John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER V

  COUSINLY AFFECTION

  It was near midday before I started, so that night I got no farther thanthe town of Hamilton, but lay at the inn there. The next morning I leftbetimes, thinking to reach Barns in the afternoon. As I rode along thegreen sward by the side of Clyde, the larks were singing in the sky andthe trout were plashing in the waters, and all the world was gay. Theapple orchards sent their blossom across the road, and my hat brushed itdown in showers on my horse and myself, so that soon we rode in a mailof pink and white. I plucked a little branch and set it in my hat, andsang all the songs I knew as I cantered along. I cried good-day to everyman, and flung money to the little children who shouted as I passed, sothat I believe if there had been many more boys on the road I would havereached Tweeddale a beggar. At Crossford, where the Nethan meets theClyde, I met a man who had been to the salmon-fishing and had caught abig salmon-trout; and as I looked, my old love for the sport awokewithin me, and I longed to feel a rod in my hand. It was good to bealive, to taste the fresh air, to feel the sun and wind, and I cried aplague on all close lecture-rooms and musty books.

  At Lanark I had a rare dinner at the hostel there. The grey old inn hadexcellent fare, as I knew of old, so I rode up to the door and demandedits best. It was blessed to see a man obey your words after for manymonths being a servant of others. I had a dish of well-fed trout and apiece of prime mutton and as good claret, I think, as I have evertasted. Then I rode over Lanark Moor to Hyndford and through the moorof Carmichael and under the great shadow of Tintock. Here the smell ofburning heather came to my nostrils, and so dear and homelike did itseem that I could have wept for very pleasure. The whaups and snipewere making a fine to-do on the bent, and the black-faced sheep grazedin peace. At the top of the knowe above Symington I halted, for therebefore my eyes were the blue hills of Tweeddale. There was Trehenna andthe hills above Broughton, and Drummelzier Law and Glenstivon Dod, andnearer, the great Caerdon; and beyond all a long blue back which I knewcould be none other than the hill of Scrape which shadowed Dawyck and mylady.

  I came to Barns at three o'clock in the afternoon, somewhat stiff frommy ride, but elated with my home-coming. It was with strange feelingsthat I rode up the long avenue of beeches, every one of which I couldhave told blindfold. The cattle looked over the palings at me as ifglad to see me return. Maisie cocked up her ears at the hares in thegrass, and sniffed the hill air as if she had been in a prison for manydays. And when I came to the bend of the road and saw the oldweatherbeaten tower, my heart gave a great leap within me, for weTweeddale men dearly love our own countryside, doubtless by reason ofits exceeding beauty.

  As I rode up Tam Todd came out from the back, and seeing me, let fallthe water which he was carrying and ran to my side.

  "Eh, Maister John," said he, "I'm blithe to see ye back, sae braw andgenty-like. My airm's fair like timmer wi' stiffness for want o' thebacksword play, and the troots in Tweed are turned as thick as peas forwant o' you to haul them oot; and twae mornings last week there weredeer keekin' in at the front-door as tame as kittlins. There's muckleneed o' ye at hame."

  He would have gone on in this strain for an hour, had I not cut himshort by asking for my father.

  "Middlin', just middlin'. He misses ye sair. He'll scarce gangout-doors noo, but he'll be a' richt gin he sees ye again. Oh, and I'vesomething mair to tell ye. That wanchancy cousin o' yours, MaisterGilbert, cam yestreen, and he'll be bidin' till the deil kens when.I'se warrant he's at meat wi' the auld maister the noo, for he cam infrae the hills geyan hungry."

  Now at this intelligence I was not over-pleased. My cousin was a greatman and a gentleman, but never at any time over-friendly to me, and Iknew that to my father he was like salt in the mouth. I blamed theill-luck which had sent him to Barns on the very day of my home-coming.I needs must be on my dignity in his company, for he was quick to findmatter for laughter, and it was hard that he should come at the timewhen I longed so eagerly for the free ways of the house. However, therewas no help for it, I reflected, and went in.

