The Horseman's Word. A novel

Front matter

% Xobrl BV NEIL ROY 3!_-ii.on MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1-95 F. M. EVANS ANP CO., LIMITED, PRINTED, CRYSTAL PALACE, b.E. "71- T THE PROPERTIES OF HORSES. Thou grasyer, that mayst fortune to be of mine opynyon or condityon, to love horses and younge coltes or soles to go among thy cattel, take hede that thou be not begyled, as I have ben an hundred tymes & more. And first thou shalt knowe, that a good horse hath .liiii. propertys, that is to say .ii. cf a man, .ii. of a bauson or a badger, .iiii. of a lyon, ix. of an oxe, .ix. of a hare, .ix. of a foxe, .ix. of an asse, and .x. of a woman. 72. IT THE TWO PROPERTYS, THAT A HORSE HATH OF A MAN. The first is, to have a proude harte ; and the seconde is, to be bolde and hardy. 79. THE TEN PROPERTIES OF A WOMAN. % The fyrst is, to be mery of chere ; the seconde, to be well paced ; the thyrde, to have a brode forehead ; the fyfthe, to be harde of warde ; the .vii. to be good at a long iourneye ; the .ix. to be alwaye besye with the mouthe ; the tenth, euer to be chowynge on the brydell. % It myght fortune I coude shewe as many defautes of horses, as here be good propertys, but than I shulde break mypromyse, that I made at Grombalde brydge, the first tyme I went to Ryppon for to bye coltes.

But it is to suppose, that if a horse want any of these good propertyes, that he shulde haue a defaute in the same place. And this is suffycient for this time." Master Fitzherbert ' s Book of Husbandry. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I.— THE KELPY OF LOCH KEAM I II. — "WANTON" 12 III. — A SUSPICIOUS GUEST 24 IV. — THE LAIGH OF ETHEN 37 V. — GEORDIE FINDS A NAME FOR THE NEW-COMER . 45 VI. — SUSPICION AT WORK 60 VII. — MRS. GUIDBRAND'S DISCOVERY .... 78 VIII. — JEAN HAS AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KELPY . 89 IX. — SUBSEQUENT REFLECTIONS IOO X. — GEORDIE CHANGES HIS TACTICS . . . . I IO XI. — QUEANIE HAS AN ADVENTURE .... 123 XII.— SYMBOLA ET MEMORACULA 1 33 XIII. — THE DAY OF THE HUNT 143 XIV. — HORSEBREAKING 154 XV. — THE ILL-FITTER 163 XVI. — OWER GUID CHANCE 175 XVIL — THE RUN OF THE "DANCING WATER" CONTENTS.

VIII CHAP. XVIII.— THE PALACE OF THE STORM . . . . 201 XIX.— A RIDE THROUGH THE LAIGH. . . .212 XX.— THIEVES AND VAGRANTS 222 XXI.— JOHN'S ACCOUNT QF THE WORD . . . 232 J XXII.— BIRDS OF A FEATHER 244 XXIII. — "THE BEGGARS' SHADOWS" .... 255 XXIV. — THE OUTCASTS 264 XXV. — "TO BE HANGED BY THE SHERIFF!" . . 275 XXVI.— FAIR INQUIRY AND NO FAVOUR . . . 288 XXVII. — A VISIT TO THE AWXE 299 XXV1IL— WITH THE LINTONS AT FORDOUN . . 31 I XXIX.— A NIGHT AMONG THE SANDS .... 319 XXX. — STRANGE DOINGS AT MUIRTON . . . 329 XXXI. — JOHN HAS FOUND A WHITTERIT'S NEST . 340 XXXII. — GEORDIE CAUGHT IN A TR\P .... 350 XXXIIL — FIVE YEARS AFTER 36} XXXIV. — EXCERPTS FROM MISS GRAHAM'S DIARY . 373 XXXV. — POOR ROSE MORTON'S STORY .... 3S4 XXXVI. — THE ADVICE OF COUNSEL .... jg-j XXXVII. —UNCERTAINTY +07 XXXVIIL — THE END OF THE KELPY .... _^___ XXXIX.— WHAT JEAN HAD TO TELL ... _^__(,

Chapter I. The Kelpy Of Loch Keam

In the kitchen of the mansion house of Muirton, old John Cowan and his daughter Queanie were roasting chestnuts in honour of Halloween. Not all the terrors of the thunderstorm which had come on during the evening could frighten them into foregoing this part of the customary celebrations. Crash, crash ! It sounded as if cartloads of stones were being let fall on the roof. The scanty crockery along the shelves and dish-racks rattled as if it would go to pieces ; and all the doors and windows in the great, empty house seemed in a commotion. A dangerous night for wayfarers ! The old fellow shook his frosty pow, and looked anxiously at the clock. He was getting very uneasy about his wife. She had gone to visit some friends at the Awne, her native place, and should have been home long ago. All manner of calamities might have befallen her on the road.

