The Rose of the Wilderness

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 102, 29 April 1908, Page 11

The Rose of the Wilderness

BY S. R. CROCKETT. '{Author of "The Stickit Minister," etc.)':

__-_E.O OF THE EED HAVEN. 'On tte hills th e sheep had to take their lance, and a. poor one it was. From Tjnunennuir (where the sheep is a sac--1 --a animal) to the Back Shore of Leswalt §SM_e a score or so may tumble into the r "' iiisJi Channel and never be missed), j: iijjg went up one wail of moorland dis- ; _. hundred miles by fifty, was joniewhat like the surface dimensions | __t wailing, but its depth no man j____oo—i Mooxfoots cried to Hundleth.pe and Hundleshope passed the word j. ___c__noor. Cheviot and Carter Fell ott the south cried to' Broad Law and H_rt Fell on the north. But of all, Galloway was the worst smitten. The storm l> a <l * ts frr? there. Thiers bad as was their case, had got ! (frith only the tailings. _nd of all in the Wilderness of the j-ee Brovinee the Dungeon topped the jjsfc of "casualties," as these were duly jeported in the published accounts of the . '.jfonn: However, by a special mercy, my father j I. not know the extent of his losses. i He lay, weak and wandering on his bed, t_s__g of this and that -with the most sane, Toice and manner. Only the mat- . jg.-wasmere scraps of foolishness. J Moreover, spring rent-day was coming est, and what should have gone to Wallet's or J-ichtbody'Sinart, lay dead under _. still frozen snow. The giant Muckle lesson and his aid "Stoor," with the do o -, had rescued many. Tusker proved ___elf a dog of parts at these proceedings. The least tiny funnel,: wanned and __ melted by the breath of an impTisoaed ewe, guided him. He would patter „ and fro with waving tail, and then miienly begin to dig with, as it seemed, jHhi _ four paws at once. The snow fled :; cray way at once. Yet the matted I Eseetres of animals that appeared, when foand, were sometimes little the woTse, tad would beg?_. to graze immediately. Often, however, so wide was tbe Wilderness, and so curious the ways of sheep, Sat a flock of them would collect in the <_ly place where they must assuredly and Death—perhaps in a hollow shaped like the palm of one's hand, where they s-ere immediately snowed over to the Hept_ of thirty or forty feet, not to be found till the sp.-ing winds and rains had cleared the land, sometimes in the early days of May. It was a crowning disaster. Every night I could feel that Muckle Tamson and Stoor brought home no good news. They were keeping something from me —<| Eomething which, as they thought, it would do mc no good to know. Yet I> could see that Muckle Tamson «_5 aching to speak to mc. I gave him ■h the chance.. For three times running he did not take it. A certain dour awkwardness within him triumphed, and he could not even take the openings I made for him. . At last I had to ask him plump and plain, ''What is it that you want to say » mc?" - • \ ."Oh, mistress.'" was all he could - get _fnt I encouraged him. 1 Tes," I said, "there is something — c__ with it, Tamson. There is nothing 1 will not hear from you, and with 'gratitude.'" .