HOW A MILLER STROVE WITH HIS OWN MILL-WHEEL
I lay that night on the bare moors, with no company save the birds, and no covering save a dry bush of heather. The stars twinkled a myriad miles away, and the night airs blew soft, and I woke in the morning as fresh as if I had lain beneath the finest coverlet on the best of linen. Near me was a great pool in a burn, and there I bathed, splashing to my heart's content in the cold water. Then I ate my breakfast, which was no better than the remnants of the food I had brought away with me the day before from Smitwood; but I gulped it down heartily and hoped for something better. There will be so much complaining, I fear, in my tale ere it is done, that I think it well to put down all my praise of the place and the hours which passed pleasingly.
By this time I was on a little plateau, near the great black hill of Coomb Dod, a place whence three streams flowthe Camps Water and the Coulter Water to the Clyde, and the burn of Kingledoors to Tweed. Now here had I been wise I should at once have gone down the last-named to the upper waters of Tweed near the village of Tweedsmuir, whence I might have come without danger to the wilder hills and the Cor Water hiding-place. But as I stayed there desire came violently upon me to go down to the fair green haughlands about the Holmes Water, which is a stream which rises not far off the Kingledoors burn, but which flows more to the north and enters Tweed in the strath of Drummelzier not above a few miles from Barns itself and almost at the door of Dawyck. There I knew was the greater danger, because it lay on the straight line between Abington and Peebles, a way my cousin Gilbert travelled often in those days. But I was not disposed at that moment to think of gradations of danger; and indeed, after my encounter on the previous afternoon, I was in a haphazard, roystering mood, and would have asked for nothing better than a chance of making holes in my cousin or his company.
Now in Holmes Water glen there dwelled many who would receive me gladly and give me shelter and food if I sought it. There were the Tweedies of Quarter and Glencotho, kin to myself on the mother's side, not to speak of a score of herds whom I had dealings with. But my uppermost reason was to see once more that lovely vale, the fairest, unless it be the Manor, in all the world. It is scarce six miles long, wide at the bottom and set with trees and rich with meadows and cornland, but narrowing above to a long, sinuous green cleft between steep hills. And through it flows the clearest water on earth, wherein dwell the best troutor did dwell, for, as I write, I have not angled in it for many days. I know not how I can tell of the Holmes Water. It tumbles clear and tremulous into dark brown pools. In the shallows it is like sunlight, in the falls like virgin snow. And overall the place hangs a feeling of pastoral quiet and old romance, such as I never knew elsewhere.
Midday found me in the nick of the hill above Glencotho debating on my after course. I had it in my mind to go boldly in and demand aid from my kinsman. But I reflected that matters were not over-pleasant between us at the time. My father had mortally offended him on some occasion (it would be hard to name the Tweedside gentleman whom my father had not mortally angered), and I could scarce remember having heard that the quarrel had been made up. I knew that in any case if I entered they would receive me well for the honour of the name; but I am proud, and like little to go to a place where I am not heartily welcome. So I resolved to go to Francie Smails, the herd's, and from him get direction and provender.
The hut was built in a little turn of the water beneath a high bank. I knocked at the door, not knowing whether some soldier might not come to it, for the dragoons were quartered everywhere. But no one came save Francie himself, a great, godly man who lived alone, and cared not for priest or woman. He cried aloud when he saw me.
"Come in by," he says, "come in quick; this is nae safe place the noo."
And he pulled me in to the hearth, where his mid-day meal was standing. With great good-will he bade me share it, and afterward, since he had heard already of my case and had no need for enlightenment thereon, he gave me his good counsel.
