Sir Quixote of the Moors

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER V.

  I PLEDGE MY WORD.

  Of my life at Lindean for the next three days I have no clear remembrance.The weather was dry and languid, as often follows a spell of rain, and thelong hills which huddled around the house looked near and imminent. Theplace was so still that if one shouted it seemed almost a profanation.'Twas so Sabbath-like that I almost came to dislike it. Indeed, I doubt Ishould have found it irksome had there not been a brawling stream in theglen, which kept up a continuous dashing and chattering. It seemed the onelink between me and that far-away world in which not long agone I had beena dweller.

  The life, too, was as regular as in the king's court. Sharp at six I wasawakened, and ere seven we were assembled for breakfast. Then to prayers,and then to the occupations of the day. The minister would be at his booksor down among his people on some errand of mercy. The church had been longclosed, for the Privy Council, seeing that Master Lambert was opposed tothem, had commanded him to be silent; and yet, mark you, so well was heloved in the place that they durst set no successor in his stead. Theytried it once and a second time, but the unhappy man was so taken with fearof the people that he shook the dust of Lindean off his feet, and departedin search of a more hospitable dwelling. But the minister's mouth was shut,save when covertly, and with the greatest peril to himself, he would preachat a meeting of the hill-folk in the recesses of the surrounding uplands.

  The library I found no bad one--I who in my day have been considered tohave something of a taste in books. To be sure there was much wearisomestuff, the work of old divines, and huge commentaries on the Scriptures,written in Latin and plentifully interspersed with Greek and Hebrew. Butthere was good store of the Classics, both prose and poetry,--_Horace_, whohas ever been my favorite, and _Homer_, who, to my thinking, is the finestof the ancients. Here, too, I found a _Plato_, and I swear I read more ofhim in the manse than I have done since I went through him with M.Clerselier, when we were students together in Paris.

  The acquaintance which I had formed with Master Semple speedily ripenedinto a fast friendship. I found it in my heart to like this great seriousman--a bumpkin if you will, but a man of courage and kindliness. We werewont to take long walks, always in some lonely part of the country, and wegrew more intimate in our conversation than I should ever have dreamed of.He would call me John, and this much I suffered him, to save my name fromthe barbarity of his pronunciation; while in turn I fell to calling himHenry, as if we had been born and bred together. I found that he loved tohear of my own land and my past life, which, now that I think of it, musthave had no little interest to one dwelling in such solitudes. From him Iheard of his father, of his brief term at the College of Edinburgh, whichhe left when the strife in the country grew high, and of his sorrow andanger at the sufferings of those who withstood the mandate of the king.Though I am of the true faith, I think it no shame that my sympathy was allwith these rebels, for had I not seen something of their misery myself? Butabove all, he would speak of _la belle Anne_ as one gentleman will tellanother of his love, when he found that I was a willing listener. I couldscarce have imagined such warmth of passion to exist in the man as heshowed at the very mention of her name.

  "Oh!" he would cry out, "I would die for her; I would gang to the world'send to pleasure her! I whiles think that I break the first commandmentevery day of my life, for I canna keep her a moment out of my thoughts, andI fear she's more to me than any earthly thing should be. I think of her atnicht. I see her name in every page of the Book. I thought I was bad when Iwas over at Clachlands, and had to ride five miles to see her; but now I'mtenfold worse when I'm biding aside her. God grant it be not counted to mefor sin!"

  "Amen to that," said I. 'Tis a fine thing to see the love of a maid; but Ihold 'tis a finer to witness the passion of a strong man.

  Yet, withal, there was something sinister about the house and its folkwhich to me was the fly in the ointment. They were kindness and charityincarnate, but they were cold and gloomy to boot, lacking any grace orsprightliness in their lives. I find it hard to write this, for theirgoodness to me was beyond recompense; yet I must set it down, since in somemeasure it has to do with my story. The old man would look at me at timesand sigh, nor did I think it otherwise than fitting, till I found from hiswords that the sighs were on account of my own spiritual darkness. I haveno quarrel with any man for wishing to convert me, but to sigh at one'sapproach seems a doleful way of setting about it. Then he would break outfrom his wonted quietness at times to rail at his foes, calling down thewrath of Heaven to blight them. Such a fit was always followed by a painfulexhaustion, which left him as weak as a child, and shivering like a leaf. Ibitterly cursed the state of a country which could ruin the peace of mindof a man so sweet-tempered by nature, and make him the sport of needlessrage. 'Twas pitiful to see him creep off to his devotions after any suchoutbreak, penitent and ashamed. Even to his daughter he was often cruellysharp, and would call her to account for the merest trifle.