='--- The rent," he said, gruffly to hide iis emotion, "it's aboot the rent! Henry Gordon hasna gotten it! He telled mc!" ; I "But the landlord." I said, "surely Triili Gordon- for three hundred years in .5 the Dungeon -" .... I ' Mnekle, Tamson interrupted mc sharp- | ..!__is year o' a' years, the laird-wfll a te at his wits' end for siller!" he said, 'the storm -will hit him like the lave. There will be farms by the score left on ; iis hands. And the new factor is no like -he a _ld yin. Maister Caylie was a ; pi_ sheep-farmer himsel' and kenned I What was what!" 1 This was unexpected—and as unpl_a- || sat as unexpected. I- went to my fa- I I filer's drawers, and found the private % t—h-bos where he had always kept his | a Honey and bank-book. A balance, small, I out to my eyes enormous, stood against 1j the name of Henry Gordon. I knew 3 -othing of banks aDd banking, and I i[ thought they might be even as the new I -actor on the Wilderness estates— I Rimohs that knew not Joseph,, } Of coarse I see now what I should I done, jt i 3 cheap and easy to be 1 wise after the event. I ought to have 1 Jritten to Mrs. Walter Gilfilla_. or to j ierlnshand. But at that time, I hardly I ™°w why, I did not think too well of | Mrs. -Van. I called her "interfering." ■ Jet in my ease kindly well-judged in- ■ Krferehce was just what was wanted. _ Efeveh pounds in cash and the bank Deficit was all that I could find wheresF.t_ to pay our rent of £95. ' 1 conld only look helplessly at Muckle Tamson. During my search he stood i—ig a t his big reddish-grey beard ®d shoving it, almost by handfuls. into _ Ms month. ."There's a man," he began, and so Knck fast—the magnitude of the speech ™ had before him choking him. I i!/^ 3 " I answered, encouragingly, I There is a man—what man?" A man down in Biddlings'' Pairish. ;He owes your father siller. He cam' ; Jie nicht frae the Shore side to Ironand telled in the kitchen what ?*s his errand up to the Dungeon. ForBJe I saw the siller after he cam' back." And his name?" I cried,, greatly in- ; Krested. ■ ./ said Muckle Tamson out of «c midst of a handful of beard, "or *fJ-De Freelan—a Belfast' Scotsman, Whatever—an' nana the better o' that! *k' s a hard- man—terrible rich, they B y>and a pillar o' the Establishment!" With my father's money!" I cried in."gnantly. "How dare he?" - Oh, he's a great man for horses," f* ilnckle Tamson, "he breeds., theni, mi ye will see aboot the "Pride o' Sol- | a y. iis graund prize stallion, every *eek in the Cairn Edward paper! Oh. man is the Belfast man. He «•- a big farm, too, a 1 laid, oot in grass g??_ «nd \vi' fine-to-superfine breeds o' «ttle—no for decent eatin' but—to send '.» shows!"