  In the passage I met Jean Morran, my old nurse, who had heard the soundof voices, and come out to see who the newcomer might be. "MaisterJohn, Maister John, and is't yoursel'? It's a glad day for the house o'Barns when you come back"; and when I gave her the shawl-pin I hadbrought her from Glasgow, she had scarce any words to thank me with. So,knowing that my father would be in the dining-hall with his guest, Iopened the door and walked in unbidden.

  My father sat at the head of the long oak table which had been scouredto a light-brown and shone like polished stone. Claret, his favouritedrink, was in a tankard by his elbow, and many wines decked the board.Lower down sat my cousin, gallantly dressed in the fashion of the times,with a coat of fine Spanish leather and small-clothes of some rich darkstuff. His plumed hat and riding cloak of purple velvet lay on thesettle at his side. His brown hair fell over his collar and shouldersand well set off his strong, brown face. He sat after the fashion of asoldier, on the side of his chair half-turned away from the table, andevery now and then he would cast a piece of meat to Pierce, my oldhound, who lay stretched by the fireplace.

  My father turned round as I entered, and when he saw me his face glowedwith pleasure. Had we been alone we should have met otherwise, but itis not meet to show one's feelings before a stranger, even though thatstranger be one of the family. He contented himself with lookingeagerly upon me and bidding me welcome in a shaking voice. I markedwith grief that his eye did not seem so keen and brave as before, andthat he was scarce able to rise from his chair.

  My cousin half arose and made me a grand bow in his courtly fashion.

  "Welcome, my dear cousin," said he. "I am glad to see that your studieshave had little effect on your face." (I was flushed with hard riding.)"You look as if you had just come from a campaign. But fall to. Hereare prime fish which I can commend; and venison, also good, though Ihave had better. Here, too, is wine, and I drink to your success, mylearned cousin"; and he filled his glass and drank it at a gulp. Hespoke in a half-bantering tone, though his words were kindly. Ianswered him briskly.

  "I had little thought to find you here, Gilbert, but I am right glad tosee you. You are prospering mightily, I hear, and will soon beforgetting your poor cousins of Barns"; and after a few more words I setmyself to give my father a history of my doings at Glasgow College.Again, had we been alone, I should have told him my causes for leavingand my wishes for my after life, but since my cousin was present, whohad ever a sharp tongue, I judged it better to say nothing.

  I told my father all that I could think of, and then asked how he hadfared in my absence, for I had had but few letters, and what of note hadhappened at Barns.

  "Ay, John," he said, "I'm an old man. I fear that my life here will beshort. I scarce can get outside without Tam Todd to lean on, and I havelittle sleep o' nights. And John, I could wish that you would bide athome now, for I like to see you beside me, and you'll have learned allthe folk of Glasgow have to teach you. I once wished you a soldier, butI am glad now that I let the thing blow by, for I would have caredlittle to have you coming here but once in the six months, for a flyingvisit."

  "Nay, uncle," said my cousin, "you do not put the matter fairly. Formyself, I believe there is none busier in Scotland than I, but, Gad, Ihave always time to slip home to Eaglesham for a day or more. But myfather would care little though he never saw me but once in the year,for each time I go back I get a long sermon on my conduct, with myexpenses for the year as a text, till I am fairly driven out of thehouse for peace."

  At this my father laughed. "Ay, ay," said he, "that's like my brotherGilbert. He was always a hard man at the siller. Man, I mind when wewere both the terrors o' the place, but all the while not a thing wouldhe do, if it meant the loss of a bodle. Pity but I had taken after himin that, and John would have been better supplied to-day."

  "Oh," I answered, "I have all
I need and more."

