Volume Ii Part 16 (2/2)

I saw naething that was pa.s.sing, for I was lying close on my face, and hinging by the heather; but I heard a that was said, and Will tauld me the rest afterwards. He said, she made the sign of the cross above her child's breast, then over his own head, as he stooped forward with him in his arms. Then she glided aside, and made the cross over my head and shoulders, and it was heaven's grace that I didna ken, else I wad hae swarfed away. Last of all, she again bent herself over her child, and stretched out her arms on each side of him; then, leaning herself back on the air, she arose gently from the ground, and sailed away through the dim shades of the morning toward the verge of the heaven.

I wondered what was asteer then, for I heard Will crying on the Virgin Mary to preserve him, and rhaming o'er the names o' a' the saints he had ever heard of; and at length he gae a great gluther, like a man drowning, and fell down wi' sic a dunt he gart a' the moss shake again.

The bairn screamed and grat; and I didna ken what to do, for I durstna look up for fear o' seeing the ghost; till at length I heard that the rest of the sentinels had caught the alarm, and were pa.s.sing the watch-word frae ane to another, and then I ventured to set up my head.

But, gude and gracious, sic a grip as I did haud by the heather!

I took up the child, covered him with my cloak, and soothed him; and the poor little hara.s.sed thing hid his face in my bosom. Will lay quivering and struggling like ane in a dream, or under the influence of the night-mare; and, after I had rolled him three times over, he awoke in the most horrid consternation. ”Charlie, where are ye? Speak to me, Charlie, and tell me where I am.” Then a whole string o' saints and angels were a' invoked, one after another, ower and ower again. ”Mercy on us, Charlie! I hae had sic a dream as never mortal man had; and a'

sae plain and sae particular, I could amaist swear it was real. What do ye think, Charlie? Didna this bairn's mother come to me in my sleep? and she says to me, 'That bairn's mine.'--Na, that wasna what she said first. 'Ye dinna ken me,' says she.” And then Will began and told me all that I had heard pa.s.s between them before, and all that I had seen, and some part that I had not seen; but a' that I could do, I couldna persuade him that it wasna a dream. And it was better it was sae; for if he had kend and believed that he had conversed with a spirit, it wad hae put him daft. It pat me clean out o' my judgment; and for that day, and mony a day and night after, I kend nae mair what I was doing than ane dreaming, and remembered nae mair what I had been doing than if I had been asleep all the time. I can therefore gie but a puir and a lame account o' what followed, for it is maistly from hearsay, although I was tauld that I bure a princ.i.p.al hand in the fray.

We started at the scraigh o' day, and drove on. There were always four or five light hors.e.m.e.n, well mounted, who rode before our array to see if the coast was clear; and as we went round the head of the Gowan Burn, about mid-day, ane o' these came galloping back, and told us that the English were awaiting us at the fords of Keilder, with an army of a thousand horse.

”Aha!” quo' Habby Elliot! ”I thought we warna to get hame this way. We hae just twa choices, callants, either to fight or flee.”

There was not a man in all our little army that could think of scampering off for bare life, and leaving such a prey behind him; so, with one a.s.sent, we rode forward in a body to the brow of the hill that overlooks the fords of Keilder. The English were stationed on a rising ground to the west of the river, and that being pa.s.sable only by one ford, which was very rough, we could not attack them without the certainty of being cut to pieces; so we kept our station on the steep brae over against them, and sent some few of our oldest and weakliest men to be moving the prey out toward Keilder-head.

We calculated the English to be about five hundred; but neither durst they cross the ford to come to us. They sent a few flights of arrows among our men, which we regarded very little, and determined, if possible, to keep them at bay there till our rich prey had crossed the border fell. But just at the fall of the evening, to our great surprise, the English rushed at once into the ford, with loud and reiterated shouts; and scarcely had we begun to advance down the steep to meet them, when we were attacked by another body of hors.e.m.e.n behind.

