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author: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-15 05:15:08 -0700
committer: Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> 2025-10-15 05:15:08 -0700
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+<title>Kidnapped | Project Gutenberg</title>
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+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 421 ***</div>
+
+<h1>KIDNAPPED</h1>
+
+<h2>By Robert Louis Stevenson</h2>
+
+<h3>Illustrated by Louis Rhead</h3>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h3>
+BEING<br/>
+MEMOIRS OF THE ADVENTURES OF<br/>
+DAVID BALFOUR<br/>
+IN THE YEAR 1751<br/>
+HOW HE WAS KIDNAPPED AND CAST AWAY; HIS SUFFERINGS IN<br/>
+A DESERT ISLE; HIS JOURNEY IN THE WILD HIGHLANDS;<br/>
+HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH ALAN BRECK STEWART<br/>
+AND OTHER NOTORIOUS HIGHLAND JACOBITES;<br/>
+WITH ALL THAT HE SUFFERED AT THE<br/>
+HANDS OF HIS UNCLE, EBENEZER<br/>
+BALFOUR OF SHAWS, FALSELY<br/>
+SO CALLED<br/>
+<br/>
+WRITTEN BY HIMSELF AND NOW SET FORTH BY<br/>
+ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON<br/>
+WITH A PREFACE BY MRS. STEVENSON<br/>
+
+</h3>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0010.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Frontispiece" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0011.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Title page" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0013.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Contents" />
+</div>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE TO THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION </a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> DEDICATION </a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I.—I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.—I COME TO MY JOURNEY’S END</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III.—I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV.—I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V.—I GO TO THE QUEEN’S FERRY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI.—WHAT BEFELL AT THE QUEEN’S FERRY</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII.—I GO TO SEA IN THE BRIG “COVENANT” OF DYSART</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII.—THE ROUND-HOUSE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX.—THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X.—THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI.—THE CAPTAIN KNUCKLES UNDER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.—I HEAR OF THE “RED FOX”</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII.—THE LOSS OF THE BRIG</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV.—THE ISLET</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV.—THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE ISLE OF MULL</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI.—THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: ACROSS MORVEN</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII.—THE DEATH OF THE RED FOX</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII.—TALK WITH ALAN IN THE WOOD OF LETTERMORE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX.—THE HOUSE OF FEAR</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX.—THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE ROCKS</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI.—THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE HEUGH OF CORRYNAKIEGH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII.—THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR </a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII.—CLUNY’S CAGE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV.—THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV.—THE QUARREL IN BALQUHIDDER</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI.—END OF THE FLIGHT: WE PASS THE FORTH</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII.—I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII.—I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX.—I COME INTO MY KINGDOM</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX.—GOOD-BYE</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0015.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="List of Illustrations first page" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0016.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="List of illustrations second page" />
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2><a name="link2H_PREF"></a>
+PREFACE TO THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION</h2>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I wanted a trial scene in the Old Bailey, I chose the period of 1700 for my
+purpose; but being shamefully ignorant of my subject, and my husband confessing
+to little more knowledge than I possessed, a London bookseller was commissioned
+to send us everything he could procure bearing on Old Bailey trials. A great
+package came in response to our order, and very soon we were both absorbed, not
+so much in the trials as in following the brilliant career of a Mr. Garrow, who
+appeared as counsel in many of the cases. We sent for more books, and yet more,
+still intent on Mr. Garrow, whose subtle cross-examination of witnesses and
+masterly, if sometimes startling, methods of arriving at the truth seemed more
+thrilling to us than any novel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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:—
+</p>
+
+<h4>THE,<br/>
+TRIAL<br/>
+OF<br/>
+JAMES STEWART<br/>
+in Aucharn in Duror of Appin<br/>
+FOR THE<br/>
+Murder of COLIN CAMPBELL of Glenure, Efq;<br/>
+Factor for His Majefty on the forfeited<br/>
+Estate of Ardfhiel.</h4>
+
+<p>
+My husband was always interested in this period of his country’s history, and
+had already the intention of writing a story that should turn on the Appin
+murder. The tale was to be of a boy, David Balfour, supposed to belong to my
+husband’s own family, who should travel in Scotland as though it were a foreign
+country, meeting with various adventures and misadventures by the way. From the
+trial of James Stewart my husband gleaned much valuable material for his novel,
+the most important being the character of Alan Breck. Aside from having
+described him as “smallish in stature,” my husband seems to have taken Alan
+Breck’s personal appearance, even to his clothing, from the book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A letter from James Stewart to Mr. John Macfarlane, introduced as evidence in
+the trial, says: “There is one Alan Stewart, a distant friend of the late
+Ardshiel’s, who is in the French service, and came over in March last, as he
+said to some, in order to settle at home; to others, that he was to go soon
+back; and was, as I hear, the day that the murder was committed, seen not far
+from the place where it happened, and is not now to be seen; by which it is
+believed he was the actor. He is a desperate foolish fellow; and if he is
+guilty, came to the country for that very purpose. He is a tall, pock-pitted
+lad, very black hair, and wore a blue coat and metal buttons, an old red vest,
+and breeches of the same colour.” A second witness testified to having seen him
+wearing “a blue coat with silver buttons, a red waistcoat, black shag breeches,
+tartan hose, and a feathered hat, with a big coat, dun coloured,” a costume
+referred to by one of the counsel as “French cloathes which were remarkable.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There are many incidents given in the trial that point to Alan’s fiery spirit
+and Highland quickness to take offence. One witness “declared also That the
+said Alan Breck threatened that he would challenge Ballieveolan and his sons to
+fight because of his removing the declarant last year from Glenduror.” On
+another page: “Duncan Campbell, change-keeper at Annat, aged thirty-five years,
+married, witness cited, sworn, purged and examined ut supra, depones, That, in
+the month of April last, the deponent met with Alan Breck Stewart, with whom he
+was not acquainted, and John Stewart, in Auchnacoan, in the house of the walk
+miller of Auchofragan, and went on with them to the house: Alan Breck Stewart
+said, that he hated all the name of Campbell; and the deponent said, he had no
+reason for doing so: But Alan said, he had very good reason for it: that
+thereafter they left that house; and, after drinking a dram at another house,
+came to the deponent’s house, where they went in, and drunk some drams, and
+Alan Breck renewed the former Conversation; and the deponent, making the same
+answer, Alan said, that, if the deponent had any respect for his friends, he
+would tell them, that if they offered to turn out the possessors of Ardshiel’s
+estate, he would make black cocks of them, before they entered into possession
+by which the deponent understood shooting them, it being a common phrase in the
+country.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Some time after the publication of Kidnapped we stopped for a short while in
+the Appin country, where we were surprised and interested to discover that the
+feeling concerning the murder of Glenure (the “Red Fox,” also called “Colin
+Roy”) was almost as keen as though the tragedy had taken place the day before.
+For several years my husband received letters of expostulation or commendation
+from members of the Campbell and Stewart clans. I have in my possession a
+paper, yellow with age, that was sent soon after the novel appeared, containing
+“The Pedigree of the Family of Appine,” wherein it is said that “Alan 3rd Baron
+of Appine was not killed at Flowdoun, tho there, but lived to a great old age.
+He married Cameron Daughter to Ewen Cameron of Lochiel.” Following this is a
+paragraph stating that “John Stewart 1st of Ardsheall of his descendants Alan
+Breck had better be omitted. Duncan Baan Stewart in Achindarroch his father was
+a Bastard.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One day, while my husband was busily at work, I sat beside him reading an old
+cookery book called The Compleat Housewife: or Accomplish’d Gentlewoman’s
+Companion. In the midst of receipts for “Rabbits, and Chickens mumbled, Pickled
+Samphire, Skirret Pye, Baked Tansy,” and other forgotten delicacies, there were
+directions for the preparation of several lotions for the preservation of
+beauty. One of these was so charming that I interrupted my husband to read it
+aloud. “Just what I wanted!” he exclaimed; and the receipt for the “Lily of the
+Valley Water” was instantly incorporated into Kidnapped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+F. V. DE G. S.
+</p>
+
+<h2><a name="link2H_4_0002"></a>
+DEDICATION</h2>
+
+<h4>MY DEAR CHARLES BAXTER:</h4>
+
+<p>
+If you ever read this tale, you will likely ask yourself more questions than I
+should care to answer: as for instance how the Appin murder has come to fall in
+the year 1751, how the Torran rocks have crept so near to Earraid, or why the
+printed trial is silent as to all that touches David Balfour. These are nuts
+beyond my ability to crack. But if you tried me on the point of Alan’s guilt or
+innocence, I think I could defend the reading of the text. To this day you will
+find the tradition of Appin clear in Alan’s favour. If you inquire, you may
+even hear that the descendants of “the other man” who fired the shot are in the
+country to this day. But that other man’s name, inquire as you please, you
+shall not hear; for the Highlander values a secret for itself and for the
+congenial exercise of keeping it. I might go on for long to justify one point
+and own another indefensible; it is more honest to confess at once how little I
+am touched by the desire of accuracy. This is no furniture for the scholar’s
+library, but a book for the winter evening school-room when the tasks are over
+and the hour for bed draws near; and honest Alan, who was a grim old fire-eater
+in his day has in this new avatar no more desperate purpose than to steal some
+young gentleman’s attention from his Ovid, carry him awhile into the Highlands
+and the last century, and pack him to bed with some engaging images to mingle
+with his dreams.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for you, my dear Charles, I do not even ask you to like this tale. But
+perhaps when he is older, your son will; he may then be pleased to find his
+father’s name on the fly-leaf; and in the meanwhile it pleases me to set it
+there, in memory of many days that were happy and some (now perhaps as pleasant
+to remember) that were sad. If it is strange for me to look back from a
+distance both in time and space on these bygone adventures of our youth, it
+must be stranger for you who tread the same streets—who may to-morrow open the
+door of the old Speculative, where we begin to rank with Scott and Robert Emmet
+and the beloved and inglorious Macbean—or may pass the corner of the close
+where that great society, the L. J. R., held its meetings and drank its beer,
+sitting in the seats of Burns and his companions. I think I see you, moving
+there by plain daylight, beholding with your natural eyes those places that
+have now become for your companion a part of the scenery of dreams. How, in the
+intervals of present business, the past must echo in your memory! Let it not
+echo often without some kind thoughts of your friend,
+</p>
+
+<p>
+R.L.S. SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH.
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0021.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter I" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0001"></a>CHAPTER I<br/>
+I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9021.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in the month
+of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took the key for the last time out of
+the door of my father’s house. The sun began to shine upon the summit of the
+hills as I went down the road; and by the time I had come as far as the manse,
+the blackbirds were whistling in the garden lilacs, and the mist that hung
+around the valley in the time of the dawn was beginning to arise and die away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, was waiting for me by the garden gate,
+good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted; and hearing that I lacked for
+nothing, he took my hand in both of his and clapped it kindly under his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are ye sorry to leave Essendean?” said he, after awhile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay?” said Mr. Campbell. “Very well, Davie. Then it behoves me to tell your
+fortune; or so far as I may. When your mother was gone, and your father (the
+worthy, Christian man) began to sicken for his end, he gave me in charge a
+certain letter, which he said was your inheritance. ‘So soon,’ says he, ‘as I
+am gone, and the house is redd up and the gear disposed of’ (all which, Davie,
+hath been done), ‘give my boy this letter into his hand, and start him off to
+the house of Shaws, not far from Cramond. That is the place I came from,’ he
+said, ‘and it’s where it befits that my boy should return. He is a steady lad,’
+your father said, ‘and a canny goer; and I doubt not he will come safe, and be
+well liked where he goes.’”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The house of Shaws!” I cried. “What had my poor father to do with the house of
+Shaws?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nay,” said Mr. Campbell, “who can tell that for a surety? But the name of that
+family, Davie, boy, is the name you bear—Balfours of Shaws: an ancient, honest,
+reputable house, peradventure in these latter days decayed. Your father, too,
+was a man of learning as befitted his position; no man more plausibly conducted
+school; nor had he the manner or the speech of a common dominie; but (as ye
+will yourself remember) I took aye a pleasure to have him to the manse to meet
+the gentry; and those of my own house, Campbell of Kilrennet, Campbell of
+Dunswire, Campbell of Minch, and others, all well-kenned gentlemen, had
+pleasure in his society. Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before
+you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the own hand of
+our departed brother.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Campbell,” I stammered, “and if you were in my shoes, would you go?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Of a surety,” said the minister, “that would I, and without pause. A pretty
+lad like you should get to Cramond (which is near in by Edinburgh) in two days
+of walk. If the worst came to the worst, and your high relations (as I cannot
+but suppose them to be somewhat of your blood) should put you to the door, ye
+can but walk the two days back again and risp at the manse door. But I would
+rather hope that ye shall be well received, as your poor father forecast for
+you, and for anything that I ken come to be a great man in time. And here,
+Davie, laddie,” he resumed, “it lies near upon my conscience to improve this
+parting, and set you on the right guard against the dangers of the world.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Be soople, Davie, in things immaterial,” said he. “Bear ye this in mind, that,
+though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing. Dinnae shame us, Davie,
+dinnae shame us! In yon great, muckle house, with all these domestics, upper
+and under, show yourself as nice, as circumspect, as quick at the conception,
+and as slow of speech as any. As for the laird—remember he’s the laird; I say
+no more: honour to whom honour. It’s a pleasure to obey a laird; or should be,
+to the young.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” said I, “it may be; and I’ll promise you I’ll try to make it so.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, very well said,” replied Mr. Campbell, heartily. “And now to come to the
+material, or (to make a quibble) to the immaterial. I have here a little packet
+which contains four things.” He tugged it, as he spoke, and with some great
+difficulty, from the skirt pocket of his coat. “Of these four things, the first
+is your legal due: the little pickle money for your father’s books and
+plenishing, which I have bought (as I have explained from the first) in the
+design of re-selling at a profit to the incoming dominie. The other three are
+gifties that Mrs. Campbell and myself would be blithe of your acceptance. The
+first, which is round, will likely please ye best at the first off-go; but, O
+Davie, laddie, it’s but a drop of water in the sea; it’ll help you but a step,
+and vanish like the morning. The second, which is flat and square and written
+upon, will stand by you through life, like a good staff for the road, and a
+good pillow to your head in sickness. And as for the last, which is cubical,
+that’ll see you, it’s my prayerful wish, into a better land.”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0025.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Held me at arm's length,
+looking at me with his face all working with sorrow" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And I sat down on the boulder the good man had just left, and opened the parcel
+to see the nature of my gifts. That which he had called cubical, I had never
+had much doubt of; sure enough it was a little Bible, to carry in a plaid-neuk.
