Kidnapped

Stevenson, Robert Louis

Published: 1886

1

About Stevenson:

Robert

Louis

(Balfour)

Stevenson

(November

13,

1850–December 3, 1894), was a Scottish novelist, poet, and

travel writer, and a leading representative of Neo-romanticism

in English literature. He was the man who "seemed to pick the

right word up on the point of his pen, like a man playing

spillikins", as G. K. Chesterton put it. He was also greatly ad-

mired by many authors, including Jorge Luis Borges, Ernest

Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling and Vladimir Nabokov. Most

modernist writers dismissed him, however, because he was

popular and did not write within their narrow definition of lit-

erature. It is only recently that critics have begun to look bey-

ond Stevenson's popularity and allow him a place in the canon.

Source: Wikipedia

2

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

3

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 tri-

als. A great package came in response to our order, and very

soon we were both absorbed, not so much in the trials as in fol-

lowing 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-examina-

tion 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.

4

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 misad-

ventures by the way. From the trial of James Stewart my hus-

band gleaned much valuable material for his novel, the most

important being the character of Alan Breck. Aside from hav-

ing 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, intro-

duced as evidence in the trial, says: "There is one Alan Stew-

art, 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 or-

der 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 be-

cause 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

5

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 an-

swer, 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 depon-

ent 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 expos-

tulation 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 del-

icacies, there were directions for the preparation of several lo-

tions 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.

6

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 Tor-

ran rocks have crept so near to Earraid, or why the printed tri-

al 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 des-

cendants 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 lib-

rary, 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 adven-

tures 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

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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.

8

1

Chapter

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 begin-

ning 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 breakfas-

ted; 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

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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 Cra-

mond. 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 fath-

er 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 remem-

ber) 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 testament-

ary 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

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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 un-

der, show yourself as nice, as circumspect, as quick at the con-

ception, and as slow of speech as any. As for the laird—remem-

ber 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 diffi-

culty, 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."

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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 yel-

low 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

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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.

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2

Chapter

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 appear-

ance, 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.

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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 adven-

ture 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

15

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, run-

ning in low hills, pleasantly watered and wooded, and the

crops, to my eyes, wonderfully good; but the house itself ap-

peared 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 Jen-

net 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 liv-

ing 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

16

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 un-

completed 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,

17

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 blunder-

buss rattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long

pause, and with a curious change of voice, that the next ques-

tion 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.

18

3

Chapter

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 ar-

ranged 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 sev-

enty. 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 (moistens) my cough." He drank the cup

19

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.

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, weari-

ness, 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 ap-

petite for meat as ever a young man had.

Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the let-

ter 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, par-

ritch." 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

20

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 pres-

sure 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.

21

"Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "there's a fine moon."

"Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,"1 said I. "I cannae see the bed."

"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 mak-

ing the porridge. The table was laid with two bowls and two

horn spoons, but the same single measure of small beer. Per-

haps 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."

1.Dark as the pit.

22

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

23

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 noth-

ing 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 build-

ing as a sinful waste; and this put it in my head to give him Jen-

net Clouston's message.

"The limmer!" he cried. "Twelve hunner and fifteen—that's every day since I had the limmer rowpit!2 Dod, David, I'll have

her roasted on red peats before I'm by with it! A witch—a pro-

claimed witch! I'll aff and see the session clerk."

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 pur-chase. 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."

2.Sold up.

24

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."

25

4

Chapter

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 recon-

ciled to my residence at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of

my uncle, and his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, re-

vived 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 con-

ceived: "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 er-

ror, or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excel-

lent, 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.

26

"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 per-

haps 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 get-

ting firmly settled in my head, I now began to imitate his cov-

ert 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 un-

friendly to myself.

27

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 separ-

ate—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 ex-

actly"—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.

28

"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 reason-

able degree, and then waited, looking for some monstrous de-

mand. 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.

