**The Project Gutenberg Etext of Kidnapped by R. L. Stevenson**
#17 in our series by Robert Louis Stevenson
Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!!
Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below. We need your donations.
Kidnapped
by Robert Louis Stevenson
January, 1995 [Etext #421]
**The Project Gutenberg Etext of Kidnapped by R. L. Stevenson**
*****This file should be named kdnpd10.txt or kdnpd10.zip******
Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, kdnpd11.txt.
VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, kdnpd10a.txt.
We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance
of the official release dates, for time for better editing.
Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an
up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes
in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has
a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a
look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a
new copy has at least one byte more or less.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $4
million dollars per hour this year as we release some eight text
files per month: thus upping our productivity from $2 million.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is 10% of the expected number of computer users by the end
of the year 2001.
We need your donations more than ever!
All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/IBC", and are
tax deductible to the extent allowable by law ("IBC" is Illinois
Benedictine College). (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter go
to IBC, too)
For these and other matters, please mail to:
Project Gutenberg
P. O. Box 2782
Champaign, IL 61825
When all other email fails try our Michael S. Hart, Executive
Director:
hart@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu (internet) hart@uiucvmd (bitnet)
We would prefer to send you this information by email
(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail).
******
If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please
FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives:
[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type]
ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu
login: anonymous
password: your@login
cd etext/etext90 through /etext96
or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information]
dir [to see files]
get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files]
GET INDEX?00.GUT
for a list of books
and
GET NEW GUT for general information
and
MGET GUT* for newsletters.
**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor**
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-
tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor
Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at
Illinois Benedictine College (the "Project"). Among other
things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this
etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.
THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors,
officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost
and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or
indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause:
[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification,
or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect.
DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro-
cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the etext (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the
net profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois
Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each
date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare)
your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time,
scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty
free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution
you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg
Association / Illinois Benedictine College".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
KIDNAPPED
BEING
MEMOIRS OF THE ADVENTURES OF
DAVID BALFOUR
IN THE YEAR 1751
HOW HE WAS KIDNAPPED AND CAST AWAY; HIS SUFFERINGS IN
A DESERT ISLE; HIS JOURNEY IN THE WILD HIGHLANDS;
HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH ALAN BRECK STEWART
AND OTHER NOTORIOUS HIGHLAND JACOBITES;
WITH ALL THAT HE SUFFERED AT THE
HANDS OF HIS UNCLE, EBENEZER
BALFOUR OF SHAWS, FALSELY
SO CALLED
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF AND NOW SET FORTH BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
WITH A PREFACE BY MRS. STEVENSON
PREFACE
TO
THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION
While my husband and Mr. Henley were engaged in writing plays in
Bournemouth they made a number of titles, hoping to use them in
the future. Dramatic composition was not what my husband
preferred, but the torrent of Mr. Henley's enthusiasm swept him
off his feet. However, after several plays had been finished,
and his health seriously impaired by his endeavours to keep up
with Mr. Henley, play writing was abandoned forever, and my
husband returned to his legitimate vocation. Having added one of
the titles, The Hanging Judge, to the list of projected plays,
now thrown aside, and emboldened by my husband's offer to give me
any help needed, I concluded to try and write it myself.
As I wanted a trial scene in the Old Bailey, I chose the period
of 1700 for my purpose; but being shamefully ignorant of my
subject, and my husband confessing to little more knowledge than
I possessed, a London bookseller was commissioned to send us
everything he could procure bearing on Old Bailey trials. A
great package came in response to our order, and very soon we
were both absorbed, not so much in the trials as in following the
brilliant career of a Mr. Garrow, who appeared as counsel in many
of the cases. We sent for more books, and yet more, still intent
on Mr. Garrow, whose subtle cross-examination of witnesses and
masterly, if sometimes startling, methods of arriving at the
truth seemed more thrilling to us than any novel.
Occasionally other trials than those of the Old Bailey would be
included in the package of books we received from London; among
these my husband found and read with avidity:--
THE
TRIAL
OF
JAMES STEWART
in Aucharn in Duror of Appin
FOR THE
Murder of COLIN CAMPBELL of Glenure, Efq;
Factor for His Majefty on the forfeited
Estate of Ardfhiel.
My husband was always interested in this period of his country's
history, and had already the intention of writing a story that
should turn on the Appin murder. The tale was to be of a boy,
David Balfour, supposed to belong to my husband's own family, who
should travel in Scotland as though it were a foreign country,
meeting with various adventures and misadventures by the way.
From the trial of James Stewart my husband gleaned much valuable
material for his novel, the most important being the character of
Alan Breck. Aside from having described him as "smallish in
stature," my husband seems to have taken Alan Breck's personal
appearance, even to his clothing, from the book.
A letter from James Stewart to Mr. John Macfarlane, introduced as
evidence in the trial, says: "There is one Alan Stewart, a
distant friend of the late Ardshiel's, who is in the French
service, and came over in March last, as he said to some, in
order to settle at home; to others, that he was to go soon back;
and was, as I hear, the day that the murder was committed, seen
not far from the place where it happened, and is not now to be
seen; by which it is believed he was the actor. He is a
desperate foolish fellow; and if he is guilty, came to the
country for that very purpose. He is a tall, pock-pitted lad,
very black hair, and wore a blue coat and metal buttons, an old
red vest, and breeches of the same colour." A second witness
testified to having seen him wearing "a blue coat with silver
buttons, a red waistcoat, black shag breeches, tartan hose, and a
feathered hat, with a big coat, dun coloured," a costume referred
to by one of the counsel as "French cloathes which were
remarkable."
There are many incidents given in the trial that point to Alan's
fiery spirit and Highland quickness to take offence. One witness
"declared also That the said Alan Breck threatened that he would
challenge Ballieveolan and his sons to fight because of his
removing the declarant last year from Glenduror." On another
page: "Duncan Campbell, change-keeper at Annat, aged thirty-five
years, married, witness cited, sworn, purged and examined ut
supra, depones, That, in the month of April last, the deponent
met with Alan Breck Stewart, with whom he was not acquainted, and
John Stewart, in Auchnacoan, in the house of the walk miller of
Auchofragan, and went on with them to the house: Alan Breck
Stewart said, that he hated all the name of Campbell; and the
deponent said, he had no reason for doing so: But Alan said, he
had very good reason for it: that thereafter they left that
house; and, after drinking a dram at another house, came to the
deponent's house, where they went in, and drunk some drams, and
Alan Breck renewed the former Conversation; and the deponent,
making the same answer, Alan said, that, if the deponent had any
respect for his friends, he would tell them, that if they offered
to turn out the possessors of Ardshiel's estate, he would make
black cocks of them, before they entered into possession by which
the deponent understood shooting them, it being a common phrase
in the country."
Some time after the publication of Kidnapped we stopped for a
short while in the Appin country, where we were surprised and
interested to discover that the feeling concerning the murder of
Glenure (the "Red Fox," also called "Colin Roy") was almost as
keen as though the tragedy had taken place the day before. For
several years my husband received letters of expostulation or
commendation from members of the Campbell and Stewart clans. I
have in my possession a paper, yellow with age, that was sent
soon after the novel appeared, containing "The Pedigree of the
Family of Appine," wherein it is said that "Alan 3rd Baron of
Appine was not killed at Flowdoun, tho there, but lived to a
great old age. He married Cameron Daughter to Ewen Cameron of
Lochiel." Following this is a paragraph stating that "John
Stewart 1st of Ardsheall of his descendants Alan Breck had better
be omitted. Duncan Baan Stewart in Achindarroch his father was a
Bastard."
One day, while my husband was busily at work, I sat beside him
reading an old cookery book called The Compleat Housewife: or
Accomplish'd Gentlewoman's Companion. In the midst of receipts
for "Rabbits, and Chickens mumbled, Pickled Samphire, Skirret
Pye, Baked Tansy," and other forgotten delicacies, there were
directions for the preparation of several lotions for the
preservation of beauty. One of these was so charming that I
interrupted my husband to read it aloud. "Just what I wanted!"
he exclaimed; and the receipt for the "Lily of the Valley Water"
was instantly incorporated into Kidnapped.
F. V. DE G. S.
DEDICATION
MY DEAR CHARLES BAXTER:
If you ever read this tale, you will likely ask yourself more
questions than I should care to answer: as for instance how the
Appin murder has come to fall in the year 1751, how the Torran
rocks have crept so near to Earraid, or why the printed trial is
silent as to all that touches David Balfour. These are nuts
beyond my ability to crack. But if you tried me on the point of
Alan's guilt or innocence, I think I could defend the reading of
the text. To this day you will find the tradition of Appin clear
in Alan's favour. If you inquire, you may even hear that the
descendants of "the other man" who fired the shot are in the
country to this day. But that other man's name, inquire as you
please, you shall not hear; for the Highlander values a secret
for itself and for the congenial exercise of keeping it I might
go on for long to justify one point and own another indefensible;
it is more honest to confess at once how little I am touched by
the desire of accuracy. This is no furniture for the scholar's
library, but a book for the winter evening school-room when the
tasks are over and the hour for bed draws near; and honest Alan,
who was a grim old fire-eater in his day has in this new avatar
no more desperate purpose than to steal some young gentleman's
attention from his Ovid, carry him awhile into the Highlands and
the last century, and pack him to bed with some engaging images
to mingle with his dreams.
As for you, my dear Charles, I do not even ask you to like this
tale. But perhaps when he is older, your son will; he may then
be pleased to find his father's name on the fly-leaf; and in the
meanwhile it pleases me to set it there, in memory of many days
that were happy and some (now perhaps as pleasant to remember)
that were sad. If it is strange for me to look back from a
distance both in time and space on these bygone adventures of our
youth, it must be stranger for you who tread the same
streets--who may to-morrow open the door of the old Speculative,
where we begin to rank with Scott and Robert Emmet and the
beloved and inglorious Macbean--or may pass the corner of the
close where that great society, the L. J. R., held its meetings
and drank its beer, sitting in the seats of Burns and his
companions. I think I see you, moving there by plain daylight,
beholding with your natural eyes those places that have now
become for your companion a part of the scenery of dreams. How,
in the intervals of present business, the past must echo in your
memory! Let it not echo often without some kind thoughts of your
friend,
R.L.S.
SKERRYVORE,
BOURNEMOUTH.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
II I COME TO MY JOURNEY'S END
III I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE
IV I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
V I GO TO THE QUEEN'S FERRY
VI WHAT BEFELL AT THE QUEEN'S FERRY
VII I GO TO SEA IN THE BRIG "COVENANT" OF DYSART
VIII THE ROUND-HOUSE
IX THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD
X THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE
XI THE CAPTAIN KNUCKLES UNDER
XII I HEAR OF THE "RED FOX"
XIII THE LOSS OF THE BRIG
XIV THE ISLET
XV THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE ISLE OF MULL
XVI THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: ACROSS MORVEN
XVII THE DEATH OF THE RED FOX
XVIIII TALK WITH ALAN IN THE WOOD OF LETTERMORE
XIX THE HOUSE OF FEAR
XX THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE ROCKS
XXI THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE HEUGH OF CORRYNAKIEGH
XXII THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR
XXIII CLUNY'S CAGE
XXIV THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE QUARREL IN BALQUHIDDER
XXVI END OF THE FLIGHT: WE PASS THE FORTH
XXVII I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR
XXVIII I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE
XXIX I COME INTO MY KINGDOM
XXX GOOD-BYE
CHAPTER I
I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning
early in the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took
the key for the last time out of the door of my father's house.
The sun began to shine upon the summit of the hills as I went
down the road; and by the time I had come as far as the manse,
the blackbirds were whistling in the garden lilacs, and the mist
that hung around the valley in the time of the dawn was beginning
to arise and die away.
Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, was waiting for me by
the garden gate, good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted; and
hearing that I lacked for nothing, he took my hand in both of his
and clapped it kindly under his arm.
"Well, Davie, lad," said he, "I will go with you as far as the
ford, to set you on the way." And we began to walk forward in
silence.
"Are ye sorry to leave Essendean?" said he, after awhile.
"Why, sir," said I, "if I knew where I was going, or what was
likely to become of me, I would tell you candidly. Essendean is
a good place indeed, and I have been very happy there; but then I
have never been anywhere else. My father and mother, since they
are both dead, I shall be no nearer to in Essendean than in the
Kingdom of Hungary, and, to speak truth, if I thought I had a
chance to better myself where I was going I would go with a good
will."
"Ay?" said Mr. Campbell. "Very well, Davie. Then it behoves me
to tell your fortune; or so far as I may. When your mother was
gone, and your father (the worthy, Christian man) began to sicken
for his end, he gave me in charge a certain letter, which he said
was your inheritance. 'So soon,' says he, 'as I am gone, and the
house is redd up and the gear disposed of' (all which, Davie,
hath been done), 'give my boy this letter into his hand, and
start him off to the house of Shaws, not far from Cramond. That
is the place I came from,' he said, 'and it's where it befits
that my boy should return. He is a steady lad,' your father
said, 'and a canny goer; and I doubt not he will come safe, and
be well lived where he goes.'"
"The house of Shaws!" I cried. "What had my poor father to do
with the house of Shaws?"
"Nay," said Mr. Campbell, "who can tell that for a surety? But
the name of that family, Davie, boy, is the name you bear --
Balfours of Shaws: an ancient, honest, reputable house,
peradventure in these latter days decayed. Your father, too, was
a man of learning as befitted his position; no man more plausibly
conducted school; nor had he the manner or the speech of a common
dominie; but (as ye will yourself remember) I took aye a pleasure
to have him to the manse to meet the gentry; and those of my own
house, Campbell of Kilrennet, Campbell of Dunswire, Campbell of
Minch, and others, all well-kenned gentlemen, had pleasure in his
society. Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before
you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the
own hand of our departed brother."
He gave me the letter, which was addressed in these words: "To
the hands of Ebenezer Balfour, Esquire, of Shaws, in his house of
Shaws, these will be delivered by my son, David Balfour." My
heart was beating hard at this great prospect now suddenly
opening before a lad of seventeen years of age, the son of a poor
country dominie in the Forest of Ettrick.
"Mr. Campbell," I stammered, "and if you were in my shoes, would
you go?"
"Of a surety," said the minister, "that would I, and without
pause. A pretty lad like you should get to Cramond (which is
near in by Edinburgh) in two days of walk. If the worst came to
the worst, and your high relations (as I cannot but suppose them
to be somewhat of your blood) should put you to the door, ye can
but walk the two days back again and risp at the manse door. But
I would rather hope that ye shall be well received, as your poor
father forecast for you, and for anything that I ken come to be a
great man in time. And here, Davie, laddie," he resumed, "it
lies near upon my conscience to improve this parting, and set you
on the right guard against the dangers of the world."
Here he cast about for a comfortable seat, lighted on a big
boulder under a birch by the trackside, sate down upon it with a
very long, serious upper lip, and the sun now shining in upon us
between two peaks, put his pocket-handkerchief over his cocked
hat to shelter him. There, then, with uplifted forefinger, he
first put me on my guard against a considerable number of
heresies, to which I had no temptation, and urged upon me to be
instant in my prayers and reading of the Bible. That done, he
drew a picture of the great house that I was bound to, and how I
should conduct myself with its inhabitants.
"Be soople, Davie, in things immaterial," said he. "Bear ye this
in mind, that, though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing.
Dinnae shame us, Davie, dinnae shame us! In yon great, muckle
house, with all these domestics, upper and under, show yourself
as nice, as circumspect, as quick at the conception, and as slow
of speech as any. As for the laird -- remember he's the laird; I
say no more: honour to whom honour. It's a pleasure to obey a
laird; or should be, to the young."
"Well, sir," said I, "it may be; and I'll promise you I'll try to
make it so."
"Why, very well said," replied Mr. Campbell, heartily. "And now
to come to the material, or (to make a quibble) to the
immaterial. I have here a little packet which contains four
things." He tugged it, as he spoke, and with some great
difficulty, from the skirt pocket of his coat. "Of these four
things, the first is your legal due: the little pickle money for
your father's books and plenishing, which I have bought (as I
have explained from the first) in the design of re-selling at a
profit to the incoming dominie. The other three are gifties that
Mrs. Campbell and myself would be blithe of your acceptance. The
first, which is round, will likely please ye best at the first
off-go; but, O Davie, laddie, it's but a drop of water in the
sea; it'll help you but a step, and vanish like the morning. The
second, which is flat and square and written upon, will stand by
you through life, like a good staff for the road, and a good
pillow to your head in sickness. And as for the last, which is
cubical, that'll see you, it's my prayerful wish, into a better
land."
With that he got upon his feet, took off his hat, and prayed a
little while aloud, and in affecting terms, for a young man
setting out into the world; then suddenly took me in his arms and
embraced me very hard; then held me at arm's length, looking at
me with his face all working with sorrow; and then whipped about,
and crying good-bye to me, set off backward by the way that we
had come at a sort of jogging run. It might have been laughable
to another; but I was in no mind to laugh. I watched him as long
as he was in sight; and he never stopped hurrying, nor once
looked back. Then it came in upon my mind that this was all his
sorrow at my departure; and my conscience smote me hard and fast,
because I, for my part, was overjoyed to get away out of that
quiet country-side, and go to a great, busy house, among rich and
respected gentlefolk of my own name and blood.
"Davie, Davie," I thought, "was ever seen such black ingratitude?
Can you forget old favours and old friends at the mere whistle of
a name? Fie, fie; think shame."
And I sat down on the boulder the good man had just left, and
opened the parcel to see the nature of my gifts. That which he
had called cubical, I had never had much doubt of; sure enough it
was a little Bible, to carry in a plaid-neuk. That which he had
called round, I found to be a shilling piece; and the third,
which was to help me so wonderfully both in health and sickness
all the days of my life, was a little piece of coarse yellow
paper, written upon thus in red ink:
"TO MAKE LILLY OF THE VALLEY WATER.--Take the flowers of lilly of
the valley and distil them in sack, and drink a spooneful or two
as there is occasion. It restores speech to those that have the
dumb palsey. It is good against the Gout; it comforts the heart
and strengthens the memory; and the flowers, put into a Glasse,
close stopt, and set into ane hill of ants for a month, then take
it out, and you will find a liquor which comes from the flowers,
which keep in a vial; it is good, ill or well, and whether man or
woman."
And then, in the minister's own hand, was added:
"Likewise for sprains, rub it in; and for the cholic, a great
spooneful in the hour."
To be sure, I laughed over this; but it was rather tremulous
laughter; and I was glad to get my bundle on my staff's end and
set out over the ford and up the hill upon the farther side;
till, just as I came on the green drove-road running wide through
the heather, I took my last look of Kirk Essendean, the trees
about the manse, and the big rowans in the kirkyard where my
father and my mother lay.
CHAPTER II
I COME TO MY JOURNEY'S END
On the forenoon of the second day, coming to the top of a hill, I
saw all the country fall away before me down to the sea; and in
the midst of this descent, on a long ridge, the city of Edinburgh
smoking like a kiln. There was a flag upon the castle, and ships
moving or lying anchored in the firth; both of which, for as far
away as they were, I could distinguish clearly; and both brought
my country heart into my mouth.
Presently after, I came by a house where a shepherd lived, and
got a rough direction for the neighbourhood of Cramond; and so,
from one to another, worked my way to the westward of the capital
by Colinton, till I came out upon the Glasgow road. And there,
to my great pleasure and wonder, I beheld a regiment marching to
the fifes, every foot in time; an old red-faced general on a grey
horse at the one end, and at the other the company of Grenadiers,
with their Pope's-hats. The pride of life seemed to mount into
my brain at the sight of the red coats and the hearing of that
merry music.
A little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond parish, and
began to substitute in my inquiries the name of the house of
Shaws. It was a word that seemed to surprise those of whom I
sought my way. At first I thought the plainness of my
appearance, in my country habit, and that all dusty from the
road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place to which I
was bound. But after two, or maybe three, had given me the same
look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there was
something strange about the Shaws itself.
The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of my
inquiries; and spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the
shaft of his cart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a
house they called the house of Shaws.
He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.
"Ay" said he. "What for?"
"It's a great house?" I asked.
"Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle house."
"Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?"
"Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there -- to
call folk."
"What?" say I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?"
"Ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's
him you're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?"
"I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said,
looking as modest as I could.
"What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse
started; and then, "Well, mannie," he added, "it's nane of my
affairs; but ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take a
word from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws."
The next person I came across was a dapper little man in a
beautiful white wig, whom I saw to be a barber on his rounds; and
knowing well that barbers were great gossips, I asked him plainly
what sort of a man was Mr. Balfour of the Shaws.
"Hoot, hoot, hoot," said the barber, "nae kind of a man, nae kind
of a man at all;" and began to ask me very shrewdly what my
business was; but I was more than a match for him at that, and he
went on to his next customer no wiser than he came.
I cannot well describe the blow this dealt to my illusions. The
more indistinct the accusations were, the less I liked them, for
they left the wider field to fancy. What kind of a great house
was this, that all the parish should start and stare to be asked
the way to it? or what sort of a gentleman, that his ill-fame
should be thus current on the wayside? If an hour's walking would
have brought me back to Essendean, had left my adventure then and
there, and returned to Mr. Campbell's. But when I had come so
far a way already, mere shame would not suffer me to desist till
I had put the matter to the touch of proof; I was bound, out of
mere self-respect, to carry it through; and little as I liked the
sound of what I heard, and slow as I began to travel, I still
kept asking my way and still kept advancing.
It was drawing on to sundown when I met a stout, dark,
sour-looking woman coming trudging down a hill; and she, when I
had put my usual question, turned sharp about, accompanied me
back to the summit she had just left, and pointed to a great bulk
of building standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of the
next valley. The country was pleasant round about, running in
low hills, pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to my
eyes, wonderfully good; but the house itself appeared to be a
kind of ruin; no road led up to it; no smoke arose from any of
the chimneys; nor was there any semblance of a garden. My heart
sank. "That!" I cried.
The woman's face lit up with a malignant anger. "That is the
house of Shaws!" she cried. "Blood built it; blood stopped the
building of it; blood shall bring it down. See here!" she cried
again -- "I spit upon the ground, and crack my thumb at it! Black
be its fall! If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him
this makes the twelve hunner and nineteen time that Jennet
Clouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre and
stable, man, guest, and master, wife, miss, or bairn -- black,
black be their fall!"
And the woman, whose voice had risen to a kind of eldritch
sing-song, turned with a skip, and was gone. I stood where she
left me, with my hair on end. In those days folk still believed
in witches and trembled at a curse; and this one, falling so pat,
like a wayside omen, to arrest me ere I carried out my purpose,
took the pith out of my legs.
I sat me down and stared at the house of Shaws. The more I
looked, the pleasanter that country-side appeared; being all set
with hawthorn bushes full of flowers; the fields dotted with
sheep; a fine flight of rooks in the sky; and every sign of a
kind soil and climate; and yet the barrack in the midst of it
went sore against my fancy.
Country folk went by from the fields as I sat there on the side
of the ditch, but I lacked the spirit to give them a good-e'en.
At last the sun went down, and then, right up against the yellow
sky, I saw a scroll of smoke go mounting, not much thicker, as it
seemed to me, than the smoke of a candle; but still there it was,
and meant a fire, and warmth, and cookery, and some living
inhabitant that must have lit it; and this comforted my heart.
So I set forward by a little faint track in the grass that led in
my direction. It was very faint indeed to be the only way to a
place of habitation; yet I saw no other. Presently it brought me
to stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them, and coats
of arms upon the top. A main entrance it was plainly meant to
be, but never finished; instead of gates of wrought iron, a pair
of hurdles were tied across with a straw rope; and as there were
no park walls, nor any sign of avenue, the track that I was
following passed on the right hand of the pillars, and went
wandering on toward the house.
The nearer I got to that, the drearier it appeared. It seemed
like the one wing of a house that had never been finished. What
should have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors,
and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of uncompleted
masonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew in and
out like doves out of a dove-cote.
The night had begun to fall as I got close; and in three of the
lower windows, which were very high up and narrow, and well
barred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer.
Was this the palace I had been coming to? Was it within these
walls that I was to seek new friends and begin great fortunes?
Why, in my father's house on Essen-Waterside, the fire and the
bright lights would show a mile away, and the door open to a
beggar's knock!
I came forward cautiously, and giving ear as I came, heard some
one rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that came
in fits; but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked.
The door, as well as I could see it in the dim light, was a great
piece of wood all studded with nails; and I lifted my hand with a
faint heart under my jacket, and knocked once. Then I stood and
waited. The house had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minute
passed away, and nothing stirred but the bats overhead. I
knocked again, and hearkened again. By this time my ears had
grown so accustomed to the quiet, that I could hear the ticking
of the clock inside as it slowly counted out the seconds; but
whoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have held
his breath.
I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper
hand, and I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door,
and to shout out aloud for Mr. Balfour. I was in full career,
when I heard the cough right overhead, and jumping back and
looking up, beheld a man's head in a tall nightcap, and the bell
mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first-storey windows.
"It's loaded," said a voice.
"I have come here with a letter," I said, "to Mr. Ebenezer
Balfour of Shaws. Is he here?"
"From whom is it?" asked the man with the blunderbuss.
"That is neither here nor there," said I, for I was growing very
wroth.
"Well," was the reply, "ye can put it down upon the doorstep, and
be off with ye."
"I will do no such thing," I cried. "I will deliver it into Mr.
Balfour's hands, as it was meant I should. It is a letter of
introduction."
"A what?" cried the voice, sharply.
I repeated what I had said.
"Who are ye, yourself?" was the next question, after a
considerable pause.
"I am not ashamed of my name," said I. "They call me David
Balfour."
At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blunderbuss
rattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause,
and with a curious change of voice, that the next question
followed:
"Is your father dead?"
I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice to
answer, but stood staring.
"Ay" the man resumed, "he'll be dead, no doubt; and that'll be
what brings ye chapping to my door." Another pause, and then
defiantly, "Well, man," he said, "I'll let ye in;" and he
disappeared from the window.
CHAPTER III
I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE
Presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, and
the door was cautiously opened and shut to again behind me as
soon as I had passed.
"Go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; and
while the person of the house set himself to replacing the
defences of the door, I groped my way forward and entered the
kitchen.
The fire had burned up fairly bright, and showed me the barest
room I think I ever put my eyes on. Half-a-dozen dishes stood
upon the shelves; the table was laid for supper with a bowl of
porridge, a horn spoon, and a cup of small beer. Besides what I
have named, there was not another thing in that great,
stone-vaulted, empty chamber but lockfast chests arranged along
the wall and a corner cupboard with a padlock.
As soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me. He was a
mean, stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his
age might have been anything between fifty and seventy. His
nightcap was of flannel, and so was the nightgown that he wore,
instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt. He was
long unshaved; but what most distressed and even daunted me, he
would neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly in
the face. What he was, whether by trade or birth, was more than
I could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitable
serving-man, who should have been left in charge of that big
house upon board wages.
"Are ye sharp-set?" he asked, glancing at about the level of my
knee. "Ye can eat that drop parritch?"
I said I feared it was his own supper.
"O," said he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale,
though, for it slockens[1] my cough." He drank the cup about
half out, still keeping an eye upon me as he drank; and then
suddenly held out his hand. "Let's see the letter," said he.
[1] Moistens.
I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him.
"And who do ye think I am?" says he. "Give me Alexander's
letter."
"You know my father's name?"
"It would be strange if I didnae," he returned, "for he was my
born brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my
house, or my good parritch, I'm your born uncle, Davie, my man,
and you my born nephew. So give us the letter, and sit down and
fill your kyte."
If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, and
disappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, I
could find no words, neither black nor white, but handed him
the letter, and sat down to the porridge with as little appetite
for meat as ever a young man had.
Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter
over and over in his hands.
"Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked, suddenly.
"You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not been
broken."
"Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?"
"To give the letter," said I.
"No," says he, cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, nae
doubt?"
"I confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kinsfolk
well-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me
in my life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your
hands, and I want none that are not freely given. For as poor as
I appear, I have friends of my own that will be blithe to help
me."
"Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "dinnae fly up in the snuff at
me. We'll agree fine yet. And, Davie, my man, if you're done
with that bit parritch, I could just take a sup of it myself.
Ay," he continued, as soon as he had ousted me from the stool and
spoon, "they're fine, halesome food -- they're grand food,
parritch." He murmured a little grace to himself and fell to.
"Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind; he was a hearty,
if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never do mair than
pyke at food." He took a pull at the small beer, which probably
reminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ran thus:
"If ye're dry ye'll find water behind the door."
To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet,
and looking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, on
his part, continued to eat like a man under some pressure of
time, and to throw out little darting glances now at my shoes and
now at my home-spun stockings. Once only, when he had ventured
to look a little higher, our eyes met; and no thief taken with a
hand in a man's pocket could have shown more lively signals of
distress. This set me in a muse, whether his timidity arose from
too long a disuse of any human company; and whether perhaps, upon
a little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle change into an
altogether different man. From this I was awakened by his sharp
voice.
"Your father's been long dead?" he asked.
"Three weeks, sir," said I.
"He was a secret man, Alexander -- a secret, silent man," he
continued. "He never said muckle when he was young. He'll never
have spoken muckle of me?"
"I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any
brother."
"Dear me, dear me!" said Ebenezer. "Nor yet of Shaws, I dare
say?"
"Not so much as the name, sir," said I.
"To think o' that!" said he. "A strange nature of a man!" For
all that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with
himself, or me, or with this conduct of my father's, was more
than I could read. Certainly, however, he seemed to be
outgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that he had conceived at
first against my person; for presently he jumped up, came across
the room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder. "We'll
agree fine yet!" he cried. "I'm just as glad I let you in. And
now come awa' to your bed."
To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the
dark passage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight of
steps, and paused before a door, which he unlocked. I was close
upon his heels, having stumbled after him as best I might; and
then he bade me go in, for that was my chamber. I did as he bid,
but paused after a few steps, and begged a light to go to bed
with.
"Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "there's a fine moon."
"Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,"[2] said I. "I cannae
see the bed."
[2] Dark as the pit.
"Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!" said he. "Lights in a house is a thing I
dinnae agree with. I'm unco feared of fires. Good-night to ye,
Davie, my man." And before I had time to add a further protest,
he pulled the door to, and I heard him lock me in from the
outside.
I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The room was as cold as
a well, and the bed, when I had found my way to it, as damp as a
peat-hag; but by good fortune I had caught up my bundle and my
plaid, and rolling myself in the latter, I lay down upon the
floor under lee of the big bedstead, and fell speedily asleep.
With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find myself in a
great chamber, hung with stamped leather, furnished with fine
embroidered furniture, and lit by three fair windows. Ten years
ago, or perhaps twenty, it must have been as pleasant a room to
lie down or to awake in as a man could wish; but damp, dirt,
disuse, and the mice and spiders had done their worst since then.
Many of the window-panes, besides, were broken; and indeed this
was so common a feature in that house, that I believe my uncle
must at some time have stood a siege from his indignant
neighbours -- perhaps with Jennet Clouston at their head.
Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold in
that miserable room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler came
and let me out. He carried me to the back of the house, where
was a draw-well, and told me to "wash my face there, if I
wanted;" and when that was done, I made the best of my own way
back to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making the
porridge. The table was laid with two bowls and two horn spoons,
but the same single measure of small beer. Perhaps my eye rested
on this particular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncle
observed it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought,
asking me if I would like to drink ale -- for so he called it.
I told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about.
"Na, na," said he; "I'll deny you nothing in reason."
He fetched another cup from the shelf; and then, to my great
surprise, instead of drawing more beer, he poured an accurate
half from one cup to the other. There was a kind of nobleness in
this that took my breath away; if my uncle was certainly a miser,
he was one of that thorough breed that goes near to make the vice
respectable.
When we had made an end of our meal, my uncle Ebenezer unlocked a
drawer, and drew out of it a clay pipe and a lump of tobacco,
from which he cut one fill before he locked it up again. Then he
sat down in the sun at one of the windows and silently smoked.
From time to time his eyes came coasting round to me, and he shot
out one of his questions. Once it was, "And your mother?" and
when I had told him that she, too, was dead, "Ay, she was a
bonnie lassie!" Then, after another long pause, "Whae were these
friends o' yours?"
I told him they were different gentlemen of the name of Campbell;
though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, that
had ever taken the least note of me; but I began to think my
uncle made too light of my position, and finding myself all alone
with him, I did not wish him to suppose me helpless.
He seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, "Davie, my
man," said he, "ye've come to the right bit when ye came to your
uncle Ebenezer. I've a great notion of the family, and I mean to
do the right by you; but while I'm taking a bit think to mysel'
of what's the best thing to put you to -- whether the law, or the
meenistry, or maybe the army, whilk is what boys are fondest of
-- I wouldnae like the Balfours to be humbled before a wheen
Hieland Campbells, and I'll ask you to keep your tongue within
your teeth. Nae letters; nae messages; no kind of word to
onybody; or else -- there's my door."
"Uncle Ebenezer," said I, "I've no manner of reason to suppose
you mean anything but well by me. For all that, I would have you
to know that I have a pride of my own. It was by no will of mine
that I came seeking you; and if you show me your door again, I'll
take you at the word."
He seemed grievously put out. "Hoots-toots," said he, "ca'
cannie, man -- ca' cannie! Bide a day or two. I'm nae warlock,
to find a fortune for you in the bottom of a parritch bowl; but
just you give me a day or two, and say naething to naebody, and
as sure as sure, I'll do the right by you."
"Very well," said I, "enough said. If you want to help me,
there's no doubt but I'll be glad of it, and none but I'll be
grateful."
It seemed to me (too soon, I dare say) that I was getting the
upper hand of my uncle; and I began next to say that I must have
the bed and bedclothes aired and put to sun-dry; for nothing
would make me sleep in such a pickle.
"Is this my house or yours?" said he, in his keen voice, and then
all of a sudden broke off. "Na, na," said he, "I didnae mean
that. What's mine is yours, Davie, my man, and what's yours is
mine. Blood's thicker than water; and there's naebody but you
and me that ought the name." And then on he rambled about the
family, and its ancient greatness, and his father that began to
enlarge the house, and himself that stopped the building as a
sinful waste; and this put it in my head to give him Jennet
Clouston's message.
"The limmer!" he cried. "Twelve hunner and fifteen -- that's
every day since I had the limmer rowpit![3] Dod, David, I'll have
her roasted on red peats before I'm by with it! A witch -- a
proclaimed witch! I'll aff and see the session clerk."
[3] Sold up.
And with that he opened a chest, and got out a very old and
well-preserved blue coat and waistcoat, and a good enough beaver
hat, both without lace. These he threw on any way, and taking a
staff from the cupboard, locked all up again, and was for setting
out, when a thought arrested him.
"I cannae leave you by yoursel' in the house," said he. "I'll
have to lock you out."
The blood came to my face. "If you lock me out," I said, "it'll
be the last you'll see of me in friendship."
He turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in.
"This is no the way" he said, looking wickedly at a corner of the
floor -- "this is no the way to win my favour, David."
"Sir," says I, "with a proper reverence for your age and our
common blood, I do not value your favour at a boddle's purchase.
I was brought up to have a good conceit of myself; and if you
were all the uncle, and all the family, I had in the world ten
times over, I wouldn't buy your liking at such prices."
Uncle Ebenezer went and looked out of the window for awhile. I
could see him all trembling and twitching, like a man with palsy.
But when he turned round, he had a smile upon his face.
"Well, well," said he, "we must bear and forbear. I'll no go;
that's all that's to be said of it."
"Uncle Ebenezer," I said, "I can make nothing out of this. You
use me like a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you let
me see it, every word and every minute: it's not possible that
you can like me; and as for me, I've spoken to you as I never
thought to speak to any man. Why do you seek to keep me, then?
Let me gang back -- let me gang back to the friends I have, and
that like me!"
"Na, na; na, na," he said, very earnestly. "I like you fine;
we'll agree fine yet; and for the honour of the house I couldnae
let you leave the way ye came. Bide here quiet, there's a good
lad; just you bide here quiet a bittie, and ye'll find that we
agree."
"Well, sir," said I, after I had thought the matter out in
silence, "I'll stay awhile. It's more just I should be helped by
my own blood than strangers; and if we don't agree, I'll do my
best it shall be through no fault of mine."
CHAPTER IV
I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
For a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We
had the porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night;
porridge and small beer was my uncle's diet. He spoke but
little, and that in the same way as before, shooting a question
at me after a long silence; and when I sought to lead him to talk
about my future, slipped out of it again. In a room next door to
the kitchen, where he suffered me to go, I found a great number
of books, both Latin and English, in which I took great pleasure
all the afternoon. Indeed, the time passed so lightly in this
good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my
residence at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and
his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my
distrust.
One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an
entry on the fly-leaf of a chap-book (one of Patrick Walker's)
plainly written by my father's hand and thus conceived: "To my
brother Ebenezer on his fifth birthday" Now, what puzzled me was
this: That, as my father was of course the younger brother, he
must either have made some strange error, or he must have
written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear manly hand
of writing.
I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many
interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and
story-book, this notion of my father's hand of writing stuck to
me; and when at length I went back into the kitchen, and sat down
once more to porridge and small beer, the first thing I said to
Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my father had not been very
quick at his book.
"Alexander? No him!" was the reply. "I was far quicker mysel'; I
was a clever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon
as he could."
This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I
asked if he and my father had been twins.
He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand
upon the floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and he caught
me by the breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight
into my eyes: his own were little and light, and bright like a
bird's, blinking and winking strangely.
"What do you mean?" I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger
than he, and not easily frightened. "Take your hand from my
jacket. This is no way to behave."
My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod man,
David," he said, "ye should-nae speak to me about your father.
That's where the mistake is." He sat awhile and shook, blinking
in his plate: "He was all the brother that ever I had," he added,
but with no heart in his voice; and then he caught up his spoon
and fell to supper again, but still shaking.
Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and
sudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean
beyond my comprehension that it put me into both fear and hope.
On the one hand, I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and
might be dangerous; on the other, there came up into my mind
(quite unbidden by me and even discouraged) a story like some
ballad I had heard folk singing, of a poor lad that was a
rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that tried to keep him from
his own. For why should my uncle play a part with a relative
that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in his heart he
had some cause to fear him?
With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting
firmly settled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert
looks; so that we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each
stealthily observing the other. Not another word had he to say
to me, black or white, but was busy turning something secretly
over in his mind; and the longer we sat and the more I looked at
him, the more certain I became that the something was unfriendly
to myself.
When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of
tobacco, just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the
chimney corner, and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.
"Davie," he said, at length, "I've been thinking;" then he
paused, and said it again. "There's a wee bit siller that I half
promised ye before ye were born," he continued; "promised it to
your father. O, naething legal, ye understand; just gentlemen
daffing at their wine. Well, I keepit that bit money separate --
it was a great expense, but a promise is a promise -- and it has
grown by now to be a matter of just precisely -- just exactly" --
and here he paused and stumbled -- "of just exactly forty
pounds!" This last he rapped out with a sidelong glance over his
shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream,
"Scots!"
The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, the
difference made by this second thought was considerable; I could
see, besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some
end which it puzzled me to guess; and I made no attempt to
conceal the tone of raillery in which I answered --
"O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!"
"That's what I said," returned my uncle: "pounds sterling! And if
you'll step out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of
a night it is, I'll get it out to ye and call ye in again."
I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should
think I was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with
a few stars low down; and as I stood just outside the door, I
heard a hollow moaning of wind far off among the hills. I said
to myself there was something thundery and changeful in the
weather, and little knew of what a vast importance that should
prove to me before the evening passed.
When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand
seven and thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand,
in small gold and silver; but his heart failed him there, and he
crammed the change into his pocket.
"There," said he, "that'll show you! I'm a queer man, and strange
wi' strangers; but my word is my bond, and there's the proof of
it."
Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this
sudden generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.
"No a word!" said he. "Nae thanks; I want nae thanks. I do my
duty. I'm no saying that everybody would have, done it; but for
my part (though I'm a careful body, too) it's a pleasure to me to
do the right by my brother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to
think that now we'll agree as such near friends should."
I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able; but all the
while I was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted
with his precious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a
baby would have refused it.
Presently he looked towards me sideways.
"And see here," says he, "tit for tat."
I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable
degree, and then waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And
yet, when at last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to
tell me (very properly, as I thought) that he was growing old and
a little broken, and that he would expect me to help him with the
house and the bit garden.
I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.
"Well," he said, "let's begin." He pulled out of his pocket a
rusty key. "There," says he, "there's the key of the stair-tower
at the far end of the house. Ye can only win into it from the
outside, for that part of the house is no finished. Gang ye in
there, and up the stairs, and bring me down the chest that's at
the top. There's papers in't," he added.
"Can I have a light, sir?" said I.
"Na," said he, very cunningly. "Nae lights in my house."
"Very well, sir," said I. "Are the stairs good?"
"They're grand," said he; and then, as I was going, "Keep to the
wall," he added; "there's nae bannisters. But the stairs are
grand underfoot."
Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in the
distance, though never a breath of it came near the house of
Shaws. It had fallen blacker than ever; and I was glad to feel
along the wall, till I came the length of the stairtower door at
the far end of the unfinished wing. I had got the key into the
keyhole and had just turned it, when all upon a sudden, without
sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted up with wild fire
and went black again. I had to put my hand over my eyes to get
back to the colour of the darkness; and indeed I was already half
blinded when I stepped into the tower.
It was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but
I pushed out with foot and hand, and presently struck the wall
with the one, and the lowermost round of the stair with the
other. The wall, by the touch, was of fine hewn stone; the steps
too, though somewhat steep and narrow, were of polished
masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot. Minding my uncle's
word about the bannisters, I kept close to the tower side, and
felt my way in the pitch darkness with a beating heart.
The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not
counting lofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair
grew airier and a thought more lightsome; and I was wondering
what might be the cause of this change, when a second blink of
the summer lightning came and went. If I did not cry out, it was
because fear had me by the throat; and if I did not fall, it was
more by Heaven's mercy than my own strength. It was not only
that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in the
wall, so that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open
scaffold, but the same passing brightness showed me the steps
were of unequal length, and that one of my feet rested that
moment within two inches of the well.
This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust
of a kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent
me here, certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I
would settle that "perhaps," if I should break my neck for it;
got me down upon my hands and knees; and as slowly as a snail,
feeling before me every inch, and testing the solidity of every
stone, I continued to ascend the stair. The darkness, by
contrast with the flash, appeared to have redoubled; nor was that
all, for my ears were now troubled and my mind confounded by a
great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and the foul
beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.
The tower, I should have said, was square; and in every corner
the step was made of a great stone of a different shape to join
the flights. Well, I had come close to one of these turns, when,
feeling forward as usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found
nothing but emptiness beyond it. The stair had been carried no
higher; to set a stranger mounting it in the darkness was to send
him straight to his death; and (although, thanks to the lightning
and my own precautions, I was safe enough) the mere thought of
the peril in which I might have stood, and the dreadful height I
might have fallen from, brought out the sweat upon my body and
relaxed my joints.
But I knew what I wanted now, and turned and groped my way down
again, with a wonderful anger in my heart. About half-way down,
the wind sprang up in a clap and shook the tower, and died again;
the rain followed; and before I had reached the ground level it
fell in buckets. I put out my head into the storm, and looked
along towards the kitchen. The door, which I had shut behind me
when I left, now stood open, and shed a little glimmer of light;
and I thought I could see a figure standing in the rain, quite
still, like a man hearkening. And then there came a blinding
flash, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where I had fancied
him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great tow-row of
thunder.
Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my
fall, or whether he heard in it God's voice denouncing murder, I
will leave you to guess. Certain it is, at least, that he was
seized on by a kind of panic fear, and that he ran into the house
and left the door open behind him. I followed as softly as I
could, and, coming unheard into the kitchen, stood and watched
him.