  As for Master Henry, what shall I say of him? I grew to love him like myown brother, yet I no more understood him than the Sultan of Turkey. He hadstrange fits of gloom, begotten, I must suppose, of the harsh country andhis many anxieties, in which he was more surly than a bear, speakinglittle, and that mainly from the Scriptures. I have one case in my memory,when, had I not been in a sense his guest, I had scarce refrained fromquarreling. 'Twas in the afternoon of the second day, when we returnedweary from one of our long wanderings. Anne tripped forth into the autumnsunlight singing a catch, a simple glee of the village folk.

  "Peace, Anne," says Master Henry savagely; "it little becomes you to besinging in these days, unless it be a godly psalm. Keep your songs forbetter times."

  "What ails you?" I ventured to say. "You praised her this very morning forsinging the self-same verses."

  "And peace, you," he says roughly, as he entered the house; "if the lasshearkened to your accursed creed, I should have stronger words for her."

  My breath was fairly taken from me at this incredible rudeness. I had myhand on my sword, and had I been in my own land we should soon have settledit. As it was, I shut my lips firmly and choked down my choler.

  Yet I cannot leave with this ill word of the man. That very night he talkedwith me so pleasingly, and with so friendly a purport, that I conceived hemust have been scarce himself when he so insulted me. Indeed, I discernedtwo natures in the man--one, hard, saturnine, fanatically religious; theother, genial and kindly, like that of any other gentleman of family. Theformer I attributed to the accident of his fortune; the second I held to bethe truer, and in my thoughts of him still think of it as the only one.

  But I must pass to the events which befell on the even of the third day,and wrought so momentous a change in the life at Lindean. 'Twas just at thelighting of the lamp, when Anne and the minister and myself sat talking inthe little sitting room, that Master Henry entered with a look of greatconcern on his face, and beckoned the elder man out.

  "Andrew Gibb is here," said he.

  "And what may Andrew Gibb be wanting?" asked the old man, glancing upsharply.

  "He brings nae guid news, I fear, but he'll tell them to none but you; sohasten out, sir, to the back, for he's come far, and he's ill at thewaiting."

  The twain were gone for some time, and in their absence I could hear highvoices in the back end of the house, conversing as on some matter of deepimport. Anne fetched the lamp from the kitchen and trimmed it withelaborate care, lighting it and setting it in its place. Then, at last, theminister returned alone.

  I was shocked at the sight of him as he re-entered the room. His face wasashen pale and tightly drawn about the lips. He crept to a chair and leanedhis head on the table, speaking no word. Then he burst out of a sudden intoa storm of pleading.

  "O Lord God," he cried, "thou hast aye been good to us, thou has kept usweel, and bielded us frae the wolves who have sought to devour us. Oh,dinna leave us now. It's no' for mysel' or Henry that I care. We're men,and can warstle
through ills; but oh, what am I to dae wi' the bit helplesslassie? It's awfu' to have to gang oot among hills and bogs to bide, butit's ten times waur when ye dinna ken what's gaun to come to your bairn.Hear me, O Lord, and grant me my request. I've no' been a' that I michthave been, but oh, if I ha'e tried to serve thee at a', dinna let thisdanger overwhelm us!"

  He had scarcely finished, and was still sitting with bowed head, whenMaster Henry also entered the room. His eyes were filled with an austerefrenzy, such as I had learned to look for.

  "Ay, sir," said he, "'tis a time for us a' to be on our knees. But ha'ecourage, and dinna let us spoil the guid cause by our weak mortalcomplaining. Is't no' better to be hunkering in a moss-hole and communingwith the Lord than waxing fat like Jeshurun in carnal corruption? Call onGod's name, but no' wi' sighing, but wi' exaltation, for He hath bidden usto a mighty heritage."

  "Ye speak brave and true, Henry, and I'm wi' your every word. But tell mewhat's to become o' my bairn? What will Anne dae? I once thought there wassomething atween you----" He stopped abruptly and searched the face of theyoung man.