29

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 pol-

ished 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 wonder-

ing 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 confoun-

ded 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

30

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

31

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 waist-

coat, 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, work-

ing 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 con-

vinced 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

32

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.

33

5

Chapter

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 replen-

ished, 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 Essen-

dean, 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 tribula-

tions 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.

34

"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 at-

tempt 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 as-

sured me he would make all clear as soon as we had breakfas-

ted. 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,

35

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,3 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."

"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 swier4 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."

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 in-

sincere 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.

3.Agent.

4.Unwilling.

36

"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 heav-

en 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 ad-

mire 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!"

37

"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 un-

happy 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

38

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 neigh-

bourhood 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 anchor-

age, he showed me the Covenant herself. There was a sea-go-

ing bustle on board; yards were swinging into place; and as the

wind blew from that quarter, I could hear the song of the sail-

ors as they pulled upon the ropes. After all I had listened to

upon the way, I looked at that ship with an extreme abhor-

rence; 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."

39

6

Chapter

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 my-

self awhile," I was fool enough to take him at his word.

40

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 fel-

lows, 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 indul-

gences. "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 Ran-

some 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 41

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 gliff5 of Mr. Alexander."

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 tow6. 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 sough7 gaed abroad about Mr. Alexander, that

was like the death of him."

"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 sea-

men, and speaking with some authority. And presently he came

marching back towards the house, with no mark of a sailor's

5.Look.

6.Rope.

7.Report.

42

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;8 he means mischief. Come aboard till I can get a word

with ye." And then, passing his arm through mine, he contin-

ued 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."

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 re-

joiced 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

8.Fox.

43

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.

44

7

Chapter

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 thrash-

ing 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 per-

ception 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 wel-

come to me. Yet it was no such matter; but (as I was after-

wards 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.

45

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 dunt9. 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?"

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 swim-

ming 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

9.Stroke.

46

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 skip-

per; "and instead of asking riddles, I make bold to say that ye

would keep your breath to cool your porridge. We'll be re-

quired 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 con-

science. If ye say the lad will die——"

"Ay, will he!" said Mr. Riach.

47

"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 sick-

ness, I perceived two things: that the mate was touched with li-

quor, 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 fore-

castle was a roomy place enough, set all about with berths, in

which the men of the watch below were seated smoking, or ly-

ing 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 clour10on the head was naething.

Man," said he, "it was me that gave it ye!"

Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and

not only got my health again, but came to know my compan-

ions. 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

10.Blow.

48

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 forgot-

ten 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.

49

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 hu-

man. 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 con-

tinually 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, per-

haps, 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.

50

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.

51

8

Chapter

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 ad-

dressed 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, carry-

ing 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 sun-

set still quite bright. This, at such an hour of the night, sur-

prised me greatly; but I was too ignorant to draw the true con-

clusion—that we were going north-about round Scotland, and

were now on the high sea between the Orkney and Shetland Is-

lands, having avoided the dangerous currents of the Pentland

Firth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the dark and

52

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 after-

most 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.

53

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 murder-

er 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, sit-

ting down with the officer who was off duty; all the day

54

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) some-

times 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 ter-

ror), 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

55

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 com-

pany, 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 un-

buckle 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.

56

9

Chapter

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 of-

ficers, 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 listen-

ing 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 bot-

tom 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

57

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 mad-

ness 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.

58

"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 gentle-

man. 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!"

59

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 mes-

senger 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 Ge-

orge; 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 begowk11 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."

"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 mat-

ter 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

11.Befool.

60

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?"12

"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.

12.Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were loyal to

King George.

61

"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 re-

mark. 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 be-

fore 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 Ja-

cobite 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.

62

"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 proceed-

ing 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

63

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 rax-ing13 drams to a wheen tarry sailors."

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 num-

bers that were soon to leap in upon us kept my heart in a flut-

ter: 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 sol-

dier of ye, David. What else have ye to guard?"

13.Reaching.

64

"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.