He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a
great case bottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back
towards me at the table. Ever and again he would be seized with
a fit of deadly shuddering and groan aloud, and carrying the
bottle to his lips, drink down the raw spirits by the mouthful.
I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and
suddenly clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders -- "Ah!"
cried I.
My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat, flung up
his arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was
somewhat shocked at this; but I had myself to look to first of
all, and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had fallen. The
keys were hanging in the cupboard; and it was my design to
furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his
senses and the power of devising evil. In the cupboard were a
few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills and
other papers, which I should willingly enough have rummaged, had
I had the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my
purpose. Thence I turned to the chests. The first was full of
meal; the second of moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in
the third, with many other things (and these for the most part
clothes) I found a rusty, ugly-looking Highland dirk without the
scabbard. This, then, I concealed inside my waistcoat, and
turned to my uncle.
He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one
arm sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and
he seemed to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was
dead; then I got water and dashed it in his face; and with that
he seemed to come a little to himself, working his mouth and
fluttering his eyelids. At last he looked up and saw me, and
there came into his eyes a terror that was not of this world.
"Come, come," said I; "sit up."
"Are ye alive?" he sobbed. "O man, are ye alive?"
"That am I," said I. "Small thanks to you!"
He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. "The blue
phial," said he -- "in the aumry -- the blue phial." His breath
came slower still.
I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phial
of medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this I
administered to him with what speed I might.
"It's the trouble," said he, reviving a little; "I have a
trouble, Davie. It's the heart."
I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some
pity for a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of
righteous anger; and I numbered over before him the points on
which I wanted explanation: why he lied to me at every word; why
he feared that I should leave him; why he disliked it to be
hinted that he and my father were twins -- "Is that because it is
true?" I asked; why he had given me money to which I was
convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to
kill me. He heard me all through in silence; and then, in a
broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed.
"I'll tell ye the morn," he said; "as sure as death I will."
And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked
him into his room, however, and pocketed the, key, and then
returning to the kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not shone
there for many a long year, and wrapping myself in my plaid, lay
down upon the chests and fell asleep.
CHAPTER V
I GO TO THE QUEEN'S FERRY
Much rain fell in the night; and the next morning there blew a
bitter wintry wind out of the north-west, driving scattered
clouds. For all that, and before the sun began to peep or the
last of the stars had vanished, I made my way to the side of the
burn, and had a plunge in a deep whirling pool. All aglow from
my bath, I sat down once more beside the fire, which I
replenished, and began gravely to consider my position.
There was now no doubt about my uncle's enmity; there was no
doubt I carried my life in my hand, and he would leave no stone
unturned that he might compass my destruction. But I was young
and spirited, and like most lads that have been country-bred, I
had a great opinion of my shrewdness. I had come to his door no
better than a beggar and little more than a child; he had met me
with treachery and violence; it would be a fine consummation to
take the upper hand, and drive him like a herd of sheep.
I sat there nursing my knee and smiling at the fire; and I saw
myself in fancy smell out his secrets one after another, and grow
to be that man's king and ruler. The warlock of Essendean, they
say, had made a mirror in which men could read the future; it
must have been of other stuff than burning coal; for in all the
shapes and pictures that I sat and gazed at, there was never a
ship, never a seaman with a hairy cap, never a big bludgeon for
my silly head, or the least sign of all those tribulations that
were ripe to fall on me.
Presently, all swollen with conceit, I went up-stairs and gave my
prisoner his liberty. He gave me good-morning civilly; and I
gave the same to him, smiling down upon him, from the heights of
my sufficiency. Soon we were set to breakfast, as it might have
been the day before.
"Well, sir," said I, with a jeering tone, "have you nothing more
to say to me?" And then, as he made no articulate reply, "It will
be time, I think, to understand each other," I continued. "You
took me for a country Johnnie Raw, with no more mother-wit or
courage than a porridge-stick. I took you for a good man, or no
worse than others at the least. It seems we were both wrong.
What cause you have to fear me, to cheat me, and to attempt my
life--"
He murmured something about a jest, and that he liked a bit of
fun; and then, seeing me smile, changed his tone, and assured me
he would make all clear as soon as we had breakfasted. I saw by
his face that he had no lie ready for me, though he was hard at
work preparing one; and I think I was about to tell him so, when
we were interrupted by a knocking at the door.
Bidding my uncle sit where he was, I went to open it, and found
on the doorstep a half-grown boy in sea-clothes. He had no
sooner seen me than he began to dance some steps of the
sea-hornpipe (which I had never before heard of far less seen),
snapping his fingers in the air and footing it right cleverly.
For all that, he was blue with the cold; and there was something
in his face, a look between tears and laughter, that was highly
pathetic and consisted ill with this gaiety of manner.
"What cheer, mate?" says he, with a cracked voice.
I asked him soberly to name his pleasure.
"O, pleasure!" says he; and then began to sing:
"For it's my delight, of a shiny night,
In the season of the year."
"Well," said I, "if you have no business at all, I will even be
so unmannerly as to shut you out."
"Stay, brother!" he cried. "Have you no fun about you? or do you
want to get me thrashed? I've brought a letter from old Heasyoasy
to Mr. Belflower." He showed me a letter as he spoke. "And I
say, mate," he added, "I'm mortal hungry."
"Well," said I, "come into the house, and you shall have a bite
if I go empty for it."
With that I brought him in and set him down to my own place,
where he fell-to greedily on the remains of breakfast, winking to
me between whiles, and making many faces, which I think the poor
soul considered manly. Meanwhile, my uncle had read the letter
and sat thinking; then, suddenly, he got to his feet with a great
air of liveliness, and pulled me apart into the farthest corner
of the room.
"Read that," said he, and put the letter in my hand.
Here it is, lying before me as I write:
"The Hawes Inn, at the Queen's Ferry.
"Sir, -- I lie here with my hawser up and down, and send my
cabin-boy to informe. If you have any further commands for
over-seas, to-day will be the last occasion, as the wind will
serve us well out of the firth. I will not seek to deny that I
have had crosses with your doer,[4] Mr. Rankeillor; of which, if
not speedily redd up, you may looke to see some losses follow. I
have drawn a bill upon you, as per margin, and am, sir, your most
obedt., humble servant,
"ELIAS HOSEASON."
[4] Agent.
"You see, Davie," resumed my uncle, as soon as he saw that I had
done, "I have a venture with this man Hoseason, the captain of a
trading brig, the Covenant, of Dysart. Now, if you and me was to
walk over with yon lad, I could see the captain at the Hawes, or
maybe on board the Covenant if there was papers to be signed; and
so far from a loss of time, we can jog on to the lawyer, Mr.
Rankeillor's. After a' that's come and gone, ye would be
swier[5] to believe me upon my naked word; but ye'll believe
Rankeillor. He's factor to half the gentry in these parts; an
auld man, forby: highly respeckit, and he kenned your father."
[5] Unwilling.
I stood awhile and thought. I was going to some place of
shipping, which was doubtless populous, and where my uncle durst
attempt no violence, and, indeed, even the society of the
cabin-boy so far protected me. Once there, I believed I could
force on the visit to the lawyer, even if my uncle were now
insincere in proposing it; and, perhaps, in the bottom of my
heart, I wished a nearer view of the sea and ships. You are to
remember I had lived all my life in the inland hills, and just
two days before had my first sight of the firth lying like a blue
floor, and the sailed ships moving on the face of it, no bigger
than toys. One thing with another, I made up my mind.
"Very well," says I, "let us go to the Ferry."
My uncle got into his hat and coat, and buckled an old rusty
cutlass on; and then we trod the fire out, locked the door, and
set forth upon our walk.
The wind, being in that cold quarter the north-west, blew nearly
in our faces as we went. It was the month of June; the grass was
all white with daisies, and the trees with blossom; but, to judge
by our blue nails and aching wrists, the time might have been
winter and the whiteness a December frost.
Uncle Ebenezer trudged in the ditch, jogging from side to side
like an old ploughman coming home from work. He never said a
word the whole way; and I was thrown for talk on the cabin-boy.
He told me his name was Ransome, and that he had followed the sea
since he was nine, but could not say how old he was, as he had
lost his reckoning. He showed me tattoo marks, baring his breast
in the teeth of the wind and in spite of my remonstrances, for I
thought it was enough to kill him; he swore horribly whenever he
remembered, but more like a silly schoolboy than a man; and
boasted of many wild and bad things that he had done: stealthy
thefts, false accusations, ay, and even murder; but all with such
a dearth of likelihood in the details, and such a weak and crazy
swagger in the delivery, as disposed me rather to pity than to
believe him.
I asked him of the brig (which he declared was the finest ship
that sailed) and of Captain Hoseason, in whose praises he was
equally loud. Heasyoasy (for so he still named the skipper) was
a man, by his account, that minded for nothing either in heaven
or earth; one that, as people said, would "crack on all sail into
the day of judgment;" rough, fierce, unscrupulous, and brutal;
and all this my poor cabin-boy had taught himself to admire as
something seamanlike and manly. He would only admit one flaw in
his idol. "He ain't no seaman," he admitted. "That's Mr. Shuan
that navigates the brig; he's the finest seaman in the trade,
only for drink; and I tell you I believe it! Why, look'ere;" and
turning down his stocking he showed me a great, raw, red wound
that made my blood run cold. "He done that -- Mr. Shuan done
it," he said, with an air of pride.
"What!" I cried, "do you take such savage usage at his hands?
Why, you are no slave, to be so handled!"
"No," said the poor moon-calf, changing his tune at once, "and so
he'll find. See'ere;" and he showed me a great case-knife, which
he told me was stolen. "O," says he, "let me see him, try; I
dare him to; I'll do for him! O, he ain't the first!" And he
confirmed it with a poor, silly, ugly oath.
I have never felt such pity for any one in this wide world as I
felt for that half-witted creature, and it began to come over me
that the brig Covenant (for all her pious name) was little better
than a hell upon the seas.
"Have you no friends?" said I.
He said he had a father in some English seaport, I forget which.
"He was a fine man, too," he said, "but he's dead."
"In Heaven's name," cried I, "can you find no reputable life on
shore?"
"O, no," says he, winking and looking very sly, "they would put
me to a trade. I know a trick worth two of that, I do!"
I asked him what trade could be so dreadful as the one he
followed, where he ran the continual peril of his life, not alone
from wind and sea, but by the horrid cruelty of those who were
his masters. He said it was very true; and then began to praise
the life, and tell what a pleasure it was to get on shore with
money in his pocket, and spend it like a man, and buy apples, and
swagger, and surprise what he called stick-in-the-mud boys. "And
then it's not all as bad as that," says he; "there's worse off
than me: there's the twenty-pounders. O, laws! you should see
them taking on. Why, I've seen a man as old as you, I dessay" --
(to him I seemed old)-- "ah, and he had a beard, too -- well, and
as soon as we cleared out of the river, and he had the drug out
of his head -- my! how he cried and carried on! I made a fine
fool of him, I tell you! And then there's little uns, too: oh,
little by me! I tell you, I keep them in order. When we carry
little uns, I have a rope's end of my own to wollop'em." And so
he ran on, until it came in on me what he meant by
twenty-pounders were those unhappy criminals who were sent
over-seas to slavery in North America, or the still more unhappy
innocents who were kidnapped or trepanned (as the word went) for
private interest or vengeance.
Just then we came to the top of the hill, and looked down on the
Ferry and the Hope. The Firth of Forth (as is very well known)
narrows at this point to the width of a good-sized river, which
makes a convenient ferry going north, and turns the upper reach
into a landlocked haven for all manner of ships. Right in the
midst of the narrows lies an islet with some ruins; on the south
shore they have built a pier for the service of the Ferry; and at
the end of the pier, on the other side of the road, and backed
against a pretty garden of holly-trees and hawthorns, I could see
the building which they called the Hawes Inn.
The town of Queensferry lies farther west, and the neighbourhood
of the inn looked pretty lonely at that time of day, for the boat
had just gone north with passengers. A skiff, however, lay
beside the pier, with some seamen sleeping on the thwarts; this,
as Ransome told me, was the brig's boat waiting for the captain;
and about half a mile off, and all alone in the anchorage, he
showed me the Covenant herself. There was a sea-going bustle on
board; yards were swinging into place; and as the wind blew from
that quarter, I could hear the song of the sailors as they pulled
upon the ropes. After all I had listened to upon the way, I
looked at that ship with an extreme abhorrence; and from the
bottom of my heart I pitied all poor souls that were condemned to
sail in her.
We had all three pulled up on the brow of the hill; and now I
marched across the road and addressed my uncle. "I think it
right to tell you, sir." says I, "there's nothing that will
bring me on board that Covenant."
He seemed to waken from a dream. "Eh?" he said. "What's that?"
I told him over again.
"Well, well," he said, "we'll have to please ye, I suppose. But
what are we standing here for? It's perishing cold; and if I'm no
mistaken, they're busking the Covenant for sea."
CHAPTER VI
WHAT BEFELL AT THE QUEEN'S FERRY
As soon as we came to the inn, Ransome led us up the stair to a
small room, with a bed in it, and heated like an oven by a great
fire of coal. At a table hard by the chimney, a tall, dark,
sober-looking man sat writing. In spite of the heat of the room,
he wore a thick sea-jacket, buttoned to the neck, and a tall
hairy cap drawn down over his ears; yet I never saw any man, not
even a judge upon the bench, look cooler, or more studious and
self-possessed, than this ship-captain.
He got to his feet at once, and coming forward, offered his large
hand to Ebenezer. "I am proud to see you, Mr. Balfour," said he,
in a fine deep voice, "and glad that ye are here in time. The
wind's fair, and the tide upon the turn; we'll see the old
coal-bucket burning on the Isle of May before to-night."
"Captain Hoseason," returned my uncle, "you keep your room unco
hot."
"It's a habit I have, Mr. Balfour," said the skipper. "I'm a
cold-rife man by my nature; I have a cold blood, sir. There's
neither fur, nor flannel -- no, sir, nor hot rum, will warm up
what they call the temperature. Sir, it's the same with most men
that have been carbonadoed, as they call it, in the tropic seas."
"Well, well, captain," replied my uncle, "we must all be the way
we're made."
But it chanced that this fancy of the captain's had a great share
in my misfortunes. For though I had promised myself not to let
my kinsman out of sight, I was both so impatient for a nearer
look of the sea, and so sickened by the closeness of the room,
that when he told me to "run down-stairs and play myself awhile,"
I was fool enough to take him at his word.
Away I went, therefore, leaving the two men sitting down to a
bottle and a great mass of papers; and crossing the road in front
of the inn, walked down upon the beach. With the wind in that
quarter, only little wavelets, not much bigger than I had seen
upon a lake, beat upon the shore. But the weeds were new to me
-- some green, some brown and long, and some with little bladders
that crackled between my fingers. Even so far up the firth, the
smell of the sea-water was exceedingly salt and stirring; the
Covenant, besides, was beginning to shake out her sails, which
hung upon the yards in clusters; and the spirit of all that I
beheld put me in thoughts of far voyages and foreign places.
I looked, too, at the seamen with the skiff -- big brown fellows,
some in shirts, some with jackets, some with coloured
handkerchiefs about their throats, one with a brace of pistols
stuck into his pockets, two or three with knotty bludgeons, and
all with their case-knives. I passed the time of day with one
that looked less desperate than his fellows, and asked him of the
sailing of the brig. He said they would get under way as soon as
the ebb set, and expressed his gladness to be out of a port where
there were no taverns and fiddlers; but all with such horrifying
oaths, that I made haste to get away from him.
This threw me back on Ransome, who seemed the least wicked of
that gang, and who soon came out of the inn and ran to me, crying
for a bowl of punch. I told him I would give him no such thing,
for neither he nor I was of an age for such indulgences. "But a
glass of ale you may have, and welcome," said I. He mopped and
mowed at me, and called me names; but he was glad to get the ale,
for all that; and presently we were set down at a table in the
front room of the inn, and both eating and drinking with a good
appetite.
Here it occurred to me that, as the landlord was a man of that
county, I might do well to make a friend of him. I offered him a
share, as was much the custom in those days; but he was far too
great a man to sit with such poor customers as Ransome and
myself, and he was leaving the room, when I called him back to
ask if he knew Mr. Rankeillor.
"Hoot, ay," says he, "and a very honest man. And, O, by-the-by,"
says he, "was it you that came in with Ebenezer?" And when I had
told him yes, "Ye'll be no friend of his?" he asked, meaning, in
the Scottish way, that I would be no relative.
I told him no, none.
"I thought not," said he, "and yet ye have a kind of gliff[6] of
Mr. Alexander."
[6]Look.
I said it seemed that Ebenezer was ill-seen in the country.
"Nae doubt," said the landlord. "He's a wicked auld man, and
there's many would like to see him girning in the tow[7]. Jennet
Clouston and mony mair that he has harried out of house and hame.
And yet he was ance a fine young fellow, too. But that was
before the sough[8] gaed abroad about Mr. Alexander, that was
like the death of him."
[7]Rope.
[8]Report.
"And what was it?" I asked.
"Ou, just that he had killed him," said the landlord. "Did ye
never hear that?"
"And what would he kill him for?" said I.
"And what for, but just to get the place," said he.
"The place?" said I. "The Shaws?"
"Nae other place that I ken," said he.
"Ay, man?" said I. "Is that so? Was my -- was Alexander the
eldest son?"
"'Deed was he," said the landlord. "What else would he have
killed him for?"
And with that he went away, as he had been impatient to do from
the beginning.
Of course, I had guessed it a long while ago; but it is one thing
to guess, another to know; and I sat stunned with my good
fortune, and could scarce grow to believe that the same poor lad
who had trudged in the dust from Ettrick Forest not two days ago,
was now one of the rich of the earth, and had a house and broad
lands, and might mount his horse tomorrow. All these pleasant
things, and a thousand others, crowded into my mind, as I sat
staring before me out of the inn window, and paying no heed to
what I saw; only I remember that my eye lighted on Captain
Hoseason down on the pier among his seamen, and speaking with
some authority. And presently he came marching back towards the
house, with no mark of a sailor's clumsiness, but carrying his
fine, tall figure with a manly bearing, and still with the same
sober, grave expression on his face. I wondered if it was
possible that Ransome's stories could be true, and half
disbelieved them; they fitted so ill with the man's looks. But
indeed, he was neither so good as I supposed him, nor quite so
bad as Ransome did; for, in fact, he was two men, and left the
better one behind as soon as he set foot on board his vessel.
The next thing, I heard my uncle calling me, and found the pair
in the road together. It was the captain who addressed me, and
that with an air (very flattering to a young lad) of grave
equality.
"Sir," said he, "Mr. Balfour tells me great things of you; and
for my own part, I like your looks. I wish I was for longer
here, that we might make the better friends; but we'll make the
most of what we have. Ye shall come on board my brig for half an
hour, till the ebb sets, and drink a bowl with me."
Now, I longed to see the inside of a ship more than words can
tell; but I was not going to put myself in jeopardy, and I told
him my uncle and I had an appointment with a lawyer.
"Ay, ay," said he, "he passed me word of that. But, ye see, the
boat'll set ye ashore at the town pier, and that's but a penny
stonecast from Rankeillor's house." And here he suddenly leaned
down and whispered in my ear: "Take care of the old tod;[9] he
means mischief. Come aboard till I can get a word with ye." And
then, passing his arm through mine, he continued aloud, as he set
off towards his boat: "But, come, what can I bring ye from the
Carolinas? Any friend of Mr. Balfour's can command. A roll of
tobacco? Indian feather-work? a skin of a wild beast? a stone
pipe? the mocking-bird that mews for all the world like a cat?
the cardinal bird that is as red as blood? -- take your pick and
say your pleasure."
[9] Fox.
By this time we were at the boat-side, and he was handing me in.
I did not dream of hanging back; I thought (the poor fool!) that
I had found a good friend and helper, and I was rejoiced to see
the ship. As soon as we were all set in our places, the boat was
thrust off from the pier and began to move over the waters: and
what with my pleasure in this new movement and my surprise at our
low position, and the appearance of the shores, and the growing
bigness of the brig as we drew near to it, I could hardly
understand what the captain said, and must have answered him at
random.
As soon as we were alongside (where I sat fairly gaping at the
ship's height, the strong humming of the tide against its sides,
and the pleasant cries of the seamen at their work) Hoseason,
declaring that he and I must be the first aboard, ordered a
tackle to be sent down from the main-yard. In this I was whipped
into the air and set down again on the deck, where the captain
stood ready waiting for me, and instantly slipped back his arm
under mine. There I stood some while, a little dizzy with the
unsteadiness of all around me, perhaps a little afraid, and yet
vastly pleased with these strange sights; the captain meanwhile
pointing out the strangest, and telling me their names and uses.
"But where is my uncle?" said I suddenly.
"Ay," said Hoseason, with a sudden grimness, "that's the point."
I felt I was lost. With all my strength, I plucked myself clear
of him and ran to the bulwarks. Sure enough, there was the boat
pulling for the town, with my uncle sitting in the stern. I gave
a piercing cry -- "Help, help! Murder!" -- so that both sides of
the anchorage rang with it, and my uncle turned round where he
was sitting, and showed me a face full of cruelty and terror.
It was the last I saw. Already strong hands had been plucking me
back from the ship's side; and now a thunderbolt seemed to strike
me; I saw a great flash of fire, and fell senseless.
CHAPTER VII
I GO TO SEA IN THE BRIG "COVENANT" OF DYSART
I came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot,
and deafened by many unfamiliar noises. There sounded in my ears
a roaring of water as of a huge mill-dam, the thrashing of heavy
sprays, the thundering of the sails, and the shrill cries of
seamen. The whole world now heaved giddily up, and now rushed
giddily downward; and so sick and hurt was I in body, and my mind
so much confounded, that it took me a long while, chasing my
thoughts up and down, and ever stunned again by a fresh stab of
pain, to realise that I must be lying somewhere bound in the
belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have
strengthened to a gale. With the clear perception of my plight,
there fell upon me a blackness of despair, a horror of remorse at
my own folly, and a passion of anger at my uncle, that once more
bereft me of my senses.
When I returned again to life, the same uproar, the same confused
and violent movements, shook and deafened me; and presently, to
my other pains and distresses, there was added the sickness of an
unused landsman on the sea. In that time of my adventurous
youth, I suffered many hardships; but none that was so crushing
to my mind and body, or lit by so few hopes, as these first hours
aboard the brig.
I heard a gun fire, and supposed the storm had proved too strong
for us, and we were firing signals of distress. The thought of
deliverance, even by death in the deep sea, was welcome to me.
Yet it was no such matter; but (as I was afterwards told) a
common habit of the captain's, which I here set down to show that
even the worst man may have his kindlier side. We were then
passing, it appeared, within some miles of Dysart, where the brig
was built, and where old Mrs. Hoseason, the captain's mother, had
come some years before to live; and whether outward or inward
bound, the Covenant was never suffered to go by that place by
day, without a gun fired and colours shown.
I had no measure of time; day and night were alike in that
ill-smelling cavern of the ship's bowels where, I lay; and the
misery of my situation drew out the hours to double. How long,
therefore, I lay waiting to hear the ship split upon some rock,
or to feel her reel head foremost into the depths of the sea, I
have not the means of computation. But sleep at length stole
from me the consciousness of sorrow.
I was awakened by the light of a hand-lantern shining in my face.
A small man of about thirty, with green eyes and a tangle of fair
hair, stood looking down at me.
"Well," said he, "how goes it?"
I answered by a sob; and my visitor then felt my pulse and
temples, and set himself to wash and dress the wound upon my
scalp.
"Ay," said he, "a sore dunt[10]. What, man? Cheer up! The
world's no done; you've made a bad start of it but you'll make a
better. Have you had any meat?"
[10] Stroke.
I said I could not look at it: and thereupon he gave me some
brandy and water in a tin pannikin, and left me once more to
myself.
The next time he came to see me, I was lying betwixt sleep and
waking, my eyes wide open in the darkness, the sickness quite
departed, but succeeded by a horrid giddiness and swimming that
was almost worse to bear. I ached, besides, in every limb, and
the cords that bound me seemed to be of fire. The smell of the
hole in which I lay seemed to have become a part of me; and
during the long interval since his last visit I had suffered
tortures of fear, now from the scurrying of the ship's rats, that
sometimes pattered on my very face, and now from the dismal
imaginings that haunt the bed of fever.
The glimmer of the lantern, as a trap opened, shone in like the
heaven's sunlight; and though it only showed me the strong, dark
beams of the ship that was my prison, I could have cried aloud
for gladness. The man with the green eyes was the first to
descend the ladder, and I noticed that he came somewhat
unsteadily. He was followed by the captain. Neither said a
word; but the first set to and examined me, and dressed my wound
as before, while Hoseason looked me in my face with an odd, black
look.
"Now, sir, you see for yourself," said the first: "a high fever,
no appetite, no light, no meat: you see for yourself what that
means."
"I am no conjurer, Mr. Riach," said the captain.
"Give me leave, sir" said Riach; "you've a good head upon your
shoulders, and a good Scotch tongue to ask with; but I will leave
you no manner of excuse; I want that boy taken out of this hole
and put in the forecastle."
"What ye may want, sir, is a matter of concern to nobody but
yoursel'," returned the captain; "but I can tell ye that which is
to be. Here he is; here he shall bide."
"Admitting that you have been paid in a proportion," said the
other, "I will crave leave humbly to say that I have not. Paid I
am, and none too much, to be the second officer of this old tub,
and you ken very well if I do my best to earn it. But I was paid
for nothing more."
"If ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, Mr. Riach, I
would have no complaint to make of ye," returned the skipper;
"and instead of asking riddles, I make bold to say that ye would
keep your breath to cool your porridge. We'll be required on
deck," he added, in a sharper note, and set one foot upon the
ladder.
But Mr. Riach caught him by the sleeve.
"Admitting that you have been paid to do a murder ----" he began.
Hoseason turned upon him with a flash.
"What's that?" he cried. "What kind of talk is that?"
"It seems it is the talk that you can understand," said Mr.
Riach, looking him steadily in the face.
"Mr. Riach, I have sailed with ye three cruises," replied the
captain. "In all that time, sir, ye should have learned to know
me: I'm a stiff man, and a dour man; but for what ye say the now
-- fie, fie! -- it comes from a bad heart and a black conscience.
If ye say the lad will die----"
"Ay, will he!" said Mr. Riach.
"Well, sir, is not that enough?" said Hoseason. "Flit him where
ye please!"
Thereupon the captain ascended the ladder; and I, who had lain
silent throughout this strange conversation, beheld Mr. Riach
turn after him and bow as low as to his knees in what was plainly
a spirit of derision. Even in my then state of sickness, I
perceived two things: that the mate was touched with liquor, as
the captain hinted, and that (drunk or sober) he was like to
prove a valuable friend.
Five minutes afterwards my bonds were cut, I was hoisted on a
man's back, carried up to the forecastle, and laid in a bunk on
some sea-blankets; where the first thing that I did was to lose
my senses.
It was a blessed thing indeed to open my eyes again upon the
daylight, and to find myself in the society of men. The
forecastle was a roomy place enough, set all about with berths,
in which the men of the watch below were seated smoking, or lying
down asleep. The day being calm and the wind fair, the scuttle
was open, and not only the good daylight, but from time to time
(as the ship rolled) a dusty beam of sunlight shone in, and
dazzled and delighted me. I had no sooner moved, moreover, than
one of the men brought me a drink of something healing which Mr.
Riach had prepared, and bade me lie still and I should soon be
well again. There were no bones broken, he explained: "A
clour[11] on the head was naething. Man," said he, "it was me
that gave it ye!"
[11] Blow.
Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not
only got my health again, but came to know my companions. They
were a rough lot indeed, as sailors mostly are: being men rooted
out of all the kindly parts of life, and condemned to toss
together on the rough seas, with masters no less cruel. There
were some among them that had sailed with the pirates and seen
things it would be a shame even to speak of; some were men that
had run from the king's ships, and went with a halter round their
necks, of which they made no secret; and all, as the saying goes,
were "at a word and a blow" with their best friends. Yet I had
not been many days shut up with them before I began to be ashamed
of my first judgment, when I had drawn away from them at the
Ferry pier, as though they had been unclean beasts. No class of
man is altogether bad, but each has its own faults and virtues;
and these shipmates of mine were no exception to the rule. Rough
they were, sure enough; and bad, I suppose; but they had many
virtues. They were kind when it occurred to them, simple even
beyond the simplicity of a country lad like me, and had some
glimmerings of honesty.
There was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside
for hours and tell me of his wife and child. He was a fisher
that had lost his boat, and thus been driven to the deep-sea
voyaging. Well, it is years ago now: but I have never forgotten
him. His wife (who was "young by him," as he often told me)
waited in vain to see her man return; he would never again make
the fire for her in the morning, nor yet keep the bairn when she
was sick. Indeed, many of these poor fellows (as the event
proved) were upon their last cruise; the deep seas and cannibal
fish received them; and it is a thankless business to speak ill
of the dead.
Among other good deeds that they did, they returned my money,
which had been shared among them; and though it was about a third
short, I was very glad to get it, and hoped great good from it in
the land I was going to. The ship was bound for the Carolinas;
and you must not suppose that I was going to that place merely as
an exile. The trade was even then much depressed; since that,
and with the rebellion of the colonies and the formation of the
United States, it has, of course, come to an end; but in those
days of my youth, white men were still sold into slavery on the
plantations, and that was the destiny to which my wicked uncle
had condemned me.
The cabin-boy Ransome (from whom I had first heard of these
atrocities) came in at times from the round-house, where he
berthed and served, now nursing a bruised limb in silent agony,
now raving against the cruelty of Mr. Shuan. It made my heart
bleed; but the men had a great respect for the chief mate, who
was, as they said, "the only seaman of the whole jing-bang, and
none such a bad man when he was sober." Indeed, I found there
was a strange peculiarity about our two mates: that Mr. Riach was
sullen, unkind, and harsh when he was sober, and Mr. Shuan would
not hurt a fly except when he was drinking. I asked about the
captain; but I was told drink made no difference upon that man of
iron.
I did my best in the small time allowed me to make some thing
like a man, or rather I should say something like a boy, of the
poor creature, Ransome. But his mind was scarce truly human. He
could remember nothing of the time before he came to sea; only
that his father had made clocks, and had a starling in the
parlour, which could whistle "The North Countrie;" all else had
been blotted out in these years of hardship and cruelties. He
had a strange notion of the dry land, picked up from sailor's
stories: that it was a place where lads were put to some kind of
slavery called a trade, and where apprentices were continually
lashed and clapped into foul prisons. In a town, he thought
every second person a decoy, and every third house a place in
which seamen would be drugged and murdered. To be sure, I would
tell him how kindly I had myself been used upon that dry land he
was so much afraid of, and how well fed and carefully taught both
by my friends and my parents: and if he had been recently hurt,
he would weep bitterly and swear to run away; but if he was in
his usual crackbrain humour, or (still more) if he had had a
glass of spirits in the roundhouse, he would deride the notion.
It was Mr. Riach (Heaven forgive him!) who gave the boy drink;
and it was, doubtless, kindly meant; but besides that it was ruin
to his health, it was the pitifullest thing in life to see this
unhappy, unfriended creature staggering, and dancing, and talking
he knew not what. Some of the men laughed, but not all; others
would grow as black as thunder (thinking, perhaps, of their own
childhood or their own children) and bid him stop that nonsense,
and think what he was doing. As for me, I felt ashamed to look
at him, and the poor child still comes about me in my dreams.
All this time, you should know, the Covenant was meeting
continual head-winds and tumbling up and down against head-seas,
so that the scuttle was almost constantly shut, and the
forecastle lighted only by a swinging lantern on a beam. There
was constant labour for all hands; the sails had to be made and
shortened every hour; the strain told on the men's temper; there
was a growl of quarrelling all day, long from berth to berth; and
as I was never allowed to set my foot on deck, you can picture to
yourselves how weary of my life I grew to be, and how impatient
for a change.
And a change I was to get, as you shall hear; but I must first
tell of a conversation I had with Mr. Riach, which put a little
heart in me to bear my troubles. Getting him in a favourable
stage of drink (for indeed he never looked near me when he was
sober), I pledged him to secrecy, and told him my whole story.
He declared it was like a ballad; that he would do his best to
help me; that I should have paper, pen, and ink, and write one
line to Mr. Campbell and another to Mr. Rankeillor; and that if I
had told the truth, ten to one he would be able (with their help)
to pull me through and set me in my rights.
"And in the meantime," says he, "keep your heart up. You're not
the only one, I'll tell you that. There's many a man hoeing
tobacco over-seas that should be mounting his horse at his own
door at home; many and many! And life is all a variorum, at the
best. Look at me: I'm a laird's son and more than half a doctor,
and here I am, man-Jack to Hoseason!"
I thought it would be civil to ask him for his story.
He whistled loud.
"Never had one," said he. "I like fun, that's all." And he
skipped out of the forecastle.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ROUND-HOUSE
One night, about eleven o'clock, a man of Mr. Riach's watch
(which was on deck) came below for his jacket; and instantly
there began to go a whisper about the forecastle that "Shuan had
done for him at last." There was no need of a name; we all knew
who was meant; but we had scarce time to get the idea rightly in
our heads, far less to speak of it, when the scuttle was again
flung open, and Captain Hoseason came down the ladder. He looked
sharply round the bunks in the tossing light of the lantern; and
then, walking straight up to me, he addressed me, to my surprise,
in tones of kindness.
"My man," said he, "we want ye to serve in the round-house. You
and Ransome are to change berths. Run away aft with ye."
Even as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying
Ransome in their arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great
sheer into the sea, and the lantern swinging, the light fell
direct on the boy's face. It was as white as wax, and had a look
upon it like a dreadful smile. The blood in me ran cold, and I
drew in my breath as if I had been struck.
"Run away aft; run away aft with ye!" cried Hoseason.
And at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither
spoke nor moved), and ran up the ladder on deck.
The brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long,
cresting swell. She was on the starboard tack, and on the left
hand, under the arched foot of the foresail, I could see the
sunset still quite bright. This, at such an hour of the night,
surprised me greatly; but I was too ignorant to draw the true
conclusion -- that we were going north-about round Scotland, and
were now on the high sea between the Orkney and Shetland Islands,
having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland Firth. For
my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and knew nothing
of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more across the
Atlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the
lateness of the sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on
across the decks, running between the seas, catching at ropes,
and only saved from going overboard by one of the hands on deck,
who had been always kind to me.
The round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to
sleep and serve, stood some six feet above the decks, and
considering the size of the brig, was of good dimensions. Inside
were a fixed table and bench, and two berths, one for the captain
and the other for the two mates, turn and turn about. It was all
fitted with lockers from top to bottom, so as to stow away the
officers' belongings and a part of the ship's stores; there was a
second store-room underneath, which you entered by a hatchway in
the middle of the deck; indeed, all the best of the meat and
drink and the whole of the powder were collected in this place;
and all the firearms, except the two pieces of brass ordnance,
were set in a rack in the aftermost wall of the round-house. The
most of the cutlasses were in another place.
A small window with a shutter on each side, and a skylight in the
roof, gave it light by, day; and after dark there was a lamp
always burning. It was burning when I entered, not brightly, but
enough to show Mr. Shuan sitting at the table, with the brandy
bottle and a tin pannikin in front of him. He was a tall man,
strongly made and very black; and he stared before him on the
table like one stupid.
He took no notice of my coming in; nor did he move when the
captain followed and leant on the berth beside me, looking darkly
at the mate. I stood in great fear of Hoseason, and had my
reasons for it; but something told me I need not be afraid of him
just then; and I whispered in his ear: "How is he?" He shook his
head like one that does not know and does not wish to think, and
his face was very stern.
Presently Mr. Riach came in. He gave the captain a glance that
meant the boy was dead as plain as speaking, and took his place
like the rest of us; so that we all three stood without a word,
staring down at Mr. Shuan, and Mr. Shuan (on his side) sat
without a word, looking hard upon the table.
All of a sudden he put out his hand to take the bottle; and at
that Mr. Riach started forward and caught it away from him,
rather by surprise than violence, crying out, with an oath, that
there had been too much of this work altogether, and that a
judgment would fall upon the ship. And as he spoke (the weather
sliding-doors standing open) he tossed the bottle into the sea.
Mr. Shuan was on his feet in a trice; he still looked dazed, but
he meant murder, ay, and would have done it, for the second time
that night, had not the captain stepped in between him and his
victim.
"Sit down!" roars the captain. "Ye sot and swine, do ye know
what ye've done? Ye've murdered the boy!"
Mr. Shuan seemed to understand; for he sat down again, and put up
his hand to his brow.
"Well," he said, "he brought me a dirty pannikin!"
At that word, the captain and I and Mr. Riach all looked at each
other for a second with a kind of frightened look; and then
Hoseason walked up to his chief officer, took him by the
shoulder, led him across to his bunk, and bade him lie down and
go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad child. The murderer
cried a little, but he took off his sea-boots and obeyed.
"Ah!" cried Mr. Riach, with a dreadful voice, "ye should have
interfered long syne. It's too late now."
"Mr. Riach," said the captain, "this night's work must never be
kennt in Dysart. The boy went overboard, sir; that's what the
story is; and I would give five pounds out of my pocket it was
true!" He turned to the table. "What made ye throw the good
bottle away?" he added. "There was nae sense in that, sir.
Here, David, draw me another. They're in the bottom locker;" and
he tossed me a key. "Ye'll need a glass yourself, sir," he added
to Riach. "Yon was an ugly thing to see."
So the pair sat down and hob-a-nobbed; and while they did so, the
murderer, who had been lying and whimpering in his berth, raised
himself upon his elbow and looked at them and at me.
That was the first night of my new duties; and in the course of
the next day I had got well into the run of them. I had to serve
at the meals, which the captain took at regular hours, sitting
down with the officer who was off duty; all the day through I
would be running with a dram to one or other of my three masters;
and at night I slept on a blanket thrown on the deck boards at
the aftermost end of the round-house, and right in the draught of
the two doors. It was a hard and a cold bed; nor was I suffered
to sleep without interruption; for some one would be always
coming in from deck to get a dram, and when a fresh watch was to
be set, two and sometimes all three would sit down and brew a
bowl together. How they kept their health, I know not, any more
than how I kept my own.
And yet in other ways it was an easy service. There was no cloth
to lay; the meals were either of oatmeal porridge or salt junk,
except twice a week, when there was duff: and though I was clumsy
enough and (not being firm on my sealegs) sometimes fell with
what I was bringing them, both Mr. Riach and the captain were
singularly patient. I could not but fancy they were making up
lee-way with their consciences, and that they would scarce have
been so good with me if they had not been worse with Ransome.
As for Mr. Shuan, the drink or his crime, or the two together,
had certainly troubled his mind. I cannot say I ever saw him in
his proper wits. He never grew used to my being there, stared at
me continually (sometimes, I could have thought, with terror),
and more than once drew back from my hand when I was serving him.
I was pretty sure from the first that he had no clear mind of
what he had done, and on my second day in the round-house I had
the proof of it. We were alone, and he had been staring at me a
long time, when all at once, up he got, as pale as death, and
came close up to me, to my great terror. But I had no cause to
be afraid of him.
"You were not here before?" he asked.
"No, sir," said I."
"There was another boy?" he asked again; and when I had answered
him, "Ah!" says he, "I thought that," and went and sat down,
without another word, except to call for brandy.
You may think it strange, but for all the horror I had, I was
still sorry for him. He was a married man, with a wife in Leith;
but whether or no he had a family, I have now forgotten; I hope
not.
Altogether it was no very hard life for the time it lasted, which
(as you are to hear) was not long. I was as well fed as the best
of them; even their pickles, which were the great dainty, I was
allowed my share of; and had I liked I might have been drunk from
morning to night, like Mr. Shuan. I had company, too, and good
company of its sort. Mr. Riach, who had been to the college,
spoke to me like a friend when he was not sulking, and told me
many curious things, and some that were informing; and even the
captain, though he kept me at the stick's end the most part of
the time, would sometimes unbuckle a bit, and tell me of the fine
countries he had visited.
The shadow of poor Ransome, to be sure, lay on all four of us,
and on me and Mr. Shuan in particular, most heavily. And then I
had another trouble of my own. Here I was, doing dirty work for
three men that I looked down upon, and one of whom, at least,
should have hung upon a gallows; that was for the present; and as
for the future, I could only see myself slaving alongside of
negroes in the tobacco fields. Mr. Riach, perhaps from caution,
would never suffer me to say another word about my story; the
captain, whom I tried to approach, rebuffed me like a dog and
would not hear a word; and as the days came and went, my heart
sank lower and lower, till I was even glad of the work which kept
me from thinking.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD
More than a week went by, in which the ill-luck that had hitherto
pursued the Covenant upon this voyage grew yet more strongly
marked. Some days she made a little way; others, she was driven
actually back. At last we were beaten so far to the south that
we tossed and tacked to and fro the whole of the ninth day,
within sight of Cape Wrath and the wild, rocky coast on either
hand of it. There followed on that a council of the officers,
and some decision which I did not rightly understand, seeing only
the result: that we had made a fair wind of a foul one and were
running south.
The tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet,
white fog that hid one end of the brig from the other. All
afternoon, when I went on deck, I saw men and officers listening
hard over the bulwarks -- "for breakers," they said; and though I
did not so much as understand the word, I felt danger in the air,
and was excited.
Maybe about ten at night, I was serving Mr. Riach and the captain
at their supper, when the ship struck something with a great
sound, and we heard voices singing out. My two masters leaped to
their feet.
"She's struck!" said Mr. Riach.
"No, sir," said the captain. "We've only run a boat down."
And they hurried out.
The captain was in the right of it. We had run down a boat in
the fog, and she had parted in the midst and gone to the bottom
with all her crew but one. This man (as I heard afterwards) had
been sitting in the stern as a passenger, while the rest were on
the benches rowing. At the moment of the blow, the stern had
been thrown into the air, and the man (having his hands free, and
for all he was encumbered with a frieze overcoat that came below
his knees) had leaped up and caught hold of the brig's bowsprit.
It showed he had luck and much agility and unusual strength, that
he should have thus saved himself from such a pass. And yet,
when the captain brought him into the round-house, and I set eyes
on him for the first time, he looked as cool as I did.
He was smallish in stature, but well set and as nimble as a goat;
his face was of a good open expression, but sunburnt very dark,
and heavily freckled and pitted with the small-pox; his eyes were
unusually light and had a kind of dancing madness in them, that
was both engaging and alarming; and when he took off his
great-coat, he laid a pair of fine silver-mounted pistols on the
table, and I saw that he was belted with a great sword. His
manners, besides, were elegant, and he pledged the captain
handsomely. Altogether I thought of him, at the first sight,
that here was a man I would rather call my friend than my enemy.
The captain, too, was taking his observations, but rather of the
man's clothes than his person. And to be sure, as soon as he had
taken off the great-coat, he showed forth mighty fine for the
round-house of a merchant brig: having a hat with feathers, a red
waistcoat, breeches of black plush, and a blue coat with silver
buttons and handsome silver lace; costly clothes, though somewhat
spoiled with the fog and being slept in.
"I'm vexed, sir, about the boat," says the captain.
"There are some pretty men gone to the bottom," said the
stranger, "that I would rather see on the dry land again than
half a score of boats."
"Friends of yours?" said Hoseason.
"You have none such friends in your country," was the reply.
"They would have died for me like dogs."
"Well, sir," said the captain, still watching him, "there are
more men in the world than boats to put them in."
"And that's true, too," cried the other, "and ye seem to be a
gentleman of great penetration."
"I have been in France, sir," says the captain, so that it was
plain he meant more by the words than showed upon the face of
them.
"Well, sir," says the other, "and so has many a pretty man, for
the matter of that."