A glance, however, at the delicate girl who sat curled up in the arm-chair, reminded him of the necessity of concealing his concern. " Dinna you be B [chap. ■2 feart, lassie," he said, stroking her hand. " Jean will be wi' us ae noo. She'll maybe hae ta'en shelter some way till this storm be ower. She's real sensible Jean, and will tak' care o' hersell." Jean was Queanie's stepmother, but both were lassies to John. A difference of a dozen years between them hardly counted in comparison with nis own three-score and odd; nor was it necessary to insist on the formal relationship where loving, thoughtful care on the one hand and grateful de votion on the other so well supplied the place of a natural one. But Queanie was not fully reassured, and this her father saw ; accordingly he set himself to find some other occupation for her thoughts.

" Guidsakes, our nuts are burnin', I doubt," he exclaimed, stirring the smouldering peat fire. " There's ane wi' a gey brookit nib ; we'll haud him ower to burn. But there's a half-dozen real weel roasen like anes. Haud your lap, my lassie." The girl received them with a smile of thanks, and began shelling operations at the risk of smarting fingers. " There's anither terrible brunt ane. We'll put that twa in the low, to stand for you and your lad, and we'll see what way you'll gree when you're marriet." This device to provide distraction succeeded admirably. Queanie sat up and watched the result of the well-known rustic augury with undisguised excitement. " Healy, healy," John cried, addressing one of the nuts; "man, you're a! in a bleeze at ance. We'd better put you back a wee. You're just some keen a wooer for my young lassie."

Thus retired from the full heat of the fire, the two nuts for a while burned side by side in most loving fashion. Queanie's smiling face amused the old man greatly. " Ay, ay, you're a' the same," he laughed slily : "a' terrible fond o' the lads. What is't the auld sang says ? " Whistle, whistle, auld wife, and I'll gie you a coo ; 1 canna whistle, quo' she, a'though you gied me two. Whistle, whistle, auld wife, and I'll gie you a man ; I canna whistle, quo' she, but I'll do the best I can." But in the meantime, one of the nuts had gone fujf! into the middle of the fire, and Queanie's expression changed to intense disappointment. There were tears in her eyes. She was but a child still, poor Queanie, in spite of her seventeen years. The long illness which had given such transparent clearness to her cheek and such languorous beauty to her dark eyes, had this also to account for.

" Hout awa, hout awa!" cried John, raking vainly among the burning embers. " That's a sair mischanter come ower our marriage." The girl did not speak ; she had never spoken. Nature had sealed her lips even from her birth. The last of a large family all now dead, she seemed thus marked out for the same untimely fate which had befallen the rest ; as if the mournful silence of her life were a preparation for that greater silence which awaited her. There was in her bereavement something infinitely affecting, infinitely endearing; B THE HOPvSEMAN'S WORD. [chap. 4 and the affection lavished on her by her father and stepmother took the form of an ever-watchful solicitude enabling them to read on her face the feelings passing in her mind. There was no need between them for any code of signs. Now, therefore, her father under stood the fulness of the disappointment which she had no words to express.

Perhaps for a moment a tear trembled in his eye too, at the thought that in all likelihood she might never live to know the fulfilment of those vague longings with which nature already mocked and tempted her, never grow strong to endure the hardships of the life of a poor man's wife. He hastened to find some other interest to occupy her thoughts. " They'll be haein' great times in the bothy the nicht," he said, "haudin' their halloween. Hark, yon's the sound o' the souter's fiddle!" The faint strain of the music could be heard coming from the direction of the farm steading. A shrill scream followed. " Ay, there's women in about," said the old man, shaking his head. " Fine carnm' on they'll hae, I'se warrant, and little guid come o't. Ah, ye jawds!" he apostrophised, raking the fire vigorously, as if he would have liked to demolish the race of women entirely.