'] i- re .^- u '' !,^e Tamson nearly swallowed ■j e«tm. heard in his endeavour at I cc to make-the idea clear tome, and to 1 floni nic pertain . points of it 1 LT? fa > fe_?r, might come into contact I g?™ the laws of the. land.' - -•:. .: I the thing came out hit. by i • Ireely or Freelan had borrowed a ' HP SUni ° f mone y from my father "in I fo," lub:ost °' the Guid* Years," as ! _s_j!v ' rai - son reported. He had never f <P*>u that-loan. Meanwhile he had beI ? great horse-jearer and dealer. BK concerning this there tv_s no use. I-. : .

asking my. father, for details. He was .far beyond any thjought of debtor or. creditor. Most likely; even if« he had not, he would only have saidir' "Leavo the man to his conscience!" But I had some of Nan Gilfillan's blood in mc, and my way of seeing was by no means so unworldly. I borrowed my father's keys again.' Muckle.Tamson said I had the right, and my conscience affirmed, the same. I found the receipt for the loan without the least trouble— -. also copies of certain unanswered letter, which Henry Gordon had sent yearly to his debtor—more perhaps as a New Year's card than with any real hope of getting his money back. "Pll hae to come wi' ye," said Muckle Tamson, doggedly, like one who knows that he has Strong opposition to "face, yet feels himself "able for it." . . "And the sheep?" said I, feeling that' I had him there. ' ' ■ "I think that Craitur—what withe dowgs and what he has learned will make a shape at it," he answered. "The '•'girss" is comin' to' fine, an' he's nane sic an ill callant, yon. Willie Gillespie will gie him a hand wi' your faither, and be proud to do the like"." The sum was eight hundred pounds!, and that, though na great ■ matter to very rich, fplki made all the difference to'iis.: j......". ;.'_ '.".'..-.' . A blusterous wind Was blowing out of tbe nor'-w : est,-ahd one-of our three cows, an investment of my father's made in the days of little Dila, looked piteously over'the. dyke. I-could see the fell-6n their necks and flanks twist like, blown grass as the" blast struck them. And 1 minded the. old Seots'poet, of whom my father was io fond: ■- ■ "The wind made wave the reid weed on the dyl-e, . And gmrl weather grult beastie's hair!" I felt there was some fitness in this way-going. The Dungeon had been a kind place to mc for many a long year. But now I had begun to perceive the terrible strokes of Destiny which might j befall;us even storm,' the - sheep, Lila's death, perhaps-my father's. And the eight hundred pounds would be , a very bulwark against the future. | But would I get the money?—l'feared , much that it was a very forlorn hope, [ when my father had so often failed. But still Muckle Tamson bade mc carry on, and shook his head at the very* , suggestion of a lawyer. If, according t° L him, "a lawyer" took the matter in hand, I would never see more' of the . sum in question than the two nothings k at the end. : .'. It was people like Andro Freelan who j] went to "lawvyers." As likely as not, ! he would buy up ours. ' Muckle Tamson 5 had all the prejudice of the hill man, - with the blood of dead' generations of a Raiders in his veins, against the law c and its councillors and myrmidons. "Him •—-'? he was accustomed to say of some 1 objectionable person, "I could as soon f clout him as a sheriff's offisher!" Muckle Tamson preferred -to be his ii own justicer, and in- his wild days before : -—a___ ...:_a— __.__--—xtli^—in_- accordirfg' tothe flesh," he had several times been - sent to languish—"without the option"— y in Kirkcudbright jail .. . while the i other man went about in bandages and | plasters, spreading the name and fame i of Muckle Tamson, even when (in acj cents of feigned sympathy) his neigh- ' hours inquired tenderly concerning his 7 injuries. ~ For in Galloway, at least as i between the male se_, sympathy is with the strong man who leaves Ms mark. - And the fame oi Pin jMeMyn who dibbled his wooden leg' into the soil at the butt I end of Cairn JSdward Railway Station , and fought six Irish drovers hath not yet . passed away. He was an Orangeman, l and his slogan-cry, uttered between every • Blow, had to do with the .ultimate salvat tion of the Pope.

When I set out from the Dungeon, I did not realise with" whom I was going forth to battle. Bat as I progressed southward I heard more and more of the name and fame .of. Andro Freelan, mighty in person, mighty in horses, a great, coarse, loose-living man—much like those who had persecuted the Martyrs, excepting, that is, John Graham—such a man, in.fact, as has always led'"the Opposition" in Scotland ancL.xejoiced. to defy "God, man, and the- decent discipline of the Kirk." I heard of the '__-ide of Solway" and also of another prize horse, named "The Red Macgregor." Both were supposed to be worth hundreds a year to their fortunate owher. Both were represented indifferently by the same rude woodcuts in the local paper, while the medals, cups, and prizes they, had Won, were popularly supposed to occur, y one entire room of the house'of the Red Haven.

I stayed a night at Cairn Edward with some relatives" of my mother's, Paterson by name. They "lived in a little white house - with a. garden that stretched up to the Cock-iE—where "in old days the boys of the town school had fought their game-cocks on the ' x 'Master's Day to the profit of that same teacher, who garnered corpses__nd entrance-fees and-lived on cold fowl for a month. ."",

At first the Patersons, these far-oot-freends' of milie, would not hear of my doing such a rash thing as to venture within tbe guarded confines of the Red Haven, or the power; of its redoubtable master. But when they had caught sight of the huge, rather slouching figure of Muckle Tamson, looking as if he were ready to run on all fours like a big St. Bernard with a shaggy beard—after they, had observed with interest that when he squared bis shoulders he just filled up their outer doorway neatly, they became less afraid of what man could do unto mc —that is to say, Andro Ereelau of the Red Haven, ......