"No doubt, sir" says the captain, "and fine coats."
"Oho!" says the stranger, "is that how the wind sets?" And he
laid his hand quickly on his pistols.
"Don't be hasty," said the captain. "Don't do a mischief before
ye see the need of it. Ye've a French soldier's coat upon your
back and a Scotch tongue in your head, to be sure; but so has
many an honest fellow in these days, and I dare say none the
worse of it."
"So?" said the gentleman in the fine coat: "are ye of the honest
party?" (meaning, Was he a Jacobite? for each side, in these sort
of civil broils, takes the name of honesty for its own).
"Why, sir," replied the captain, "I am a true-blue Protestant,
and I thank God for it." (It was the first word of any religion
I had ever heard from him, but I learnt afterwards he was a great
church-goer while on shore.) "But, for all that," says he, "I
can be sorry to see another man with his back to the wall."
"Can ye so, indeed?" asked the Jacobite. "Well, sir, to be quite
plain with ye, I am one of those honest gentlemen that were in
trouble about the years forty-five and six; and (to be still
quite plain with ye) if I got into the hands of any of the
red-coated gentry, it's like it would go hard with me. Now, sir,
I was for France; and there was a French ship cruising here to
pick me up; but she gave us the go-by in the fog -- as I wish
from the heart that ye had done yoursel'! And the best that I can
say is this: If ye can set me ashore where I was going, I have
that upon me will reward you highly for your trouble."
"In France?" says the captain. "No, sir; that I cannot do. But
where ye come from -- we might talk of that."
And then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and
packed me off to the galley to get supper for the gentleman. I
lost no time, I promise you; and when I came back into the
round-house, I found the gentleman had taken a money-belt from
about his waist, and poured out a guinea or two upon the table.
The captain was looking at the guineas, and then at the belt, and
then at the gentleman's face; and I thought he seemed excited.
"Half of it," he cried, "and I'm your man!"
The other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on
again under his waistcoat. "I have told ye" sir" said he, "that
not one doit of it belongs to me. It belongs to my chieftain,"
and here he touched his hat, "and while I would be but a silly
messenger to grudge some of it that the rest might come safe, I
should show myself a hound indeed if I bought my own carcase any
too dear. Thirty guineas on the sea-side, or sixty if ye set me
on the Linnhe Loch. Take it, if ye will; if not, ye can do your
worst."
"Ay," said Hoseason. "And if I give ye over to the soldiers?"
"Ye would make a fool's bargain," said the other. "My chief, let
me tell you, sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in
Scotland. His estate is in the hands of the man they call King
George; and it is his officers that collect the rents, or try to
collect them. But for the honour of Scotland, the poor tenant
bodies take a thought upon their chief lying in exile; and this
money is a part of that very rent for which King George is
looking. Now, sir, ye seem to me to be a man that understands
things: bring this money within the reach of Government, and how
much of it'll come to you?"
"Little enough, to be sure," said Hoseason; and then, "if they,
knew" he added, drily. "But I think, if I was to try, that I
could hold my tongue about it."
"Ah, but I'll begowk[12] ye there!" cried the gentleman. "Play
me false, and I'll play you cunning. If a hand is laid upon me,
they shall ken what money it is."
[12]Befool.
"Well," returned the captain, "what must be must. Sixty guineas,
and done. Here's my hand upon it."
"And here's mine," said the other.
And thereupon the captain went out (rather hurriedly, I thought),
and left me alone in the round-house with the stranger.
At that period (so soon after the forty-five) there were many
exiled gentlemen coming back at the peril of their lives, either
to see their friends or to collect a little money; and as for the
Highland chiefs that had been forfeited, it was a common matter
of talk how their tenants would stint themselves to send them
money, and their clansmen outface the soldiery to get it in, and
run the gauntlet of our great navy to carry it across. All this
I had, of course, heard tell of; and now I had a man under my
eyes whose life was forfeit on all these counts and upon one
more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents, but
had taken service with King Louis of France. And as if all this
were not enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his
loins. Whatever my opinions, I could not look on such a man
without a lively interest.
"And so you're a Jacobite?" said I, as I set meat before him.
"Ay," said he, beginning to eat. "And you, by your long face,
should be a Whig?"[13]
[13] Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were loyal
to King George.
"Betwixt and between," said I, not to annoy him; for indeed I was
as good a Whig as Mr. Campbell could make me.
"And that's naething," said he. "But I'm saying, Mr.
Betwixt-and-Between," he added, "this bottle of yours is dry; and
it's hard if I'm to pay sixty guineas and be grudged a dram upon
the back of it."
"I'll go and ask for the key," said I, and stepped on deck.
The fog was as close as ever, but the swell almost down. They
had laid the brig to, not knowing precisely where they were, and
the wind (what little there was of it) not serving well for their
true course. Some of the hands were still hearkening for
breakers; but the captain and the two officers were in the waist
with their heads together. It struck me (I don't know why) that
they were after no good; and the first word I heard, as I drew
softly near, more than confirmed me.
It was Mr. Riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought:
"Couldn't we wile him out of the round-house?"
"He's better where he is," returned Hoseason; "he hasn't room to
use his sword."
"Well, that's true," said Riach; "but he's hard to come at."
"Hut!" said Hoseason. "We can get the man in talk, one upon each
side, and pin him by the two arms; or if that'll not hold, sir,
we can make a run by both the doors and get him under hand before
he has the time to draw"
At this hearing, I was seized with both fear and anger at these
treacherous, greedy, bloody men that I sailed with. My first
mind was to run away; my second was bolder.
"Captain," said I, "the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the
bottle's out. Will you give me the key?"
They all started and turned about.
"Why, here's our chance to get the firearms!"
Riach cried; and then to me: "Hark ye, David," he said, "do ye
ken where the pistols are?"
"Ay, ay," put in Hoseason. "David kens; David's a good lad. Ye
see, David my man, yon wild Hielandman is a danger to the ship,
besides being a rank foe to King George, God bless him!"
I had never been so be-Davided since I came on board: but I said
Yes, as if all I heard were quite natural.
"The trouble is," resumed the captain, "that all our firelocks,
great and little, are in the round-house under this man's nose;
likewise the powder. Now, if I, or one of the officers, was to
go in and take them, he would fall to thinking. But a lad like
you, David, might snap up a horn and a pistol or two without
remark. And if ye can do it cleverly, I'll bear it in mind when
it'll be good for you to have friends; and that's when we come to
Carolina."
Here Mr. Riach whispered him a little.
"Very right, sir," said the captain; and then to myself: "And see
here, David, yon man has a beltful of gold, and I give you my
word that you shall have your fingers in it."
I told him I would do as he wished, though indeed I had scarce
breath to speak with; and upon that he gave me the key of the
spirit locker, and I began to go slowly back to the round-house.
What was I to do? They were dogs and thieves; they had stolen me
from my own country; they had killed poor Ransome; and was I to
hold the candle to another murder? But then, upon the other hand,
there was the fear of death very plain before me; for what could
a boy and a man, if they were as brave as lions, against a whole
ship's company?
I was still arguing it back and forth, and getting no great
clearness, when I came into the round-house and saw the Jacobite
eating his supper under the lamp; and at that my mind was made up
all in a moment. I have no credit by it; it was by no choice of
mine, but as if by compulsion, that I walked right up to the
table and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Do ye want to be killed?" said I. He sprang to his feet, and
looked a question at me as clear as if he had spoken.
"O!" cried I, "they're all murderers here; it's a ship full of
them! They've murdered a boy already. Now it's you."
"Ay, ay" said he; "but they have n't got me yet." And then
looking at me curiously, "Will ye stand with me?"
"That will I!" said I. "I am no thief, nor yet murderer. I'll
stand by you."
"Why, then," said he, "what's your name?"
"David Balfour," said I; and then, thinking that a man with so
fine a coat must like fine people, I added for the first time,
"of Shaws."
It never occurred to him to doubt me, for a Highlander is used to
see great gentlefolk in great poverty; but as he had no estate of
his own, my words nettled a very childish vanity he had.
"My name is Stewart," he said, drawing himself up. "Alan Breck,
they call me. A king's name is good enough for me, though I bear
it plain and have the name of no farm-midden to clap to the
hind-end of it."
And having administered this rebuke, as though it were something
of a chief importance, he turned to examine our defences.
The round-house was built very strong, to support the breaching
of the seas. Of its five apertures, only the skylight and the
two doors were large enough for the passage of a man. The doors,
besides, could be drawn close: they were of stout oak, and ran in
grooves, and were fitted with hooks to keep them either shut or
open, as the need arose. The one that was already shut I secured
in this fashion; but when I was proceeding to slide to the other,
Alan stopped me.
"David," said he -- "for I cannae bring to mind the name of your
landed estate, and so will make so bold as to call you David --
that door, being open, is the best part of my defences."
"It would be yet better shut," says I.
"Not so, David," says he. "Ye see, I have but one face; but so
long as that door is open and my face to it, the best part of my
enemies will be in front of me, where I would aye wish to find
them."
Then he gave me from the rack a cutlass (of which there were a
few besides the firearms), choosing it with great care, shaking
his head and saying he had never in all his life seen poorer
weapons; and next he set me down to the table with a powder-horn,
a bag of bullets and all the pistols, which he bade me charge.
"And that will be better work, let me tell you," said he, "for a
gentleman of decent birth, than scraping plates and raxing[14]
drams to a wheen tarry sailors."
[14]Reaching.
Thereupon he stood up in the midst with his face to the door, and
drawing his great sword, made trial of the room he had to wield
it in.
"I must stick to the point," he said, shaking his head; "and
that's a pity, too. It doesn't set my genius, which is all for
the upper guard. And, now" said he, "do you keep on charging the
pistols, and give heed to me."
I told him I would listen closely. My chest was tight, my mouth
dry, the light dark to my eyes; the thought of the numbers that
were soon to leap in upon us kept my heart in a flutter: and the
sea, which I heard washing round the brig, and where I thought my
dead body would be cast ere morning, ran in my mind strangely.
"First of all," said he, "how many are against us?"
I reckoned them up; and such was the hurry of my mind, I had to
cast the numbers twice. "Fifteen," said I.
Alan whistled. "Well," said he, "that can't be cured. And now
follow me. It is my part to keep this door, where I look for the
main battle. In that, ye have no hand. And mind and dinnae fire
to this side unless they get me down; for I would rather have ten
foes in front of me than one friend like you cracking pistols at
my back."
I told him, indeed I was no great shot.
"And that, s very bravely said," he cried, in a great admiration
of my candour. "There's many a pretty gentleman that wouldnae
dare to say it."
"But then, sir" said I, "there is the door behind you" which they
may perhaps break in."
"Ay," said he, "and that is a part of your work. No sooner the
pistols charged, than ye must climb up into yon bed where ye're
handy at the window; and if they lift hand, against the door,
ye're to shoot. But that's not all. Let's make a bit of a
soldier of ye, David. What else have ye to guard?"
"There's the skylight," said I. "But indeed, Mr. Stewart, I
would need to have eyes upon both sides to keep the two of them;
for when my face is at the one, my back is to the other."
"And that's very true," said Alan. "But have ye no ears to your
head?"
"To be sure!" cried I. "I must hear the bursting of the glass!"
"Ye have some rudiments of sense," said Alan, grimly.
CHAPTER X
THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE
But now our time of truce was come to an end. Those on deck had
waited for my coming till they grew impatient; and scarce had
Alan spoken, when the captain showed face in the open door.
"Stand!" cried Alan, and pointed his sword at him. The captain
stood, indeed; but he neither winced nor drew back a foot.
"A naked sword?" says he. "This is a strange return for
hospitality."
"Do ye see me?" said Alan. "I am come of kings; I bear a king's
name. My badge is the oak. Do ye see my sword? It has slashed
the heads off mair Whigamores than you have toes upon your feet.
Call up your vermin to your back, sir, and fall on! The sooner
the clash begins, the sooner ye'll taste this steel throughout
your vitals."
The captain said nothing to Alan, but he looked over at me with
an ugly look. "David," said he, "I'll mind this;" and the sound
of his voice went through me with a jar.
Next moment he was gone.
"And now," said Alan, "let your hand keep your head, for the grip
is coming."
Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they
should run in under his sword. I, on my part, clambered up into
the berth with an armful of pistols and something of a heavy
heart, and set open the window where I was to watch. It was a
small part of the deck that I could overlook, but enough for our
purpose. The sea had gone down, and the wind was steady and kept
the sails quiet; so that there was a great stillness in the ship,
in which I made sure I heard the sound of muttering voices. A
little after, and there came a clash of steel upon the deck, by
which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and one had been
let fall; and after that, silence again.
I do not know if I was what you call afraid; but my heart beat
like a bird's, both quick and little; and there was a dimness
came before my eyes which I continually rubbed away, and which
continually returned. As for hope, I had none; but only a
darkness of despair and a sort of anger against all the world
that made me long to sell my life as dear as I was able. I tried
to pray, I remember, but that same hurry of my mind, like a man
running, would not suffer me to think upon the words; and my
chief wish was to have the thing begin and be done with it.
It came all of a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet and a
roar, and then a shout from Alan, and a sound of blows and some
one crying out as if hurt. I looked back over my shoulder, and
saw Mr. Shuan in the doorway, crossing blades with Alan.
"That's him that killed the boy!" I cried.
"Look to your window!" said Alan; and as I turned back to my
place, I saw him pass his sword through the mate's body.
It was none too soon for me to look to my own part; for my head
was scarce back at the window, before five men, carrying a spare
yard for a battering-ram, ran past me and took post to drive the
door in. I had never fired with a pistol in my life, and not
often with a gun; far less against a fellow-creature. But it was
now or never; and just as they swang the yard, I cried out: "Take
that!" and shot into their midst.
I must have hit one of them, for he sang out and gave back a
step, and the rest stopped as if a little disconcerted. Before
they had time to recover, I sent another ball over their heads;
and at my third shot (which went as wide as the second) the whole
party threw down the yard and ran for it.
Then I looked round again into the deck-house. The whole place
was full of the smoke of my own firing, just as my ears seemed to
be burst with the noise of the shots. But there was Alan,
standing as before; only now his sword was running blood to the
hilt, and himself so swelled with triumph and fallen into so fine
an attitude, that he looked to be invincible. Right before him
on the floor was Mr. Shuan, on his hands and knees; the blood was
pouring from his mouth, and he was sinking slowly lower, with a
terrible, white face; and just as I looked, some of those from
behind caught hold of him by the heels and dragged him bodily out
of the round-house. I believe he died as they were doing it.
"There's one of your Whigs for ye!" cried Alan; and then turning
to me, he asked if I had done much execution.
I told him I had winged one, and thought it was the captain.
"And I've settled two," says he. "No, there's not enough blood
let; they'll be back again. To your watch, David. This was but
a dram before meat."
I settled back to my place, re-charging the three pistols I had
fired, and keeping watch with both eye and ear.
Our enemies were disputing not far off upon the deck, and that so
loudly that I could hear a word or two above the washing of the
seas.
"It was Shuan bauchled[15] it," I heard one say.
[15]Bungled.
And another answered him with a "Wheesht, man! He's paid the
piper."
After that the voices fell again into the same muttering as
before. Only now, one person spoke most of the time, as though
laying down a plan, and first one and then another answered him
briefly, like men taking orders. By this, I made sure they were
coming on again, and told Alan.
"It's what we have to pray for," said he. "Unless we can give
them a good distaste of us, and done with it, there'll be nae
sleep for either you or me. But this time, mind, they'll be in
earnest."
By this, my pistols were ready, and there was nothing to do but
listen and wait. While the brush lasted, I had not the time to
think if I was frighted; but now, when all was still again, my
mind ran upon nothing else. The thought of the sharp swords and
the cold steel was strong in me; and presently, when I began to
hear stealthy steps and a brushing of men's clothes against the
round-house wall, and knew they were taking their places in the
dark, I could have found it in my mind to cry out aloud.
All this was upon Alan's side; and I had begun to think my share
of the fight was at an end, when I heard some one drop softly on
the roof above me.
Then there came a single call on the sea-pipe, and that was the
signal. A knot of them made one rush of it, cutlass in hand,
against the door; and at the same moment, the glass of the
skylight was dashed in a thousand pieces, and a man leaped
through and landed on the floor. Before he got his feet, I had
clapped a pistol to his back, and might have shot him, too; only
at the touch of him (and him alive) my whole flesh misgave me,
and I could no more pull the trigger than I could have flown.
He had dropped his cutlass as he jumped, and when he felt the
pistol, whipped straight round and laid hold of me, roaring out
an oath; and at that either my courage came again, or I grew so
much afraid as came to the same thing; for I gave a shriek and
shot him in the midst of the body. He gave the most horrible,
ugly groan and fell to the floor. The foot of a second fellow,
whose legs were dangling through the skylight, struck me at the
same time upon the head; and at that I snatched another pistol
and shot this one through the thigh, so that he slipped through
and tumbled in a lump on his companion's body. There was no talk
of missing, any more than there was time to aim; I clapped the
muzzle to the very place and fired.
I might have stood and stared at them for long, but I heard Alan
shout as if for help, and that brought me to my senses.
He had kept the door so long; but one of the seamen, while he was
engaged with others, had run in under his guard and caught him
about the body. Alan was dirking him with his left hand, but the
fellow clung like a leech. Another had broken in and had his
cutlass raised. The door was thronged with their faces. I
thought we were lost, and catching up my cutlass, fell on them in
flank.
But I had not time to be of help. The wrestler dropped at last;
and Alan, leaping back to get his distance, ran upon the others
like a bull, roaring as he went. They broke before him like
water, turning, and running, and falling one against another in
their haste. The sword in his hands flashed like quicksilver
into the huddle of our fleeing enemies; and at every flash there
came the scream of a man hurt. I was still thinking we were
lost, when lo! they were all gone, and Alan was driving them
along the deck as a sheep-dog chases sheep.
Yet he was no sooner out than he was back again, being as
cautious as he was brave; and meanwhile the seamen continued
running and crying out as if he was still behind them; and we
heard them tumble one upon another into the forecastle, and
clap-to the hatch upon the top.
The round-house was like a shambles; three were dead inside,
another lay in his death agony across the threshold; and there
were Alan and I victorious and unhurt.
He came up to me with open arms. "Come to my arms!" he cried,
and embraced and kissed me hard upon both cheek. "David," said
he, "I love you like a brother. And O, man," he cried in a kind
of ecstasy, "am I no a bonny fighter?"
Thereupon he turned to the four enemies, passed his sword clean
through each of them, and tumbled them out of doors one after the
other. As he did so, he kept humming and singing and whistling
to himself, like a man trying to recall an air; only what HE was
trying was to make one. All the while, the flush was in his
face, and his eyes were as bright as a five-year-old child's with
a new toy. And presently he sat down upon the table, sword in
hand; the air that he was making all the time began to run a
little clearer, and then clearer still; and then out he burst
with a great voice into a Gaelic song.
I have translated it here, not in verse (of which I have no
skill) but at least in the king's English.
He sang it often afterwards, and the thing became popular; so
that I have, heard it, and had it explained to me, many's the
time.
"This is the song of the sword of Alan;
The smith made it,
The fire set it;
Now it shines in the hand of Alan Breck.
"Their eyes were many and bright,
Swift were they to behold,
Many the hands they guided:
The sword was alone.
"The dun deer troop over the hill,
They are many, the hill is one;
The dun deer vanish,
The hill remains.
"Come to me from the hills of heather,
Come from the isles of the sea.
O far-beholding eagles,
Here is your meat."
Now this song which he made (both words and music) in the hour of
our victory, is something less than just to me, who stood beside
him in the tussle. Mr. Shuan and five more were either killed
outright or thoroughly disabled; but of these, two fell by my
hand, the two that came by the skylight. Four more were hurt,
and of that number, one (and he not the least important) got his
hurt from me. So that, altogether, I did my fair share both of
the killing and the wounding, and might have claimed a place in
Alan's verses. But poets have to think upon their rhymes; and in
good prose talk, Alan always did me more than justice.
In the meanwhile, I was innocent of any wrong being done me. For
not only I knew no word of the Gaelic; but what with the long
suspense of the waiting, and the scurry and strain of our two
spirts of fighting, and more than all, the horror I had of some
of my own share in it, the thing was no sooner over than I was
glad to stagger to a seat. There was that tightness on my chest
that I could hardly breathe; the thought of the two men I had
shot sat upon me like a nightmare; and all upon a sudden, and
before I had a guess of what was coming, I began to sob and cry
like any child.
Alan clapped my shoulder, and said I was a brave lad and wanted
nothing but a sleep.
"I'll take the first watch," said he. "Ye've done well by me,
David, first and last; and I wouldn't lose you for all Appin --
no, nor for Breadalbane."
So I made up my bed on the floor; and he took the first spell,
pistol in hand and sword on knee, three hours by the captain's
watch upon the wall. Then he roused me up, and I took my turn of
three hours; before the end of which it was broad day, and a very
quiet morning, with a smooth, rolling sea that tossed the ship
and made the blood run to and fro on the round-house floor, and a
heavy rain that drummed upon the roof. All my watch there was
nothing stirring; and by the banging of the helm, I knew they had
even no one at the tiller. Indeed (as I learned afterwards)
there were so many of them hurt or dead, and the rest in so ill a
temper, that Mr. Riach and the captain had to take turn and turn
like Alan and me, or the brig might have gone ashore and nobody
the wiser. It was a mercy the night had fallen so still, for the
wind had gone down as soon as the rain began. Even as it was, I
judged by the wailing of a great number of gulls that went crying
and fishing round the ship, that she must have drifted pretty
near the coast or one of the islands of the Hebrides; and at
last, looking out of the door of the round-house, I saw the great
stone hills of Skye on the right hand, and, a little more astern,
the strange isle of Rum.
CHAPTER XI
THE CAPTAIN KNUCKLES UNDER
Alan and I sat down to breakfast about six of the clock. The
floor was covered with broken glass and in a horrid mess of
blood, which took away my hunger. In all other ways we were in a
situation not only agreeable but merry; having ousted the
officers from their own cabin, and having at command all the
drink in the ship -- both wine and spirits -- and all the dainty
part of what was eatable, such as the pickles and the fine sort
of bread. This, of itself, was enough to set us in good humour,
but the richest part of it was this, that the two thirstiest men
that ever came out of Scotland (Mr. Shuan being dead) were now
shut in the fore-part of the ship and condemned to what they
hated most -- cold water.
"And depend upon it," Alan said, "we shall hear more of them ere
long. Ye may keep a man from the fighting, but never from his
bottle."
We made good company for each other. Alan, indeed, expressed
himself most lovingly; and taking a knife from the table, cut me
off one of the silver buttons from his coat.
"I had them," says he, "from my father, Duncan Stewart; and now
give ye one of them to be a keepsake for last night's work. And
wherever ye go and show that button, the friends of Alan Breck
will come around you."
He said this as if he had been Charlemagne, and commanded armies;
and indeed, much as I admired his courage, I was always in danger
of smiling at his vanity: in danger, I say, for had I not kept my
countenance, I would be afraid to think what a quarrel might have
followed.
As soon as we were through with our meal he rummaged in the
captain's locker till he found a clothes-brush; and then taking
off his coat, began to visit his suit and brush away the stains,
with such care and labour as I supposed to have been only usual
with women. To be sure, he had no other; and, besides (as he
said), it belonged to a king and so behoved to be royally looked
after.
For all that, when I saw what care he took to pluck out the
threads where the button had been cut away, I put a higher value
on his gift.
He was still so engaged when we were hailed by Mr. Riach from the
deck, asking for a parley; and I, climbing through the skylight
and sitting on the edge of it, pistol in hand and with a bold
front, though inwardly in fear of broken glass, hailed him back
again and bade him speak out. He came to the edge of the
round-house, and stood on a coil of rope, so that his chin was on
a level with the roof; and we looked at each other awhile in
silence. Mr. Riach, as I do not think he had been very forward
in the battle, so he had got off with nothing worse than a blow
upon the cheek: but he looked out of heart and very weary, having
been all night afoot, either standing watch or doctoring the
wounded.
"This is a bad job," said he at last, shaking his head.
"It was none of our choosing," said I.
"The captain," says he, "would like to speak with your friend.
They might speak at the window."
"And how do we know what treachery he means?" cried I.
"He means none, David," returned Mr. Riach, "and if he did, I'll
tell ye the honest truth, we couldnae get the men to follow."
"Is that so?" said I.
"I'll tell ye more than that," said he. "It's not only the men;
it's me. I'm frich'ened, Davie." And he smiled across at me.
"No," he continued, "what we want is to be shut of him."
Thereupon I consulted with Alan, and the parley was agreed to and
parole given upon either side; but this was not the whole of Mr.
Riach's business, and he now begged me for a dram with such
instancy and such reminders of his former kindness, that at last
I handed him a pannikin with about a gill of brandy. He drank a
part, and then carried the rest down upon the deck, to share it
(I suppose) with his superior.
A little after, the captain came (as was agreed) to one of the
windows, and stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling,
and looking stern and pale, and so old that my heart smote me for
having fired upon him.
Alan at once held a pistol in his face.
"Put that thing up!" said the captain. "Have I not passed my
word, sir? or do ye seek to affront me?"
"Captain," says Alan, "I doubt your word is a breakable. Last
night ye haggled and argle-bargled like an apple-wife; and then
passed me your word, and gave me your hand to back it; and ye ken
very well what was the upshot. Be damned to your word!" says he.
"Well, well, sir," said the captain, "ye'll get little good by
swearing." (And truly that was a fault of which the captain was
quite free.) "But we have other things to speak," he continued,
bitterly. "Ye've made a sore hash of my brig; I haven't hands
enough left to work her; and my first officer (whom I could ill
spare) has got your sword throughout his vitals, and passed
without speech. There is nothing left me, sir, but to put back
into the port of Glasgow after hands; and there (by your leave)
ye will find them that are better able to talk to you."
"Ay?" said Alan; "and faith, I'll have a talk with them mysel'!
Unless there's naebody speaks English in that town, I have a
bonny tale for them. Fifteen tarry sailors upon the one side,
and a man and a halfling boy upon the other! O, man, it's
peetiful!"
Hoseason flushed red.
"No," continued Alan, "that'll no do. Ye'll just have to set me
ashore as we agreed."
"Ay," said Hoseason, "but my first officer is dead -- ye ken best
how. There's none of the rest of us acquaint with this coast,
sir; and it's one very dangerous to ships."
"I give ye your choice," says Alan. "Set me on dry ground in
Appin, or Ardgour, or in Morven, or Arisaig, or Morar; or, in
brief, where ye please, within thirty miles of my own country;
except in a country of the Campbells. That's a broad target. If
ye miss that, ye must be as feckless at the sailoring as I have
found ye at the fighting. Why, my poor country people in their
bit cobles[16] pass from island to island in all weathers, ay,
and by night too, for the matter of that."
[16]Coble: a small boat used in fishing.
"A coble's not a ship" sir" said the captain. "It has nae
draught of water."
"Well, then, to Glasgow if ye list!" says Alan. "We'll have the
laugh of ye at the least."
"My mind runs little upon laughing," said the captain. "But all
this will cost money, sir."
"Well, sir" says Alan, "I am nae weathercock. Thirty guineas, if
ye land me on the sea-side; and sixty, if ye put me in the Linnhe
Loch."
"But see, sir, where we lie, we are but a few hours' sail from
Ardnamurchan," said Hoseason. "Give me sixty, and I'll set ye
there."
" And I'm to wear my brogues and run jeopardy of the red-coats to
please you?" cries Alan. "No, sir; if ye want sixty guineas earn
them, and set me in my own country."
"It's to risk the brig, sir," said the captain, "and your own
lives along with her."
"Take it or want it," says Alan.
"Could ye pilot us at all?" asked the captain, who was frowning
to himself.
"Well, it's doubtful," said Alan. "I'm more of a fighting man
(as ye have seen for yoursel') than a sailor-man. But I have
been often enough picked up and set down upon this coast, and
should ken something of the lie of it."
The captain shook his head, still frowning.
"If I had lost less money on this unchancy cruise," says he, "I
would see you in a rope's end before I risked my brig, sir. But
be it as ye will. As soon as I get a slant of wind (and there's
some coming, or I'm the more mistaken) I'll put it in hand. But
there's one thing more. We may meet in with a king's ship and
she may lay us aboard, sir, with no blame of mine: they keep the
cruisers thick upon this coast, ye ken who for. Now, sir, if
that was to befall, ye might leave the money."
"Captain," says Alan, "if ye see a pennant, it shall be your part
to run away. And now, as I hear you're a little short of brandy
in the fore-part, I'll offer ye a change: a bottle of brandy
against two buckets of water."
That was the last clause of the treaty, and was duly executed on
both sides; so that Alan and I could at last wash out the
round-house and be quit of the memorials of those whom we had
slain, and the captain and Mr. Riach could be happy again in
their own way, the name of which was drink.
CHAPTER XII
I HEAR OF THE "RED FOX"
Before we had done cleaning out the round-house, a breeze sprang
up from a little to the east of north. This blew off the rain
and brought out the sun.
And here I must explain; and the reader would do well to look at
a map. On the day when the fog fell and we ran down Alan's boat,
we had been running through the Little Minch. At dawn after the
battle, we lay becalmed to the east of the Isle of Canna or
between that and Isle Eriska in the chain of the Long Island.
Now to get from there to the Linnhe Loch, the straight course was
through the narrows of the Sound of Mull. But the captain had no
chart; he was afraid to trust his brig so deep among the islands;
and the wind serving well, he preferred to go by west of Tiree
and come up under the southern coast of the great Isle of Mull.
All day the breeze held in the same point, and rather freshened
than died down; and towards afternoon, a swell began to set in
from round the outer Hebrides. Our course, to go round about the
inner isles, was to the west of south, so that at first we had
this swell upon our beam, and were much rolled about. But after
nightfall, when we had turned the end of Tiree and began to head
more to the east, the sea came right astern.
Meanwhile, the early part of the day, before the swell came up,
was very pleasant; sailing, as we were, in a bright sunshine and
with many mountainous islands upon different sides. Alan and I
sat in the round-house with the doors open on each side (the wind
being straight astern), and smoked a pipe or two of the captain's
fine tobacco. It was at this time we heard each other's stories,
which was the more important to me, as I gained some knowledge of
that wild Highland country on which I was so soon to land. In
those days, so close on the back of the great rebellion, it was
needful a man should know what he was doing when he went upon the
heather.
It was I that showed the example, telling him all my misfortune;
which he heard with great good-nature. Only, when I came to
mention that good friend of mine, Mr. Campbell the minister, Alan
fired up and cried out that he hated all that were of that name.
"Why," said I, "he is a man you should be proud to give your hand
to."
"I know nothing I would help a Campbell to," says he, "unless it
was a leaden bullet. I would hunt all of that name like
blackcocks. If I lay dying, I would crawl upon my knees to my
chamber window for a shot at one."
"Why, Alan," I cried, "what ails ye at the Campbells?"
"Well," says he, "ye ken very well that I am an Appin Stewart,
and the Campbells have long harried and wasted those of my name;
ay, and got lands of us by treachery--but never with the sword,"
he cried loudly, and with the word brought down his fist upon the
table. But I paid the less attention to this, for I knew it was
usually said by those who have the underhand. "There's more than
that," he continued, "and all in the same story: lying words,
lying papers, tricks fit for a peddler, and the show of what's
legal over all, to make a man the more angry."
"You that are so wasteful of your buttons," said I, "I can hardly
think you would be a good judge of business."
"Ah!" says he, falling again to smiling, "I got my wastefulness
from the same man I got the buttons from; and that was my poor
father, Duncan Stewart, grace be to him! He was the prettiest man
of his kindred; and the best swordsman in the Hielands, David,
and that is the same as to say, in all the world, I should ken,
for it was him that taught me. He was in the Black Watch, when
first it was mustered; and, like other gentlemen privates, had a
gillie at his back to carry his firelock for him on the march.
Well, the King, it appears, was wishful to see Hieland
swordsmanship; and my father and three more were chosen out and
sent to London town, to let him see it at the best. So they were
had into the palace and showed the whole art of the sword for two
hours at a stretch, before King George and Queen Carline, and the
Butcher Cumberland, and many more of whom I havenae mind. And
when they were through, the King (for all he was a rank usurper)
spoke them fair and gave each man three guineas in his hand.
Now, as they were going out of the palace, they had a porter's
lodge to go, by; and it came in on my father, as he was perhaps
the first private Hieland gentleman that had ever gone by that
door, it was right he should give the poor porter a proper notion
of their quality. So he gives the King's three guineas into the
man's hand, as if it was his common custom; the three others that
came behind him did the same; and there they were on the street,
never a penny the better for their pains. Some say it was one,
that was the first to fee the King's porter; and some say it was
another; but the truth of it is, that it was Duncan Stewart, as I
am willing to prove with either sword or pistol. And that was
the father that I had, God rest him!"
"I think he was not the man to leave you rich," said I.
"And that's true," said Alan. "He left me my breeks to cover me,
and little besides. And that was how I came to enlist, which was
a black spot upon my character at the best of times, and would
still be a sore job for me if I fell among the red-coats."
"What," cried I, "were you in the English army?"
"That was I," said Alan. "But I deserted to the right side at
Preston Pans -- and that's some comfort."
I could scarcely share this view: holding desertion under arms
for an unpardonable fault in honour. But for all I was so young,
I was wiser than say my thought. "Dear, dear," says I, "the
punishment is death."
"Ay" said he, "if they got hands on me, it would be a short
shrift and a lang tow for Alan! But I have the King of France's
commission in my pocket, which would aye be some protection."
"I misdoubt it much," said I.
"I have doubts mysel'," said Alan drily.
"And, good heaven, man," cried I, "you that are a condemned
rebel, and a deserter, and a man of the French King's -- what
tempts ye back into this country? It's a braving of Providence."
"Tut!" says Alan, "I have been back every year since forty-six!"
"And what brings ye, man?" cried I.
"Well, ye see, I weary for my friends and country," said he.
"France is a braw place, nae doubt; but I weary for the heather
and the deer. And then I have bit things that I attend to.
Whiles I pick up a few lads to serve the King of France:
recruits, ye see; and that's aye a little money. But the heart
of the matter is the business of my chief, Ardshiel."
"I thought they called your chief Appin," said I.
"Ay, but Ardshiel is the captain of the clan," said he, which
scarcely cleared my mind. "Ye see, David, he that was all his
life so great a man, and come of the blood and bearing the name
of kings, is now brought down to live in a French town like a
poor and private person. He that had four hundred swords at his
whistle, I have seen, with these eyes of mine, buying butter in
the market-place, and taking it home in a kale-leaf. This is not
only a pain but a disgrace to us of his family and clan. There
are the bairns forby, the children and the hope of Appin, that
must be learned their letters and how to hold a sword, in that
far country. Now, the tenants of Appin have to pay a rent to
King George; but their hearts are staunch, they are true to their
chief; and what with love and a bit of pressure, and maybe a
threat or two, the poor folk scrape up a second rent for
Ardshiel. Well, David, I'm the hand that carries it." And he
struck the belt about his body, so that the guineas rang.
"Do they pay both?" cried I.
"Ay, David, both," says he.
"What! two rents?" I repeated.
"Ay, David," said he. "I told a different tale to yon captain
man; but this is the truth of it. And it's wonderful to me how
little pressure is needed. But that's the handiwork of my good
kinsman and my father's friend, James of the Glens: James
Stewart, that is: Ardshiel's half-brother. He it is that gets
the money in, and does the management."
This was the first time I heard the name of that James Stewart,
who was afterwards so famous at the time of his hanging. But I
took little heed at the moment, for all my mind was occupied with
the generosity of these poor Highlanders.
"I call it noble," I cried. "I'm a Whig, or little better; but I
call it noble."
"Ay" said he, "ye're a Whig, but ye're a gentleman; and that's
what does it. Now, if ye were one of the cursed race of
Campbell, ye would gnash your teeth to hear tell of it. If ye
were the Red Fox..." And at that name, his teeth shut together,
and he ceased speaking. I have seen many a grim face, but never
a grimmer than Alan's when he had named the Red Fox.
"And who is the Red Fox?" I asked, daunted, but still curious.
"Who is he?" cried Alan. "Well, and I'll tell you that. When
the men of the clans were broken at Culloden, and the good cause
went down, and the horses rode over the fetlocks in the best
blood of the north, Ardshiel had to flee like a poor deer upon
the mountains -- he and his lady and his bairns. A sair job we
had of it before we got him shipped; and while he still lay in
the heather, the English rogues, that couldnae come at his life,
were striking at his rights. They stripped him of his powers;
they stripped him of his lands; they plucked the weapons from the
hands of his clansmen, that had borne arms for thirty centuries;
ay, and the very clothes off their backs -- so that it's now a
sin to wear a tartan plaid, and a man may be cast into a gaol if
he has but a kilt about his legs. One thing they couldnae kill.
That was the love the clansmen bore their chief. These guineas
are the proof of it. And now, in there steps a man, a Campbell,
red-headed Colin of Glenure ----"
"Is that him you call the Red Fox?" said I.
"Will ye bring me his brush?" cries Alan, fiercely. "Ay, that's
the man. In he steps, and gets papers from King George, to be
so-called King's factor on the lands of Appin. And at first he
sings small, and is hail-fellow-well-met with Sheamus -- that's
James of the Glens, my chieftain's agent. But by-and-by, that
came to his ears that I have just told you; how the poor commons
of Appin, the farmers and the crofters and the boumen, were
wringing their very plaids to get a second rent, and send it
over-seas for Ardshiel and his poor bairns. What was it ye
called it, when I told ye?"
"I called it noble, Alan," said I.
"And you little better than a common Whig!" cries Alan. "But
when it came to Colin Roy, the black Campbell blood in him ran
wild. He sat gnashing his teeth at the wine table. What! should
a Stewart get a bite of bread, and him not be able to prevent it?
Ah! Red Fox, if ever I hold you at a gun's end, the Lord have
pity upon ye!" (Alan stopped to swallow down his anger.) "Well,
David, what does he do? He declares all the farms to let. And,
thinks he, in his black heart, 'I'll soon get other tenants
that'll overbid these Stewarts, and Maccolls, and Macrobs' (for
these are all names in my clan, David); 'and then,' thinks he,
'Ardshiel will have to hold his bonnet on a French roadside.'"
"Well," said I, "what followed?"
Alan laid down his pipe, which he had long since suffered to go
out, and set his two hands upon his knees.
"Ay," said he, "ye'll never guess that! For these same Stewarts,
and Maccolls, and Macrobs (that had two rents to pay, one to King
George by stark force, and one to Ardshiel by natural kindness)
offered him a better price than any Campbell in all broad
Scotland; and far he sent seeking them -- as far as to the sides
of Clyde and the cross of Edinburgh -- seeking, and fleeching,
and begging them to come, where there was a Stewart to be starved
and a red-headed hound of a Campbell to be pleasured!"
"Well, Alan," said I, "that is a strange story, and a fine one,
too. And Whig as I may be, I am glad the man was beaten."
"Him beaten?" echoed Alan. "It's little ye ken of Campbells, and
less of the Red Fox. Him beaten? No: nor will be, till his
blood's on the hillside! But if the day comes, David man, that I
can find time and leisure for a bit of hunting, there grows not
enough heather in all Scotland to hide him from my vengeance!"
"Man Alan," said I, "ye are neither very wise nor very Christian
to blow off so many words of anger. They will do the man ye call
the Fox no harm, and yourself no good. Tell me your tale plainly
out. What did he next?"
"And that's a good observe, David," said Alan. "Troth and
indeed, they will do him no harm; the more's the pity! And
barring that about Christianity (of which my opinion is quite
otherwise, or I would be nae Christian), I am much of your mind."
"Opinion here or opinion there," said I, "it's a kent thing that
Christianity forbids revenge."
"Ay" said he, "it's well seen it was a Campbell taught ye! It
would be a convenient world for them and their sort, if there was
no such a thing as a lad and a gun behind a heather bush! But
that's nothing to the point. This is what he did."
"Ay" said I, "come to that."
"Well, David," said he, "since he couldnae be rid of the loyal
commons by fair means, he swore he would be rid of them by foul.
Ardshiel was to starve: that was the thing he aimed at. And
since them that fed him in his exile wouldnae be bought out --
right or wrong, he would drive them out. Therefore he sent for
lawyers, and papers, and red-coats to stand at his back. And the
kindly folk of that country must all pack and tramp, every
father's son out of his father's house, and out of the place
where he was bred and fed, and played when he was a callant. And
who are to succeed them? Bare-leggit beggars! King George is to
whistle for his rents; he maun dow with less; he can spread his
butter thinner: what cares Red Colin? If he can hurt Ardshiel, he
has his wish; if he can pluck the meat from my chieftain's table,
and the bit toys out of his children's hands, he will gang hame
singing to Glenure!"
"Let me have a word," said I. "Be sure, if they take less rents,
be sure Government has a finger in the pie. It's not this
Campbell's fault, man -- it's his orders. And if ye killed this
Colin to-morrow, what better would ye be? There would be another
factor in his shoes, as fast as spur can drive."
"Ye're a good lad in a fight," said Alan; "but, man! ye have Whig
blood in ye!"
He spoke kindly enough, but there was so much anger under his
contempt that I thought it was wise to change the conversation.
I expressed my wonder how, with the Highlands covered with
troops, and guarded like a city in a siege, a man in his
situation could come and go without arrest.
"It's easier than ye would think," said Alan. "A bare hillside
(ye see) is like all one road; if there's a sentry at one place,
ye just go by another. And then the heather's a great help. And
everywhere there are friends' houses and friends' byres and
haystacks. And besides, when folk talk of a country covered with
troops, it's but a kind of a byword at the best. A soldier
covers nae mair of it than his boot-soles. I have fished a water
with a sentry on the other side of the brae, and killed a fine
trout; and I have sat in a heather bush within six feet of
another, and learned a real bonny tune from his whistling. This
was it," said he, and whistled me the air.
"And then, besides," he continued, "it's no sae bad now as it was
in forty-six. The Hielands are what they call pacified. Small
wonder, with never a gun or a sword left from Cantyre to Cape
Wrath, but what tenty[17] folk have hidden in their thatch! But
what I would like to ken, David, is just how long? Not long, ye
would think, with men like Ardshiel in exile and men like the Red
Fox sitting birling the wine and oppressing the poor at home.
But it's a kittle thing to decide what folk'll bear, and what
they will not. Or why would Red Colin be riding his horse all
over my poor country of Appin, and never a pretty lad to put a
bullet in him?"
[17] Careful.
And with this Alan fell into a muse, and for a long time sate
very sad and silent.
I will add the rest of what I have to say about my friend, that
he was skilled in all kinds of music, but principally pipe-music;
was a well-considered poet in his own tongue; had read several
books both in French and English; was a dead shot, a good angler,
and an excellent fencer with the small sword as well as with his
own particular weapon. For his faults, they were on his face,
and I now knew them all. But the worst of them, his childish
propensity to take offence and to pick quarrels, he greatly laid
aside in my case, out of regard for the battle of the
round-house. But whether it was because I had done well myself,
or because I had been a witness of his own much greater prowess,
is more than I can tell. For though he had a great taste for
courage in other men, yet he admired it most in Alan Breck.
CHAPTER XIII
THE LOSS OF THE BRIG
It was already late at night, and as dark as it ever would be at
that season of the year (and that is to say, it was still pretty
bright), when Hoseason clapped his head into the round-house
door.
"Here," said he, "come out and see if ye can pilot."
"Is this one of your tricks?" asked Alan.
"Do I look like tricks?" cries the captain. "I have other things
to think of -- my brig's in danger!"
By the concerned look of his face, and, above all, by the sharp
tones in which he spoke of his brig, it was plain to both of us
he was in deadly earnest; and so Alan and I, with no great fear
of treachery, stepped on deck.
