John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

Then the woman returned and asked me how I did. I told her, "Well," and thanked her for her care, asking her how I had been rescued and where I was. And this was the tale she told me.

She was of the clan of the Baillies, the great gipsies of Tweeddale and Clydesdale, offshoots of the house of Lamington, and proud as the devil or John Faa himself. They had been encamped in the little haugh at the foot of the Wormel on the night of my chase. They had heard a cry, and a man with a face like death had staggered in among them and fainted at their feet. Captain William Baillie, their leader, of whom more anon, had often been well-entreated at Barns in my father's time, and had heard of my misfortunes. He made a guess as to who I was and ordered that I should be well looked after. Meantime the two companies of soldiers passed by, suspecting nothing, and not troubling to look for the object of their search, who all the while was lying senseless beneath a gipsy tent. When all was safe they looked to my condition, and found that I was in a raging fever with cold and fatigue. Now the gipsies, especially those of our own countryside, are great adepts in medicine, and they speedily had all remedies applied to me. For three weeks I lay ill, delirious most of the time, and they bore me with them in a litter in all their wanderings. I have heard of many strange pieces of generosity, but of none more strange than this—to carry with much difficulty a helpless stranger over some of the roughest land in Scotland, and all for no other motive than sheer kindliness to a house which had befriended them of old. With them I travelled over the wild uplands of Eskdale and Ettrick, and with them I now returned to the confines of Tweeddale.

"The Captain's awa' just noo," added she, "but he'll be back the morn, and blithe he'll be to see ye so weel."

And she left me and I slept again till daybreak.

When I awoke again it was morning, just such a day as the last, frosty and clear and bright. I saw by the bustle that the camp was making preparations for starting, and I was so well recovered that I felt fit to join them. I no longer needed to be borne like a child in a litter, but could mount horse and ride with the best of them.

I had risen and gone out to the encampment and was watching the activity of man and beast, when one advanced from the throng toward me. He was a very tall, handsome man, dark in face as a Spaniard, with fine curling moustachios. He wore a broad blue bonnet on his head, his coat was of good green cloth and his small-clothes of black. At his side he carried a sword and in his belt a brace of pistols, and save for a certain foreign air in his appearance he seemed as fine a gentleman as one could see in the land. He advanced to me and made me a very courtly bow, which I returned as well as my still-aching back permitted me.

"I am glad you are recovered, Master John Burnet," said he, speaking excellent English, though with the broad accent which is customary to our Scots lowlands. "Permit me to make myself known to you. I have the honour to be Captain William Baillie at your service, captain of the ragged regiment and the Egyptian guards." All this he said with as fine an air as if he were His Majesty's first general.

At the mention of his name I called to mind all I had heard of this extraordinary man, the chief of all the south-country gipsies, and a character as famous in those days and in those parts as Claverhouse or my lord the King. He claimed to be a bastard of the house of Lamington, and through his mother he traced descent, also by the wrong side of the blanket, to the Gay Gordons themselves. Something of his assumed gentrice showed in his air and manner, which was haughty and lofty as any lord's in the land. But in his face, among wild passions and unbridled desires, I read such shrewd kindliness that I found it in my heart to like him. Indeed, while the tales of his crimes are hawked at every fair, the tales of his many deeds of kindness are remembered in lonely places by folk who have cause to bless the name of Baillie. This same captain had indeed the manners of a prince, for when he bought anything he was wont to give his purse in payment, and indignantly refuse to receive change of any kind. It is only fair to add that the money was not got by honest means, but by the plunder of the rich and churlish. Yet though his ways were roguish his acts were often most Christian-like and courteous, and there were worse men in higher places that this William Baillie. More, he was reputed the best swordsman in all Scotland, though, as being barred from the society of men of birth and education, his marvellous talent was seldom seen. He was of the most indomitable courage and self-possession, and even in the court, when on his trial, he spoke fearlessly to his judges. I do not seek to defend him; but to me and mine he did a good deed and I would seek to be grateful. When long afterwards he was killed in a brawl in the alehouse of Newarthill, I heard the tidings with some sorrow, for he died bravely, though in an ignoble quarrel.

He now informed me with great civility of the incidents of my escape and sickness. When I thanked him he waved me off with a great air.

"Tut, tut," said he, "that is a small matter between gentlefolk. I have often had kindness from your father, and it is only seemly that I should do my best for the son. Besides, it is not in my nature to see a man so sore pressed by the soldiery and not seek to deliver him. It is a predicament I have so often been in myself."