+That which he had called round, I found to be a shilling piece; and the third,
+which was to help me so wonderfully both in health and sickness all the days of
+my life, was a little piece of coarse yellow paper, written upon thus in red
+ink:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+“T<small>O</small> M<small>AKE</small> L<small>ILLY OF THE</small>
+V<small>ALLEY</small> W<small>ATER</small>.—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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, in the minister’s own hand, was added:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+“Likewise for sprains, rub it in; and for the cholic, a great spooneful in the
+hour.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To be sure, I laughed over this; but it was rather tremulous laughter; and I
+was glad to get my bundle on my staff’s end and set out over the ford and up
+the hill upon the farther side; till, just as I came on the green drove-road
+running wide through the heather, I took my last look of Kirk Essendean, the
+trees about the manse, and the big rowans in the kirkyard where my father and
+my mother lay.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0028.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter II" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0002"></a>CHAPTER II<br/>
+I COME TO MY JOURNEY’S END</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9021.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+n 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond parish, and began to
+substitute in my inquiries the name of the house of Shaws. It was a word that
+seemed to surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I thought the
+plainness of my appearance, in my country habit, and that all dusty from the
+road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place to which I was bound. But
+after two, or maybe three, had given me the same look and the same answer, I
+began to take it in my head there was something strange about the Shaws itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said he. “What for?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s a great house?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Doubtless,” says he. “The house is a big, muckle house.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said I, “but the folk that are in it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Folk?” cried he. “Are ye daft? There’s nae folk there—to call folk.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What?” say I; “not Mr. Ebenezer?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was led to think that I would get a situation,” I said, looking as modest as
+I could.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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, I had left my adventure then and there, and
+returned to Mr. Campbell’s. But when I had come so far a way already, mere
+shame would not suffer me to desist till I had put the matter to the touch of
+proof; I was bound, out of mere self-respect, to carry it through; and little
+as I liked the sound of what I heard, and slow as I began to travel, I still
+kept asking my way and still kept advancing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was drawing on to sundown when I met a stout, dark, sour-looking woman
+coming trudging down a hill; and she, when I had put my usual question, turned
+sharp about, accompanied me back to the summit she had just left, and pointed
+to a great bulk of building standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of
+the next valley. The country was pleasant round about, running in low hills,
+pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to my eyes, wonderfully good; but
+the house itself appeared to be a kind of ruin; no road led up to it; no smoke
+arose from any of the chimneys; nor was there any semblance of a garden. My
+heart sank. “That!” I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The woman’s face lit up with a malignant anger. “That is the house of Shaws!”
+she cried. “Blood built it; blood stopped the building of it; blood shall bring
+it down. See here!” she cried again—“I spit upon the ground, and crack my thumb
+at it! Black be its fall! If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him
+this makes the twelve hunner and nineteen time that Jennet Clouston has called
+down the curse on him and his house, byre and stable, man, guest, and master,
+wife, miss, or bairn—black, black be their fall!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Country folk went by from the fields as I sat there on the side of the ditch,
+but I lacked the spirit to give them a good-e’en. At last the sun went down,
+and then, right up against the yellow sky, I saw a scroll of smoke go mounting,
+not much thicker, as it seemed to me, than the smoke of a candle; but still
+there it was, and meant a fire, and warmth, and cookery, and some living
+inhabitant that must have lit it; and this comforted my heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So I set forward by a little faint track in the grass that led in my direction.
+It was very faint indeed to be the only way to a place of habitation; yet I saw
+no other. Presently it brought me to stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge
+beside them, and coats of arms upon the top. A main entrance it was plainly
+meant to be, but never finished; instead of gates of wrought iron, a pair of
+hurdles were tied across with a straw rope; and as there were no park walls,
+nor any sign of avenue, the track that I was following passed on the right hand
+of the pillars, and went wandering on toward the house.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0033.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="The nearer I got to the
+house the drearier it appeared" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+The nearer I got to that, the drearier it appeared. It seemed like the one wing
+of a house that had never been finished. What should have been the inner end
+stood open on the upper floors, and showed against the sky with steps and
+stairs of uncompleted masonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew
+in and out like doves out of a dove-cote.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper hand, and I
+began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door, and to shout out aloud for
+Mr. Balfour. I was in full career, when I heard the cough right overhead, and
+jumping back and looking up, beheld a man’s head in a tall nightcap, and the
+bell mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first-storey windows.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s loaded,” said a voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have come here with a letter,” I said, “to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws. Is
+he here?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“From whom is it?” asked the man with the blunderbuss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That is neither here nor there,” said I, for I was growing very wroth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” was the reply, “ye can put it down upon the doorstep, and be off with
+ye.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A what?” cried the voice, sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I repeated what I had said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Who are ye, yourself?” was the next question, after a considerable pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am not ashamed of my name,” said I. “They call me David Balfour.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blunderbuss rattle on the
+window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause, and with a curious change of
+voice, that the next question followed:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is your father dead?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice to answer, but
+stood staring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0036.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter III" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0003"></a>CHAPTER III<br/>
+I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9036.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="P" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+resently 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The fire had burned up fairly bright, and showed me the barest room I think I
+ever put my eyes on. Half-a-dozen dishes stood upon the shelves; the table was
+laid for supper with a bowl of porridge, a horn spoon, and a cup of small beer.
+Besides what I have named, there was not another thing in that great,
+stone-vaulted, empty chamber but lockfast chests arranged along the wall and a
+corner cupboard with a padlock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me. He was a mean, stooping,
+narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his age might have been anything
+between fifty and seventy. His nightcap was of flannel, and so was the
+nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt.
+He was long unshaved; but what most distressed and even daunted me, he would
+neither take his eyes away from me nor look me fairly in the face. What he was,
+whether by trade or birth, was more than I could fathom; but he seemed most
+like an old, unprofitable serving-man, who should have been left in charge of
+that big house upon board wages.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are ye sharp-set?” he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee. “Ye can
+eat that drop parritch?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said I feared it was his own supper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O,” said he, “I can do fine wanting it. I’ll take the ale, though, for it
+slockens<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> my cough.” He drank the
+cup about half out, still keeping an eye upon me as he drank; and then suddenly
+held out his hand. “Let’s see the letter,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a>
+moistens
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And who do ye think I am?” says he. “Give me Alexander’s letter.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You know my father’s name?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, and
+disappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, I could find no
+words, neither black nor white, but handed him the letter, and sat down to the
+porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a young man had.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and over in
+his hands.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0039.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Do ye ken what's in it?"
+/>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“Do ye ken what’s in it?” he asked, suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You see for yourself, sir,” said I, “that the seal has not been broken.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “but what brought you here?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To give the letter,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” says he, cunningly, “but ye’ll have had some hopes, nae doubt?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot-toot!” said Uncle Ebenezer, “dinnae fly up in the snuff at me. We’ll
+agree fine yet. And, Davie, my man, if you’re done with that bit parritch, I
+could just take a sup of it myself. Ay,” he continued, as soon as he had ousted
+me from the stool and spoon, “they’re fine, halesome food—they’re grand food,
+parritch.” He murmured a little grace to himself and fell to. “Your father was
+very fond of his meat, I mind; he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as
+for me, I could never do mair than pyke at food.” He took a pull at the small
+beer, which probably reminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ran
+thus: “If ye’re dry ye’ll find water behind the door.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet, and looking down
+upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, on his part, continued to eat like
+a man under some pressure of time, and to throw out little darting glances now
+at my shoes and now at my home-spun stockings. Once only, when he had ventured
+to look a little higher, our eyes met; and no thief taken with a hand in a
+man’s pocket could have shown more lively signals of distress. This set me in a
+muse, whether his timidity arose from too long a disuse of any human company;
+and whether perhaps, upon a little trial, it might pass off, and my uncle
+change into an altogether different man. From this I was awakened by his sharp
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Your father’s been long dead?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Three weeks, sir,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any brother.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Dear me, dear me!” said Ebenezer. “Nor yet of Shaws, I dare say?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not so much as the name, sir,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot-toot!” said Uncle Ebenezer, “there’s a fine moon.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,”<a href="#fn2"
+name="fnref2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> said I. “I cannae see the bed.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn2"></a> <a href="#fnref2">[2]</a>
+Dark as the pit.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold in that miserable
+room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler came and let me out. He carried me
+to the back of the house, where was a draw-well, and told me to “wash my face
+there, if I wanted;” and when that was done, I made the best of my own way back
+to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making the porridge. The
+table was laid with two bowls and two horn spoons, but the same single measure
+of small beer. Perhaps my eye rested on this particular with some surprise, and
+perhaps my uncle observed it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought,
+asking me if I would like to drink ale—for so he called it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na, na,” said he; “I’ll deny you nothing in reason.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed grievously put out. “Hoots-toots,” said he, “ca’ cannie, man—ca’
+cannie! Bide a day or two. I’m nae warlock, to find a fortune for you in the
+bottom of a parritch bowl; but just you give me a day or two, and say naething
+to naebody, and as sure as sure, I’ll do the right by you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It seemed to me (too soon, I dare say) that I was getting the upper hand of my
+uncle; and I began next to say that I must have the bed and bedclothes aired
+and put to sun-dry; for nothing would make me sleep in such a pickle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is this my house or yours?” said he, in his keen voice, and then all of a
+sudden broke off. “Na, na,” said he, “I didnae mean that. What’s mine is yours,
+Davie, my man, and what’s yours is mine. Blood’s thicker than water; and
+there’s naebody but you and me that ought the name.” And then on he rambled
+about the family, and its ancient greatness, and his father that began to
+enlarge the house, and himself that stopped the building as a sinful waste; and
+this put it in my head to give him Jennet Clouston’s message.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The limmer!” he cried. “Twelve hunner and fifteen—that’s every day since I had
+the limmer rowpit!<a href="#fn3" name="fnref3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> Dod, David,
+I’ll have her roasted on red peats before I’m by with it! A witch—a proclaimed
+witch! I’ll aff and see the session clerk.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn3"></a> <a href="#fnref3">[3]</a>
+Sold up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I cannae leave you by yoursel’ in the house,” said he. “I’ll have to lock you
+out.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sir,” says I, “with a proper reverence for your age and our common blood, I do
+not value your favour at a boddle’s purchase. I was brought up to have a good
+conceit of myself; and if you were all the uncle, and all the family, I had in
+the world ten times over, I wouldn’t buy your liking at such prices.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, well,” said he, “we must bear and forbear. I’ll no go; that’s all that’s
+to be said of it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0046.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter IV" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0004"></a>CHAPTER IV<br/>
+I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9046.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="F" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+or a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We had the porridge
+cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge and small beer was my
+uncle’s diet. He spoke but little, and that in the same way as before, shooting
+a question at me after a long silence; and when I sought to lead him to talk
+about my future, slipped out of it again. In a room next door to the kitchen,
+where he suffered me to go, I found a great number of books, both Latin and
+English, in which I took great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed, the time
+passed so lightly in this good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to
+my residence at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes
+playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an entry on the
+fly-leaf of a chap-book (one of Patrick Walker’s) plainly written by my
+father’s hand and thus conceived: “To my brother Ebenezer on his fifth
+birthday.” Now, what puzzled me was this: That, as my father was of course the
+younger brother, he must either have made some strange error, or he must have
+written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear manly hand of writing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked if he and
+my father had been twins.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and sudden
+profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond my comprehension
+that it put me into both fear and hope. On the one hand, I began to think my
+uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous; on the other, there came up
+into my mind (quite unbidden by me and even discouraged) a story like some
+ballad I had heard folk singing, of a poor lad that was a rightful heir and a
+wicked kinsman that tried to keep him from his own. For why should my uncle
+play a part with a relative that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in
+his heart he had some cause to fear him?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly settled
+in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks; so that we sat at table
+like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the other. Not another word
+had he to say to me, black or white, but was busy turning something secretly
+over in his mind; and the longer we sat and the more I looked at him, the more
+certain I became that the something was unfriendly to myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Davie,” he said, at length, “I’ve been thinking;” then he paused, and said it
+again. “There’s a wee bit siller that I half promised ye before ye were born,”
+he continued; “promised it to your father. O, naething legal, ye understand;
+just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, I keepit that bit money separate—it
+was a great expense, but a promise is a promise—and it has grown by now to be a
+matter of just precisely—just exactly”—and here he paused and stumbled—“of just
+exactly forty pounds!” This last he rapped out with a sidelong glance over his
+shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream, “Scots!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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—
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently he looked towards me sideways.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And see here,” says he, “tit for tat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree, and then
+waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And yet, when at last he plucked up
+courage to speak, it was only to tell me (very properly, as I thought) that he
+was growing old and a little broken, and that he would expect me to help him
+with the house and the bit garden.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can I have a light, sir?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na,” said he, very cunningly. “Nae lights in my house.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well, sir,” said I. “Are the stairs good?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but I pushed out
+with foot and hand, and presently struck the wall with the one, and the
+lowermost round of the stair with the other. The wall, by the touch, was of
+fine hewn stone; the steps too, though somewhat steep and narrow, were of
+polished masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot. Minding my uncle’s word
+about the bannisters, I kept close to the tower side, and felt my way in the
+pitch darkness with a beating heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not counting lofts. Well,
+as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a thought more
+lightsome; and I was wondering what might be the cause of this change, when a
+second blink of the summer lightning came and went. If I did not cry out, it
+was because fear had me by the throat; and if I did not fall, it was more by
+Heaven’s mercy than my own strength. It was not only that the flash shone in on
+every side through breaches in the wall, so that I seemed to be clambering
+aloft upon an open scaffold, but the same passing brightness showed me the
+steps were of unequal length, and that one of my feet rested that moment within
+two inches of the well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust of a kind of
+angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here, certainly to run
+great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settle that “perhaps,” if I should
+break my neck for it; got me down upon my hands and knees; and as slowly as a
+snail, feeling before me every inch, and testing the solidity of every stone, I
+continued to ascend the stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash,
+appeared to have redoubled; nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled and
+my mind confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and
+the foul beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tower, I should have said, was square; and in every corner the step was
+made of a great stone of a different shape to join the flights. Well, I had
+come close to one of these turns, when, feeling forward as usual, my hand
+slipped upon an edge and found nothing but emptiness beyond it. The stair had
+been carried no higher; to set a stranger mounting it in the darkness was to
+send him straight to his death; and (although, thanks to the lightning and my
+own precautions, I was safe enough) the mere thought of the peril in which I
+might have stood, and the dreadful height I might have fallen from, brought out
+the sweat upon my body and relaxed my joints.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0053.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="My hand slipped upon an
+edge and found nothing but emptiness beyond it" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenly clapping my
+two hands down upon his shoulders—“Ah!” cried I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep’s bleat, flung up his arms, and
+tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shocked at this; but I had
+myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had
+fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard; and it was my design to furnish
+myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and the power
+of devising evil. In the cupboard were a few bottles, some apparently of
+medicine; a great many bills and other papers, which I should willingly enough
+have rummaged, had I had the time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to
+my purpose. Thence I turned to the chests. The first was full of meal; the
+second of moneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many other
+things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty, ugly-looking
+Highland dirk without the scabbard. This, then, I concealed inside my
+waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm sprawling
+abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed to have ceased
+breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then I got water and dashed it in
+his face; and with that he seemed to come a little to himself, working his
+mouth and fluttering his eyelids. At last he looked up and saw me, and there
+came into his eyes a terror that was not of this world.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come, come,” said I; “sit up.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are ye alive?” he sobbed. “O man, are ye alive?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That am I,” said I. “Small thanks to you!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s the trouble,” said he, reviving a little; “I have a trouble, Davie. It’s
+the heart.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some pity for a man
+that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger; and I numbered
+over before him the points on which I wanted explanation: why he lied to me at
+every word; why he feared that I should leave him; why he disliked it to be
+hinted that he and my father were twins—“Is that because it is true?” I asked;
+why he had given me money to which I was convinced I had no claim; and, last of
+all, why he had tried to kill me. He heard me all through in silence; and then,
+in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll tell ye the morn,” he said; “as sure as death I will.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked him into his
+room, however, and pocketed the key, and then returning to the kitchen, made up
+such a blaze as had not shone there for many a long year, and wrapping myself
+in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fell asleep.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0057.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter V" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0005"></a>CHAPTER V<br/>
+I GO TO THE QUEEN’S FERRY</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9057.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="M" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+uch rain fell in the night; and the next morning there blew a bitter wintry
+wind out of the north-west, driving scattered clouds. For all that, and before
+the sun began to peep or the last of the stars had vanished, I made my way to
+the side of the burn, and had a plunge in a deep whirling pool. All aglow from
+my bath, I sat down once more beside the fire, which I replenished, and began
+gravely to consider my position.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I sat there nursing my knee and smiling at the fire; and I saw myself in fancy
+smell out his secrets one after another, and grow to be that man’s king and
+ruler. The warlock of Essendean, they say, had made a mirror in which men could
+read the future; it must have been of other stuff than burning coal; for in all
+the shapes and pictures that I sat and gazed at, there was never a ship, never
+a seaman with a hairy cap, never a big bludgeon for my silly head, or the least
+sign of all those tribulations that were ripe to fall on me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” said I, with a jeering tone, “have you nothing more to say to me?”