The sky was clear; it blew hard, and was bitter cold; a great
deal of daylight lingered; and the moon, which was nearly full,
shone brightly. The brig was close hauled, so as to round the
southwest corner of the Island of Mull, the hills of which (and
Ben More above them all, with a wisp of mist upon the top of it)
lay full upon the lar-board bow. Though it was no good point of
sailing for the Covenant, she tore through the seas at a great
rate, pitching and straining, and pursued by the westerly swell.
Altogether it was no such ill night to keep the seas in; and I
had begun to wonder what it was that sat so heavily upon the
captain, when the brig rising suddenly on the top of a high
swell, he pointed and cried to us to look. Away on the lee bow,
a thing like a fountain rose out of the moonlit sea, and
immediately after we heard a low sound of roaring.
"What do ye call that?" asked the captain, gloomily.
"The sea breaking on a reef," said Alan. "And now ye ken where
it is; and what better would ye have?"
"Ay," said Hoseason, "if it was the only one."
And sure enough, just as he spoke there came a second fountain
farther to the south.
"There!" said Hoseason. "Ye see for yourself. If I had kent of
these reefs, if I had had a chart, or if Shuan had been spared,
it's not sixty guineas, no, nor six hundred, would have made me
risk my brig in sic a stoneyard! But you, sir, that was to pilot
us, have ye never a word?"
"I'm thinking," said Alan, "these'll be what they call the Torran
Rocks."
"Are there many of them?" says the captain.
"Truly, sir, I am nae pilot," said Alan; "but it sticks in my
mind there are ten miles of them."
Mr. Riach and the captain looked at each other.
"There's a way through them, I suppose?" said the captain.
"Doubtless," said Alan, "but where? But it somehow runs in my
mind once more that it is clearer under the land."
"So?" said Hoseason. "We'll have to haul our wind then, Mr.
Riach; we'll have to come as near in about the end of Mull as we
can take her, sir; and even then we'll have the land to kep the
wind off us, and that stoneyard on our lee. Well, we're in for
it now, and may as well crack on."
With that he gave an order to the steersman, and sent Riach to
the foretop. There were only five men on deck, counting the
officers; these being all that were fit (or, at least, both fit
and willing) for their work. So, as I say, it fell to Mr. Riach
to go aloft, and he sat there looking out and hailing the deck
with news of all he saw.
"The sea to the south is thick," he cried; and then, after a
while, "it does seem clearer in by the land."
"Well, sir," said Hoseason to Alan, "we'll try your way of it.
But I think I might as well trust to a blind fiddler. Pray God
you're right."
"Pray God I am!" says Alan to me. "But where did I hear it?
Well, well, it will be as it must."
As we got nearer to the turn of the land the reefs began to be
sown here and there on our very path; and Mr. Riach sometimes
cried down to us to change the course. Sometimes, indeed, none
too soon; for one reef was so close on the brig's weather board
that when a sea burst upon it the lighter sprays fell upon her
deck and wetted us like rain.
The brightness of the night showed us these perils as clearly as
by day, which was, perhaps, the more alarming. It showed me,
too, the face of the captain as he stood by the steersman, now on
one foot, now on the other, and sometimes blowing in his hands,
but still listening and looking and as steady as steel. Neither
he nor Mr. Riach had shown well in the fighting; but I saw they
were brave in their own trade, and admired them all the more
because I found Alan very white.
"Ochone, David," says he, "this is no the kind of death I fancy!"
"What, Alan!" I cried, "you're not afraid?"
"No," said he, wetting his lips, "but you'll allow, yourself,
it's a cold ending."
By this time, now and then sheering to one side or the other to
avoid a reef, but still hugging the wind and the land, we had got
round Iona and begun to come alongside Mull. The tide at the
tail of the land ran very strong, and threw the brig about. Two
hands were put to the helm, and Hoseason himself would sometimes
lend a help; and it was strange to see three strong men throw
their weight upon the tiller, and it (like a living thing)
struggle against and drive them back. This would have been the
greater danger had not the sea been for some while free of
obstacles. Mr. Riach, besides, announced from the top that he
saw clear water ahead.
"Ye were right," said Hoseason to Alan. "Ye have saved the brig,
sir. I'll mind that when we come to clear accounts." And I
believe he not only meant what he said, but would have done it;
so high a place did the Covenant hold in his affections.
But this is matter only for conjecture, things having gone
otherwise than he forecast.
"Keep her away a point," sings out Mr. Riach. "Reef to
windward!"
And just at the same time the tide caught the brig, and threw the
wind out of her sails. She came round into the wind like a top,
and the next moment struck the reef with such a dunch as threw us
all flat upon the deck, and came near to shake Mr. Riach from his
place upon the mast.
I was on my feet in a minute. The reef on which we had struck
was close in under the southwest end of Mull, off a little isle
they call Earraid, which lay low and black upon the larboard.
Sometimes the swell broke clean over us; sometimes it only ground
the poor brig upon the reef, so that we could hear her beat
herself to pieces; and what with the great noise of the sails,
and the singing of the wind, and the flying of the spray in the
moonlight, and the sense of danger, I think my head must have
been partly turned, for I could scarcely understand the things I
saw.
Presently I observed Mr. Riach and the seamen busy round the
skiff, and, still in the same blank, ran over to assist them; and
as soon as I set my hand to work, my mind came clear again. It
was no very easy task, for the skiff lay amidships and was full
of hamper, and the breaking of the heavier seas continually
forced us to give over and hold on; but we all wrought like
horses while we could.
Meanwhile such of the wounded as could move came clambering out
of the fore-scuttle and began to help; while the rest that lay
helpless in their bunks harrowed me with screaming and begging to
be saved.
The captain took no part. It seemed he was struck stupid. He
stood holding by the shrouds, talking to himself and groaning out
aloud whenever the ship hammered on the rock. His brig was like
wife and child to him; he had looked on, day by day, at the
mishandling of poor Ransome; but when it came to the brig, he
seemed to suffer along with her.
All the time of our working at the boat, I remember only one
other thing: that I asked Alan, looking across at the shore, what
country it was; and he answered, it was the worst possible for
him, for it was a land of the Campbells.
We had one of the wounded men told off to keep a watch upon the
seas and cry us warning. Well, we had the boat about ready to be
launched, when this man sang out pretty shrill: "For God's sake,
hold on!" We knew by his tone that it was something more than
ordinary; and sure enough, there followed a sea so huge that it
lifted the brig right up and canted her over on her beam.
Whether the cry came too late, or my hold was too weak, I know
not; but at the sudden tilting of the ship I was cast clean over
the bulwarks into the sea.
I went down, and drank my fill, and then came up, and got a blink
of the moon, and then down again. They say a man sinks a third
time for good. I cannot be made like other folk, then; for I
would not like to write how often I went down, or how often I
came up again. All the while, I was being hurled along, and
beaten upon and choked, and then swallowed whole; and the thing
was so distracting to my wits, that I was neither sorry nor
afraid.
Presently, I found I was holding to a spar, which helped me
somewhat. And then all of a sudden I was in quiet water, and
began to come to myself.
It was the spare yard I had got hold of, and I was amazed to see
how far I had travelled from the brig. I hailed her, indeed; but
it was plain she was already out of cry. She was still holding
together; but whether or not they had yet launched the boat, I
was too far off and too low down to see.
While I was hailing the brig, I spied a tract of water lying
between us where no great waves came, but which yet boiled white
all over and bristled in the moon with rings and bubbles.
Sometimes the whole tract swung to one side, like the tail of a
live serpent; sometimes, for a glimpse, it would all disappear
and then boil up again. What it was I had no guess, which for
the time increased my fear of it; but I now know it must have
been the roost or tide race, which had carried me away so fast
and tumbled me about so cruelly, and at last, as if tired of that
play, had flung out me and the spare yard upon its landward
margin.
I now lay quite becalmed, and began to feel that a man can die of
cold as well as of drowning. The shores of Earraid were close
in; I could see in the moonlight the dots of heather and the
sparkling of the mica in the rocks.
"Well," thought I to myself, "if I cannot get as far as that,
it's strange!"
I had no skill of swimming, Essen Water being small in our
neighbourhood; but when I laid hold upon the yard with both arms,
and kicked out with both feet, I soon begun to find that I was
moving. Hard work it was, and mortally slow; but in about an
hour of kicking and splashing, I had got well in between the
points of a sandy bay surrounded by low hills.
The sea was here quite quiet; there was no sound of any surf; the
moon shone clear; and I thought in my heart I had never seen a
place so desert and desolate. But it was dry land; and when at
last it grew so shallow that I could leave the yard and wade
ashore upon my feet, I cannot tell if I was more tired or more
grateful. Both, at least, I was: tired as I never was before
that night; and grateful to God as I trust I have been often,
though never with more cause.
CHAPTER XIV
THE ISLET
With my stepping ashore I began the most unhappy part of my
adventures. It was half-past twelve in the morning, and though
the wind was broken by the land, it was a cold night. I dared
not sit down (for I thought I should have frozen), but took off
my shoes and walked to and fro upon the sand, bare-foot, and
beating my breast with infinite weariness. There was no sound of
man or cattle; not a cock crew, though it was about the hour of
their first waking; only the surf broke outside in the distance,
which put me in mind of my perils and those of my friend. To
walk by the sea at that hour of the morning, and in a place so
desert-like and lonesome, struck me with a kind of fear.
As soon as the day began to break I put on my shoes and climbed a
hill -- the ruggedest scramble I ever undertook-- falling, the
whole way, between big blocks of granite, or leaping from one to
another. When I got to the top the dawn was come. There was no
sign of the brig, which must have lifted from the reef and sunk.
The boat, too, was nowhere to be seen. There was never a sail
upon the ocean; and in what I could see of the land was neither
house nor man.
I was afraid to think what had befallen my shipmates, and afraid
to look longer at so empty a scene. What with my wet clothes and
weariness, and my belly that now began to ache with hunger, I had
enough to trouble me without that. So I set off eastward along
the south coast, hoping to find a house where I might warm
myself, and perhaps get news of those I had lost. And at the
worst, I considered the sun would soon rise and dry my clothes.
After a little, my way was stopped by a creek or inlet of the
sea, which seemed to run pretty deep into the land; and as I had
no means to get across, I must needs change my direction to go
about the end of it. It was still the roughest kind of walking;
indeed the whole, not only of Earraid, but of the neighbouring
part of Mull (which they call the Ross) is nothing but a jumble
of granite rocks with heather in among. At first the creek kept
narrowing as I had looked to see; but presently to my surprise it
began to widen out again. At this I scratched my head, but had
still no notion of the truth: until at last I came to a rising
ground, and it burst upon me all in a moment that I was cast upon
a little barren isle, and cut off on every side by the salt seas.
Instead of the sun rising to dry me, it came on to rain, with a
thick mist; so that my case was lamentable.
I stood in the rain, and shivered, and wondered what to do, till
it occurred to me that perhaps the creek was fordable. Back I
went to the narrowest point and waded in. But not three yards
from shore, I plumped in head over ears; and if ever I was heard
of more, it was rather by God's grace than my own prudence. I
was no wetter (for that could hardly be), but I was all the
colder for this mishap; and having lost another hope was the more
unhappy.
And now, all at once, the yard came in my head. What had carried
me through the roost would surely serve me to cross this little
quiet creek in safety. With that I set off, undaunted, across
the top of the isle, to fetch and carry it back. It was a weary
tramp in all ways, and if hope had not buoyed me up, I must have
cast myself down and given up. Whether with the sea salt, or
because I was growing fevered, I was distressed with thirst, and
had to stop, as I went, and drink the peaty water out of the
hags.
I came to the bay at last, more dead than alive; and at the first
glance, I thought the yard was something farther out than when I
left it. In I went, for the third time, into the sea. The sand
was smooth and firm, and shelved gradually down, so that I could
wade out till the water was almost to my neck and the little
waves splashed into my face. But at that depth my feet began to
leave me, and I durst venture in no farther. As for the yard, I
saw it bobbing very quietly some twenty feet beyond.
I had borne up well until this last disappointment; but at that I
came ashore, and flung myself down upon the sands and wept.
The time I spent upon the island is still so horrible a thought
to me, that I must pass it lightly over. In all the books I have
read of people cast away, they had either their pockets full of
tools, or a chest of things would be thrown upon the beach along
with them, as if on purpose. My case was very different. I had
nothing in my pockets but money and Alan's silver button; and
being inland bred, I was as much short of knowledge as of means.
I knew indeed that shell-fish were counted good to eat; and among
the rocks of the isle I found a great plenty of limpets, which at
first I could scarcely strike from their places, not knowing
quickness to be needful. There were, besides, some of the little
shells that we call buckies; I think periwinkle is the English
name. Of these two I made my whole diet, devouring them cold and
raw as I found them; and so hungry was I, that at first they
seemed to me delicious.
Perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something
wrong in the sea about my island. But at least I had no sooner
eaten my first meal than I was seized with giddiness and
retching, and lay for a long time no better than dead. A second
trial of the same food (indeed I had no other) did better with
me, and revived my strength. But as long as I was on the island,
I never knew what to expect when I had eaten; sometimes all was
well, and sometimes I was thrown into a miserable sickness; nor
could I ever distinguish what particular fish it was that hurt
me.
All day it streamed rain; the island ran like a sop, there was no
dry spot to be found; and when I lay down that night, between two
boulders that made a kind of roof, my feet were in a bog.
The second day I crossed the island to all sides. There was no
one part of it better than another; it was all desolate and
rocky; nothing living on it but game birds which I lacked the
means to kill, and the gulls which haunted the outlying rocks in
a prodigious number. But the creek, or strait, that cut off the
isle from the main-land of the Ross, opened out on the north into
a bay, and the bay again opened into the Sound of Iona; and it
was the neighbourhood of this place that I chose to be my home;
though if I had thought upon the very name of home in such a
spot, I must have burst out weeping.
I had good reasons for my choice. There was in this part of the
isle a little hut of a house like a pig's hut, where fishers used
to sleep when they came there upon their business; but the turf
roof of it had fallen entirely in; so that the hut was of no use
to me, and gave me less shelter than my rocks. What was more
important, the shell-fish on which I lived grew there in great
plenty; when the tide was out I could gather a peck at a time:
and this was doubtless a convenience. But the other reason went
deeper. I had become in no way used to the horrid solitude of
the isle, but still looked round me on all sides (like a man that
was hunted), between fear and hope that I might see some human
creature coming. Now, from a little up the hillside over the
bay, I could catch a sight of the great, ancient church and the
roofs of the people's houses in Iona. And on the other hand,
over the low country of the Ross, I saw smoke go up, morning and
evening, as if from a homestead in a hollow of the land.
I used to watch this smoke, when I was wet and cold, and had my
head half turned with loneliness; and think of the fireside and
the company, till my heart burned. It was the same with the
roofs of Iona. Altogether, this sight I had of men's homes and
comfortable lives, although it put a point on my own sufferings,
yet it kept hope alive, and helped me to eat my raw shell-fish
(which had soon grown to be a disgust), and saved me from the
sense of horror I had whenever I was quite alone with dead rocks,
and fowls, and the rain, and the cold sea.
I say it kept hope alive; and indeed it seemed impossible that I
should be left to die on the shores of my own country, and within
view of a church-tower and the smoke of men's houses. But the
second day passed; and though as long as the light lasted I kept
a bright look-out for boats on the Sound or men passing on the
Ross, no help came near me. It still rained, and I turned in to
sleep, as wet as ever, and with a cruel sore throat, but a little
comforted, perhaps, by having said good-night to my next
neighbours, the people of Iona.
Charles the Second declared a man could stay outdoors more days
in the year in the climate of England than in any other. This
was very like a king, with a palace at his back and changes of
dry clothes. But he must have had better luck on his flight from
Worcester than I had on that miserable isle. It was the height
of the summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, and
did not clear until the afternoon of the third day.
This was the day of incidents. In the morning I saw a red deer,
a buck with a fine spread of antlers, standing in the rain on the
top of the island; but he had scarce seen me rise from under my
rock, before he trotted off upon the other side. I supposed he
must have swum the strait; though what should bring any creature
to Earraid, was more than I could fancy.
A little after, as I was jumping about after my limpets, I was
startled by a guinea-piece, which fell upon a rock in front of me
and glanced off into the sea. When the sailors gave me my money
again, they kept back not only about a third of the whole sum,
but my father's leather purse; so that from that day out, I
carried my gold loose in a pocket with a button. I now saw there
must be a hole, and clapped my hand to the place in a great
hurry. But this was to lock the stable door after the steed was
stolen. I had left the shore at Queensferry with near on fifty
pounds; now I found no more than two guinea-pieces and a silver
shilling.
It is true I picked up a third guinea a little after, where it
lay shining on a piece of turf. That made a fortune of three
pounds and four shillings, English money, for a lad, the rightful
heir of an estate, and now starving on an isle at the extreme end
of the wild Highlands.
This state of my affairs dashed me still further; and, indeed my
plight on that third morning was truly pitiful. My clothes were
beginning to rot; my stockings in particular were quite worn
through, so that my shanks went naked; my hands had grown quite
soft with the continual soaking; my throat was very sore, my
strength had much abated, and my heart so turned against the
horrid stuff I was condemned to eat, that the very sight of it
came near to sicken me.
And yet the worst was not yet come.
There is a pretty high rock on the northwest of Earraid, which
(because it had a flat top and overlooked the Sound) I was much
in the habit of frequenting; not that ever I stayed in one place,
save when asleep, my misery giving me no rest. Indeed, I wore
myself down with continual and aimless goings and comings in the
rain.
As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of
that rock to dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing
I cannot tell. It set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance,
of which I had begun to despair; and I scanned the sea and the
Ross with a fresh interest. On the south of my rock, a part of
the island jutted out and hid the open ocean, so that a boat
could thus come quite near me upon that side, and I be none the
wiser.
Well, all of a sudden, a coble with a brown sail and a pair of
fishers aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle,
bound for Iona. I shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the
rock and reached up my hands and prayed to them. They were near
enough to hear -- I could even see the colour of their hair; and
there was no doubt but they observed me, for they cried out in
the Gaelic tongue, and laughed. But the boat never turned aside,
and flew on, right before my eyes, for Iona.
I could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from
rock to rock, crying on them piteously. even after they were out
of reach of my voice, I still cried and waved to them; and when
they were quite gone, I thought my heart would have burst. All
the time of my troubles I wept only twice. Once, when I could
not reach the yard, and now, the second time, when these fishers
turned a deaf ear to my cries. But this time I wept and roared
like a wicked child, tearing up the turf with my nails, and
grinding my face in the earth. If a wish would kill men, those
two fishers would never have seen morning, and I should likely
have died upon my island.
When I was a little over my anger, I must eat again, but with
such loathing of the mess as I could now scarce control. Sure
enough, I should have done as well to fast, for my fishes
poisoned me again. I had all my first pains; my throat was so
sore I could scarce swallow; I had a fit of strong shuddering,
which clucked my teeth together; and there came on me that
dreadful sense of illness, which we have no name for either in
Scotch or English. I thought I should have died, and made my
peace with God, forgiving all men, even my uncle and the fishers;
and as soon as I had thus made up my mind to the worst, clearness
came upon me; I observed the night was falling dry; my clothes
were dried a good deal; truly, I was in a better case than ever
before, since I had landed on the isle; and so I got to sleep at
last, with a thought of gratitude.
The next day (which was the fourth of this horrible life of mine)
I found my bodily strength run very low. But the sun shone, the
air was sweet, and what I managed to eat of the shell-fish agreed
well with me and revived my courage.
I was scarce back on my rock (where I went always the first thing
after I had eaten) before I observed a boat coming down the
Sound, and with her head, as I thought, in my direction.
I began at once to hope and fear exceedingly; for I thought these
men might have thought better of their cruelty and be coming back
to my assistance. But another disappointment, such as
yesterday's, was more than I could bear. I turned my back,
accordingly, upon the sea, and did not look again till I had
counted many hundreds. The boat was still heading for the
island. The next time I counted the full thousand, as slowly as
I could, my heart beating so as to hurt me. And then it was out
of all question. She was coming straight to Earraid!
I could no longer hold myself back, but ran to the seaside and
out, from one rock to another, as far as I could go. It is a
marvel I was not drowned; for when I was brought to a stand at
last, my legs shook under me, and my mouth was so dry, I must wet
it with the sea-water before I was able to shout.
All this time the boat was coming on; and now I was able to
perceive it was the same boat and the same two men as yesterday.
This I knew by their hair, which the one had of a bright yellow
and the other black. But now there was a third man along with
them, who looked to be of a better class.
As soon as they were come within easy speech, they let down their
sail and lay quiet. In spite of my supplications, they drew no
nearer in, and what frightened me most of all, the new man
tee-hee'd with laughter as he talked and looked at me.
Then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while,
speaking fast and with many wavings of his hand. I told him I had
no Gaelic; and at this he became very angry, and I began to
suspect he thought he was talking English. Listening very close,
I caught the word "whateffer" several times; but all the rest was
Gaelic and might have been Greek and Hebrew for me.
"Whatever," said I, to show him I had caught a word.
"Yes, yes -- yes, yes," says he, and then he looked at the other
men, as much as to say, "I told you I spoke English," and began
again as hard as ever in the Gaelic.
This time I picked out another word, "tide." Then I had a flash
of hope. I remembered he was always waving his hand towards the
mainland of the Ross.
"Do you mean when the tide is out --?" I cried, and could not
finish.
"Yes, yes," said he. "Tide."
At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my adviser had once
more begun to tee-hee with laughter), leaped back the way I had
come, from one stone to another, and set off running across the
isle as I had never run before. In about half an hour I came out
upon the shores of the creek; and, sure enough, it was shrunk
into a little trickle of water, through which I dashed, not above
my knees, and landed with a shout on the main island.
A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid; which is
only what they call a tidal islet, and except in the bottom of
the neaps, can be entered and left twice in every twenty-four
hours, either dry-shod, or at the most by wading. Even I, who
had the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and even
watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish -- even I (I
say) if I had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate,
must have soon guessed the secret, and got free. It was no
wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was rather
that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the
trouble to come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that
island for close upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I
might have left my bones there, in pure folly. And even as it
was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not only in past sufferings,
but in my present case; being clothed like a beggar-man, scarce
able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.
I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I
believe they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.
CHAPTER XV
THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE ISLE OF MULL
The Ross of Mull, which I had now got upon, was rugged and
trackless, like the isle I had just left; being all bog, and
brier, and big stone. There may be roads for them that know that
country well; but for my part I had no better guide than my own
nose, and no other landmark than Ben More.
I aimed as well as I could for the smoke I had seen so often from
the island; and with all my great weariness and the difficulty of
the way came upon the house in the bottom of a little hollow
about five or six at night. It was low and longish, roofed with
turf and built of unmortared stones; and on a mound in front of
it, an old gentleman sat smoking his pipe in the sun.
With what little English he had, he gave me to understand that my
shipmates had got safe ashore, and had broken bread in that very
house on the day after.
"Was there one," I asked, "dressed like a gentleman?"
He said they all wore rough great-coats; but to be sure, the
first of them, the one that came alone, wore breeches and
stockings, while the rest had sailors' trousers.
"Ah," said I, "and he would have a feathered hat?"
He told me, no, that he was bareheaded like myself.
At first I thought Alan might have lost his hat; and then the
rain came in my mind, and I judged it more likely he had it out
of harm's way under his great-coat. This set me smiling, partly
because my friend was safe, partly to think of his vanity in
dress.
And then the old gentleman clapped his hand to his brow, and
cried out that I must be the lad with the silver button.
"Why, yes!" said I, in some wonder.
"Well, then," said the old gentleman, "I have a word for you,
that you are to follow your friend to his country, by Torosay."
He then asked me how I had fared, and I told him my tale. A
south-country man would certainly have laughed; but this old
gentleman (I call him so because of his manners, for his clothes
were dropping off his back) heard me all through with nothing but
gravity and pity. When I had done, he took me by the hand, led
me into his hut (it was no better) and presented me before his
wife, as if she had been the Queen and I a duke.
The good woman set oat-bread before me and a cold grouse, patting
my shoulder and smiling to me all the time, for she had no
English; and the old gentleman (not to be behind) brewed me a
strong punch out of their country spirit. All the while I was
eating, and after that when I was drinking the punch, I could
scarce come to believe in my good fortune; and the house, though
it was thick with the peat-smoke and as full of holes as a
colander, seemed like a palace.
The punch threw me in a strong sweat and a deep slumber; the good
people let me lie; and it was near noon of the next day before I
took the road, my throat already easier and my spirits quite
restored by good fare and good news. The old gentleman, although
I pressed him hard, would take no money, and gave me an old
bonnet for my head; though I am free to own I was no sooner out
of view of the house than I very jealously washed this gift of
his in a wayside fountain.
Thought I to myself: "If these are the wild Highlanders, I could
wish my own folk wilder."
I not only started late, but I must have wandered nearly half the
time. True, I met plenty of people, grubbing in little miserable
fields that would not keep a cat, or herding little kine about
the bigness of asses. The Highland dress being forbidden by law
since the rebellion, and the people condemned to the Lowland
habit, which they much disliked, it was strange to see the
variety of their array. Some went bare, only for a hanging cloak
or great-coat, and carried their trousers on their backs like a
useless burthen: some had made an imitation of the tartan with
little parti-coloured stripes patched together like an old wife's
quilt; others, again, still wore the Highland philabeg, but by
putting a few stitches between the legs transformed it into a
pair of trousers like a Dutchman's. All those makeshifts were
condemned and punished, for the law was harshly applied, in hopes
to break up the clan spirit; but in that out-of-the-way,
sea-bound isle, there were few to make remarks and fewer to tell
tales.
They seemed in great poverty; which was no doubt natural, now
that rapine was put down, and the chiefs kept no longer an open
house; and the roads (even such a wandering, country by--track as
the one I followed) were infested with beggars. And here again I
marked a difference from my own part of the country. For our
Lowland beggars -- even the gownsmen themselves, who beg by
patent -- had a louting, flattering way with them, and if you
gave them a plaek and asked change, would very civilly return you
a boddle. But these Highland beggars stood on their dignity,
asked alms only to buy snuff (by their account) and would give no
change.
To be sure, this was no concern of mine, except in so far as it
entertained me by the way. What was much more to the purpose,
few had any English, and these few (unless they were of the
brotherhood of beggars) not very anxious to place it at my
service. I knew Torosay to be my destination, and repeated the
name to them and pointed; but instead of simply pointing in
reply, they would give me a screed of the Gaelic that set me
foolish; so it was small wonder if I went out of my road as often
as I stayed in it.
At last, about eight at night, and already very weary, I came to
a lone house, where I asked admittance, and was refused, until I
bethought me of the power of money in so poor a country, and held
up one of my guineas in my finger and thumb. Thereupon, the man
of the house, who had hitherto pretended to have no English, and
driven me from his door by signals, suddenly began to speak as
clearly as was needful, and agreed for five shillings to give me
a night's lodging and guide me the next day to Torosay.
I slept uneasily that night, fearing I should be robbed; but I
might have spared myself the pain; for my host was no robber,
only miserably poor and a great cheat. He was not alone in his
poverty; for the next morning, we must go five miles about to the
house of what he called a rich man to have one of my guineas
changed. This was perhaps a rich man for Mull; he would have
scarce been thought so in the south; for it took all he had --
the whole house was turned upside down, and a neighbour brought
under contribution, before he could scrape together twenty
shillings in silver. The odd shilling he kept for himself,
protesting he could ill afford to have so great a sum of money
lying "locked up." For all that he was very courteous and well
spoken, made us both sit down with his family to dinner, and
brewed punch in a fine china bowl, over which my rascal guide
grew so merry that he refused to start.
I was for getting angry, and appealed to the rich man (Hector
Maclean was his name), who had been a witness to our bargain and
to my payment of the five shillings. But Maclean had taken his
share of the punch, and vowed that no gentleman should leave his
table after the bowl was brewed; so there was nothing for it but
to sit and hear Jacobite toasts and Gaelic songs, till all were
tipsy and staggered off to the bed or the barn for their night's
rest.
Next day (the fourth of my travels) we were up before five upon
the clock; but my rascal guide got to the bottle at once, and it
was three hours before I had him clear of the house, and then (as
you shall hear) only for a worse disappointment.
As long as we went down a heathery valley that lay before Mr.
Maclean's house, all went well; only my guide looked constantly
over his shoulder, and when I asked him the cause, only grinned
at me. No sooner, however, had we crossed the back of a hill,
and got out of sight of the house windows, than he told me
Torosay lay right in front, and that a hill-top (which he pointed
out) was my best landmark.
"I care very little for that," said I, "since you are going with
me."
The impudent cheat answered me in the Gaelic that he had no
English.
"My fine fellow," I said, "I know very well your English comes
and goes. Tell me what will bring it back? Is it more money you
wish?"
"Five shillings mair," said he, "and hersel' will bring ye
there."
I reflected awhile and then offered him two, which he accepted
greedily, and insisted on having in his hands at once "for luck,"
as he said, but I think it was rather for my misfortune.
The two shillings carried him not quite as many miles; at the end
of which distance, he sat down upon the wayside and took off his
brogues from his feet, like a man about to rest.
I was now red-hot. "Ha!" said I, "have you no more English?"
He said impudently, "No."
At that I boiled over, and lifted my hand to strike him; and he,
drawing a knife from his rags, squatted back and grinned at me
like a wildcat. At that, forgetting everything but my anger, I
ran in upon him, put aside his knife with my left, and struck him
in the mouth with the right. I was a strong lad and very angry,
and he but a little man; and he went down before me heavily. By
good luck, his knife flew out of his hand as he fell.
I picked up both that and his brogues, wished him a good morning,
and set off upon my way, leaving him barefoot and disarmed. I
chuckled to myself as I went, being sure I was done with that
rogue, for a variety of reasons. First, he knew he could have no
more of my money; next, the brogues were worth in that country
only a few pence; and, lastly, the knife, which was really a
dagger, it was against the law for him to carry.
In about half an hour of walk, I overtook a great, ragged man,
moving pretty fast but feeling before him with a staff. He was
quite blind, and told me he was a catechist, which should have
put me at my ease. But his face went against me; it seemed dark
and dangerous and secret; and presently, as we began to go on
alongside, I saw the steel butt of a pistol sticking from under
the flap of his coat-pocket. To carry such a thing meant a fine
of fifteen pounds sterling upon a first offence, and
transportation to the colonies upon a second. Nor could I quite
see why a religious teacher should go armed, or what a blind man
could be doing with a pistol.
I told him about my guide, for I was proud of what I had done,
and my vanity for once got the heels of my prudence. At the
mention of the five shillings he cried out so loud that I made up
my mind I should say nothing of the other two, and was glad he
could not see my blushes.
"Was it too much?" I asked, a little faltering.
"Too much!" cries he. "Why, I will guide you to Torosay myself
for a dram of brandy. And give you the great pleasure of my
company (me that is a man of some learning) in the bargain."
I said I did not see how a blind man could be a guide; but at
that he laughed aloud, and said his stick was eyes enough for an
eagle.
"In the Isle of Mull, at least," says he, "where I know every
stone and heather-bush by mark of head. See, now," he said,
striking right and left, as if to make sure, "down there a burn
is running; and at the head of it there stands a bit of a small
hill with a stone cocked upon the top of that; and it's hard at
the foot of the hill, that the way runs by to Torosay; and the
way here, being for droves, is plainly trodden, and will show
grassy through the heather."
I had to own he was right in every feature, and told my wonder.
"Ha!" says he, "that's nothing. Would ye believe me now, that
before the Act came out, and when there were weepons in this
country, I could shoot? Ay, could I!" cries he, and then with a
leer: "If ye had such a thing as a pistol here to try with, I
would show ye how it's done."
I told him I had nothing of the sort, and gave him a wider berth.
If he had known, his pistol stuck at that time quite plainly out
of his pocket, and I could see the sun twinkle on the steel of
the butt. But by the better luck for me, he knew nothing,
thought all was covered, and lied on in the dark.
He then began to question me cunningly, where I came from,
whether I was rich, whether I could change a five-shilling piece
for him (which he declared he had that moment in his sporran),
and all the time he kept edging up to me and I avoiding him. We
were now upon a sort of green cattle-track which crossed the
hills towards Torosay, and we kept changing sides upon that like
ancers in a reel. I had so plainly the upper-hand that my
spirits rose, and indeed I took a pleasure in this game of
blindman's buff; but the catechist grew angrier and angrier, and
at last began to swear in Gaelic and to strike for my legs with
his staff.
Then I told him that, sure enough, I had a pistol in my pocket as
well as he, and if he did not strike across the hill due south I
would even blow his brains out.
He became at once very polite, and after trying to soften me for
some time, but quite in vain, he cursed me once more in Gaelic
and took himself off. I watched him striding along, through bog
and brier, tapping with his stick, until he turned the end of a
hill and disappeared in the next hollow. Then I struck on again
for Torosay, much better pleased to be alone than to travel with
that man of learning. This was an unlucky day; and these two, of
whom I had just rid myself, one after the other, were the two
worst men I met with in the Highlands.
At Torosay, on the Sound of Mull and looking over to the mainland
of Morven, there was an inn with an innkeeper, who was a Maclean,
it appeared, of a very high family; for to keep an inn is thought
even more genteel in the Highlands than it is with us, perhaps as
partaking of hospitality, or perhaps because the trade is idle
and drunken. He spoke good English, and finding me to be
something of a scholar, tried me first in French, where he easily
beat me, and then in the Latin, in which I don't know which of us
did best. This pleasant rivalry put us at once upon friendly
terms; and I sat up and drank punch with him (or to be more
correct, sat up and watched him drink it), until he was so tipsy
that he wept upon my shoulder.
I tried him, as if by accident, with a sight of Alan's button;
but it was plain he had never seen or heard of it. Indeed, he
bore some grudge against the family and friends of Ardshiel, and
before he was drunk he read me a lampoon, in very good Latin, but
with a very ill meaning, which he had made in elegiac verses upon
a person of that house.
When I told him of my catechist, he shook his head, and said I
was lucky to have got clear off. "That is a very dangerous man,"
he said; "Duncan Mackiegh is his name; he can shoot by the ear at
several yards, and has been often accused of highway robberies,
and once of murder."
"The cream of it is," says I, "that he called himself a
catechist."
"And why should he not?" says he, "when that is what he is. It
was Maclean of Duart gave it to him because he was blind. But
perhaps it was a peety," says my host, "for he is always on the
road, going from one place to another to hear the young folk say
their religion; and, doubtless, that is a great temptation to the
poor man."
At last, when my landlord could drink no more, he showed me to a
bed, and I lay down in very good spirits; having travelled the
greater part of that big and crooked Island of Mull, from Earraid
to Torosay, fifty miles as the crow flies, and (with my
wanderings) much nearer a hundred, in four days and with little
fatigue. Indeed I was by far in better heart and health of body
at the end of that long tramp than I had been at the beginning.
CHAPTER XVI
THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: ACROSS MORVEN
There is a regular ferry from Torosay to Kinlochaline on the
mainland. Both shores of the Sound are in the country of the
strong clan of the Macleans, and the people that passed the ferry
with me were almost all of that clan. The skipper of the boat,
on the other hand, was called Neil Roy Macrob; and since Macrob
was one of the names of Alan's clansmen, and Alan himself had
sent me to that ferry, I was eager to come to private speech of
Neil Roy.
In the crowded boat this was of course impossible, and the
passage was a very slow affair. There was no wind, and as the
boat was wretchedly equipped, we could pull but two oars on one
side, and one on the other. The men gave way, however, with a
good will, the passengers taking spells to help them, and the
whole company giving the time in Gaelic boat-songs. And what
with the songs, and the sea-air, and the good-nature and spirit
of all concerned, and the bright weather, the passage was a
pretty thing to have seen.
But there was one melancholy part. In the mouth of Loch Aline we
found a great sea-going ship at anchor; and this I supposed at
first to be one of the King's cruisers which were kept along that
coast, both summer and winter, to prevent communication with the
French. As we got a little nearer, it became plain she was a
ship of merchandise; and what still more puzzled me, not only her
decks, but the sea-beach also, were quite black with people, and
skiffs were continually plying to and fro between them. Yet
nearer, and there began to come to our ears a great sound of
mourning, the people on board and those on the shore crying and
lamenting one to another so as to pierce the heart.
Then I understood this was an emigrant ship bound for the
American colonies.
We put the ferry-boat alongside, and the exiles leaned over the
bulwarks, weeping and reaching out their hands to my
fellow-passengers, among whom they counted some near friends.
How long this might have gone on I do not know, for they seemed
to have no sense of time: but at last the captain of the ship,
who seemed near beside himself (and no great wonder) in the midst
of this crying and confusion, came to the side and begged us to
depart.
Thereupon Neil sheered off; and the chief singer in our boat
struck into a melancholy air, which was presently taken up both
by the emigrants and their friends upon the beach, so that it
sounded from all sides like a lament for the dying. I saw the
tears run down the cheeks of the men and women in the boat, even
as they bent at the oars; and the circumstances and the music of
the song (which is one called "Lochaber no more") were highly
affecting even to myself.
At Kinlochaline I got Neil Roy upon one side on the beach, and
said I made sure he was one of Appin's men.
"And what for no?" said he.
"I am seeking somebody," said I; "and it comes in my mind that
you will have news of him. Alan Breck Stewart is his name." And
very foolishly, instead of showing him the button, I sought to
pass a shilling in his hand.
At this he drew back. "I am very much affronted," he said; "and
this is not the way that one shentleman should behave to another
at all. The man you ask for is in France; but if he was in my
sporran," says he, "and your belly full of shillings, I would not
hurt a hair upon his body."
I saw I had gone the wrong way to work, and without wasting time
upon apologies, showed him the button lying in the hollow of my
palm.
"Aweel, aweel," said Neil; "and I think ye might have begun with
that end of the stick, whatever! But if ye are the lad with the
silver button, all is well, and I have the word to see that ye
come safe. But if ye will pardon me to speak plainly," says he,
"there is a name that you should never take into your mouth, and
that is the name of Alan Breck; and there is a thing that ye
would never do, and that is to offer your dirty money to a
Hieland shentleman."
It was not very easy to apologise; for I could scarce tell him
(what was the truth) that I had never dreamed he would set up to
be a gentleman until he told me so. Neil on his part had no wish
to prolong his dealings with me, only to fulfil his orders and be
done with it; and he made haste to give me my route. This was to
lie the night in Kinlochaline in the public inn; to cross Morven
the next day to Ardgour, and lie the night in the house of one
John of the Claymore, who was warned that I might come; the third
day, to be set across one loch at Corran and another at
Balachulish, and then ask my way to the house of James of the
Glens, at Aucharn in Duror of Appin. There was a good deal of
ferrying, as you hear; the sea in all this part running deep into
the mountains and winding about their roots. It makes the
country strong to hold and difficult to travel, but full of
prodigious wild and dreadful prospects.
I had some other advice from Neil: to speak with no one by the
way, to avoid Whigs, Campbells, and the "red-soldiers;" to leave
the road and lie in a bush if I saw any of the latter coming,
"for it was never chancy to meet in with them;" and in brief, to
conduct myself like a robber or a Jacobite agent, as perhaps Neil
thought me.
The inn at Kinlochaline was the most beggarly vile place that
ever pigs were styed in, full of smoke, vermin, and silent
Highlanders. I was not only discontented with my lodging, but
with myself for my mismanagement of Neil, and thought I could
hardly be worse off. But very wrongly, as I was soon to see; for
I had not been half an hour at the inn (standing in the door most
of the time, to ease my eyes from the peat smoke) when a
thunderstorm came close by, the springs broke in a little hill on
which the inn stood, and one end of the house became a running
water. Places of public entertainment were bad enough all over
Scotland in those days; yet it was a wonder to myself, when I had
to go from the fireside to the bed in which I slept, wading over
the shoes.
Early in my next day's journey I overtook a little, stout, solemn
man, walking very slowly with his toes turned out, sometimes
reading in a book and sometimes marking the place with his
finger, and dressed decently and plainly in something of a
clerical style.
This I found to be another catechist, but of a different order
from the blind man of Mull: being indeed one of those sent out by
the Edinburgh Society for Propagating Christian Knowledge, to
evangelise the more savage places of the Highlands. His name was
Henderland; he spoke with the broad south-country tongue, which I
was beginning to weary for the sound of; and besides common
countryship, we soon found we had a more particular bond of
interest. For my good friend, the minister of Essendean, had
translated into the Gaelic in his by-time a number of hymns and
pious books which Henderland used in his work, and held in great
esteem. Indeed, it was one of these he was carrying and reading
when we met.
We fell in company at once, our ways lying together as far as to
Kingairloch. As we went, he stopped and spoke with all the
wayfarers and workers that we met or passed; and though of course
I could not tell what they discoursed about, yet I judged Mr.
Henderland must be well liked in the countryside, for I observed
many of them to bring out their mulls and share a pinch of snuff
with him.
I told him as far in my affairs as I judged wise; as far, that
is, as they were none of Alan's; and gave Balachulish as the
place I was travelling to, to meet a friend; for I thought
Aucharn, or even Duror, would be too particular, and might put
him on the scent.
On his part, he told me much of his work and the people he worked
among, the hiding priests and Jacobites, the Disarming Act, the
dress, and many other curiosities of the time and place. He
seemed moderate; blaming Parliament in several points, and
especially because they had framed the Act more severely against
those who wore the dress than against those who carried weapons.
This moderation put it in my mind to question him of the Red Fox
and the Appin tenants; questions which, I thought, would seem
natural enough in the mouth of one travelling to that country.
He said it was a bad business. "It's wonderful," said he, "where
the tenants find the money, for their life is mere starvation.
(Ye don't carry such a thing as snuff, do ye, Mr. Balfour? No.
Well, I'm better wanting it.) But these tenants (as I was
saying) are doubtless partly driven to it. James Stewart in
Duror (that's him they call James of the Glens) is half-brother
to Ardshiel, the captain of the clan; and he is a man much looked
up to, and drives very hard. And then there's one they call Alan
Breck--"
"Ah!" I cried, "what of him?"
"What of the wind that bloweth where it listeth?" said
Henderland. "He's here and awa; here to-day and gone to-morrow:
a fair heather-cat. He might be glowering at the two of us out
of yon whin-bush, and I wouldnae wonder! Ye'll no carry such a
thing as snuff, will ye?"
I told him no, and that he had asked the same thing more than
once.
"It's highly possible," said he, sighing. "But it seems strange
ye shouldnae carry it. However, as I was saying, this Alan Breck
is a bold, desperate customer, and well kent to be James's right
hand. His life is forfeit already; he would boggle at naething;
and maybe, if a tenant-body was to hang back he would get a dirk
in his wame."
"You make a poor story of it all, Mr. Henderland," said I. "If
it is all fear upon both sides, I care to hear no more of it."
"Na," said Mr. Henderland, "but there's love too, and self-denial
that should put the like of you and me to shame. There's
something fine about it; no perhaps Christian, but humanly fine.
Even Alan Breck, by all that I hear, is a chield to be respected.
There's many a lying sneck-draw sits close in kirk in our own
part of the country, and stands well in the world's eye, and
maybe is a far worse man, Mr. Balfour, than yon misguided shedder
of man's blood. Ay, ay, we might take a lesson by them. -- Ye'll
perhaps think I've been too long in the Hielands?" he added,
smiling to me.
I told him not at all; that I had seen much to admire among the
Highlanders; and if he came to that, Mr. Campbell himself was a
Highlander.
"Ay," said he, "that's true. It's a fine blood."
"And what is the King's agent about?" I asked.
"Colin Campbell?" says Henderland. "Putting his head in a bees'
byke!"
"He is to turn the tenants out by force, I hear?" said I.
