel’.’

  But Miss Phyllis thought fit to seek a clue to the mystery.

  ‘Please tell me what is the meaning of all this,’ she asked her companion.

  ‘Why, the man has seen Callowa, and fled.’

  ‘But he speaks of two and a “ghaistly combat”.’

  ‘Then Callowa with his usual luck has met the spirit of the place and fallen out with him. I think we had better go and see.’

  But the tailor only shivered at the thought, till the long shepherd forcibly pulled him to his feet, and dragged his reluctant steps up the side of the hill.

  The combat at the back of the knowe had gone on merrily enough till the advent of the tailor. Both were men of muscle, well-matched in height and years, and they wrestled with vigour and skill. The farmer was weary at the start, and his weariness was less fatigue than drowsiness, and as he warmed to his work he felt his strength returning. The Earl knew nothing of the game; he had not wrestled in his youth with strong out-of-door labourers, and his only resources were a vigorous frame and uncommon agility. But as the minutes passed and both breathed hard, the younger man began to feel that he was losing ground. He could scarce stand out against the strain on his arms, and his ankles ached with the weight which pressed on them.

  Now it fell out that just as the tailor arrived on the scene the farmer made a mighty effort and all but swung his opponent from his feet. In the wrench that followed, the buttons on the Earl’s light overcoat gave way, and to the farmer’s astonished gaze an expanse of white shirt-front was displayed. For a second he relaxed his hold, while the other freed himself and leaped back to recover breath.

  Slowly it dawned upon the farmer’s intelligence that this was no cattle-dealer with whom he contended. Cattle-dealers do not habitually wear evening clothes when they have any work of guile on hand. And then gradually the flushed features before him awoke recognition. The next moment he could have sunk beneath the ground with confusion, for in this nightly marauder who had turned his sheep he saw no other than the figure of his master, the laird of all the countryside.

  For a little the power of speech was denied him, and he stared blankly and shamefacedly while the Earl recovered his scattered wits. Then he murmured hoarsely, -

  ‘I hope your lordship will forgi’e me. I never thocht it was yoursel’, for I wad dae onything rather than lift up my hand against ye. I thocht it was an ill-daein’ dealer frae east the country, whae has cheated me often, and I was vexed at his turnin’ the sheep, seein’ that I’ve had a lang day’s wander.’ Then he stopped, for he was a man of few words and he could go no further in apology.

  Then the Earl, who had entered into the fight in a haphazard spirit, without troubling to enquire its cause, put the fitting end to the strained relations. He was convulsed with laughter, deep and overpowering. Little by little the farmer’s grieved face relaxed, and he joined in the mirth, till these two made the silent place echo with unwonted sounds.

  To them thus engaged entered a company of four, Miss Phyllis, the Sentimentalist, the shepherd, and the tailor. Six astonished human beings stood exchanging scrutinies under the soft moon. With the tailor the mood was still terror, with the shepherd careless amazement, and with the other two unquenchable mirth. For the one recognised the irate, and now apologetic, farmer of the Lowe Moss and the straggling sheep which told a tale to the observant; while both saw in the other of the dishevelled and ruddy combatants the once respectable form of a friend.

  Then spoke the farmer: —

  ‘What’s ta’en a’ the folk? This knowe’s like a kirk skailin’. And, dod, there’s Jock Rorison. Is this your best road to the Redswirehead, Jock?’

  But the shepherd and his friend were speechless for they had recognised their laird, and the whole matter was beyond their understanding.

  ‘Now,’ said Miss Phyllis, ‘here’s a merry meeting. I have seen more wonders tonight than I can quite comprehend. First, there comes Mr. Grey from nowhere in particular with a plaid on his shoulders; then a man with a scared face tumbles at our feet; then another comes to look for him; and now here you are, and you seem to have been fighting. These hills of yours are worse than any fairyland, and, do you know, they are rather exhausting.’

  Meantime the Earl was solemnly mopping his brow and smiling on the assembly. ‘By George,’ he muttered, and then his breath failed him and he could only chuckle. He looked at the tailor, and the sight of that care-ridden face again choked him with laughter.

  ‘I think we have all come across too many spirits tonight,’ he said, ‘and they have been of rather substantial flesh and bone. At least so I found it. Have you learned much about the future, Miss Phyllis?’

  The girl looked shyly at her side. ‘Mr. Grey has been trying to teach me,’ said she.

  The Earl laughed with great good-nature. ‘Midsummer madness,’ he said. ‘The moon has touched us all.’ And he glanced respectfully upward, where the White Huntress urged her course over the steeps of heaven.

  The Earlier Affection

  Grey Weather, 1899

  MY HOST ACCOMPANIED me to the foot of the fine avenue which looks from Portnacroish to the steely sea-loch. The smoke of the clachan was clear in the air, and the morn was sweet with young leaves and fresh salt breezes. For all about us were woods, till the moor dipped to the water, and then came the great shining spaces straight to the edge of Morven and the stony Ardgower Hills.