+And then, as he made no articulate reply, “It will be time, I think, to
+understand each other,” I continued. “You took me for a country Johnnie Raw,
+with no more mother-wit or courage than a porridge-stick. I took you for a good
+man, or no worse than others at the least. It seems we were both wrong. What
+cause you have to fear me, to cheat me, and to attempt my life—”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He murmured something about a jest, and that he liked a bit of fun; and then,
+seeing me smile, changed his tone, and assured me he would make all clear as
+soon as we had breakfasted. I saw by his face that he had no lie ready for me,
+though he was hard at work preparing one; and I think I was about to tell him
+so, when we were interrupted by a knocking at the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0059.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Snapping his fingers in
+the air and footing it right cleverly" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“What cheer, mate?” says he, with a cracked voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked him soberly to name his pleasure.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, pleasure!” says he; and then began to sing:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+“For it’s my delight, of a shiny night,<br/>
+In the season of the year.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “if you have no business at all, I will even be so unmannerly
+as to shut you out.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “come into the house, and you shall have a bite if I go empty
+for it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that I brought him in and set him down to my own place, where he fell-to
+greedily on the remains of breakfast, winking to me between whiles, and making
+many faces, which I think the poor soul considered manly. Meanwhile, my uncle
+had read the letter and sat thinking; then, suddenly, he got to his feet with a
+great air of liveliness, and pulled me apart into the farthest corner of the
+room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Read that,” said he, and put the letter in my hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here it is, lying before me as I write:
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+“The Hawes Inn, at the Queen’s Ferry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“S<small>IR</small>,—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,<a href="#fn4"
+name="fnref4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> 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,
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+“E<small>LIAS</small> H<small>OSEASON</small>.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn4"></a> <a href="#fnref4">[4]</a>
+Agent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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
+<i>Covenant</i>, 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 <i>Covenant</i> if
+there was papers to be signed; and so far from a loss of time, we can jog on to
+the lawyer, Mr. Rankeillor’s. After a’ that’s come and gone, ye would be
+swier<a href="#fn5" name="fnref5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn5"></a> <a href="#fnref5">[5]</a>
+Unwilling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I stood awhile and thought. I was going to some place of shipping, which was
+doubtless populous, and where my uncle durst attempt no violence, and, indeed,
+even the society of the cabin-boy so far protected me. Once there, I believed I
+could force on the visit to the lawyer, even if my uncle were now insincere in
+proposing it; and, perhaps, in the bottom of my heart, I wished a nearer view
+of the sea and ships. You are to remember I had lived all my life in the inland
+hills, and just two days before had my first sight of the firth lying like a
+blue floor, and the sailed ships moving on the face of it, no bigger than toys.
+One thing with another, I made up my mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well,” says I, “let us go to the Ferry.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked him of the brig (which he declared was the finest ship that sailed) and
+of Captain Hoseason, in whose praises he was equally loud. Heasyoasy (for so he
+still named the skipper) was a man, by his account, that minded for nothing
+either in heaven or earth; one that, as people said, would “crack on all sail
+into the day of judgment;” rough, fierce, unscrupulous, and brutal; and all
+this my poor cabin-boy had taught himself to admire as something seamanlike and
+manly. He would only admit one flaw in his idol. “He ain’t no seaman,” he
+admitted. “That’s Mr. Shuan that navigates the brig; he’s the finest seaman in
+the trade, only for drink; and I tell you I believe it! Why, look’ere;” and
+turning down his stocking he showed me a great, raw, red wound that made my
+blood run cold. “He done that—Mr. Shuan done it,” he said, with an air of
+pride.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What!” I cried, “do you take such savage usage at his hands? Why, you are no
+slave, to be so handled!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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
+<i>Covenant</i> (for all her pious name) was little better than a hell upon the
+seas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you no friends?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said he had a father in some English seaport, I forget which.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He was a fine man, too,” he said, “but he’s dead.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In Heaven’s name,” cried I, “can you find no reputable life on shore?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked him what trade could be so dreadful as the one he followed, where he
+ran the continual peril of his life, not alone from wind and sea, but by the
+horrid cruelty of those who were his masters. He said it was very true; and
+then began to praise the life, and tell what a pleasure it was to get on shore
+with money in his pocket, and spend it like a man, and buy apples, and swagger,
+and surprise what he called stick-in-the-mud boys. “And then it’s not all as
+bad as that,” says he; “there’s worse off than me: there’s the twenty-pounders.
+O, laws! you should see them taking on. Why, I’ve seen a man as old as you, I
+dessay”—(to him I seemed old)—“ah, and he had a beard, too—well, and as soon as
+we cleared out of the river, and he had the drug out of his head—my! how he
+cried and carried on! I made a fine fool of him, I tell you! And then there’s
+little uns, too: oh, little by me! I tell you, I keep them in order. When we
+carry little uns, I have a rope’s end of my own to wollop’em.” And so he ran
+on, until it came in on me what he meant by twenty-pounders were those unhappy
+criminals who were sent over-seas to slavery in North America, or the still
+more unhappy innocents who were kidnapped or trepanned (as the word went) for
+private interest or vengeance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just then we came to the top of the hill, and looked down on the Ferry and the
+Hope. The Firth of Forth (as is very well known) narrows at this point to the
+width of a good-sized river, which makes a convenient ferry going north, and
+turns the upper reach into a landlocked haven for all manner of ships. Right in
+the midst of the narrows lies an islet with some ruins; on the south shore they
+have built a pier for the service of the Ferry; and at the end of the pier, on
+the other side of the road, and backed against a pretty garden of holly-trees
+and hawthorns, I could see the building which they called the Hawes Inn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The town of Queensferry lies farther west, and the neighbourhood of the inn
+looked pretty lonely at that time of day, for the boat had just gone north with
+passengers. A skiff, however, lay beside the pier, with some seamen sleeping on
+the thwarts; this, as Ransome told me, was the brig’s boat waiting for the
+captain; and about half a mile off, and all alone in the anchorage, he showed
+me the <i>Covenant</i> herself. There was a sea-going bustle on board; yards
+were swinging into place; and as the wind blew from that quarter, I could hear
+the song of the sailors as they pulled upon the ropes. After all I had listened
+to upon the way, I looked at that ship with an extreme abhorrence; and from the
+bottom of my heart I pitied all poor souls that were condemned to sail in her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 <i>Covenant</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed to waken from a dream. “Eh?” he said. “What’s that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him over again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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 <i>Covenant</i> for sea.”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0066.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter VI" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0006"></a>CHAPTER VI<br/>
+WHAT BEFELL AT THE QUEEN’S FERRY</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9066.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+s 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain Hoseason,” returned my uncle, “you keep your room unco hot.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, well, captain,” replied my uncle, “we must all be the way we’re made.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it chanced that this fancy of the captain’s had a great share in my
+misfortunes. For though I had promised myself not to let my kinsman out of
+sight, I was both so impatient for a nearer look of the sea, and so sickened by
+the closeness of the room, that when he told me to “run down-stairs and play
+myself awhile,” I was fool enough to take him at his word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 <i>Covenant</i>, 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I looked, too, at the seamen with the skiff—big brown fellows, some in shirts,
+some with jackets, some with coloured handkerchiefs about their throats, one
+with a brace of pistols stuck into his pockets, two or three with knotty
+bludgeons, and all with their case-knives. I passed the time of day with one
+that looked less desperate than his fellows, and asked him of the sailing of
+the brig. He said they would get under way as soon as the ebb set, and
+expressed his gladness to be out of a port where there were no taverns and
+fiddlers; but all with such horrifying oaths, that I made haste to get away
+from him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This threw me back on Ransome, who seemed the least wicked of that gang, and
+who soon came out of the inn and ran to me, crying for a bowl of punch. I told
+him I would give him no such thing, for neither he nor I was of an age for such
+indulgences. “But a glass of ale you may have, and welcome,” said I. He mopped
+and mowed at me, and called me names; but he was glad to get the ale, for all
+that; and presently we were set down at a table in the front room of the inn,
+and both eating and drinking with a good appetite.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here it occurred to me that, as the landlord was a man of that county, I might
+do well to make a friend of him. I offered him a share, as was much the custom
+in those days; but he was far too great a man to sit with such poor customers
+as Ransome and myself, and he was leaving the room, when I called him back to
+ask if he knew Mr. Rankeillor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot, ay,” says he, “and a very honest man. And, O, by-the-by,” says he, “was
+it you that came in with Ebenezer?” And when I had told him yes, “Ye’ll be no
+friend of his?” he asked, meaning, in the Scottish way, that I would be no
+relative.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him no, none.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I thought not,” said he, “and yet ye have a kind of gliff<a href="#fn6"
+name="fnref6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> of Mr. Alexander.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn6"></a> <a href="#fnref6">[6]</a>
+Look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said it seemed that Ebenezer was ill-seen in the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nae doubt,” said the landlord. “He’s a wicked auld man, and there’s many would
+like to see him girning in the tow.<a href="#fn7"
+name="fnref7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> Jennet Clouston and mony mair that he has
+harried out of house and hame. And yet he was ance a fine young fellow, too.
+But that was before the sough<a href="#fn8" name="fnref8"><sup>[8]</sup></a>
+gaed abroad about Mr. Alexander, that was like the death of him.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn7"></a> <a href="#fnref7">[7]</a>
+Rope.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn8"></a> <a href="#fnref8">[8]</a>
+Report.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what was it?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ou, just that he had killed him,” said the landlord. “Did ye never hear that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what would he kill him for?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what for, but just to get the place,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The place?” said I. “The Shaws?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Nae other place that I ken,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, man?” said I. “Is that so? Was my—was Alexander the eldest son?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“‘Deed was he,” said the landlord. “What else would he have killed him for?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with that he went away, as he had been impatient to do from the beginning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of course, I had guessed it a long while ago; but it is one thing to guess,
+another to know; and I sat stunned with my good fortune, and could scarce grow
+to believe that the same poor lad who had trudged in the dust from Ettrick
+Forest not two days ago, was now one of the rich of the earth, and had a house
+and broad lands, and might mount his horse tomorrow. All these pleasant things,
+and a thousand others, crowded into my mind, as I sat staring before me out of
+the inn window, and paying no heed to what I saw; only I remember that my eye
+lighted on Captain Hoseason down on the pier among his seamen, and speaking
+with some authority. And presently he came marching back towards the house,
+with no mark of a sailor’s clumsiness, but carrying his fine, tall figure with
+a manly bearing, and still with the same sober, grave expression on his face. I
+wondered if it was possible that Ransome’s stories could be true, and half
+disbelieved them; they fitted so ill with the man’s looks. But indeed, he was
+neither so good as I supposed him, nor quite so bad as Ransome did; for, in
+fact, he was two men, and left the better one behind as soon as he set foot on
+board his vessel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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;<a href="#fn9" name="fnref9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> he means mischief.
+Come aboard till I can get a word with ye.” And then, passing his arm through
+mine, he continued aloud, as he set off towards his boat: “But, come, what can
+I bring ye from the Carolinas? Any friend of Mr. Balfour’s can command. A roll
+of tobacco? Indian feather-work? a skin of a wild beast? a stone pipe? the
+mocking-bird that mews for all the world like a cat? the cardinal bird that is
+as red as blood?—take your pick and say your pleasure.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn9"></a> <a href="#fnref9">[9]</a>
+Fox.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this time we were at the boat-side, and he was handing me in. I did not
+dream of hanging back; I thought (the poor fool!) that I had found a good
+friend and helper, and I was rejoiced to see the ship. As soon as we were all
+set in our places, the boat was thrust off from the pier and began to move over
+the waters: and what with my pleasure in this new movement and my surprise at
+our low position, and the appearance of the shores, and the growing bigness of
+the brig as we drew near to it, I could hardly understand what the captain
+said, and must have answered him at random.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But where is my uncle?” said I suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said Hoseason, with a sudden grimness, “that’s the point.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0071.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I gave a piercing cry--
+Help, Help! Murger!" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0074.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter VII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0007"></a>CHAPTER VII<br/>
+I GO TO SEA IN THE BRIG <i>COVENANT</i> OF DYSART</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9074.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot, and deafened by
+many unfamiliar noises. There sounded in my ears a roaring of water as of a
+huge mill-dam, the thrashing of heavy sprays, the thundering of the sails, and
+the shrill cries of seamen. The whole world now heaved giddily up, and now
+rushed giddily downward; and so sick and hurt was I in body, and my mind so
+much confounded, that it took me a long while, chasing my thoughts up and down,
+and ever stunned again by a fresh stab of pain, to realise that I must be lying
+somewhere bound in the belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have
+strengthened to a gale. With the clear perception of my plight, there fell upon
+me a blackness of despair, a horror of remorse at my own folly, and a passion
+of anger at my uncle, that once more bereft me of my senses.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I heard a gun fire, and supposed the storm had proved too strong for us, and we
+were firing signals of distress. The thought of deliverance, even by death in
+the deep sea, was welcome to me. Yet it was no such matter; but (as I was
+afterwards told) a common habit of the captain’s, which I here set down to show
+that even the worst man may have his kindlier side. We were then passing, it
+appeared, within some miles of Dysart, where the brig was built, and where old
+Mrs. Hoseason, the captain’s mother, had come some years before to live; and
+whether outward or inward bound, the <i>Covenant</i> was never suffered to go
+by that place by day, without a gun fired and colours shown.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0077.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I was awakened..." />
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0079.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I was awakened by the
+light of a lantern shining in my face" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said he, “how goes it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “a sore dunt.<a href="#fn10" name="fnref10"><sup>[10]</sup></a>
+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?”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn10"></a> <a href="#fnref10">[10]</a>
+Stroke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The next time he came to see me, I was lying betwixt sleep and waking, my eyes
+wide open in the darkness, the sickness quite departed, but succeeded by a
+horrid giddiness and swimming that was almost worse to bear. I ached, besides,
+in every limb, and the cords that bound me seemed to be of fire. The smell of
+the hole in which I lay seemed to have become a part of me; and during the long
+interval since his last visit I had suffered tortures of fear, now from the
+scurrying of the ship’s rats, that sometimes pattered on my very face, and now
+from the dismal imaginings that haunt the bed of fever.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The glimmer of the lantern, as a trap opened, shone in like the heaven’s
+sunlight; and though it only showed me the strong, dark beams of the ship that
+was my prison, I could have cried aloud for gladness. The man with the green
+eyes was the first to descend the ladder, and I noticed that he came somewhat
+unsteadily. He was followed by the captain. Neither said a word; but the first
+set to and examined me, and dressed my wound as before, while Hoseason looked
+me in my face with an odd, black look.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am no conjurer, Mr. Riach,” said the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, Mr. Riach, I would have no
+complaint to make of ye,” returned the skipper; “and instead of asking riddles,
+I make bold to say that ye would keep your breath to cool your porridge. We’ll
+be required on deck,” he added, in a sharper note, and set one foot upon the
+ladder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Mr. Riach caught him by the sleeve.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Admitting that you have been paid to do a murder——” he began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hoseason turned upon him with a flash.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s that?” he cried. “What kind of talk is that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It seems it is the talk that you can understand,” said Mr. Riach, looking him
+steadily in the face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Riach, I have sailed with ye three cruises,” replied the captain. “In all
+that time, sir, ye should have learned to know me: I’m a stiff man, and a dour
+man; but for what ye say the now—fie, fie!—it comes from a bad heart and a
+black conscience. If ye say the lad will die——”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, will he!” said Mr. Riach.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir, is not that enough?” said Hoseason. “Flit him where ye please!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thereupon the captain ascended the ladder; and I, who had lain silent
+throughout this strange conversation, beheld Mr. Riach turn after him and bow
+as low as to his knees in what was plainly a spirit of derision. Even in my
+then state of sickness, I perceived two things: that the mate was touched with
+liquor, as the captain hinted, and that (drunk or sober) he was like to prove a
+valuable friend.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was a blessed thing indeed to open my eyes again upon the daylight, and to
+find myself in the society of men. The forecastle was a roomy place enough, set
+all about with berths, in which the men of the watch below were seated smoking,
+or lying down asleep. The day being calm and the wind fair, the scuttle was
+open, and not only the good daylight, but from time to time (as the ship
+rolled) a dusty beam of sunlight shone in, and dazzled and delighted me. I had
+no sooner moved, moreover, than one of the men brought me a drink of something
+healing which Mr. Riach had prepared, and bade me lie still and I should soon
+be well again. There were no bones broken, he explained: “A clour<a
+href="#fn11" name="fnref11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> on the head was naething. Man,”
+said he, “it was me that gave it ye!”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn11"></a> <a href="#fnref11">[11]</a>
+Blow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not only got my
+health again, but came to know my companions. They were a rough lot indeed, as
+sailors mostly are: being men rooted out of all the kindly parts of life, and
+condemned to toss together on the rough seas, with masters no less cruel. There
+were some among them that had sailed with the pirates and seen things it would
+be a shame even to speak of; some were men that had run from the king’s ships,
+and went with a halter round their necks, of which they made no secret; and
+all, as the saying goes, were “at a word and a blow” with their best friends.
