by John Buchan
X
THE RIME OF TRUE THOMAS
THE TALE OF THE RESPECTABLE WHAUP AND THE GREAT GODLY MAN
This is a story that I heard from the King of the Numidians, who withhis tattered retinue encamps behind the peat-ricks. If you ask mewhere and when it happened I fear that I am scarce ready with ananswer. But I will vouch my honour for its truth; and if any one seekfurther proof, let him go east the town and west the town and over thefields of No mans land to the Long Muir, and if he find not the Kingthere among the peat-ricks, and get not a courteous answer to hisquestion, then times have changed in that part of the country, and hemust continue the quest to his Majesty's castle in Spain.
Once upon a time, says the tale, there was a Great Godly Man, ashepherd to trade, who lived in a cottage among heather. If you lookedeast in the morning, you saw miles of moor running wide to the flamesof sunrise, and if you turned your eyes west in the evening, you saw agreat confusion of dim peaks with the dying eye of the sun set in acrevice. If you looked north, too, in the afternoon, when the life ofthe day is near its end and the world grows wise, you might have seen acountry of low hills and haughlands with many waters running sweetamong meadows. But if you looked south in the dusty forenoon or at hotmidday, you saw the far-off glimmer of a white road, the roofs of theugly little clachan of Kilmaclavers, and the rigging of the fine newkirk of Threepdaidle. It was a Sabbath afternoon in the hot weather,and the man had been to kirk all the morning. He had heard a grandsermon from the minister (or it may have been the priest, for I am notsure of the date and the King told the story quickly)--a fine discoursewith fifteen heads and three parentheses. He held all the parenthesesand fourteen of the heads in his memory, but he had forgotten thefifteenth; so for the purpose of recollecting it, and also for the sakeof a walk, he went forth in the afternoon into the open heather.
The whaups were crying everywhere, making the air hum like the twangingof a bow. Poo-eelie, Poo-eelie, they cried, Kirlew, Kirlew, Whaup,Wha-up. Sometimes they came low, all but brushing him, till they drovesettled thoughts from his head. Often had he been on the moors, butnever had he seen such a stramash among the feathered clan. Thewailing iteration vexed him, and he shoo'd the birds away with hisarms. But they seemed to mock him and whistle in his very face, and atthe flaff of their wings his heart grew sore. He waved his greatstick; he picked up bits of loose moor-rock and flung them wildly; butthe godless crew paid never a grain of heed. The morning's sermon wasstill in his head, and the grave words of the minister still rattled inhis ear, but he could get no comfort for this intolerable piping. Atlast his patience failed him and he swore unchristian words. "Deil raxthe birds' thrapples," he cried. At this all the noise was hushed andin a twinkling the moor was empty. Only one bird was left, standing ontall legs before him with its head bowed upon its breast, and its beaktouching the heather.
Then the man repented his words and stared at the thing in the moss."What bird are ye?" he asked thrawnly.
"I am a Respectable Whaup," said the bird, "and I kenna why ye havebroken in on our family gathering. Once in a hundred years weforegather for decent conversation, and here we are interrupted by amuckle, sweerin' man."
Now the shepherd was a fellow of great sagacity, yet he never thoughtit a queer thing that he should be having talk in the mid-moss with abird.
"What for were ye making siccan a din, then?" he asked. "D'ye no kenye were disturbing the afternoon of the holy Sabbath?"
The bird lifted its eyes and regarded him solemnly. "The Sabbath is aday of rest and gladness," it said, "and is it no reasonable that weshould enjoy the like?"
The shepherd shook his head, for the presumption staggered him. "Yelittle ken what ye speak of," he said. "The Sabbath is for them thathave the chance of salvation, and it has been decreed that salvation isfor Adam's race and no for the beasts that perish."