"Yes," says he, "but the business has gone back and forth, as
folk say. First, James of the Glens rode to Edinburgh, and got
some lawyer (a Stewart, nae doubt -- they all hing together like
bats in a steeple) and had the proceedings stayed. And then
Colin Campbell cam' in again, and had the upper-hand before the
Barons of Exchequer. And now they tell me the first of the
tenants are to flit to-morrow. It's to begin at Duror under
James's very windows, which doesnae seem wise by my humble way of
it."
"Do you think they'll fight?" I asked.
"Well," says Henderland, "they're disarmed -- or supposed to be
-- for there's still a good deal of cold iron lying by in quiet
places. And then Colin Campbell has the sogers coming. But for
all that, if I was his lady wife, I wouldnae be well pleased till
I got him home again. They're queer customers, the Appin
Stewarts."
I asked if they were worse than their neighbours.
"No they," said he. "And that's the worst part of it. For if
Colin Roy can get his business done in Appin, he has it all to
begin again in the next country, which they call Mamore, and
which is one of the countries of the Camerons. He's King's
Factor upon both, and from both he has to drive out the tenants;
and indeed, Mr. Balfour (to be open with ye), it's my belief that
if he escapes the one lot, he'll get his death by the other."
So we continued talking and walking the great part of the, day;
until at last, Mr. Henderland after expressing his delight in my
company, and satisfaction at meeting with a friend of Mr.
Campbell's ("whom," says he, "I will make bold to call that sweet
singer of our covenanted Zion"), proposed that I should make a
short stage, and lie the night in his house a little beyond
Kingairloch. To say truth, I was overjoyed; for I had no great
desire for John of the Claymore, and since my double
misadventure, first with the guide and next with the gentleman
skipper, I stood in some fear of any Highland stranger.
Accordingly we shook hands upon the bargain, and came in the
afternoon to a small house, standing alone by the shore of the
Linnhe Loch. The sun was already gone from the desert mountains
of Ardgour upon the hither side, but shone on those of Appin on
the farther; the loch lay as still as a lake, only the gulls were
crying round the sides of it; and the whole place seemed solemn
and uncouth.
We had no sooner come to the door of Mr. Henderland's dwelling,
than to my great surprise (for I was now used to the politeness
of Highlanders) he burst rudely past me, dashed into the room,
caught up a jar and a small horn-spoon, and began ladling snuff
into his nose in most excessive quantities. Then he had a hearty
fit of sneezing, and looked round upon me with a rather silly
smile.
"It's a vow I took," says he. "I took a vow upon me that I
wouldnae carry it. Doubtless it's a great privation; but when I
think upon the martyrs, not only to the Scottish Covenant but to
other points of Christianity, I think shame to mind it."
As soon as we had eaten (and porridge and whey was the best of
the good man's diet) he took a grave face and said he had a duty
to perform by Mr. Campbell, and that was to inquire into my state
of mind towards God. I was inclined to smile at him since the
business of the snuff; but he had not spoken long before he
brought the tears into my eyes. There are two things that men
should never weary of, goodness and humility; we get none too
much of them in this rough world among cold, proud people; but
Mr. Henderland had their very speech upon his tongue. And though
I was a good deal puffed up with my adventures and with having
come off, as the saying is, with flying colours; yet he soon had
me on my knees beside a simple, poor old man, and both proud and
glad to be there.
Before we went to bed he offered me sixpence to help me on my
way, out of a scanty store he kept in the turf wall of his house;
at which excess of goodness I knew not what to do. But at last
he was so earnest with me that I thought it the more mannerly
part to let him have his way, and so left him poorer than myself.
CHAPTER XVII
THE DEATH OF THE RED FOX
The next day Mr. Henderland found for me a man who had a boat of
his own and was to cross the Linnhe Loch that afternoon into
Appin, fishing. Him he prevailed on to take me, for he was one
of his flock; and in this way I saved a long day's travel and the
price of the two public ferries I must otherwise have passed.
It was near noon before we set out; a dark day with clouds, and
the sun shining upon little patches. The sea was here very deep
and still, and had scarce a wave upon it; so that I must put the
water to my lips before I could believe it to be truly salt. The
mountains on either side were high, rough and barren, very black
and gloomy in the shadow of the clouds, but all silver-laced with
little watercourses where the sun shone upon them. It seemed a
hard country, this of Appin, for people to care as much about as
Alan did.
There was but one thing to mention. A little after we had
started, the sun shone upon a little moving clump of scarlet
close in along the water-side to the north. It was much of the
same red as soldiers' coats; every now and then, too, there came
little sparks and lightnings, as though the sun had struck upon
bright steel.
I asked my boatman what it should be, and he answered he supposed
it was some of the red soldiers coming from Fort William into
Appin, against the poor tenantry of the country. Well, it was a
sad sight to me; and whether it was because of my thoughts of
Alan, or from something prophetic in my bosom, although this was
but the second time I had seen King George's troops, I had no
good will to them.
At last we came so near the point of land at the entering in of
Loch Leven that I begged to be set on shore. My boatman (who was
an honest fellow and mindful of his promise to the catechist)
would fain have carried me on to Balachulish; but as this was to
take me farther from my secret destination, I insisted, and was
set on shore at last under the wood of Lettermore (or Lettervore,
for I have heard it both ways) in Alan's country of Appin.
This was a wood of birches, growing on a steep, craggy side of a
mountain that overhung the loch. It had many openings and ferny
howes; and a road or bridle track ran north and south through the
midst of it, by the edge of which, where was a spring, I sat down
to eat some oat-bread of Mr. Henderland's and think upon my
situation.
Here I was not only troubled by a cloud of stinging midges, but
far more by the doubts of my mind. What I ought to do, why I was
going to join myself with an outlaw and a would-be murderer like
Alan, whether I should not be acting more like a man of sense to
tramp back to the south country direct, by my own guidance and at
my own charges, and what Mr. Campbell or even Mr. Henderland
would think of me if they should ever learn my folly and
presumption: these were the doubts that now began to come in on
me stronger than ever.
As I was so sitting and thinking, a sound of men and horses came
to me through the wood; and presently after, at a turning of the
road, I saw four travellers come into view. The way was in this
part so rough and narrow that they came single and led their
horses by the reins. The first was a great, red-headed
gentleman, of an imperious and flushed face, who carried his hat
in his hand and fanned himself, for he was in a breathing heat.
The second, by his decent black garb and white wig, I correctly
took to be a lawyer. The third was a servant, and wore some part
of his clothes in tartan, which showed that his master was of a
Highland family, and either an outlaw or else in singular good
odour with the Government, since the wearing of tartan was
against the Act. If I had been better versed in these things, I
would have known the tartan to be of the Argyle (or Campbell)
colours. This servant had a good-sized portmanteau strapped on
his horse, and a net of lemons (to brew punch with) hanging at
the saddle-bow; as was often enough the custom with luxurious
travellers in that part of the country.
As for the fourth, who brought up the tail, I had seen his like
before, and knew him at once to be a sheriff's officer.
I had no sooner seen these people coming than I made up my mind
(for no reason that I can tell) to go through with my adventure;
and when the first came alongside of me, I rose up from the
bracken and asked him the way to Aucharn.
He stopped and looked at me, as I thought, a little oddly; and
then, turning to the lawyer, "Mungo," said he, "there's many a
man would think this more of a warning than two pyats. Here am I
on my road to Duror on the job ye ken; and here is a young lad
starts up out of the bracken, and speers if I am on the way to
Aucharn."
"Glenure," said the other, "this is an ill subject for jesting."
These two had now drawn close up and were gazing at me, while the
two followers had halted about a stone-cast in the rear.
"And what seek ye in Aucharn?" said Colin Roy Campbell of
Glenure, him they called the Red Fox; for he it was that I had
stopped.
"The man that lives there," said I.
"James of the Glens," says Glenure, musingly; and then to the
lawyer: "Is he gathering his people, think ye?"
"Anyway," says the lawyer, "we shall do better to bide where we
are, and let the soldiers rally us."
"If you are concerned for me," said I, "I am neither of his
people nor yours, but an honest subject of King George, owing no
man and fearing no man."
"Why, very well said," replies the Factor. "But if I may make so
bold as ask, what does this honest man so far from his country?
and why does he come seeking the brother of Ardshiel? I have
power here, I must tell you. I am King's Factor upon several of
these estates, and have twelve files of soldiers at my back."
"I have heard a waif word in the country," said I, a little
nettled, "that you were a hard man to drive."
He still kept looking at me, as if in doubt.
"Well," said he, at last, "your tongue is bold; but I am no
unfriend to plainness. If ye had asked me the way to the door of
James Stewart on any other day but this, I would have set ye
right and bidden ye God speed. But to-day -- eh, Mungo?" And he
turned again to look at the lawyer.
But just as he turned there came the shot of a firelock from
higher up the hill; and with the very sound of it Glenure fell
upon the road.
"O, I am dead!" he cried, several times over.
The lawyer had caught him up and held him in his arms, the
servant standing over and clasping his hands. And now the
wounded man looked from one to another with scared eyes, and
there was a change in his voice, that went to the heart.
"Take care of yourselves," says he. "I am dead."
He tried to open his clothes as if to look for the wound, but his
fingers slipped on the buttons. With that he gave a great sigh,
his head rolled on his shoulder, and he passed away.
The lawyer said never a word, but his face was as sharp as a pen
and as white as the dead man's; the servant broke out into a
great noise of crying and weeping, like a child; and I, on my
side, stood staring at them in a kind of horror. The sheriff's
officer had run back at the first sound of the shot, to hasten
the coming of the soldiers.
At last the lawyer laid down the dead man in his blood upon the
road, and got to his own feet with a kind of stagger.
I believe it was his movement that brought me to my senses; for
he had no sooner done so than I began to scramble up the hill,
crying out, "The murderer! the murderer!"
So little a time had elapsed, that when I got to the top of the
first steepness, and could see some part of the open mountain,
the murderer was still moving away at no great distance. He was
a big man, in a black coat, with metal buttons, and carried a
long fowling-piece.
"Here!" I cried. "I see him!"
At that the murderer gave a little, quick look over his shoulder,
and began to run. The next moment he was lost in a fringe of
birches; then he came out again on the upper side, where I could
see him climbing like a jackanapes, for that part was again very
steep; and then he dipped behind a shoulder, and I saw him no
more.
All this time I had been running on my side, and had got a good
way up, when a voice cried upon me to stand.
I was at the edge of the upper wood, and so now, when I halted
and looked back, I saw all the open part of the hill below me.
The lawyer and the sheriff's officer were standing just above the
road, crying and waving on me to come back; and on their left,
the red-coats, musket in hand, were beginning to struggle singly
out of the lower wood.
"Why should I come back?" I cried. "Come you on!"
"Ten pounds if ye take that lad!" cried the lawyer. "He's an
accomplice. He was posted here to hold us in talk."
At that word (which I could hear quite plainly, though it was to
the soldiers and not to me that he was crying it) my heart came
in my mouth with quite a new kind of terror. Indeed, it is one
thing to stand the danger of your life, and quite another to run
the peril of both life and character. The thing, besides, had
come so suddenly, like thunder out of a clear sky, that I was all
amazed and helpless.
The soldiers began to spread, some of them to run, and others to
put up their pieces and cover me; and still I stood.
"Jock[18] in here among the trees," said a voice close by.
[18]Duck.
Indeed, I scarce knew what I was doing, but I obeyed; and as I
did so, I heard the firelocks bang and the balls whistle in the
birches.
Just inside the shelter of the trees I found Alan Breck standing,
with a fishing-rod. He gave me no salutation; indeed it was no
time for civilities; only "Come!" says he, and set off running
along the side of the mountain towards Balaehulish; and I, like a
sheep, to follow him.
Now we ran among the birches; now stooping behind low humps upon
the mountain-side; now crawling on all fours among the heather.
The pace was deadly: my heart seemed bursting against my ribs;
and I had neither time to think nor breath to speak with. Only I
remember seeing with wonder, that Alan every now and then would
straighten himself to his full height and look back; and every
time he did so, there came a great far-away cheering and crying
of the soldiers.
Quarter of an hour later, Alan stopped, clapped down flat in the
heather, and turned to me.
"Now," said he, "it's earnest. Do as I do, for your life."
And at the same speed, but now with infinitely more precaution,
we traced back again across the mountain-side by the same way
that we had come, only perhaps higher; till at last Alan threw
himself down in the upper wood of Lettermore, where I had found
him at the first, and lay, with his face in the bracken, panting
like a dog.
My own sides so ached, my head so swam, my tongue so hung out of
my mouth with heat and dryness, that I lay beside him like one
dead.
CHAPTER XVIII
I TALK WITH ALAN IN THE WOOD OF LETTERMORE
Alan was the first to come round. He rose, went to the border of
the wood, peered out a little, and then returned and sat down.
"Well," said he, "yon was a hot burst, David."
I said nothing, nor so much as lifted my face. I had seen murder
done, and a great, ruddy, jovial gentleman struck out of life in
a moment; the pity of that sight was still sore within me, and
yet that was but a part of my concern. Here was murder done upon
the man Alan hated; here was Alan skulking in the trees and
running from the troops; and whether his was the hand that fired
or only the head that ordered, signified but little. By my way
of it, my only friend in that wild country was blood-guilty in
the first degree; I held him in horror; I could not look upon his
face; I would have rather lain alone in the rain on my cold isle,
than in that warm wood beside a murderer.
"Are ye still wearied?" he asked again.
"No," said I, still with my face in the bracken; "no, I am not
wearied now, and I can speak. You and me must twine,"[19] I said.
"I liked you very well, Alan, but your ways are not mine, and
they're not God's: and the short and the long of it is just that
we must twine."
[19] Part.
"I will hardly twine from ye, David, without some kind of reason
for the same," said Alan, mighty gravely. "If ye ken anything
against my reputation, it's the least thing that ye should do,
for old acquaintance' sake, to let me hear the name of it; and if
ye have only taken a distaste to my society, it will be proper
for me to judge if I'm insulted."
"Alan," said I, "what is the sense of this? Ye ken very well yon
Campbell-man lies in his blood upon the road."
He was silent for a little; then says he, "Did ever ye hear tell
of the story of the Man and the Good People?" -- by which he
meant the fairies.
"No," said I, "nor do I want to hear it."
"With your permission, Mr. Balfour, I will tell it you,
whatever," says Alan. "The man, ye should ken, was cast upon a
rock in the sea, where it appears the Good People were in use to
come and rest as they went through to Ireland. The name of this
rock is called the Skerryvore, and it's not far from where we
suffered ship-wreck. Well, it seems the man cried so sore, if he
could just see his little bairn before he died! that at last the
king of the Good People took peety upon him, and sent one flying
that brought back the bairn in a poke[20] and laid it down beside
the man where he lay sleeping. So when the man woke, there was a
poke beside him and something into the inside of it that moved.
Well, it seems he was one of these gentry that think aye the
worst of things; and for greater security, he stuck his dirk
throughout that poke before he opened it, and there was his bairn
dead. I am thinking to myself, Mr. Balfour, that you and the man
are very much alike."
[20] Bag.
"Do you mean you had no hand in it?" cried I, sitting up.
"I will tell you first of all, Mr. Balfour of Shaws, as one
friend to another," said Alan, "that if I were going to kill a
gentleman, it would not be in my own country, to bring trouble on
my clan; and I would not go wanting sword and gun, and with a
long fishing-rod upon my back."
"Well," said I, "that's true!"
"And now," continued Alan, taking out his dirk and laying his
hand upon it in a certain manner, "I swear upon the Holy Iron I
had neither art nor part, act nor thought in it."
"I thank God for that!" cried I, and offered him my hand.
He did not appear to see it.
"And here is a great deal of work about a Campbell!" said he.
"They are not so scarce, that I ken!"
"At least," said I, "you cannot justly blame me, for you know
very well what you told me in the brig. But the temptation and
the act are different, I thank God again for that. We may all be
tempted; but to take a life in cold blood, Alan!" And I could
say no more for the moment. "And do you know who did it?" I
added. "Do you know that man in the black coat?"
"I have nae clear mind about his coat," said Alan cunningly, "but
it sticks in my head that it was blue."
"Blue or black, did ye know him?" said I.
"I couldnae just conscientiously swear to him," says Alan. "He
gaed very close by me, to be sure, but it's a strange thing that
I should just have been tying my brogues."
"Can you swear that you don't know him, Alan?" I cried, half
angered, half in a mind to laugh at his evasions.
"Not yet," says he; "but I've a grand memory for forgetting,
David."
"And yet there was one thing I saw clearly," said I; "and that
was, that you exposed yourself and me to draw the soldiers."
"It's very likely," said Alan; "and so would any gentleman. You
and me were innocent of that transaction."
"The better reason, since we were falsely suspected, that we
should get clear," I cried. "The innocent should surely come
before the guilty."
"Why, David," said he, "the innocent have aye a chance to get
assoiled in court; but for the lad that shot the bullet, I think
the best place for him will be the heather. Them that havenae
dipped their hands in any little difficulty, should be very
mindful of the case of them that have. And that is the good
Christianity. For if it was the other way round about, and the
lad whom I couldnae just clearly see had been in our shoes, and
we in his (as might very well have been), I think we would be a
good deal obliged to him oursel's if he would draw the soldiers."
When it came to this, I gave Alan up. But he looked so innocent
all the time, and was in such clear good faith in what he said,
and so ready to sacrifice himself for what he deemed his duty,
that my mouth was closed. Mr. Henderland's words came back to
me: that we ourselves might take a lesson by these wild
Highlanders. Well, here I had taken mine. Alan's morals were
all tail-first; but he was ready to give his life for them, such
as they were.
"Alan," said I, "I'll not say it's the good Christianity as I
understand it, but it's good enough. And here I offer ye my hand
for the second time."
Whereupon he gave me both of his, saying surely I had cast a
spell upon him, for he could forgive me anything. Then he grew
very grave, and said we had not much time to throw away, but must
both flee that country: he, because he was a deserter, and the
whole of Appin would now be searched like a chamber, and every
one obliged to give a good account of himself; and I, because I
was certainly involved in the murder.
"O!" says I, willing to give him a little lesson, "I have no fear
of the justice of my country."
"As if this was your country!" said he. "Or as if ye would be
tried here, in a country of Stewarts!"
"It's all Scotland," said I.
"Man, I whiles wonder at ye," said Alan. "This is a Campbell
that's been killed. Well, it'll be tried in Inverara, the
Campbells' head place; with fifteen Campbells in the jury-box and
the biggest Campbell of all (and that's the Duke) sitting cocking
on the bench. Justice, David? The same justice, by all the
world, as Glenure found awhile ago at the roadside."
This frightened me a little, I confess, and would have frightened
me more if I had known how nearly exact were Alan's predictions;
indeed it was but in one point that he exaggerated, there being
but eleven Campbells on the jury; though as the other four were
equally in the Duke's dependence, it mattered less than might
appear. Still, I cried out that he was unjust to the Duke of
Argyle, who (for all he was a Whig) was yet a wise and honest
nobleman.
"Hoot!" said Alan, "the man's a Whig, nae doubt; but I would
never deny he was a good chieftain to his clan. And what would
the clan think if there was a Campbell shot, and naebody hanged,
and their own chief the Justice General? But I have often
observed," says Alan, "that you Low-country bodies have no clear
idea of what's right and wrong."
At this I did at last laugh out aloud, when to my surprise, Alan
joined in, and laughed as merrily as myself.
"Na, na," said he, "we're in the Hielands, David; and when I tell
ye to run, take my word and run. Nae doubt it's a hard thing to
skulk and starve in the Heather, but it's harder yet to lie
shackled in a red-coat prison."
I asked him whither we should flee; and as he told me "to the
Lowlands," I was a little better inclined to go with him; for,
indeed, I was growing impatient to get back and have the
upper-hand of my uncle. Besides, Alan made so sure there would
be no question of justice in the matter, that I began to be
afraid he might be right. Of all deaths, I would truly like
least to die by the gallows; and the picture of that uncanny
instrument came into my head with extraordinary clearness (as I
had once seen it engraved at the top of a pedlar's ballad) and
took away my appetite for courts of justice.
"I'll chance it, Alan," said I. "I'll go with you."
"But mind you," said Alan, "it's no small thing. Ye maun lie
bare and hard, and brook many an empty belly. Your bed shall be
the moorcock's, and your life shall be like the hunted deer's,
and ye shall sleep with your hand upon your weapons. Ay, man, ye
shall taigle many a weary foot, or we get clear! I tell ye this
at the start, for it's a life that I ken well. But if ye ask
what other chance ye have, I answer: Nane. Either take to the
heather with me, or else hang."
"And that's a choice very easily made," said I; and we shook
hands upon it.
"And now let's take another keek at the red-coats," says Alan,
and he led me to the north-eastern fringe of the wood.
Looking out between the trees, we could see a great side of
mountain, running down exceeding steep into the waters of the
loch. It was a rough part, all hanging stone, and heather, and
big scrogs of birchwood; and away at the far end towards
Balachulish, little wee red soldiers were dipping up and down
over hill and howe, and growing smaller every minute. There was
no cheering now, for I think they had other uses for what breath
was left them; but they still stuck to the trail, and doubtless
thought that we were close in front of them.
Alan watched them, smiling to himself.
"Ay," said he, "they'll be gey weary before they've got to the
end of that employ! And so you and me, David, can sit down and
eat a bite, and breathe a bit longer, and take a dram from my
bottle. Then we'll strike for Aucharn, the house of my kinsman,
James of the Glens, where I must get my clothes, and my arms, and
money to carry us along; and then, David, we'll cry, 'Forth,
Fortune!' and take a cast among the heather."
So we sat again and ate and drank, in a place whence we could see
the sun going down into a field of great, wild, and houseless
mountains, such as I was now condemned to wander in with my
companion. Partly as we so sat, and partly afterwards, on the
way to Aucharn, each of us narrated his adventures; and I shall
here set down so much of Alan's as seems either curious or
needful.
It appears he ran to the bulwarks as soon as the wave was passed;
saw me, and lost me, and saw me again, as I tumbled in the roost;
and at last had one glimpse of me clinging on the yard. It was
this that put him in some hope I would maybe get to land after
all, and made him leave those clues and messages which had
brought me (for my sins) to that unlucky country of Appin.
In the meanwhile, those still on the brig had got the skiff
launched, and one or two were on board of her already, when there
came a second wave greater than the first, and heaved the brig
out of her place, and would certainly have sent her to the
bottom, had she not struck and caught on some projection of the
reef. When she had struck first, it had been bows-on, so that
the stern had hitherto been lowest. But now her stern was thrown
in the air, and the bows plunged under the sea; and with that,
the water began to pour into the fore-scuttle like the pouring of
a mill-dam.
It took the colour out of Alan's face, even to tell what
followed. For there were still two men lying impotent in their
bunks; and these, seeing the water pour in and thinking the ship
had foundered, began to cry out aloud, and that with such
harrowing cries that all who were on deck tumbled one after
another into the skiff and fell to their oars. They were not two
hundred yards away, when there came a third great sea; and at
that the brig lifted clean over the reef; her canvas filled for a
moment, and she seemed to sail in chase of them, but settling all
the while; and presently she drew down and down, as if a hand was
drawing her; and the sea closed over the Covenant of Dysart.
Never a word they spoke as they pulled ashore, being stunned with
the horror of that screaming; but they had scarce set foot upon
the beach when Hoseason woke up, as if out of a muse, and bade
them lay hands upon Alan. They hung back indeed, having little
taste for the employment; but Hoseason was like a fiend, crying
that Alan was alone, that he had a great sum about him, that he
had been the means of losing the brig and drowning all their
comrades, and that here was both revenge and wealth upon a single
cast. It was seven against one; in that part of the shore there
was no rock that Alan could set his back to; and the sailors
began to spread out and come behind him.
"And then," said Alan, "the little man with the red head -- I
havenae mind of the name that he is called."
"Riach," said I.
"Ay" said Alan, "Riach! Well, it was him that took up the clubs
for me, asked the men if they werenae feared of a judgment, and,
says he 'Dod, I'll put my back to the Hielandman's mysel'.'
That's none such an entirely bad little man, yon little man with
the red head," said Alan. "He has some spunks of decency."
"Well," said I, "he was kind to me in his way."
"And so he was to Alan," said he; "and by my troth, I found his
way a very good one! But ye see, David, the loss of the ship and
the cries of these poor lads sat very ill upon the man; and I'm
thinking that would be the cause of it."
"Well, I would think so," says I; "for he was as keen as any of
the rest at the beginning. But how did Hoseason take it?"
"It sticks in my mind that he would take it very ill," says Alan.
"But the little man cried to me to run, and indeed I thought it
was a good observe, and ran. The last that I saw they were all
in a knot upon the beach, like folk that were not agreeing very
well together."
"What do you mean by that?" said I.
"Well, the fists were going," said Alan; "and I saw one man go
down like a pair of breeks. But I thought it would be better no
to wait. Ye see there's a strip of Campbells in that end of
Mull, which is no good company for a gentleman like me. If it
hadnae been for that I would have waited and looked for ye
mysel', let alone giving a hand to the little man." (It was
droll how Alan dwelt on Mr. Riach's stature, for, to say the
truth, the one was not much smaller than the other.) "So," says
he, continuing, "I set my best foot forward, and whenever I met
in with any one I cried out there was a wreck ashore. Man, they
didnae sto p to fash with me! Ye should have seen them linking
for the beach! And when they got there they found they had had
the pleasure of a run, which is aye good for a Campbell. I'm
thinking it was a judgment on the clan that the brig went down in
the lump and didnae break. But it was a very unlucky thing for
you, that same; for if any wreck had come ashore they would have
hunted high and low, and would soon have found ye."
CHAPTER XIX
THE HOUSE OF FEAR
Night fell as we were walking, and the clouds, which had broken
up in the afternoon, settled in and thickened, so that it fell,
for the season of the year, extremely dark. The way we went was
over rough mountainsides; and though Alan pushed on with an
assured manner, I could by no means see how he directed himself.
At last, about half-past ten of the clock, we came to the top of
a brae, and saw lights below us. It seemed a house door stood
open and let out a beam of fire and candle-light; and all round
the house and steading five or six persons were moving hurriedly
about, each carrying a lighted brand.
"James must have tint his wits," said Alan. "If this was the
soldiers instead of you and me, he would be in a bonny mess. But
I dare say he'll have a sentry on the road, and he would ken well
enough no soldiers would find the way that we came."
Hereupon he whistled three times, in a particular manner. It was
strange to see how, at the first sound of it, all the moving
torches came to a stand, as if the bearers were affrighted; and
how, at the third, the bustle began again as before.
Having thus set folks' minds at rest, we came down the brae, and
were met at the yard gate (for this place was like a well-doing
farm) by a tall, handsome man of more than fifty, who cried out
to Alan in the Gaelic.
"James Stewart," said Alan, "I will ask ye to speak in Scotch,
for here is a young gentleman with me that has nane of the other.
This is him," he added, putting his arm through mine, "a young
gentleman of the Lowlands, and a laird in his country too, but I
am thinking it will be the better for his health if we give his
name the go-by."
James of the Glens turned to me for a moment, and greeted me
courteously enough; the next he had turned to Alan.
"This has been a dreadful accident," he cried. "It will bring
trouble on the country." And he wrung his hands.
"Hoots!" said Alan, "ye must take the sour with the sweet, man.
Colin Roy is dead, and be thankful for that!"
"Ay" said James, "and by my troth, I wish he was alive again!
It's all very fine to blow and boast beforehand; but now it's
done, Alan; and who's to bear the wyte[21] of it? The accident
fell out in Appin -- mind ye that, Alan; it's Appin that must
pay; and I am a man that has a family."
[21]Blame.
While this was going on I looked about me at the servants. Some
were on ladders, digging in the thatch of the house or the farm
buildings, from which they brought out guns, swords, and
different weapons of war; others carried them away; and by the
sound of mattock blows from somewhere farther down the brae, I
suppose they buried them. Though they were all so busy, there
prevailed no kind of order in their efforts; men struggled
together for the same gun and ran into each other with their
burning torches; and James was continually turning about from his
talk with Alan, to cry out orders which were apparently never
understood. The faces in the torchlight were like those of
people overborne with hurry and panic; and though none spoke
above his breath, their speech sounded both anxious and angry.
It was about this time that a lassie came out of the house
carrying a pack or bundle; and it has often made me smile to
think how Alan's instinct awoke at the mere sight of it.
"What's that the lassie has?" he asked.
"We're just setting the house in order, Alan," said James, in his
frightened and somewhat fawning way. "They'll search Appin with
candles, and we must have all things straight. We're digging the
bit guns and swords into the moss, ye see; and these, I am
thinking, will be your ain French clothes. We'll be to bury
them, I believe."
"Bury my French clothes!" cried Alan. "Troth, no!" And he laid
hold upon the packet and retired into the barn to shift himself,
recommending me in the meanwhile to his kinsman.
James carried me accordingly into the kitchen, and sat down with
me at table, smiling and talking at first in a very hospitable
manner. But presently the gloom returned upon him; he sat
frowning and biting his fingers; only remembered me from time to
time; and then gave me but a word or two and a poor smile, and
back into his private terrors. His wife sat by the fire and
wept, with her face in her hands; his eldest son was crouched
upon the floor, running over a great mass of papers and now and
again setting one alight and burning it to the bitter end; all
the while a servant lass with a red face was rummaging about the
room, in a blind hurry of fear, and whimpering as she went; and
every now and again one of the men would thrust in his face from
the yard, and cry for orders.
At last James could keep his seat no longer, and begged my
permission to be so unmannerly as walk about. "I am but poor
company altogether, sir," says he, "but I can think of nothing
but this dreadful accident, and the trouble it is like to bring
upon quite innocent persons."
A little after he observed his son burning a paper which he
thought should have been kept; and at that his excitement burst
out so that it was painful to witness. He struck the lad
repeatedly.
"Are you gone gyte?"[22] he cried. "Do you wish to hang your
father?" and forgetful of my presence, carried on at him a long
time together in the Gaelic, the young man answering nothing;
only the wife, at the name of hanging, throwing her apron over
her face and sobbing out louder than before.
[22] Mad.
This was all wretched for a stranger like myself to hear and see;
and I was right glad when Alan returned, looking like himself in
his fine French clothes, though (to be sure) they were now grown
almost too battered and withered to deserve the name of fine. I
was then taken out in my turn by another of the sons, and given
that change of clothing of which I had stood so long in need, and
a pair of Highland brogues made of deer-leather, rather strange
at first, but after a little practice very easy to the feet.
By the time I came back Alan must have told his story; for it
seemed understood that I was to fly with him, and they were all
busy upon our equipment. They gave us each a sword and pistols,
though I professed my inability to use the former; and with
these, and some ammunition, a bag of oatmeal, an iron pan, and a
bottle of right French brandy, we were ready for the heather.
Money, indeed, was lacking. I had about two guineas left; Alan's
belt having been despatched by another hand, that trusty
messenger had no more than seventeen-pence to his whole fortune;
and as for James, it appears he had brought himself so low with
journeys to Edinburgh and legal expenses on behalf of the
tenants, that he could only scrape together
three-and-five-pence-halfpenny, the most of it in coppers.
"This'll no do," said Alan.
"Ye must find a safe bit somewhere near by," said James, "and get
word sent to me. Ye see, ye'll have to get this business
prettily off, Alan. This is no time to be stayed for a guinea or
two. They're sure to get wind of ye, sure to seek ye, and by my
way of it, sure to lay on ye the wyte of this day's accident. If
it falls on you, it falls on me that am your near kinsman and
harboured ye while ye were in the country. And if it comes on
me----" he paused, and bit his fingers, with a white face. "It
would be a painful thing for our friends if I was to hang," said
he.
"It would be an ill day for Appin," says Alan.
"It's a day that sticks in my throat," said James. "O man, man,
man--man Alan! you and me have spoken like two fools!" he cried,
striking his hand upon the wall so that the house rang again.
"Well, and that's true, too," said Alan; "and my friend from the
Lowlands here" (nodding at me) "gave me a good word upon that
head, if I would only have listened to him."
"But see here," said James, returning to his former manner, "if
they lay me by the heels, Alan, it's then that you'll be needing
the money. For with all that I have said and that you have said,
it will look very black against the two of us; do ye mark that?
Well, follow me out, and ye'll, I'll see that I'll have to get a
paper out against ye mysel'; have to offer a reward for ye; ay,
will I! It's a sore thing to do between such near friends; but
if I get the dirdum[23] of this dreadful accident, I'll have to
fend for myself, man. Do ye see that?"
[23] Blame.
He spoke with a pleading earnestness, taking Alan by the breast
of the coat.
"Ay" said Alan, "I see that."
"And ye'll have to be clear of the country, Alan -- ay, and clear
of Scotland -- you and your friend from the Lowlands, too. For
I'll have to paper your friend from the Lowlands. Ye see that,
Alan -- say that ye see that!"
I thought Alan flushed a bit. "This is unco hard on me that
brought him here, James," said he, throwing his head back. "It's
like making me a traitor!"
"Now, Alan, man!" cried James. "Look things in the face! He'll
be papered anyway; Mungo Campbell'll be sure to paper him; what
matters if I paper him too? And then, Alan, I am a man that has
a family." And then, after a little pause on both sides, "And,
Alan, it'll be a jury of Campbells," said he.
"There's one thing," said Alan, musingly, "that naebody kens his
name."
"Nor yet they shallnae, Alan! There's my hand on that," cried
James, for all the world as if he had really known my name and
was foregoing some advantage. "But just the habit he was in, and
what he looked like, and his age, and the like? I couldnae well
do less."
"I wonder at your father's son," cried Alan, sternly. "Would ye
sell the lad with a gift? Would ye change his clothes and then
betray him?"
"No, no, Alan," said James. "No, no: the habit he took off -- the
habit Mungo saw him in." But I thought he seemed crestfallen;
indeed, he was clutching at every straw, and all the time, I dare
say, saw the faces of his hereditary foes on the bench, and in
the jury-box, and the gallows in the background.
"Well, sir" says Alan, turning to me, "what say ye to, that? Ye
are here under the safeguard of my honour; and it's my part to
see nothing done but what shall please you."
"I have but one word to say," said I; "for to all this dispute I
am a perfect stranger. But the plain common-sense is to set the
blame where it belongs, and that is on the man who fired the
shot. Paper him, as ye call it, set the hunt on him; and let
honest, innocent folk show their faces in safety." But at this
both Alan and James cried out in horror; bidding me hold my
tongue, for that was not to be thought of; and asking me what the
Camerons would think? (which confirmed me, it must have been a
Cameron from Mamore that did the act) and if I did not see that
the lad might be caught? "Ye havenae surely thought of that?"
said they, with such innocent earnestness, that my hands dropped
at my side and I despaired of argument.
"Very well, then," said I, "paper me, if you please, paper Alan,
paper King George! We're all three innocent, and that seems to
be what's wanted. But at least, sir," said I to James,
recovering from my little fit of annoyance, "I am Alan's friend,
and if I can be helpful to friends of his, I will not stumble at
the risk."
I thought it best to put a fair face on my consent, for I saw
Alan troubled; and, besides (thinks I to myself), as soon as my
back is turned, they will paper me, as they call it, whether I
consent or not. But in this I saw I was wrong; for I had no
sooner said the words, than Mrs. Stewart leaped out of her chair,
came running over to us, and wept first upon my neck and then on
Alan's, blessing God for our goodness to her family.
"As for you, Alan, it was no more than your bounden duty," she
said. "But for this lad that has come here and seen us at our
worst, and seen the goodman fleeching like a suitor, him that by
rights should give his commands like any king -- as for you, my
lad," she says, "my heart is wae not to have your name, but I
have your face; and as long as my heart beats under my bosom, I
will keep it, and think of it, and bless it." And with that she
kissed me, and burst once more into such sobbing, that I stood
abashed.
"Hoot, hoot," said Alan, looking mighty silly. "The day comes
unco soon in this month of July; and to-morrow there'll be a fine
to-do in Appin, a fine riding of dragoons, and crying of
'Cruachan!'[24] and running of red-coats; and it behoves you and
me to the sooner be gone."
[24] The rallying-word of the Campbells.
Thereupon we said farewell, and set out again, bending somewhat
eastwards, in a fine mild dark night, and over much the same
broken country as before.
CHAPTER XX
THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE ROCKS
Sometimes we walked, sometimes ran; and as it drew on to morning,
walked ever the less and ran the more. Though, upon its face,
that country appeared to be a desert, yet there were huts and
houses of the people, of which we must have passed more than
twenty, hidden in quiet places of the hills. When we came to one
of these, Alan would leave me in the way, and go himself and rap
upon the side of the house and speak awhile at the window with
some sleeper awakened. This was to pass the news; which, in that
country, was so much of a duty that Alan must pause to attend to
it even while fleeing for his life; and so well attended to by
others, that in more than half of the houses where we called they
had heard already of the murder. In the others, as well as I
could make out (standing back at a distance and hearing a strange
tongue), the news was received with more of consternation than
surprise.
For all our hurry, day began to come in while we were still far
from any shelter. It found us in a prodigious valley, strewn
with rocks and where ran a foaming river. Wild mountains stood
around it; there grew there neither grass nor trees; and I have
sometimes thought since then, that it may have been the valley
called Glencoe, where the massacre was in the time of King
William. But for the details of our itinerary, I am all to seek;
our way lying now by short cuts, now by great detours; our pace
being so hurried, our time of journeying usually by night; and
the names of such places as I asked and heard being in the Gaelic
tongue and the more easily forgotten.
The first peep of morning, then, showed us this horrible place,
and I could see Alan knit his brow.
"This is no fit place for you and me," he said. "This is a place
they're bound to watch."
And with that he ran harder than ever down to the water-side, in
a part where the river was split in two among three rocks. It
went through with a horrid thundering that made my belly quake;
and there hung over the lynn a little mist of spray. Alan looked
neither to the right nor to the left, but jumped clean upon the
middle rock and fell there on his hands and knees to check
himself, for that rock was small and he might have pitched over
on the far side. I had scarce time to measure the distance or to
understand the peril before I had followed him, and he had caught
and stopped me.
So there we stood, side by side upon a small rock slippery with
spray, a far broader leap in front of us, and the river dinning
upon all sides. When I saw where I was, there came on me a deadly
sickness of fear, and I put my hand over my eyes. Alan took me
and shook me; I saw he was speaking, but the roaring of the falls
and the trouble of my mind prevented me from hearing; only I saw
his face was red with anger, and that he stamped upon the rock.
The same look showed me the water raging by, and the mist hanging
in the air: and with that I covered my eyes again and shuddered.
The next minute Alan had set the brandy bottle to my lips, and
forced me to drink about a gill, which sent the blood into my
head again. Then, putting his hands to his mouth, and his mouth
to my ear, he shouted, "Hang or drown!" and turning his back upon
me, leaped over the farther branch of the stream, and landed
safe.
I was now alone upon the rock, which gave me the more room; the
brandy was singing in my ears; I had this good example fresh
before me, and just wit enough to see that if I did not leap at
once, I should never leap at all. I bent low on my knees and
flung myself forth, with that kind of anger of despair that has
sometimes stood me in stead of courage. Sure enough, it was but
my hands that reached the full length; these slipped, caught
again, slipped again; and I was sliddering back into the lynn,
when Alan seized me, first by the hair, then by the collar, and
with a great strain dragged me into safety.
Never a word he said, but set off running again for his life, and
I must stagger to my feet and run after him. I had been weary
before, but now I was sick and bruised, and partly drunken with
the brandy; I kept stumbling as I ran, I had a stitch that came
near to overmaster me; and when at last Alan paused under a great
rock that stood there among a number of others, it was none too
soon for David Balfour.
A great rock I have said; but by rights it was two rocks leaning
together at the top, both some twenty feet high, and at the first
sight inaccessible. Even Alan (though you may say he had as good
as four hands) failed twice in an attempt to climb them; and it
was only at the third trial, and then by standing on my shoulders
and leaping up with such force as I thought must have broken my
collar-bone, that he secured a lodgment. Once there, he let down
his leathern girdle; and with the aid of that and a pair of
shallow footholds in the rock, I scrambled up beside him.
Then I saw why we had come there; for the two rocks, being both
somewhat hollow on the top and sloping one to the other, made a
kind of dish or saucer, where as many as three or four men might
have lain hidden.
All this while Alan had not said a word, and had run and climbed
with such a savage, silent frenzy of hurry, that I knew that he
was in mortal fear of some miscarriage. Even now we were on the
rock he said nothing, nor so much as relaxed the frowning look
upon his face; but clapped flat down, and keeping only one eye
above the edge of our place of shelter scouted all round the
compass. The dawn had come quite, clear; we could see the stony
sides of the valley, and its bottom, which was bestrewed with
rocks, and the river, which went from one side to another, and
made white falls; but nowhere the smoke of a house, nor any
living creature but some eagles screaming round a cliff.
Then at last Alan smiled.
"Ay" said he, "now we have a chance;" and then looking at me with
some amusement. "Ye're no very gleg[25] at the jumping," said he.
[25]Brisk.
At this I suppose I coloured with mortification, for he added at
once, "Hoots! small blame to ye! To be feared of a thing and yet
to do it, is what makes the prettiest kind of a man. And then
there was water there, and water's a thing that dauntons even me.
No, no," said Alan, "it's no you that's to blame, it's me."
I asked him why.
"Why," said he, "I have proved myself a gomeral this night. For
first of all I take a wrong road, and that in my own country of
Appin; so that the day has caught us where we should never have
been; and thanks to that, we lie here in some danger and mair
discomfort. And next (which is the worst of the two, for a man
that has been so much among the heather as myself) I have come
wanting a water-bottle, and here we lie for a long summer's day
with naething but neat spirit. Ye may think that a small matter;
but before it comes night, David, ye'll give me news of it."
I was anxious to redeem my character, and offered, if he would
pour out the brandy, to run down and fill the bottle at the
river.
"I wouldnae waste the good spirit either," says he. "It's been a
good friend to you this night; or in my poor opinion, ye would
still be cocking on yon stone. And what's mair," says he, "ye
may have observed (you that's a man of so much penetration) that
Alan Breck Stewart was perhaps walking quicker than his
ordinar'."
"You!" I cried, "you were running fit to burst."
"Was I so?" said he. "Well, then, ye may depend upon it, there
was nae time to be lost. And now here is enough said; gang you
to your sleep, lad, and I'll watch."
Accordingly, I lay down to sleep; a little peaty earth had
drifted in between the top of the two rocks, and some bracken
grew there, to be a bed to me; the last thing I heard was still
the crying of the eagles.
I dare say it would be nine in the morning when I was roughly
awakened, and found Alan's hand pressed upon my mouth.
"Wheesht!" he whispered. "Ye were snoring."
"Well," said I, surprised at his anxious and dark face, "and why
not?"
He peered over the edge of the rock, and signed to me to do the
like.
It was now high day, cloudless, and very hot. The valley was as
clear as in a picture. About half a mile up the water was a camp
of red-coats; a big fire blazed in their midst, at which some
were cooking; and near by, on the top of a rock about as high as
ours, there stood a sentry, with the sun sparkling on his arms.
All the way down along the river-side were posted other sentries;
here near together, there widelier scattered; some planted like
the first, on places of command, some on the ground level and
marching and counter-marching, so as to meet half-way. Higher up
the glen, where the ground was more open, the chain of posts was
continued by horse-soldiers, whom we could see in the distance
riding to and fro. Lower down, the infantry continued; but as
the stream was suddenly swelled by the confluence of a
considerable burn, they were more widely set, and only watched
the fords and stepping-stones.
I took but one look at them, and ducked again into my place. It
was strange indeed to see this valley, which had lain so solitary
in the hour of dawn, bristling with arms and dotted with the red
coats and breeches.