It was partly the sense of contrast between his sickly child and these rude field-workers without that stung him to this outburst; partly also it was done to divert and amuse che girl herself. A loud peal of thunder startled them again, and Queanie's face grew paler still. "A coorse, coorse nicht," John repeated, as he busied himself building up the fire in order to give a greater air of comfort to the room. " We're better here by the ingle newk than flyin* about the close like yon wild limmers. This is the nicht, they say, when witches ride the air and a' the bogles are about. The fairies'll be dancin' round the knowes, and yon kelpy that bides down by the auld lochside will be prancin' and shackin' his mane in the lichtnin'." " We used to get rare stories o' the kelpy," he went on after a pause, as if he had been going back in thought upon some ofhis early days, "frae auld Johnny Morison ower at Coldstanes, whose grandfather was said to hae ance forgathert wi' the beast and gotten the better o't. Mony a time I hae heard Johnny tell about it in the forenicht when a! the wark was done; and as Halloween is the nicht o' a! nichts for sic auld-farrant cracks, I'll tell you about the kelpy and Johnny's grandfather, to haud us baith out o' languor.

I canna lay it aff wi' sic a litany as Johnny would hae done, but I think I can mind the best o't." The thunder several times interrupted the thread of old John's narrative ; otherwise it ran as follows : " The Morisons were aye a lang-headed family, though they hadna muckle gear ; but Sandy Morison — that was the name o' Johnny's grandfather — would hae putten them a' to shame, for he had skill in magic and had found a four-bladed clover, which gied him an unco insight. Weel, Sandy was comin' hame frae the market ae fearsome nicht, and wha should he meet at the end of the auld stappin' stanes at the far side o' the loch but the muckle kelpy himsell, standin' waitin' for Sandy. " Noo, to tell you what kind o' beast it was, and what way it carried on, it was just for a' the warld like a muckle horse, as black as the crook, and wi' a THE HORSEMAN'S WORD. [chap. 6 mane four or maybe five feet lang on the near side — that's aye the way wi' magic horse.

In about it would come real freenly-like, makin' on to be some laird's beast turned loose and sorry for itsell to be out in sic weather : and would let folk clap and make muckle o't, till ance it got them 'ticed to loup on. Syne, you would hae thocht the brute was shod wi' fire ! Awa ower slap and scaur, out ower woods and houses, out ower the auld palace ruins yonder, down intil the loch ! Wheesh, came its mane like a net round the puir silly body on its back ; and — weel, nane came back to say what way they likit their dook. " But Sandy kent fine how to watch himsell, and wasna a grain feart. Belike, too, the kelpy had kent Sandy, wha had a great name through the country ; for without ony o' its common capers, ' Guid evenin', Sandy,' says the wily ane, quite familiar-like — it could speak fine when it likit — though a waur nicht was never seen.

" ' I hope you're gettin' your share o't,' says Sandy ; for when you crack wi' the deil, you maun aye gie him cross answers. " ' And you're gettin' hame ? ' wheedlit the kelpy. " ' Maybe ay and maybe imphm. " ' It's a lang road you hae ! ' " ' Your ain's maybe langer.' " ' Will you hae a ride on my back ? ' says the kelpy. ' I'll take you hame in twa minutes.' " ' I'm feart I fa' aff,' sniggelt Sandy. " ' Haud on by my mane,' says the kelpy, comin' close in ower. But a! this time Sandy had been watchin' his chance, and here he up wi' the rowan stock he had aye in his hand — a rowan scares off >■] THE KELPY OF LOCH KEAM. 7 witches — and brought it down on the kelpy's head wi' sic a crack that its bridle brak and a bit o' the chain fell aff. "The kelpy had had little thocht o' sic a reception ; and bein' dizzy wi' the skelp on its head, it let a gey while gang by afore venturin' nearhand again.

