The Raiders. Being some passages in the life of John Faa, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt

Front matter

By the Same Author. THE STICKIT MINISTER And some Common Men. In a letter to a friend, Robert Louis Stevenson says : — '* The whole book breathes admirably of the soil. * The Stickit Minister' and 'The Heather Lintie" are two that come near to me particularly. They are drowned in Scot land. They have refreshed me like a visit home. 'Cleg Kelly is a delightful fellow. I enjoyed his acquaintance particularly. Likewise that of the Junior Partner. Gavin Ogilvy and the Stickit Minister do not derive from one another. They are complementary. When I read the first page of ' The Stickit Minister ' — the ploughing — I knew I was not in Scotland, and I knew I was not with Gavin. The Stickit Minister is out-of-doors — Barrie is within doors. By different ways ye shall attain.'' See also Press Notices at end of book.

BEING Some Passages in the Life of John Faa, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt: B Y S. R. Crockett LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE Mdcccxciv. To Alexander Whyte, my friend, I offer this story of the hills of my Home land — to me also, friends ancient, unforgotten, uoell-belcmed. ames, be the grace of God, King of Scottis : To our Schereffls of Edinburghe , principall . . . and to all otkeris Schereffls, Steivartis, pro.eftis, aulder menne, and hailleis within our realme, greting. Forsamekill as it is huimlie menit and scheivin to us be our lou.it Johnne Faa, Lord and EaRLe of Little Egypt : / charge you to assist him in puneffing all that rebellis againis him, and in the execution of justice upon his company and folkis, conforme to the laiues of Egypt. Subfcriuit with our hand and under our Pri-ve Seile, at Falkland the fii/eteine day of Februar, and of our reigne the xx'viij year.

Subscript, per Regem 3(ames JR. CONTENTS. CHA1'- PAGE I moonlight and may mischief . . .13 II. JOHN HERON OF ISLE RATHAN ... 22 III. DAWN ON RATHAN SANDS . . . .28 IV. THE CAVE OF ADULLAM .... 36 V. AULD WIVES' CLAVERS . . . . • 4-3 VI. THE STILL HUNTER . . . . . 61 VII. THE RED COCK CROWS AT CRAIGDARROCH . 70 VIII. NIGHT ON THE MOOR .... 77 IX. IN RAMSAY BAY ...... 82 X. SMUGGLER AND KINg's MAN . . . QO XI. THE GREAT CAVE OF ISLE RATHAN . . -97 XII. MORNING IN THE CAVE . 1 06 XIII. THE DEFENCE OF THE CAVE . . . 114 XIV. THE HILL GYPSIES . . . . 1 25 XV. THE DRY CAVE . . . . . -135 XVI. THE CAMP OF SILVER SAND. . . . 145 XVII. COUNCIL OF WAR . . . . . . I 50 XVIII. TO INTRODUCE MISTRESS CRUMMIE . . I 59 XIX. ON THE TRACK OF THE RAIDERS . . 1 70 XX. THE GREAT FIGHT AT THE BRIDGEHEAD 1 76 XXI.

Chapter I. Moonlight And May Mischief

It was upon Rathan Head that I first heard their bridle-reins jingling clear. It was ever my custom to walk in the full of the moon at all times of the year. Now the moons of the months are wondrously different : the moon of January, serene among the stars — that of February, wading among chill cloud banks of snow — of March, dun with the mist of muirburn among the heather — of early April, clean washen by the rains. This was now May, and the moon of May is the loveliest in all the year, for with its brightness comes the scent of flower-buds, and of young green leaves breaking from the quick and breathing earth. So it was in the height of the moon of May, as I said, that I heard their bridle-reins jingling clear and saw the harness glisten on their backs. " Keep far ben in your ain hoose at hame when the Marshalls ride !

" said my father, nodding his head at every third word in a way he had. I shall never forget that night. I rowed over towards the land in our little boat, which was com monly drawn up in the cove on Rathan Isle, and lay a great time out on the clear, still flow of a silver tide that ran inwards, drifting slowly up with it. I was happy and at peace, and the world was i j at peace with me. I shipped the oars and lay back thinking. A lad's mind runs naturally on the young lasses, but as yet I had none of these to occupy me. Indeed there was but one of my own standing in the neighbourhood — that Mary Maxwell who was called, not without cause, May Mischief,1 a sister of the wild Maxwells of Craigdarroch — and her I could not abide. There was nothing in her to think about particularly, and certainly I never liked her ; never theless, one's mind being contrary, my thoughts ran upon her as the tide swirled southward by Rathan — especially on a curious way she had of smiling when a wicked speech was brewing behind her eyes.