"Ye see," said Alan, "this was what I was afraid of, Davie: that
they would watch the burn-side. They began to come in about two
hours ago, and, man! but ye're a grand hand at the sleeping!
We're in a narrow place. If they get up the sides of the hill,
they could easy spy us with a glass; but if they'll only keep in
the foot of the valley, we'll do yet. The posts are thinner down
the water; and, come night, we'll try our hand at getting by
them."
"And what are we to do till night?" I asked.
"Lie here," says he, "and birstle."
That one good Scotch word, "birstle," was indeed the most of the
story of the day that we had now to pass. You are to remember
that we lay on the bare top of a rock, like scones upon a girdle;
the sun beat upon us cruelly; the rock grew so heated, a man
could scarce endure the touch of it; and the little patch of
earth and fern, which kept cooler, was only large enough for one
at a time. We took turn about to lie on the naked rock, which
was indeed like the position of that saint that was martyred on a
gridiron; and it ran in my mind how strange it was, that in the
same climate and at only a few days' distance, I should have
suffered so cruelly, first from cold upon my island and now from
heat upon this rock.
All the while we had no water, only raw brandy for a drink, which
was worse than nothing; but we kept the bottle as cool as we
could, burying it in the earth, and got some relief by bathing
our breasts and temples.
The soldiers kept stirring all day in the bottom of the valley,
now changing guard, now in patrolling parties hunting among the
rocks. These lay round in so great a number, that to look for
men among them was like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay;
and being so hopeless a task, it was gone about with the less
care. Yet we could see the soldiers pike their bayonets among
the heather, which sent a cold thrill into my vitals; and they
would sometimes hang about our rock, so that we scarce dared to
breathe.
It was in this way that I first heard the right English speech;
one fellow as he went by actually clapping his hand upon the
sunny face of the rock on which we lay, and plucking it off again
with an oath. "I tell you it's 'ot," says he; and I was amazed at
the clipping tones and the odd sing-song in which he spoke, and
no less at that strange trick of dropping out the letter "h." To
be sure, I had heard Ransome; but he had taken his ways from all
sorts of people, and spoke so imperfectly at the best, that I set
down the most of it to childishness. My surprise was all the
greater to hear that manner of speaking in the mouth of a grown
man; and indeed I have never grown used to it; nor yet altogether
with the English grammar, as perhaps a very critical eye might
here and there spy out even in these memoirs.
The tediousness and pain of these hours upon the rock grew only
the greater as the day went on; the rock getting still the hotter
and the sun fiercer. There were giddiness, and sickness, and
sharp pangs like rheumatism, to be supported. I minded then, and
have often minded since, on the lines in our Scotch psalm: --
"The moon by night thee shall not smite,
Nor yet the sun by day;"
and indeed it was only by God's blessing that we were neither of
us sun-smitten.
At last, about two, it was beyond men's bearing, and there was
now temptation to resist, as well as pain to thole. For the sun
being now got a little into the west, there came a patch of shade
on the east side of our rock, which was the side sheltered from
the soldiers.
"As well one death as another," said Alan, and slipped over the
edge and dropped on the ground on the shadowy side.
I followed him at once, and instantly fell all my length, so weak
was I and so giddy with that long exposure. Here, then, we lay
for an hour or two, aching from head to foot, as weak as water,
and lying quite naked to the eye of any soldier who should have
strolled that way. None came, however, all passing by on the
other side; so that our rock continued to be our shield even in
this new position.
Presently we began again to get a little strength; and as the
soldiers were now lying closer along the river-side, Alan
proposed that we should try a start. I was by this time afraid
of but one thing in the world; and that was to be set back upon
the rock; anything else was welcome to me; so we got ourselves at
once in marching order, and began to slip from rock to rock one
after the other, now crawling flat on our bellies in the shade,
now making a run for it, heart in mouth.
The soldiers, having searched this side of the valley after a
fashion, and being perhaps somewhat sleepy with the sultriness of
the afternoon, had now laid by much of their vigilance, and stood
dozing at their posts or only kept a look-out along the banks of
the river; so that in this way, keeping down the valley and at
the same time towards the mountains, we drew steadily away from
their neighbourhood. But the business was the most wearing I had
ever taken part in. A man had need of a hundred eyes in every
part of him, to keep concealed in that uneven country and within
cry of so many and scattered sentries. When we must pass an open
place, quickness was not all, but a swift judgment not only of
the lie of the whole country, but of the solidity of every stone
on which we must set foot; for the afternoon was now fallen so
breathless that the rolling of a pebble sounded abroad like a
pistol shot, and would start the echo calling among the hills and
cliffs.
By sundown we had made some distance, even by our slow rate of
progress, though to be sure the sentry on the rock was still
plainly in our view. But now we came on something that put all
fears out of season; and that was a deep rushing burn, that tore
down, in that part, to join the glen river. At the sight of this
we cast ourselves on the ground and plunged head and shoulders in
the water; and I cannot tell which was the more pleasant, the
great shock as the cool stream went over us, or the greed with
which we drank of it.
We lay there (for the banks hid us), drank again and again,
bathed our chests, let our wrists trail in the running water till
they ached with the chill; and at last, being wonderfullv
renewed, we got out the meal-bag and made drammach in the iron
pan. This, though it is but cold water mingled with oatmeal, yet
makes a good enough dish for a hungry man; and where there are no
means of making fire, or (as in our case) good reason for not
making one, it is the chief stand-by of those who have taken to
the heather.
As soon as the shadow of the night had fallen, we set forth
again, at first with the same caution, but presently with more
boldness, standing our full height and stepping out at a good
pace of walking. The way was very intricate, lying up the steep
sides of mountains and along the brows of cliffs; clouds had come
in with the sunset, and the night was dark and cool; so that I
walked without much fatigue, but in continual fear of falling and
rolling down the mountains, and with no guess at our direction.
The moon rose at last and found us still on the road; it was in
its last quarter, and was long beset with clouds; but after
awhile shone out and showed me many dark heads of mountains, and
was reflected far underneath us on the narrow arm of a sea-loch.
At this sight we both paused: I struck with wonder to find myself
so high and walking (as it seemed to me) upon clouds; Alan to
make sure of his direction.
Seemingly he was well pleased, and he must certainly have judged
us out of ear-shot of all our enemies; for throughout the rest of
our night-march he beguiled the way with whistling of many tunes,
warlike, merry, plaintive; reel tunes that made the foot go
faster; tunes of my own south country that made me fain to be
home from my adventures; and all these, on the great, dark,
desert mountains, making company upon the way.
CHAPTER XXI
THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE HEUGH OF CORRYNAKIEGH
Early as day comes in the beginning of July, it was still dark
when we reached our destination, a cleft in the head of a great
mountain, with a water running through the midst, and upon the
one hand a shallow cave in a rock. Birches grew there in a thin,
pretty wood, which a little farther on was changed into a wood of
pines. The burn was full of trout; the wood of cushat-doves; on
the open side of the mountain beyond, whaups would be always
whistling, and cuckoos were plentiful. From the mouth of the
cleft we looked down upon a part of Mamore, and on the sea-loch
that divides that country from Appin; and this from so great a
height as made it my continual wonder and pleasure to sit and
behold them.
The name of the cleft was the Heugh of Corrynakiegh; and although
from its height and being so near upon the sea, it was often
beset with clouds, yet it was on the whole a pleasant place, and
the five days we lived in it went happily.
We slept in the cave, making our bed of heather bushes which we
cut for that purpose, and covering ourselves with Alan's
great-coat. There was a low concealed place, in a turning of the
glen, where we were so bold as to make fire: so that we could
warm ourselves when the clouds set in, and cook hot porridge, and
grill the little trouts that we caught with our hands under the
stones and overhanging banks of the burn. This was indeed our
chief pleasure and business; and not only to save our meal
against worse times, but with a rivalry that much amused us, we
spent a great part of our days at the water-side, stripped to the
waist and groping about or (as they say) guddling for these fish.
The largest we got might have been a quarter of a pound; but they
were of good flesh and flavour, and when broiled upon the coals,
lacked only a little salt to be delicious.
In any by-time Alan must teach me to use my sword, for my
ignorance had much distressed him; and I think besides, as I had
sometimes the upper-hand of him in the fishing, he was not sorry
to turn to an exercise where he had so much the upper-hand of me.
He made it somewhat more of a pain than need have been, for he
stormed at me all through the lessons in a very violent manner of
scolding, and would push me so close that I made sure he must run
me through the body. I was often tempted to turn tail, but held
my ground for all that, and got some profit of my lessons; if it
was but to stand on guard with an assured countenance, which is
often all that is required. So, though I could never in the
least please my master, I was not altogether displeased with
myself.
In the meanwhile, you are not to suppose that we neglected our
chief business, which was to get away.
"It will be many a long day," Alan said to me on our first
morning, "before the red-coats think upon seeking Corrynakiegh;
so now we must get word sent to James, and he must find the
siller for us."
"And how shall we send that word?" says I. "We are here in a
desert place, which yet we dare not leave; and unless ye get the
fowls of the air to be your messengers, I see not what we shall
be able to do."
"Ay?" said Alan. "Ye're a man of small contrivance, David."
Thereupon he fell in a muse, looking in the embers of the fire;
and presently, getting a piece of wood, he fashioned it in a
cross, the four ends of which he blackened on the coals. Then he
looked at me a little shyly.
"Could ye lend me my button?" says he. "It seems a strange thing
to ask a gift again, but I own I am laith to cut another."
I gave him the button; whereupon he strung it on a strip of his
great-coat which he had used to bind the cross; and tying in a
little sprig of birch and another of fir, he looked upon his work
with satisfaction.
"Now," said he, "there is a little clachan" (what is called a
hamlet in the English) "not very far from Corrynakiegh, and it
has the name of Koalisnacoan. There there are living many
friends of mine whom I could trust with my life, and some that I
am no just so sure of. Ye see, David, there will be money set
upon our heads; James himsel' is to set money on them; and as for
the Campbells, they would never spare siller where there was a
Stewart to be hurt. If it was otherwise, I would go down to
Koalisnacoan whatever, and trust my life into these people's
hands as lightly as I would trust another with my glove."
"But being so?" said I.
"Being so," said he, "I would as lief they didnae see me.
There's bad folk everywhere, and what's far worse, weak ones. So
when it comes dark again, I will steal down into that clachan,
and set this that I have been making in the window of a good
friend of mine, John Breck Maccoll, a bouman[26] of Appin's."
[26]A bouman is a tenant who takes stock from the landlord and
shares with him the increase.
"With all my heart," says I; "and if he finds it, what is he to
think?"
"Well," says Alan, "I wish he was a man of more penetration, for
by my troth I am afraid he will make little enough of it! But
this is what I have in my mind. This cross is something in the
nature of the crosstarrie, or fiery cross, which is the signal of
gathering in our clans; yet he will know well enough the clan is
not to rise, for there it is standing in his window, and no word
with it. So he will say to himsel', THE CLAN IS NOT TO RISE, BUT
THERE IS SOMETHING. Then he will see my button, and that was
Duncan Stewart's. And then he will say to himsel', THE SON OF
DUNCAN IS IN THE HEATHER, AND HAS NEED OF ME."
"Well," said I, "it may be. But even supposing so, there is a
good deal of heather between here and the Forth."
"And that is a very true word," says Alan. "But then John Breck
will see the sprig of birch and the sprig of pine; and he will
say to himsel' (if he is a man of any penetration at all, which I
misdoubt), ALAN WILL BE LYING IN A WOOD WHICH IS BOTH OF PINES
AND BIRCHES. Then he will think to himsel', THAT IS NOT SO VERY
RIFE HEREABOUT; and then he will come and give us a look up in
Corrynakiegh. And if he does not, David, the devil may fly away
with him, for what I care; for he will no be worth the salt to
his porridge."
"Eh, man," said I, drolling with him a little, "you're very
ingenious! But would it not be simpler for you to write him a few
words in black and white?"
"And that is an excellent observe, Mr. Balfour of Shaws," says
Alan, drolling with me; "and it would certainly be much simpler
for me to write to him, but it would be a sore job for John Breck
to read it. He would have to go to the school for two-three
years; and it's possible we might be wearied waiting on him."
So that night Alan carried down his fiery cross and set it in the
bouman's window. He was troubled when he came back; for the dogs
had barked and the folk run out from their houses; and he thought
he had heard a clatter of arms and seen a red-coat come to one of
the doors. On all accounts we lay the next day in the borders of
the wood and kept a close look-out, so that if it was John Breck
that came we might be ready to guide him, and if it was the
red-coats we should have time to get away.
About noon a man was to be spied, straggling up the open side of
the mountain in the sun, and looking round him as he came, from
under his hand. No sooner had Alan seen him than he whistled;
the man turned and came a little towards us: then Alan would give
another "peep!" and the man would come still nearer; and so by
the sound of whistling, he was guided to the spot where we lay.
He was a ragged, wild, bearded man, about forty, grossly
disfigured with the small pox, and looked both dull and savage.
Although his English was very bad and broken, yet Alan (according
to his very handsome use, whenever I was by) would suffer him to
speak no Gaelic. Perhaps the strange language made him appear
more backward than he really was; but I thought he had little
good-will to serve us, and what he had was the child of terror.
Alan would have had him carry a message to James; but the bouman
would hear of no message. "She was forget it," he said in his
screaming voice; and would either have a letter or wash his hands
of us.
I thought Alan would be gravelled at that, for we lacked the
means of writing in that desert.
But he was a man of more resources than I knew; searched the wood
until he found the quill of a cushat-dove, which he shaped into a
pen; made himself a kind of ink with gunpowder from his horn and
water from the running stream; and tearing a corner from his
French military commission (which he carried in his pocket, like
a talisman to keep him from the gallows), he sat down and wrote
as follows:
"DEAR KINSMAN, -- Please send the money by the bearer to the
place he kens of.
"Your affectionate cousin,
"A. S."
This he intrusted to the bouman, who promised to make what manner
of speed he best could, and carried it off with him down the
hill.
He was three full days gone, but about five in the evening of the
third, we heard a whistling in the wood, which Alan answered; and
presently the bouman came up the water-side, looking for us,
right and left. He seemed less sulky than before, and indeed he
was no doubt well pleased to have got to the end of such a
dangerous commission.
He gave us the news of the country; that it was alive with
red-coats; that arms were being found, and poor folk brought in
trouble daily; and that James and some of his servants were
already clapped in prison at Fort William, under strong suspicion
of complicity. It seemed it was noised on all sides that Alan
Breck had fired the shot; and there was a bill issued for both
him and me, with one hundred pounds reward.
This was all as bad as could be; and the little note the bouman
had carried us from Mrs. Stewart was of a miserable sadness. In
it she besought Alan not to let himself be captured, assuring
him, if he fell in the hands of the troops, both he and James
were no better than dead men. The money she had sent was all
that she could beg or borrow, and she prayed heaven we could be
doing with it. Lastly, she said, she enclosed us one of the
bills in which we were described.
This we looked upon with great curiosity and not a little fear,
partly as a man may look in a mirror, partly as he might look
into the barrel of an enemy's gun to judge if it be truly aimed.
Alan was advertised as "a small, pock-marked, active man of
thirty-five or thereby, dressed in a feathered hat, a French
side-coat of blue with silver buttons, and lace a great deal
tarnished, a red waistcoat and breeches of black, shag;" and I as
"a tall strong lad of about eighteen, wearing an old blue coat,
very ragged, an old Highland bonnet, a long homespun waistcoat,
blue breeches; his legs bare, low-country shoes, wanting the
toes; speaks like a Lowlander, and has no beard."
Alan was well enough pleased to see his finery so fully
remembered and set down; only when he came to the word tarnish,
he looked upon his lace like one a little mortified. As for
myself, I thought I cut a miserable figure in the bill; and yet
was well enough pleased too, for since I had changed these rags,
the description had ceased to be a danger and become a source of
safety.
"Alan," said I, "you should change your clothes."
"Na, troth!" said Alan, "I have nae others. A fine sight I would
be, if I went back to France in a bonnet!"
This put a second reflection in my mind: that if I were to
separate from Alan and his tell-tale clothes I should be safe
against arrest, and might go openly about my business. Nor was
this all; for suppose I was arrested when I was alone, there was
little against me; but suppose I was taken in company with the
reputed murderer, my case would begin to be grave. For
generosity's sake I dare not speak my mind upon this head; but I
thought of it none the less.
I thought of it all the more, too, when the bouman brought out a
green purse with four guineas in gold, and the best part of
another in small change. True, it was more than I had. But then
Alan, with less than five guineas, had to get as far as France;
I, with my less than two, not beyond Queensferry; so that taking
things in their proportion, Alan's society was not only a peril
to my life, but a burden on my purse.
But there was no thought of the sort in the honest head of my
companion. He believed he was serving, helping, and protecting
me. And what could I do but hold my peace, and chafe, and take
my chance of it?
"It's little enough," said Alan, putting the purse in his pocket,
"but it'll do my business. And now, John Breck, if ye will hand
me over my button, this gentleman and me will be for taking the
road."
But the bouman, after feeling about in a hairy purse that hung in
front of him in the Highland manner (though he wore otherwise the
Lowland habit, with sea-trousers), began to roll his eyes
strangely, and at last said, "Her nainsel will loss it," meaning
he thought he had lost it.
"What!" cried Alan, "you will lose my button, that was my
father's before me? Now I will tell you what is in my mind, John
Breck: it is in my mind this is the worst day's work that ever ye
did since ye was born."
And as Alan spoke, he set his hands on his knees and looked at
the bouman with a smiling mouth, and that dancing light in his
eyes that meant mischief to his enemies.
Perhaps the bouman was honest enough; perhaps he had meant to
cheat and then, finding himself alone with two of us in a desert
place, cast back to honesty as being safer; at least, and all at
once, he seemed to find that button and handed it to Alan.
"Well, and it is a good thing for the honour of the Maccolls,"
said Alan, and then to me, "Here is my button back again, and I
thank you for parting with it, which is of a piece with all your
friendships to me." Then he took the warmest parting of the
bouman. "For," says he, "ye have done very well by me, and set
your neck at a venture, and I will always give you the name of a
good man."
Lastly, the bouman took himself off by one way; and Alan I
(getting our chattels together) struck into another to resume our
flight.
CHAPTER XXII
THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR
Some seven hours' incessant, hard travelling brought us early in
the morning to the end of a range of mountains. In front of us
there lay a piece of low, broken, desert land, which we must now
cross. The sun was not long up, and shone straight in our eyes;
a little, thin mist went up from the face of the moorland like a
smoke; so that (as Alan said) there might have been twenty
squadron of dragoons there and we none the wiser.
We sat down, therefore, in a howe of the hill-side till the mist
should have risen, and made ourselves a dish of drammach, and
held a council of war.
"David," said Alan, "this is the kittle bit. Shall we lie here
till it comes night, or shall we risk it, and stave on ahead?"
"Well," said I, "I am tired indeed, but I could walk as far
again, if that was all."
"Ay, but it isnae," said Alan, "nor yet the half. This is how we
stand: Appin's fair death to us. To the south it's all
Campbells, and no to be thought of. To the north; well, there's
no muckle to be gained by going north; neither for you, that
wants to get to Queensferry, nor yet for me, that wants to get to
France. Well, then, we'll can strike east."
"East be it!" says I, quite cheerily; but I was thinking" in to
myself: "O, man, if you would only take one point of the compass
and let me take any other, it would be the best for both of us."
"Well, then, east, ye see, we have the muirs," said Alan. "Once
there, David, it's mere pitch-and-toss. Out on yon bald, naked,
flat place, where can a body turn to? Let the red-coats come over
a hill, they can spy you miles away; and the sorrow's in their
horses' heels, they would soon ride you down. It's no good
place, David; and I'm free to say, it's worse by daylight than by
dark."
"Alan," said I, "hear my way of it. Appin's death for us; we
have none too much money, nor yet meal; the longer they seek, the
nearer they may guess where we are; it's all a risk; and I give
my word to go ahead until we drop."
Alan was delighted. "There are whiles," said he, "when ye are
altogether too canny and Whiggish to be company for a gentleman
like me; but there come other whiles when ye show yoursel' a
mettle spark; and it's then, David, that I love ye like a
brother."
The mist rose and died away, and showed us that country lying as
waste as the sea; only the moorfowl and the pewees crying upon
it, and far over to the east, a herd of deer, moving like dots.
Much of it was red with heather; much of the rest broken up with
bogs and hags and peaty pools; some had been burnt black in a
heath fire; and in another place there was quite a forest of dead
firs, standing like skeletons. A wearier-looking desert man
never saw; but at least it was clear of troops, which was our
point.
We went down accordingly into the waste, and began to make our
toilsome and devious travel towards the eastern verge. There
were the tops of mountains all round (you are to remember) from
whence we might be spied at any moment; so it behoved us to keep
in the hollow parts of the moor, and when these turned aside from
our direction to move upon its naked face with infinite care.
Sometimes, for half an hour together, we must crawl from one
heather bush to another, as hunters do when they are hard upon
the deer. It was a clear day again, with a blazing sun; the
water in the brandy bottle was soon gone; and altogether, if I
had guessed what it would be to crawl half the time upon my belly
and to walk much of the rest stooping nearly to the knees, I
should certainly have held back from such a killing enterprise.
Toiling and resting and toiling again, we wore away the morning;
and about noon lay down in a thick bush of heather to sleep.
Alan took the first watch; and it seemed to me I had scarce
closed my eyes before I was shaken up to take the second. We had
no clock to go by; and Alan stuck a sprig of heath in the ground
to serve instead; so that as soon as the shadow of the bush
should fall so far to the east, I might know to rouse him. But I
was by this time so weary that I could have slept twelve hours at
a stretch; I had the taste of sleep in my throat; my joints slept
even when my mind was waking; the hot smell of the heather, and
the drone of the wild bees, were like possets to me; and every
now and again I would give a jump and find I had been dozing.
The last time I woke I seemed to come back from farther away, and
thought the sun had taken a great start in the heavens. I looked
at the sprig of heath, and at that I could have cried aloud: for
I saw I had betrayed my trust. My head was nearly turned with
fear and shame; and at what I saw, when I looked out around me on
the moor, my heart was like dying in my body. For sure enough, a
body of horse-soldiers had come down during my sleep, and were
drawing near to us from the south-east, spread out in the shape
of a fan and riding their horses to and fro in the deep parts of
the heather.
When I waked Alan, he glanced first at the soldiers, then at the
mark and the position of the sun, and knitted his brows with a
sudden, quick look, both ugly and anxious, which was all the
reproach I had of him.
"What are we to do now?" I asked.
"We'll have to play at being hares," said he. "Do ye see yon
mountain?" pointing to one on the north-eastern sky.
"Ay," said I.
"Well, then," says he, "let us strike for that. Its name is Ben
Alder. it is a wild, desert mountain full of hills and hollows,
and if we can win to it before the morn, we may do yet."
"But, Alan," cried I, "that will take us across the very coming
of the soldiers!"
"I ken that fine," said he; "but if we are driven back on Appin,
we are two dead men. So now, David man, be brisk!"
With that he began to run forward on his hands and knees with an
incredible quickness, as though it were his natural way of going.
All the time, too, he kept winding in and out in the lower parts
of the moorland where we were the best concealed. Some of these
had been burned or at least scathed with fire; and there rose in
our faces (which were close to the ground) a blinding, choking
dust as fine as smoke. The water was long out; and this posture
of running on the hands and knees brings an overmastering
weakness and weariness, so that the joints ache and the wrists
faint under your weight.
Now and then, indeed, where was a big bush of heather, we lay
awhile, and panted, and putting aside the leaves, looked back at
the dragoons. They had not spied us, for they held straight on;
a half-troop, I think, covering about two miles of ground, and
beating it mighty thoroughly as they went. I had awakened just
in time; a little later, and we must have fled in front of them,
instead of escaping on one side. Even as it was, the least
misfortune might betray us; and now and again, when a grouse rose
out of the heather with a clap of wings, we lay as still as the
dead and were afraid to breathe.
The aching and faintness of my body, the labouring of my heart,
the soreness of my hands, and the smarting of my throat and eyes
in the continual smoke of dust and ashes, had soon grown to be so
unbearable that I would gladly have given up. Nothing but the
fear of Alan lent me enough of a false kind of courage to
continue. As for himself (and you are to bear in mind that he
was cumbered with a great-coat) he had first turned crimson, but
as time went on the redness began to be mingled with patches of
white; his breath cried and whistled as it came; and his voice,
when he whispered his observations in my ear during our halts,
sounded like nothing human. Yet he seemed in no way dashed in
spirits, nor did he at all abate in his activity, so that I was
driven, to marvel at the man's endurance.
At length, in the first gloaming of the night, we heard a trumpet
sound, and looking back from among the heather, saw the troop
beginning to collect. A little after, they had built a fire and
camped for the night, about the middle of the waste.
At this I begged and besought that we might lie down and sleep.
"There shall be no sleep the night!" said Alan. "From now on,
these weary dragoons of yours will keep the crown of the
muirland, and none will get out of Appin but winged fowls. We
got through in the nick of time, and shall we jeopard what we've
gained? Na, na, when the day comes, it shall find you and me in
a fast place on Ben Alder."
"Alan," I said, "it's not the want of will: it's the strength
that I want. If I could, I would; but as sure as I'm alive I
cannot."
"Very well, then," said Alan. "I'll carry ye."
I looked to see if he were jesting; but no, the little man was in
dead earnest; and the sight of so much resolution shamed me.
"Lead away!" said I. "I'll follow."
He gave me one look as much as to say, "Well done, David!" and
off he set again at his top speed.
It grew cooler and even a little darker (but not much) with the
coming of the night. The sky was cloudless; it was still early
in July, and pretty far north; in the darkest part of that night,
you would have needed pretty good eyes to read, but for all that,
I have often seen it darker in a winter mid-day. Heavy dew fell
and drenched the moor like rain; and this refreshed me for a
while. When we stopped to breathe, and I had time to see all
about me, the clearness and sweetness of the night, the shapes of
the hills like things asleep, and the fire dwindling away behind
us, like a bright spot in the midst of the moor, anger would come
upon me in a clap that I must still drag myself in agony and eat
the dust like a worm.
By what I have read in books, I think few that have held a pen
were ever really wearied, or they would write of it more
strongly. I had no care of my life, neither past nor future, and
I scarce remembered there was such a lad as David Balfour. I did
not think of myself, but just of each fresh step which I was sure
would be my last, with despair -- and of Alan, who was the cause
of it, with hatred. Alan was in the right trade as a soldier;
this is the officer's part to make men continue to do things,
they know not wherefore, and when, if the choice was offered,
they would lie down where they were and be killed. And I dare
say I would have made a good enough private; for in these last
hours it never occurred to me that I had any choice but just to
obey as long as I was able, and die obeying.
Day began to come in, after years, I thought; and by that time we
were past the greatest danger, and could walk upon our feet like
men, instead of crawling like brutes. But, dear heart have
mercy! what a pair we must have made, going double like old
grandfathers, stumbling like babes, and as white as dead folk.
Never a word passed between us; each set his mouth and kept his
eyes in front of him, and lifted up his foot and set it down
again, like people lifting weights at a country play;[27] all the
while, with the moorfowl crying "peep!" in the heather, and the
light coming slowly clearer in the east.
[27] Village fair.
I say Alan did as I did. Not that ever I looked at him, for I
had enough ado to keep my feet; but because it is plain he must
have been as stupid with weariness as myself, and looked as
little where we were going, or we should not have walked into an
ambush like blind men.
It fell in this way. We were going down a heathery brae, Alan
leading and I following a pace or two behind, like a fiddler and
his wife; when upon a sudden the heather gave a rustle, three or
four ragged men leaped out, and the next moment we were lying on
our backs, each with a dirk at his throat.
I don't think I cared; the pain of this rough handling was quite
swallowed up by the pains of which I was already full; and I was
too glad to have stopped walking to mind about a dirk. I lay
looking up in the face of the man that held me; and I mind his
face was black with the sun, and his eyes very light, but I was
not afraid of him. I heard Alan and another whispering in the
Gaelic; and what they said was all one to me.
Then the dirks were put up, our weapons were taken away, and we
were set face to face, sitting in the heather.
"They are Cluny's men," said Alan. "We couldnae have fallen
better. We're just to bide here with these, which are his
out-sentries, till they can get word to the chief of my arrival."
Now Cluny Macpherson, the chief of the clan Vourich, had been one
of the leaders of the great rebellion six years before; there was
a price on his life; and I had supposed him long ago in France,
with the rest of the heads of that desperate party. Even tired
as I was, the surprise of what I heard half wakened me.
"What," I cried, "is Cluny still here?"
"Ay, is he so!" said Alan. "Still in his own country and kept by
his own clan. King George can do no more."
I think I would have asked farther, but Alan gave me the put-off.
"I am rather wearied," he said, "and I would like fine to get a
sleep." And without more words, he rolled on his face in a deep
heather bush, and seemed to sleep at once.
There was no such thing possible for me. You have heard
grasshoppers whirring in the grass in the summer time? Well, I
had no sooner closed my eyes, than my body, and above all my
head, belly, and wrists, seemed to be filled with whirring
grasshoppers; and I must open my eyes again at once, and tumble
and toss, and sit up and lie down; and look at the sky which
dazzled me, or at Cluny's wild and dirty sentries, peering out
over the top of the brae and chattering to each other in the
Gaelic.
That was all the rest I had, until the messenger returned; when,
as it appeared that Cluny would be glad to receive us, we must
get once more upon our feet and set forward. Alan was in
excellent good spirits, much refreshed by his sleep, very hungry,
and looking pleasantly forward to a dram and a dish of hot
collops, of which, it seems, the messenger had brought him word.
For my part, it made me sick to hear of eating. I had been
dead-heavy before, and now I felt a kind of dreadful lightness,
which would not suffer me to walk. I drifted like a gossamer;
the ground seemed to me a cloud, the hills a feather-weight, the
air to have a current, like a running burn, which carried me to
and fro. With all that, a sort of horror of despair sat on my
mind, so that I could have wept at my own helplessness.
I saw Alan knitting his brows at me, and supposed it was in
anger; and that gave me a pang of light-headed fear, like what a
child may have. I remember, too, that I was smiling, and could
not stop smiling, hard as I tried; for I thought it was out of
place at such a time. But my good companion had nothing in his
mind but kindness; and the next moment, two of the gillies had me
by the arms, and I began to be carried forward with great
swiftness (or so it appeared to me, although I dare say it was
slowly enough in truth), through a labyrinth of dreary glens and
hollows and into the heart of that dismal mountain of Ben Alder.
CHAPTER XXIII
CLUNY'S CAGE
We came at last to the foot of an exceeding steep wood, which
scrambled up a craggy hillside, and was crowned by a naked
precipice.
"It's here," said one of the guides, and we struck up hill.
The trees clung upon the slope, like sailors on the shrouds of a
ship, and their trunks were like the rounds of a ladder, by which
we mounted.
Quite at the top, and just before the rocky face of the cliff
sprang above the foliage, we found that strange house which was
known in the country as "Cluny's Cage." The trunks of several
trees had been wattled across, the intervals strengthened with
stakes, and the ground behind this barricade levelled up with
earth to make the floor. A tree, which grew out from the
hillside, was the living centre-beam of the roof. The walls were
of wattle and covered with moss. The whole house had something
of an egg shape; and it half hung, half stood in that steep,
hillside thicket, like a wasp's nest in a green hawthorn.
Within, it was large enough to shelter five or six persons with
some comfort. A projection of the cliff had been cunningly
employed to be the fireplace; and the smoke rising against the
face of the rock, and being not dissimilar in colour, readily
escaped notice from below.
This was but one of Cluny's hiding-places; he had caves, besides,
and underground chambers in several parts of his country; and
following the reports of his scouts, he moved from one to another
as the soldiers drew near or moved away. By this manner of
living, and thanks to the affection of his clan, he had not only
stayed all this time in safety, while so many others had fled or
been taken and slain: but stayed four or five years longer, and
only went to France at last by the express command of his master.
There he soon died; and it is strange to reflect that he may have
regretted his Cage upon Ben Alder.
When we came to the door he was seated by his rock chimney,
watching a gillie about some cookery. He was mighty plainly
habited, with a knitted nightcap drawn over his ears, and smoked
a foul cutty pipe. For all that he had the manners of a king,
and it was quite a sight to see him rise out of his place to
welcome us.
"Well, Mr. Stewart, come awa', sir!" said he, "and bring in your
friend that as yet I dinna ken the name of."
"And how is yourself, Cluny?" said Alan. "I hope ye do brawly,
sir. And I am proud to see ye, and to present to ye my friend
the Laird of Shaws, Mr. David Balfour."
Alan never referred to my estate without a touch of a sneer, when
we were alone; but with strangers, he rang the words out like a
herald.
"Step in by, the both of ye, gentlemen," says Cluny. "I make ye
welcome to my house, which is a queer, rude place for certain,
but one where I have entertained a royal personage, Mr. Stewart
-- ye doubtless ken the personage I have in my eye. We'll take a
dram for luck, and as soon as this handless man of mine has the
collops ready, we'll dine and take a hand at the cartes as
gentlemen should. My life is a bit driegh," says he, pouring out
the brandy;" I see little company, and sit and twirl my thumbs,
and mind upon a great day that is gone by, and weary for another
great day that we all hope will be upon the road. And so here's
a toast to ye: The Restoration!"
Thereupon we all touched glasses and drank. I am sure I wished
no ill to King George; and if he had been there himself in proper
person, it's like he would have done as I did. No sooner had I
taken out the drain than I felt hugely better, and could look on
and listen, still a little mistily perhaps, but no longer with
the same groundless horror and distress of mind.
It was certainly a strange place, and we had a strange host. In
his long hiding, Cluny had grown to have all manner of precise
habits, like those of an old maid. He had a particular place,
where no one else must sit; the Cage was arranged in a particular
way, which none must disturb; cookery was one of his chief
fancies, and even while he was greeting us in, he kept an eye to
the collops.
It appears, he sometimes visited or received visits from his wife
and one or two of his nearest friends, under the cover of night;
but for the more part lived quite alone, and communicated only
with his sentinels and the gillies that waited on him in the
Cage. The first thing in the morning, one of them, who was a
barber, came and shaved him, and gave him the news of the
country, of which he was immoderately greedy. There was no end
to his questions; he put them as earnestly as a child; and at
some of the answers, laughed out of all bounds of reason, and
would break out again laughing at the mere memory, hours after
the barber was gone.
To be sure, there might have been a purpose in his questions; for
though he was thus sequestered, and like the other landed
gentlemen of Scotland, stripped by the late Act of Parliament of
legal powers, he still exercised a patriarchal justice in his
clan. Disputes were brought to him in his hiding-hole to be
decided; and the men of his country, who would have snapped their
fingers at the Court of Session, laid aside revenge and paid down
money at the bare word of this forfeited and hunted outlaw. When
he was angered, which was often enough, he gave his commands and
breathed threats of punishment like any, king; and his gillies
trembled and crouched away from him like children before a hasty
father. With each of them, as he entered, he ceremoniously shook
hands, both parties touching their bonnets at the same time in a
military manner. Altogether, I had a fair chance to see some of
the inner workings of a Highland clan; and this with a
proscribed, fugitive chief; his country conquered; the troops
riding upon all sides in quest of him, sometimes within a mile of
where he lay; and when the least of the ragged fellows whom he
rated and threatened, could have made a fortune by betraying him.
On that first day, as soon as the collops were ready, Cluny gave
them with his own hand a squeeze of a lemon (for he was well
supplied with luxuries) and bade us draw in to our meal.
"They," said he, meaning the collops, "are such as I gave his
Royal Highness in this very house; bating the lemon juice, for at
that time we were glad to get the meat and never fashed for
kitchen.[28] Indeed, there were mair dragoons than lemons in my
country in the year forty-six."
[28]Condiment.
I do not know if the collops were truly very good, but my heart
rose against the sight of them, and I could eat but little. All
the while Cluny entertained us with stories of Prince Charlie's
stay in the Cage, giving us the very words of the speakers, and
rising from his place to show us where they stood. By these, I
gathered the Prince was a gracious, spirited boy, like the son of
a race of polite kings, but not so wise as Solomon. I gathered,
too, that while he was in the Cage, he was often drunk; so the
fault that has since, by all accounts, made such a wreck of him,
had even then begun to show itself.
We were no sooner done eating than Cluny brought out an old,
thumbed, greasy pack of cards, such as you may find in a mean
inn; and his eyes brightened in his face as he proposed that we
should fall to playing.
Now this was one of the things I had been brought up to eschew
like disgrace; it being held by my father neither the part of a
Christian nor yet of a gentleman to set his own livelihood and
fish for that of others, on the cast of painted pasteboard. To
be sure, I might have pleaded my fatigue, which was excuse
enough; but I thought it behoved that I should bear a testimony.
I must have got very red in the face, but I spoke steadily, and
told them I had no call to be a judge of others, but for my own
part, it was a matter in which I had no clearness.
Cluny stopped mingling the cards. "What in deil's name is this?"
says he. "What kind of Whiggish, canting talk is this, for the
house of Cluny Macpherson?"
"I will put my hand in the fire for Mr. Balfour," says Alan. "He
is an honest and a mettle gentleman, and I would have ye bear in
mind who says it. I bear a king's name," says he, cocking his
hat; "and I and any that I call friend are company for the best.
But the gentleman is tired, and should sleep; if he has no mind
to the cartes, it will never hinder you and me. And I'm fit and
willing, sir, to play ye any game that ye can name."
"Sir," says Cluny, "in this poor house of mine I would have you
to ken that any gentleman may follow his pleasure. If your
friend would like to stand on his head, he is welcome. And if
either he, or you, or any other man, is not preceesely satisfied,
I will be proud to step outside with him."
I had no will that these two friends should cut their throats for
my sake.
"Sir," said I, "I am very wearied, as Alan says; and what's more,
as you are a man that likely has sons of your own, I may tell you
it was a promise to my father."
"Say nae mair, say nae mair," said Cluny, and pointed me to a bed
of heather in a corner of the Cage. For all that he was
displeased enough, looked at me askance, and grumbled when he
looked. And indeed it must be owned that both my scruples and
the words in which I declared them, smacked somewhat of the
Covenanter, and were little in their place among wild Highland
Jacobites.
What with the brandy and the venison, a strange heaviness had
come over me; and I had scarce lain down upon the bed before I
fell into a kind of trance, in which I continued almost the whole
time of our stay in the Cage. Sometimes I was broad awake and
understood what passed; sometimes I only heard voices, or men
snoring, like the voice of a silly river; and the plaids upon the
wall dwindled down and swelled out again, like firelight shadows
on the roof. I must sometimes have spoken or cried out, for I
remember I was now and then amazed at being answered; yet I was
conscious of no particular nightmare, only of a general, black,
abiding horror -- a horror of the place I was in, and the bed I
lay in, and the plaids on the wall, and the voices, and the fire,
and myself.
The barber-gillie, who was a doctor too, was called in to
prescribe for me; but as he spoke in the Gaelic, I understood not
a word of his opinion, and was too sick even to ask for a
translation. I knew well enough I was ill, and that was all I
cared about.
I paid little heed while I lay in this poor pass. But Alan and
Cluny were most of the time at the cards, and I am clear that
Alan must have begun by winning; for I remember sitting up, and
seeing them hard at it, and a great glittering pile of as much as
sixty or a hundred guineas on the table. It looked strange
enough, to see all this wealth in a nest upon a cliff-side,
wattled about growing trees. And even then, I thought it seemed
deep water for Alan to be riding, who had no better battle-horse
than a green purse and a matter of five pounds.
The luck, it seems, changed on the second day. About noon I was
wakened as usual for dinner, and as usual refused to eat, and was
given a dram with some bitter infusion which the barber had
prescribed. The sun was shining in at the open door of the Cage,
and this dazzled and offended me. Cluny sat at the table, biting
the pack of cards. Alan had stooped over the bed, and had his
face close to my eyes; to which, troubled as they were with the
fever, it seemed of the most shocking bigness.
He asked me for a loan of my money.
"What for?" said I.
"O, just for a loan," said he.
"But why?" I repeated. "I don't see."
"Hut, David!" said Alan, "ye wouldnae grudge me a loan?"
I would, though, if I had had my senses! But all I thought of
then was to get his face away, and I handed him my money.
On the morning of the third day, when we had been forty-eight
hours in the Cage, I awoke with a great relief of spirits, very
weak and weary indeed, but seeing things of the right size and
with their honest, everyday appearance. I had a mind to eat,
moreover, rose from bed of my own movement, and as soon as we had
breakfasted, stepped to the entry of the Cage and sat down
outside in the top of the wood. It was a grey day with a cool,
mild air: and I sat in a dream all morning, only disturbed by the
passing by of Cluny's scouts and servants coming with provisions
and reports; for as the coast was at that time clear, you might
almost say he held court openly.
When I returned, he and Alan had laid the cards aside, and were
questioning a gillie; and the chief turned about and spoke to me
in the Gaelic.
"I have no Gaelic, sir," said I.
Now since the card question, everything I said or did had the
power of annoying Cluny. "Your name has more sense than
yourself, then," said he angrily. "for it's good Gaelic. But the
point is this. My scout reports all clear in the south, and the
question is, have ye the strength to go?"
I saw cards on the table, but no gold; only a heap of little
written papers, and these all on Cluny's side. Alan, besides,
had an odd look, like a man not very well content; and I began to
have a strong misgiving.
"I do not know if I am as well as I should be," said I, looking
at Alan; "but the little money we have has a long way to carry
us."
Alan took his under-lip into his mouth, and looked upon the
ground.
"David," says he at last, "I've lost it; there's the naked
truth."
"My money too?" said I.
"Your money too," says Alan, with a groan. "Ye shouldnae have
given it me. I'm daft when I get to the cartes."
"Hoot-toot! hoot-toot!" said Cluny. "It was all daffing; it's all
nonsense. Of course you'll have your money back again, and the
double of it, if ye'll make so free with me. It would be a
singular thing for me to keep it. It's not to be supposed that I
would be any hindrance to gentlemen in your situation; that would
be a singular thing!" cries he, and began to pull gold out of his
pocket with a mighty red face.
Alan said nothing, only looked on the ground.
"Will you step to the door with me, sir?" said I.
Cluny said he would be very glad, and followed me readily enough,
but he looked flustered and put out.
"And now, sir," says I, "I must first acknowledge your
generosity."
"Nonsensical nonsense!" cries Cluny. "Where's the generosity?
This is just a most unfortunate affair; but what would ye have me
do -- boxed up in this bee-skep of a cage of mine -- but just set
my friends to the cartes, when I can get them? And if they lose,
of course, it's not to be supposed ----" And here he came to a
pause.
"Yes," said I, "if they lose, you give them back their money; and
if they win, they carry away yours in their pouches! I have said
before that I grant your generosity; but to me, sir, it's a very
painful thing to be placed in this position."
There was a little silence, in which Cluny seemed always as if he
was about to speak, but said nothing. All the time he grew
redder and redder in the face.
"I am a young man," said I, "and I ask your advice. Advise me
as you would your son. My friend fairly lost his money, after
having fairly gained a far greater sum of yours; can I accept it
back again? Would that be the right part for me to play?
Whatever I do, you can see for yourself it must be hard upon a
man of any pride."
"It's rather hard on me, too, Mr. Balfour," said Cluny, "and ye
give me very much the look of a man that has entrapped poor
people to their hurt. I wouldnae have my friends come to any
house of mine to accept affronts; no," he cried, with a sudden
heat of anger, "nor yet to give them!"
"And so you see, sir," said I, "there is something to be said
upon my side; and this gambling is a very poor employ for
gentlefolks. But I am still waiting your opinion."