65

10

Chapter

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 cap-

tain 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

66

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 sink-

ing slowly lower, with a terrible, white face; and just as I

looked, some of those from behind caught hold of him by the

67

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 wash-

ing of the seas.

"It was Shuan bauchled14 it," I heard one say.

And another answered him with a "Wheesht, man! He's paid

the piper."

After that the voices fell again into the same muttering as be-

fore. 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,

14.Bungled.

68

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 an-

other 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 wa-

ter, 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 contin-

ued running and crying out as if he was still behind them; and

69

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 in-

side, 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 im-

portant) got his hurt from me. So that, altogether, I did my fair

share both of the killing and the wounding, and might have

70

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.

71

11

Chapter

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, ex-

pressed 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 al-

ways 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 tak-

ing off his coat, began to visit his suit and brush away the

72

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,

73

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 cobles15 pass from island to island in all weathers, ay, and

by night too, for the matter of that."

15.Coble: a small boat used in fishing.

74

"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

75

had slain, and the captain and Mr. Riach could be happy again in their own way, the name of which was drink.

76

12

Chapter

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

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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 misfor-

tune; 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 black-cocks. If I lay dying, I would crawl upon my knees to my cham-

ber 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 pret-

tiest man of his kindred; and the best swordsman in the Hie-

lands, 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 Hie-

land 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,

78

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

79

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 pres-

sure, 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 Ste-

wart, 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 Stew-

art, who was afterwards so famous at the time of his hanging.

But I took little heed at the moment, for all my mind was occu-

pied 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

80

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 cen-

turies; 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 com-

mons 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 an-

ger.) "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

81

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 nat-

ural 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 Stew-

art 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 bar-

ring that about Christianity (of which my opinion is quite other-

wise, 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."

82

"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 an-

other 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 conversa-

tion. 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 anoth-

er, 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

83

wonder, with never a gun or a sword left from Cantyre to Cape Wrath, but what tenty16 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?"

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 my-

self, 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.

16.Careful.

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13

Chapter

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 immedi-

ately 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."

85

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 some-

times cried down to us to change the course. Sometimes, in-

deed, 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.

86

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

87

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 under-

stand 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 con-

tinually 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 clam-

bering 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 pos-

sible 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 fol-

lowed 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;

88

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 hold-

ing 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

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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.

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14

Chapter

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 dis-

tance, 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—fall-

ing, 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

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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 neigh-

bouring 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 wa-

ter 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.

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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; some-

times all was well, and sometimes I was thrown into a miser-

able 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 prodi-

gious 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

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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 las-

ted 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.

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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 sup-

posed 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

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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 deliver-

ance, 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 fish-

ers; and as soon as I had thus made up my mind to the worst,

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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 yester-

day. 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 97

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 to-

wards 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 bot-

tom 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 shell-

fish—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.

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15

Chapter

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 diffi-

culty 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.

99

"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 miser-

able 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 phil-

abeg, but by putting a few stitches between the legs trans-

formed it into a pair of trousers like a Dutchman's. All those

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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 re-

marks 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 them-

selves, 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 pur-

pose, 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 coun-

try, 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

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he had—the whole house was turned upside down, and a neighbour brought under contribution, before he could scrape to-

gether 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 ras-

cal guide grew so merry that he refused to start.

I was for getting angry, and appealed to the rich man (Hect-

or Maclean was his name), who had been a witness to our bar-

gain 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 con-

stantly 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 accep-

ted greedily, and insisted on having in his hands at once "for

luck," as he said, but I think it was rather for my misfortune.

102

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 an-

ger, 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 stick-

ing from under the flap of his coat-pocket. To carry such a

thing meant a fine of fifteen pounds sterling upon a first of-

fence, 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

103

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 noth-

ing, 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.

104

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 be-

cause 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 elegi-

ac 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 high-way 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 tempta-

tion to the poor man."

105

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.