My skiff" lay just outside the loom of the land, the black shadow of the Orraland shore on my left hand ; but both boat and I as clear in the moonlight as a fly on a sheet of white paper. There was a brig at anchor in the bay, and it was along the heuchs (cliffs) towards her that I saw the horsemen ride. They were, I knew, going to run the cargo into shelter. I was thinking of how fine they looked, and wondering how long it would be till my father let me have a horse from the stable and a lingtow over my shoulder to go out to the Free Trade among the Manxmen like a lad of spirit, when all at once I got a sudden, horrid surprise. I could hear the riders laughing and wagering among themselves, but I was too far away to hear what the game might be. Suddenly one of the fore most whipped a musket to his shoulder.

I was so 1 May, the old Scots diminutive for Mary, was pronounced, not like the name of the month, but Mei — the German ei, a characteristic sound which occurs also in " gye," " stey," &c. near the shore that I saw the flash of moonlight run along the barrel as he brought it to his eye. I wondered what he could be aiming at — a sea bird belike. " Clip ! Splash ! " went something past my head and through the bow of the boat. Then on the back of the crack of the gun came a great towrow of laughter from the cliff edge. " A miss ! a palpable miss ! " cried some one behind. " Haud her nose doon, ye gowk ! " " Noo, Gil, ye are next. See you an' mak' a better ,v " o't. I was somewhat dazed with the suddenness of the cowardly assault, but I seized my oars of instinct and rowed shorewards. I was in the black of the shadows in three strokes, and not a moment over soon, for another ball came singing after me.

It knocked the blade of my left oar into flinders, just as the water dripped silver off it in the moonlight for the last time before I was submerged in the shadow. Again the laughter rang loud and clear, but heartless and hard. " Guid e'en to ye, fisherman," cried the man who had first spoken. " The luck's wi' ye the nicht ; it's a fine nicht for flounders." I could have broken his head, for I was black angry at the senseless and causeless cruelty of the shooting. My first thought was to make for home ; my second to draw to shore, and find out who they might be that could speed the deadly bullet with so little provocation at a harmless lad in his boat on the bay. So without pausing to consider of wisdom and folly (which indeed I have but seldom done in this life with profit), I sculled softly to the mainland with the unbroken oar.

Barefoot and bareleg I got into the shallow water, taking the little cleek anchor ashore and pushing the boat out that she might ride freely, for, as I said, the tide was running upwards like a mill-race. Then I struck through the underbrush till I came to the wall of the deserted and overgrown kirkyard of Kirk Oswald. There stands a great old tomb in the corner from which, it ran in my mind, I might observe the shore and the whole route of the riders, if they were on their way to unload the brig in the offing. There was a broad splash of moonlight on the rough grass between me and the tomb of the MacLurgs. The old tombstones reeled across it drunkenly, yet all was still and pale. I had almost set my foot on the edge of this white patch of moon shine to strike across it, when, with a rustle like a brown owl alighting swiftly and softly, some one took me by the hand, wheeled me about, and ere I had time to consider, carried me back again into the thickest of the wood.

Yet I looked at my companion as I ran, you may be sure. I saw a girl in a light dress, high-kilted — May Mischief of Craigdarroch, what other ? But she pointed to her lip to show that there was to be no speech ; and so we ran together even as she willed it to an angle of the old wall, where, standing close in the shade, we could see without being seen. Now this I could not understand at all, for May Mischief never had a civil word for me as far back as I remember, but so many jibes and jeers that I never could endure the girl. Yet here we were, jinking hand in hand under the trees in the moonlight, for all the world like lad and lass playing at hide-and-seek. Soon we heard voices, and again the bits and chains rattling as the horses, suddenly checked, tossed their heads. Then the spurs jingled as the riders dis mounted, stamping their feet as they came to the ground.

Twenty yards below us a man set his head over the wall. He whistled low and shrill. " All clear, Malcolm ? " he cried. I remember to this day the odd lilt of his voice. He was a Campbell, and gave the word Malcolm a strange twist, as if he had turned it over with his tongue in his mouth. And, indeed, that is to this day the mark of a Cantyre man. A man stepped out of the doorway of the MacLurg tomb with a gun in his hand. May Maxwell looked up at me with something triumphant in her eyes, which I took to mean, "Where had you been now, if it had not been for me ? " And indeed the two shots at the boat in the moonlight told me where I would have been, and that was on the sward with a gunshot through me. A dozen or more men came swarming over the broken wall. They carried a long, black coffin among them — the coffin, as it seemed, of an extraordinarily large man.