Sandy by this time had pickit up the bit o' the bridle, and stood ready wi' his rowan-stock, thinkin' a battle was comin'. But the craytur wasna lang o' kennin' what was lost, for part o' its power had gane wi't ; it was like a spell that was broken. There my lad stood, real suspeecious o' Sandy, and feelin' itsell in the smith's fingers. First it tried fleechin' ; gie it back its chain, and it would leave him alane to ride hame on shanksnaggy, syn that was the way he received sae civil an invitation. ' Guid forgie ye for leein',' whistled Sandy ; forbye, he was sair needin' a chain to tether his coo. " Weel, that settlet the question o' fair means ; it remained to see what could be done by foul. On came the brute wi' gnashin' teeth and lashin' feet, like to hae caed Sandy's brains out. But Johnny's grandfather was a gey stout birkie, and had been in mony a brulzie, those bein' the auld fechtin' days when fowk thocht shame to come hame frae a market without bluid on their sark ; to gie and tak' a wheen guid clours even wi' a kelpy put him neither up nor down.

For a whole hour they would hae been at it, bass for baff and mell for mell, and at the hinnerend the bogle was like to hae the giein' o' the bet-lick. But by this time they were gettin' near hame ; for as Sandy gied ground, tryin' to keep clear o' the beast, he took tent to be aye movin' in that direction. So [chap. 8 THE HORSEMAN'S WORD. when they were within a few yards, Sandy gied ae last skelp that near broke the rowan-stock in his hand ; and afore the kelpy won ower the blow, he was in at the door and had it steekit on the inside. The kelpy was sair dumfoundered for a while; syne he came rampin' to the door and tried to take it aff its hinges. But praise be thankit, it was a stout ane, and do what it likit the kelpy never loosent a staple. After a while the auld sneck-drawer changed its tune and came in about wi' a wee whinin' sound.

" ' Sandy,' it says, ' what's an auld chain to you ? You've nae use for't ava. Gin you'll gie it back, I'll feese you a new tether for your coo, finer than ever was made in Ethen ; and mair than that,' says he, ' I'll big you a new house, and carry the stanes mysell, frae the auld limestane quarries at Balnamoon.' " ' As you did for the laird o' Muirton,' says Sandy ; for you maun ken it's said that the auld wizard, Sir William, forcit the kelpy intil his service to carry the stanes for the biggin' o' his house here, and the kelpy was sae sair wrought that he gaed aff in the hinnerend cryin' : ' Sair back and sair banes, Cawin' the laird o1 Muirton's stanes ! " This was what Sandy mindit o', and brocht it up noo jusr to affront the craytur. The kelpy held awa' a langer while ; syne back it comes, and says, real piteous-like, ' I was ance a man, Sandy.' " ' You're sairly altered,' says Sandy.

" ' Nae doubt I am,' says the kelpy. ' It was a witch woman cuist a spell on me and turned me til a horse.' "'Was she biggin' a house?' says Sandy, still tauntin' him wi' carryin' stanes. " ' Gin I hae na my bridle whole, I can never win to be a man again, Sandy.' " ' That'll be a sair loss to humanity,' says Sandy. " By this time the cock was wappin' his wings and beginnin' to craw; and the kelpy, like a' bogles, dursna bide ayont the break o' day. ' What will you take for't, Sandy ? ' says the kelpy, near greetin', for he kent it was time he was awa'. " ' Three cherries that never had stanes, three fishes that never had banes, and three mithers that never had weans,' said Sandy ; for he kent this was impossible. " Being blaikit this way, the kelpy saw there was sma' hope o' gettin' his bridle without he wan in.

Weel, he kickit that door as full o' holes as a hielandman's plaid; but mair than that he couldna manage. He gied ae lang despairin' screech like the whistle o' a train, syne aff down to the loch, plunged in, and was never seen mair for mony a day. " The neist mornin' Sandy lookit til the bit bridle ; and lo and behold, it was o' pure gowd. What the weight o' it had been — something tremendous, wi' Johnny's way o't — is ower muckle for my memory. Whatever, it hadna bidden lang wi' Sandy or his bairns after him ; deed, gey an' aften they wad hae sellt the sarks aff their backs, gin there had been ony sarks on them. Na, na, there was little luck gaed wi' the bridle ; or maybe Sandy had been some sair on the kelpy, for they say the deil is no so black as he's paintit. For that matter it lookit as gin the [chap. THE HORSEMAN'S WORD. 10 craytur had gotten its ain back afterhand ; for in the flood of twenty-nine the water o' the loch came up and ruggit doun Sandy Morison's auld house, and a' that's left o' it noo is just a cairn o' stanes."

