For another thing, the soldiers had been before me, and by order of the Council had turned the whole gear and plenishing over to find my brother Alexander—which indeed seeing what he had done at Bothwell, we can hardly wonder at. Even the intervention6 of our well-affected7 cousin of Lochinvar could not prevent this. The horses were driven away, the cattle lifted to be provender8 for the King's forces in the parish of Carsphairn and elsewhere. And it would go hard with us—if indeed we should even be permitted to keep the place that had been ours for generations.
My mother was strongly advised that, as I had not been mixed with the outbreaks, it was just scant9 possible that I might make something of an appeal to the Privy10 Council for the continuing of the properties, and the substituting of a fine. I was therefore to ride to Edinburgh with what attendance I could muster11, and with Wat Gordon of Lochinvar to lead me as a bairn by the hand.
But it was with a sad heart and without much pleasure, save in having my father's silver mounted pistols (for I counted myself no mean marksman), that John Meiklewood, Hughie and I rode off from the arched door of the Earlstoun. My mother stood on the step and waved me off with no tear in her eye; and even poor Jean Hamilton, from the window whence she could see the great oak where my brother, her husband, was in hiding, caused a kerchief to show white against the grey wall of Earlstoun. I think the poor feckless bit thing had a sort of kindness for me. But when there was hardly the thickness of an eggshell between her man and death, it was perhaps small wonder that she cherished some jealousy12 of me, riding whither I listed over the wide, pleasant moors13 where the bumble bees droned and the stooping wild birds cried all the livelong day.
At St. John's Clachan of Dalry we were to meet with Wildcat Wat, who was waiting to ride forth14 with us to Edinburgh upon his own ploys15. We dismounted at the inn where John Barbour, honest man, had put out the sign of his profession. It was a low, well-thatched change-house, sitting with its end to the road in the upper part of the village, with good offices and accommodation for man and horse about it—the same hostel16 indeed in which the matter of Rullion Green took its beginning. Wat came down the street with his rapier swinging at his side, his feathered Cavalier hat on his head, and he walked with a grace that became him well. I liked the lad, and sometimes it almost seemed to me that I might be his father, though indeed our years were pretty equal. For being lame17 and not a fighter, neither craving18 ladies' favours, I was the older man, for the years of them that suffer score the lines deeper on a man's brow—and on his heart also.
When Wat Gordon mounted into the saddle with an easy spring his horse bent19 back its head and curveted, biting at his foot. So that I rejoiced to see the brave lad sitting like a dart20, holding his reins21 as I hold my pen, and resting his other hand easily on his thigh22. John Scarlet23, his man-at-arms, mounted and rode behind him; and when I saw them up, methought there was not a pair that could match them in Scotland. Yet I knew that with the pistolets at paces ten or twenty, I was the master of both. And perhaps it was this little scrap24 of consolation25 that made me feel so entirely26 glad to see my cousin look so bright and bonny. Indeed had I been his lass—or one of them, for if all tales be true he had routh of such—I could not have loved better to see him shine in the company of men like the young god Apollo among the immortals27, as the heathens feign28.
At the far end of the village there came one out of a white house and saluted29 us. I knew him well, though I had never before seen him so near. It was Peter McCaskill, the curate of the parish. But, as we of the strict Covenant30 did not hear even the Indulged ministers, it was not likely that we would see much of the curate. Nevertheless I had heard many tales of his sayings and his humours, for our curate was not as most others—dull and truculent31 knaves32 many of them, according to my thinking—the scourings of the North. Peter was, on the other hand, a most humoursome varlet and excellent company on a wet day. Sandy and he used often to take a bottle together when they foregathered at John's in the Clachan; but even the Bull of Earlstoun could not keep steeks or count mutchkins with Peter McCaskill, the curate of Dalry.
On this occasion he stopped and greeted us. He had on him a black coat of formal enough cut, turned green with age and exposure to the weather. I warrant it had never been brushed since he had put it on his back, and there seemed good evidence upon it that he had slept in it for a month at least.
"Whaur gang ye screeving to, young sirs, so brave?" he cried. "Be canny33 on the puir Whiggies. Draw your stick across their hurdies when ye come on them, an' tell them to come to the Clachan o' Dalry, where they will hear a better sermon than ever they gat on the muirs, or my name's no Peter McCaskill."
"How now, Curate," began my cousin, reining34 in his black and sitting at ease, "are you going to take to the hill and put Peden's nose out of joint35?"
"Faith, an' it's my mither's ain son that could fettle that," said the curate. "I'm wae for the puir Whiggies, that winna hear honest doctrine36 an' flee to the hills and hags—nesty, uncanny, cauldrife places that the very muir-fowl winna clock on. Ken38 ye what I was tellin' them the ither day? Na, ye'll no hae heard—it's little desire ye hae for either kirk or Covenant, up aboot the Garryhorn wi' red-wud Lag and headstrong John Graham. Ye need as muckle to come and hear Mess John pray as the blackest Whig o' them a'!"
"Indeed, we do not trouble you much, Curate," laughed my cousin; "but here is my cousin Will of Earlstoun," he said, waving his hand to me, "and he is nearly as good as a parson himself, and can pray by screeds."
