CHAPTER XXIV
THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE QUARREL
Alan and I were put across Loch Errocht under cloud of night, and wentdown its eastern shore to another hiding-place near the head of LochRannoch, whither we were led by one of the gillies from the Cage. Thisfellow carried all our luggage and Alan's great-coat in the bargain,trotting along under the burthen, far less than the half of which usedto weigh me to the ground, like a stout hill-pony with a feather; yet hewas a man that, in plain contest, I could have broken on my knee.
Doubtless it was a great relief to walk disencumbered; and perhapswithout that relief, and the consequent sense of liberty and lightness,I could not have walked at all. I was but new risen from a bed ofsickness; and there was nothing in the state of our affairs to heartenme for much exertion; travelling, as we did, over the most dismaldeserts in Scotland, under a cloudy heaven, and with divided heartsamong the travellers.
For long we said nothing; marching alongside or one behind the other,each with a set countenance; I, angry and proud, and drawing whatstrength I had from these two violent and sinful feelings: Alan angryand ashamed,--ashamed that he had lost my money, angry that I shouldtake it so ill.
The thought of a separation ran always the stronger in my mind; and themore I approved of it, the more ashamed I grew of my approval. It wouldbe a fine, handsome, generous thing, indeed, for Alan to turn round andsay to me: "Go; I am in the most danger, and my company only increasesyours." But for me to turn to the friend who certainly loved me, and sayto him: "You are in great danger, I am in but little; your friendship isa burden; go, take your risks and bear your hardships alone----" no,that was impossible; and even to think of it privily to myself made mycheeks to burn.
And yet Alan had behaved like a child, and (what is worse) a treacherouschild. Wheedling my money from me while I lay half-conscious was scarcebetter than theft; and yet here he was, trudging by my side, without apenny to his name, and, by what I could see, quite blithe to sponge uponthe money he had driven me to beg. True, I was ready to share it withhim; but it made me rage to see him count upon my readiness.
These were the two things uppermost in my mind; and I could open mymouth upon neither without black ungenerosity. So I did the next worst,and said nothing, nor so much as looked once at my companion, save withthe tail of my eye.
At last, upon the other side of Loch Errocht, going over a smooth, rushyplace, where the walking was easy, he could bear it no longer, and cameclose to me.
"David," says he, "this is no way for two friends to take a smallaccident. I have to say that I'm sorry; and so that's said. And now ifyou have anything, ye'd better say it."
"O," says I, "I have nothing."
He seemed disconcerted; at which I was meanly pleased.
"No," said he, with rather a trembling voice, "but when I say I was toblame?"
"Why, of course, ye were to blame," said I coolly; "and you will bear meout that I have never reproached you."
"Never," says he; "but ye ken very well that ye've done worse. Are we topart? Ye said so once before. Are ye to say it again? There's hills andheather enough between here and the two seas, David; and I will own I'mno' very keen to stay where I'm no' wanted."
This pierced me like a sword, and seemed to lay bare my privatedisloyalty.
"Alan Breck!" I cried; and then: "Do you think I am one to turn my backon you in your chief need? You durstn't say it to my face. My wholeconduct's there to give the lie to it. It's true, I fell asleep upon themuir; but that was from weariness, and you do wrong to cast it up tome----"
"Which is what I never did," said Alan.
"But aside from that," I continued, "what have I done that you shouldeven me to dogs by such a supposition? I never yet failed a friend, andit's not likely I'll begin with you. There are things between us that Ican never forget, even if you can."
"I will only say this to ye, David," said Alan, very quietly, "that Ihave long been owing ye my life, and now I owe ye money. Ye should tryto make that burden light for me."
This ought to have touched me, and in a manner it did, but the wrongmanner. I felt I was behaving badly; and was now not only angry withAlan, but angry with myself in the bargain; and it made me the morecruel.
"You asked me to speak," said I. "Well, then, I will. You own yourselfthat you have done me a disservice; I have had to swallow an affront: Ihave never reproached you, I never named the thing till you did. And nowyou blame me," cried I, "because I canna laugh and sing as if I was gladto be affronted. The next thing will be that I'm to go down upon myknees and thank you for it! Ye should think more of others, Alan Breck.If ye thought more of others, ye would perhaps speak less aboutyourself; and when a friend that likes you very well has passed over anoffence without a word, you would be blithe to let it lie, instead ofmaking it a stick to break his back with. By your own way of it, it wasyou that was to blame; then it shouldna be you to seek the quarrel."