The storm outside was increasing, and at this point of John's story a loud clap of thunder surprised his audience into an attack of trembling. " Hout awa' ! hout awa' ! " said John, alarmed at her look. " Dinna you be feart, lassie ; the auld house o' Muirton is safe eneuch agin lichtnin'. Forbye," he added, in a graver voice, " there's Ane abune that is lord o' the tempest, and winna let harm come til the least o' His little anes." Suddenly there rang out, in the stillness following the thunder, the neighing of a horse. Wild and shrill it sounded, well in concert with the terrors of the night. Father and daughter looked at one another with startled eyes ; the alarm followed very close upon the tale John had been telling. The Kelpy ! The dumb girl had no words, but her eyes bespoke the thought.

Again came a deafening peal, lasting for some moments ; when it ceased, once more the shrill cry made itself heard, louder still and clearer, followed by a confused uproar like a number of horses neighing together. Was it a herd of kelpies come about the house ? There was, unfortunately, no rowan-stock to frighten them away. Hark ! One neighing rose above the rest — distinguishable as the same which had begun the chorus. The old man's face, previously relaxing to a smile, now changed again to a look of anger. " Wanton ! The deil's in yon mare ; she's at her cantrips again." The girl nodded assent. The noise, as both had divined the moment they began to think, could come only from the steading behind ; the mare referred to was a well-known offender. The neighing continued, broken at intervals by the roll of thunder.

At length John could listen no longer ; something unusual must be going on, and it was unendurable to remain in ignorance. "Bide you here, lassie," he said hurriedly, laying his hand on his bonnet. " There'll be some o' the beasts breakin' loose, and the lads will want a hand." At the door he turned and looked anxiously towards her. " Will you be feart ? " he inquired, evidently hesitating to leave her alone. She shook her head and beckoned him to go ; a tangible danger had made her brave all of a sudden. " I'll no' be ower twa or three minutes," he said as he went out. CHAPTER H. "WANTON." As John entered the courtyard, a cart drew up at the entrance from the high-road behind the steading, and a woman alighted. " Good-bye, and thank you," she said to the driver, who handed her out a basket.

That voice belonged to but one person in the world ; relieved anxiety made it sound music in a husband's ears. " Jean, lassie, is't you ? " he called out, running joy fully to meet her. "Just mysell," came the reply; "and thankfu' to be hame ! " Further greetings were checked by an uproar pro ceeding from the -tables ; a regular Houyhnhnm chorus, startling Jean to an exclamation : " Guidsakes, whatever's yon? " " The thunner'll hae fle_,rgit the beasts," said John. " Haste you ben to Queanie, while I tak' a look in by." Neither storm nor anything else had subdued the frolicsome spirits of the bothy ; loud bursts of merri ment within made that clear. At the threshold John encountered some one rushing wildly in the opposite CHAP. II.] "WANTON.'' 13 direction, who without pausing for explanations pushed him boisterously into the room.

This was Tarn, the foreman. A handkerchief about his neck and a brandished kale-stock explained what had been going on. Fresh outcry and laughter from a mixed company of men and women greeted their entry. "Guid be here, Tarn, sic a runt! That's a terrible witch you hae gotten for a guidwife." In truth the foreman's kale-stock, if truth lay in the time honoured charm, augured badly for the looks of his future spouse : probably he had chosen the worst he could find on purpose to provoke mirth. "She'll be real like Fusome Fug, that ane," chimed another, and quoted a common ballad : " Twined here, and shauchled there, Muckle lugs and fu' o' hair." " Weel, weel, she'll no be muckle use onyway," sententiously remarked the cattleman, an elderly man, and looked upon somewhat as an interloper in the bothy.

Hereupon, insulting rejoinders were rife. "You're no muckle use yoursell, Sandy," began the foreman. " Na, faith, Sandy's gey weel through ; he's real stiff in the joints," came ready corroboration. " It's a pity for's wife ! Puir Meg's sair needin' a new man." " Deed, Meg's the better man o' the twa." " What say you, Sandy ? " Before the cattleman's retort was ready, a furious clattering of hoofs came as a diversion. " Wanton, the limmer ! " growled the foreman, and hurried off, breathing threats and imprecations ; others followed. [chap. THE HORSEMAN'S WORD. 14 The light of their lanterns disclosed a long line of stalls along the east side of the stable. At the far end there was another row on the left hand, with very little space between ; an obsolete and abominable arrangement forming only one among many old-world pecu liarities to be noted at Muirton.

