He drove into the yards of the farm-towns, raging like a tiger of the Indies, now calling on the names of the goodman of the house, and now upon other suspected persons. And if they did not run out to him at the first cry, he would strike them on the face with the basket hilt of his shable till the blood gushed3 out. It was a sick and sorry thing to see, and I think his Majesty's troopers were ashamed; all saving the Johnstone's own following, who laughed as at rare sport.
But I come now to tell what I saw with my own eyes of the famous matter of Andrew Herries, which was the cause of my cousin of Lochinvar leaving their company and riding with me and Hugh Kerr all the way to Edinburgh. As, indeed, you shall presently hear. And the manner of its happening was as follows. We were riding full slowly along the edge of a boggy4 loch in the parish of Hutton, and, as usual, quartering the ground for Whig refugees, of whom it was suspected that there were many lurking5 in the neighbourhood. We had obtained no success in our sport, and Westerhall was a wild man. He ran about crying "Blood and wounds!" which was a favourite oath of his, and telling what he would do to those who dared to rebel, and harbour preachers and preachers' brats6 on his estate. For we had heard that the lass who had bearded us on the brae-face by the school, with her little brother Alec in her hand, was the daughter of Roger Allison, a great preacher of the hill-folk who had come to them over from Holland, to draw them together into some of their ancient unity7 and power.
Westerhall, then, knew not as yet in whose house she was dwelling8, but only that she had been received by one of his people. But this, if it should come to Claverhouse's ears, was enough to cause him to set a fine upon the Johnstone—so strict as against landlords were the laws concerning intercommuning with rebels or rebels' children on their estates. This was indeed the cause of so many of the lairds, who at first were all on the side of the Covenant, turning out Malignants and persecutors. And more so in the shire of Dumfries than in Galloway, where the muirs are broader, the King's arm not so long, and men more desperately9 dour10 to drive.
All of a sudden, as we went along the edge of a morass11, we came upon something that stayed us. It was, as I say, in Hutton parish, a very pleasant place, where there is the crying of many muir-fowl, and the tinkle12 of running water everywhere. All at once a questing dragoon held up his arm, and cried aloud. It was the signal that he had found something worthy13 of note. We all rode thither—I, for one, praying that it might not be a poor wanderer, too wearied to run from before the face of the troopers' wide-spreading advance.
However, it was but a newly-made grave in the wilderness14, hastily dug, and most pitifully covered with green fresh-cut turves, in order to give it the look of the surrounding morass. It had very evidently been made during the darkness of the night, and it might have passed without notice then. But now, in the broad equal glare of the noon-tide, it lay confessed for what it was—a poor wandering hill-man's grave in the wild.
"Who made this?" cried Westerhall. "Burn me on the deil's brander, but I'll find him out!"
"Hoot," said Clavers, who was not sharp set that day, perhaps having had enough of Westerhall's dealing15 with the bairns yesterday, "come away, Johnstone; 'tis but another of your Eskdale saints. Ye have no lack of them on your properties, as the King will no doubt remember. What signifies a Whig Johnstone the less? There's more behind every dyke16, and then their chief is aye here, able and willing to pay for them!"
This taunt17, uttered by the insolent18 scorning mouth of Claverhouse, made Westerhall neither to hold nor bind19. Indeed the fear of mulet and fine rode him like the hag of dreams.
"Truth of God!" cried he; for he was a wild and blasphemous20 man, very reckless in his words; "do so to me, and more also, if I rack not their limbs, that gied the clouts21 to wrap him in. I'se burn the bed he lay in, bring doon the rafter and roof-tree that sheltered him—aye, though it were the bonny hoose o' St. Johnstone itsel', an' lay the harbourer of the dead Whig cauld i' the clay, gin it were the mither that bore me! Deil reestle me gin I keep not this vow23."
Now, the most of the men there were upon occasion bonny swearers, not taking lessons in the art from any man; but to the Johnstone they were as children. For, being a runnagate Covenanter, and not accustomed in his youth to swear, he had been at some pains to learn the habit with care, thinking it a necessary accomplishment24 and ornament25 to such as did the King's business, especially to a captain of horse. Which, indeed, it hath ever been held, but in moderation and with discretion26. Westerhall had neither, being the man he was.
"Fetch the Whig dog up!" he commanded.
The men hesitated, for it was a job not at all to their stomachs, as well it might not be that hot day, with the sun fierce upon them overhead.
"Tut, man," said Clavers, "let him lie. What more can ye do but smell him? Is he not where you and I would gladly see all his clan27? Let the ill-favoured Whig be, I say!"
