The Men of the Moss-Hags

  CHAPTER III.

  GAY GARLAND COMES HOME SADDLE EMPTY.

  The night of the twenty-second of June, 1679, shall never be forgottenamong us while Earlstoun House stands. It was the eve of the day whereonbefell the weary leaguer of Bothwell when the enemy beset the Brig, andthe good Blue Banner gat fyled and reddened with other dye-stuff thanthe brown moss-water. I mind it well, for I had grown to be man-mucklesince the day on the Tinklers' Loup. After a day of heat there fell anight like pitch. A soughing wind went round the house and round thehouse, whispering and groping, like a forlorn ghost trying to find hisway within.

  If there was a shut eye in the great House of Earlstoun that night, itwas neither mine nor my mother's. We lay and thought of them that wereover the hill, striving for the Other King and the good cause. And ourthoughts were prayers, though there was none to "take the Book" inEarlstoun that night, for I was never gifted that way. So we beddedwithout sound of singing or voice of prayer, though I think JeanHamilton had done it for the asking.

  I lay in my naked bed and listened all the night with unshut eye. Icould hear in my mother's room the boards creak as she rose everyquarter hour and looked out into the rayless dark. Maisie Lennox of theDuchrae, old Anton's daughter, now a well grown lass, lay with her. AndSandy's young wife, Jean Hamilton, with her sucking bairn, was in thelittle angled chamber that opens off the turret stair near by.

  It befell at the back of one, or mayhap betwixt that and two, that therecame a sound at the nether door that affrighted us all.

  "Rise, William! Haste ye," cried my mother with great eagerness in hervoice, coming to my door in the dark. "Your father is at the netherdoor, new lichted doon from off Gay Garland. Rise an' let him in!"

  And as I sat up on my elbow and hearkened, I heard as clearly as now Ihear the clock strike, the knocking of my father's riding-boots on thestep of the outer door. For it was ever his wont, when he came that way,to knap his toes on the edge of the step, that the room floorings mightnot be defiled with the black peat soil which is commonest about theEarlstoun. I have heard my father tell it a thousand times in hispleasantry, how it was when my mother was a bride but newly come homeand notionate, that she learned him these tricks. For otherwise his wayswere not dainty, but rather careless--and it might be, even rough.

  So, as I listened, I heard very clear outside the house the knocking ofmy father's feet, and the little hoast he always gave before he tirledat the pin to be let in, when he rode home late from Kirkcudbright.Hearing which we were greatly rejoiced, and I hasted to draw on myknee-breeks, crying "Bide a wee, faither, an' briskly I'll be wi' ye tolet ye in!"

  For I was a little lame, halting on one foot ever since the affair ofTinkler Marshall, though I think not to any noticeable extent.

  My mother at the door of her chamber cried, "Haste ye, William, or Imust run mysel'!"

  For my father had made her promise that she would not go out of herchamber to meet him at the return, being easily touched in her breastwith the night air.

  So I hasted and ran down as I was, with my points all untied, and setwide open the door.

  "Faither!" I cried as I undid the bolt and pushed the leaves of the doorabroad, "Faither, ye are welcome hame!" And I could hear my motherlistening above, for his foot over the threshold. Yet he came notwithin, which was a wonder to me. So I went out upon the step of thenether door, but my father was not there. Only the same strange chillwind went round the house, soughing and moaning blindly as before, and asmoor of white fog blew like muirburn past the door.

  Then my hair rose upon my head and the skin of my brow pricked, becauseI knew that strange portents were abroad that night.

  "What for does your faither no come ben the hoose to me?" cried mymother impatiently from the stairhead. I could hear her clasping andunclasping her hands, for my ears are quick at taking sounds.

  "I think he must be gone to the stable with Gay Garland, to stall himbeside Philiphaugh," I answered, for so my father's old white horse wasnamed, because in his young days my father had been at that place on theday when Montrose and his Highlandmen got their settling. This is what Isaid to my mother, but indeed my thought was far other.

