John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

CHAPTER XVI

HOW THREE MEN HELD A TOWN IN TERROR

It was towards evening, a dark November evening, that we came near the little town of Biggar. The place lies on a sandy bank raised from the wide moss which extends for miles by the edge of the sluggish stream. It is a black, desolate spot, where whaups and snipe whistle in the back streets, and a lane, which begins from the causeway, may end in a pool of dark moss-water. But the street is marvellous broad, and there, at the tail of the autumn, is held one of the greatest fairs in the lowlands of Scotland, whither hawkers and tinkers come in hordes, not to speak of serving-men and serving-lasses who seek hire. For three days the thing goes on, and for racket and babble it is unmatched in the countryside.

We halted before the entrance to the town on a square of dry in the midst of the water-way. The weather had begun to draw to storm, and from the east, great masses of rolling cloud came up, tinged red and yellow with the dying sun. I know not how many the gipsies were, but, with women and children, they were not less in number than ninety or a hundred. They had with them a great quantity of gear of all kinds, and their animals were infinite. Forbye their horses and asses, they had dogs and fowls, and many tamed birds which travelled in their company. One sight I yet remember as most curious. A great long man, who rode on a little donkey, had throughout the march kept an ugly raven before him, which he treated with much kindness; and on dismounting lifted off with assiduous care. And yet the bird had no beauty or accomplishment to merit his good-will. It is a trait of these strange people that they must ever have something on which to expend their affection; and while the women have their children, the men have their pets. The most grim and quarrelsome tinker will tend some beast or bird and share with it his last meal.

When the camp was made, the fire lit, and the evening meal prepared, the men got out their violins and bagpipes, and set themselves to enliven the night with music. There in the clear space in front of the fire they danced to the tunes with great glee and skill. I sat beside the captain and watched the picture, and in very truth it was a pleasing one. The men, as I have said, were for the most part lithe and tall, and they danced with grace. The gipsy women, after the age of twenty, grow too harsh-featured for beauty, and too manly in stature for elegance. But before that age they are uniformly pretty. The free, open-air life and the healthy fare make them strong in body and extraordinarily graceful in movement. Their well-formed features, their keen, laughing black eyes, their rich complexions, and, above all, their masses of coal-black hair become them choicely well. So there in the ruddy firelight they danced to the quavering music, and peace for once in a while lay among them.

Meanwhile I sat apart with William Baillie, and talked of many things. He filled for me a pipe of tobacco, and I essayed a practice which I had often heard of before but never made trial of. I found it very soothing, and we sat there in the bield of the tent and discoursed of our several wanderings. I heard from him wild tales of doings in the hills from the Pentlands to the Cumberland fells, for his habits took him far and wide in the country. He told all with the greatest indifference, affecting the air of an ancient Stoic, to whom all things, good and evil alike, were the same. Every now and then he would break in with a piece of moralising, which he delivered with complete gravity, but which seemed to me matter for laughter, coming, as it did, after some racy narrative of how he vanquished Moss Marshall at the shieling of Kippertree, or cheated the ale-wife at Newbigging out of her score.

On the morrow all went off to the fair save myself, and I was left with the children and the dogs. The captain had judged it better that I should stay, since there would be folk there from around Barns and Dawyck, who might penetrate my disguise and spread the tidings. Besides, I knew naught of the tinker trade, and should have been sorely out of place. So I stayed at home and pondered over many things, notably my present predicament. I thought of all my old hopes and plans – to be a scholar and a gentleman of spirit, to look well to my lands and have a great name in the countryside, to study and make books, maybe even to engage in Parliament and State business. And what did I now? Travelling in disguise among tinkers, a branded man, with my love and my lands in danger, nay all but lost. It was this accursed thought that made the bitterest part of my wanderings.