  ‘You will understand, Mr. Townshend,’ said my entertainer, ‘that I do not fall in with your errand. It is meet that youth should be wild, but you had been better playing your pranks about Oxford than risking your neck on our Hieland hills, and this but two year come Whitsuntide since the late grievous troubles. It had been better to forget your mother and give your Cameron kin the go-by, than run your craig into the same tow as Ewan’s by seeking him on Brae Mamore. Stewart though I be, and proud of my name, I would think twice before I set out on such a ploy. It’s likely that Ewan will be blithe to see you and no less to get your guineas, but there are easier ways of helping a friend than just to go to his hidy-hole.’

  But I would have none of Mr. Stewart’s arguments, for my heart was hot on this fool’s journey. My cousin Ewan was in the heather, with his head well-priced by his enemies and his friends dead or broken. I was little more than a boy let loose from college, and it seemed paradise itself to thus adventure my person among the wilds.

  ‘Then if you will no take an old man’s telling, here’s a word for you to keep mind of on the road. There are more that have a grudge against the Cameron than King George’s soldiers. Be sure there will be pickings going up Lochaber-ways, and all the Glasgow pack-men and low-country trading-bodies that have ever had their knife in Lochiel will be down on the broken house like a pack of kites. It’s not impossible that ye may
meet a wheen on the road, for I heard news of some going north from the Campbell country, and it bodes ill for any honest gentleman who may foregather with the black clan. Forbye, there’ll be them that will come from Glenurchy-side and Breadalbin, so see you keep a quiet tongue and a watchful eye if ye happen on strangers.’

  And with this last word I had shaken his hand, turned my horse to the north, and ridden out among the trees.

  The sound of sea-water was ever in my ears, for the road twined in the links of coast and crooks of hill, now dipping to the tide’s edge, and now rising to a great altitude amid the heather. The morn was so fresh and shining that I fell in love with myself and my errand, and when I turned a corner and saw a wall of blue hill rise gleaming to the heavens with snow-filled corries, I cried out for the fair land I had come to, and my fine adventure.

  By the time I came to Duror it was mid-day, and I stopped for refreshment. There is an inn in Duror, where cheese and bread and usquebagh were to be had — fare enough for a hungry traveller. But when I was on the road again, as I turned the crook of hill by the Heugh of Ardsheal, lo! I was in the thick of a party of men.

  They were five in all, dressed soberly in black and brown and grey, and riding the soberest of beasts. Mr. Stewart’s word rose in my memory, and I shut my mouth and composed my face to secrecy. They would not trouble me long, this covey of merchant-folk, for they would get the ferry at Ballachulish, which was not my road to Brae Mamore.

  So I gave them a civil greeting, and would have ridden by, had not Fate stepped in my way. My horse shied at a stick by the roadside, and ere I knew I was jostling and scattering them, trying to curb the accursed tricks of my beast.

  After this there was nothing for it but to apologise, and what with my hurry and chagrin I was profuse enough. They looked at me with startled eyes, and one had drawn a pistol from his holster, but when they found I was no reiver they took the thing in decent part.

  ‘It’s a sma’ maitter,’ said one with a thick burr in his voice. ‘The hert o’ a man and the hoofs o’ a horse are controlled by nane but our Maker, as my father aye said. Ye’re no to blame, young sir.’

  I fell into line with the odd man — for they rode in pairs, and in common civility. I could not push on through them. As I rode behind I had leisure to look at my company. All were elderly men, their ages lying perhaps between five and thirty and twoscore, and all rode with the air of townsmen out on a holiday. They talked gravely among themselves, now looking at the sky (which was clouding over, as is the fashion in a Highland April), and now casting inquiring glances towards my place at the back. The man with whom I rode was a little fellow, younger than the rest and more ruddy and frank of face. He was willing to talk, which he did in a very vile Scots accent which I had hard work to follow. His name he said was Macneil, but he knew nothing of the Highlands, for his abode was Paisley. He questioned me of myself with some curiosity.

  ‘Oh, my name is Townshend,’ said I, speaking the truth at random, ‘and I have come up from England to see if the report of your mountains be true. It is a better way of seeing the world, say I, than to philander through Italy and France. I am a quiet man of modest means with a taste for the picturesque.’

  ‘So, so,’ said the little man. ‘But I could show you corn-rigs by the Cart side which are better and bonnier than a wheen muckle stony hills. But every man to his taste, and doubtless, since ye’re an Englander, ye’ll no hae seen mony brae-faces?’

  Then he fell to giving me biographies of each of the travellers, and as we were some way behind the others he could speak without fear. The lang man in the grey coat is the Deacon o’ the Glesca Fleshers, a man o’ great substance and good repute. He’s lang had trouble wi’ thae Hieland bodies, for when he bocht nowt frae them they wad seek a loan of maybe mair than the price, and he wad get caution on some o’ their lands and cot-houses.’Deed, we’re a’ in that line, as ye micht say’; and he raked the horizon with his hand.

  ‘Then ye go north to recover monies?’ said I, inadvertently.

