Crockett Samuel Rutherford
The Grey Man

At last we rode away, and Nell Kennedy kissed my mother lovingly when we bade farewell, so that my heart warmed more than ever to the lass.

Waeheartedly enough we left the little white housie behind us, sitting blythsome on its brae above the white stones of the burn. And in my imagination to this very day, whenever I am away from the Minnoch for long, rises a clear picture of the water-side as we saw it that morning – a wide valley filled to the brim with sunshine and the stir of breathing airs, the whaups and peesweeps beginning to build, and keeping up all the time above our heads a brave welter of crying and the whistle of eddying wings.

'I wonder not that sometimes you grow homesick,' said Nell Kennedy. 'When you are distracted and morose, I shall now know the reason.'

So we came in due season to the house of Culzean, and there we found all well, with James playing tennis contentedly in the court; and Sandy, up at the stables, acting the big man and giving his orders as large as my lord.

CHAPTER XXVIII
WARM BACKS MAKE BRAW BAIRNS

It was the morning of the 11th of May, and we were on the morrow to take our journey to the town of Edinburgh. I had advertisement the night before that I was to ride to the town of Maybole to meet John Mure of Auchendrayne, and on my master's account to appoint a tryst with him at the Duppil, not far from the town of Ayr, for my Lord desired not to pass through that place, knowing that many of the faction of Bargany abode there. But Sir Thomas ever believed that Auchendrayne was of those that wished him well, because of the marriage and of all that had passed between them.

So I had to ride on this mission that I loved not over well. But I had nought to say. For whenever I spake to the Tutor concerning John Mure, he would clap me on the head and say, 'Ye are overcareful and suspicious, Launcelot. John Mure and I are fathers of the same pair of bairns, wherefore, then, should we not be as one – even as they?'

Poor man – I could not find it in my heart to tell him of the happening beneath the town-gate of Maybole, when James Mure's wife bade farewell to Gilbert Kennedy of Bargany, as he lay there dead on his enemies' spears.

So at early morning I rode as I was bidden to Maybole to meet the Laird of Auchendrayne, who, as my master knew, had some business there. But it so fell out that I missed him, for he had lodged all night in the town at the Black House, which belongs to one Kennedy of Knockdone, a friend of his and of the Laird of Newark's.

I was loath to ride all the way after him to Auchendrayne, and so bethought me that I should get the loan of a laddie from my crony, Dominie Mure, out of his school at the foot of the Kirkwynd. My way led me by the Green, where it was sorely in my mind to try a stroke of the ball. But I remembered me that Sir Thomas bade me be soon back, that I might be ready to ride with him on the morrow's morn to the town of Edinburgh by Duppil and the Ford of Holmestone. So, though I saw some brisk birkies licking at the ball, one of them being Laigh-nosed Jamie Crawford that had his nose flattened with the stroke of a golf ball on the hills of Ayr, I refrained me for that time and went to seek a boy.

But I saw none on the Green, saving some raggedy loons playing kick-ball, whom I did not like to trust with so important a message. I went on, therefore, to the schoolhouse. And as I went it cheered me to think on Dominie Mure and his humours, for he and I had been gossips of a long season.

The schoolhouse of Maybole was a curious building tacked on to the rear of the kirk, with vaulted passages of timber, in which were doors which could on occasion be opened, so that the school itself might be used as an addition to the kirk should the latter be crowded. But in my time the space was but seldom in demand. It was an age of iron, and men's minds craved not naturally that which was peaceable and good. The old Papistry had passed away, but the new religion had not yet grown into the hearts of the people.

I came to the schoolhouse door. The noise of conning lessons that used to go humming all along the Kirk Vennel was louder than it was wont to be. Indeed, I thought that of a surety Dominie Mure had gone as far as the change-house for his morning glass of strong waters, wherein I did that worthy man an injury. The dominie's Highland pipes lay on the desk before him, the great drones looking out like eyes at the scholars. They were the recreation of his leisure, for he had been in his youth in the savage North, and had learned to be no ill-considered performer even in the country of pipes and pibrochs.

I looked within, and there, mounted upon two desks and a chair, stood the Dominie with his head through a round hole in the boards of the roof, and all that one could see of him convulsed with animation.

The bairns below were in a great consternation, crying out that this one and that other was misbehaving – that Robin Gibb was pinching, or that Towhead Kennedy was in the act of some piece of villainy which remained unexpressed, for the obvious reason that the heavy hand of Towhead Kennedy had prisoned the information within the mouth of the tale-bearer.