I was in such a mood when a servant came from a farmhouse near to get one of the gipsies to come and mend the kitchen pot. As I was the only one left, there was nothing for it but to go. The adventure cheered me, for its whimsicality made me laugh, and laughter is the best antidote to despair. But I fared very badly, for, when I tried my 'prentice hand at the pot, I was so manifestly incapable that the good-wife drove me from the place, calling me an idle sorner, and a lazy vagabond, and many other well-deserved names. I returned to the camp with my ears still ringing from her cuff, but in a more wholesome temper of mind.

The greater part of the others returned at the darkening, most with well-filled pockets, though I fear it was not all come by honestly; and a special feast was prepared. That gipsy meal was of the strangest yet most excellent quality. There was a savoury soup made of all kinds of stewed game and poultry, and after that the flesh of pigs and game roasted and broiled. There was no seasoning to the food save a kind of very bitter vinegar; for these people care little for salt or any condiment. Moreover, they had the strange practice of grating some hard substance into their wine, which gave it a flavour as if it had been burned in the mulling.

The meal was over and I was thinking of lying down for the night, when William Baillie came back. I noted that in the firelight his face was black with anger. I heard him speak to several of his men, and his tone was the tone of one who was mastering some passion. By and by he came to where I sat and lay down beside me.

"Do you wish to pleasure me?" he said, shortly.

"Why, yes," I answered; "you have saved my life and I would do all in my power to oblige you, though I fear that just now my power is little."

"It's a' I want," said he, leaving his more correct speech for the broad Scots of the countryside. "Listen, and I'll tell ye what happened the day at the fair. We tinker-folk went aboot our business, daein' ill to nane, and behavin' like dacent, peaceable, quiet-mainnered men and women. The place was in a gey steer, for a heap o' Wast-country trash was there frae the backs o' Straven and Douglasdale, and since a' the godly and reputable folk thereaways hae ta'en to the hills, nane but the rabble are left. So as we were gaun on canny, and sellin' our bits o' things and daein' our bits o' jobs, the drucken folk were dancin' and cairryin' on at the ither end. By and by doun the Fair come a drucken gairdener, one John Cree. I ken him weel, a fosy, black-hertit scoondrel as ever I saw. My wife, whom ye know, for it was her that lookit after ye when ye were sick, was standin' at the side when the man sees her. He comes up to her wi' his leerin', blackgairdly face, and misca's her for a tinkler and a' that was bad, as if the warst in our tribe wasna better than him.

"Mary, she stands back, and bids him get out or she wad learn him mainners.

"But he wadna take a tellin'. 'Oh, ho, my bawbee joe,' says he, 'ye're braw and high the day. Whae are you to despise an honest man? A wheen tinkler doxies!' And he took up a stane and struck her on the face.

"At this a' our folk were for pittin' an end to him there and then. But I keepit them back and bade them let the drucken ful be. Syne he gaed awa', but the folk o' the Fair took him up, and we've got nocht but ill-words and ill-tongue a' day. But, by God! they'll pay for it the morn." And the captain looked long and fiercely into the embers.

"I hae a plan," said he, after a little, "and, Master Burnet, I want ye to help me. The folk of the fair are just a wheen scum and riddlings. There are three o' us here, proper men, you and myself and my son Matthew. If ye will agree to it we three will mount horse the morn and clear oot that fair, and frichten the folk o' Biggar for the next twalmonth."

"What would you do?" said I.

"I hae three suits," he said, "o' guid crimson cloth, which I got frae my grandfather and have never worn. I have three braw horses, which cam oot o' England three year syne. If the three o' us mount and ride through the fair there will be sic a scattering as was never heard tell o' afore i' the auld toun. And, by God, if that gairdener-body doesna gang wud wi' fricht, my name's no William Baillie."

Now, I do not know what madness prompted me to join in this freak. For certain it was a most unbecoming thing for a man of birth to be perched on horseback in the company of two reckless tinkers to break the king's peace and terrify His Majesty's lieges of Biggar. But a dare-devil spirit – the recoil from the morning's despondency – now held me. Besides, the romance of the thing took me captive; it was as well that a man should play all the parts he could in the world; and to my foolish mind it seemed a fine thing that one who was a man of birth and learning should not scruple to cast in his lot with the rough gipsies.