  Hereupon my cousin spoke with a sneer in his voice. "A groat is enoughfor a scholar, but the soldier must have a crown. Your scholar, asdoubtless John can tell, is content if he have a sad-coloured suit, somemusty books, and a stoup of bad wine; but your fine gentleman must havehis horses and servants, and dress himself like his quality for all themaids to stare at, and have plenty of loose silver to fling to thegaping crowd; and he is a poor fellow indeed if he do not eat and drinkthe best that each tavern can give. As for me, I would as soon be aclown in the fields as a scholar, with apologies to my cousin"; and hemade me another of his mocking bows.

  I answered as gently as I could that gentrice did not consist indaintiness of eating and drinking or boisterous display, and that in myopinion nothing gave so fine a flavour to gentility as a tincture ofletters; but my father changed the conversation by asking Gilbert whathe had been after that day.

  "'Faith, it would be hard to say," said he. "I got a gun from thatlong-legged, sour-faced groom and went up the big hill above the treesto have a shot at something. I killed a couple of hares and sprung anold muirfowl; but the day grew warm and I thought that the wood wouldmake a pleasant shade, so I e'en turned my steps there and went to sleepbelow a great oak, and dreamed that I ran a man through the bowels forchallenging my courage. It was an ill-omened dream, and I expected tomeet with some mishap to account for it ere I got back, but I sawnothing except a lovely girl plucking primroses by the water side.Zounds, Jock, what a fool you must be never to have found out thisbeauty! She had hair like gold and eyes like sapphires. I've seen manya good-looking wench, but never one like her."

  "And what did you do?" I asked, with my heart beating wildly.

  "Do," he laughed. "Your scholar would have passed in silence andwritten odes to her as Venus or Helen for months; whereas I took off mybonnet and made haste to enter into polite conversation. But this girlwould have none of me; she's a rose, I warrant, with a pretty setting ofthorns. She tripped away, and when I made to follow her, became MadamFine-airs at once, and declared that her servants were within easyreach, so I had better have a care of my conduct."

  My father shot a sharp glance at me, and addressed my cousin. "The maidwould be Marjory Veitch, old Sir John's daughter, at Dawyck. He, poorman, has gone to his account, and her brother is abroad, so the poorgirl is lonely enough in that great house. John and she have beenfriends from the time they were children. She has come here, too, and apretty, modest lass she is, though she favours her mother rather thanher father's folk."

  At this intelligence my cousin whistled long and low. "So, so," saidhe, "my scholar has an eye in his head, has he? And Dawyck is not faroff, and--well, no wonder you do not care for the military profession.Though, let me tell you, it is as well for the course of true love thatthere are few cavaliers in this countryside, else Mistress Marjory mighthave higher notions."

  I answered nothing, for, though I loved Marjory well, and thought thatshe loved me, I had never spoken to her on the matter; for fromchildhood we had been comrades and friends. So I did not care to replyon a matter which I regarded as so delicate and uncertain.

  My cousin was a man who grew sorely vexed by receiving no answer fromthe object of his wit; and, perhaps on this account, he went furtherthan he meant in his irritation. "Nay, John," he went on, "you're but asorry fellow at the best, with your tags from the Latin, and your poorspirit. I am one of the meanest of His Majesty's soldiers, but I canoutride you, I can beat you at sword-play, at mark-shooting, at allmanly sports. I can hold my head before the highest in the land; I canmake the vulgar bow before me to the ground. There are no parts of agentleman's equipment in which I am not your better."

  Now, had we been alone, I should not have scrupled to fling the lie inhis teeth, and offer to settle the matter on the spot. But I did notwish to excite my father in his feeble health, so I made no reply beyondsaying that events would show the better man. My father, however, tookit upon himself to defend me. "Peace, Gilbert," he said. "I will nothave my son spoken thus of in my own house. He has as much spirit asyou, I'll warrant, though he is less fond of blowing his own trumpet."I saw with annoyance that my father plainly thought my conduct cowardly,and would have been better pleased had I struck my cousin then andthere. But I knew how cruelly excited he would be by the matter, and,in his weakness, I feared the result. Also, the man was our guest, andmy cousin.