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16

Chapter

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 sup-

posed at first to be one of the King's cruisers which were kept

along that coast, both summer and winter, to prevent commu-

nication 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.

107

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 won-

der) 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

108

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 run-

ning 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 High-

landers. 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 run-

ning 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, sol-

emn man, walking very slowly with his toes turned out, some-

times reading in a book and sometimes marking the place with

109

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 Know-

ledge, 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 min-

ister 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 ob-

served 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?

110

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 Hen-

derland. "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 re-

spected. 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.

111

"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 ten-

ants; and indeed, Mr. Balfour (to be open with ye), it's my be-

lief 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 bey-

ond 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. Accord-

ingly we shook hands upon the bargain, and came in the after-

noon to a small house, standing alone by the shore of the Lin-

nhe 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

112

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 ad-

ventures 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.

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17

Chapter

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 after-

noon 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 bar-

ren, 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 Wil-

liam 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, al-

though 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

114

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 port-

manteau 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.

115

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 ad-

venture; 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 sev-

eral 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

116

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 of-

ficer 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.

117

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 oth-

ers to put up their pieces and cover me; and still I stood.

"Jock17 in here among the trees," said a voice close by.

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 stand-

ing, 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."

17.Duck.

118

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.

119

18

Chapter

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,"18 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."

"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."

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120

"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 poke19 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 in-

side 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."

"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

19.Bag.

121

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 mind-

ful of the case of them that have. And that is the good Chris-

tianity. 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 inno-

cent 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.

122

"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 exag-

gerated, 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 of-

ten 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

123

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 oth-er 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 kins-

man, James of the Glens, where I must get my clothes, and my

124

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 after-

wards, on the way to Aucharn, each of us narrated his adven-

tures; 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 fol-

lowed. 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

125

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 re-

venge 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 be-

hind 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,

126

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 stop 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."

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19

Chapter

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 hur-

riedly 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."

128

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 wyte20 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."

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 ap-

parently 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 car-

rying 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.

20.Blame.

129

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 bit-

ter end; all the while a servant lass with a red face was rumma-

ging 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?"21 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.

This was all wretched for a stranger like myself to hear and

see; and I was right glad when Alan returned, looking like him-

self 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

21.Mad.

130

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 har-

boured 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 dirdum22 of this dreadful accident, I'll have to fend for

myself, man. Do ye see that?"

22.Blame.

131

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 hon-

est, 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

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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 soon-

er 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!'23 and running of red-coats; and it behoves you and

me to the sooner be gone."

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.

23.The rallying-word of the Campbells.

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20

Chapter

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.

134

"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 din-

ning 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 ex-

ample 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

135

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 lean-

ing 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 be-

side 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 keep-

ing 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 gleg24 at the jumping," said he.

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

24.Brisk.

136

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 drif-

ted 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

137

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 solit-

ary 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 sleep-

ing! 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 mar-

tyred 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.

138

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 let-

ter "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.

139

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 pro-

posed 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 bel-

lies 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 sultri-

ness 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 coun-

try, 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

140

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 wonderfully re-

newed, we got out the meal-bag and made drammach in the

iron pan. This, though it is but cold water mingled with oat-

meal, 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 moun-

tains, 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.

141

21

Chapter

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 turn-

ing 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

142

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 re-

quired. 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 Corry-

nakiegh; 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

143

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 bouman25 of

Appin's."

"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 him-

sel', 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."

25.A bouman is a tenant who takes stock from the landlord and shares

with him the increase.

144

"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 dis-

figured with the small pox, and looked both dull and savage.

Although his English was very bad and broken, yet Alan (ac-

cording 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.

145

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 car-

ried in his pocket, like a talisman to keep him from the gal-

lows), he sat down and wrote as follows:

"DEAR KINSMAN,—Please send the money by the bear-

er 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 suspi-

cion 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 bou-

man had carried us from Mrs. Stewart was of a miserable sad-

ness. In it she besought Alan not to let himself be captured, as-

suring 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.