  He looked cunningly into my face, and, for a second, suspicion was large in his eyes. ‘Ye’re a gleg yin, Mr. Townds, and maybe our errand is just no that far frae what ye mean. But, speaking o’ the Deacon, he has a grand-gaun business in the Trongate, and he has been elder this sax year in the Barony, and him no forty year auld. Laidly’s his name, and nane mair respeckit among the merchants o’ the city. Yon ither man wi’ him is a Maister Graham, whae comes frae the Menteith way, a kind o’ Hielander by bluid, but wi’ nae Hieland tricks in his heid. He’s a sober wud-merchant at the Broomielaw, and he has come up here on a job about some fir-wuds. Losh, there’s a walth o’ timmer in this bit,’ and he scanned greedily the shady hills.

  ‘The twae lang red-heided men are Campbells, brithers, whae deal in yairn and wabs o’ a’ kind in the Saltmarket. Gin ye were wantin’ the guid hamespun or the fine tartan in a’ the clan colours ye wad be wise to gang there. But I’m forgetting ye dinna belang to thae pairts ava’.’ By this time the heavens had darkened to a storm and the great rain-drops were already plashing on my face. We were now round the ribs of the hill they call Sgordhonuill and close to the edge of the Leven loch. It was a desolate, wild place, and yet on the very brink of the shore amid the birk-woods we came on the inn and the ferry.

  I must needs go in with the others, and if the place was better than certain hostels I had lodged in on my road — notably in the accursed land of Lorne — it was far short of the South. And yet I dare not deny the comfort, for there was a peat-fire glowing on the hearth and the odour of cooking meat was rich for hungry nostrils. Forbye, the out-of-doors was now one pour of hail-water, which darkened the evening to a murky twilight.

  The men sat round the glow after supper and there was no more talk of going further. The loch was a chaos of white billows, so the ferry was out of the question; and as for me, who should have been that night on Glen Leven-side, there was never a thought of stirring in my head, but I fell into a deep contentment with the warmth and a full meal, and never cast a look to the blurred window. I had not yet spoken to the others, but comfort loosened their tongues, and soon we were all on terms of gossip. They set themselves to find out every point in my career and my intentions, and I, mindful of Mr. Stewart’s warning, grew as austere in manner as the Deacon himself.

  And ye say ye traivel to see the world?’ said one of the Campbells. ‘Man, ye’ve little to dae. Ye maunna be thrang at hame. If I had a son who was a drone like you, he wad never finger siller o’ mine.’

  ‘But I will shortly have a trade,’ said I, ‘for I shall be cutting French throats in a year, Mr. Campbell, if luck favours me.’

  ‘Hear to him,’ said the grave Campbell. ‘He talks of war, bloody war, as a man wad talk of a penny-wedding. Know well, young man, that I value a sodger’s trade lower than a flesher-lad’s, and have no respect for a bright sword and a red coat. I am for peace, but when I speak, for battle they are strong,’ said he, finishing with a line from one of his Psalms.

  I sat rebuked, wishing myself well rid of this company. But I was not to be let alone, for the Deacon would play the inquisitor on the matter of my family.

  ‘What brought ye here of a’ places? There are mony pairts in the Hielands better worth seeing. Ye’ll hae some freends, belike, here-aways?’

  I told him, ‘No,’ that I had few friends above the Border; but the persistent man would not be pacified. He took upon himself, as the elder, to admonish me on the faults of youth.

  ‘Ye are but a lad,’ said he with unction, ‘and I wad see no ill come to ye. But the Hielands are an unsafe bit, given up to malignants and papists and black cattle. Tak your ways back, and tell your freends to thank the Lord that they see ye again.’ And then he broke into a most violent abuse of the whole place, notably the parts of Appin and Lochaber. It was, he said, the last refuge of all that was vicious and wasteful in the land.

  ‘It is at least a place of some beauty,’ I broke in with.

&n
bsp; ‘Beauty,’ he cried scornfully, ‘d’ye see beauty in black rocks and a grummly sea? Gie me the lown fields about Lanerick, and a’ the kind canty south country, and I wad let your bens and corries alane.’

  And then Graham launched forth in a denunciation of the people. It was strange to hear one who bore his race writ large in his name talk of the inhabitants of these parts as liars and thieves and good-for-nothings. ‘What have your Hielands done,’ he cried, ‘for the wellbeing of this land? They stir up rebellions wi’ papists and the French, and harry the lands o’ the god-fearing. They look down on us merchants, and turn up their hungry noses at decent men, as if cheatry were mair gentrice than honest wark. God, I wad have the lot o’ them shipped to the Indies and set to earn a decent living.’

  I sat still during the torrent, raging at the dull company I had fallen in with, for I was hot with youth and had little admiration for the decencies. Then the Deacon, taking a Bible from his valise, declared his intention of conducting private worship ere we retired to rest. It was a ceremony I had never dreamed of before, and in truth I cannot fancy a stranger. First the company sang a psalm with vast unction and no melody. Then the Deacon read from some prophet or other, and finally we were all on our knees while a Campbell offered up a prayer.