The school of Maybole was an apartment nearly square, with a dark, well-hacked oaken writing-desk running round two sides of it, and benches set cross-ways on the floor, where, when the peace was undisturbed by internal war, the bairns conned their tasks from worn copies of the Bible.

At the far end of the school was a wooden bar a foot from the floor, and a little behind it another. This was called the hangman, for it was the post of judgment to unruly boys, who were called upon to kneel over the first bar and grasp the second, thus putting themselves into a proper position for the operations of the fiery and untender little Dominie. The desk of the master had a framework behind it, in which were half-a-dozen birch rods, carefully kept and oiled, even as I keep my stands of arms, – for the callants of Maybole have ever been unruly, and so remain to this day.

Dominie Mure was in stature the least, but in learning, I can well believe, the greatest of dominies, for he was never without two or three scholars in the Latin. It was whispered by the malicious that he had been trained for a clerk in the old days of the Roman Church, but made a false step, and so had to turn dominie. Taking the words at their usual meaning, I utterly condemn and reject this lying, malicious explanation, for Dominie Mure was the least handsome man in Carrick. He was little, scarce bigger than many boys of twelve and fourteen who sat in his class in the New Testament – which was naturally the class beneath the Old Testament.

His hair grew all over his head and face, grey, wiry and rough, like burned heather. Out of this tangle a pair of humorsome eyes looked, and a stout nose projected like the angle of an overgrown and ruined building. His arms were long, and so strong that he could lift any lad in the school into the air with one of them, while he gave him 'paikie' with the other. So fierce and fiery was the little man, that no one of the great stalwart loons who came in the winter-time dared to try their pranks upon him. He would fly at them swift as the wild cat springs, and beat half-a-dozen black and blue before they had time to rally.

What he was now doing with his head through the ceiling I could not well imagine. But there was a great noise aloft and a rushing of feet, while the master made desperate dives hither and thither, like a man in deep water and not well able to swim.

Beneath, one little rascal of a bare-legged loon rose from the seat where he had been sitting squirming at his copy.

'The Dominie is lost!' he cried in great pretended alarm. 'Oh, sirs, where is our Dominie? Look in the ink-horns, lassies. Look in a' your pouches, laddies!'

And so all the ill-set vagabonds rose and began to search the ink-horns, the dinner wallets, and even in the rat holes for the master.

But at this moment there was a crash, and first one and then another pair of legs appeared dangling through the ceiling, wildly kicking. The head of the Dominie returned through the hole in the ceiling, and he cautiously descended. His face was damp with perspiration from his exertions aloft, and he had his longest and stoutest birch rod, which was of the thickness of one's forefinger, in his hand. There was a great streak of soot across his nose – which indeed was about all that there was for it to cross, the rest of his face being but a grey tangle of hair.

Dominie Mure came forward to where I stood by the door. He greeted me right heartily, and not the less when I told him on whose account I was there, for he had often been summoned over to drink a pint with Sir Thomas at the inn or in his own town house, because my master ever loved all learned men.

'Bide a wee,' he said, 'till I attend to these rascal loons. They climbed up through the hole in the ceiling, when I was at Deacon Gilroy's funeral, to get the store of balls, knuckle-bones, chuckie stones, and other things the bairns throw up there. I kenned well they would fall through.'

So the Dominie took a much thinner and suppler bundle of birch, gave it a draw through his hand and a swish or two in the air, which made the dangling legs kick more wildly than ever – it might be with pleasure and it might be with painful anticipation.

Dominie Mure walked to the place and set a chair for himself to stand upon.

'Wha belangs thae legs?' he asked of the scholars.

'They are Tammy Nisbett's,' said the school with one voice, 'we ken by his duddy breeks!'

'And whose limbs are these – to whom do these legs belong?' he continued, pointing to certain red objects that twinkled in frantic endeavours to be free.

'Jock Harrison's,' answered the school without a moment's hesitation; 'they are clouted wi' his mither's auld petticoat!'

Then the master did his office affectionately upon those parts of Tommy Nisbett and Jock Harrison which of their own accord the adventurous loons had exposed. The thwacks resounded through the school, but the yells mostly ascended through the roof. Then, when he had finished his pleasure – for I saw by his eye it was no unwelcome task – he put up an arm, and without circumspection pulled the squirming urchins through the rotten boards.