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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 tar-

nished, 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 waist-

coat, 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 re-

membered and set down; only when he came to the word tar-

nish, 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 sep-

arate 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 protect-

ing 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

147

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.

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22

Chapter

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

149

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 ly-

ing as waste as the sea; only the moorfowl and the pewees cry-

ing 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 to-

gether, 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

150

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 heav-

ens. 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 con-

cealed. 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

151

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 trum-

pet 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 muir-land, 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."

152

"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, an-

ger 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 sol-

dier; 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

153

country play;26 all the while, with the moorfowl crying "peep!"

in the heather, and the light coming slowly clearer in the east.

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 whisper-

ing 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

26.Village fair.

154

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, peer-

ing 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 light-

ness, which would not suffer me to walk. I drifted like a gos-

samer; 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.

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23

Chapter

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 em-

ployed to be the fireplace; and the smoke rising against the

face of the rock, and being not dissimilar in colour, readily es-

caped notice from below.

This was but one of Cluny's hiding-places; he had caves, be-

sides, and underground chambers in several parts of his coun-

try; 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

156

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 chim-

ney, 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 pre-

cise 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.

157

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 communic-

ated 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 reas-

on, 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 ques-

tions; 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 for-

feited and hunted outlaw. When he was angered, which was of-

ten 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 pro-

scribed, 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 betray-

ing 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

158

kitchen.27 Indeed, there were mair dragoons than lemons in my country in the year forty-six."

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 So-

lomon. 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 es-

chew 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 testi-

mony. I must have got very red in the face, but I spoke stead-

ily, 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

27.Condiment.

159

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 High-

land 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 pre-

scribe 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 transla-

tion. 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

160

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 dis-

turbed 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,

161

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 sin-

gular 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

162

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 chal-

lenge 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 gen-

tleman. 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!"

163

24

Chapter

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 bur-

then, 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 ris-

en 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 friend-

ship is a burden; go, take your risks and bear your hardships

164

alone——" no, that was impossible; and even to think of it priv-ily 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

165

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 affron-

ted. 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 an-

other 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 differ-

ent chief, and come besides by a far easier and swifter way to

the place whither we were bound. But the gillie, who was in-

deed the chief man of Cluny's scouts, had good reasons to give

him on all hands, naming the force of troops in every district,

166

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 con-

tinually 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 cham-

ber—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

167

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 of-

fence, 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 him-

self 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.

168

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 re-

member, when I was dead, how much he owed me, and the re-

membrance 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 in-

cident. Flushes of heat went over me, and then spasms of shud-

dering. The stitch in my side was hardly bearable. At last I

169

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 man-

ners. 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 pirliecue28 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

28.A second sermon.

170

run before them like a hare. It behoves you to speak of them as of your betters."

Alan stood quite still, the tails of his great-coat clapping be-

hind 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 my-

self. 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 re-

called 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; 171

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?"

172

"'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!"

173

25

Chapter

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 Mac-

gregors. 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 High-

lander 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 Maclar-

ens 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

174

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 compan-

ies 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 whith-

er 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 charac-

ters, 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 al-

leged) by force; yet he stepped about Balquhidder like a gen-

tleman in his own walled policy. It was he who had shot James

Maclaren at the plough stilts, a quarrel never satisfied; yet he

175

walked into the house of his blood enemies as a rider29 might into a public inn.

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 hav-

ing 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 Pre-

ston 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.

29.Commercial traveller.

176

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 ignor-

ance, I could scarce keep from smiling that a man who was un-

der 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 el-

bow of these fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least

occasion. But when that word was uttered, it was a case of now

177

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 dis-

pute 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 sough30 of the sort. Have ye music, as folk say? Are ye a bit of

a piper?"

"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 civil-

ities, Robin took the pipes and played a little spring in a very

ranting manner.

30.Rumour.

178

"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.

179

"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.