+Yet I had not been many days shut up with them before I began to be ashamed of
+my first judgment, when I had drawn away from them at the Ferry pier, as though
+they had been unclean beasts. No class of man is altogether bad, but each has
+its own faults and virtues; and these shipmates of mine were no exception to
+the rule. Rough they were, sure enough; and bad, I suppose; but they had many
+virtues. They were kind when it occurred to them, simple even beyond the
+simplicity of a country lad like me, and had some glimmerings of honesty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside for hours and
+tell me of his wife and child. He was a fisher that had lost his boat, and thus
+been driven to the deep-sea voyaging. Well, it is years ago now: but I have
+never forgotten him. His wife (who was “young by him,” as he often told me)
+waited in vain to see her man return; he would never again make the fire for
+her in the morning, nor yet keep the bairn when she was sick. Indeed, many of
+these poor fellows (as the event proved) were upon their last cruise; the deep
+seas and cannibal fish received them; and it is a thankless business to speak
+ill of the dead.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I did my best in the small time allowed me to make some thing like a man, or
+rather I should say something like a boy, of the poor creature, Ransome. But
+his mind was scarce truly human. He could remember nothing of the time before
+he came to sea; only that his father had made clocks, and had a starling in the
+parlour, which could whistle “The North Countrie;” all else had been blotted
+out in these years of hardship and cruelties. He had a strange notion of the
+dry land, picked up from sailor’s stories: that it was a place where lads were
+put to some kind of slavery called a trade, and where apprentices were
+continually lashed and clapped into foul prisons. In a town, he thought every
+second person a decoy, and every third house a place in which seamen would be
+drugged and murdered. To be sure, I would tell him how kindly I had myself been
+used upon that dry land he was so much afraid of, and how well fed and
+carefully taught both by my friends and my parents: and if he had been recently
+hurt, he would weep bitterly and swear to run away; but if he was in his usual
+crackbrain humour, or (still more) if he had had a glass of spirits in the
+roundhouse, he would deride the notion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mr. Riach (Heaven forgive him!) who gave the boy drink; and it was,
+doubtless, kindly meant; but besides that it was ruin to his health, it was the
+pitifullest thing in life to see this unhappy, unfriended creature staggering,
+and dancing, and talking he knew not what. Some of the men laughed, but not
+all; others would grow as black as thunder (thinking, perhaps, of their own
+childhood or their own children) and bid him stop that nonsense, and think what
+he was doing. As for me, I felt ashamed to look at him, and the poor child
+still comes about me in my dreams.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this time, you should know, the <i>Covenant</i> 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thought it would be civil to ask him for his story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He whistled loud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Never had one,” said he. “I like fun, that’s all.” And he skipped out of the
+forecastle.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0086.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter VIII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0008"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br/>
+THE ROUND-HOUSE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9086.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="O" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ne night, about eleven o’clock, a man of Mr. Riach’s watch (which was on deck)
+came below for his jacket; and instantly there began to go a whisper about the
+forecastle that “Shuan had done for him at last.” There was no need of a name;
+we all knew who was meant; but we had scarce time to get the idea rightly in
+our heads, far less to speak of it, when the scuttle was again flung open, and
+Captain Hoseason came down the ladder. He looked sharply round the bunks in the
+tossing light of the lantern; and then, walking straight up to me, he addressed
+me, to my surprise, in tones of kindness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Even as he spoke, two seamen appeared in the scuttle, carrying Ransome in their
+arms; and the ship at that moment giving a great sheer into the sea, and the
+lantern swinging, the light fell direct on the boy’s face. It was as white as
+wax, and had a look upon it like a dreadful smile. The blood in me ran cold,
+and I drew in my breath as if I had been struck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Run away aft; run away aft with ye!” cried Hoseason.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And at that I brushed by the sailors and the boy (who neither spoke nor moved),
+and ran up the ladder on deck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The brig was sheering swiftly and giddily through a long, cresting swell. She
+was on the starboard tack, and on the left hand, under the arched foot of the
+foresail, I could see the sunset still quite bright. This, at such an hour of
+the night, surprised me greatly; but I was too ignorant to draw the true
+conclusion—that we were going north-about round Scotland, and were now on the
+high sea between the Orkney and Shetland Islands, having avoided the dangerous
+currents of the Pentland Firth. For my part, who had been so long shut in the
+dark and knew nothing of head-winds, I thought we might be half-way or more
+across the Atlantic. And indeed (beyond that I wondered a little at the
+lateness of the sunset light) I gave no heed to it, and pushed on across the
+decks, running between the seas, catching at ropes, and only saved from going
+overboard by one of the hands on deck, who had been always kind to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The round-house, for which I was bound, and where I was now to sleep and serve,
+stood some six feet above the decks, and considering the size of the brig, was
+of good dimensions. Inside were a fixed table and bench, and two berths, one
+for the captain and the other for the two mates, turn and turn about. It was
+all fitted with lockers from top to bottom, so as to stow away the officers’
+belongings and a part of the ship’s stores; there was a second store-room
+underneath, which you entered by a hatchway in the middle of the deck; indeed,
+all the best of the meat and drink and the whole of the powder were collected
+in this place; and all the firearms, except the two pieces of brass ordnance,
+were set in a rack in the aftermost wall of the round-house. The most of the
+cutlasses were in another place.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sit down!” roars the captain. “Ye sot and swine, do ye know what ye’ve done?
+Ye’ve murdered the boy!”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0089.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Sit down! Roars the
+Captain " />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Shuan seemed to understand; for he sat down again, and put up his hand to
+his brow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” he said, “he brought me a dirty pannikin!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that word, the captain and I and Mr. Riach all looked at each other for a
+second with a kind of frightened look; and then Hoseason walked up to his chief
+officer, took him by the shoulder, led him across to his bunk, and bade him lie
+down and go to sleep, as you might speak to a bad child. The murderer cried a
+little, but he took off his sea-boots and obeyed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah!” cried Mr. Riach, with a dreadful voice, “ye should have interfered long
+syne. It’s too late now.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was the first night of my new duties; and in the course of the next day I
+had got well into the run of them. I had to serve at the meals, which the
+captain took at regular hours, sitting down with the officer who was off duty;
+all the day through I would be running with a dram to one or other of my three
+masters; and at night I slept on a blanket thrown on the deck boards at the
+aftermost end of the round-house, and right in the draught of the two doors. It
+was a hard and a cold bed; nor was I suffered to sleep without interruption;
+for some one would be always coming in from deck to get a dram, and when a
+fresh watch was to be set, two and sometimes all three would sit down and brew
+a bowl together. How they kept their health, I know not, any more than how I
+kept my own.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet in other ways it was an easy service. There was no cloth to lay; the
+meals were either of oatmeal porridge or salt junk, except twice a week, when
+there was duff: and though I was clumsy enough and (not being firm on my
+sealegs) sometimes fell with what I was bringing them, both Mr. Riach and the
+captain were singularly patient. I could not but fancy they were making up
+lee-way with their consciences, and that they would scarce have been so good
+with me if they had not been worse with Ransome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As for Mr. Shuan, the drink or his crime, or the two together, had certainly
+troubled his mind. I cannot say I ever saw him in his proper wits. He never
+grew used to my being there, stared at me continually (sometimes, I could have
+thought, with terror), and more than once drew back from my hand when I was
+serving him. I was pretty sure from the first that he had no clear mind of what
+he had done, and on my second day in the round-house I had the proof of it. We
+were alone, and he had been staring at me a long time, when all at once, up he
+got, as pale as death, and came close up to me, to my great terror. But I had
+no cause to be afraid of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You were not here before?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, sir,” said I.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Altogether it was no very hard life for the time it lasted, which (as you are
+to hear) was not long. I was as well fed as the best of them; even their
+pickles, which were the great dainty, I was allowed my share of; and had I
+liked I might have been drunk from morning to night, like Mr. Shuan. I had
+company, too, and good company of its sort. Mr. Riach, who had been to the
+college, spoke to me like a friend when he was not sulking, and told me many
+curious things, and some that were informing; and even the captain, though he
+kept me at the stick’s end the most part of the time, would sometimes unbuckle
+a bit, and tell me of the fine countries he had visited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0094.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter IX" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0009"></a>CHAPTER IX<br/>
+THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9094.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="M" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ore than a week went by, in which the ill-luck that had hitherto pursued the
+<i>Covenant</i> upon this voyage grew yet more strongly marked. Some days she
+made a little way; others, she was driven actually back. At last we were beaten
+so far to the south that we tossed and tacked to and fro the whole of the ninth
+day, within sight of Cape Wrath and the wild, rocky coast on either hand of it.
+There followed on that a council of the officers, and some decision which I did
+not rightly understand, seeing only the result: that we had made a fair wind of
+a foul one and were running south.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet, white fog that
+hid one end of the brig from the other. All afternoon, when I went on deck, I
+saw men and officers listening hard over the bulwarks—“for breakers,” they
+said; and though I did not so much as understand the word, I felt danger in the
+air, and was excited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She’s struck!” said Mr. Riach.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, sir,” said the captain. “We’ve only run a boat down.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And they hurried out.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0097.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="The stern had been thrown
+into the air, and the man had leaped up" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+The captain was in the right of it. We had run down a boat in the fog, and she
+had parted in the midst and gone to the bottom with all her crew but one. This
+man (as I heard afterwards) had been sitting in the stern as a passenger, while
+the rest were on the benches rowing. At the moment of the blow, the stern had
+been thrown into the air, and the man (having his hands free, and for all he
+was encumbered with a frieze overcoat that came below his knees) had leaped up
+and caught hold of the brig’s bowsprit. It showed he had luck and much agility
+and unusual strength, that he should have thus saved himself from such a pass.
+And yet, when the captain brought him into the round-house, and I set eyes on
+him for the first time, he looked as cool as I did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was smallish in stature, but well set and as nimble as a goat; his face was
+of a good open expression, but sunburnt very dark, and heavily freckled and
+pitted with the small-pox; his eyes were unusually light and had a kind of
+dancing madness in them, that was both engaging and alarming; and when he took
+off his great-coat, he laid a pair of fine silver-mounted pistols on the table,
+and I saw that he was belted with a great sword. His manners, besides, were
+elegant, and he pledged the captain handsomely. Altogether I thought of him, at
+the first sight, that here was a man I would rather call my friend than my
+enemy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’m vexed, sir, about the boat,” says the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Friends of yours?” said Hoseason.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You have none such friends in your country,” was the reply. “They would have
+died for me like dogs.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” said the captain, still watching him, “there are more men in the
+world than boats to put them in.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that’s true, too,” cried the other, “and ye seem to be a gentleman of
+great penetration.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” says the other, “and so has many a pretty man, for the matter of
+that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No doubt, sir,” says the captain, “and fine coats.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Oho!” says the stranger, “is that how the wind sets?” And he laid his hand
+quickly on his pistols.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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).
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In France?” says the captain. “No, sir; that I cannot do. But where ye come
+from—we might talk of that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and packed me off to
+the galley to get supper for the gentleman. I lost no time, I promise you; and
+when I came back into the round-house, I found the gentleman had taken a
+money-belt from about his waist, and poured out a guinea or two upon the table.
+The captain was looking at the guineas, and then at the belt, and then at the
+gentleman’s face; and I thought he seemed excited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Half of it,” he cried, “and I’m your man!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on again under his
+waistcoat. “I have told ye sir,” said he, “that not one doit of it belongs to
+me. It belongs to my chieftain,” and here he touched his hat, “and while I
+would be but a silly messenger to grudge some of it that the rest might come
+safe, I should show myself a hound indeed if I bought my own carcase any too
+dear. Thirty guineas on the sea-side, or sixty if ye set me on the Linnhe Loch.
+Take it, if ye will; if not, ye can do your worst.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said Hoseason. “And if I give ye over to the soldiers?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye would make a fool’s bargain,” said the other. “My chief, let me tell you,
+sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in Scotland. His estate is in the
+hands of the man they call King George; and it is his officers that collect the
+rents, or try to collect them. But for the honour of Scotland, the poor tenant
+bodies take a thought upon their chief lying in exile; and this money is a part
+of that very rent for which King George is looking. Now, sir, ye seem to me to
+be a man that understands things: bring this money within the reach of
+Government, and how much of it’ll come to you?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah, but I’ll begowk<a href="#fn12" name="fnref12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn12"></a> <a href="#fnref12">[12]</a>
+Befool.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” returned the captain, “what must be must. Sixty guineas, and done.
