Well, the summer and the autumn and the best part
of the winter passed away, and we were still all very
happy together. We got well into the year 1815,
and the great Emperor was still eating his heart out
at Elba; and all the ambassadors were wrangling together
at Vienna as to what they should do with the lion’s
skin, now that they had so fairly hunted him down.
And we in our little corner of Europe went on with
our petty peaceful business, looking after the sheep,
attending the Berwick cattle fairs, and chatting at
night round the blazing peat fire. We never
thought that what all these high and mighty people
were doing could have any bearing upon us; and as
to war, why everybody was agreed that the great shadow
was lifted from us for ever, and that, unless the Allies
quarrelled among themselves, there would not be a shot
fired in Europe for another fifty years.
There was one incident, however, that stands out very
clearly in my memory. I think that it must have
happened about the February of this year, and I will
tell it to you before I go any further.
You know what the border peel castles are like, I
have no doubt. They were just square heaps built
every here and there along the line, so that the folk
might have some place of protection against raiders
and mosstroopers. When Percy and his men were
over the Marches, then the people would drive some
of their cattle into the yard of the tower, shut up
the big gate, and light a fire in the brazier at the
top, which would be answered by all the other Peel
towers, until the lights would go twinkling up to
the Lammermuir Hills, and so carry the news on to the
Pentlands and to Edinburgh. But now, of course,
all these old keeps were warped and crumbling, and
made fine nesting places for the wild birds.
Many a good egg have I had for my collection out of
the Corriemuir Peel Tower.
One day I had been a very long walk, away over to
leave a message at the Laidlaw Armstrongs, who live
two miles on this side of Ayton. About five o’clock,
just before the sun set, I found myself on the brae
path with the gable end of West Inch peeping up in
front of me and the old Peel tower lying on my left.
I turned my eyes on the keep, for it looked so fine
with the flush of the level sun beating full upon it
and the blue sea stretching out behind; and as I stared,
I suddenly saw the face of a man twinkle for a moment
in one of the holes in the wall.
Well I stood and wondered over this, for what could
anybody be doing in such a place now that it was too
early for the nesting season? It was so queer
that I was determined to come to the bottom of it;
so, tired as I was, I turned my shoulder on home,
and walked swiftly towards the tower. The grass
stretches right up to the very base of the wall, and
my feet made little noise until I reached the crumbling
arch where the old gate used to be. I peeped
through, and there was Bonaventure de Lapp standing
inside the keep, and peeping out through the very hole
at which I had seen his face. He was turned
half away from me, and it was clear that he had not
seen me at all, for he was staring with all his eyes
over in the direction of West Inch. As I advanced
my foot rattled the rubble that lay in the gateway,
and he turned round with a start and faced me.