"Aweel," said Alan, "say nae mair."
And we fell back into our former silence; and came to our journey's end,and supped, and lay down to sleep, without another word.
The gillie put us across Loch Rannoch in the dusk of the next day, andgave us his opinion as to our best route. This was to get us up at onceinto the tops of the mountains: to go round by a circuit, turning theheads of Glen Lyon, Glen Lochay, and Glen Dochart, and come down uponthe lowlands by Kippen and the upper waters of the Forth. Alan waslittle pleased with a route which led us through the country of hisblood-foes, the Glenorchy Campbells. He objected that, by turning to theeast, we should come almost at once among the Athole Stewarts, a race ofhis own name and lineage, although following a different chief, and comebesides by a far easier and swifter way to the place whither we werebound. But the gillie, who was indeed the chief man of Cluny's scouts,had good reasons to give him on all hands, naming the force of troops inevery district, and alleging finally (as well as I could understand)that we should nowhere be so little troubled as in a country of theCampbells.
Alan gave way at last, but with only half a heart. "It's one of thedowiest countries in Scotland," said he. "There's naething there that Iken, but heath, and crows, and Campbells. But I see that ye're a man ofsome penetration; ind be it as ye please!"
We set forth accordingly by this itinerary; and for the best part ofthree nights travelled on eerie mountains and among the well-heads ofwild rivers; often buried in mist, almost continually blown and rainedupon, and not once cheered by any glimpse of sunshine. By day, we layand slept in the drenching heather; by night, incessantly clambered uponbreakneck hills and among rude crags. We often wandered; we were oftenso involved in fog, that we must lie quiet till it lightened. A fire wasnever to be thought of. Our only food was drammach and a portion ofcold meat that we had carried from the Cage; and as for drink, Heavenknows we had no want of water.
This was a dreadful time, rendered the more dreadful by the gloom of theweather and the country. I was never warm; my teeth chattered in myhead; I was troubled with a very sore throat, such as I had on the isle;I had a painful stitch in my side, which never left me; and when I sleptin my wet bed, with the rain beating above and the mud oozing below me,it was to live over again in fancy the worst part of my adventures--tosee the tower of Shaws lit by lightning, Ransome carried below on themen's backs, Shuan dying on the round-house floor, or Colin Campbellgrasping at the bosom of his coat. From such broken slumbers I would bearoused in the gloaming, to sit up in the same puddle where I had slept,and sup cold drammach; the rain driving sharp in my face or running downmy back in icy trickles; the mist enfolding us like as in a gloomychamber--or, perhaps, if the wind blew, falling suddenly apart andshowing us the gulf of some dark valley where the streams were cryingaloud.
The sound of an infinite number of rivers came up from all round. Inthis steady rain the springs of the mountain were broken up; every glengushed water like a cistern; every stream was in high spate, and hadfilled and overflowed its channel. During our night tramps, it
wassolemn to hear the voice of them below in the valleys, now booming likethunder, now with an angry cry. I could well understand the story of theWater Kelpie, that demon of the streams, who is fabled to keep wailingand roaring at the ford until the coming of the doomed traveller. Alan,I saw, believed it, or half believed it; and when the cry of the riverrose more than usually sharp, I was little surprised (though, of course,I would still be shocked) to see him cross himself in the manner of theCatholics.
During all these horrid wanderings we had no familiarity, scarcely eventhat of speech. The truth is that I was sickening for my grave, which ismy best excuse. But besides that, I was of an unforgiving dispositionfrom my birth, slow to take offence, slower to forget it, and nowincensed both against my companion and myself. For the best part of twodays he was unweariedly kind; silent, indeed, but always ready to help,and always hoping (as I could very well see) that my displeasure wouldblow by. For the same length of time I stayed in myself, nursing myanger, roughly refusing his services, and passing him over with my eyesas if he had been a bush or a stone.
The second night, or rather the peep of the third day, found us upon avery open hill, so that we could not follow our usual plan and lie downimmediately to eat and sleep. Before we had reached a place of shelter,the grey had come pretty clear, for, though it still rained, the cloudsran higher; and Alan, looking in my face, showed some marks of concern.