180

26

Chapter

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 look-

ing 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

181

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, hob-

bling 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

182

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 boss31 upon the bridge."

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."

31.Hollow.

183

"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 oth-

er 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

184

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 look-

ing 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 your-

self according."

"Well, well," said I, "have it as you will."

185

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 counten-

ance, that might have imposed upon a judge. It was small won-

der 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

186

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, doc-

tors 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 fur-

thering 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

187

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 her-

self, 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, de-

cent kind of a man to bring that boat back again and keep his

counsel, there would be two souls saved—mine to all likeli-

hood—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 my-

self and to allay her scruples with a portion of the truth.

188

"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 per-

sons, 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 el-

even, and we were long since strangely tortured with anxieties,

189

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 any-

way involved her in the dangers of our situation.

190

27

Chapter

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 sit-

ting 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 likeli-

hood 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

191

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 ad-

dress 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-harled32 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.

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.

32.Newly rough-cast.

192

"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 docu-

ments. 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.

193

"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 geo-graphy. But so far, I may tell you, this agrees pretty exactly

with other informations that I hold. But you say you were kid-

napped; 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 any-

thing 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?"

194

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 (imber-bis 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 of-

fice, 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 dis-

posed 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 prob-

able 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 ex-

actly sure that any one believed him," continued Mr. Rankeillor

with a smile; "and in particular he so much disrelished me ex-

pressions 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 pro-cess 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 con-

quer 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.

195

"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 hear-

ing 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

196

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 doubt-

less 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 elev-

ations. Even as I thought so, my eye fell on my unseemly tat-

ters, 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 be-

fore 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.

197

28

Chapter

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 explan-

ation 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.

198

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 cer-

tain 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 counten-

ance; and one day—by your leave!—resigned the lady. She was

no such fool, however; it's from her you must inherit your ex-

cellent 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 vin-dice 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 conces-

sion 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 res-

ults 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 in-

justices. 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

199

(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 scan-

dalous; 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 leav-

ing 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 fam-

ily concerns before the public was a step from which I was nat-

urally much averse. In the meantime (thinking to myself) I

began to see the outlines of that scheme on which we after-

wards 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

200

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 Thom-

son?" 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, twink-

ling; "for some of these fellows will pick up names by the road-

side 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 harp-

ing 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, seem-

ingly 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

201

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 de-

tails 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 fol-

lowing 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 to-

wards the Hawes Inn and the Ferry pier, the scene of my mis-

fortune. I could not look upon the place without emotion, re-

calling 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 recol-

lected 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

202

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 ale-

house 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."

203

"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.

204

29

Chapter

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 trokings33 wi' night-hawks. What

brings ye here? I have a blunderbush."

"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.

33.Dealings.

205

"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 busi-

ness; 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, un-

less 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."

206

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 want-

ing 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.

207

"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 swal-

low against the bright steel in the hands of Alan," said the oth-er. "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 blood-shed, 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

fashious34 job, a fashious, kittle business."

"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."

34.Troublesome.

208

"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.

209

"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 be-

lieve 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 suc-

cess, 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 un-

corked; a good supper came out of the basket, to which Tor-

rance 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 in-

tromissions, and to pay me two clear thirds of the yearly in-

come 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 Rankeil-

lor 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,

210

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.

211

30

Chapter

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.)35 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."

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.

35.The Duke of Argyle.

212

"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 mat-

ter, 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 Ed-

inburgh. 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

213

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 wel-

come 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 upper-

most 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

214

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 novel-

ties) 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.

215

Document Outline

- PREFACE TO THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION

- DEDICATION

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- Chapter 18

- Chapter 19

- Chapter 20

- Chapter 21

- Chapter 22

- Chapter 23

- Chapter 24

- Chapter 25

- Chapter 26

- Chapter 27

- Chapter 28

- Chapter 29

- Chapter 30

Table of Contents

PREFACE TO THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION

DEDICATION

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30