The whaup gave a whistle of scorn. "I have heard all that long ago.In my great grandmother's time, which 'ill be a thousand years and mairsyne, there came a people from the south with bright brass things ontheir heads and breasts and terrible swords at their thighs. And withthem were some lang gowned men who kenned the stars and would come outo' nights to talk to the deer and the corbies in their ain tongue. Andone, I mind, foregathered with my great-grandmother and told her thatthe souls o' men flitted in the end to braw meadows where the gods bideor gaed down to the black pit which they ca' Hell. But the souls o'birds, he said, die wi' their bodies, and that's the end o' them.Likewise in my mother's time, when there was a great abbey down yonderby the Threepdaidle Burn which they called the House of Kilmaclavers,the auld monks would walk out in the evening to pick herbs for theirdistillings, and some were wise and kenned the ways of bird and beast.They would crack often o' nights with my ain family, and tell them thatChrist had saved the souls o' men, but that birds and beasts wereperishable as the dew o' heaven. And now ye have a black-gowned man inThreepdaidle who threeps on the same overcome. Ye may a' ken somethingo' your ain kitchen midden, but certes! ye ken little o' the warldbeyond it."
Now this angered the man, and he rebuked the bird. "These are greatmysteries," he said, "which are no to be mentioned in the ears of anunsanctified creature. What can a thing like you wi' a lang neb andtwae legs like stilts ken about the next warld?"
"Weel, weel," said the whaup, "we'll let the matter be. Everything toits ain trade, and I will not dispute with ye on Metapheesics. But ifye ken something about the next warld, ye ken terrible little aboutthis."
Now this angered the man still more, for he was a shepherd reputed tohave great skill in sheep and esteemed the nicest judge of hogg andwether in all the countryside. "What ken ye about that?" he asked."Ye may gang east to Yetholm and west to Kells, and no find a betterherd."
"If sheep were a'," said the bird, "ye micht be right; but what o' thewide warld and the folk in it? Ye are Simon Etterick o' the Lowe Moss.Do ye ken aucht o' your forebears?"
"My father was a God-fearing man at the Kennelhead and my grandfatherand great grandfather afore him. One o' our name, folk say, was shotat a dykeback by the Black Westeraw."
"If that's a'" said the bird, "ye ken little. Have ye never heard o'the little man, the fourth back from yoursel', who killed the Miller o'Bewcastle at the Lammas Fair? That was in my ain time, and from mymother I have heard o' the Covenanter who got a bullet in his wamehunkering behind the divot-dyke and praying to his Maker. There wereothers of your name rode in the Hermitage forays and turned Naworth andWarkworth and Castle Gay. I have heard o' an Etterick. Sim o' theRedcleuch, who cut the throat o' Jock Johnstone in his ain house by theAnnan side. And my grandmother had tales o' auld Ettericks who radewi' Douglas and the Bruce and the ancient Kings o' Scots; and she usedto tell o' others in her mother's time, terrible shockheaded menhunting the deer and rinnin' on the high moors, and bidin' in thebroken stane biggings on the hill-taps."
The shepherd stared, and he, too, saw the picture. He smelled the airof battle and lust and foray, and forgot the Sabbath.
"And you yoursel'," said the bird, "are sair fallen off from the auldstock. Now ye sit and spell in books, and talk about what ye littleunderstand, when your fathers were roaming the warld. But little causehave I to speak, for I too am a downcome. My bill is two inchesshorter than my mother's, and my grandmother was taller on her feet.The warld is getting weaklier things to dwell in it, even since I mindmysel'."
"Ye have the gift o' speech; bird," said the man, "and I would hearmair." You will perceive that he had no mind of the Sabbath day or thefifteenth head of the forenoon's discourse.
"What things have I to tell ye when ye dinna ken the very horn-book o'knowledge? Besides, I am no clatter-vengeance to tell stories in themiddle o' the muir, where there are ears open high and low. There'sothers than me wi mair experience and a better skill at the telling.Our clan was well acquaint wi' the reivers and lifters o' the muirs,and could crack fine o' wars and the takin of cattle. But the bluehawk that liv
es in the corrie o' the Dreichil can speak o' kelpies andthe dwarfs that bide in the hill. The heron, the lang solemn fellow,kens o' the greenwood fairies and the wood elfins, and the wild geesethat squatter on the tap o' the Muneraw will croak to ye of the merrymaidens and the girls o' the pool. The wren--him that hops in thegrass below the birks--has the story of the Lost Ladies of the Land,which is ower auld and sad for any but the wisest to hear; and there isa wee bird bides in the heather-hill--lintie men call him--who singsthe Lay of the West Wind, and the Glee of the Rowan Berries. But whatam I talking of? What are these things to you, if ye have not firstheard True Thomas's Rime, which is the beginning and end o' all things?