+Here’s my hand upon it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And here’s mine,” said the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And thereupon the captain went out (rather hurriedly, I thought), and left me
+alone in the round-house with the stranger.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that period (so soon after the forty-five) there were many exiled gentlemen
+coming back at the peril of their lives, either to see their friends or to
+collect a little money; and as for the Highland chiefs that had been forfeited,
+it was a common matter of talk how their tenants would stint themselves to send
+them money, and their clansmen outface the soldiery to get it in, and run the
+gauntlet of our great navy to carry it across. All this I had, of course, heard
+tell of; and now I had a man under my eyes whose life was forfeit on all these
+counts and upon one more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents,
+but had taken service with King Louis of France. And as if all this were not
+enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his loins. Whatever my
+opinions, I could not look on such a man without a lively interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And so you’re a Jacobite?” said I, as I set meat before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, beginning to eat. “And you, by your long face, should be a
+Whig?”<a href="#fn13" name="fnref13"><sup>[13]</sup></a>
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn13"></a> <a href="#fnref13">[13]</a>
+Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were loyal to King George.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Betwixt and between,” said I, not to annoy him; for indeed I was as good a
+Whig as Mr. Campbell could make me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll go and ask for the key,” said I, and stepped on deck.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was Mr. Riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought: “Couldn’t we wile him
+out of the round-house?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He’s better where he is,” returned Hoseason; “he hasn’t room to use his
+sword.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, that’s true,” said Riach; “but he’s hard to come at.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Captain,” said I, “the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the bottle’s out. Will
+you give me the key?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all started and turned about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, here’s our chance to get the firearms!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Riach cried; and then to me: “Hark ye, David,” he said, “do ye ken where the
+pistols are?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had never been so be-Davided since I came on board: but I said Yes, as if all
+I heard were quite natural.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The trouble is,” resumed the captain, “that all our firelocks, great and
+little, are in the round-house under this man’s nose; likewise the powder. Now,
+if I, or one of the officers, was to go in and take them, he would fall to
+thinking. But a lad like you, David, might snap up a horn and a pistol or two
+without remark. And if ye can do it cleverly, I’ll bear it in mind when it’ll
+be good for you to have friends; and that’s when we come to Carolina.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mr. Riach whispered him a little.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I would do as he wished, though indeed I had scarce breath to speak
+with; and upon that he gave me the key of the spirit locker, and I began to go
+slowly back to the round-house. What was I to do? They were dogs and thieves;
+they had stolen me from my own country; they had killed poor Ransome; and was I
+to hold the candle to another murder? But then, upon the other hand, there was
+the fear of death very plain before me; for what could a boy and a man, if they
+were as brave as lions, against a whole ship’s company?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was still arguing it back and forth, and getting no great clearness, when I
+came into the round-house and saw the Jacobite eating his supper under the
+lamp; and at that my mind was made up all in a moment. I have no credit by it;
+it was by no choice of mine, but as if by compulsion, that I walked right up to
+the table and put my hand on his shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, ay,” said he; “but they have n’t got me yet.” And then looking at me
+curiously, “Will ye stand with me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That will I!” said I. “I am no thief, nor yet murderer. I’ll stand by you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, then,” said he, “what’s your name?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And having administered this rebuke, as though it were something of a chief
+importance, he turned to examine our defences.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The round-house was built very strong, to support the breaching of the seas. Of
+its five apertures, only the skylight and the two doors were large enough for
+the passage of a man. The doors, besides, could be drawn close: they were of
+stout oak, and ran in grooves, and were fitted with hooks to keep them either
+shut or open, as the need arose. The one that was already shut I secured in
+this fashion; but when I was proceeding to slide to the other, Alan stopped me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It would be yet better shut,” says I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he gave me from the rack a cutlass (of which there were a few besides the
+firearms), choosing it with great care, shaking his head and saying he had
+never in all his life seen poorer weapons; and next he set me down to the table
+with a powder-horn, a bag of bullets and all the pistols, which he bade me
+charge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that will be better work, let me tell you,” said he, “for a gentleman of
+decent birth, than scraping plates and raxing<a href="#fn14"
+name="fnref14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> drams to a wheen tarry sailors.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn14"></a> <a href="#fnref14">[14]</a>
+Reaching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I would listen closely. My chest was tight, my mouth dry, the light
+dark to my eyes; the thought of the numbers that were soon to leap in upon us
+kept my heart in a flutter: and the sea, which I heard washing round the brig,
+and where I thought my dead body would be cast ere morning, ran in my mind
+strangely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“First of all,” said he, “how many are against us?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I reckoned them up; and such was the hurry of my mind, I had to cast the
+numbers twice. “Fifteen,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him, indeed I was no great shot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But then, sir,” said I, “there is the door behind you, which they may perhaps
+break in.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “and that is a part of your work. No sooner the pistols charged,
+than ye must climb up into yon bed where ye’re handy at the window; and if they
+lift hand against the door, ye’re to shoot. But that’s not all. Let’s make a
+bit of a soldier of ye, David. What else have ye to guard?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that’s very true,” said Alan. “But have ye no ears to your head?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To be sure!” cried I. “I must hear the bursting of the glass!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye have some rudiments of sense,” said Alan, grimly.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0106.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter X" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0010"></a>CHAPTER X<br/>
+THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9106.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="B" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ut 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Stand!” cried Alan, and pointed his sword at him. The captain stood, indeed;
+but he neither winced nor drew back a foot.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A naked sword?” says he. “This is a strange return for hospitality.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next moment he was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And now,” said Alan, “let your hand keep your head, for the grip is coming.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they should run in
+under his sword. I, on my part, clambered up into the berth with an armful of
+pistols and something of a heavy heart, and set open the window where I was to
+watch. It was a small part of the deck that I could overlook, but enough for
+our purpose. The sea had gone down, and the wind was steady and kept the sails
+quiet; so that there was a great stillness in the ship, in which I made sure I
+heard the sound of muttering voices. A little after, and there came a clash of
+steel upon the deck, by which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and
+one had been let fall; and after that, silence again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s him that killed the boy!” I cried.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I looked round again into the deck-house. The whole place was full of the
+smoke of my own firing, just as my ears seemed to be burst with the noise of
+the shots. But there was Alan, standing as before; only now his sword was
+running blood to the hilt, and himself so swelled with triumph and fallen into
+so fine an attitude, that he looked to be invincible. Right before him on the
+floor was Mr. Shuan, on his hands and knees; the blood was pouring from his
+mouth, and he was sinking slowly lower, with a terrible, white face; and just
+as I looked, some of those from behind caught hold of him by the heels and
+dragged him bodily out of the round-house. I believe he died as they were doing
+it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There’s one of your Whigs for ye!” cried Alan; and then turning to me, he
+asked if I had done much execution.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I had winged one, and thought it was the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I settled back to my place, re-charging the three pistols I had fired, and
+keeping watch with both eye and ear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Our enemies were disputing not far off upon the deck, and that so loudly that I
+could hear a word or two above the washing of the seas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It was Shuan bauchled<a href="#fn15" name="fnref15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> it,” I
+heard one say.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn15"></a> <a href="#fnref15">[15]</a>
+Bungled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And another answered him with a “Wheesht, man! He’s paid the piper.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After that the voices fell again into the same muttering as before. Only now,
+one person spoke most of the time, as though laying down a plan, and first one
+and then another answered him briefly, like men taking orders. By this, I made
+sure they were coming on again, and told Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then there came a single call on the sea-pipe, and that was the signal. A knot
+of them made one rush of it, cutlass in hand, against the door; and at the same
+moment, the glass of the skylight was dashed in a thousand pieces, and a man
+leaped through and landed on the floor. Before he got his feet, I had clapped a
+pistol to his back, and might have shot him, too; only at the touch of him (and
+him alive) my whole flesh misgave me, and I could no more pull the trigger than
+I could have flown.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had dropped his cutlass as he jumped, and when he felt the pistol, whipped
+straight round and laid hold of me, roaring out an oath; and at that either my
+courage came again, or I grew so much afraid as came to the same thing; for I
+gave a shriek and shot him in the midst of the body. He gave the most horrible,
+ugly groan and fell to the floor. The foot of a second fellow, whose legs were
+dangling through the skylight, struck me at the same time upon the head; and at
+that I snatched another pistol and shot this one through the thigh, so that he
+slipped through and tumbled in a lump on his companion’s body. There was no
+talk of missing, any more than there was time to aim; I clapped the muzzle to
+the very place and fired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0111.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Alan ran upon the others
+like a bull, roaring as he went" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+But I had not time to be of help. The wrestler dropped at last; and Alan,
+leaping back to get his distance, ran upon the others like a bull, roaring as
+he went. They broke before him like water, turning, and running, and falling
+one against another in their haste. The sword in his hands flashed like
+quicksilver into the huddle of our fleeing enemies; and at every flash there
+came the scream of a man hurt. I was still thinking we were lost, when lo! they
+were all gone, and Alan was driving them along the deck as a sheep-dog chases
+sheep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Yet he was no sooner out than he was back again, being as cautious as he was
+brave; and meanwhile the seamen continued running and crying out as if he was
+still behind them; and we heard them tumble one upon another into the
+forecastle, and clap-to the hatch upon the top.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The round-house was like a shambles; three were dead inside, another lay in his
+death agony across the threshold; and there were Alan and I victorious and
+unhurt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He came up to me with open arms. “Come to my arms!” he cried, and embraced and
+kissed me hard upon both cheeks. “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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 <i>he</i> 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have translated it here, not in verse (of which I have no skill) but at least
+in the king’s English.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+“This is the song of the sword of Alan;<br/>
+The smith made it,<br/>
+The fire set it;<br/>
+Now it shines in the hand of Alan Breck.<br/>
+<br/>
+“Their eyes were many and bright,<br/>
+Swift were they to behold,<br/>
+Many the hands they guided:<br/>
+The sword was alone.<br/>
+<br/>
+“The dun deer troop over the hill,<br/>
+They are many, the hill is one;<br/>
+The dun deer vanish,<br/>
+The hill remains.<br/>
+<br/>
+“Come to me from the hills of heather,<br/>
+Come from the isles of the sea.<br/>
+O far-beholding eagles,<br/>
+Here is your meat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now this song which he made (both words and music) in the hour of our victory,
+is something less than just to me, who stood beside him in the tussle. Mr.
+Shuan and five more were either killed outright or thoroughly disabled; but of
+these, two fell by my hand, the two that came by the skylight. Four more were
+hurt, and of that number, one (and he not the least important) got his hurt
+from me. So that, altogether, I did my fair share both of the killing and the
+wounding, and might have claimed a place in Alan’s verses. But poets have to
+think upon their rhymes; and in good prose talk, Alan always did me more than
+justice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan clapped my shoulder, and said I was a brave lad and wanted nothing but a
+sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0116.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XI" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0011"></a>CHAPTER XI<br/>
+THE CAPTAIN KNUCKLES UNDER</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9116.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+lan 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We made good company for each other. Alan, indeed, expressed himself most
+lovingly; and taking a knife from the table, cut me off one of the silver
+buttons from his coat.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0117.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Alan cut me off one of the
+silver buttons from his coat" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said this as if he had been Charlemagne, and commanded armies; and indeed,
+much as I admired his courage, I was always in danger of smiling at his vanity:
+in danger, I say, for had I not kept my countenance, I would be afraid to think
+what a quarrel might have followed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as we were through with our meal he rummaged in the captain’s locker
+till he found a clothes-brush; and then taking off his coat, began to visit his
+suit and brush away the stains, with such care and labour as I supposed to have
+been only usual with women. To be sure, he had no other; and, besides (as he
+said), it belonged to a king and so behoved to be royally looked after.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This is a bad job,” said he at last, shaking his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It was none of our choosing,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The captain,” says he, “would like to speak with your friend. They might speak
+at the window.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And how do we know what treachery he means?” cried I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is that so?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A little after, the captain came (as was agreed) to one of the windows, and
+stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling, and looking stern and pale,
+and so old that my heart smote me for having fired upon him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan at once held a pistol in his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Put that thing up!” said the captain. “Have I not passed my word, sir? or do
+ye seek to affront me?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Hoseason flushed red.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” continued Alan, “that’ll no do. Ye’ll just have to set me ashore as we
+agreed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I give ye your choice,” says Alan. “Set me on dry ground in Appin, or Ardgour,
+or in Morven, or Arisaig, or Morar; or, in brief, where ye please, within
+thirty miles of my own country; except in a country of the Campbells. That’s a
+broad target. If ye miss that, ye must be as feckless at the sailoring as I
+have found ye at the fighting. Why, my poor country people in their bit
+cobles<a href="#fn16" name="fnref16"><sup>[16]</sup></a> pass from island to
+island in all weathers, ay, and by night too, for the matter of that.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn16"></a> <a href="#fnref16">[16]</a>
+Coble: a small boat used in fishing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“A coble’s not a ship, sir,” said the captain. “It has nae draught of water.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, then, to Glasgow if ye list!” says Alan. “We’ll have the laugh of ye at
+the least.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My mind runs little upon laughing,” said the captain. “But all this will cost
+money, sir.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s to risk the brig, sir,” said the captain, “and your own lives along with
+her.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Take it or want it,” says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Could ye pilot us at all?” asked the captain, who was frowning to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The captain shook his head, still frowning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was the last clause of the treaty, and was duly executed on both sides; so
+that Alan and I could at last wash out the round-house and be quit of the
+memorials of those whom we had slain, and the captain and Mr. Riach could be
+happy again in their own way, the name of which was drink.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0123.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0012"></a>CHAPTER XII<br/>
+I HEAR OF THE “RED FOX”</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9123.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="B" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+efore 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0125.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Alan and I smoked a pipe
+or two of the captain's fine tobacco" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, the early part of the day, before the swell came up, was very
+pleasant; sailing, as we were, in a bright sunshine and with many mountainous
+islands upon different sides. Alan and I sat in the round-house with the doors
+open on each side (the wind being straight astern), and smoked a pipe or two of
+the captain’s fine tobacco. It was at this time we heard each other’s stories,
+which was the more important to me, as I gained some knowledge of that wild
+Highland country on which I was so soon to land. In those days, so close on the
+back of the great rebellion, it was needful a man should know what he was doing
+when he went upon the heather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was I that showed the example, telling him all my misfortune; which he heard
+with great good-nature. Only, when I came to mention that good friend of mine,
+Mr. Campbell the minister, Alan fired up and cried out that he hated all that
+were of that name.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why,” said I, “he is a man you should be proud to give your hand to.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I know nothing I would help a Campbell to,” says he, “unless it was a leaden
+bullet. I would hunt all of that name like blackcocks. If I lay dying, I would
+crawl upon my knees to my chamber window for a shot at one.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, Alan,” I cried, “what ails ye at the Campbells?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You that are so wasteful of your buttons,” said I, “I can hardly think you
+would be a good judge of business.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah!” says he, falling again to smiling, “I got my wastefulness from the same
+man I got the buttons from; and that was my poor father, Duncan Stewart, grace
+be to him! He was the prettiest man of his kindred; and the best swordsman in
+the Hielands, David, and that is the same as to say, in all the world, I should
+ken, for it was him that taught me. He was in the Black Watch, when first it
+was mustered; and, like other gentlemen privates, had a gillie at his back to
+carry his firelock for him on the march. Well, the King, it appears, was
+wishful to see Hieland swordsmanship; and my father and three more were chosen
+out and sent to London town, to let him see it at the best. So they were had
+into the palace and showed the whole art of the sword for two hours at a
+stretch, before King George and Queen Carline, and the Butcher Cumberland, and
+many more of whom I havenae mind. And when they were through, the King (for all
+he was a rank usurper) spoke them fair and gave each man three guineas in his
+hand. Now, as they were going out of the palace, they had a porter’s lodge to
+go by; and it came in on my father, as he was perhaps the first private Hieland
+gentleman that had ever gone by that door, it was right he should give the poor
+porter a proper notion of their quality. So he gives the King’s three guineas
+into the man’s hand, as if it was his common custom; the three others that came
+behind him did the same; and there they were on the street, never a penny the
+better for their pains. Some say it was one, that was the first to fee the
+King’s porter; and some say it was another; but the truth of it is, that it was
+Duncan Stewart, as I am willing to prove with either sword or pistol. And that
+was the father that I had, God rest him!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I think he was not the man to leave you rich,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What,” cried I, “were you in the English army?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That was I,” said Alan. “But I deserted to the right side at Preston Pans—and
+that’s some comfort.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I misdoubt it much,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have doubts mysel’,” said Alan drily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Tut!” says Alan, “I have been back every year since forty-six!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what brings ye, man?” cried I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, ye see, I weary for my friends and country,” said he. “France is a braw
+place, nae doubt; but I weary for the heather and the deer. And then I have bit
+things that I attend to. Whiles I pick up a few lads to serve the King of
+France: recruits, ye see; and that’s aye a little money. But the heart of the
+matter is the business of my chief, Ardshiel.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I thought they called your chief Appin,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, but Ardshiel is the captain of the clan,” said he, which scarcely cleared
+my mind. “Ye see, David, he that was all his life so great a man, and come of
+the blood and bearing the name of kings, is now brought down to live in a
+French town like a poor and private person. He that had four hundred swords at
+his whistle, I have seen, with these eyes of mine, buying butter in the
+market-place, and taking it home in a kale-leaf. This is not only a pain but a
+disgrace to us of his family and clan. There are the bairns forby, the children
+and the hope of Appin, that must be learned their letters and how to hold a
+sword, in that far country. Now, the tenants of Appin have to pay a rent to
+King George; but their hearts are staunch, they are true to their chief; and
+what with love and a bit of pressure, and maybe a threat or two, the poor folk
+scrape up a second rent for Ardshiel. Well, David, I’m the hand that carries
+it.” And he struck the belt about his body, so that the guineas rang.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do they pay both?” cried I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, David, both,” says he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What! two rents?” I repeated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, David,” said he. “I told a different tale to yon captain man; but this is
+the truth of it. And it’s wonderful to me how little pressure is needed. But
+that’s the handiwork of my good kinsman and my father’s friend, James of the
+Glens: James Stewart, that is: Ardshiel’s half-brother. He it is that gets the
+money in, and does the management.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the first time I heard the name of that James Stewart, who was
+afterwards so famous at the time of his hanging. But I took little heed at the
+moment, for all my mind was occupied with the generosity of these poor
+Highlanders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I call it noble,” I cried. “I’m a Whig, or little better; but I call it
+noble.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said he, “ye’re a Whig, but ye’re a gentleman; and that’s what does it.