Nevertheless the Patersons, one of them the town postman (with five gold stripes on his arm, marked the way wild geese fly), bade mc go and;'see the Minister of Biddling Parish, the Keverend Absalom __en_lore.

It was the first time I had heard the name at full length. ™ I had seen A. Ken-' more,, Clerk," printed' at the end of the report, of Presbyter.-! meetings. But I now. first learned that the minister of RiddJings-was'sensitive .on the score of his name. .When he. Temembexed (which was not often) he-crept-his hair cropped as close vas,: Sheep-shears 'wbuld.ut it, and the easiest method of offending him was to refer to him in public as the Reverend Absalom Eenmore, "8.A.-- - : Sometimes he would murmur that the follies-of the fathers (in which he included his mother, who had a tenderness for the Biblical Absalom, inexplicable:in a godly woman) even in pre than their sins, made.the children suffer. For the rest I knew him to he a man strong in in his parish-and.

a little feared,...__e;.'y6ry"sigh.' oi'i_is striding legs and wind-tossed apparel being a t.rr6r to evil-doe'f_ and a p__is. to them that do "well." ..

; - -.ortunaie indeed, it waa fd-.'me that I went t6 tbe manse of the niinister of Riddling.. At first,, indeed; it 'did pot seem like it. Mr. Hehihore lived alone with a sevefeieyed Woman who .was supposed to have the entire presbytery, under her thumb.: When any domestic affliction struck one of them, they bowed to the wiU Of called. Upon Mrs. Parkend. The order . "of events r, was this —the ainess, the dece__e, th 6 funefal and Mrs.' Parkend,' She .-had., a pinched nose," turned up a.little:and frostUy ruddy, a widish mouth, lips thin,as if slit with a knife, and her eye was upon the shortcomings of every young woman m the: parish., i ! Mrs. Parkend- was not an amiable woman, and at first sight she took a dis; like to mc.. ' ../' •

'TSTo one is allowed to see the minister at: this hour"' she said, severely, as if I ought to- have known better,' "he is at his. sermon."

But there was the blood of Nan Gilfillan in me-^and. besides- the patience of having tended seven generations of motherless lambs On a hill farm. -..-.''Very.well then," said I, "I can-wait! There is no hurry." - And I sat down calmly, in: "'the shady corner of the porchj took-a volume of Emerson from my pocket, and began to read. -•>»«/•*«'

"Get off my doorstep!" screamed Mrs. Parkend, stamping furiously. I read on. She was a - small • wizened snippet of a thing, bitter as gall,.,but of her I had no fear. ' I could have thrown her bodily over the hedge* on the other side of which stood listening Muckle Tamson, late of Ironmacanny p'--'- —' , "What's. this, Mrs."PaTkend?" said a voice a little stern, not musical like my father's, but somehow strong, helpful, and cheerful withal. ' The words seemed to descend upon my ear from a great height.

I rose to my feet, and these before mc, his fair hair for once long .and blown about like a fiekLof corn, stood Absalom Kenmore, the minister of the parish of Eiddlings.''"■■, '■'■ :

He motioned mc into his study with no more than. a courteous wave of the hand. And he sent Mrs Parkend to her Own place—-that is, to the kitelien—with a motion of the head, almost imperceptible. The well-worn clerical housekeep : er evidently had no terrors for the Clerk of the Presbytery of Cairn EdwardHe offered mc a chair in his library j but 1 ' he himself' refrained from, sitting down.'