Straight across the moon-whitened grass they strode, stumbling on the flat tombs and cursing one another as they went. There was no solemnity as at a funeral, for the jest and laughter ran light and free. " We are the lads," cried one. " We can lay the spirits and we can raise the dead ! " They went into the great tomb of the MacLurgs with the Ions, black coffin, and in a trice came out jovially, abusing one another still more loudly for use less dogs of peculiar pedigrees, and dealing great claps on each other's backs. It was a wonder to me to see these outlaws at once so cruel and so merry. Some of them went down by the corner of the kirkyard opposite to us. May Maxwell, who had kept my hand, fearing, I think, that we might have to run for it again round the circle of shade, plucked me sharply over to see what they were doing.

They were opening a grave, singing catches as their picks grated on the stones. I shivered a little, and a great fear of what we were about to see came over me. I think if May Maxwell had not gripped me by the hand I had fairly run for it. The man we had first seen came out of the tomb and took a look at the sky. Another stretched him self till I heard his joints crack, and said "Hech How! " as though he were sleepy. Whereat the others railed on him, calling him "lazy vagabond." Then all of them turned their ears towards the moors as though they listened for something of importance. " Do the Maxwells ride to-night ? " asked one. " Wheesh," said another. " Listen ! " This he said in so awe-stricken a tone that I also was struck with fear, and listened till my flesh crept. From the waste came the baying of a hound — long, fitful, and very eerie.

There was a visible, uneasy stir among the men. " Let us be gone," said another, making for the wall ; " 'tis the Loathly Dogs. The Black Deil hunts himsel' the nicht. I'm gaun hame." " Stop ! " cried one with authority (I think the man that was called Gil). " I'll put an ounce of lead through your vitals gin ye dinna stand in your tracks." But the others stayed neither for threat nor lead. " It'll be waur for ye gin the Ghaistly Hounds get a grip o' your shins, Gil, my man. They draw men quick to hell ! " So at the word there seized the company a great fear, and they took to their heels, every man hastening to the wall. Then from the other side there was a noise of mounting steeds, and a great clattering of stirrup-irons. May Mischief came nearer to me, and I heard her breath come in little broken gasps, like a rabbit that is taken in a net and lies beating its life out in your hands.

At which I felt a man for the sole time that night. But not for long, for I declare that what we saw in the next moment brought us both to our knees, praying silently for mercy. Over the wall at the corner farthest from us there came a fearsome pair. First a great grey dog, that hunted with its head down and bayed as it went. Behind it lumbered a still more horrible beast, great as an ox, grim and shaggy also, but withal clearly monstrous and not of the earth, with broad, flat feet that made no noise, and a demon mark in scarlet upon its side, which told that the foul fiend himself that night followed the chase. May Mischief clung to my arm, and I thought she had swooned away. But the beasts passed some way beneath us, like spirits that flit by without noise, save for the ghostly baying which made one sweat with fear.

As the sounds broke farther from us that were in the graveyard the horsemen dispersed in a wild access of terror. We could hear them belabouring their horses and riding broadcast over the fields, crying tempes tuously, to each other as they went. And down the wind the bay ofthe ghostly hunters died away. May Maxwell and I stood so a long while ere we could loose from one another. We only held hands and continued to look, and that strangely. I wanted to thank her in words but could not, for something came into my throat and dried my mouth. I dropped her hand suddenly. Yet as I searched for words, dividing the mind between gratitude and coltishness, not one could I find in my time of need. May Maxwell stood a little while silent before me, her hands fallen at her side, looking down as though expecting something.

I could not think what. And then she took the skirt of her dress in her hand, dusted and smoothed it a moment, and so began to move slowly away. But I stood fixed like a halbert. Then I knew by the dancing light in her eyes that something was coming that would make me like her worse than ever, yet I could not help 'it. What with my lonely life on Isle Rathan I was as empty of words as a drum of tune. "Guid e'en to ye," she said, dropping me a curtsy; " virtue is its ain reward, I ken. It's virtuous to do a sheep a good turn, but a kennin' uninterestin'. Guid e'en to ye, Sheep ! " With that she turned and left me speechless, holding by the wall. Yet I have thought of many things since which I might have said — clever things too. May Mischief walked very stately and dignified across the moonlight, and passed the open grave which the riders had made as though she did not care a button for it.

At the gap in the wall she turned (looking mighty pretty and sweet, I do allows, nodded her head three times, and said solemnly, " Baa ! " As I rowed home in the gloaming of the morning, when the full flood-tide of daylight was drowning the light of the moon, I decided within myself that I hated the girl worse than ever. Whatever she had done for me, I could never forgive her for making a mock of me. " Sheep," quoth she, and again " Baa ! " It was unbearable. Yet I remembered how she looked as she said it, and the manner in which she nodded her head, which, as I tell you, was vastly pretty.