+Now, if ye were one of the cursed race of Campbell, ye would gnash your teeth
+to hear tell of it. If ye were the Red Fox...” And at that name, his teeth shut
+together, and he ceased speaking. I have seen many a grim face, but never a
+grimmer than Alan’s when he had named the Red Fox.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And who is the Red Fox?” I asked, daunted, but still curious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Who is he?” cried Alan. “Well, and I’ll tell you that. When the men of the
+clans were broken at Culloden, and the good cause went down, and the horses
+rode over the fetlocks in the best blood of the north, Ardshiel had to flee
+like a poor deer upon the mountains—he and his lady and his bairns. A sair job
+we had of it before we got him shipped; and while he still lay in the heather,
+the English rogues, that couldnae come at his life, were striking at his
+rights. They stripped him of his powers; they stripped him of his lands; they
+plucked the weapons from the hands of his clansmen, that had borne arms for
+thirty centuries; ay, and the very clothes off their backs—so that it’s now a
+sin to wear a tartan plaid, and a man may be cast into a gaol if he has but a
+kilt about his legs. One thing they couldnae kill. That was the love the
+clansmen bore their chief. These guineas are the proof of it. And now, in there
+steps a man, a Campbell, red-headed Colin of Glenure——”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is that him you call the Red Fox?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Will ye bring me his brush?” cries Alan, fiercely. “Ay, that’s the man. In he
+steps, and gets papers from King George, to be so-called King’s factor on the
+lands of Appin. And at first he sings small, and is hail-fellow-well-met with
+Sheamus—that’s James of the Glens, my chieftain’s agent. But by-and-by, that
+came to his ears that I have just told you; how the poor commons of Appin, the
+farmers and the crofters and the boumen, were wringing their very plaids to get
+a second rent, and send it over-seas for Ardshiel and his poor bairns. What was
+it ye called it, when I told ye?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I called it noble, Alan,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And you little better than a common Whig!” cries Alan. “But when it came to
+Colin Roy, the black Campbell blood in him ran wild. He sat gnashing his teeth
+at the wine table. What! should a Stewart get a bite of bread, and him not be
+able to prevent it? Ah! Red Fox, if ever I hold you at a gun’s end, the Lord
+have pity upon ye!” (Alan stopped to swallow down his anger.) “Well, David,
+what does he do? He declares all the farms to let. And, thinks he, in his black
+heart, ‘I’ll soon get other tenants that’ll overbid these Stewarts, and
+Maccolls, and Macrobs’ (for these are all names in my clan, David); ‘and then,’
+thinks he, ‘Ardshiel will have to hold his bonnet on a French roadside.’”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “what followed?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan laid down his pipe, which he had long since suffered to go out, and set
+his two hands upon his knees.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “ye’ll never guess that! For these same Stewarts, and Maccolls,
+and Macrobs (that had two rents to pay, one to King George by stark force, and
+one to Ardshiel by natural kindness) offered him a better price than any
+Campbell in all broad Scotland; and far he sent seeking them—as far as to the
+sides of Clyde and the cross of Edinburgh—seeking, and fleeching, and begging
+them to come, where there was a Stewart to be starved and a red-headed hound of
+a Campbell to be pleasured!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that’s a good observe, David,” said Alan. “Troth and indeed, they will do
+him no harm; the more’s the pity! And barring that about Christianity (of which
+my opinion is quite otherwise, or I would be nae Christian), I am much of your
+mind.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Opinion here or opinion there,” said I, “it’s a kent thing that Christianity
+forbids revenge.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said I, “come to that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Let me have a word,” said I. “Be sure, if they take less rents, be sure
+Government has a finger in the pie. It’s not this Campbell’s fault, man—it’s
+his orders. And if ye killed this Colin to-morrow, what better would ye be?
+There would be another factor in his shoes, as fast as spur can drive.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye’re a good lad in a fight,” said Alan; “but, man! ye have Whig blood in ye!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke kindly enough, but there was so much anger under his contempt that I
+thought it was wise to change the conversation. I expressed my wonder how, with
+the Highlands covered with troops, and guarded like a city in a siege, a man in
+his situation could come and go without arrest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s easier than ye would think,” said Alan. “A bare hillside (ye see) is like
+all one road; if there’s a sentry at one place, ye just go by another. And then
+the heather’s a great help. And everywhere there are friends’ houses and
+friends’ byres and haystacks. And besides, when folk talk of a country covered
+with troops, it’s but a kind of a byword at the best. A soldier covers nae mair
+of it than his boot-soles. I have fished a water with a sentry on the other
+side of the brae, and killed a fine trout; and I have sat in a heather bush
+within six feet of another, and learned a real bonny tune from his whistling.
+This was it,” said he, and whistled me the air.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And then, besides,” he continued, “it’s no sae bad now as it was in forty-six.
+The Hielands are what they call pacified. Small wonder, with never a gun or a
+sword left from Cantyre to Cape Wrath, but what tenty<a href="#fn17"
+name="fnref17"><sup>[17]</sup></a> 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?”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn17"></a> <a href="#fnref17">[17]</a>
+Careful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And with this Alan fell into a muse, and for a long time sate very sad and
+silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I will add the rest of what I have to say about my friend, that he was skilled
+in all kinds of music, but principally pipe-music; was a well-considered poet
+in his own tongue; had read several books both in French and English; was a
+dead shot, a good angler, and an excellent fencer with the small sword as well
+as with his own particular weapon. For his faults, they were on his face, and I
+now knew them all. But the worst of them, his childish propensity to take
+offence and to pick quarrels, he greatly laid aside in my case, out of regard
+for the battle of the round-house. But whether it was because I had done well
+myself, or because I had been a witness of his own much greater prowess, is
+more than I can tell. For though he had a great taste for courage in other men,
+yet he admired it most in Alan Breck.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0135.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XIII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0013"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br/>
+THE LOSS OF THE BRIG</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9135.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+t 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Here,” said he, “come out and see if ye can pilot.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Is this one of your tricks?” asked Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do I look like tricks?” cries the captain. “I have other things to think of—my
+brig’s in danger!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 <i>Covenant</i>, she tore through the seas at a great rate, pitching
+and straining, and pursued by the westerly swell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Altogether it was no such ill night to keep the seas in; and I had begun to
+wonder what it was that sat so heavily upon the captain, when the brig rising
+suddenly on the top of a high swell, he pointed and cried to us to look. Away
+on the lee bow, a thing like a fountain rose out of the moonlit sea, and
+immediately after we heard a low sound of roaring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do ye call that?” asked the captain, gloomily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The sea breaking on a reef,” said Alan. “And now ye ken where it is; and what
+better would ye have?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said Hoseason, “if it was the only one.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And sure enough, just as he spoke there came a second fountain farther to the
+south.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’m thinking,” said Alan, “these’ll be what they call the Torran Rocks.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are there many of them?” says the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Truly, sir, I am nae pilot,” said Alan; “but it sticks in my mind there are
+ten miles of them.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Riach and the captain looked at each other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There’s a way through them, I suppose?” said the captain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Doubtless,” said Alan, “but where? But it somehow runs in my mind once more
+that it is clearer under the land.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The sea to the south is thick,” he cried; and then, after a while, “it does
+seem clearer in by the land.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Pray God I am!” says Alan to me. “But where did I hear it? Well, well, it will
+be as it must.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we got nearer to the turn of the land the reefs began to be sown here and
+there on our very path; and Mr. Riach sometimes cried down to us to change the
+course. Sometimes, indeed, none too soon; for one reef was so close on the
+brig’s weather board that when a sea burst upon it the lighter sprays fell upon
+her deck and wetted us like rain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ochone, David,” says he, “this is no the kind of death I fancy!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What, Alan!” I cried, “you’re not afraid?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said he, wetting his lips, “but you’ll allow, yourself, it’s a cold
+ending.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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 <i>Covenant</i> hold in
+his affections.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But this is matter only for conjecture, things having gone otherwise than he
+forecast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Keep her away a point,” sings out Mr. Riach. “Reef to windward!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was on my feet in a minute. The reef on which we had struck was close in
+under the southwest end of Mull, off a little isle they call Earraid, which lay
+low and black upon the larboard. Sometimes the swell broke clean over us;
+sometimes it only ground the poor brig upon the reef, so that we could hear her
+beat herself to pieces; and what with the great noise of the sails, and the
+singing of the wind, and the flying of the spray in the moonlight, and the
+sense of danger, I think my head must have been partly turned, for I could
+scarcely understand the things I saw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently I observed Mr. Riach and the seamen busy round the skiff, and, still
+in the same blank, ran over to assist them; and as soon as I set my hand to
+work, my mind came clear again. It was no very easy task, for the skiff lay
+amidships and was full of hamper, and the breaking of the heavier seas
+continually forced us to give over and hold on; but we all wrought like horses
+while we could.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile such of the wounded as could move came clambering out of the
+fore-scuttle and began to help; while the rest that lay helpless in their bunks
+harrowed me with screaming and begging to be saved.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the time of our working at the boat, I remember only one other thing: that
+I asked Alan, looking across at the shore, what country it was; and he
+answered, it was the worst possible for him, for it was a land of the
+Campbells.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We had one of the wounded men told off to keep a watch upon the seas and cry us
+warning. Well, we had the boat about ready to be launched, when this man sang
+out pretty shrill: “For God’s sake, hold on!” We knew by his tone that it was
+something more than ordinary; and sure enough, there followed a sea so huge
+that it lifted the brig right up and canted her over on her beam. Whether the
+cry came too late, or my hold was too weak, I know not; but at the sudden
+tilting of the ship I was cast clean over the bulwarks into the sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I went down, and drank my fill, and then came up, and got a blink of the moon,
+and then down again. They say a man sinks a third time for good. I cannot be
+made like other folk, then; for I would not like to write how often I went
+down, or how often I came up again. All the while, I was being hurled along,
+and beaten upon and choked, and then swallowed whole; and the thing was so
+distracting to my wits, that I was neither sorry nor afraid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the spare yard I had got hold of, and I was amazed to see how far I had
+travelled from the brig. I hailed her, indeed; but it was plain she was already
+out of cry. She was still holding together; but whether or not they had yet
+launched the boat, I was too far off and too low down to see.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” thought I to myself, “if I cannot get as far as that, it’s strange!”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0141.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="When I kicked out..." />
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0143.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="When I kicked out with
+both feed, I soon began to find that I was moving" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sea was here quite quiet; there was no sound of any surf; the moon shone
+clear; and I thought in my heart I had never seen a place so desert and
+desolate. But it was dry land; and when at last it grew so shallow that I could
+leave the yard and wade ashore upon my feet, I cannot tell if I was more tired
+or more grateful. Both, at least, I was: tired as I never was before that
+night; and grateful to God as I trust I have been often, though never with more
+cause.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0146.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XIV" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0014"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br/>
+THE ISLET</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9146.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="W" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ith my stepping ashore I began the most unhappy part of my adventures. It was
+half-past twelve in the morning, and though the wind was broken by the land, it
+was a cold night. I dared not sit down (for I thought I should have frozen),
+but took off my shoes and walked to and fro upon the sand, bare-foot, and
+beating my breast with infinite weariness. There was no sound of man or cattle;
+not a cock crew, though it was about the hour of their first waking; only the
+surf broke outside in the distance, which put me in mind of my perils and those
+of my friend. To walk by the sea at that hour of the morning, and in a place so
+desert-like and lonesome, struck me with a kind of fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as the day began to break I put on my shoes and climbed a hill—the
+ruggedest scramble I ever undertook—falling, the whole way, between big blocks
+of granite, or leaping from one to another. When I got to the top the dawn was
+come. There was no sign of the brig, which must have lifted from the reef and
+sunk. The boat, too, was nowhere to be seen. There was never a sail upon the
+ocean; and in what I could see of the land was neither house nor man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After a little, my way was stopped by a creek or inlet of the sea, which seemed
+to run pretty deep into the land; and as I had no means to get across, I must
+needs change my direction to go about the end of it. It was still the roughest
+kind of walking; indeed the whole, not only of Earraid, but of the neighbouring
+part of Mull (which they call the Ross) is nothing but a jumble of granite
+rocks with heather in among. At first the creek kept narrowing as I had looked
+to see; but presently to my surprise it began to widen out again. At this I
+scratched my head, but had still no notion of the truth: until at last I came
+to a rising ground, and it burst upon me all in a moment that I was cast upon a
+little barren isle, and cut off on every side by the salt seas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead of the sun rising to dry me, it came on to rain, with a thick mist; so
+that my case was lamentable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And now, all at once, the yard came in my head. What had carried me through the
+roost would surely serve me to cross this little quiet creek in safety. With
+that I set off, undaunted, across the top of the isle, to fetch and carry it
+back. It was a weary tramp in all ways, and if hope had not buoyed me up, I
+must have cast myself down and given up. Whether with the sea salt, or because
+I was growing fevered, I was distressed with thirst, and had to stop, as I
+went, and drink the peaty water out of the hags.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had borne up well until this last disappointment; but at that I came ashore,
+and flung myself down upon the sands and wept.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something wrong in the
+sea about my island. But at least I had no sooner eaten my first meal than I
+was seized with giddiness and retching, and lay for a long time no better than
+dead. A second trial of the same food (indeed I had no other) did better with
+me, and revived my strength. But as long as I was on the island, I never knew
+what to expect when I had eaten; sometimes all was well, and sometimes I was
+thrown into a miserable sickness; nor could I ever distinguish what particular
+fish it was that hurt me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The second day I crossed the island to all sides. There was no one part of it
+better than another; it was all desolate and rocky; nothing living on it but
+game birds which I lacked the means to kill, and the gulls which haunted the
+outlying rocks in a prodigious number. But the creek, or strait, that cut off
+the isle from the main-land of the Ross, opened out on the north into a bay,
+and the bay again opened into the Sound of Iona; and it was the neighbourhood
+of this place that I chose to be my home; though if I had thought upon the very
+name of home in such a spot, I must have burst out weeping.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I say it kept hope alive; and indeed it seemed impossible that I should be left
+to die on the shores of my own country, and within view of a church-tower and
+the smoke of men’s houses. But the second day passed; and though as long as the
+light lasted I kept a bright look-out for boats on the Sound or men passing on
+the Ross, no help came near me. It still rained, and I turned in to sleep, as
+wet as ever, and with a cruel sore throat, but a little comforted, perhaps, by
+having said good-night to my next neighbours, the people of Iona.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Charles the Second declared a man could stay outdoors more days in the year in
+the climate of England than in any other. This was very like a king, with a
+palace at his back and changes of dry clothes. But he must have had better luck
+on his flight from Worcester than I had on that miserable isle. It was the
+height of the summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, and did
+not clear until the afternoon of the third day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was the day of incidents. In the morning I saw a red deer, a buck with a
+fine spread of antlers, standing in the rain on the top of the island; but he
+had scarce seen me rise from under my rock, before he trotted off upon the
+other side. I supposed he must have swum the strait; though what should bring
+any creature to Earraid, was more than I could fancy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And yet the worst was not yet come.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There is a pretty high rock on the northwest of Earraid, which (because it had
+a flat top and overlooked the Sound) I was much in the habit of frequenting;
+not that ever I stayed in one place, save when asleep, my misery giving me no
+rest. Indeed, I wore myself down with continual and aimless goings and comings
+in the rain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of that rock to
+dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing I cannot tell. It set me
+thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which I had begun to despair; and I
+scanned the sea and the Ross with a fresh interest. On the south of my rock, a
+part of the island jutted out and hid the open ocean, so that a boat could thus
+come quite near me upon that side, and I be none the wiser.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0153.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A coble with a brown sail
+came flying round that corner of the isle" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I was a little over my anger, I must eat again, but with such loathing of
+the mess as I could now scarce control. Sure enough, I should have done as well
+to fast, for my fishes poisoned me again. I had all my first pains; my throat
+was so sore I could scarce swallow; I had a fit of strong shuddering, which
+clucked my teeth together; and there came on me that dreadful sense of illness,
+which we have no name for either in Scotch or English. I thought I should have
+died, and made my peace with God, forgiving all men, even my uncle and the
+fishers; and as soon as I had thus made up my mind to the worst, clearness came
+upon me; I observed the night was falling dry; my clothes were dried a good
+deal; truly, I was in a better case than ever before, since I had landed on the
+isle; and so I got to sleep at last, with a thought of gratitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this time the boat was coming on; and now I was able to perceive it was the
+same boat and the same two men as yesterday. This I knew by their hair, which
+the one had of a bright yellow and the other black. But now there was a third
+man along with them, who looked to be of a better class.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while, speaking fast and
+with many wavings of his hand. I told him I had no Gaelic; and at this he
+became very angry, and I began to suspect he thought he was talking English.