  When we rose from supper I assisted my father in walking to his chair bythe fire; for, though the weather was mild and spring-like, his bloodwas so impoverished that he felt the cold keenly. Then my cousin andmyself strolled out of doors to the green lawn, below which Tweed ranlow and silvery clear. I felt anger against him, yet not so much as Iwould have felt towards another man, had he used the same words; for Iknew Gilbert to be of an absurd boasting nature, which made him do moreevil than he had in his heart. Still my honour, or pride (call it whatyou please), was wounded, and I cast about me for some way to heal it.

  "Gilbert," I said, "we have both done much work to-day, so we are bothabout equally wearied."

  "Maybe," said he.

  "But your horse is fresh, and a good one, as I know; and you are a goodhorseman, as you say yourself. You had much to say about my poorhorsemanship at supper. Will you try a race with me?"

  He looked at me scornfully for a minute. "Nay, there is little honourto be got from that. You knew the ground, and your horse, for all Iknow, may be swifter than mine. It was not of horses I spoke, but ofthe riders."

  "In the race which I offer you," I answered, "we will both start fair.Do you see yon rift in the hill beyond Scrape? It is the Red Syke, along dark hole in the side of the hill. I have never ridden there, forthe ground is rough and boggy, and I have never heard of a horsemanthere since Montrose's rising. Will you dare to ride with me to yonderplace and back?"

  At this my cousin's face changed a little, for he had no liking forbreaking his neck on the wild hills. And now, when I look back on theproposal, it seems a mad, foolhardy one in very truth. But then we wereboth young and spirited, and reckless of our lives.

  "Mount and ride," said he. "I'll be there and back before you arehalf-road, unless, indeed, I have to carry you home."

  Together we went round to the stables, and I saddled a black horse of myfather's, for Maisie had already travelled far that day. The Weasel, wecalled him, for he was long and thin in the flanks, with a small head,and a pointed muzzle. He was viciously ill-tempered, and would allow nogroom to saddle him; but before I had gone to Glasgow I had mounted andridden him bareback up and down the channel of Tweed till he wasdead-beat, and I half-drowned and shaken almost to pieces. Ever sincethis escapade he had allowed me to do what I liked with him; and, thoughI did not find him as pleasant to ride as the incomparable Maisie, yet Iknew his great strength and alertness. My cousin's horse was a goodcavalry charger, strong, but, as I thought, somewhat too heavy in thelegs for great endurance.

  We mounted and rode together out among the trees to the fields whichbordered on the hills. I was sore in the back when I started, but,after the first half-mile, my sprightliness returned, and I felt fit toride over Broad Law. My cousin was in an ill mood, for the sport wasnot to his taste, though he felt bound in honour to justify his words.

  The spur of Scrape, which we came to, was called, by the country people,the Deid Wife, for there an Irish woman, the wife of one of Montrose'scamp followers, had been killed by the folk of the place after the routat Philiphaugh. We had much ado to keep our horses from slipping back,for the loose stones which covered the face of the hill gave a feeblefoothold. The Weasel took the brae like a deer, but my cousin's heavyhorse laboured and panted sorely before it reached the top. Before usstretched the long upland moors, boggy, and cleft with deep ravines,with Scrape on the right, and straight in front, six miles beyond, thegreat broad crest of Dollar Law. Here we separated, my cousin ridingforward, while I thought the road to the left would be the surer. Clearbefore us
lay the Red Syke, an ugly gash, into which the setting sun wasbeginning to cast his beams.