So I agreed readily enough, and soon after went to sleep with weariness, and knew nothing till the stormy dawn woke the camp.

Then the three of us dressed in the crimson suits, and monstrously fine we looked. The day was dull, cloudy, and with a threat of snow; and the massing of clouds which we had marked on the day before was now a thousandfold greater. We trotted out over the green borders of the bog to the town, where the riot and hilarity were audible. The sight of the three to any chance spectator must have been fearsome beyond the common. William Baillie, not to speak of his great height and strange dress, had long black hair which hung far below his shoulders, and his scarlet hat and plume made him look like the devil in person. Matthew, his son, was something smaller, but broad and sinewy, and he sat his horse with an admirable grace. As for myself, my face was tanned with sun and air and the gipsy dye, my hair hung loosely on my shoulders in the fashion I have always worn it, and I could sit a horse with the best of them.

When we came near the head of the street we halted and consulted. The captain bade us obey him in all and follow wherever he went, and above all let no word come from our mouth. Then we turned up our sleeves above the elbows, drew our swords and rode into the town.

At the first sight of the three strange men who rode abreast a great cry of amazement arose, and the miscellaneous rabble was hushed. Then, in a voice of thunder, the captain cried out that they had despised the gipsies the day before, and that now was the time of revenge. Suiting the action to the word he held his naked sword before him, and we followed at a canter.

I have never seen so complete a rout in my life. Stalls, booths, tables were overturned, and the crowd flew wildly in all directions. The others of the tribe, who had come to see the show, looked on from the back, and to the terrified people seemed like fresh assailants. I have never heard such a hubbub as rose from the fleeing men and screaming women. Farmers, country-folk, plowmen mingled with fat burgesses and the craftsmen of the town in one wild rush for safety. And yet we touched no one, but kept on our way to the foot of the street, with our drawn swords held stark upright in our hands. Then we turned and came back; and lo! the great fair was empty, and wild, fearful faces looked at us from window and lane.

Then, on our second ride, appeared at the church gate the minister of the parish, a valiant man, who bade us halt.

"Stop," saul he, "you men of blood, and cease from disturbing the town, or I will have you all clapt in the stocks for a week."

Then the captain spoke up and told him of the wrong and insult of the day before.

At this the worthy man looked grave. "Go back to your place," he said, "and it shall be seen to. I am wae that the folk of this town, who have the benefit of my ministrations, set no better example to puir heathen Egyptians. But give up the quarrel at my bidding. 'Vengeance is mine, and I will repay,' saith the Lord."

"But haply, sir," said I, "as Augustine saith, we may be the Lord's executors." And with this we turned and rode off, leaving the man staring in open-mouthed wonder.

CHAPTER XVII

OF THE FIGHT IN THE MOSS OF BIGGAR

When we came to the camping-place it was almost deserted. The people had all gone to the fair, and nothing was to be seen save the baggage and the children. The morning had grown wilder and a thin snow was falling, the earnest of a storm. The mist was drawing closer and creeping over the boglands. I minded an old saying of Tam Todd's, "Rouk's snaw's wraith," and I looked for a wild storm with gladness, for it would keep the dragoon gentry at home and prohibit their ill-doing.

But just in front at the border of the fog and at the extremity of the dry land, the captain saw something which made him draw up his horse sharply and stare. Then he turned to Matthew, and I saw that his face was flushed. "Ride a' your pith, man," he said, "ride like the wind to the toun, and bid our folk hurry back. Nae words and be off." And the obedient son galloped away to do his bidding.

He gripped me by the arm and pulled me to the side. "Ye've guid een," he said. "D'ye see that ower by the laigh trees?" I looked and looked again and saw nothing.