  I lifted a loaded pistol that lay ever in the aumrie by the door-cheekand went off in the direction of the stable. The door was shut, but Iundid the pin and went within. _My father was not there._ The horseswere moving restlessly and lifting their feet uneasily as they do on iceor other kittle footing. Then of a truth I knew there was something morethan canny abroad about Earlstoun that night, and that we should hearill news or the morning. And when a bundle of reins slipped from theshelf and fell on my shoulder like a man's hand clapping on me unaware,I cried out like a frighted fowl and dropped almost to the ground. Yetthough I am delicate and not overly well grown in my body, I do notcount myself a coward; even though my brother Sandy's courage be notmine. "Blind-eye, hard-head" was ever his sort, but I love to take mydanger open-eyed and standing up--and as little of it as possible.

  As I went back--which I did instantly, leaving the stable door swingingopen--I heard my mother's voice again. She was calling aloud and thesound of her voice was yearning and full like that of a young woman.

  "William!" she called, and again "William!"

  Now though that is my name I knew full well that it was not to me, herson, that she called. For that is the voice a woman only uses to him whohas been her man, and with her has drunk of the fountain of the joy ofyouth. Once on a time I shot an eagle on the Millyea, and his mate cameand called him even thus, with a voice that was as soft as that of acushie dove crooning in the tall trees in the early summer, till I couldhave wept for sorrow at my deed.

  Then as I went in, I came upon my mother a step or two from the opendoor, groping with her arms wide in the darkness.

  "Oh," she cried, "William, my William, the Lord be thankit!" and sheclasped me to her heart.

  But in a moment she flung me from her.

  "Oh! it's you," she said bitterly, and went within without another word,her harshness jangling on my heart.

  Yet I understood, for my mother was always greatly set on my father. Andonce when in jest we teased her to try her, telling her the story of thepious AEneas, and asking her to prophesy to us which one of us she wouldlift, if so it was that the house of Earlstoun were in a lowe.

  "Faith," said my mother, "I wad tak' your faither on my back, gin a' thelave o' ye had to bide and burn!"

  So it was ever with my mother. She was my father's sweetheart to herlatest hour.

  But when I went in I found her sitting, sheet-white and trembling on thesettle.

  "What's ta'en ye, mither?" I said to her, putting a shawl about her.

  "O my man, my bonny man," she said, "there's nane to steek your e'en thenicht! An' Mary Gordon maun lie her leesome lane for evermair!"

  "Hoot, mither," I said, "speak not so. My faither will come his wayshame i' the mornin' nae doot, wi' a' the lads o' the Kenside clatterin'ahint him. Sandy is wi' him, ye ken."

  "Na," she said calmly enough, but as one who has other informations,"Sandy is no wi' him. Sandy gaed through the battle wi' his heid doonand his sword rinnin' reed. I see them a' broken--a' the pride o' theWest, an' the dragoons are riding here an' there amang them, an' haggin'them doon. But your faither I canna see--I canna see my man----"

  "Mither," I said, mostly, I think, for something to say, "Mind the GuidCause!"

  She flung her hands abroad with a fine gesture as of scorn. "What causeis guid that twines a woman frae her ain man--an' we had been thegitherthree-an'-thirty year!"

  In a little I got her to lie down, but the most simple may understandhow much more sleep there was in Earlstoun that night. Yet though welistened with all our ears, we heard no other sound than just that blindand unkindly wind reestling and soughing about the house, groping at thedoors and trying the lattices. Not a footstep went across the courtyard,not the cry of a bird came over the moors, till behind the barren ridgesof the east the morning broke.


  Then when in the grey and growing light I went down and again opened thedoor, lo! there with his nose against the latchet hasp was Gay Garland,my father's war-horse. He stood and trembled in every limb. He wascovered with the lair of the moss-hags, wherein he had sunk to thegirths. But on his saddle leather, towards the left side, there was abroad splash of blood which had run down to the stirrup iron; and in theholster on that side, where the great pistol ought to have been, a thingyet more fearsome--a man's bloody forefinger, taken off above the secondjoint with a clean drawing cut.

  My mother came down the turret stair, fully dressed, and with hercompany gown upon her. Yet when she saw Gay Garland standing there atthe door with his head between his knees, she did not seem to beastonished or afraid, as she had been during the night. She came near tohim and laid a hand on his neck.

  "Puir beast," she said, "ye have had sore travel. Take him to the stablefor water and corn, and bid Jock o' the Garpel rise."

  The dark shades of the night were flown away, and my mother now spokequietly and firmly as was her wont. Much in times bygone had we spokenabout sufferings in the House of Earlstoun, and, lo! now they were comehome to our own door.