'TTou think I can help you in some way?", he' said, very quietly; "tell mc what it is—and if I can I will!" "I am the daughter of Henry Gordon of the Dungeon," I said, without think J ing that he might never have heard of my father. For these low-country folk know little of the rearers of sheep unless they have turnips to sell for Wintef-fced-ing. - :

However he merely bowed, and as he | did so I could see a white hair di* two j lying among, thp corn-colour. Absalom I K-nmor. was not exactly a young man i —not as I was young, that is.- ! And of this I was glad. You under-, stand I was not yet old enough to like' young ministers. . I had the weakness to prefer them a little ripened by experi-ence,-a. little wearied- even, with the striie that had brought them so little'O. worldly gain. Perhaps-1 was.wrong, but ,_£ju_y._i__Q -tdai-is,, the way I fejt about the' jriatterr.:' —-■••-■ f . . I:told the minister ail about the debt.: I expected him-to" cry out with astonish-1 ment, knowing that Freelan had hong been one of bi_j elders. It may seem > strange, but sometimes elders are elected for other reasons than, godliness-rt-es-; | p-cially in country parishes, where the 1 session adds to its own numbers with-j out much .ongregational interference, and, generally, is a law unto itself. \" j But the, minister, did not cry but.' He. l only gravely shook his head, while an expression at:6'nce sad and grim grew on his face.: .. ..:,'■.'•' .'.■■ . .'• ■; .;-. -..::• 'i

"For long I have held no communication with the person you name," said Absalom _.e_moTe. "In that way I fear I cannot help you. I have, in fact, suspended him from Church "privileges on account of contumacy and evil example." Then he asked to see the papers. "The debt is unquestionable," he said. "But whether or not you.will be able to get - the' money -is another matter. I fear not! " I asked him why

" Because," he said, "in my youth I knew some law, and on the original receipt there are evidences of the loan haviric- forme- part of; a, regular account. Tour father suppli-d. sheep to. Andro Freelan in the ordinary way ,of. toiness. He may claim- the three years' prescnp-■_LO_-':'l ,, - "But my father's letters? " I said!, feeling the ground slipping from, beneath, my feet. "Ah" said the minister, ■'■' but these are only drafts—they ought to have been regularly kept in .a letter-book, or else certified'before a justice of _ the peace. " " Then you think there is no hope? " I said. And' tbe water was _t-.iid_ag in my eyes. __.-■'• He smiled at mc. -.•-.,- ---"_S T o, Ido not quite saythat," he-an-swered, smiling, "you are a woman—if I mistake not, a wise one. Did not Abigail, the wife of -tabal, win tho lives ol all her folk from an angry David?" : But be added, in a little lower -tone— "True the cases are far from being identical."' . . "If you have, any trouble with the man," he continued', after a long pause, " that is, not connected with your father's debt—say that I, Absalom Kenmore,'sent you—that you have come straight from the Manse." '-•' ■ : .At the gate o± the : little --venue, Muckle Tamson was in waiting. "Weel?" he queried, as soon as 1 came out. '■'"' _ "I*': "Little hope! ?' said I,.;" but he is a good man, this minister—though-he has none to say of Andro Freelan! " To my utter astonislunent Muclde Tamson's face lighted up. with a "Kind of joy. "Aye, I was think—i' that!" he said. " Come awa* sooner the better. Ye hae your faither's watch.; Bide nae lander withe man than ten. minutes. If ye pass the mark," (here he lugged out of a'very tight pocket an ancient eggshaped verge timepiece)," Muckle Tam r son will come ben asl-an' for ye. , And maybe there will be things broken! " Then he put one hand on to my shoulder, which he had never done before. "Be not cast' dopn, bairn," he saidl, chuckling -little low to hi-msi-lf, " if the man willna pay his debts honestly—_ib_n_ Muckle Tamson will try the 'Law o' the M-uches' on him! It's,a heap less troublesome than tiae .lawyyers! ".-..■ ';

(To be:cpntinued next"Wednes'_ay.)J

WOLFE'S SCHNAPPS 'is free, from' any deleterious taint. .

'Woods' Great Peppermint Cure -or Coughs and .Colds never fails.. Jl_6 aa_ Z/? s