"I have heard no rime" said the man, "save the sacred psalms o' God'sKirk."
"Bonny rimes" said the bird. "Once I flew by the hinder end o' theKirk and I keekit in. A wheen auld wives wi' mutches and a wheensolemn men wi' hoasts! Be sure the Rime is no like yon."
"Can ye sing it, bird?" said the man, "for I am keen to hear it."
"Me sing!" cried the bird, "me that has a voice like a craw! Na, na, Icanna sing it, but maybe I can tak ye where ye may hear it. When I wasyoung an auld bogblitter did the same to me, and sae began myeducation. But are ye willing and brawly willing?--for if ye get but asough of it ye will never mair have an ear for other music."
"I am willing and brawly willing," said the man.
"Then meet me at the Gled's Cleuch Head at the sun's setting," said thebird, and it flew away.
Now it seemed to the man that in a twinkling it was sunset, and hefound himself at the Gled's Cleuch Head with the bird flapping in theheather before him. The place was a long rift in the hill, made greenwith juniper and hazel, where it was said True Thomas came to drink thewater.
"Turn ye to the west," said the whaup, "and let the sun fail on yourface; then turn ye five times round about and say after me the Rune Ofthe Heather and the Dew." And before he knew the man did as he wastold, and found himself speaking strange words, while his head hummedand danced as if in a fever.
"Now lay ye down and put your ear to the earth," said the bird; and theman did so. Instantly a cloud came over his brain, and he did not feelthe ground on which he lay or the keen hill-air which blew about him.He felt himself falling deep into an abysm of space, then suddenlycaught up and set among the stars of heaven. Then slowly from thestillness there welled forth music, drop by drop like the clear fallingof rain, and the man shuddered for he knew that he heard the beginningof the Rime.
High rose the air, and trembled among the tallest pines and the summitsof great hills. And in it were the sting of rain and the blatter ofhail, the soft crush of snow and the rattle of thunder among crags.Then it quieted to the low sultry croon which told of blazing middaywhen the streams are parched and the bent crackles like dry tinder.Anon it was evening, and the melody dwelled among the high soft noteswhich mean the coming of dark and the green light of sunset. Then thewhole changed to a great paean which rang like an organ through theearth. There were trumpet notes ill it and flute notes and the plaintof pipes. "Come forth," it cried; "the sky is wide and it is a far cryto the world's end. The fire crackles fine o' nights below the firs,and the smell of roasting meat and wood smoke is dear to the heart ofman. Fine, too is the sting of salt and the rasp of the north wind inthe sheets. Come forth, one and all, unto the great lands oversea, andthe strange tongues and the hermit peoples. Learn before you die tofollow the Piper's Son, and though your old bones bleach among greyrocks, what matter if you have had your bellyful of life and come toyour heart's desire?" And the tune fell low and witching, bringingtears to the eyes and joy to the heart; and the man knew (though no onetold him) that this was the first part of the Rime, the Song of theOpen Road, the Lilt of the Adventurer, which shall be now and ever andto the end of days.
Then the melody changed to a fiercer and sadder note. He saw hisforefathers, gaunt men and terrible, run stark among woody hills. Heheard the talk of the bronze-clad invader, and the jar and clangour asstone met steel. Then rose the last coronach of his own people, hidingin wild glens, starving in corries, or going hopelessly to the death.He heard the cry of the Border foray, the shouts of the famished Scotsas they harried Cumberland, and he himself rode in the midst of them.Then the tune fell more mournful and slow, and Flodden lay before him.He saw the flower of the Scots gentry around their King, gashed to thebreast-bone, still fronting the lines of the south, though the palenessof death sat on each forehead. "The flowers of the Forest are gone,"cried the lilt, and through the long years he heard the cry of thelost, the desperate, fighting for kings over the water and princes inthe heather. "Who cares?" cried the air. "Man must die, and how canhe die better than in the stress of fight with his heart high and alienblood on his sword? Heigh-ho! One against twenty, a child against ahost, this is the romance of life." And the man's heart swelled, forhe knew (though no one told him) that this was the Song of Lost Battleswhich only the great can sing before they die.