'Thomas Nisbett,' he said severely, 'your faither is an householder. He shall pay for the damage done to the ceiling of this schule, which is the property of the Session of the parish, of which I am clerk. And your faither can take the price out of your breeks himsel' at his leisure.'

He then hauled the other down in the same manner.

'Jock Harrison, I'll never trouble your puir mither about the siller for the repairs. She has enough to do with ten like you. But I'll e'en pay your hurdies the noo, and quit your mother and you too, at the one settlement.'

Which having done, he laid down his bundle of rods, dusted his hands, and commended himself to me to know how, and in what manner, he might serve my master. I told him that if he would write a letter to John Mure of Auchendrayne to bid him meet with Sir Thomas at the Chapel of St Leonard's by the sandhills of Ayr, on the morrow's morn at ten of the clock, and send it to Auchendrayne by one of his most trustworthy lads, it would be no small obligation. And furthermore that I would await an answer here in Maybole, having other business to transact.

'Good faith, Master Launcelot, I will do that – and gladsomely,' said the little Dominie.

So, having brought the school to order and set the classes to their work, he squared himself at his desk, and wrote fairly and elaborately as I told him. For the little man prided himself on his penmanship – which, indeed, Sir Thomas ever said was better than that of any law scrivener in Edinburgh.

I reminded him of this, and Dominie Mure could hardly contain himself for pride. How strange that so small a thing should set up some men!

Then, when he had finished and addressed it in the Italian manner, he called out, 'William Dalrymple, come hither!' And, from the close-built ranks of the older scholars at the wall-desks, a plump-faced, ruddy boy arose.

'This,' the Dominie said, 'is the son of a widow woman, and a steady lad that will truly do your message and bring you word again without delay or falsehood. He is called for a nickname Willie Glegfeet.'

So to William was delivered the letter and sundry copper coins for running the errand. Whereupon he took up the Vennel and through the High Street on the way to Auchendrayne like a hunted hare, for, as his name imports, he was wonderfully nimble of his feet.

Having thus delivered my message, I thanked the Dominie very heartily, and went to the play of the golf green till the messenger should return.

I had an excellent game, but, not playing with mine own clubs, I was beaten (though not at a great odds), by the young Laird of Gremmat, whose chin was hardly yet better of the cleaving it got on the fatal day at the Lady's Carse. But this interfered naught with his putting. Now gaming on the green is uncommonly fretting to the temper, and more especially when you are losing with a man like Gremmat, who cries and shouts at every good stroke of his own and dispraises yours. Yet, owing to the well-kenned equality of my temper, and also because he was not yet fully recovered of his wound, I did not clout him over the sconse with my cleek, as I certainly was in a great mind more than once to do.

We were yet hard at it, and the afternoon wearing on apace when I saw the little Dominie coming toward us with the boy William Dalrymple by his side. The schoolmaster held the letter in his hand and gave it back to me.

'William Dalrymple says that he found not the Laird of Auchendrayne in his own house, and has therefore brought back the letter.'

I looked at it a moment, turning it over in my hand.

'It has been opened,' said I. 'See, the wax is gone, and there are finger-marks within.'

'So, indeed, it has,' said Dominie Mure. 'Boy, if you have opened it I will tan you alive, outside and in.'

Whereat the boy began to weep.

'I have said what I was told to say,' he cried, and for all we could do, nothing more could we get out of him – save that a dark man, faced like an ape or a wild beast, had come some way home behind him and sorely terrified him. So we sent the boy back to his mother, and, bidding farewell for that time to the Dominie and to young Gremmat, I fared along the way to Culzean to make me ready for the long journey of the morrow.

CHAPTER XXIX
THE MURDER AMONG THE SANDHILLS

It was broad day and a pleasant May morn, when my master and I said our farewells at the gate of Culzean. With my own hands I had saddled for Sir Thomas his warhorse. But he, coming down arrayed in his plain suit of dark Flemish cloth, bade me take him back to the stable and get instead a pacing palfrey, which he loved because Marjorie had used to ride it.

Then he kissed his bairns, for the lads and Nell stood by the door on the landward side, watching us with earnest eyes.

'Keep the castle, James,' he cried, 'till I come back!'

'Ay,' said Sandy, 'we will keep it for you, faither.'

For Sandy came ever to the forefront, setting himself naturally before the slow and quiet Jamie.

Then Nell came near and kissed her rather. But she and I only looked the one at the other as friends look, for at least before folk we did not so much as touch hands.