  At his words Master Semple had started as under a lash. "Oh, my God," hecried, "I had forgotten! Anne, Anne, my dearie, we canna leave ye, and youto be my wife. This is a sore trial of faith, sir, and I misdoubt I cannastand it. To leave ye to the tender mercies o' a' the hell-hounds o'dragoons--oh, I canna dae't!"

  He clapped his hand to his forehead and walked about the room like a mandistraught.

  And now I put in my word. "What ails you, Henry? Tell me, for I am soregrieved to see you in such perplexity."

  "Ails me?" he repeated. "Aye, I will tell ye what ails me"; and he drew hischair before me. "Andrew Gibb's come ower frae the Ruthen wi' shure newsthat a warrant's oot against us baith, for being at the preaching onCallowa' Muir. 'Twas an enemy did it, and now the soldiers are coming atony moment to lay hands on us and take us off to Embro'. Then there'll bebut a short lease of life for us; and unless we take to the hills this verynicht we may be ower late in the morning. I'm wae to tak' sae auld a man asMaster Lambert to wet mosses, but there's nothing else to be dune. Butwhat's to become o' Anne? Whae's to see to her, when the dragoons comeriding and cursing about the toon? Oh, it's a terrible time, John. Pray toGod, if ye never prayed before, to let it pass."

  Mademoiselle had meantime spoken never a word, but had risen and gone toher father's chair and put her arms around his neck. Her presence seemedto cheer the old man, for he ceased mourning and looked up, while she sat,still as a statue, with her grave, lovely face against his. But MasterSemple's grief was pitiful to witness. He rocked himself to and fro in hischair, with his arms folded and a set, white face. Every now and then hewould break into a cry like a stricken animal. The elder man was the firstto counsel patience.

  "Stop, Henry," says he; "it's ill-befitting Christian folk to set sic anexample. We've a' got our troubles, and if ours are heavier than some, it'sno' for us to complain. Think o' the many years o' grace we've had.There's nae doubt the Lord will look after the bairn, for he's a guidShepherd for the feckless."

  But now of a sudden a thought seemed to strike Henry, and he was on hisfeet in a twinkling and by my side.

  "John," he almost screamed in my ear, "John, I'm going to ask ye for thegreatest service that ever man asked. Ye'll no' say me nay?"

  "Let me hear it," said I.

  "Will _you_ bide wi' the lass? You're a man o' birth, and I'll swear to it,a man o' honor. I can trust you as I would trust my ain brither. Oh, man,dinna deny me! It's the last hope I ha'e, for if ye refuse, we maun e'engang to the hills and leave the puir thing alane. Oh, ye canna say me nae!Tell me that ye'll do my asking."

  I was so thunderstruck at the request that I scarce could think for someminutes. Consider, was it not a strange thing to be asked to stay alone ina wild moorland house with another man's betrothed, for Heaven knew howmany weary days? My life and prospects were none so cheerful for me todespise anything, nor so varied that I might pick and choose; but yet 'twasdreary, if no worse, to look forward to any length of time in this desolateplace. I was grateful for the house as a shelter by the way, yet I hopedto push on and get rid, as soon as might be, of this accursed land.

  But was I not bound by all the ties of gratitude to grant my host'srequest? They had found me fainting at their door, they had taken me in,and treated me to their best; I was bound in common honor to do somethingto requite their kindness. And let me add, though not often a man subjectto any feelings of compassion, whatever natural bent I had this way havingbeen spoiled in the wars, I nevertheless could not refrain from pitying thedistress of that strong man before me. I felt tenderly toward him, more sothan I had felt to anyone for many a day.

  All these thoughts raced through my head in the short time while MasterHenry stood before me. The look in his eyes, the pained face of the oldman, and the sight of Anne, so fair and helpless, fixed my determination.

  "I am bound to you in gratitude," said I, "and I would seek to repay you. Iwill bide in the house, if so you will, and be the maid's protector. Godgrant I may be faithful to my trust, and may he send a speedy end to yourexile?"

  So 'twas all finished in a few minutes, and I was fairly embarked upon thequeerest enterprise of my life. For myself I sat dazed and meditative; asfor the minister and Master Semple, one-half of the burden seemed to belifted from their minds. I was amazed at the trusting natures of these men,who had habited all their days with honest folk till they conceived all tobe as worthy as themselves. I felt, I will own, a certain shrinking fromthe responsibility of the task; but the Rubicon had been crossed and therewas no retreat.