But the tune was changing, and at the change the man shivered for theair ran up to the high notes and then down to the deeps with an eldrichcry, like a hawk's scream at night, or a witch's song in the gloaming.It told of those who seek and never find, the quest that knows nofulfilment. "There is a road," it cried, "which leads to the Moon andthe Great Waters. No changehouse cheers it, and it has no end; but itis a fine road, a braw road--who will follow it?" And the man knew(though no one told him) that this was the Ballad of Grey Weather,which makes him who hears it sick all the days of his life forsomething which he cannot name. It is the song which the birds sing onthe moor in the autumn nights, and the old crow on the treetop hearsand flaps his wing. It is the lilt which men and women hear in thedarkening of their days, and sigh for the unforgettable; and love-sickgirls get catches of it and play pranks with their lovers. It is asong so old that Adam heard it in the Garden before Eve came to comforthim, so young that from it still flows the whole joy and sorrow ofearth.
Then it ceased, and all of a sudden the man was rubbing his eyes on thehillside, and watching the falling dusk. "I have heard the Rime," hesaid to himself, and he walked home in a daze. The whaups were crying,but none came near him, though he looked hard for the bird that hadspoken with him. It may be that it was there and he did not know it,or it may be that the whole thing was only a dream; but of this Icannot say.
The next morning the man rose and went to the manse.
"I am glad to see you, Simon," said the minister, "for it will soon bethe Communion Season, and it is your duty to go round with the tokens."
"True," said the man, "but it was another thing I came to talk about,"and he told him the whole tale.
"There are but two ways of it, Simon," said the minister. "Either yeare the victim of witchcraft, or ye are a self-deluded man. If theformer (whilk I am loth to believe), then it behoves ye to watch andpray lest ye enter into temptation. If the latter, then ye maun put astrict watch over a vagrant fancy, and ye'll be quit o' siccanwhigmaleeries."
Now Simon was not listening but staring out of the window. "There wasanother thing I had it in my mind to say," said he. "I have come tolift my lines, for I am thinking of leaving the place."
"And where would ye go?" asked the minister, aghast.
"I was thinking of going to Carlisle and trying my luck as a dealer, ormaybe pushing on with droves to the South."
"But that's a cauld country where there are no faithfu' ministrations,"said the minister.
"Maybe so, but I am not caring very muckle about ministrations," saidthe man, and the other looked after him in horror.
When he left the manse he went to a Wise Woman, who lived on the leftside of the kirkyard above Threepdaidle burn-foot. She was very old,and sat by the ingle day and night, waiting upon death. To her he toldthe same tale.
She listened gravely, nodding with her head. "Ach," she said, "I haveheard a like story before. And where will you be going?"
"I am going south to Carlis
le to try the dealing and droving" said theman, "for I have some skill of sheep."
"And will ye bide there?" she asked.
"Maybe aye, and maybe no," he said. "I had half a mind to push on tothe big toun or even to the abroad. A man must try his fortune."
"That's the way of men," said the old wife. "I, too, have heard theRime, and many women who now sit decently spinning in Kilmaclavers haveheard it. But woman may hear it and lay it up in her soul and bide athame, while a man, if he get but a glisk of it in his fool's heart,must needs up and awa' to the warld's end on some daft-like ploy. Butgang your ways and fare-ye-weel. My cousin Francie heard it, and hewent north wi' a white cockade in his bonnet and a sword at his side,singing 'Charlie's come hame'. And Tam Crichtoun o' the Bourhopeheadgot a sough o' it one simmers' morning, and the last we heard o' Tam hewas fechting like a deil among the Frenchmen. Once I heard a tinklerplay a sprig of it on the pipes, and a' the lads were wud to followhim. Gang your ways for I am near the end o' mine."
And the old wife shook with her coughing. So the man put up hisbelongings in a pack on his back and went whistling down the GreatSouth Road.
Whether or not this tale have a moral it is not for me to say. TheKing (who told it me) said that it had, and quoted a scrap of Latin,for he had been at Oxford in his youth before he fell heir to hiskingdom. One may hear tunes from the Rime, said he, in the thick of astorm on the scarp of a rough hill, in the soft June weather, or in thesunset silence of a winter's night. But let none, he added, pray tohave the full music; for it will make him who hears it a footsoretraveller in the ways o' the world and a masterless man till death.