Which was hardly a just thing to say, for though I could pray and read my Bible too when I listed, I did not trouble him or any other with the matter. Cain, indeed, had something to say for himself—for it is a hard thing to be made one's brother's keeper. There are many ways that may take me to the devil. But, I thank God, officiousness in other men's matters shall not be one of them.
"He prays, does he?" quoth McCaskill, turning his shaggy eyebrows39 on me. "Aweel, I'll pray him ony day for a glass o' John's best. Peter McCaskill needs neither read sermon nor service-book. He leaves sic-like at hame, and the service ye get at his kirk is as guid and godly as gin auld37 Sandy himsel' were stelled up in a preaching tent an' thretty wizzened plaided wives makkin' a whine40 in the heather aneath!"
"How do you and the other Peter up the way draw together?" asked my cousin.
The curate snapped his fingers.
"Peter Pearson o' Carsphairn—puir craitur, he's juist fair daft wi' his ridin' an' his schemin'. He will hear a pluff o' pouther gang blaff at his oxter some fine day, that he'll be the waur o'! An' sae I hae telled him mony's the time. But Margate McCaskill's son is neither a Whig hunter nor yet as this daft Peter Pearson. He bides41 at hame an' minds his glebe. But for a' that I canna control the silly fowk. I was fearin' them the ither day," he went on. "I gied it oot plain frae the pulpit that gin they didna come as far as the kirkyaird at ony rate, I wad tak' no more lees on my conscience for their sakes. I hae plenty o' my ain to gar me fry. 'But,' says I, 'I'll report ye as attendin' the kirk, gin ye walk frae yae door o' the kirk to the ither withoot rinnin'. Nae man can say fairer nor that.'"
"An' what said ye next, Curate?" asked my cousin, for his talk amused us much, and indeed there were few merry things in these sad days.
"Ow," said Peter McCaskill, "I juist e'en said to them, 'Black be your fa'. Ye are a' off to the hills thegither. Hardly a tyke or messan but's awa' to Peden to get her whaulpies named at the Holy Linn! But I declare to ye a', what will happen in this parish. Sorra gin I dinna inform on ye, an' then ye'll be a' eyther shot or hangit before Yule!' That's what I said to them!"
Wat Gordon laughed, and I was fain to follow suit, for it was a common complaint that the curate of Dalry was half a Whig himself. And, indeed, had he not been ever ready to drink a dozen of Clavers's officers under the table, and clout42 the head of the starkest43 carle in his troop, it might have gone ill with him more than once.
"But I hae a bit sma' request to make of ye, Walter Gordon o' Lochinvar an' Gordiestoun," said the curate.
"Haste ye," said Wat, "for ye hae taigled us overly long already."
"An' it's this," said the curate, "I hae to ride to Edinburgh toon, there to tell mair lees than I am likely to be sained o' till I am a bishop44 an' can lee wi' a leecence. But it's the Privy Council's wull, an' sae I maun e'en lee. That tearin' blackguard, Bob Grier, has written to them that I am better affected to the Whigs than to the troopers of Garryhorn, and I am behoved to gang and answer for it."
"Haste ye, then, and ride with us," cried Walter, whose horse had stood long enough. "We ride toward the Nith with Colonel Graham, and after that to Edinburgh."
So in a little the curate was riding stoutly45 by our side. We were to travel by Dumfries and Lockerbie into Eskdale, whither Claverhouse had preceded us, obeying an urgent call from his acquaintance, Sir James Johnstone of Westerhall, who was still more eager to do the King's will than he—though, to begin with, he had been a Covenant man, and that of some mark too. But the fear of fines, and the bad example of his neighbours ever before his eyes, had brought out the hidden cruelty of the man. So now he rode at Claverhouse's bridle-rein, and the pair of them held black counsel on the state of the country. But the mood of Claverhouse was, at worst, only that of military severity, without heart of ruth or bowels46 of mercy indeed; but that of Westerhall was rather of roystering and jubilant brutality47, both of action and intent.
So we rode and we better rode till we came to Eskdale, where we found Westerhall in his own country. Now I could see by the behaviour of the soldiers as we went, that some of them had small good will to the kind of life they led, for many of them were of the country-side and, as it seemed, were compelled to drive and harry48 their own kith and kin3. This they covered with a mighty49 affectation of ease, crying oaths and curses hither and thither50 tempestuously51 behind their leaders—save only when John Graham rode near by, a thing which more than anything made them hold their peace, lest for discipline's sake he should bid them be silent, with a look that would chill their marrows52.
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1
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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2
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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3
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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4
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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6
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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7
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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8
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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9
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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10
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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11
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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12
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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13
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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15
ploys
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| n.策略，手法( ploy的名词复数 ) | |
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16
hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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17
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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18
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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19
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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20
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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21
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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22
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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23
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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24
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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26
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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27
immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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28
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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29
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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30
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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31
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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32
knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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33
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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34
reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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35
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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36
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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37
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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38
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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39
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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40
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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41
bides
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| v.等待，停留( bide的第三人称单数 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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42
clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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43
starkest
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| （指区别）明显的( stark的最高级 )； 完全的； 了无修饰的； 僵硬的 | |
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44
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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45
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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46
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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47
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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48
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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49
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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50
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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51
tempestuously
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| adv.剧烈地，暴风雨似地 | |
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52
marrows
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| n.骨髓（marrow的复数形式） | |
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