So down through the woods Sir Thomas and I went sedately and quietly, now into little caller blinks of morning sunshine which glinted straight and level between the trees, and anon coming out upon a bare knoll as into a room with a removed and spacious ceiling. For there at our feet was the plain of the sea, sparkling and blue, beyond it again the hills of Arran, and to the south the shoulder of the Craig of Ailsa, heaving its bulk skyward like a monster of the ocean stranded in the shoreward shallows.

Very pleasant was my master's discourse as we went, of the wonderful peace that he was going to bring upon the land of Carrick from his dealings with the King and Council in Edinburgh. Specially he spoke with thankfulness of the present friendship of Auchendrayne, of the young Bargany who should for long be under tutors and governors, and of our own Earl, now tired of the feud and eager for a lasting peace.

'It needs,' said he, 'but that one should take on him all the burden and heat of the day, and carry the matter through. And I, that am no warrior, but a quiet man dwelling in mine own house and fit only for daunering about mine own fields, may be able to do more in the matter than many battalions. For I have some influence with the King – a man that loves grave discourse upon occasion.'

So pleasantly talking together in this fashion, speaking ever the kindliest things of the enemies of his house, and all the time making many excuses for them, Sir Thomas kept his palfrey at the amble.

Presently we came to the castle of Greenan, which stands on a sea crag, and looks right bravely over the Bay of Ayr and down upon the little town thereof. It belongs to Kennedy of Balterson, a gossip and well-wisher of Culzean's.

'Now,' said my master, 'I must see if Balterson is at home. I think truly that he is, for there is a reek coming up very freely from the lum. Now John was ever a big eater and a long lier abed in the mornings. What a pleasantry if I should raise him from between the blankets! It would be a great cast-up all the days of his life.'

So we lighted down in front of the castle yett. I tied the horses together, and walked about the cliff edge, looking out to sea and over the sands of Ayr, thinking of many things. Mostly my thoughts ran on the treasure of Kelwood, and whether I should ever win it. Of Nell, too, and what she meant by patting me on the cheek when we met my mother, of the Tutor's words to my father that one day I should have a handle to my name and a down-sitting as good as any. Plenty of pleasant things I had to think about that caller morn in May, as indeed a young man of spirit ought to have.

And it was not very long before Sir Thomas came forth arm in arm with John Kennedy of Balterson, a grave and portentous man of heavy figure, richly arrayed, more like the provost of a town than a country laird. And these two paced up and down the narrow terrace walk of Greenan Castle, turning and returning, wheeling and countering as on the quarterdeck of a ship. But of the matter of their discourse I know nothing, though I guessed it to have been concerning the making up of peace between the feudal enemies in the lands of Carrick and Kyle.

It was near to ten of the clock, and already close upon the time which had been appointed for the tryst with Auchendrayne, that we mounted at the yett of Greenan to ride on our way to Holmestone Ford.

'Sorry am I,' said my master, 'that I have not spoken a word with John Mure ere I go. But I know his loving desire for my success, and he well knows my affection for him.'

We rode down from the castle crag of Greenan, and presently came out upon the links. These are here all sandy, cast up into rounded mounds and hills, and bitten into by the little pits and dungeons, called of them that play at the golf, 'bunkers.'

'Launcelot, ride a little way in front. It approaches the hour of noon, and I would do my devotion and meditate a little alone,' said Sir Thomas to me. So I drew myself a bowshot before him, riding upon Dom Nicholas, and taking my hat in my hand. I rode easily, enjoying the sea breeze that cooled my brow and tossed my hair. I wondered if ever the time would come, when I also should be thinking about my religion at noon of a fine heartsome day. It seemed a strange time enough for a hale, well-to-do gentleman to set to his prayers.

Presently I saw a man standing upon my right hand somewhat above me upon the crown of a sandhill. And he raised his hand as one that cried to clear the course in the game, so I thought no more of the matter. But I looked round, thinking perchance that he cried to my master, who was riding with bared head and holding his little red Testament in his hand.

Suddenly, even as I looked at him, I heard the sound of shots behind me, and, turning Dom Nicholas, I saw my master reel in his saddle, with white blowing puffs of gunpowder rising all about him, from behind the desolate sandhills among which the murderers had hidden themselves. Drawing my sword, I set spurs to the sides of Dom Nicholas and galloped towards them. I was aware, as I rode, of my master lying on his back on the sand, and his palfrey galloping away with streaming mane. A little black crowd of men stood and knelt about him, and I saw the flash of steel again and again as one and another of them lifted a knife and struck.