+Listening very close, I caught the word “whateffer” several times; but all the
+rest was Gaelic and might have been Greek and Hebrew for me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Whatever,” said I, to show him I had caught a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This time I picked out another word, “tide.” Then I had a flash of hope. I
+remembered he was always waving his hand towards the mainland of the Ross.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you mean when the tide is out—?” I cried, and could not finish.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes, yes,” said he. “Tide.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid; which is only what they
+call a tidal islet, and except in the bottom of the neaps, can be entered and
+left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod, or at the most by
+wading. Even I, who had the tide going out and in before me in the bay, and
+even watched for the ebbs, the better to get my shellfish—even I (I say) if I
+had sat down to think, instead of raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the
+secret, and got free. It was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The
+wonder was rather that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the
+trouble to come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for
+close upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bones
+there, in pure folly. And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not
+only in past sufferings, but in my present case; being clothed like a
+beggar-man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0158.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XV" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0015"></a>CHAPTER XV<br/>
+THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE ISLE OF MULL</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9158.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="T" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+he 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I aimed as well as I could for the smoke I had seen so often from the island;
+and with all my great weariness and the difficulty of the way came upon the
+house in the bottom of a little hollow about five or six at night. It was low
+and longish, roofed with turf and built of unmortared stones; and on a mound in
+front of it, an old gentleman sat smoking his pipe in the sun.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Was there one,” I asked, “dressed like a gentleman?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah,” said I, “and he would have a feathered hat?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He told me, no, that he was bareheaded like myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And then the old gentleman clapped his hand to his brow, and cried out that I
+must be the lad with the silver button.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, yes!” said I, in some wonder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, then,” said the old gentleman, “I have a word for you, that you are to
+follow your friend to his country, by Torosay.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thought I to myself: “If these are the wild Highlanders, I could wish my own
+folk wilder.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I not only started late, but I must have wandered nearly half the time. True, I
+met plenty of people, grubbing in little miserable fields that would not keep a
+cat, or herding little kine about the bigness of asses. The Highland dress
+being forbidden by law since the rebellion, and the people condemned to the
+Lowland habit, which they much disliked, it was strange to see the variety of
+their array. Some went bare, only for a hanging cloak or great-coat, and
+carried their trousers on their backs like a useless burthen: some had made an
+imitation of the tartan with little parti-coloured stripes patched together
+like an old wife’s quilt; others, again, still wore the Highland philabeg, but
+by putting a few stitches between the legs transformed it into a pair of
+trousers like a Dutchman’s. All those makeshifts were condemned and punished,
+for the law was harshly applied, in hopes to break up the clan spirit; but in
+that out-of-the-way, sea-bound isle, there were few to make remarks and fewer
+to tell tales.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They seemed in great poverty; which was no doubt natural, now that rapine was
+put down, and the chiefs kept no longer an open house; and the roads (even such
+a wandering, country by-track as the one I followed) were infested with
+beggars. And here again I marked a difference from my own part of the country.
+For our Lowland beggars—even the gownsmen themselves, who beg by patent—had a
+louting, flattering way with them, and if you gave them a plaek and asked
+change, would very civilly return you a boddle. But these Highland beggars
+stood on their dignity, asked alms only to buy snuff (by their account) and
+would give no change.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To be sure, this was no concern of mine, except in so far as it entertained me
+by the way. What was much more to the purpose, few had any English, and these
+few (unless they were of the brotherhood of beggars) not very anxious to place
+it at my service. I knew Torosay to be my destination, and repeated the name to
+them and pointed; but instead of simply pointing in reply, they would give me a
+screed of the Gaelic that set me foolish; so it was small wonder if I went out
+of my road as often as I stayed in it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, about eight at night, and already very weary, I came to a lone house,
+where I asked admittance, and was refused, until I bethought me of the power of
+money in so poor a country, and held up one of my guineas in my finger and
+thumb. Thereupon, the man of the house, who had hitherto pretended to have no
+English, and driven me from his door by signals, suddenly began to speak as
+clearly as was needful, and agreed for five shillings to give me a night’s
+lodging and guide me the next day to Torosay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I slept uneasily that night, fearing I should be robbed; but I might have
+spared myself the pain; for my host was no robber, only miserably poor and a
+great cheat. He was not alone in his poverty; for the next morning, we must go
+five miles about to the house of what he called a rich man to have one of my
+guineas changed. This was perhaps a rich man for Mull; he would have scarce
+been thought so in the south; for it took all he had—the whole house was turned
+upside down, and a neighbour brought under contribution, before he could scrape
+together twenty shillings in silver. The odd shilling he kept for himself,
+protesting he could ill afford to have so great a sum of money lying “locked
+up.” For all that he was very courteous and well spoken, made us both sit down
+with his family to dinner, and brewed punch in a fine china bowl, over which my
+rascal guide grew so merry that he refused to start.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was for getting angry, and appealed to the rich man (Hector Maclean was his
+name), who had been a witness to our bargain and to my payment of the five
+shillings. But Maclean had taken his share of the punch, and vowed that no
+gentleman should leave his table after the bowl was brewed; so there was
+nothing for it but to sit and hear Jacobite toasts and Gaelic songs, till all
+were tipsy and staggered off to the bed or the barn for their night’s rest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As long as we went down a heathery valley that lay before Mr. Maclean’s house,
+all went well; only my guide looked constantly over his shoulder, and when I
+asked him the cause, only grinned at me. No sooner, however, had we crossed the
+back of a hill, and got out of sight of the house windows, than he told me
+Torosay lay right in front, and that a hill-top (which he pointed out) was my
+best landmark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I care very little for that,” said I, “since you are going with me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The impudent cheat answered me in the Gaelic that he had no English.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Five shillings mair,” said he, “and hersel’ will bring ye there.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I reflected awhile and then offered him two, which he accepted greedily, and
+insisted on having in his hands at once “for luck,” as he said, but I think it
+was rather for my misfortune.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was now red-hot. “Ha!” said I, “have you no more English?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said impudently, “No.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that I boiled over, and lifted my hand to strike him; and he, drawing a
+knife from his rags, squatted back and grinned at me like a wildcat. At that,
+forgetting everything but my anger, I ran in upon him, put aside his knife with
+my left, and struck him in the mouth with the right. I was a strong lad and
+very angry, and he but a little man; and he went down before me heavily. By
+good luck, his knife flew out of his hand as he fell.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In about half an hour of walk, I overtook a great, ragged man, moving pretty
+fast but feeling before him with a staff. He was quite blind, and told me he
+was a catechist, which should have put me at my ease. But his face went against
+me; it seemed dark and dangerous and secret; and presently, as we began to go
+on alongside, I saw the steel butt of a pistol sticking from under the flap of
+his coat-pocket. To carry such a thing meant a fine of fifteen pounds sterling
+upon a first offence, and transportation to the colonies upon a second. Nor
+could I quite see why a religious teacher should go armed, or what a blind man
+could be doing with a pistol.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Was it too much?” I asked, a little faltering.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Too much!” cries he. “Why, I will guide you to Torosay myself for a dram of
+brandy. And give you the great pleasure of my company (me that is a man of some
+learning) in the bargain.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had to own he was right in every feature, and told my wonder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I had nothing of the sort, and gave him a wider berth. If he had
+known, his pistol stuck at that time quite plainly out of his pocket, and I
+could see the sun twinkle on the steel of the butt. But by the better luck for
+me, he knew nothing, thought all was covered, and lied on in the dark.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 dancers 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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0165.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="The catechist began to
+swear and to strike for my legs with his staff" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Torosay, on the Sound of Mull and looking over to the mainland of Morven,
+there was an inn with an innkeeper, who was a Maclean, it appeared, of a very
+high family; for to keep an inn is thought even more genteel in the Highlands
+than it is with us, perhaps as partaking of hospitality, or perhaps because the
+trade is idle and drunken. He spoke good English, and finding me to be
+something of a scholar, tried me first in French, where he easily beat me, and
+then in the Latin, in which I don’t know which of us did best. This pleasant
+rivalry put us at once upon friendly terms; and I sat up and drank punch with
+him (or to be more correct, sat up and watched him drink it), until he was so
+tipsy that he wept upon my shoulder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I tried him, as if by accident, with a sight of Alan’s button; but it was plain
+he had never seen or heard of it. Indeed, he bore some grudge against the
+family and friends of Ardshiel, and before he was drunk he read me a lampoon,
+in very good Latin, but with a very ill meaning, which he had made in elegiac
+verses upon a person of that house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I told him of my catechist, he shook his head, and said I was lucky to
+have got clear off. “That is a very dangerous man,” he said; “Duncan Mackiegh
+is his name; he can shoot by the ear at several yards, and has been often
+accused of highway robberies, and once of murder.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The cream of it is,” says I, “that he called himself a catechist.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And why should he not?” says he, “when that is what he is. It was Maclean of
+Duart gave it to him because he was blind. But perhaps it was a peety,” says my
+host, “for he is always on the road, going from one place to another to hear
+the young folk say their religion; and, doubtless, that is a great temptation
+to the poor man.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0169.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XVI" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0016"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br/>
+THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: ACROSS MORVEN</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9169.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="T" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+here 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was one melancholy part. In the mouth of Loch Aline we found a great
+sea-going ship at anchor; and this I supposed at first to be one of the King’s
+cruisers which were kept along that coast, both summer and winter, to prevent
+communication with the French. As we got a little nearer, it became plain she
+was a ship of merchandise; and what still more puzzled me, not only her decks,
+but the sea-beach also, were quite black with people, and skiffs were
+continually plying to and fro between them. Yet nearer, and there began to come
+to our ears a great sound of mourning, the people on board and those on the
+shore crying and lamenting one to another so as to pierce the heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then I understood this was an emigrant ship bound for the American colonies.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We put the ferry-boat alongside, and the exiles leaned over the bulwarks,
+weeping and reaching out their hands to my fellow-passengers, among whom they
+counted some near friends. How long this might have gone on I do not know, for
+they seemed to have no sense of time: but at last the captain of the ship, who
+seemed near beside himself (and no great wonder) in the midst of this crying
+and confusion, came to the side and begged us to depart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Kinlochaline I got Neil Roy upon one side on the beach, and said I made sure
+he was one of Appin’s men.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what for no?” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Aweel, aweel,” said Neil; “and I think ye might have begun with that end of
+the stick, whatever! But if ye are the lad with the silver button, all is well,
+and I have the word to see that ye come safe. But if ye will pardon me to speak
+plainly,” says he, “there is a name that you should never take into your mouth,
+and that is the name of Alan Breck; and there is a thing that ye would never
+do, and that is to offer your dirty money to a Hieland shentleman.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was not very easy to apologise; for I could scarce tell him (what was the
+truth) that I had never dreamed he would set up to be a gentleman until he told
+me so. Neil on his part had no wish to prolong his dealings with me, only to
+fulfil his orders and be done with it; and he made haste to give me my route.
+This was to lie the night in Kinlochaline in the public inn; to cross Morven
+the next day to Ardgour, and lie the night in the house of one John of the
+Claymore, who was warned that I might come; the third day, to be set across one
+loch at Corran and another at Balachulish, and then ask my way to the house of
+James of the Glens, at Aucharn in Duror of Appin. There was a good deal of
+ferrying, as you hear; the sea in all this part running deep into the mountains
+and winding about their roots. It makes the country strong to hold and
+difficult to travel, but full of prodigious wild and dreadful prospects.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The inn at Kinlochaline was the most beggarly vile place that ever pigs were
+styed in, full of smoke, vermin, and silent Highlanders. I was not only
+discontented with my lodging, but with myself for my mismanagement of Neil, and
+thought I could hardly be worse off. But very wrongly, as I was soon to see;
+for I had not been half an hour at the inn (standing in the door most of the
+time, to ease my eyes from the peat smoke) when a thunderstorm came close by,
+the springs broke in a little hill on which the inn stood, and one end of the
+house became a running water. Places of public entertainment were bad enough
+all over Scotland in those days; yet it was a wonder to myself, when I had to
+go from the fireside to the bed in which I slept, wading over the shoes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Early in my next day’s journey I overtook a little, stout, solemn man, walking
+very slowly with his toes turned out, sometimes reading in a book and sometimes
+marking the place with his finger, and dressed decently and plainly in
+something of a clerical style.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This I found to be another catechist, but of a different order from the blind
+man of Mull: being indeed one of those sent out by the Edinburgh Society for
+Propagating Christian Knowledge, to evangelise the more savage places of the
+Highlands. His name was Henderland; he spoke with the broad south-country
+tongue, which I was beginning to weary for the sound of; and besides common
+countryship, we soon found we had a more particular bond of interest. For my
+good friend, the minister of Essendean, had translated into the Gaelic in his
+by-time a number of hymns and pious books which Henderland used in his work,
+and held in great esteem. Indeed, it was one of these he was carrying and
+reading when we met.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We fell in company at once, our ways lying together as far as to Kingairloch.