"Ye maunna bide a meenute here," he said. "I'll pit up some cauld braxy and bread for ye, for it's a' I have at this time o' year. Ye maun get oot o' the glen and aff to the hills wi' a' your pith, for some o' Maister Gilbert's men passed this morn on their way to Barns, and they'll be coming back afore nicht. So ye maun be aff, and I counsel ye to tak the taps o' the Wormel and syne cross the water abune the Crook, and gang ower by Talla and Fruid to the Cor. Keep awa' frae the Clyde hills for ony sake, for they're lookit like my ain hill i' the lambin' time; and though it's maybe safer there for ye the noo, in a wee it'll be het eneuch. But what are ye gaun to dae? Ye'll be makkin' a try to win ower the sea, for ye canna skip aboot on thae hills like a paitrick for ever.
"I do not know," said I; "I have little liking for another sea journey, unless all else is hopeless. I will bide in the hills as long as I can, and I cannot think that the need will be long. For I have an inkling, and others beside me, that queer things will soon happen."
"Guid send they dae," said he, and I bade him good-bye. I watched him striding off to the hill, and marvelled at the life ne led. Living from one year's end to another on the barest fare, toiling hard on the barren steeps for a little wage, and withal searching his heart on his long rounds by the canon of the book of God. A strange life and a hard, yet no man knows what peace may come out of loneliness.
Now had I taken his advice I should have been saved one of the most vexatious and hazardous episodes of my life. But I was ever self-willed, and so, my mind being set on going down the Holmes vale, I thought nothing of going near the Wormel, but set off down the bridle way, as if I were a King's privy councillor and not a branded exile.
I kept by the stream till patches of fields began to appear and the roofs of the little clachan. Then I struck higher up on the hillside and kept well in the shade of a little cloud of birk trees which lay along the edge of the slope. It was a glorious sunny day, such as I scarce ever saw surpassed, though I have seen many weathers under many skies. The air was as still and cool as the first breath of morning, though now it was mid-afternoon. All the nearer hills stood out clear-lined and silent; a bird sang in the nigh thicket; sheep bleated from the meadow, and around the place hung the low rustle of the life of the woods.
Soon I came to a spot above the bend of the water near the house called Holmes Mill. There dwelt my very good friend the miller, a man blessed with as choice a taste in dogs as ever I have seen, and a great Whig to bootboth of which tricks he learned from a Westland grandfather. Lockhart was his name, and his folk came from the Lee near the town of Lanark to this green Tweedside vale. From the steading came the sound of life. There was a great rush of water out of the dam. Clearly the miller was preparing for his afternoon's labours. The wish took me strongly to go down and see him, to feel the wholesome smell of grinding corn, and above all to taste his cakes, which I had loved of old. So without thinking more of it, and in utter contempt for the shepherd's warning, I scrambled down, forded the water, and made my way to the house.
Clearly something was going on at the mill, and whatever it was there was a great to-do. Sounds of voices came clear to me from the mill-door, and the rush of the water sang ever in my ears. The miller has summoned his family to help him, thought I: probably it is the lifting of the bags to the mill-loft.
But as I came nearer I perceived that it was not a mere chatter of friendly tongues, but some serious matter. There was a jangling note, a sound as of a quarrel and an appeal. I judged it wise therefore to keep well in the shadow of the wall and to go through the byre and up to the loft by an old way which I remembereda place where one could see all that passed without being seen of any.
And there sure enough was a sight to stagger me. Some four soldiers with unstrung muskets stood in the court, while their horses were tethered to a post. Two held the unhappy miller in their stout grip, and at the back his wife and children were standing in sore grief. I looked keenly at the troopers, and as I looked I remembered all too late the shepherd's words. They were part of my cousin's company, and one I recognised as my old friend Jan Hamman of the Alphen Road and the Cor Water.
The foremost of the soldiers was speaking.
"Whig though you be," said he "you shall hae a chance of life. You look a man o' muscle. I'll tell you what I'll dae. Turn on the sluice and set the mill-wheel gaun, and then haud on to it; and if you can keep it back, your life you shall hae, as sure as my name's Tam Gordon. But gin you let it gang, there'll be four bullets in you afore you're an hour aulder, and a speedy meeting wi' your Maker. Do you wish to mak the trial?"
