Part 22 (1/2)
And now I come to the relation of one of the strangest adventures of this time, which as often as I think upon it fills me with delight. For it was a ray of amus.e.m.e.nt in the perils and hards.h.i.+ps of my wanderings.
A mile or more up this stream, just before the path begins to leave the waterside and strike towards the highlands, there is a little green cleuch, very fair and mossy, where the hills on either side come close and the glen narrows down to half a hundred yards. When I came to this place I halted for maybe a minute to drink at a pool in the rocks, for I was weary with my long wanderings.
A noise in front made me lift my head suddenly and stare before me. And there riding down the path to meet me was a man. His horse seemed to have come far, for it hung its head as if from weariness and stumbled often. He himself seemed to be looking all around him and humming some blithe tune. He was not yet aware of my presence, for he rode negligently, like one who fancies himself alone. As he came nearer I marked him more clearly. He was a man of much my own height, with a shaven chin and a moustachio on his upper lip. He carried no weapons save one long basket-handled sword at his belt. His face appeared to be a network of scars; but the most noteworthy thing was that he had but one eye, which glowed bright from beneath bushy brows. Here, said I to myself, is a man of many battles.
In a moment he caught my eye, and halted abruptly not six paces away.
He looked at me quietly for some seconds, while his horse, which was a spavined, broken-winded animal at best, began to crop the gra.s.s. But if his mount was poor, his dress was of the richest and costliest, and much gold seemed to glisten from his person.
”Good day, sir,” said he very courteously. ”A fellow-traveller, I perceive.” By this time I had lost all doubt, for I saw that the man was no dragoon, but of gentle birth by his bearing. So I answered him readily.
”I little expected to meet any man in this deserted spot, least of all a mounted traveller. How did you come over these hills, which if I mind right are of the roughest?”
”Ah,” he said, ”my horse and I have done queer things before this,” and he fell to humming a fragment of a French song, while his eye wandered eagerly to my side.
Suddenly he asked abruptly: ”Sir, do you know aught of sword-play?”
I answered in the same fas.h.i.+on that I was skilled in the rudiments.
He sprang from his horse in a trice and was coming towards me.
”Thank G.o.d,” he cried earnestly, ”thank G.o.d. Here have I been thirsting for days to feel a blade in my hands, and devil a gentleman have I met.
I thank you a thousand times, sir, for your kindness. I beseech you to draw.”
”But,” I stammered, ”I have no quarrel with you.”
He looked very grieved. ”True, if you put it in that way. But that is naught between gentlemen, who love ever to be testing each other's prowess. You will not deny me?”
”Nay,” I said, ”I will not,” for I began to see his meaning, and I stripped to my s.h.i.+rt and, taking up my sword, confronted him.
So there in that quiet cleuch we set to with might and main, with vast rivalry but with no malice. We were far too skilled to butcher one another like common rufflers. Blow was given and met, point was taken and parried, all with much loving kindness. But I had not been two minutes at the work when I found I was in the hands of a master. The great conceit of my play which I have always had ebbed away little by little. The man before me was fencing easily with no display, but every cut came near to breaking my guard, and every thrust to overcoming my defence. His incomprehensible right eye twinkled merrily, and discomposed my mind, and gave me no chance of reading his intentions.
It is needless to say more. The contest lasted scarce eight minutes.
Then I made a head-cut which he guarded skilfully, and when on the return my blade hung more loose in my hand he smote so surely and well that, being struck near the hilt, it flew from my hand and fell in the burn.
He flung down his weapon and shook me warmly by the hand.
”Ah, now I feel better,” said he. ”I need something of this sort every little while to put me in a good humour with the world. And, sir, let me compliment you on your appearance. Most admirable, most creditable!
But oh, am I not a master in the craft?”
So with friendly adieux we parted. We had never asked each other's name and knew naught of each other's condition, but that single good-natured contest had made us friends; and if ever I see that one-eyed man again in life I shall embrace him like a brother. For myself, at that moment, I felt on terms of good-comrades.h.i.+p with all, and pursued my way in a settled cheerfulness.
CHAPTER XI
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, splas.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed pleasingly.
By this time I was on a little plateau, near the great black hill of Coomb Dod, a place whence three streams flow-the 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.