"Maybe no," he said, "ye haena gipsy een; but in half an' oor we'll a' ken what it means. It's the Ruthvens wi' the Yerl o' Hell. I ken by their red-stripit breeks and their lang scythe-sticks. Ye maun ken that for lang we've had a bluid-feud wi' that clan, for the Baillies are aye gentrice and hae nae trokins wi' sic blaggard tinklers. We've focht them yince and twice and aye gotten the better, and noo I hear that little Will Ruthven, that's him that they ca' the Yerl o' Hell for his deevilry, has sworn to fecht us till there's no a Baillie left to keep up the name. And noo they've come. 'Faith there'll be guid bluid spilt afore thae wratches learn their lesson."

The news struck me with vast astonishment and a little dismay. I had often longed to see a battle and now I was to be gratified. But what a battle! A fight between two bloodthirsty gipsy clans, both as wild as peat-reek, and armed with no more becoming weapons than bludgeons, cutlasses, and scythe-blades. More, the event would place me in a hard position. I could not fight. It would be too absurd for words that I should be mixed up in their mellays. But the man at my side expected me to aid him. I owed my life to him, and with these folk gratitude is reckoned one of the first of the virtues. To refuse William Baillie my help would be to offer him the deepest unkindness. Yet I dismissed the thought at once as preposterous. I could no more join the fight than I could engage in a pothouse or stable brawl. There was nothing for it but to keep back and watch the thing as a silent spectator.

In a little I began to see the band. It would number, as I guessed, some hundred and ten, with women and children. The captain, as he looked, grew fierce with excitement. His dark eyes blazed, and his brow and cheeks were crimson. Ever and anon he looked anxiously in the direction of the town, waiting for the help which was to come. As the foe came nearer he began to point me out the leaders. "There's Muckle Will," he cried, "him wi' the lang bare shanks, like the trams o' a cairt. He's the strongest and langest man frae the Forth to Berwick. My God, but it'll be a braw fellow that can stand afore him. And there's Kennedy himsel', that sonsy licht-coloured man. They say he's the best wi' the sma'-sword in a' Nithsdale, but 'faith, he's me to reckon wi' the day. And there's that bluidy deil, Jean Ruthven, whae wad fecht ony man in braid Scotland for a pund o' 'oo'. She's as guid as a man, and they say has been the death o' mair folk than the Yerl himsel'. But here come our ain men. Come on, Rob and Wat, and you, Mathy, gang wide to the right wi' some. It's a great day this. Nae wee cock-fecht, but a muckle lang deidly battle." And the man's face was filled with fierce joy.

Meanwhile both the forces had taken up their position opposing one another, and such a babel of tinkler yells arose that I was deafened. Each side had their war-cry, and, in addition, the women and children screamed the most horrible curses and insults against the enemy. Yet the battle was not arrayed in haphazard fashion, but rather with some show of military skill. The stronger and bigger men of the clan with the captain himself were in the middle. On the right and left were their sons, with a more mixed force, and below all the women were drawn up like harpies, looking well-nigh as fierce and formidable as the men.

"You'll come to the front wi' me, Maister Burnet," said the captain. "Ye're a guid man o' your hands and we'll need a' we can get i' the middle."

"No," said I, "I cannot."

"Why?" he asked, looking at me darkly.

"Tut, this is mere foolery. You would not have me meddling in such a fray?"

"You think we're no worthy for you to fecht wi'," he said, quietly, "we, that are as guid as the best gentlemen i' the land, and have saved your life for ye, Master John Burnet. Weel, let it be. I didna think ye wad hae dune it." Then the tinker blood came out. "Maybe you're feared," said he, with an ugly smile.

I turned away and made no answer; indeed, I could trust myself to make none. I was bitterly angry and unhappy. All my misfortunes had drawn to a point in that moment. I had lost everything. A fatal mischance seemed to pursue me. Now I had mortally offended the man who had saved my life, and my outlook was drear enough.