  And now I found myself in a most perilous position. The Weasel's feetwere light and touchy, and he stumbled among the stones and tall heathertill I had sore work to keep my seat. My cousin's horse was of aheavier make, and I could see it galloping gallantly over the brokenground. I cheered my steed with words, and patted his neck, and kept atight hand on the rein. Sometimes we slipped among the shingle, andsometimes stumbled over rocks half-hid in brackens. Then we passed intoa surer place among short, burned heather. The dry twigs gave forth astrange, creaking sound as the horse's feet trod on them, and puffs ofgrey dust and ashes, the sign of the burning, rose at every step. Then,beyond this, we went to a long stretch of crisp mountain grass, pleasantfor both horse and rider. We splashed through little tumbling burns,and waded through pools left by the spring rains. But, of a sudden, theground grew softer, and even the Weasel's light weight could not pass insafety. At one time, indeed, I reined him back just on the brink of atreacherous well-eye, from which neither of us would have returned. Icast a glance at my cousin, who was still ahead; his heavy charger wasfloundering wearily, and he lashed it as if his life were at stake. Thenwe passed the green bog and came to a great peat-moss, full of hags,where the shepherds had been casting peats. Here the riding was moredifficult, for the holes whence the peats had come were often some fivefeet deep, and it was no easy matter to get a horse out of thattreacherous black mud. The Weasel did gallantly, and only once did Idismount, when his hind feet were too deeply sunk to permit him to leap.Beyond me I saw my cousin, riding swiftly, for the middle of the moss,as it chanced, was the firmest and evenest place. We were now scarce ahundred yards from the ravine of the Red Syke, and, even as I looked, Isaw him reach it, rest a second to give his horse breathing-space, andthen turn on his homeward way.

  I came to the place a minute after, and having compassion on my bravehorse, I dismounted, and eased him of my weight for a little. Then Igot on his back again and set off. Gilbert I saw before me, riding, asI thought, in the worst part, and with a fury that must tell sooner orlater on his heavy steed. I had scarce been a moment in the saddle,when, so strange are the ways of horses, the Weasel became aware, forthe first time, of the other in front. Before, it had been a toil forhim, now it became a pleasure, a race, which it lay with his honour towin. He cocked up his wicked, black ears, put down his head, and I feltthe long legs gathering beneath me. I cried aloud with delight, for nowI knew that no horse in Tweeddale could hope to match him when the moodwas on him. He flew over the hags as if he had been in a paddock; heleaped among the hard parts of the green bog, from tussock to tussock,as skilfully as if he had known nothing but mosses all his days. Wecame up with Gilbert at the edge of the rough ground, lashing on hishorse, with his face flushed and his teeth set. We passed him like thewind, and were galloping among the rocks and brackens, while he waspainfully picking his steps. A merciful providence must have watchedover the Weasel's path that day, for never horse ran so recklessly.Among slippery boulders and cruel jagged rocks and treacherous shinglehe ran like a hare. I grew exultant, laughed, and patted his neck. Thesun was setting behind us, and we rode in a broad patch of yellow light.In a trice we were on the brow of the Deid Wife. Down we went, slippingyards at a time, now doubling along the side; sometimes I was almostover the horse's head, sometimes all but off the tail; there was never,since the two daft lairds rode down Horsehope Craig, such a madcap ride.I scarce know how I reached the foot in safety: but reach it I did, androde merrily among the trees till I came to the green meadowlands aboutthe house of Barns. Here I dismounted and waited for my cousin, for Idid not care to have the serving-men laugh at him riding in after me.

  I waited a good half-hour before he appeared. A sorry sight hepresented. His breeches and jerkin had more than one rent in them; hishat was gone; and his face was flushed almost crimson with effort. Hishorse had bleeding knees, and its shoulders shook pitifully.

  "Pardon me, Gilbert," I said in a fit of repentance; "it was a foolishthing in me to lead you such a senseless road. I might have known thatyour horse was too heavy for the work. It was no fault of yours thatyou did not come home before me. I trust that we may forget ourquarrels, and live in friendship, as kinsmen should."

  "Friendship be damned," he cried in a mighty rage.