"Ye had better let me take your pack," said he, for perhaps the ninthtime since we had parted from the scout beside Loch Rannoch.
"I do very well, I thank you," said I, as cold as ice.
Alan flushed darkly. "I'll not offer it again," he said. "I'm not apatient man, David."
"I never said you were," said I, which was exactly the rude, sillyspeech of a boy of ten.
Alan made no answer at the time, but his conduct answered for him.Henceforth, it is to be thought, he quite forgave himself for the affairat Cluny's; cocked his hat again, walked jauntily, whistled airs, andlooked at me upon one side with a provoking smile.
The third night we were to pass through the western end of the countryof Balquhidder. It came clear and cold, with a touch in the air likefrost, and a northerly wind that blew the clouds away and made the starsbright. The streams were full, of course, and still made a great noiseamong the hills; but I observed that Alan thought no more upon theKelpie, and was in high good spirits. As for me, the change of weathercame too late; I had lain in the mire so long that (as the Bible hasit) my very clothes "abhorred me"; I was dead weary, deadly sick andfull of pains and shiverings; the chill of the wind went through me, andthe sound of it confused my ears. In this poor state I had to bear frommy companion something in the nature of a persecution. He spoke a gooddeal, and never without a taunt. "Whig" was the best name he had to giveme. "Here," he would say, "here's a dub for ye to jump, my Whiggie! Iken you're a fine jumper!" And so on; all the time with a gibing voiceand face.
I knew it was my own doing, and no one else's; but I was too miserableto repent. I felt I could drag myself but little farther; pretty soon, Imust lie down and die on these wet mountains like a sheep or a fox, andmy bones must whiten there like the bones of a beast. My head was light,perhaps; but I began to love the prospect, I began to glory in thethought of such a death, alone in the desert, with the wild eaglesbesieging my last moments. Alan would repent then, I thought; he wouldremember, when I was dead, how much he owed me, and the remembrancewould be torture. So I went like a sick, silly, and bad-heartedschoolboy, feeding my anger against a fellow-man, when I would have beenbetter on my knees, crying on God for mercy. And at each of Alan'staunts I hugged myself. "Ah!" thinks I to myself, "I have a better tauntin readiness; when I lie down and die, you will feel it like a buffet inyour face; ah, what a revenge! ah, how you will regret your ingratitudeand cruelty!"
All the while, I was growing worse and worse. Once I had fallen, my legssimply doubling under me, and this had struck Alan for the moment; but Iwas afoot so briskly, and set off again with such a natural manner, thathe soon forgot the incident. Flushes of heat went over me, and thenspasms of shuddering. The stitch in my side was hardly bearable. At lastI began to feel that I could trail myself no farther: and with that,there came on me all at once the wish to have it out with Alan, let myanger blaze, and be done with my life in a more sudden manner. He hadjust called me "Whig." I stopped.
"Mr. Stewart," said I, in a voice that quivered like a fiddle-string,"you are older than I am, and should know your manners. Do you think iteither very wise or very witty to cast my politics in my teeth? Ithought, where folk differed, it was the part of gentlemen to differcivilly; and if I did not, I may tell you I could find a better tauntthan some of yours."
Alan had stopped opposite to me, his hat cocked, his hands in hisbreeches pockets, his head a little on one side. He listened, smilingevilly, as I could see by the starlight; and when I had done he began towhistle a Jacobite air. It was the air made in mockery of General Cope'sdefeat at Prestonpans:--
"Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin' yet? And are your drums a-beatin' yet?"
And it came in my mind that Alan, on the day of that battle, had beenengaged upon the royal side.
"Why do ye take that air, Mr. Stewart?" said I. "Is that to remind meyou have been beaten on both sides?"
The air stopped on Alan's lips. "David!" said he.
"But it's time these manners ceased," I continued; "and I mean you shallhenceforth speak civilly of my King and my good friends the Campbells."
"I am a Stewart----" began Alan.
"O!" says I, "I ken ye bear a king's name. But you are to remember,since I have been in the Highlands, I have seen a good many of thosethat bear it; and the best I can say of them is this, that they would benone the worse of washing."
"Do you know that you insult me?" said Alan, very low.