I had been looking the other way for a second, and when I turned again the fray had begun. The Earl, with a cutlass, had engaged the captain, and the wings, if one may call them by so fine a word, had met and mingled in confusion. But still it was not a general mellay, but rather a duel between the two principal combatants. The little man with the short sword showed wondrous agility, and leaped and twisted like a tumbler at a fair. As for the Baillie, he had naught to do but keep him at a distance, for he was both better armed and better skilled. As he fought he let his eye wander to the others and directed them with his voice. "Come up, Mathy lad," he would cry. "Stand weel into them, and dinna fear the lasses." Then as he saw one of his own side creeping behind the Earl to strike a back blow, he roared with anger and bade him keep off. "Let the man be," he cried. "Is't no eneuch to hae to fecht wi' blaggards that ye maun be blaggards yoursel'?"

But in a little the crowd closed round them and they had less room for play. Then began a grim and deadly fight. The townspeople, at the word of the tinkers fighting, had left the fair and come out in a crowd to witness it. It was a sight such as scarce a man may see twice in his lifetime. The mist rolled low and thick, and in the dim light the wild, dark faces and whirling weapons seemed almost monstrous. Now that the death had begun there was little shouting; nothing was heard save the rattle of the cutlasses, and a sort of sighing as blows were given and received. The bolder of the women and boys had taken their place, and at the back the little children and young girls looked on with the strangest composure. I grew wild with excitement, and could scarce keep from yelling my encouragements or my warnings; but these had no thought of uttering a word. Had there been a cloud of smoke or smell of powder it would have seemed decent, but this quietness and clearness jarred on me terribly. Moreover, the weapons they fought with were rude, but powerful to inflict deep wounds, being all clubs and short swords and scythe-blades fixed on poles. Soon I saw ghastly cuts on the faces of the foremost and blood-splashes on brow and cheek. Had there been horses it would not have seemed so cruel, for there would have been the rush and trample, the hot excitement of the charge and the recoil. But in the quiet, fierce conflict on foot there seemed nothing but murder and horror.

At first the battle was fought in a little space, and both sides stood compact. But soon it widened, and the wings straggled out almost to the edge of the bog-water. The timid onlookers fled as from the plague, and I, in my station in the back, was in doubts whether I should bide still or no. But in front of me were the girls and children, and I thought if I could do naught else I might bide still and see to them. For the horns of the Ruthven's company (which was far the larger) threatened to enclose the Baillies, and cut off their retreat. Meantime the mist had come down still closer and had given that decent covering which one desires in a bloody fray. I could scarce see the front ranks of our opponents, and all I could make out of my friends was the captain's bright sword glinting as he raised it to the cut.

But that soon happened which I had feared. For the Ruthvens, enclosing our wings, had all but surrounded us, since the captain had put the weaker there and left all the more valiant for the centre. Almost before I knew I saw one and another great gipsy rush around and make towards the girls who had not joined the battle. In that moment I saw the bravest actions which it has ever been my lot to see. For these slim, dark-haired maids drew knives and stood before their assailants, as stout-hearted as any soldiers of the King's guard. The children raised a great cry and huddled close to one another. One evil-looking fellow flung a knife and pierced a girl's arm… It was too much for me. All my good resolutions went to the wind, and I forgot my pride in my anger. With a choking cry I drew my sword and rushed for him.

After that I know not well what happened. I was borne back by numbers, then I forced my way forward, then back I fell again. At first I fought calmly, and more from a perverted feeling of duty than any lust of battle. But soon a tinker knife scratched my cheek, and a tinker bludgeon rattled sorely against my head. Then I grew very hot and angry. I saw all around me a crowd of fierce faces and gleaming knives, and I remember naught save that I hurled myself onward, sword in hand, hewing and slashing like a devil incarnate. I had never drawn blade in overmastering passion before, and could scarce have thought myself capable of such madness as then possessed me. The wild moss-trooping blood, which I had heired from generations of robber lords, stood me in good stead. A reckless joy of fight took me. I must have seemed more frantic than the gipsies themselves.