Witch Wood. Buchan John
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day of Lutzen, and the blacker day of Nordlingen where Bernhard led us like sheep to the slaughter. That was the end of campaigning for you, Will. I mind leaving you on the ground for dead and kissing your cheek, the while I was near my own end with a musketoon ball in my ribs. Then I heard you were still in life and back in Scotland, but I was off with auld Wrangel to Pomerania and had to keep my mind on my own affairs.’
So the talk went on, memories of leaguers and forced marches and pitched battles, punctuated with the names of Leslies and Hamiltons and Kerrs and Lumsdens and a hundred Scots mercenaries.—‘I got my quietus a year syne serving with Torstensson and his Swedes—a pitiable small affair in Saxonia, where I had the misfortune to meet a round shot on the ricochet which cracked my shin-bone and has set me hirpling for the rest of my days. My Colonel was Sandy Leslie, a brother of Leslie of Balquhain, him that stuck Wallenstein at Eger, but a man of honester disposition and a good Protestant. He bade me go home, for I would never again be worth a soldier’s hire, and faith! when the chirurgeon had finished with my leg I was of the same opinion.—So home you find me, Will, roosting in the cauld rickle of stones that was my forbears’, while rumours of war blow like an east wind up the glens. I’m waiting for your news. I hear word that Davie Leslie ….’
‘Our news can wait, Nick. We’ve a gentleman here to whose ears this babble of war must sound outlandish.’ It seemed to David that some secret intelligence passed between the two and that a foot of one was pressed heavily on the other’s toes.
‘I am a man of peace,’ David said, for the talk had stirred his fancy, ‘but I too have word of a glorious victory in England won by the Covenant armies. If you have come straight from the south you can tell me more.’
‘There was a victory beyond doubt,’ said the tall man with the squint, ‘and that is why we of Leven’s are permitted to go home. We have gotten our pay, whilk is an uncommon happening for the poor soldier in this land.’
‘I have heard,’ said David, ‘that the ranks of the Army of the Covenant fought for higher matters than filthy lucre.’
‘For what, belike?’
‘For the purity of their faith and the Crown honours of Christ.’
The other whistled gently through his teeth.
‘No doubt. No doubt. There’s a braw sough of the Gospel in Leven’s ranks. But we must consider the loaves and fishes, good sir, as well as the preaching of the Word. Man canna live by bread alone, but he assuredly canna live without it, and to fill his belly he wants more than preaching. Lucre’s none so filthy if it be honestly earned, and goes to keep a roof over the wife and bairns. I have served in many lands with a kennin’ o’ queer folk and, believe me, sir, the first thing a soldier thinks of is just his pay.’
‘But he cannot fight unless he has a cause to fight for.’
‘He’ll make a very good shape at it if he has been learned his business by a heavy-handed sergeant. I have seen the riddlings of Europe stick fast as rocks before Wallenstein’s horse, because they had been taught their trade and feared death less than their Colonel’s tongue. And I have seen the flower of gentrice, proud as Lucifer and gallant as lions, and every one with a noble word on his lips, break like rotten twigs at the first musket volley. It’s discipline that’s the last word in war.’
‘But if the discipline be there, will not a conviction of the right of his cause make a better soldier?’
‘You have spoken a true word, and there’s a man in England this day that knows it. That is what Cromwell has done. He has built up a body of horse that stand like an iron wall and move like a river in spate. They have the discipline of Gustavus’s Swedes, and the fires of Hell in their hearts. I tell you, there is nothing in this land that can stand against them.’
‘I have no love for sectaries,’ said David. ‘But cannot our Scots do likewise, with the Covenant to nerve them?’
The other shrugged his shoulders.
‘The Covenant’s but sour kail to the soldier. Davie Leslie has hammered his men into a wise-like army, because he learned his trade from Gustavus. But think you our bannock-fed foot-sentinels care a doit for the black gowns at Westminster? A man will fight for his King and for his country and for liberty to worship God in his own way. But, unless he has a crack in his head, he will not fight for a fine point of church government.’
David was becoming ill at ease. He felt that it was his duty to testify, or otherwise he would be guilty of the sin of Meroz, the sin of apathy when his faith was challenged. But he was far from clear as to the exact nature of his faith. There was no blasphemy in questioning whether the Covenant were truly in the hearts of the people. Had not the minister of Cauldshaw that very afternoon expressed the same doubt?
Nicholas Hawkshaw was peering at him intently.
‘I should ken you, friend, for they tell me you belong to this countryside. And your face sticks in my memory, but I canna put a name to it.’
‘They call me David Sempill. I am the new ordained minister of Woodilee.’
Nicholas cried out. ‘Auld Wat o’ the Roodfoot’s grandson. I heard of your coming, sir, and indeed I’m your chief heritor. I’ll have your hand on that. Man, I kenned your gudesire well, and many a pouchful of groats I had from him when I was a laddie. You’re back among kenned folk, Mr Sempill, and I wish you a long life in Woodilee.’
The troopers did not seem to share their host’s geniality. Quick glances passed between them, and the tall man shifted his seat so that he came between David and the groom. This latter had taken no part in the conversation, indeed he had not spoken a word, but after his meal was finished had sat with his head on his breast as if sunk in meditation. Now he raised his eyes to David, and it was he who spoke.
‘I am not less loyal to the Kirk of Scotland than you, Mr Sempill. You are a placed minister, and I am a humble elder of that kirk.’
‘In what parish?’ David asked eagerly.
‘In my native parish benorth of Forth.’
The man’s dress and station were forgotten by David when he looked at his face. Now that he saw clearly in the candle-light it was not the face of a common groom. Every feature spoke of race, the firm mouth of command, the brooding grey eyes of thought. The voice was sweet and musical, and the man’s whole air had a gentle but imperious courtesy.
The movement of the tall trooper, while it had separated David from the groom, had brought the latter full into the view of Nicholas Hawkshaw. Now a strange thing happened. The host, after a long stare, during which amazement and recognition woke in his eyes, half rose from his seat and seemed on the verge of speaking. His gaze was fixed on the groom, and David read in it something at once deferential and exulting. Then the toe of the lame man’s boot came down on his shin, and the lame man’s hand was laid on his arm. The lame man too said something in a tongue which David could not understand. Nicholas subsided in his chair, but his face remained both puzzled and excited.
The groom spoke again.
‘You are a scholar, and you are young, and you are full of the ardour of your calling. This parish is fortunate in its minister, and I would that all Scotland were as happily served. What is it that you and I seek alike? A pure doctrine, and a liberated Kirk? Is there no more?’
‘I seek above all things to bring men and women to God’s mercy-seat.’
‘And I say Amen. That is more than any disputation about the forms of Presbytery. But you seek also, or I am mightily mistook in you, the freedom and well-being of this land of ours—that our Israel may have peace and prosperity in her borders.’
‘If the first be won, all the rest will be added unto us.’
‘Doubtless. But only if the first be truly won—if the Kirk attend to the work of salvation and does not expend her toil in barren fields. Her sovereign must be King Jesus. Take heed that instead it be not King Covenant.’