I am sure if ever Cluny hated any man it was David Balfour. He
looked me all over with a warlike eye, and I saw the challenge at
his lips. But either my youth disarmed him, or perhaps his own
sense of justice. Certainly it was a mortifying matter for all
concerned, and not least Cluny; the more credit that he took it
as he did.
"Mr. Balfour," said he, "I think you are too nice and
covenanting, but for all that you have the spirit of a very
pretty gentleman. Upon my honest word, ye may take this money --
it's what I would tell my son -- and here's my hand along with
it!"
CHAPTER XXIV
THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE QUARREL
Alan and I were put across Loch Errocht under cloud of night, and
went down its eastern shore to another hiding-place near the head
of Loch Rannoch, whither we were led by one of the gillies from
the Cage. This fellow carried all our luggage and Alan's
great-coat in the bargain, trotting along under the burthen, far
less than the half of which used to weigh me to the ground, like
a stout hill pony with a feather; yet he was a man that, in plain
contest, I could have broken on my knee.
Doubtless it was a great relief to walk disencumbered; and
perhaps without that relief, and the consequent sense of liberty
and lightness, I could not have walked at all. I was but new
risen from a bed of sickness; and there was nothing in the state
of our affairs to hearten me for much exertion; travelling, as we
did, over the most dismal deserts in Scotland, under a cloudy
heaven, and with divided hearts among the travellers.
For long, we said nothing; marching alongside or one behind the
other, each with a set countenance: I, angry and proud, and
drawing what strength I had from these two violent and sinful
feelings; Alan angry and ashamed, ashamed that he had lost my
money, angry that I should take it so ill.
The thought of a separation ran always the stronger in my mind;
and the more I approved of it, the more ashamed I grew of my
approval. It would be a fine, handsome, generous thing, indeed,
for Alan to turn round and say to me: "Go, I am in the most
danger, and my company only increases yours." But for me to turn
to the friend who certainly loved me, and say to him: "You are in
great danger, I am in but little; your friendship is a burden;
go, take your risks and bear your hardships alone ----" no, that
was impossible; and even to think of it privily to myself, made
my cheeks to burn.
And yet Alan had behaved like a child, and (what is worse) a
treacherous child. Wheedling my money from me while I lay
half-conscious was scarce better than theft; and yet here he was
trudging by my side, without a penny to his name, and by what I
could see, quite blithe to sponge upon the money he had driven me
to beg. True, I was ready to share it with him; but it made me
rage to see him count upon my readiness.
These were the two things uppermost in my mind; and I could open
my mouth upon neither without black ungenerosity. So I did the
next worst, and said nothing, nor so much as looked once at my
companion, save with the tail of my eye.
At last, upon the other side of Loch Errocht, going over a
smooth, rushy place, where the walking was easy, he could bear it
no longer, and came close to me.
"David," says he, "this is no way for two friends to take a small
accident. I have to say that I'm sorry; and so that's said. And
now if you have anything, ye'd better say it."
"O," says I, "I have nothing."
He seemed disconcerted; at which I was meanly pleased.
"No," said he, with rather a trembling voice, "but when I say I
was to blame?"
"Why, of course, ye were to blame," said I, coolly; "and you will
bear me out that I have never reproached you."
"Never," says he; "but ye ken very well that ye've done worse.
Are we to part? Ye said so once before. Are ye to say it again?
There's hills and heather enough between here and the two seas,
David; and I will own I'm no very keen to stay where I'm no
wanted."
This pierced me like a sword, and seemed to lay bare my private
disloyalty.
"Alan Breck!" I cried; and then: "Do you think I am one to turn
my back on you in your chief need? You dursn't say it to my
face. My whole conduct's there to give the lie to it. It's
true, I fell asleep upon the muir; but that was from weariness,
and you do wrong to cast it up to me----"
"Which is what I never did," said Alan.
"But aside from that," I continued, "what have I done that you
should even me to dogs by such a supposition? I never yet failed
a friend, and it's not likely I'll begin with you. There are
things between us that I can never forget, even if you can."
"I will only say this to ye, David," said Alan, very quietly,
"that I have long been owing ye my life, and now I owe ye money.
Ye should try to make that burden light for me."
This ought to have touched me, and in a manner it did, but the
wrong manner. I felt I was behaving, badly; and was now not only
angry with Alan, but angry with myself in the bargain; and it
made me the more cruel.
"You asked me to speak," said I. "Well, then, I will. You own
yourself that you have done me a disservice; I have had to
swallow an affront: I have never reproached you, I never named
the thing till you did. And now you blame me," cried I, "because
I cannae laugh and sing as if I was glad to be affronted. The
next thing will be that I'm to go down upon my knees and thank
you for it! Ye should think more of others, Alan Breck. If ye
thought more of others, ye would perhaps speak less about
yourself; and when a friend that likes you very well has passed
over an offence without a word, you would be blithe to let it
lie, instead of making it a stick to break his back with. By
your own way of it, it was you that was to blame; then it
shouldnae be you to seek the quarrel."
"Aweel," said Alan, "say nae mair."
And we fell back into our former silence; and came to our
journey's end, and supped, and lay down to sleep, without another
word.
The gillie put us across Loch Rannoch in the dusk of the next
day, and gave us his opinion as to our best route. This was to
get us up at once into the tops of the mountains: to go round by
a circuit, turning the heads of Glen Lyon, Glen Lochay, and Glen
Dochart, and come down upon the lowlands by Kippen and the upper
waters of the Forth. Alan was little pleased with a route which
led us through the country of his blood-foes, the Glenorchy
Campbells. He objected that by turning to the east, we should
come almost at once among the Athole Stewarts, a race of his own
name and lineage, although following a different chief, and come
besides by a far easier and swifter way to the place whither we
were bound. But the gillie, who was indeed the chief man of
Cluny's scouts, had good reasons to give him on all hands, naming
the force of troops in every district, and alleging finally (as
well as I could understand) that we should nowhere be so little
troubled as in a country of the Campbells.
Alan gave way at last, but with only half a heart. "It's one of
the dowiest countries in Scotland," said he. "There's naething
there that I ken, but heath, and crows, and Campbells. But I see
that ye're a man of some penetration; and be it as ye please!"
We set forth accordingly by this itinerary; and for the best part
of three nights travelled on eerie mountains and among the
well-heads of wild rivers; often buried in mist, almost
continually blown and rained upon, and not once cheered by any
glimpse of sunshine. By day, we lay and slept in the drenching
heather; by night, incessantly clambered upon break-neck hills
and among rude crags. We often wandered; we were often so
involved in fog, that we must lie quiet till it lightened. A
fire was never to be thought of. Our only food was drammach and
a portion of cold meat that we had carried from the Cage; and as
for drink, Heaven knows we had no want of water.
This was a dreadful time, rendered the more dreadful by the gloom
of the weather and the country. I was never warm; my teeth
chattered in my head; I was troubled with a very sore throat,
such as I had on the isle; I had a painful stitch in my side,
which never left me; and when I slept in my wet bed, with the
rain beating above and the mud oozing below me, it was to live
over again in fancy the worst part of my adventures -- to see the
tower of Shaws lit by lightning, Ransome carried below on the
men's backs, Shuan dying on the round-house floor, or Colin
Campbell grasping at the bosom of his coat. From such broken
slumbers, I would be aroused in the gloaming, to sit up in the
same puddle where I had slept, and sup cold drammach; the rain
driving sharp in my face or running down my back in icy trickles;
the mist enfolding us like as in a gloomy chamber -- or, perhaps,
if the wind blew, falling suddenly apart and showing us the gulf
of some dark valley where the streams were crying aloud.
The sound of an infinite number of rivers came up from all round.
In this steady rain the springs of the mountain were broken up;
every glen gushed water like a cistern; every stream was in high
spate, and had filled and overflowed its channel. During our
night tramps, it was solemn to hear the voice of them below in
the valleys, now booming like thunder, now with an angry cry. I
could well understand the story of the Water Kelpie, that demon
of the streams, who is fabled to keep wailing and roaring at the
ford until the coming of the doomed traveller. Alan I saw
believed it, or half believed it; and when the cry of the river
rose more than usually sharp, I was little surprised (though, of
course, I would still be shocked) to see him cross himself in the
manner of the Catholics.
During all these horrid wanderings we had no familiarity,
scarcely even that of speech. The truth is that I was sickening
for my grave, which is my best excuse. But besides that I was of
an unforgiving disposition from my birth, slow to take offence,
slower to forget it, and now incensed both against my companion
and myself. For the best part of two days he was unweariedly
kind; silent, indeed, but always ready to help, and always hoping
(as I could very well see) that my displeasure would blow by.
For the same length of time I stayed in myself, nursing my anger,
roughly refusing his services, and passing him over with my eyes
as if he had been a bush or a stone.
The second night, or rather the peep of the third day, found us
upon a very open hill, so that we could not follow our usual plan
and lie down immediately to eat and sleep. Before we had reached
a place of shelter, the grey had come pretty clear, for though it
still rained, the clouds ran higher; and Alan, looking in my
face, showed some marks of concern.
"Ye had better let me take your pack," said he, for perhaps the
ninth time since we had parted from the scout beside Loch
Rannoch.
"I do very well, I thank you," said I, as cold as ice.
Alan flushed darkly. "I'll not offer it again," he said. "I'm
not a patient man, David."
"I never said you were," said I, which was exactly the rude,
silly speech of a boy of ten.
Alan made no answer at the time, but his conduct answered for
him. Henceforth, it is to be thought, he quite forgave himself
for the affair at Cluny's; cocked his hat again, walked jauntily,
whistled airs, and looked at me upon one side with a provoking
smile.
The third night we were to pass through the western end of the
country of Balquhidder. It came clear and cold, with a touch in
the air like frost, and a northerly wind that blew the clouds
away and made the stars bright. The streams were full, of
course, and still made a great noise among the hills; but I
observed that Alan thought no more upon the Kelpie, and was in
high good spirits. As for me, the change of weather came too
late; I had lain in the mire so long that (as the Bible has it)
my very clothes "abhorred me." I was dead weary, deadly sick and
full of pains and shiverings; the chill of the wind went through
me, and the sound of it confused my ears. In this poor state I
had to bear from my companion something in the nature of a
persecution. He spoke a good deal, and never without a taunt.
"Whig" was the best name he had to give me. "Here," he would
say, "here's a dub for ye to jump, my Whiggie! I ken you're a
fine jumper!" And so on; all the time with a gibing voice and
face.
I knew it was my own doing, and no one else's; but I was too
miserable to repent. I felt I could drag myself but little
farther; pretty soon, I must lie down and die on these wet
mountains like a sheep or a fox, and my bones must whiten there
like the bones of a beast. My head was light perhaps; but I
began to love the prospect, I began to glory in the thought of
such a death, alone in the desert, with the wild eagles besieging
my last moments. Alan would repent then, I thought; he would
remember, when I was dead, how much he owed me, and the
remembrance would be torture. So I went like a sick, silly, and
bad-hearted schoolboy, feeding my anger against a fellow-man,
when I would have been better on my knees, crying on God for
mercy. And at each of Alan's taunts, I hugged myself. "Ah!"
thinks I to myself, "I have a better taunt in readiness; when I
lie down and die, you will feel it like a buffet in your face;
ah, what a revenge! ah, how you will regret your ingratitude and
cruelty!"
All the while, I was growing worse and worse. Once I had fallen,
my leg simply doubling under me, and this had struck Alan for the
moment; but I was afoot so briskly, and set off again with such a
natural manner, that he soon forgot the incident. Flushes of
heat went over me, and then spasms of shuddering. The stitch in
my side was hardly bearable. At last I began to feel that I
could trail myself no farther: and with that, there came on me
all at once the wish to have it out with Alan, let my anger
blaze, and be done with my life in a more sudden manner. He had
just called me "Whig." I stopped.
"Mr. Stewart," said I, in a voice that quivered like a
fiddle-string, "you are older than I am, and should know your
manners. Do you think it either very wise or very witty to cast
my politics in my teeth? I thought, where folk differed, it was
the part of gentlemen to differ civilly; and if I did not, I may
tell you I could find a better taunt than some of yours."
Alan had stopped opposite to me, his hat cocked, his hands in his
breeches pockets, his head a little on one side. He listened,
smiling evilly, as I could see by the starlight; and when I had
done he began to whistle a Jacobite air. It was the air made in
mockery of General Cope's defeat at Preston Pans:
"Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin' yet?
And are your drums a-beatin' yet?"
And it came in my mind that Alan, on the day of that battle, had
been engaged upon the royal side.
"Why do ye take that air, Mr. Stewart?" said I. "Is that to
remind me you have been beaten on both sides?"
The air stopped on Alan's lips. "David!" said he.
"But it's time these manners ceased," I continued; "and I mean
you shall henceforth speak civilly of my King and my good friends
the Campbells."
"I am a Stewart --" began Alan.
"O!" says I, "I ken ye bear a king's name. But you are to
remember, since I have been in the Highlands, I have seen a good
many of those that bear it; and the best I can say of them is
this, that they would be none the worse of washing."
"Do you know that you insult me?" said Alan, very low.
"I am sorry for that," said I, "for I am not done; and if you
distaste the sermon, I doubt the pirliecue[29] will please you as
little. You have been chased in the field by the grown men of my
party; it seems a poor kind of pleasure to out-face a boy. Both
the Campbells and the Whigs have beaten you; you have run before
them like a hare. It behoves you to speak of them as of your
betters."
[29] A second sermon.
Alan stood quite still, the tails of his great-coat clapping
behind him in the wind.
"This is a pity" he said at last. "There are things said that
cannot be passed over."
"I never asked you to," said I. "I am as ready as yourself."
"Ready?" said he.
"Ready," I repeated. "I am no blower and boaster like some that
I could name. Come on!" And drawing my sword, I fell on guard
as Alan himself had taught me.
"David!" he cried . "Are ye daft? I cannae draw upon ye, David.
It's fair murder."
"That was your look-out when you insulted me," said I.
"It's the truth!" cried Alan, and he stood for a moment, wringing
his mouth in his hand like a man in sore perplexity. "It's the
bare truth," he said, and drew his sword. But before I could
touch his blade with mine, he had thrown it from him and fallen
to the ground. "Na, na," he kept saying, "na, na -- I cannae, I
cannae."
At this the last of my anger oozed all out of me; and I found
myself only sick, and sorry, and blank, and wondering at myself.
I would have given the world to take back what I had said; but a
word once spoken, who can recapture it? I minded me of all
Alan's kindness and courage in the past, how he had helped and
cheered and borne with me in our evil days; and then recalled my
own insults, and saw that I had lost for ever that doughty
friend. At the same time, the sickness that hung upon me seemed
to redouble, and the pang in my side was like a sword for
sharpness. I thought I must have swooned where I stood.
This it was that gave me a thought. No apology could blot out
what I had said; it was needless to think of one, none could
cover the offence; but where an apology was vain, a mere cry for
help might bring Alan back to my side. I put my pride away from
me. "Alan!" I said; "if ye cannae help me, I must just die
here."
He started up sitting, and looked at me.
"It's true," said I. "I'm by with it. O, let me get into the
bield of a house -- I'll can die there easier." I had no need to
pretend; whether I chose or not, I spoke in a weeping voice that
would have melted a heart of stone.
"Can ye walk?" asked Alan.
"No," said I, "not without help. This last hour my legs have
been fainting under me; I've a stitch in my side like a red-hot
iron; I cannae breathe right. If I die, ye'll can forgive me,
Alan? In my heart, I liked ye fine -- even when I was the
angriest."
"Wheesht, wheesht!" cried Alan. "Dinna say that! David man, ye
ken --" He shut his mouth upon a sob. "Let me get my arm about
ye," he continued; "that's the way! Now lean upon me hard. Gude
kens where there's a house! We're in Balwhidder, too; there
should be no want of houses, no, nor friends' houses here. Do ye
gang easier so, Davie?"
"Ay" said I, "I can be doing this way;" and I pressed his arm
with my hand.
Again he came near sobbing. "Davie," said he, "I'm no a right
man at all; I have neither sense nor kindness; I could nae
remember ye were just a bairn, I couldnae see ye were dying on
your feet; Davie, ye'll have to try and forgive me."
"O man, let's say no more about it!" said I. "We're neither one
of us to mend the other -- that's the truth! We must just bear
and forbear, man Alan. O, but my stitch is sore! Is there nae
house?"
"I'll find a house to ye, David," he said, stoutly. "We'll
follow down the burn, where there's bound to be houses. My poor
man, will ye no be better on my back?"
"O, Alan," says I, "and me a good twelve inches taller?"
"Ye're no such a thing," cried Alan, with a start. "There may be
a trifling matter of an inch or two; I'm no saying I'm just
exactly what ye would call a tall man, whatever; and I dare say,"
he added, his voice tailing off in a laughable manner, "now when
I come to think of it, I dare say ye'll be just about right. Ay,
it'll be a foot, or near hand; or may be even mair!"
It was sweet and laughable to hear Alan eat his words up in the
fear of some fresh quarrel. I could have laughed, had not my
stitch caught me so hard; but if I had laughed, I think I must
have wept too.
"Alan," cried I, "what makes ye so good to me? What makes ye
care for such a thankless fellow?"
"'Deed, and I don't, know" said Alan. "For just precisely what I
thought I liked about ye, was that ye never quarrelled: -- and
now I like ye better!"
CHAPTER XXV
IN BALQUHIDDER
At the door of the first house we came to, Alan knocked, which
was of no very safe enterprise in such a part of the Highlands as
the Braes of Balquhidder. No great clan held rule there; it was
filled and disputed by small septs, and broken remnants, and what
they call "chiefless folk," driven into the wild country about
the springs of Forth and Teith by the advance of the Campbells.
Here were Stewarts and Maclarens, which came to the same thing,
for the Maclarens followed Alan's chief in war, and made but one
clan with Appin. Here, too, were many of that old, proscribed,
nameless, red-handed clan of the Macgregors. They had always
been ill-considered, and now worse than ever, having credit with
no side or party in the whole country of Scotland. Their chief,
Macgregor of Macgregor, was in exile; the more immediate leader
of that part of them about Balquhidder, James More, Rob Roy's
eldest son, lay waiting his trial in Edinburgh Castle; they were
in ill-blood with Highlander and Lowlander, with the Grahames,
the Maclarens, and the Stewarts; and Alan, who took up the
quarrel of any friend, however distant, was extremely wishful to
avoid them.
Chance served us very well; for it was a household of Maclarens
that we found, where Alan was not only welcome for his name's
sake but known by reputation. Here then I was got to bed without
delay, and a doctor fetched, who found me in a sorry plight. But
whether because he was a very good doctor, or I a very young,
strong man, I lay bedridden for no more than a week, and before a
month I was able to take the road again with a good heart.
All this time Alan would not leave me though I often pressed him,
and indeed his foolhardiness in staying was a common subject of
outcry with the two or three friends that were let into the
secret. He hid by day in a hole of the braes under a little
wood; and at night, when the coast was clear, would come into the
house to visit me. I need not say if I was pleased to see him;
Mrs. Maclaren, our hostess, thought nothing good enough for such
a guest; and as Duncan Dhu (which was the name of our host) had a
pair of pipes in his house, and was much of a lover of music,
this time of my recovery was quite a festival, and we commonly
turned night into day.
The soldiers let us be; although once a party of two companies
and some dragoons went by in the bottom of the valley, where I
could see them through the window as I lay in bed. What was much
more astonishing, no magistrate came near me, and there was no
question put of whence I came or whither I was going; and in that
time of excitement, I was as free of all inquiry as though I had
lain in a desert. Yet my presence was known before I left to all
the people in Balquhidder and the adjacent parts; many coming
about the house on visits and these (after the custom of the
country) spreading the news among their neighbours. The bills,
too, had now been printed. There was one pinned near the foot of
my bed, where I could read my own not very flattering portrait
and, in larger characters, the amount of the blood money that had
been set upon my life. Duncan Dhu and the rest that knew that I
had come there in Alan's company, could have entertained no doubt
of who I was; and many others must have had their guess. For
though I had changed my clothes, I could not change my age or
person; and Lowland boys of eighteen were not so rife in these
parts of the world, and above all about that time, that they
could fail to put one thing with another, and connect me with the
bill. So it was, at least. Other folk keep a secret among two
or three near friends, and somehow it leaks out; but among these
clansmen, it is told to a whole countryside, and they will keep
it for a century.
There was but one thing happened worth narrating; and that is the
visit I had of Robin Oig, one of the sons of the notorious Rob
Roy. He was sought upon all sides on a charge of carrying a
young woman from Balfron and marrying her (as was alleged) by
force; yet he stepped about Balquhidder like a gentleman in his
own walled policy. It was he who had shot James Maclaren at the
plough stilts, a quarrel never satisfied; yet he walked into the
house of his blood enemies as a rider[30] might into a public
inn.
[30]Commercial traveller.
Duncan had time to pass me word of who it was; and we looked at
one another in concern. You should understand, it was then close
upon the time of Alan's coming; the two were little likely to
agree; and yet if we sent word or sought to make a signal, it was
sure to arouse suspicion in a man under so dark a cloud as the
Macgregor.
He came in with a great show of civility, but like a man among
inferiors; took off his bonnet to Mrs. Maclaren, but clapped it
on his head again to speak to Duncan; and leaving thus set
himself (as he would have thought) in a proper light, came to my
bedside and bowed.
"I am given to know, sir," says he, "that your name is Balfour."
"They call me David Balfour," said I, "at your service."
"I would give ye my name in return, sir" he replied, "but it's
one somewhat blown upon of late days; and it'll perhaps suffice
if I tell ye that I am own brother to James More Drummond or
Macgregor, of whom ye will scarce have failed to hear."
"No, sir," said I, a little alarmed; "nor yet of your father,
Macgregor-Campbell." And I sat up and bowed in bed; for I
thought best to compliment him, in case he was proud of having
had an outlaw to his father.
He bowed in return. "But what I am come to say, sir," he went
on, "is this. In the year '45, my brother raised a part of the
'Gregara' and marched six companies to strike a stroke for the
good side; and the surgeon that marched with our clan and cured
my brother's leg when it was broken in the brush at Preston Pans,
was a gentleman of the same name precisely as yourself. He was
brother to Balfour of Baith; and if you are in any reasonable
degree of nearness one of that gentleman's kin, I have come to
put myself and my people at your command."
You are to remember that I knew no more of my descent than any
cadger's dog; my uncle, to be sure, had prated of some of our
high connections, but nothing to the present purpose; and there
was nothing left me but that bitter disgrace of owning that I
could not tell.
Robin told me shortly he was sorry he had put himself about,
turned his back upon me without a sign of salutation, and as he
went towards the door, I could hear him telling Duncan that I was
"only some kinless loon that didn't know his own father." Angry
as I was at these words, and ashamed of my own ignorance, I could
scarce keep from smiling that a man who was under the lash of the
law (and was indeed hanged some three years later) should be so
nice as to the descent of his acquaintances.
Just in the door, he met Alan coming in; and the two drew back
and looked at each other like strange dogs. They were neither of
them big men, but they seemed fairly to swell out with pride.
Each wore a sword, and by a movement of his haunch, thrust clear
the hilt of it, so that it might be the more readily grasped and
the blade drawn.
"Mr. Stewart, I am thinking," says Robin.
"Troth, Mr. Macgregor, it's not a name to be ashamed of,"
answered Alan.
"I did not know ye were in my country, sir," says Robin.
"It sticks in my mind that I am in the country of my friends the
Maclarens," says Alan.
"That's a kittle point," returned the other. "There may be two
words to say to that. But I think I will have heard that you are
a man of your sword?"
"Unless ye were born deaf, Mr. Macgregor, ye will have heard a
good deal more than that," says Alan. "I am not the only man
that can draw steel in Appin; and when my kinsman and captain,
Ardshiel, had a talk with a gentleman of your name, not so many
years back, I could never hear that the Macgregor had the best of
it."
"Do ye mean my father, sir?" says Robin.
"Well, I wouldnae wonder," said Alan. "The gentleman I have in
my mind had the ill-taste to clap Campbell to his name."
"My father was an old man," returned Robin.
"The match was unequal. You and me would make a better pair,
sir."
"I was thinking that," said Alan.
I was half out of bed, and Duncan had been hanging at the elbow
of these fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least
occasion. But when that word was uttered, it was a case of now
or never; and Duncan, with something of a white face to be sure,
thrust himself between.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I will have been thinking of a very
different matter, whateffer. Here are my pipes, and here are you
two gentlemen who are baith acclaimed pipers. It's an auld
dispute which one of ye's the best. Here will be a braw chance
to settle it."
"Why, sir," said Alan, still addressing Robin, from whom indeed
he had not so much as shifted his eyes, nor yet Robin from him,
"why, sir," says Alan, "I think I will have heard some sough[31]
of the sort. Have ye music, as folk say? Are ye a bit of a
piper?"
[31]Rumour.
"I can pipe like a Macrimmon!" cries Robin.
"And that is a very bold word," quoth Alan.
"I have made bolder words good before now," returned Robin, "and
that against better adversaries."
"It is easy to try that," says Alan.
Duncan Dhu made haste to bring out the pair of pipes that was his
principal possession, and to set before his guests a mutton-ham
and a bottle of that drink which they call Athole brose, and
which is made of old whiskey, strained honey and sweet cream,
slowly beaten together in the right order and proportion. The
two enemies were still on the very breach of a quarrel; but down
they sat, one upon each side of the peat fire, with a mighty show
of politeness. Maclaren pressed them to taste his mutton-ham and
"the wife's brose," reminding them the wife was out of Athole and
had a name far and wide for her skill in that confection. But
Robin put aside these hospitalities as bad for the breath.
"I would have ye to remark, sir," said Alan, "that I havenae
broken bread for near upon ten hours, which will be worse for the
breath than any brose in Scotland."
"I will take no advantages, Mr. Stewart," replied Robin. "Eat
and drink; I'll follow you."
Each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the
brose to Mrs. Maclaren; and then after a great number of
civilities, Robin took the pipes and played a little spring in a
very ranting manner.
"Ay, ye can, blow" said Alan; and taking the instrument from his
rival, he first played the same spring in a manner identical with
Robin's; and then wandered into variations, which, as he went on,
he decorated with a perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers
love, and call the "warblers."
I had been pleased with Robin's playing, Alan's ravished me.
"That's no very bad, Mr. Stewart," said the rival, "but ye show a
poor device in your warblers."
"Me!" cried Alan, the blood starting to his face. "I give ye the
lie."
"Do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then," said Robin, "that
ye seek to change them for the sword?"
"And that's very well said, Mr. Macgregor," returned Alan; "and
in the meantime" (laying a strong accent on the word) "I take
back the lie. I appeal to Duncan."
"Indeed, ye need appeal to naebody," said Robin. "Ye're a far
better judge than any Maclaren in Balquhidder: for it's a God's
truth that you're a very creditable piper for a Stewart. Hand me
the pipes." Alan did as he asked; and Robin proceeded to imitate
and correct some part of Alan's variations, which it seemed that
he remembered perfectly.
"Ay, ye have music," said Alan, gloomily.
"And now be the judge yourself, Mr. Stewart," said Robin; and
taking up the variations from the beginning, he worked them
throughout to so new a purpose, with such ingenuity and
sentiment, and with so odd a fancy and so quick a knack in the
grace-notes, that I was amazed to hear him.
As for Alan, his face grew dark and hot, and he sat and gnawed
his fingers, like a man under some deep affront. "Enough!" he
cried. "Ye can blow the pipes -- make the most of that." And he
made as if to rise.
But Robin only held out his hand as if to ask for silence, and
struck into the slow measure of a pibroch. It was a fine piece of
music in itself, and nobly played; but it seems, besides, it was
a piece peculiar to the Appin Stewarts and a chief favourite with
Alan. The first notes were scarce out, before there came a
change in his face; when the time quickened, he seemed to grow
restless in his seat; and long before that piece was at an end,
the last signs of his anger died from him, and he had no thought
but for the music.
"Robin Oig," he said, when it was done, "ye are a great piper. I
am not fit to blow in the same kingdom with ye. Body of me! ye
have mair music in your sporran than I have in my head! And
though it still sticks in my mind that I could maybe show ye
another of it with the cold steel, I warn ye beforehand -- it'll
no be fair! It would go against my heart to haggle a man that
can blow the pipes as you can!"
Thereupon that quarrel was made up; all night long the brose was
going and the pipes changing hands; and the day had come pretty
bright, and the three men were none the better for what they had
been taking, before Robin as much as thought upon the road.
CHAPTER XXVI
END OF THE FLIGHT: WE PASS THE FORTH
The month, as I have said, was not yet out, but it was already
far through August, and beautiful warm weather, with every sign
of an early and great harvest, when I was pronounced able for my
journey. Our money was now run to so low an ebb that we must
think first of all on speed; for if we came not soon to Mr.
Rankeillor's, or if when we came there he should fail to help me,
we must surely starve. In Alan's view, besides, the hunt must
have now greatly slackened; and the line of the Forth and even
Stirling Bridge, which is the main pass over that river, would be
watched with little interest.
"It's a chief principle in military affairs," said he, "to go
where ye are least expected. Forth is our trouble; ye ken the
saying, 'Forth bridles the wild Hielandman.' Well, if we seek to
creep round about the head of that river and come down by Kippen
or Balfron, it's just precisely there that they'll be looking to
lay hands on us. But if we stave on straight to the auld Brig of
Stirling, I'll lay my sword they let us pass unchallenged."
The first night, accordingly, we pushed to the house of a
Maclaren in Strathire, a friend of Duncan's, where we slept the
twenty-first of the month, and whence we set forth again about
the fall of night to make another easy stage. The twenty-second
we lay in a heather bush on the hillside in Uam Var, within view
of a herd of deer, the happiest ten hours of sleep in a fine,
breathing sunshine and on bone-dry ground, that I have ever
tasted. That night we struck Allan Water, and followed it down;
and coming to the edge of the hills saw the whole Carse of
Stirling underfoot, as flat as a pancake, with the town and
castle on a hill in the midst of it, and the moon shining on the
Links of Forth.
"Now," said Alan, "I kenna if ye care, but ye're in your own land
again. We passed the Hieland Line in the first hour; and now if
we could but pass yon crooked water, we might cast our bonnets in
the air."
In Allan Water, near by where it falls into the Forth, we found a
little sandy islet, overgrown with burdock, butterbur and the
like low plants, that would just cover us if we lay flat. Here
it was we made our camp, within plain view of Stirling Castle,
whence we could hear the drums beat as some part of the garrison
paraded. Shearers worked all day in a field on one side of the
river, and we could hear the stones going on the hooks and the
voices and even the words of the men talking. It behoved to lie
close and keep silent. But the sand of the little isle was
sun-warm, the green plants gave us shelter for our heads, we had
food and drink in plenty; and to crown all, we were within sight
of safety.
As soon as the shearers quit their work and the dusk began to
fall, we waded ashore and struck for the Bridge of Stirling,
keeping to the fields and under the field fences.
The bridge is close under the castle hill, an old, high, narrow
bridge with pinnacles along the parapet; and you may conceive
with how much interest I looked upon it, not only as a place
famous in history, but as the very doors of salvation to Alan and
myself. The moon was not yet up when we came there; a few lights
shone along the front of the fortress, and lower down a few
lighted windows in the town; but it was all mighty still, and
there seemed to be no guard upon the passage.
I was for pushing straight across; but Alan was more wary.
"It looks unco' quiet," said he; "but for all that we'll lie down
here cannily behind a dyke, and make sure."
So we lay for about a quarter of an hour, whiles whispering,
whiles lying still and hearing nothing earthly but the washing of
the water on the piers. At last there came by an old, hobbling
woman with a crutch stick; who first stopped a little, close to
where we lay, and bemoaned herself and the long way she had
travelled; and then set forth again up the steep spring of the
bridge. The woman was so little, and the night still so dark,
that we soon lost sight of her; only heard the sound of her
steps, and her stick, and a cough that she had by fits, draw
slowly farther away.
"She's bound to be across now," I whispered.
"Na," said Alan, "her foot still sounds boss[32] upon the
bridge."
[32]Hollow.
And just then -- "Who goes?" cried a voice, and we heard the butt
of a musket rattle on the stones. I must suppose the sentry had
been sleeping, so that had we tried, we might have passed unseen;
but he was awake now, and the chance forfeited.
"This'll never do," said Alan. "This'll never, never do for us,
David."
And without another word, he began to crawl away through the
fields; and a little after, being well out of eye-shot, got to
his feet again, and struck along a road that led to the eastward.
I could not conceive what he was doing; and indeed I was so
sharply cut by the disappointment, that I was little likely to be
pleased with anything. A moment back and I had seen myself
knocking at Mr. Rankeillor's door to claim my inheritance, like a
hero in a ballad; and here was I back again, a wandering, hunted
blackguard, on the wrong side of Forth.
"Well?" said I.
"Well," said Alan, "what would ye have? They're none such fools
as I took them for. We have still the Forth to pass, Davie --
weary fall the rains that fed and the hillsides that guided it!"
"And why go east?" said I.
"Ou, just upon the chance!" said he. "If we cannae pass the
river, we'll have to see what we can do for the firth."
"There are fords upon the river, and none upon the firth," said
I.
"To be sure there are fords, and a bridge forbye," quoth Alan;
"and of what service, when they are watched?"
"Well," said I, "but a river can be swum."
"By them that have the skill of it," returned he; "but I have yet
to hear that either you or me is much of a hand at that exercise;
and for my own part, I swim like a stone."
"I'm not up to you in talking back, Alan," I said; "but I can see
we're making bad worse. If it's hard to pass a river, it stands
to reason it must be worse to pass a sea."
"But there's such a thing as a boat," says Alan, "or I'm the more
deceived."
"Ay, and such a thing as money," says I. "But for us that have
neither one nor other, they might just as well not have been
invented."
"Ye think so?" said Alan.
"I do that," said I.
"David," says he, "ye're a man of small invention and less faith.
But let me set my wits upon the hone, and if I cannae beg,
borrow, nor yet steal a boat, I'll make one!"
"I think I see ye!" said I. "And what's more than all that: if
ye pass a bridge, it can tell no tales; but if we pass the firth,
there's the boat on the wrong side -- somebody must have brought
it -- the country-side will all be in a bizz ---"
"Man!" cried Alan, "if I make a boat, I'll make a body to take it
back again! So deave me with no more of your nonsense, but walk
(for that's what you've got to do) --and let Alan think for ye."
All night, then, we walked through the north side of the Carse
under the high line of the Ochil mountains; and by Alloa and
Clackmannan and Culross, all of which we avoided: and about ten
in the morning, mighty hungry and tired, came to the little
clachan of Limekilns. This is a place that sits near in by the
water-side, and looks across the Hope to the town of the
Queensferry. Smoke went up from both of these, and from other
villages and farms upon all hands. The fields were being reaped;
two ships lay anchored, and boats were coming and going on the
Hope. It was altogether a right pleasant sight to me; and I
could not take my fill of gazing at these comfortable, green,
cultivated hills and the busy people both of the field and sea.
For all that, there was Mr. Rankeillor's house on the south
shore, where I had no doubt wealth awaited me; and here was I
upon the north, clad in poor enough attire of an outlandish
fashion, with three silver shillings left to me of all my
fortune, a price set upon my head, and an outlawed man for my
sole company.
"O, Alan!" said I, "to think of it! Over there, there's all that
heart could want waiting me; and the birds go over, and the boats
go over -- all that please can go, but just me only! O, man, but
it's a heart-break!"
In Limekilns we entered a small change-house, which we only knew
to be a public by the wand over the door, and bought some bread
and cheese from a good-looking lass that was the servant. This
we carried with us in a bundle, meaning to sit and eat it in a
bush of wood on the sea-shore, that we saw some third part of a
mile in front. As we went, I kept looking across the water and
sighing to myself; and though I took no heed of it, Alan had
fallen into a muse. At last he stopped in the way.
"Did ye take heed of the lass we bought this of?" says he,
tapping on the bread and cheese.
"To be sure," said I, "and a bonny lass she was."
"Ye thought that?" cries he. "Man, David, that's good news."
"In the name of all that's wonderful, why so?" says I. "What
good can that do?"
"Well," said Alan, with one of his droll looks, "I was rather in
hopes it would maybe get us that boat."
"If it were the other way about, it would be liker it," said I.
"That's all that you ken, ye see," said Alan. "I don't want the
lass to fall in love with ye, I want her to be sorry for ye,
David; to which end there is no manner of need that she should
take you for a beauty. Let me see" (looking me curiously over).
"I wish ye were a wee thing paler; but apart from that ye'll do
fine for my purpose -- ye have a fine, hang-dog, rag-and-tatter,
clappermaclaw kind of a look to ye, as if ye had stolen the coat
from a potato-bogle. Come; right about, and back to the
change-house for that boat of ours."
I followed him, laughing.
"David Balfour," said he, "ye're a very funny gentleman by your
way of it, and this is a very funny employ for ye, no doubt. For
all that, if ye have any affection for my neck (to say nothing of
your own) ye will perhaps be kind enough to take this matter
responsibly. I am going to do a bit of play-acting, the bottom
ground of which is just exactly as serious as the gallows for the
pair of us. So bear it, if ye please, in mind, and conduct
yourself according."
"Well, well," said I, "have it as you will."
As we got near the clachan, he made me take his arm and hang upon
it like one almost helpless with weariness; and by the time he
pushed open the change-house door, he seemed to be half carrying
me. The maid appeared surprised (as well she might be) at our
speedy return; but Alan had no words to spare for her in
explanation, helped me to a chair, called for a tass of brandy
with which he fed me in little sips, and then breaking up the
bread and cheese helped me to eat it like a nursery-lass; the
whole with that grave, concerned, affectionate countenance, that
might have imposed upon a judge. It was small wonder if the maid
were taken with the picture we presented, of a poor, sick,
overwrought lad and his most tender comrade. She drew quite
near, and stood leaning with her back on the next table.
"What's like wrong with him?" said she at last.
Alan turned upon her, to my great wonder, with a kind of fury.
"Wrong?" cries he. "He's walked more hundreds of miles than he
has hairs upon his chin, and slept oftener in wet heather than
dry sheets. Wrong, quo' she! Wrong enough, I would think!
Wrong, indeed!" and he kept grumbling to himself as he fed me,
like a man ill-pleased.
"He's young for the like of that," said the maid.
"Ower young," said Alan, with his back to her.
"He would be better riding," says she.
"And where could I get a horse to him?" cried Alan, turning on
her with the same appearance of fury. "Would ye have me steal?"
I thought this roughness would have sent her off in dudgeon, as
indeed it closed her mouth for the time. But my companion knew
very well what he was doing; and for as simple as he was in some
things of life, had a great fund of roguishness in such affairs
as these.
"Ye neednae tell me," she said at last -- "ye're gentry."
"Well," said Alan, softened a little (I believe against his will)
by this artless comment, "and suppose we were? Did ever you hear
that gentrice put money in folk's pockets?"
She sighed at this, as if she were herself some disinherited
great lady. "No," says she, "that's true indeed."
I was all this while chafing at the part I played, and sitting
tongue-tied between shame and merriment; but somehow at this I
could hold in no longer, and bade Alan let me be, for I was
better already. My voice stuck in my throat, for I ever hated to
take part in lies; but my very embarrassment helped on the plot,
for the lass no doubt set down my husky voice to sickness and
fatigue.
"Has he nae friends?" said she, in a tearful voice.
"That has he so!" cried Alan, "if we could but win to them! --
friends and rich friends, beds to lie in, food to eat, doctors to
see to him -- and here he must tramp in the dubs and sleep in the
heather like a beggarman."
"And why that?" says the lass.
"My dear," said Alan, "I cannae very safely say; but I'll tell ye
what I'll do instead," says he, "I'll whistle ye a bit tune."
And with that he leaned pretty far over the table, and in a mere
breath of a whistle, but with a wonderful pretty sentiment, gave
her a few bars of "Charlie is my darling."
"Wheesht," says she, and looked over her shoulder to the door.
"That's it," said Alan.
"And him so young!" cries the lass.
"He's old enough to----" and Alan struck his forefinger on the
back part of his neck, meaning that I was old enough to lose my
head.
"It would be a black shame," she cried, flushing high.
"It's what will be, though," said Alan, "unless we manage the
better."
At this the lass turned and ran out of that part of the house,
leaving us alone together. Alan in high good humour at the
furthering of his schemes, and I in bitter dudgeon at being
called a Jacobite and treated like a child.
"Alan," I cried, "I can stand no more of this."
"Ye'll have to sit it then, Davie," said he. "For if ye upset
the pot now, ye may scrape your own life out of the fire, but
Alan Breck is a dead man."
This was so true that I could only groan; and even my groan
served Alan's purpose, for it was overheard by the lass as she
came flying in again with a dish of white puddings and a bottle
of strong ale.
"Poor lamb!" says she, and had no sooner set the meat before us,
than she touched me on the shoulder with a little friendly touch,
as much as to bid me cheer up. Then she told us to fall to, and
there would be no more to pay; for the inn was her own, or at
least her father's, and he was gone for the day to Pittencrieff.
We waited for no second bidding, for bread and cheese is but cold
comfort and the puddings smelt excellently well; and while we sat
and ate, she took up that same place by the next table, looking
on, and thinking, and frowning to herself, and drawing the string
of her apron through her hand.
"I'm thinking ye have rather a long tongue," she said at last to
Alan.
"Ay" said Alan; "but ye see I ken the folk I speak to."
"I would never betray ye," said she, "if ye mean that."
"No," said he, "ye're not that kind. But I'll tell ye what ye
would do, ye would help."
"I couldnae," said she, shaking her head. "Na, I couldnae."
"No," said he, "but if ye could?"
She answered him nothing.
"Look here, my lass," said Alan, "there are boats in the Kingdom
of Fife, for I saw two (no less) upon the beach, as I came in by
your town's end. Now if we could have the use of a boat to pass
under cloud of night into Lothian, and some secret, decent kind
of a man to bring that boat back again and keep his counsel,
there would be two souls saved -- mine to all likelihood -- his
to a dead surety. If we lack that boat, we have but three
shillings left in this wide world; and where to go, and how to
do, and what other place there is for us except the chains of a
gibbet -- I give you my naked word, I kenna! Shall we go
wanting, lassie? Are ye to lie in your warm bed and think upon
us, when the wind gowls in the chimney and the rain tirls on the
roof? Are ye to eat your meat by the cheeks of a red fire, and
think upon this poor sick lad of mine, biting his finger ends on
a blae muir for cauld and hunger? Sick or sound, he must aye be
moving; with the death grapple at his throat he must aye be
trailing in the rain on the lang roads; and when he gants his
last on a rickle of cauld stanes, there will be nae friends near
him but only me and God."
At this appeal, I could see the lass was in great trouble of
mind, being tempted to help us, and yet in some fear she might be
helping malefactors; and so now I determined to step in myself
and to allay her scruples with a portion of the truth.
"Did ever you, hear" said I, "of Mr. Rankeillor of the Ferry?"
"Rankeillor the writer?" said she. "I daur say that!"
"Well," said I, "it's to his door that I am bound, so you may
judge by that if I am an ill-doer; and I will tell you more, that
though I am indeed, by a dreadful error, in some peril of my
life, King George has no truer friend in all Scotland than
myself."
Her face cleared up mightily at this, although Alan's darkened.
"That's more than I would ask," said she. "Mr. Rankeillor is a
kennt man." And she bade us finish our meat, get clear of the
clachan as soon as might be, and lie close in the bit wood on the
sea-beach. "And ye can trust me," says she, "I'll find some
means to put you over."
At this we waited for no more, but shook hands with her upon the
bargain, made short work of the puddings, and set forth again
from Limekilns as far as to the wood. It was a small piece of
perhaps a score of elders and hawthorns and a few young ashes,
not thick enough to veil us from passersby upon the road or
beach. Here we must lie, however, making the best of the brave
warm weather and the good hopes we now had of a deliverance, and
planing more particularly what remained for us to do.