I yelled aloud to them in my agony and bade them wait till I came. So they hasted to make front against me, some of them leaping on their horses and others biding a moment to put as it had been booty into their saddle wallets.

It was Thomas Kennedy, called the Wolf of Drummurchie, that withstood me as I came thus furiously upon Dom Nicholas. With him I first crossed swords, while one, James Mure of Auchendrayne, held off a little warily, watching to win in at me when I should give him opportunity. With the corner of my eye I saw the same man whom I had at first observed making the warning signal. He held up his hand as before. Then he leaped on a horse which he had by him in a hollow of the sands. He was, as I noted, a tall man, with a hat pulled low over his eyes, and he wore about him the long grey cloak which had been so fatal a sign to us of Cassillis.

But ere I could see more, I was in the thick of the murderers with my sword. I struck and warded, not knowing what I did, but only striking, with the anger of blood in my eye, till I gave Drummurchie a cut on the shoulder, which made him fain to shift his sword arm. Then I wheeled and attacked Cloncaird as furiously, who was a great mountain of a fellow, red of face and brutal of heart. And I had readily enough done for him, too, had he been alone, for he was no man of his weapons. But I could see plainly enough three or four others charging pistols and training of hackbutts, making ready to take an aim at me. Whereupon I knew that there was no use of spending my life for naught. So, with my sword red in my hand, I rode over the sandhills straight at the tall man in the grey cloak; but such was the effect of an ill conscience that he took his mantle about his mouth as one that fears being known, and set spurs to his horse. I had not pursued far when I came to the top of a dune and saw a little cloud of citizens that played at the clubs beneath me. To them I rode as hard as I could, with the murderers' bullets splattering here and there and throwing up little spirts of sand about me.

'Murder! Foul murder!' I cried. 'Come hastily, for the Tutor of Cassillis is done to death!'

One of the citizens held up his hand to me as if to bid me be silent, for it was the putting stroke which his neighbour played, and of its kind difficult, so that men held their breath. But when it was made and the ball holed, they ran to me quickly enough, for, alas! murder was so common in those days, that men took little notice unless he that fell was one who was some kin to themselves.

Nevertheless, they hasted when I cried who was my master, and who were the villains that beset him. For the players were all burghers of Ayr and feared that they should underlie the angers of the Earl and of the King, if they gave not ready help when this slaughter was done, as it were, at their very gates.

Thus very quickly we came to my dear master. He was lying alone on his back quietly gazing up to the sky, the red blood welling from many ghastly wounds. All his rich plain Flanders cleading was torn and disarranged by the villains, who had not disdained to despoil after that they had murdered him.

Yet there was some life left in him, and he turned his head, smiling as if thankful (after the hateful faces of his cruel enemies) to gaze at the last upon the countenances of friends. He was, as I thought, past speech; but he looked about him in a certain curious way he had when he had lost something, and, being absent-minded, knew not for the moment what. I showed him his empty purse; but it was not that. So I looked round and saw nothing but some discharged pistols lying with broken lingels abroad upon the sand, and the little book he had been reading as his palfrey paced along.

So as soon as I showed the latter to him he put out his hand for it. Then he held it a moment, kissed it, and gave it back to me.

'Be a good lad,' he said quietly and composedly. 'Fear not for me; I go in friendship with all men. Poor, poor Cloncaird!' he said, thinking of one of his murderers whom he had always befriended, 'it is a pity for his wife and young family!'

Then he closed his eyes and we thought he had already passed from us.

But presently he opened them again and looked toward me.

'Be kind to Nelly!' he said, smiling so kindly at me, that my heart nearly broke. He shook his head at seeing my grief and the tears running down, for, indeed, I could not withhold them.

'There is no need,' he said, reprovingly, 'no need for the like of that ava'. Be a brave lad, Launcelot, and just as true to your God as you have proved to me, who have been a loving master to you here below. I am only wae for the poor, misguided lads, that were so far left to themselves as to lay me here like this.'

And with that there was but his body on the sands, for the spirit of the gentlest master that ever a man served had gone its way to its own Master.

But it was even as he said – for the end of such an one there is no need of tears.

Then I stood up, and the terrible thought came in upon me like Solway tide. How – how shall I take him home to Helen Kennedy – to his orphaned bairns, and to the stricken house of Culzean?