"I am sorry for that," said I, "for I am not done; and if you distastethe sermon, I doubt the pirliecue[29] will please you as little. Youhave been chased in the field by the grown men of my party; it seems apoor kind of pleasure to outface a boy. Both the Campbells and the Whigshave beaten you; you have run before them like a hare. It behoves you tospeak of them as of your betters."
Alan stood quite still, the tails of his great-coat clapping behind himin the wind.
"This is a pity," he said at last. "There are things said that cannot bepassed over."
"I never asked you to," said I. "I am as ready as yourself."
"Ready?" said he.
"Ready," I repeated. "I am no blower and boaster like some that I couldname. Come on!" And drawing my sword, I fell on guard as Alan himselfhad taught me.
"David!" he cried. "Are ye daft? I canna draw upon ye, David. It's fairmurder."
"That was your look-out when you insulted me," said I.
"It's the truth!" cried Alan, and he stood for a moment, wringing hismouth in his hand like a man in sore perplexity. "It's the bare truth,"he said, and drew his sword. But before I could touch his blade withmine, he had thrown it from him and fallen to the ground. "Na, na," hekept saying, "na, na--I canna, I canna."
At this the last of my anger oozed all out of me; and I found myselfonly sick, and sorry, and blank, and wondering at myself. I would havegiven the world to take back what I had said; but a word once spoken,who can recapture it? I minded me of all Alan's kindness and courage inthe past, how he had helped and cheered and borne with me in our evildays; and then recalled my own insults, and saw that I had lost for everthat doughty friend. At the same time, the sickness that hung upon meseemed to redouble, and the pang in my side was like a sword forsharpness. I thought I must have swooned where I stood.
This it was that gave me a thought. No apology could blot out what Ihad said; it was needless to think of one, none could cover the offence;but where an apology was vain, a mere cry for help might bring Alan backto my side. I put my pride away from me. "Alan!" I said; "if you cannahelp me, I must just die here."
He started up sitting, and looked at me. br />
"It's true," said I. "I'm by with it. O let me get into the bield of ahouse--I can die there easier." I had no need to pretend; whether Ichose or not, I spoke in a weeping voice that would have melted a heartof stone.
"Can ye walk?" asked Alan.
"No," said I, "not without help. This last hour my legs have beenfainting under me; I've a stitch in my side like a red-hot iron; I cannabreathe right. If I die, ye'll can forgive me, Alan? In my heart I likedye fine--even when I was the angriest."
"Wheesht, wheesht!" cried Alan. "Dinna say that! David man, ye ken----"He shut his mouth upon a sob. "Let me get my arm about ye," hecontinued; "that's the way! Now lean upon me hard. Gude kens wherethere's a house! We're in Balwhidder, too; there should be no want ofhouses, no, nor friends' houses here. Do ye gang easier so, Davie?"
"Ay," said I, "I can be doing this way"; and I pressed his arm with myhand.
Again he came near sobbing. "Davie," said he, "I'm no' a right man atall; I have neither sense nor kindness; I couldna remember ye were justa bairn, I couldna see ye were dying on your feet; Davie, ye'll have totry and forgive me."
"O man, let's say no more about it!" said I. "We're neither one of us tomend the other--that's the truth! We must just bear and forbear, manAlan.--O but my stitch is sore! Is there nae house?"
"I'll find a house to ye, David," he said stoutly. "We'll follow downthe burn, where there's bound to be houses. My poor man, will ye no' bebetter on my back?"
"O Alan," says I, "and me a good twelve inches taller?"
"Ye're no such a thing," cried Alan, with a start. "There may be atrifling matter of an inch or two; I'm no' saying I'm just exactly whatye would call a tall man, whatever; and I daresay," he added, his voicetailing off in a laughable manner, "now when I come to think of it, Idaresay ye'll be just about right. Ay, it'll be a foot, or near-hand; ormaybe even mair!"
It was sweet and laughable to hear Alan eat his words up in the fear ofsome fresh quarrel. I could have laughed, had not my stitch caught me sohard; but if I had laughed, I think I must have wept too.
"Alan," cried I, "what makes ye so good to me? What makes ye care forsuch a thankless fellow?"
"'Deed, and I don't know," said Alan. "For just precisely what I thoughtI liked about ye was that ye never quarrelled;--and now I like yebetter!"
FOOTNOTE:
[29] A second sermon.