Chapter II. John Heron Of Isle Rathan

Just why my father called me Patrick I have never yet been able to make out. His own name was John, which, had he thought of it in time, was a good name enough for me. It may have been part of his humorsomeness, for indeed he used to say, " I have little to leave you, Patrick, but this auld ramshackle house on the Isle Rathan and your excellent name. You will be far on in life, my boy, before you begin to bless me for christening you Patrick Heron, but when you begin you will not cease till the day of your death." I am now in the thirty-seventh year of my age, yet have I not so begun to bless my father — at least not for the reason indicated. My father, John Heron of Isle Rathan, on the Solway shore, was never a strong man all the days ot him. But he married a lass from the hills who brought him no tocher, but, what was better, a strong dower of sense and good health.

She died, soon after I was born, of the plague which came to Dumfries in the Black Year, and from that day my father was left alone with me in the old house on the Isle ot Rathan. John Heron was the laird of a barren heri tage, for Rathan is but a little isle — indeed only an JOHN HERON OF ISLE RATHAN. *■ 3 isle when the tide is flowing. Except in the very slackest of the neaps there is always twice a day a long track of shells and shingle out from the tail of its bank. This track is, moreover, somewhat dan gerous, for Solway tide flows swift and the sands are shifting and treacherous. So we went and came for the most part by boat, save when I or some of the lads were venturesome, as afterwards when I got well acquaint with Mary Maxwell, whom I have already called May Mischief, in the days of a lad's first mid summer madness.

Here on the Isle of Rathan my father taught me English and Latin, Euclid's science of lines and how to reason with them for oneself. He ever loved the mathematic, because he said even God Almighty works by geometry. He taught me also surveying and land measuring. " It is a good trade, and will be more in request," he used to say, "when the lairds begin to parcel out the commonties and hill pastures, as they surely will. It'll be a better trade to your hand than keepin' the blackfaced yowes aff the heuchs (cliffs) o' Rathan." And so it has proved ; and many is the time I have talked over with my wife the strange far-seeing prophecy of my father about what the lairds would do in more settled times. Indeed, all through my tale, strange as it is (may I be aided to tell it plainly and truly), I have occasion to refer to my father's sayings.

Many is the time I have been the better of minding his words ; many the time, also, that I have fallen with an unco blaff (serious downfall) because I have neg lected to heed his warnings. But of this anon, and perhaps more than enough. It was a black day for me, Patrick Heron, when my father lay a-dying. I remember it was a bask day in early spring. The tide was coming up with a strong drive of east wind wrestling against it, and making a clattering jabble all about the rocks of Rathan. " Lift me up, Paitrick," said my father, " till I see again the bonny tide as it lappers again' the auld toor. It will lapper there mony and mony a day an' me no here to listen. Ilka time ye hear it, laddie, ye'll mind on yer faither that loved to dream to the plashing o't, juist because it was Solway salt water and this his ain auld toor o' the Isle Rathan."

So I lifted him up according to his word, till through the narrow window set in the thickness of the ancient wall, he could look away to the Mull, which was clear and cold slaty blue that day — for, unless it brings the dirty white fog, the east wind clears all things. As he looked a great fishing gull turned its head as it soared, making circles in the air, and fell — a straight white streak cutting the cold blue sky of that spring day. " Even thus has my life been, Paitrick. I have been most of my time but a great gull diving for herring on an east-windy day. Whiles I hae gotten a bit flounder for my pains, and whiles a rive o' drooned whalp, but o' the rale herrin' — desperate saw, man, desperate few." " I hae tried it a' ways, Paitrick, my man, ye ken," he would say, for in the long winter forenights when all was snug inside and the winds were trying the doors, he and I did little but talk.

He lay many months a-dying. But he was patient, and most JOHN HERON OF ISLE RATHAN. 25 anxious that he should give me all his stores ot warning and experience before he went from me and Rathan. " No that, at the first go off, ye'll profit muckle, Paitrick, my man," he would say ; " me telling ye that there are briers i' the buss (bush) will no advantage ye greatly when ye hae to gae skrauchlin' through. Ye'll hae to get berried and scartit, wham melt and riven, till ye learn as I hae learned. Ay, ay, ye wull that ! " My father was a dark man, not like me who am fair like my mother. He had a pointed beard that he trimmed with the shears, which in a time of shaven men made him kenspeckle (conspicuous). He was very particular about his person, and used to set to the washing of his linen every second week, working like an old campaigner himself, and me helping — a job I had small stomach for.