"I shall find out who sheltered him on my land. Howk him up!" cried Westerhall, more than ever set in his mad cruelty at Colonel Graham's words. So to the light of the merciless day they opened out the loose and shallow grave, and came on one wrapped in a new plaid, with winding28 sheets of pure linen29 underneath30. These were all stained and soaked with the black brew31 of the moss32, for the man had been buried, as was usual at the time, hastily and without a coffin33. But the sleuthhound instinct of the Johnstone held good. "Annandale for the hunt, Nithsdale for the market, and Gallowa' for the fecht!" is ever a true proverb.
"Let me see wha's aucht the sheet?" he said.
So with that, Westerhall unwound the corner and held it up to the light.
"Isobel Allison!" he exclaimed, holding the fine linen up to the light, and reading the name inwoven, as was then the custom when a bride did her providing. "The widow Herries, the verra woman—ain dam's sister to the Whig preacher—sant amang the hill-folk. Weel ken34 I the kind o' her. To the hill, lads, and we will burn the randy oot, even as I said. I'll learn the Hutton folk to play wi' the beard o' St. Johnstone."
"Foul35 Annandale thief!" said I, but stilly to myself, for who was I to stand against all of them? Yet I could see that, save and except the chief's own ragged36 tail, there were none of the soldiers that thought this kind of work becoming.
Ere he mounted, Westerhall took the poor, pitiful body, and with his foot despitefully tumbled it into a moss-hole.
"I'll show them what it is to streek dead Whigs like honest men, and row them dainty in seventeen hunder linen on my land!" cried Westerhall.
And indeed it seemed a strange and marvellous Providence37 to me, that young Isobel Allison, when she wove in that name with many hopes and prayers, the blood of her body flushing her cheek with a maiden's shy expectation, should have been weaving in the ruin of her house and the breaking of her heart.
Now the cot of the widow Herries was a bonny place. So I believe, but of its beauty I will not speak. For I never was back that way again—and what is more, I never mean to be.
We came to the gavel end of the house. Westerhall struck it with his sword.
"We'll sune hae this doon!" he said to us that followed. Then louder he cried, "Mistress, are ye within?" as the custom of the country is.
A decent woman with a white widow's cap on her head was scraping out a dish of hen's meat as we rode to the door. When she saw us on our horses about the close, the wooden bowl fell from her hands and played clash on the floor.
"Aye, my bonny woman," quoth Westerhall, "this comes o' keeping Whigs aboot your farm-toon. Whatna Whig rebel was it ye harboured? Oot wi't, Bell Allison! Was it the brither o' ye, that cursed spawn38 o' the low country? Doon on your knees an' tell me, else it is your last hour on the earth."
The poor woman fell on her knees and clasped her hands.
"O Westerha'!" she stammered39, "I'll no lee till ye. It was but a puir Westland man that we kenned40 not the name o'. We fand him i' the fields, and for very God's pity brocht him hame to our door and laid him on the bed. He never spak' 'yea' or 'nay41' to us all the time he abode42 in our hoose-place, and so passed without a word late yestreen."
"Lying Whig!" cried Westerhall, "who was it that found him? Whatna yin o' your rebel sons—chasing up hill and doon dale after your blackguard brither, was it that brocht him hame?"
"I kenna wha it was that brocht him. It was a wee bit lass that fand him when she was playin' i' the moss wi' her brither."
"I ken your wee bit lasses," said Westerhall; "she's a bonny sprig o' that braw plant o' grace, Roger Allison, wha's heid shall yet look blythe on the West Port o' Edinburgh, wi' yin o' his cantin' thief's hands on ilka side o't."
The poor woman said no word, but out from the chamber43 door came our little lass of yesterday and stood beside her.
"Wha's plaidie is this?" again quoth Westerhall, holding up the plaid in which the dead man had been wrapped, like an accusation44 in his hand; "to the hill, boys, and lay hand on this honest woman's honest sons. King Charles wull hae something to say to them, I'm thinkin'."
With that he leapt from his horse, throwing the reins45 to the widow.
"Hae, haud my horse," he said, "an' gin ye stir an inch, ye'll get an ounce o' lead in you, ye auld22 shakin' limb o' Sawtan."
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1
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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2
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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4
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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6
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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7
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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8
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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9
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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15
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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16
dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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17
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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18
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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19
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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20
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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21
clouts
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| n.猛打( clout的名词复数 )；敲打；（尤指政治上的）影响；（用手或硬物的）击v.（尤指用手）猛击，重打( clout的第三人称单数 ) | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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25
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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28
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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29
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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30
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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31
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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32
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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33
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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34
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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35
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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36
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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37
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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38
spawn
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| n.卵，产物，后代，结果；vt.产卵，种菌丝于，产生，造成；vi.产卵，大量生产 | |
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39
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
kenned
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| v.知道( ken的过去式和过去分词 )；懂得；看到；认出 | |
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41
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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42
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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43
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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44
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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45
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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