These men were led by a great priest whose name was Bishop Boldone, but who was always called b.l.o.o.d.y-Sark; and at the very first encounter Hab Elliot rushed among the English ranks and slew the Bishop with his own hand at the first blow. But it cost Habby dear, for he was cut down in endeavouring to retreat, and fell under a dozen of spears. In short, our small band, being inclosed between two stronger bodies, was literally hewed in pieces, but not before they had slain a great number of our enemies. Will Laidlaw and I fought side by side; and though enclosed in the very middle of our foes, we cut our way through, and escaped without a wound, and with short pursuit.

Our prey was gone. We saw a great part of them scattered on the hills, and heard them lowing, as they returned toward their native pastures.

Our drivers, having watched the fate of the day, made their escape when they saw us surrounded, abandoning the spoil. We two fled in silence toward the north-east, and could not even get time to look for the child, in whom we were both so much interested. We had lost our well earned prey; we had lost our friends and companions in arms, and we had lost our honour by suffering ourselves to be surprised by the ambush behind; yet we both felt as if the loss of the child sat heavier on our hearts than all. There was something so mysterious in our connection with him, that it could not fail making a deep impression on our minds.

The vision that we had seen, and the promise that had been made to us,--that ”for what we had done our heads should be s.h.i.+elded in the day of battle,”--soon recurred to us, and we both agreed that our escape was miraculous, and perfectly unaccountable to ourselves. There were not two in the battle who exposed themselves more, and Laidlaw averred that he sometimes saw twenty weapons raised against us at once, and that still, as we approached, the bearers of them seemed to lose the power of striking. It was no wonder that we were impressed with deep awe, nor that we both wished it had been in our power to have preserved the boy, over whose life there seemed to be some good guardian spirit permitted or appointed to watch. Our conversation was all about him. There had been a nest made for him in a pack of clothes. Laidlaw had led the horse himself all the way, and the child had chatted to him, till the alarm was given that we were waylaid, and he had then given the horse in charge to one of the drivers, with particular injunctions to take care of the child; but he could not even remember who that driver was. I came up immediately after, and charged the lad to take care of the child; and, in the hearing of several of my followers, said that I would rather they lost the whole drove than that ought should happen to him. But now we had lost him; we had lost all but our horses and our swords.

We jogged on all the night in melancholy mood, crossed the Border, and then turned westward toward the Cowd-Peel, which we reached about sun-rise. A little after the break of day, as we were coming through a hollow of the height, called the Spretty-Grain, we perceived something before us that appeared to be moving, and of a prodigious bulk, which, after some hesitation we made up to, and found that the phenomenon consisted of eight horses, all well loaden, and every one with its head yerked to the tail of the one before him; and all these were driven by one yeoman on horseback, who rode beside them with a long goad in his hand.

We soon overtook and examined him; and never was I so much astonished in my life as when I found it was my own henchman auld Will Nicol. He was very dour and shy of communication at first.

”Will Nicol! Is it you?” said I. ”How in the name of wonder did you escape?”

”Humph! I think I may as weel speir that question at you: Humph!” says Will.

”I thought you had fallen with the rest in the battle,” said I.

”Humph! but I'm here,” says Will. ”And I think there's mae here nor me: humph! and I rather think I hae brought mair wi' me nor some fock: humph! I'm comed as fu' handit as some fock, I think. Humph!”

”But, Will, were you in the engagement?”

”What need ye speir that? humph! Where was I else but in the engagement?”

”And did you stay till it was over?”

”Humph! I stayed lang aneuch, I think! humph! It is needless to wait ower lang on a seen bad job. Humph!”

But the real truth of the story was, that instead of staying till the battle was ower, Will didna stay till it began, nor near that time. He was an auld-farrant chap Will, and had a great deal o' foresight; and when he saw us begin to stop, and the English standing peaceably before us, _herding us_, as he ca'ed it, he was sure there were more enemies coming up behind.

”Will, if I were sure that ye deserted our cause, and came off before the engagement began,” said I, ”although I have not a man left that I ken o', but Will o' Craik and yoursel, may I be a coward and a traitor if I wadna cut you down i' the place where you stand.”

Will had nothing to say for himself but ”Humph! humph!” and he scratched his head and grumbled. I was quite indignant at the old fellow, and was getting into a greater rage than ever I hae been in at a friend sinsyne, when all at once I heard a weak tremulous voice say, ”Daddy's boy cold.”

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