Now the task was hopeless from the commencement, for big though a man be, and the miller was as broad and high a man as one may see in Tweeddale, he has no chance against a mill-race. But whether he thought the thing possible or whether he wanted to gain a few minutes' respite from death, the man accepted and took off his coat to the task. He opened the sluice and went forward to the wheel.
Soon the water broke over with a rush and the miller gripped a spoke like grim death. For a moment the thing was easy, for it takes some minutes for the water to gather body and force. But in a little it became harder, and the sinews on his bare arms began to swell with the strain. But still he held on valiantly and the wheel moved never an inch. Soon the sweat began to run over his face, and the spray from the resisted water bespattered him plentifully. Then the strain became terrible. His face grew livid as the blood surged to his head, his eyeballs stood out, and his arms seemed like to be torn from their sockets. The soldiers, with the spirit of cruel children, had forgot their weapons, and crowded round the wheel to see the sport.
I saw clearly that he could not hold out much longer, and that unless I wanted to see a friend butchered before my eyes I had better be up and doing. We were two resolute men; I armed and with considerable skill of the sword, he unarmed, but with the strength of a bull. The most dangerous things about our opponents were their weapons. Could I but get between them and their muskets we could make a fight for it yet.
Suddenly as I looked the man failed. With a sob of weariness he loosed his hold. The great wheel caught the stream and moved slowly round, and he almost fell along with it. His tormentors laughed cruelly, and were about to seize him and turn back, when I leaped from the loft window like some bolt from a clear sky.
My head was in a whirl and I had no thought of any plan. I only knew that I must make the venture at any cost, or else be branded in my soul as a coward till my dying day.
I fell and scrambled to my feet.
"Lockhart," I cried, "here man, here. Run."
He had the sense to see my meaning. Exhausted though he was, he broke from his astonished captors, and in a moment was beside me and the weapons.
As I looked on them I saw at a glance where our salvation lay.
"Take these two," I said, pointing to the muskets. "I will take the others."
I cleared my throat and addressed the soldiers. "Now, gentlemen," said I, "once more the fortune of war has delivered you into my hands. We, as you perceive, command the weapons. I beg your permission to tell you that I am by no means a poor shot with the musket, and likewise that I do not stick at trifles, as doubtless my gallant friend Master Hamman will tell you."
The men were struck dumb with surprise to find themselves thus taken at a disadvantage. They whispered for a little among themselves. Doubtless the terrors of my prowess had been so magnified by the victims in the last escapade to cover their shame that I was regarded as a veritable Hector.
"Are you the Laird of Barns?" said the leader at last, very politely.
I bowed.
"Then give us leave to tell you that we are nane sae fond o' the Captain, your cousin," said he, thinking to soothe me.
"So much the worse for my cousin," said I.
"Therefore we are disposed to let you gang free."
"I am obliged," said I, "but my cousin is my cousin, and I tolerate no rebellion toward one so near of blood. I am therefore justified, gentlemen, in using your own arms against you, since I have always believed that traitors were shot."
At this they looked very glum. At last one of them spoke upfor after all they were men.
"If ye'll tak the pick o' ony yin o' us and stand up to him wi' the sma'-sword, we'll agree to bide by the result."
"I thank you," I said, "but I am not in the mood for sword exercise. However, I shall be merciful, though that is a quality you have shown little of. You shall have your horses to ride home on, but your arms you shall leave with me as a pledge of your good conduct. Strip, gentlemen."
And strip they did, belt and buckler, pistol and sword. Then I bade them go, not without sundry compliments as one by one they passed by me. There were but four of them, and we had all the arms, so the contest was scarcely equal. Indeed my heart smote me more than once that I had not accepted the fellow's offer to fight. The leader spoke up boldly to my face.
"You've gotten the better o' us the noo, but it'll no be long afore you're gettin' your kail through the reek, Master John Burnet."
At which I laughed and said 'twas a truth I could not deny.