  * * * * *

  Of the rest of that night how shall I tell? There was such a bustling andpother as I had never seen in any house since the day that my brotherDenis left Rohaine for the Dutch wars. There was a running and scurryingabout, a packing of food, a seeking of clothes, for the fugitives must beoff before the first light. Anne went about with a pale, tearful face; and'twas a matter of no surprise, for to see a father, a man frail and fallenin years, going out to the chill moorlands in the early autumn till no manknew when, is a grievous thing for a young maid. Her lover was scarce in sodire a case, for he was young and strong, and well used to the life of thehills. For him there was hope; for the old man but a shadow. My heart grewas bitter as gall at the thought of the villains who brought it about.

  How shall I tell of the morning, when the faint light was flushing thelimits of the sky, and the first call of a heath-bird broke the silence!'Twas sad to see these twain with their bundles (the younger carrying theelder's share) creep through the heather toward the hills. They affected acheerful resolution, assumed to comfort Anne's fears and sorrow; but Icould mark beneath it a settled despair. The old man prayed at thethreshold, and clasped his daughter many times, kissing her and giving herhis blessing. The younger, shaken with great sobs, bade a still moretender farewell, and then started off abruptly to hide his grief. Anne andI, from the door, watched their figures disappear over the crest of theridge, and then went in, sober and full of angry counsels.

  * * * * *

  The soldiers came about an hour before mid-day--a band from Clachlands,disorderly ruffians, commanded by a mealy-faced captain. They were ascurrilous set, their faces bloated with debauchery and their clothes in novery decent order. As one might have expected, they were mightily incensedat finding their bird flown, and fell to cursing each other with greatgood-will. They poked their low-bred faces into every nook in the house andoutbuildings; and when at length they had satisfied themselves that therewas no hope from that quarter, they had all the folk of the dwelling out onthe green and questioned them one by one. The two serving-lasses werestanch, and stoutly denied all knowledge of their master'swhereabouts--which was indeed no more than the truth. One of the two, JeanCrichope by name, when threatened with ill-treatment if she did not speak,replied valiantly that she would twist the neck of the first scoundrell
ysoldier who dared to lay finger on her. This I doubt not she could haveperformed, for she was a very daughter of Anak.

  As for Anne and myself, we answered according to our agreement. They werevery curious to know my errand there and my name and birth; and when I badethem keep their scurvy tongues from defiling a gentleman's house, they werenone so well pleased. I am not a vain man, and I do not set down the thingI am going to relate as at all redounding to my credit; I merely tell it asan incident in my tale.

  The captain at last grew angry. He saw that the law was powerless to touchus, and that nought remained for him but to ride to the hills in pursuit ofthe fugitives. This he seemed to look upon as a hardship, being a man toall appearance more fond of the bottle and pasty than a hill gallop. At anyrate he grew wroth, and addressed to Anne a speech so full of grossrudeness that I felt it my duty to interfere.

  "Look you here, sir," said I, "I am here, in the first place, to see thatno scoundrel maltreats this lady. I would ask you, therefore, to be morecivil in your talk or to get down and meet me in fair fight. Thesegentlemen," and I made a mocking bow to his company, "will, I am assured,see an honest encounter."

  The man flushed under his coarse skin. His reputation was at stake. Therewas no other course open but to take up my challenge.

  "You, you bastard Frenchman," he cried, "would you dare to insult a captainof the king's dragoons? I' faith, I will teach you better manners;" and hecame at me with his sword in a great heat. The soldiers crowded round likechildren to see a cock-fight.

  In an instant we crossed swords and fell to; I with the sun in my eyes andon the lower ground. The combat was not of long duration. In a trice Ifound that he was a mere child in my hands, a barbarian who used his swordlike a quarter-staff, not even putting strength into his thrusts.

  "Enough!" I cried; "this is mere fooling;" and with a movement which anybabe in arms might have checked, twirled his blade from his hands and sentit spinning over the grass. "Follow your sword, and learn two things beforeyou come back--civility to maids and the rudiments of sword-play. Bah!Begone with you!"

  Some one of his men laughed, and I think they were secretly glad at theirtyrant's discomfiture. No more need be said. He picked up his weapon androde away, vowing vengeance upon me and swearing at every trooper behindhim. I cared not a straw for him, for despite his bravado I knew that thefear of death was in his cowardly heart, and that we should be troubled nomore by his visitations.