" Wanton " was in the farthest stall on the right : an iron-gray mare — a colour rather uncommon among Clydesdales — of great strength and considerable beauty. Her temper, however, was evident at a glance ; report, too un questionably based on tragic facts, did her no injustice. A few months before, one of the men had come by his death from a kick on the head, received while stooping to examine her feet. Since then the boldest among them would not go near her, unless with assistance at hand in case of need. Confinement not tending to improve her disposition, she became liable to outbursts of rage, and had on a recent occasion broken loose and caused considerable alarm. To-night she was neighing and plunging like a thing possessed ; to approach within reach of her heels would have been madness.

Naturally her excitement spread to the other beasts ; a sort of uncontrollable panic seemed to have seized them ; the stable was a pandemonium. Nor was this all. In the opposite stall had been placed a valuable yearling, one of the best ever foaled on the farm, and a particular favourite with the grieve. The chief danger, therefore, was for this unfortunate neighbour, whom the mare might at any moment take it into her head to attack ; the shortness of the bind ing allowed her, it was to be feared, might not be a sufficient precaution against mischief. Curiously, her behaviour, though it seemed " WANTON." 15 natural in the absence of any other explanation to attribute it to the storm, was exactly contrary to the ordinary effect of thunder on a stable ; as a rule the frightened beasts stand exceedingly quiet.

Moreover, fury was far more visible in her than fear ; it grew with each renewal of the rattling peals, her cries rang out as if to drown them ; but why, was not apparent. The men began to feel puzzled. " Was there ony strange beast about the toun ? " inquired old John, who had made a careful survey of the situation. There had been none. " That's queerest o' a'," he muttered mysteriously. A rising wind had given promise of the storm's departure; common dispersion being nature's penalty on warring forces. Just then, however, a chain of thunder-claps from some still undischarged batteries close overhead shook the whole building with their violence. Immediately, Wanton's excitement redoubled ; she lashed out viciously, and for the first time struck the cowering yearling behind her. It was the beginning of a horrible scene.

The devil seemed really to have entered into the mare: in vain the victim sprang from side to side, the torrent of her blows fell with an infernal precision. Vicious cries from the mare herself marked only momentary pauses in the downpour. Fire flashed beneath her feet, which seemed to smoke : so men afterwards averred. It was something to recall tales of creatures half horse and half-fiend, monsters and man-eaters. The yearling's neighing was most piteous. From another stall its mother answered, mad with excitement and struggling to break loose. Here was a new [chap. 16 THE HORSEMAN'S WORD. difficulty. The men stood frightened or irresolute ; their cloudy lanterns only served to show the perilous fix. What was to be done ? The grieve had been sent for. Would he arrive in time? The yearling had lain down, thus escaping to some extent; still, assistance to be effectual must be prompt.

John took the lead. " Get a bawk frae the rucks," was the order he issued. All gave way to the old man. In a few moments a couple of lads returned bearing one of the long beams used in laying the foundation of a cornstack. With this a cautious advance was made along the line of stalls — now every stall a danger — under John's direction. " Canny, noo. Get the point in yon crack." A dislodged stone in the rickety wall favoured their purpose ; into its place they thrust the beam and held fast their own end. Worse plans might have been thought of. No success, however, was the result ; in a moment the beam was dashed from their hands and a couple more stones torn from the masonry. John was not yet vanquished. " We maun get some ane to gang alang the couples," he said, " and fasten't up til the stall."

The grieve, however, had now arrived, and instantly took the management of affairs into his own hands. A reputation for unusual skill and courage among horses, no less than his position, gave him supreme authority. He advanced alone to Wanton's stall and examined everything; then he returned and said a few words to one of the men, who immediately went out. None ventured even to discuss the matter or put questions ; ordinarily the grieve was almost one of themselves, though his word was law ; now, there was a gulf between them. They II.] " WANTON." 17 stood conversing among themselves. The grieve spoke to none ; he seemed buried in thought. It would be necessary to answer for the course on which he had decided. In a little, the messenger returned ; he was pale as death, his eyes rolled in terror.