But at least he learned me to be clean by nature and habit. "We canna compass godliness," he would say often, " try as we may, Paitrick. But cleanliness is a kindly, common-like virtue, and it's so far on the road, at any rate." That was one of his sayings. My father was not what you would call a deeply religious man ; at least, if he were, he said little about it, though he read daily in the Scriptures, and also expected me to read a chosen part, questioning me sharply on the meaning. But he did not company with the lairds of the countryside, nor with the tenants either for the matter of that. He took no part in the services which were held by the Society Men who collected in the neighbourhood, and who met statedly for their diets of worship at Springholm and Crocketford. Yet his sympathies were plainly with these men and with Mr. Macmillan of Bal maghie who subscribed to them — not at all with the settled ministers of the parishes.

On Sabbaths he always encouraged me to take the pony over in the great wide-bottomed boat to the shore, and ride on Donald to the Kirk of Dullarg or the Societies meeting. "Ye see, Paitrick, for mysel' I hae tried a' ways o't. I hae been oot wi' the King's riders in the auld bad days. Silver Sand kens where. I hae been in the haggs o' the peat-mosses wi' the sants. I hae lain snug an' cosy in Peden's cave wi' the auld man him sel' at my back. So ye see I hae tried a' ways o't. My advice to you, Paitrick, is no to be identified wi' ony extremes, to read yer Bible strictly, an' gin ye get a guid minister to sit under, to listen eidently to the word preached. It's mair than your faither ever got for ony length o' time." By bit and bit he grew weaker, as the days grew longer. " Noo, Paitrick," he said, over in the still time ot one morning, at the hour of slack tide, when a watcher sitting up with the sick gets chill and cauldrife and when the night lies like a solid weight on the earth and sea, though heavier on the sea.

At this time my father called to me. "I'm gaun, Paitrick," he said, just as though he were going over to the Dullarg in the boat ; " it's time I was awa'. I could wish for your sake that I had mair to leave ye. Had I been a better boy at your time o' life, ye wad hae had mair amang your hands ; but then maybe it's you that wad hae been the ill boy. JOHN HERON OF ISLE RATHAN. 27 It's better that it was me. But there'll be a pickle siller in Matthew Erskine's hands for a' that. But gin I can leave ye the content to be doing wi' little, an' the saving salt o' honour to be kitchen to your piece, that's better than the lairdship o' a barony." He was silent for a while, and then he said — " Ye are no feared, Paitrick ? " " Feared, father," I said, " what for would I be feared of you ? " " Aweel, no," he answered, very calm, " I am no a man to mak' a to-do aboot deein'.

I bid ye guid nicht, my son Paitrick." And so passed, as one might fall on sleep. He was a quiet man, a surprisingly humorsome man, and I believe a true Christian man, though all his deathbed testimony was no more than I have told.

Chapter III. Dawn On Rathan Sands

If there be anything bonnier or sweeter in this world than a May morning on the Isle of Rathan by the Solway shore, I have yet to see it — except it be the blush that comes over a young maid's face when one that is not her lad, but who yet may be, comes chapping at the door. Some months after my father's death I mind me of just such a morning. There had drawn to me in the old house of Rathan certain other lads of my age, of good burgher families, that did not find themselves altogether comfortable at home. The house and lands with all the sheep upon them and some six thousand pounds sterling of money in the public funds were left to me to deal with as I liked, though I was not yet of age. Matthew Erskine, the douce Dumfries lawyer, who was in my father's confidence, put no barriers on my doing as I pleased ; and thus carried out my father's intentions, which were that I should neither be hampered in well-doing nor in ill-doing, but do even as it seemed good to me.

For this was ever his way and custom. " When I was a lad," he used to say, " I was sore hampered in coming and going, and most of the evils of my life have come upon me because I was not early left to choose right and wrong, nosing them for myself like a Scent- Dog (pointer) after birds. So I will even leave you, Paitrick, as says the Carritches, to ' the freedom of your own will.' " The lads who had come to bide with me on Isle Rathan, at least for the summer season, were Andrew Allison, that was a burgher's son at Carlinwark (where there are but few decent people abiding, which made his father the more remarkable) and his brother John. Also there was a cousin of the Allisons that came from the ancient town of Kilconquhar, high up on the Nith Water. There was also, to our joy, one Jerry MacWhirter, a roguish fellow that came to me to help me with my land-surveying, but was keener to draw with colours on paper the hues of the landskip and the sea.