We had but one trouble all day; when a strolling piper came and
sat in the same wood with us; a red-nosed, bleareyed, drunken
dog, with a great bottle of whisky in his pocket, and a long
story of wrongs that had been done him by all sorts of persons,
from the Lord President of the Court of Session, who had denied
him justice, down to the Bailies of Inverkeithing who had given
him more of it than he desired. It was impossible but he should
conceive some suspicion of two men lying all day concealed in a
thicket and having no business to allege. As long as he stayed
there he kept us in hot water with prying questions; and after he
was gone, as he was a man not very likely to hold his tongue, we
were in the greater impatience to be gone ourselves.
The day came to an end with the same brightness; the night fell
quiet and clear; lights came out in houses and hamlets and then,
one after another, began to be put out; but it was past eleven,
and we were long since strangely tortured with anxieties, before
we heard the grinding of oars upon the rowing-pins. At that, we
looked out and saw the lass herself coming rowing to us in a
boat. She had trusted no one with our affairs, not even her
sweetheart, if she had one; but as soon as her father was asleep,
had left the house by a window, stolen a neighbour's boat, and
come to our assistance single-handed.
I was abashed how to find expression for my thanks; but she was
no less abashed at the thought of hearing them; begged us to lose
no time and to hold our peace, saying (very properly) that the
heart of our matter was in haste and silence; and so, what with
one thing and another, she had set us on the Lothian shore not
far from Carriden, had shaken hands with us, and was out again at
sea and rowing for Limekilns, before there was one word said
either of her service or our gratitude.
Even after she was gone, we had nothing to say, as indeed nothing
was enough for such a kindness. Only Alan stood a great while
upon the shore shaking his head.
"It is a very fine lass," he said at last. "David, it is a very
fine lass." And a matter of an hour later, as we were lying in a
den on the sea-shore and I had been already dozing, he broke out
again in commendations of her character. For my part, I could
say nothing, she was so simple a creature that my heart smote me
both with remorse and fear: remorse because we had traded upon
her ignorance; and fear lest we should have anyway involved her
in the dangers of our situation.
CHAPTER XXVII
I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR
The next day it was agreed that Alan should fend for himself till
sunset; but as soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in
the fields by the roadside near to Newhalls, and stir for naught
until he heard me whistling. At first I proposed I should give
him for a signal the "Bonnie House of Airlie," which was a
favourite of mine; but he objected that as the piece was very
commonly known, any ploughman might whistle it by accident; and
taught me instead a little fragment of a Highland air, which has
run in my head from that day to this, and will likely run in my
head when I lie dying. Every time it comes to me, it takes me off
to that last day of my uncertainty, with Alan sitting up in the
bottom of the den, whistling and beating the measure with a
finger, and the grey of the dawn coming on his face.
I was in the long street of Queensferry before the sun was up. It
was a fairly built burgh, the houses of good stone, many slated;
the town-hall not so fine, I thought, as that of Peebles, nor yet
the street so noble; but take it altogether, it put me to shame
for my foul tatters.
As the morning went on, and the fires began to be kindled, and
the windows to open, and the people to appear out of the houses,
my concern and despondency grew ever the blacker. I saw now that
I had no grounds to stand upon; and no clear proof of my rights,
nor so much as of my own identity. If it was all a bubble, I was
indeed sorely cheated and left in a sore pass. Even if things
were as I conceived, it would in all likelihood take time to
establish my contentions; and what time had I to spare with less
than three shillings in my pocket, and a condemned, hunted man
upon my hands to ship out of the country? Truly, if my hope
broke with me, it might come to the gallows yet for both of us.
And as I continued to walk up and down, and saw people looking
askance at me upon the street or out of windows, and nudging or
speaking one to another with smiles, I began to take a fresh
apprehension: that it might be no easy matter even to come to
speech of the lawyer, far less to convince him of my story.
For the life of me I could not muster up the courage to address
any of these reputable burghers; I thought shame even to speak
with them in such a pickle of rags and dirt; and if I had asked
for the house of such a man as Mr. Rankeillor, I suppose they
would have burst out laughing in my face. So I went up and down,
and through the street, and down to the harbour-side, like a dog
that has lost its master, with a strange gnawing in my inwards,
and every now and then a movement of despair. It grew to be high
day at last, perhaps nine in the forenoon; and I was worn with
these wanderings, and chanced to have stopped in front of a very
good house on the landward side, a house with beautiful, clear
glass windows, flowering knots upon the sills, the walls
new-harled[33] and a chase-dog sitting yawning on the step like
one that was at home. Well, I was even envying this dumb brute,
when the door fell open and there issued forth a shrewd, ruddy,
kindly, consequential man in a well-powdered wig and spectacles.
I was in such a plight that no one set eyes on me once, but he
looked at me again; and this gentleman, as it proved, was so much
struck with my poor appearance that he came straight up to me and
asked me what I did.
[33]Newly rough-cast.
I told him I was come to the Queensferry on business, and taking
heart of grace, asked him to direct me to the house of Mr.
Rankeillor.
"Why," said he, "that is his house that I have just come out of;
and for a rather singular chance, I am that very man."
"Then, sir," said I, "I have to beg the favour of an interview."
"I do not know your name," said he, "nor yet your face."
"My name is David Balfour," said I.
"David Balfour?" he repeated, in rather a high tone, like one
surprised. "And where have you come from, Mr. David Balfour?" he
asked, looking me pretty drily in the face.
"I have come from a great many strange places, sir," said I; "but
I think it would be as well to tell you where and how in a more
private manner."
He seemed to muse awhile, holding his lip in his hand, and
looking now at me and now upon the causeway of the street.
"Yes," says he, "that will be the best, no doubt." And he led me
back with him into his house, cried out to some one whom I could
not see that he would be engaged all morning, and brought me into
a little dusty chamber full of books and documents. Here he sate
down, and bade me be seated; though I thought he looked a little
ruefully from his clean chair to my muddy rags. "And now," says
he, "if you have any business, pray be brief and come swiftly to
the point. Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo --do you
understand that?" says he, with a keen look.
"I will even do as Horace says, sir," I answered, smiling, "and
carry you in medias res." He nodded as if he was well pleased,
and indeed his scrap of Latin had been set to test me. For all
that, and though I was somewhat encouraged, the blood came in my
face when I added: "I have reason to believe myself some rights
on the estate of Shaws."
He got a paper book out of a drawer and set it before him open.
"Well?" said he.
But I had shot my bolt and sat speechless.
"Come, come, Mr. Balfour," said he, "you must continue. Where
were you born?"
"In Essendean, sir," said I, "the year 1733, the 12th of March."
He seemed to follow this statement in his paper book; but what
that meant I knew not. "Your father and mother?" said he.
"My father was Alexander Balfour, schoolmaster of that place,"
said I, "and my mother Grace Pitarrow; I think her people were
from Angus."
"Have you any papers proving your identity?" asked Mr.
Rankeillor.
"No, sir," said I, "but they are in the hands of Mr. Campbell,
the minister, and could be readily produced. Mr. Campbell, too,
would give me his word; and for that matter, I do not think my
uncle would deny me."
"Meaning Mr. Ebenezer Balfour?" says he.
"The same," said I.
"Whom you have seen?" he asked.
"By whom I was received into his own house," I answered.
"Did you ever meet a man of the name of Hoseason?" asked Mr.
Rankeillor.
"I did so, sir, for my sins," said I; "for it was by his means
and the procurement of my uncle, that I was kidnapped within
sight of this town, carried to sea, suffered shipwreck and a
hundred other hardships, and stand before you to-day in this poor
accoutrement."
"You say you were shipwrecked," said Rankeillor; "where was
that?"
"Off the south end of the Isle of Mull," said I. "The name of the
isle on which I was cast up is the Island Earraid."
"Ah!" says he, smiling, "you are deeper than me in the geography.
But so far, I may tell you, this agrees pretty exactly with other
informations that I hold. But you say you were kidnapped; in what
sense?"
"In the plain meaning of the word, sir," said I. "I was on my way
to your house, when I was trepanned on board the brig, cruelly
struck down, thrown below, and knew no more of anything till we
were far at sea. I was destined for the plantations; a fate that,
in God's providence, I have escaped."
"The brig was lost on June the 27th," says he, looking in his
book," and we are now at August the 24th. Here is a considerable
hiatus, Mr. Balfour, of near upon two months. It has already
caused a vast amount of trouble to your friends; and I own I
shall not be very well contented until it is set right."
"Indeed, sir," said I, "these months are very easily filled up;
but yet before I told my story, I would be glad to know that I
was talking to a friend."
"This is to argue in a circle," said the lawyer. "I cannot be
convinced till I have heard you. I cannot be your friend till I
am properly informed. If you were more trustful, it would better
befit your time of life. And you know, Mr. Balfour, we have a
proverb in the country that evil-doers are aye evil-dreaders."
"You are not to forget, sir," said I, "that I have already
suffered by my trustfulness; and was shipped off to be a slave by
the very man that (if I rightly understand) is your employer?"
All this while I had been gaining ground with Mr. Rankeillor, and
in proportion as I gained ground, gaining confidence. But at
this sally, which I made with something of a smile myself, he
fairly laughed aloud.
"No, no," said he, "it is not so bad as that. Fui, non sum. I
was indeed your uncle's man of business; but while you (imberbis
juvenis custode remoto) were gallivanting in the west, a good
deal of water has run under the bridges; and if your ears did not
sing, it was not for lack of being talked about. On the very day
of your sea disaster, Mr. Campbell stalked into my office,
demanding you from all the winds. I had never heard of your
existence; but I had known your father; and from matters in my
competence (to be touched upon hereafter) I was disposed to fear
the worst. Mr. Ebenezer admitted having seen you; declared (what
seemed improbable) that he had given you considerable sums; and
that you had started for the continent of Europe, intending to
fulfil your education, which was probable and praiseworthy.
Interrogated how you had come to send no word to Mr. Campbell, he
deponed that you had expressed a great desire to break with your
past life. Further interrogated where you now were, protested
ignorance, but believed you were in Leyden. That is a close sum
of his replies. I am not exactly sure that any one believed
him," continued Mr. Rankeillor with a smile; "and in particular
he so much disrelished me expressions of mine that (in a word) he
showed me to the door. We were then at a full stand; for
whatever shrewd suspicions we might entertain, we had no shadow
of probation. In the very article, comes Captain Hoseason with
the story of your drowning; whereupon all fell through; with no
consequences but concern to Mr. Campbell, injury to my pocket,
and another blot upon your uncle's character, which could very
ill afford it. And now, Mr. Balfour," said he, "you understand
the whole process of these matters, and can judge for yourself to
what extent I may be trusted."
Indeed he was more pedantic than I can represent him, and placed
more scraps of Latin in his speech; but it was all uttered with a
fine geniality of eye and manner which went far to conquer my
distrust. Moreover, I could see he now treated me as if I was
myself beyond a doubt; so that first point of my identity seemed
fully granted.
"Sir," said I, "if I tell you my story, I must commit a friend's
life to your discretion. Pass me your word it shall be sacred;
and for what touches myself, I will ask no better guarantee than
just your face."
He passed me his word very seriously. "But," said he, "these are
rather alarming prolocutions; and if there are in your story any
little jostles to the law, I would beg you to bear in mind that I
am a lawyer, and pass lightly."
Thereupon I told him my story from the first, he listening with
his spectacles thrust up and his eyes closed, so that I sometimes
feared he was asleep. But no such matter! he heard every word
(as I found afterward) with such quickness of hearing and
precision of memory as often surprised me. Even strange
outlandish Gaelic names, heard for that time only, he remembered
and would remind me of, years after. Yet when I called Alan
Breck in full, we had an odd scene. The name of Alan had of
course rung through Scotland, with the news of the Appin murder
and the offer of the reward; and it had no sooner escaped me than
the lawyer moved in his seat and opened his eyes.
"I would name no unnecessary names, Mr. Balfour," said he; "above
all of Highlanders, many of whom are obnoxious to the law."
"Well, it might have been better not," said I, "but since I have
let it slip, I may as well continue."
"Not at all," said Mr. Rankeillor. "I am somewhat dull of
hearing, as you may have remarked; and I am far from sure I
caught the name exactly. We will call your friend, if you
please, Mr. Thomson -- that there may be no reflections. And in
future, I would take some such way with any Highlander that you
may have to mention -- dead or alive."
By this, I saw he must have heard the name all too clearly, and
had already guessed I might be coming to the murder. If he chose
to play this part of ignorance, it was no matter of mine; so I
smiled, said it was no very Highland-sounding name, and
consented. Through all the rest of my story Alan was Mr.
Thomson; which amused me the more, as it was a piece of policy
after his own heart. James Stewart, in like manner, was
mentioned under the style of Mr. Thomson's kinsman; Colin
Campbell passed as a Mr. Glen; and to Cluny, when I came to that
part of my tale, I gave the name of "Mr. Jameson, a Highland
chief." It was truly the most open farce, and I wondered that
the lawyer should care to keep it up; but, after all, it was
quite in the taste of that age, when there were two parties in
the state, and quiet persons, with no very high opinions of their
own, sought out every cranny to avoid offence to either.
"Well, well," said the lawyer, when I had quite done, "this is a
great epic, a great Odyssey of yours. You must tell it, sir, in
a sound Latinity when your scholarship is riper; or in English if
you please, though for my part I prefer the stronger tongue. You
have rolled much; quae regio in terris -- what parish in Scotland
(to make a homely translation) has not been filled with your
wanderings? You have shown, besides, a singular aptitude for
getting into false positions; and, yes, upon the whole, for
behaving well in them. This Mr. Thomson seems to me a gentleman
of some choice qualities, though perhaps a trifle bloody-minded.
It would please me none the worse, if (with all his merits) he
were soused in the North Sea, for the man, Mr. David, is a sore
embarrassment. But you are doubtless quite right to adhere to
him; indubitably, he adhered to you. It comes -- we may say --
he was your true companion; nor less paribus curis vestigia
figit, for I dare say you would both take an orra thought upon
the gallows. Well, well, these days are fortunately, by; and I
think (speaking humanly) that you are near the end of your
troubles."
As he thus moralised on my adventures, he looked upon me with so
much humour and benignity that I could scarce contain my
satisfaction. I had been so long wandering with lawless people,
and making my bed upon the hills and under the bare sky, that to
sit once more in a clean, covered house, and to talk amicably
with a gentleman in broadcloth, seemed mighty elevations. Even
as I thought so, my eye fell on my unseemly tatters, and I was
once more plunged in confusion. But the lawyer saw and
understood me. He rose, called over the stair to lay another
plate, for Mr. Balfour would stay to dinner, and led me into a
bedroom in the upper part of the house. Here he set before me
water and soap, and a comb; and laid out some clothes that
belonged to his son; and here, with another apposite tag, he left
me to my toilet.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE
I made what change I could in my appearance; and blithe was I to
look in the glass and find the beggarman a thing of the past, and
David Balfour come to life again. And yet I was ashamed of the
change too, and, above all, of the borrowed clothes. When I had
done, Mr. Rankeillor caught me on the stair, made me his
compliments, and had me again into the cabinet.
"Sit ye down, Mr. David," said he, "and now that you are looking
a little more like yourself, let me see if I can find you any
news. You will be wondering, no doubt, about your father and
your uncle? To be sure it is a singular tale; and the
explanation is one that I blush to have to offer you. For," says
he, really with embarrassment, "the matter hinges on a love
affair."
"Truly," said I, "I cannot very well join that notion with my
uncle."
"But your uncle, Mr. David, was not always old," replied the
lawyer, "and what may perhaps surprise you more, not always ugly.
He had a fine, gallant air; people stood in their doors to look
after him, as he went by upon a mettle horse. I have seen it with
these eyes, and I ingenuously confess, not altogether without
envy; for I was a plain lad myself and a plain man's son; and in
those days it was a case of Odi te, qui bellus es, Sabelle."
"It sounds like a dream," said I.
"Ay, ay," said the lawyer, "that is how it is with youth and age.
Nor was that all, but he had a spirit of his own that seemed to
promise great things in the future. In 1715, what must he do but
run away to join the rebels? It was your father that pursued
him, found him in a ditch, and brought him back multum gementem;
to the mirth of the whole country. However, majora canamus --
the two lads fell in love, and that with the same lady. Mr.
Ebenezer, who was the admired and the beloved, and the spoiled
one, made, no doubt, mighty certain of the victory; and when he
found he had deceived himself, screamed like a peacock. The
whole country heard of it; now he lay sick at home, with his
silly family standing round the bed in tears; now he rode from
public-house to public-house, and shouted his sorrows into the
lug of Tom, Dick, and Harry. Your father, Mr. David, was a kind
gentleman; but he was weak, dolefully weak; took all this folly
with a long countenance; and one day -- by your leave! --
resigned the lady. She was no such fool, however; it's from her
you must inherit your excellent good sense; and she refused to be
bandied from one to another. Both got upon their knees to her;
and the upshot of the matter for that while was that she showed
both of them the door. That was in August; dear me! the same
year I came from college. The scene must have been highly
farcical."
I thought myself it was a silly business, but I could not forget
my father had a hand in it. "Surely, sir, it had some note of
tragedy," said I.
"Why, no, sir, not at all," returned the lawyer. "For tragedy
implies some ponderable matter in dispute, some dignus vindice
nodus; and this piece of work was all about the petulance of a
young ass that had been spoiled, and wanted nothing so much as to
be tied up and soundly belted. However, that was not your
father's view; and the end of it was, that from concession to
concession on your father's part, and from one height to another
of squalling, sentimental selfishness upon your uncle's, they
came at last to drive a sort of bargain, from whose ill results
you have recently been smarting. The one man took the lady, the
other the estate. Now, Mr. David, they talk a great deal of
charity and generosity; but in this disputable state of life, I
often think the happiest consequences seem to flow when a
gentleman consults his lawyer, and takes all the law allows him.
Anyhow, this piece of Quixotry on your father's part, as it was
unjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family of
injustices. Your father and mother lived and died poor folk; you
were poorly reared; and in the meanwhile, what a time it has been
for the tenants on the estate of Shaws! And I might add (if it
was a matter I cared much about) what a time for Mr. Ebenezer!"
"And yet that is certainly the strangest part of all," said I,
"that a man's nature should thus change."
"True," said Mr. Rankeillor. "And yet I imagine it was natural
enough. He could not think that he had played a handsome part.
Those who knew the story gave him the cold shoulder; those who
knew it not, seeing one brother disappear, and the other succeed
in the estate, raised a cry of murder; so that upon all sides he
found himself evited. Money was all he got by his bargain; well,
he came to think the more of money. He was selfish when he was
young, he is selfish now that he is old; and the latter end of
all these pretty manners and fine feelings you have seen for
yourself."
"Well, sir," said I, "and in all this, what is my position?"
"The estate is yours beyond a doubt," replied the lawyer. "It
matters nothing what your father signed, you are the heir of
entail. But your uncle is a man to fight the indefensible; and
it would be likely your identity that he would call in question.
A lawsuit is always expensive, and a family lawsuit always
scandalous; besides which, if any of your doings with your friend
Mr. Thomson were to come out, we might find that we had burned
our fingers. The kidnapping, to be sure, would be a court card
upon our side, if we could only prove it. But it may be difficult
to prove; and my advice (upon the whole) is to make a very easy
bargain with your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at Shaws where
he has taken root for a quarter of a century, and contenting
yourself in the meanwhile with a fair provision."
I told him I was very willing to be easy, and that to carry
family concerns before the public was a step from which I was
naturally much averse. In the meantime (thinking to myself) I
began to see the outlines of that scheme on which we afterwards
acted.
"The great affair," I asked, "is to bring home to him the
kidnapping?"
"Surely," said Mr. Rankeillor, "and if possible, out of court.
For mark you here, Mr. David: we could no doubt find some men of
the Covenant who would swear to your reclusion; but once they
were in the box, we could no longer check their testimony, and
some word of your friend Mr. Thomson must certainly crop out.
Which (from what you have let fall) I cannot think to be
desirable."
"Well, sir," said I, "here is my way of it." And I opened my
plot to him.
"But this would seem to involve my meeting the man Thomson?"
says he, when I had done.
"I think so, indeed, sir," said I.
"Dear doctor!" cries he, rubbing his brow. "Dear doctor! No,
Mr. David, I am afraid your scheme is inadmissible. I say
nothing against your friend, Mr. Thomson: I know nothing against
him; and if I did -- mark this, Mr. David! -- it would be my duty
to lay hands on him. Now I put it to you: is it wise to meet?
He may have matters to his charge. He may not have told you all.
His name may not be even Thomson!" cries the lawyer, twinkling;
"for some of these fellows will pick up names by the roadside as
another would gather haws."
"You must be the judge, sir," said I.
But it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for he
kept musing to himself till we were called to dinner and the
company of Mrs. Rankeillor; and that lady had scarce left us
again to ourselves and a bottle of wine, ere he was back harping
on my proposal. When and where was I to meet my friend Mr.
Thomson; was I sure of Mr. T.'s discretion; supposing we could
catch the old fox tripping, would I consent to such and such a
term of an agreement -- these and the like questions he kept
asking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully rolled his wine
upon his tongue. When I had answered all of them, seemingly to
his contentment, he fell into a still deeper muse, even the
claret being now forgotten. Then he got a sheet of paper and a
pencil, and set to work writing and weighing every word; and at
last touched a bell and had his clerk into the chamber.
"Torrance," said he, "I must have this written out fair against
to-night; and when it is done, you will be so kind as put on your
hat and be ready to come along with this gentleman and me, for
you will probably be wanted as a witness."
"What, sir," cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, "are you to
venture it?"
"Why, so it would appear," says he, filling his glass. "But let
us speak no more of business. The very sight of Torrance brings
in my head a little droll matter of some years ago, when I had
made a tryst with the poor oaf at the cross of Edinburgh. Each
had gone his proper errand; and when it came four o'clock,
Torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, and
I, who had forgot my spectacles, was so blind without them, that
I give you my word I did not know my own clerk." And thereupon
he laughed heartily.
I said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but
what held me all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and
dwelling on this story, and telling it again with fresh details
and laughter; so that I began at last to be quite put out of
countenance and feel ashamed for my friend's folly.
Towards the time I had appointed with Alan, we set out from the
house, Mr. Rankeillor and I arm in arm, and Torrance following
behind with the deed in his pocket and a covered basket in his
hand. All through the town, the lawyer was bowing right and
left, and continually being button-holed by gentlemen on matters
of burgh or private business; and I could see he was one greatly
looked up to in the county. At last we were clear of the houses,
and began to go along the side of the haven and towards the Hawes
Inn and the Ferry pier, the scene of my misfortune. I could not
look upon the place without emotion, recalling how many that had
been there with me that day were now no more: Ransome taken, I
could hope, from the evil to come; Shuan passed where I dared not
follow him; and the poor souls that had gone down with the brig
in her last plunge. All these, and the brig herself, I had
outlived; and come through these hardships and fearful perils
without scath. My only thought should have been of gratitude;
and yet I could not behold the place without sorrow for others
and a chill of recollected fear.
I was so thinking when, upon a sudden, Mr. Rankeillor cried out,
clapped his hand to his pockets, and began to laugh.
"Why," he cries, "if this be not a farcical adventure! After all
that I said, I have forgot my glasses!"
At that, of course, I understood the purpose of his anecdote, and
knew that if he had left his spectacles at home, it had been done
on purpose, so that he might have the benefit of Alan's help
without the awkwardness of recognising him. And indeed it was
well thought upon; for now (suppose things to go the very worst)
how could Rankeillor swear to my friend's identity, or how be
made to bear damaging evidence against myself? For all that, he
had been a long while of finding out his want, and had spoken to
and recognised a good few persons as we came through the town;
and I had little doubt myself that he saw reasonably well.
As soon as we were past the Hawes (where I recognised the
landlord smoking his pipe in the door, and was amazed to see him
look no older) Mr. Rankeillor changed the order of march, walking
behind with Torrance and sending me forward in the manner of a
scout. I went up the hill, whistling from time to time my Gaelic
air; and at length I had the pleasure to hear it answered and to
see Alan rise from behind a bush. He was somewhat dashed in
spirits, having passed a long day alone skulking in the county,
and made but a poor meal in an alehouse near Dundas. But at the
mere sight of my clothes, he began to brighten up; and as soon as
I had told him in what a forward state our matters were and the
part I looked to him to play in what remained, he sprang into a
new man.
"And that is a very good notion of yours," says he; "and I dare
to say that you could lay your hands upon no better man to put it
through than Alan Breck. It is not a thing (mark ye) that any
one could do, but takes a gentleman of penetration. But it
sticks in my head your lawyer-man will be somewhat wearying to
see me," says Alan.
Accordingly I cried and waved on Mr. Rankeillor, who came up
alone and was presented to my friend, Mr. Thomson.
"Mr. Thomson, I am pleased to meet you," said he. "But I have
forgotten my glasses; and our friend, Mr. David here" (clapping
me on the shoulder), "will tell you that I am little better than
blind, and that you must not be surprised if I pass you by
to-morrow."
This he said, thinking that Alan would be pleased; but the
Highlandman's vanity was ready to startle at a less matter than
that.
"Why, sir," says he, stiffly, "I would say it mattered the less
as we are met here for a particular end, to see justice done to
Mr. Balfour; and by what I can see, not very likely to have much
else in common. But I accept your apology, which was a very
proper one to make."
"And that is more than I could look for, Mr. Thomson," said
Rankeillor, heartily. "And now as you and I are the chief actors
in this enterprise, I think we should come into a nice agreement;
to which end, I propose that you should lend me your arm, for
(what with the dusk and the want of my glasses) I am not very
clear as to the path; and as for you, Mr. David, you will find
Torrance a pleasant kind of body to speak with. Only let me
remind you, it's quite needless he should hear more of your
adventures or those of -- ahem -- Mr. Thomson."
Accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, and
Torrance and I brought up the rear.
Night was quite come when we came in view of the house of Shaws.
Ten had been gone some time; it was dark and mild, with a
pleasant, rustling wind in the south-west that covered the sound
of our approach; and as we drew near we saw no glimmer of light
in any portion of the building. It seemed my uncle was Already
in bed, which was indeed the best thing for our arrangements. We
made our last whispered consultations some fifty yards away; and
then the lawyer and Torrance and I crept quietly up and crouched
down beside the corner of the house; and as soon as we were in
our places, Alan strode to the door without concealment and began
to knock.
CHAPTER XXIX
I COME INTO MY KINGDOM
For some time Alan volleyed upon the door, and his knocking only
roused the echoes of the house and neighbourhood. At last,
however, I could hear the noise of a window gently thrust up, and
knew that my uncle had come to his observatory. By what light
there was, he would see Alan standing, like a dark shadow, on the
steps; the three witnesses were hidden quite out of his view; so
that there was nothing to alarm an honest man in his own house.
For all that, he studied his visitor awhile in silence, and when
he spoke his voice had a quaver of misgiving.
"What's this?" says he. "This is nae kind of time of night for
decent folk; and I hae nae trokings[34] wi' night-hawks. What
brings ye here? I have a blunderbush."
[34]Dealings.
"Is that yoursel', Mr. Balfour?" returned Alan, stepping back and
looking up into the darkness. "Have a care of that blunderbuss;
they're nasty things to burst."
"What brings ye here? and whae are ye?" says my uncle, angrily.
"I have no manner of inclination to rowt out my name to the
country-side," said Alan; "but what brings me here is another
story, being more of your affair than mine; and if ye're sure
it's what ye would like, I'll set it to a tune and sing it to
you."
"And what is't?" asked my uncle.
"David," says Alan.
"What was that?" cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice.
"Shall I give ye the rest of the name, then?" said Alan.
There was a pause; and then, "I'm thinking I'll better let ye
in," says my uncle, doubtfully.
"I dare say that," said Alan; "but the point is, Would I go? Now
I will tell you what I am thinking. I am thinking that it is
here upon this doorstep that we must confer upon this business;
and it shall be here or nowhere at all whatever; for I would have
you to understand that I am as stiffnecked as yoursel', and a
gentleman of better family."
This change of note disconcerted Ebenezer; he was a little while
digesting it, and then says he, "Weel, weel, what must be must,"
and shut the window. But it took him a long time to get
down-stairs, and a still longer to undo the fastenings, repenting
(I dare say) and taken with fresh claps of fear at every second
step and every bolt and bar. At last, however, we heard the
creak of the hinges, and it seems my uncle slipped gingerly out
and (seeing that Alan had stepped back a pace or two) sate him
down on the top doorstep with the blunderbuss ready in his hands.
"And, now" says he, "mind I have my blunderbush, and if ye take a
step nearer ye're as good as deid."
"And a very civil speech," says Alan, "to be sure."
"Na," says my uncle, "but this is no a very chanty kind of a
proceeding, and I'm bound to be prepared. And now that we
understand each other, ye'll can name your business."
"Why," says Alan, "you that are a man of so much understanding,
will doubtless have perceived that I am a Hieland gentleman. My
name has nae business in my story; but the county of my friends
is no very far from the Isle of Mull, of which ye will have
heard. It seems there was a ship lost in those parts; and the
next day a gentleman of my family was seeking wreck-wood for his
fire along the sands, when he came upon a lad that was half
drowned. Well, he brought him to; and he and some other
gentleman took and clapped him in an auld, ruined castle, where
from that day to this he has been a great expense to my friends.
My friends are a wee wild-like, and not so particular about the
law as some that I could name; and finding that the lad owned
some decent folk, and was your born nephew, Mr. Balfour, they
asked me to give ye a bit call and confer upon the matter. And I
may tell ye at the off-go, unless we can agree upon some terms,
ye are little likely to set eyes upon him. For my friends,"
added Alan, simply, "are no very well off."
My uncle cleared his throat. "I'm no very caring," says he. "He
wasnae a good lad at the best of it, and I've nae call to
interfere."
"Ay, ay," said Alan, "I see what ye would be at: pretending ye
don't care, to make the ransom smaller."
"Na," said my uncle, "it's the mere truth. I take nae manner of
interest in the lad, and I'll pay nae ransome, and ye can make a
kirk and a mill of him for what I care."
"Hoot, sir," says Alan. "Blood's thicker than water, in the
deil's name! Ye cannae desert your brother's son for the fair
shame of it; and if ye did, and it came to be kennt, ye wouldnae
be very popular in your country-side, or I'm the more deceived."
"I'm no just very popular the way it is," returned Ebenezer; "and
I dinnae see how it would come to be kennt. No by me, onyway;
nor yet by you or your friends. So that's idle talk, my buckie,"
says he.
"Then it'll have to be David that tells it," said Alan.
"How that?" says my uncle, sharply."
"Ou, just this, way" says Alan. "My friends would doubtless keep
your nephew as long as there was any likelihood of siller to be
made of it, but if there was nane, I am clearly of opinion they
would let him gang where he pleased, and be damned to him!"
"Ay, but I'm no very caring about that either," said my uncle.
"I wouldnae be muckle made up with that."
"I was thinking that," said Alan.
"And what for why?" asked Ebenezer.
"Why, Mr. Balfour," replied Alan, "by all that I could hear,
there were two ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay to
get him back; or else ye had very good reasons for not wanting
him, and would pay for us to keep him. It seems it's not the
first; well then, it's the second; and blythe am I to ken it, for
it should be a pretty penny in my pocket and the pockets of my
friends."
"I dinnae follow ye there," said my uncle.
"No?" said Alan. "Well, see here: you dinnae want the lad back;
well, what do ye want done with him, and how much will ye pay?"
My uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.
"Come, sir," cried Alan. "I would have you to ken that I am a
gentleman; I bear a king's name; I am nae rider to kick my shanks
at your hall door. Either give me an answer in civility, and
that out of hand; or by the top of Glencoe, I will ram three feet
of iron through your vitals."
"Eh, man," cried my uncle, scrambling to his feet, "give me a
meenit! What's like wrong with ye? I'm just a plain man and nae
dancing master; and I'm tryin to be as ceevil as it's morally
possible. As for that wild talk, it's fair disrepitable.
Vitals, says you! And where would I be with my blunderbush?" he
snarled.
"Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow
against the bright steel in the hands of Alan," said the other.
"Before your jottering finger could find the trigger, the hilt
would dirl on your breast-bane."
"Eh, man, whae's denying it?" said my uncle. "Pit it as ye
please, hae't your ain way; I'll do naething to cross ye. Just
tell me what like ye'll be wanting, and ye'll see that we'll can
agree fine."
"Troth, sir," said Alan, "I ask for nothing but plain dealing.
In two words: do ye want the lad killed or kept?"
"O, sirs!" cried Ebenezer. "O, sirs, me! that's no kind of
language!"
"Killed or kept!" repeated Alan.
"O, keepit, keepit!" wailed my uncle. "We'll have nae bloodshed,
if you please."
"Well," says Alan, "as ye please; that'll be the dearer."
"The dearer?" cries Ebenezer. "Would ye fyle your hands wi'
crime?"
"Hoot!" said Alan, "they're baith crime, whatever! And the
killing's easier, and quicker, and surer. Keeping the lad'll be
a fashious[35] job, a fashious, kittle business."
[35]Troublesome.
"I'll have him keepit, though," returned my uncle. "I never had
naething to do with onything morally wrong; and I'm no gaun to
begin to pleasure a wild Hielandman."
"Ye're unco scrupulous," sneered Alan.
"I'm a man o' principle," said Ebenezer, simply; "and if I have
to pay for it, I'll have to pay for it. And besides," says he,
"ye forget the lad's my brother's son."
"Well, well," said Alan, "and now about the price. It's no very
easy for me to set a name upon it; I would first have to ken some
small matters. I would have to ken, for instance, what ye gave
Hoseason at the first off-go?"
"Hoseason!" cries my uncle, struck aback. "What for?"
"For kidnapping David," says Alan.
"It's a lee, it's a black lee!" cried my uncle. "He was never
kidnapped. He leed in his throat that tauld ye that. Kidnapped?
He never was!"
"That's no fault of mine nor yet of yours," said Alan; "nor yet
of Hoseason's, if he's a man that can be trusted."
"What do ye mean?" cried Ebenezer. "Did Hoseason tell ye?"
"Why, ye donnered auld runt, how else would I ken?" cried Alan.
"Hoseason and me are partners; we gang shares; so ye can see for
yoursel' what good ye can do leeing. And I must plainly say ye
drove a fool's bargain when ye let a man like the sailor-man so
far forward in your private matters. But that's past praying
for; and ye must lie on your bed the way ye made it. And the
point in hand is just this: what did ye pay him?"
"Has he tauld ye himsel'?" asked my uncle.
"That's my concern," said Alan.
"Weel," said my uncle, "I dinnae care what he said, he leed, and
the solemn God's truth is this, that I gave him twenty pound.
But I'll be perfec'ly honest with ye: forby that, he was to have
the selling of the lad in Caroliny, whilk would be as muckle
mair, but no from my pocket, ye see."
"Thank you, Mr. Thomson. That will do excellently well," said
the lawyer, stepping forward; and then mighty civilly,
"Good-evening, Mr. Balfour," said he.
And, "Good-evening, Uncle Ebenezer," said I.
And, "It's a braw nicht, Mr. Balfour" added Torrance.
Never a word said my uncle, neither black nor white; but just sat
where he was on the top door-step and stared upon us like a man
turned to stone. Alan filched away his blunderbuss; and the
lawyer, taking him by the arm, plucked him up from the doorstep,
led him into the kitchen, whither we all followed, and set him
down in a chair beside the hearth, where the fire was out and
only a rush-light burning.
There we all looked upon him for a while, exulting greatly in our
success, but yet with a sort of pity for the man's shame.
"Come, come, Mr. Ebenezer," said the lawyer, "you must not be
down-hearted, for I promise you we shall make easy terms. In the
meanwhile give us the cellar key, and Torrance shall draw us a
bottle of your father's wine in honour of the event." Then,
turning to me and taking me by the hand, "Mr. David," says he, "I
wish you all joy in your good fortune, which I believe to be
deserved." And then to Alan, with a spice of drollery, "Mr.
Thomson, I pay you my compliment; it was most artfully conducted;
but in one point you somewhat outran my comprehension. Do I
understand your name to be James? or Charles? or is it George,
perhaps?"
"And why should it be any of the three, sir?" quoth Alan, drawing
himself up, like one who smelt an offence.
"Only, sir, that you mentioned a king's name," replied
Rankeillor; "and as there has never yet been a King Thomson, or
his fame at least has never come my way, I judged you must refer
to that you had in baptism."
This was just the stab that Alan would feel keenest, and I am
free to confess he took it very ill. Not a word would he answer,
but stepped off to the far end of the kitchen, and sat down and
sulked; and it was not till I stepped after him, and gave him my
hand, and thanked him by title as the chief spring of my success,
that he began to smile a bit, and was at last prevailed upon to
join our party.
By that time we had the fire lighted, and a bottle of wine
uncorked; a good supper came out of the basket, to which Torrance
and I and Alan set ourselves down; while the lawyer and my uncle
passed into the next chamber to consult. They stayed there
closeted about an hour; at the end of which period they had come
to a good understanding, and my uncle and I set our hands to the
agreement in a formal manner. By the terms of this, my uncle
bound himself to satisfy Rankeillor as to his intromissions, and
to pay me two clear thirds of the yearly income of Shaws.
So the beggar in the ballad had come home; and when I lay down
that night on the kitchen chests, I was a man of means and had a
name in the country. Alan and Torrance and Rankeillor slept and
snored on their hard beds; but for me who had lain out under
heaven and upon dirt and stones, so many days and nights, and
often with an empty belly, and in fear of death, this good change
in my case unmanned me more than any of the former evil ones; and
I lay till dawn, looking at the fire on the roof and planning the
future.
CHAPTER XXX
GOOD-BYE
So far as I was concerned myself, I had come to port; but I had
still Alan, to whom I was so much beholden, on my hands; and I
felt besides a heavy charge in the matter of the murder and James
of the Glens. On both these heads I unbosomed to Rankeillor the
next morning, walking to and fro about six of the clock before
the house of Shaws, and with nothing in view but the fields and
woods that had been my ancestors' and were now mine. Even as I
spoke on these grave subjects, my eye would take a glad bit of a
run over the prospect, and my heart jump with pride.
About my clear duty to my friend, the lawyer had no doubt. I
must help him out of the county at whatever risk; but in the case
of James, he was of a different mind.
"Mr. Thomson," says he, "is one thing, Mr. Thomson's kinsman
quite another. I know little of the facts, but I gather that a
great noble (whom we will call, if you like, the D. of A.)[36]
has some concern and is even supposed to feel some animosity in
the matter. The D. of A. is doubtless an excellent nobleman;
but, Mr. David, timeo qui nocuere deos. If you interfere to balk
his vengeance, you should remember there is one way to shut your
testimony out; and that is to put you in the dock. There, you
would be in the same pickle as Mr. Thomson's kinsman. You will
object that you are innocent; well, but so is he. And to be
tried for your life before a Highland jury, on a Highland quarrel
and with a Highland Judge upon the bench, would be a brief
transition to the gallows."
[36]The Duke of Argyle.
Now I had made all these reasonings before and found no very good
reply to them; so I put on all the simplicity I could. "In that
case, sir," said I, "I would just have to be hanged -- would I
not?"
"My dear boy," cries he, "go in God's name, and do what you think
is right. It is a poor thought that at my time of life I should
be advising you to choose the safe and shameful; and I take it
back with an apology. Go and do your duty; and be hanged, if you
must, like a gentleman. There are worse things in the world than
to be hanged."
"Not many, sir," said I, smiling.
"Why, yes, sir," he cried, "very many. And it would be ten times
better for your uncle (to go no farther afield) if he were
dangling decently upon a gibbet."
Thereupon he turned into the house (still in a great fervour of
mind, so that I saw I had pleased him heartily) and there he
wrote me two letters, making his comments on them as he wrote.
"This," says he, "is to my bankers, the British Linen Company,
placing a credit to your name. Consult Mr. Thomson, he will know
of ways; and you, with this credit, can supply the means. I
trust you will be a good husband of your money; but in the affair
of a friend like Mr. Thompson, I would be even prodigal. Then
for his kinsman, there is no better way than that you should seek
the Advocate, tell him your tale, and offer testimony; whether he
may take it or not, is quite another matter, and will turn on the
D. of A. Now, that you may reach the Lord Advocate well
recommended, I give you here a letter to a namesake of your own,
the learned Mr. Balfour of Pilrig, a man whom I esteem. It will
look better that you should be presented by one of your own name;
and the laird of Pilrig is much looked up to in the Faculty and
stands well with Lord Advocate Grant. I would not trouble him,
if I were you, with any particulars; and (do you know?) I think
it would be needless to refer to Mr. Thomson. Form yourself upon
the laird, he is a good model; when you deal with the Advocate,
be discreet; and in all these matters, may the Lord guide you,
Mr. David!"
Thereupon he took his farewell, and set out with Torrance for the
Ferry, while Alan and I turned our faces for the city of
Edinburgh. As we went by the footpath and beside the gateposts
and the unfinished lodge, we kept looking back at the house of my
fathers. It stood there, bare and great and smokeless, like a
place not lived in; only in one of the top windows, there was the
peak of a nightcap bobbing up and down and back and forward, like
the head of a rabbit from a burrow. I had little welcome when I
came, and less kindness while I stayed; but at least I was
watched as I went away.
Alan and I went slowly forward upon our way, having little heart
either to walk or speak. The same thought was uppermost in both,
that we were near the time of our parting; and remembrance of all
the bygone days sate upon us sorely. We talked indeed of what
should be done; and it was resolved that Alan should keep to the
county, biding now here, now there, but coming once in the day to
a particular place where I might be able to communicate with him,
either in my own person or by messenger. In the meanwhile, I was
to seek out a lawyer, who was an Appin Stewart, and a man
therefore to be wholly trusted; and it should be his part to find
a ship and to arrange for Alan's safe embarkation. No sooner was
this business done, than the words seemed to leave us; and though
I would seek to jest with Alan under the name of Mr. Thomson, and
he with me on my new clothes and my estate, you could feel very
well that we were nearer tears than laughter.
We came the by-way over the hill of Corstorphine; and when we got
near to the place called Rest-and-be-Thankful, and looked down on
Corstorphine bogs and over to the city and the castle on the
hill, we both stopped, for we both knew without a word said that
we had come to where our ways parted. Here he repeated to me
once again what had been agreed upon between us: the address of
the lawyer, the daily hour at which Alan might be found, and the
signals that were to be made by any that came seeking him. Then
I gave what money I had (a guinea or two of Rankeillor's) so that
he should not starve in the meanwhile; and then we stood a space,
and looked over at Edinburgh in silence.
"Well, good-bye," said Alan, and held out his left hand.
"Good-bye," said I, and gave the hand a little grasp, and went
off down hill.
Neither one of us looked the other in the face, nor so long as he
was in my view did I take one back glance at the friend I was
leaving. But as I went on my way to the city, I felt so lost and
lonesome, that I could have found it in my heart to sit down by
the dyke, and cry and weep like any baby.
It was coming near noon when I passed in by the West Kirk and the
Grassmarket into the streets of the capital. The huge height of
the buildings, running up to ten and fifteen storeys, the narrow
arched entries that continually vomited passengers, the wares of
the merchants in their windows, the hubbub and endless stir, the
foul smells and the fine clothes, and a hundred other particulars
too small to mention, struck me into a kind of stupor of
surprise, so that I let the crowd carry me to and fro; and yet
all the time what I was thinking of was Alan at
Rest-and-be-Thankful; and all the time (although you would think
I would not choose but be delighted with these braws and
novelties) there was a cold gnawing in my inside like a remorse
for something wrong.
The hand of Providence brought me in my drifting to the very
doors of the British Linen Company's bank.
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Kidnapped by R. L. Stevenson