+As we went, he stopped and spoke with all the wayfarers and workers that we met
+or passed; and though of course I could not tell what they discoursed about,
+yet I judged Mr. Henderland must be well liked in the countryside, for I
+observed many of them to bring out their mulls and share a pinch of snuff with
+him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said it was a bad business. “It’s wonderful,” said he, “where the tenants
+find the money, for their life is mere starvation. (Ye don’t carry such a thing
+as snuff, do ye, Mr. Balfour? No. Well, I’m better wanting it.) But these
+tenants (as I was saying) are doubtless partly driven to it. James Stewart in
+Duror (that’s him they call James of the Glens) is half-brother to Ardshiel,
+the captain of the clan; and he is a man much looked up to, and drives very
+hard. And then there’s one they call Alan Breck—”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah!” I cried, “what of him?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What of the wind that bloweth where it listeth?” said Henderland. “He’s here
+and awa; here to-day and gone to-morrow: a fair heather-cat. He might be
+glowering at the two of us out of yon whin-bush, and I wouldnae wonder! Ye’ll
+no carry such a thing as snuff, will ye?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him no, and that he had asked the same thing more than once.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na,” said Mr. Henderland, “but there’s love too, and self-denial that should
+put the like of you and me to shame. There’s something fine about it; no
+perhaps Christian, but humanly fine. Even Alan Breck, by all that I hear, is a
+chield to be respected. There’s many a lying sneck-draw sits close in kirk in
+our own part of the country, and stands well in the world’s eye, and maybe is a
+far worse man, Mr. Balfour, than yon misguided shedder of man’s blood. Ay, ay,
+we might take a lesson by them.—Ye’ll perhaps think I’ve been too long in the
+Hielands?” he added, smiling to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “that’s true. It’s a fine blood.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what is the King’s agent about?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Colin Campbell?” says Henderland. “Putting his head in a bees’ byke!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He is to turn the tenants out by force, I hear?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you think they’ll fight?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked if they were worse than their neighbours.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No they,” said he. “And that’s the worst part of it. For if Colin Roy can get
+his business done in Appin, he has it all to begin again in the next country,
+which they call Mamore, and which is one of the countries of the Camerons. He’s
+King’s Factor upon both, and from both he has to drive out the tenants; and
+indeed, Mr. Balfour (to be open with ye), it’s my belief that if he escapes the
+one lot, he’ll get his death by the other.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So we continued talking and walking the great part of the day; until at last,
+Mr. Henderland after expressing his delight in my company, and satisfaction at
+meeting with a friend of Mr. Campbell’s (“whom,” says he, “I will make bold to
+call that sweet singer of our covenanted Zion”), proposed that I should make a
+short stage, and lie the night in his house a little beyond Kingairloch. To say
+truth, I was overjoyed; for I had no great desire for John of the Claymore, and
+since my double misadventure, first with the guide and next with the gentleman
+skipper, I stood in some fear of any Highland stranger. Accordingly we shook
+hands upon the bargain, and came in the afternoon to a small house, standing
+alone by the shore of the Linnhe Loch. The sun was already gone from the desert
+mountains of Ardgour upon the hither side, but shone on those of Appin on the
+farther; the loch lay as still as a lake, only the gulls were crying round the
+sides of it; and the whole place seemed solemn and uncouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0175.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="He began ladling snuff
+into his nose in most excessive quantities" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as we had eaten (and porridge and whey was the best of the good man’s
+diet) he took a grave face and said he had a duty to perform by Mr. Campbell,
+and that was to inquire into my state of mind towards God. I was inclined to
+smile at him since the business of the snuff; but he had not spoken long before
+he brought the tears into my eyes. There are two things that men should never
+weary of, goodness and humility; we get none too much of them in this rough
+world among cold, proud people; but Mr. Henderland had their very speech upon
+his tongue. And though I was a good deal puffed up with my adventures and with
+having come off, as the saying is, with flying colours; yet he soon had me on
+my knees beside a simple, poor old man, and both proud and glad to be there.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0179.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XVII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0017"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br/>
+THE DEATH OF THE RED FOX</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9179.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="T" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+he next day Mr. Henderland found for me a man who had a boat of his own and was
+to cross the Linnhe Loch that afternoon into Appin, fishing. Him he prevailed
+on to take me, for he was one of his flock; and in this way I saved a long
+day’s travel and the price of the two public ferries I must otherwise have
+passed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was near noon before we set out; a dark day with clouds, and the sun shining
+upon little patches. The sea was here very deep and still, and had scarce a
+wave upon it; so that I must put the water to my lips before I could believe it
+to be truly salt. The mountains on either side were high, rough and barren,
+very black and gloomy in the shadow of the clouds, but all silver-laced with
+little watercourses where the sun shone upon them. It seemed a hard country,
+this of Appin, for people to care as much about as Alan did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked my boatman what it should be, and he answered he supposed it was some
+of the red soldiers coming from Fort William into Appin, against the poor
+tenantry of the country. Well, it was a sad sight to me; and whether it was
+because of my thoughts of Alan, or from something prophetic in my bosom,
+although this was but the second time I had seen King George’s troops, I had no
+good will to them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last we came so near the point of land at the entering in of Loch Leven that
+I begged to be set on shore. My boatman (who was an honest fellow and mindful
+of his promise to the catechist) would fain have carried me on to Balachulish;
+but as this was to take me farther from my secret destination, I insisted, and
+was set on shore at last under the wood of Lettermore (or Lettervore, for I
+have heard it both ways) in Alan’s country of Appin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As I was so sitting and thinking, a sound of men and horses came to me through
+the wood; and presently after, at a turning of the road, I saw four travellers
+come into view. The way was in this part so rough and narrow that they came
+single and led their horses by the reins. The first was a great, red-headed
+gentleman, of an imperious and flushed face, who carried his hat in his hand
+and fanned himself, for he was in a breathing heat. The second, by his decent
+black garb and white wig, I correctly took to be a lawyer. The third was a
+servant, and wore some part of his clothes in tartan, which showed that his
+master was of a Highland family, and either an outlaw or else in singular good
+odour with the Government, since the wearing of tartan was against the Act. If
+I had been better versed in these things, I would have known the tartan to be
+of the Argyle (or Campbell) colours. This servant had a good-sized portmanteau
+strapped on his horse, and a net of lemons (to brew punch with) hanging at the
+saddle-bow; as was often enough the custom with luxurious travellers in that
+part of the country.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had no sooner seen these people coming than I made up my mind (for no reason
+that I can tell) to go through with my adventure; and when the first came
+alongside of me, I rose up from the bracken and asked him the way to Aucharn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Glenure,” said the other, “this is an ill subject for jesting.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The man that lives there,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“James of the Glens,” says Glenure, musingly; and then to the lawyer: “Is he
+gathering his people, think ye?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Anyway,” says the lawyer, “we shall do better to bide where we are, and let
+the soldiers rally us.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, very well said,” replies the Factor. “But if I may make so bold as ask,
+what does this honest man so far from his country? and why does he come seeking
+the brother of Ardshiel? I have power here, I must tell you. I am King’s Factor
+upon several of these estates, and have twelve files of soldiers at my back.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have heard a waif word in the country,” said I, a little nettled, “that you
+were a hard man to drive.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He still kept looking at me, as if in doubt.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said he, at last, “your tongue is bold; but I am no unfriend to
+plainness. If ye had asked me the way to the door of James Stewart on any other
+day but this, I would have set ye right and bidden ye God speed. But to-day—eh,
+Mungo?” And he turned again to look at the lawyer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, I am dead!” he cried, several times over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Take care of yourselves,” says he. “I am dead.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The lawyer said never a word, but his face was as sharp as a pen and as white
+as the dead man’s; the servant broke out into a great noise of crying and
+weeping, like a child; and I, on my side, stood staring at them in a kind of
+horror. The sheriff’s officer had run back at the first sound of the shot, to
+hasten the coming of the soldiers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Here!” I cried. “I see him!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why should I come back?” I cried. “Come you on!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ten pounds if ye take that lad!” cried the lawyer. “He’s an accomplice. He was
+posted here to hold us in talk.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The soldiers began to spread, some of them to run, and others to put up their
+pieces and cover me; and still I stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Jouk<a href="#fn18" name="fnref18"><sup>[18]</sup></a> in here among the
+trees,” said a voice close by.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn18"></a> <a href="#fnref18">[18]</a>
+Duck.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0185.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Jouk in here among the
+trees, said a voice close by" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Just inside the shelter of the trees I found Alan Breck standing, with a
+fishing-rod. He gave me no salutation; indeed it was no time for civilities;
+only “Come!” says he, and set off running along the side of the mountain
+towards Balachulish; and I, like a sheep, to follow him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Quarter of an hour later, Alan stopped, clapped down flat in the heather, and
+turned to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said he, “it’s earnest. Do as I do, for your life.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0188.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XVIII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0018"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br/>
+I TALK WITH ALAN IN THE WOOD OF LETTERMORE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9188.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+lan 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said he, “yon was a hot burst, David.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are ye still wearied?” he asked again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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,”<a href="#fn19"
+name="fnref19"><sup>[19]</sup></a> 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn19"></a> <a href="#fnref19">[19]</a>
+Part.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Alan,” said I, “what is the sense of this? Ye ken very well yon Campbell-man
+lies in his blood upon the road.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said I, “nor do I want to hear it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“With your permission, Mr. Balfour, I will tell it you, whatever,” says Alan.
+“The man, ye should ken, was cast upon a rock in the sea, where it appears the
+Good People were in use to come and rest as they went through to Ireland. The
+name of this rock is called the Skerryvore, and it’s not far from where we
+suffered ship-wreck. Well, it seems the man cried so sore, if he could just see
+his little bairn before he died! that at last the king of the Good People took
+peety upon him, and sent one flying that brought back the bairn in a poke<a
+href="#fn20" name="fnref20"><sup>[20]</sup></a> and laid it down beside the man
+where he lay sleeping. So when the man woke, there was a poke beside him and
+something into the inside of it that moved. Well, it seems he was one of these
+gentry that think aye the worst of things; and for greater security, he stuck
+his dirk throughout that poke before he opened it, and there was his bairn
+dead. I am thinking to myself, Mr. Balfour, that you and the man are very much
+alike.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn20"></a> <a href="#fnref20">[20]</a>
+Bag.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you mean you had no hand in it?” cried I, sitting up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “that’s true!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I thank God for that!” cried I, and offered him my hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He did not appear to see it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And here is a great deal of work about a Campbell!” said he. “They are not so
+scarce, that I ken!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“At least,” said I, “you cannot justly blame me, for you know very well what
+you told me in the brig. But the temptation and the act are different, I thank
+God again for that. We may all be tempted; but to take a life in cold blood,
+Alan!” And I could say no more for the moment. “And do you know who did it?” I
+added. “Do you know that man in the black coat?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have nae clear mind about his coat,” said Alan cunningly, “but it sticks in
+my head that it was blue.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Blue or black, did ye know him?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can you swear that you don’t know him, Alan?” I cried, half angered, half in a
+mind to laugh at his evasions.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not yet,” says he; “but I’ve a grand memory for forgetting, David.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And yet there was one thing I saw clearly,” said I; “and that was, that you
+exposed yourself and me to draw the soldiers.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s very likely,” said Alan; “and so would any gentleman. You and me were
+innocent of that transaction.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The better reason, since we were falsely suspected, that we should get clear,”
+I cried. “The innocent should surely come before the guilty.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, David,” said he, “the innocent have aye a chance to get assoiled in
+court; but for the lad that shot the bullet, I think the best place for him
+will be the heather. Them that havenae dipped their hands in any little
+difficulty, should be very mindful of the case of them that have. And that is
+the good Christianity. For if it was the other way round about, and the lad
+whom I couldnae just clearly see had been in our shoes, and we in his (as might
+very well have been), I think we would be a good deal obliged to him oursel’s
+if he would draw the soldiers.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When it came to this, I gave Alan up. But he looked so innocent all the time,
+and was in such clear good faith in what he said, and so ready to sacrifice
+himself for what he deemed his duty, that my mouth was closed. Mr. Henderland’s
+words came back to me: that we ourselves might take a lesson by these wild
+Highlanders. Well, here I had taken mine. Alan’s morals were all tail-first;
+but he was ready to give his life for them, such as they were.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O!” says I, willing to give him a little lesson, “I have no fear of the
+justice of my country.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As if this was your country!” said he. “Or as if ye would be tried here, in a
+country of Stewarts!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s all Scotland,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This frightened me a little, I confess, and would have frightened me more if I
+had known how nearly exact were Alan’s predictions; indeed it was but in one
+point that he exaggerated, there being but eleven Campbells on the jury; though
+as the other four were equally in the Duke’s dependence, it mattered less than
+might appear. Still, I cried out that he was unjust to the Duke of Argyle, who
+(for all he was a Whig) was yet a wise and honest nobleman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot!” said Alan, “the man’s a Whig, nae doubt; but I would never deny he was
+a good chieftain to his clan. And what would the clan think if there was a
+Campbell shot, and naebody hanged, and their own chief the Justice General? But
+I have often observed,” says Alan, “that you Low-country bodies have no clear
+idea of what’s right and wrong.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this I did at last laugh out aloud, when to my surprise, Alan joined in, and
+laughed as merrily as myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na, na,” said he, “we’re in the Hielands, David; and when I tell ye to run,
+take my word and run. Nae doubt it’s a hard thing to skulk and starve in the
+Heather, but it’s harder yet to lie shackled in a red-coat prison.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’ll chance it, Alan,” said I. “I’ll go with you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But mind you,” said Alan, “it’s no small thing. Ye maun lie bare and hard, and
+brook many an empty belly. Your bed shall be the moorcock’s, and your life
+shall be like the hunted deer’s, and ye shall sleep with your hand upon your
+weapons. Ay, man, ye shall taigle many a weary foot, or we get clear! I tell ye
+this at the start, for it’s a life that I ken well. But if ye ask what other
+chance ye have, I answer: Nane. Either take to the heather with me, or else
+hang.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that’s a choice very easily made,” said I; and we shook hands upon it.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0193.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="And now let's take another
+peep at the redcoats" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“And now let’s take another peek at the red-coats,” says Alan, and he led me to
+the north-eastern fringe of the wood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan watched them, smiling to himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said he, “they’ll be gey weary before they’ve got to the end of that
+employ! And so you and me, David, can sit down and eat a bite, and breathe a
+bit longer, and take a dram from my bottle. Then we’ll strike for Aucharn, the
+house of my kinsman, James of the Glens, where I must get my clothes, and my
+arms, and money to carry us along; and then, David, we’ll cry, ‘Forth,
+Fortune!’ and take a cast among the heather.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So we sat again and ate and drank, in a place whence we could see the sun going
+down into a field of great, wild, and houseless mountains, such as I was now
+condemned to wander in with my companion. Partly as we so sat, and partly
+afterwards, on the way to Aucharn, each of us narrated his adventures; and I
+shall here set down so much of Alan’s as seems either curious or needful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It took the colour out of Alan’s face, even to tell what followed. For there
+were still two men lying impotent in their bunks; and these, seeing the water
+pour in and thinking the ship had foundered, began to cry out aloud, and that
+with such harrowing cries that all who were on deck tumbled one after another
+into the skiff and fell to their oars. They were not two hundred yards away,
+when there came a third great sea; and at that the brig lifted clean over the
+reef; her canvas filled for a moment, and she seemed to sail in chase of them,
+but settling all the while; and presently she drew down and down, as if a hand
+was drawing her; and the sea closed over the <i>Covenant</i> of Dysart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never a word they spoke as they pulled ashore, being stunned with the horror of
+that screaming; but they had scarce set foot upon the beach when Hoseason woke
+up, as if out of a muse, and bade them lay hands upon Alan. They hung back
+indeed, having little taste for the employment; but Hoseason was like a fiend,
+crying that Alan was alone, that he had a great sum about him, that he had been
+the means of losing the brig and drowning all their comrades, and that here was
+both revenge and wealth upon a single cast. It was seven against one; in that
+part of the shore there was no rock that Alan could set his back to; and the
+sailors began to spread out and come behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And then,” said Alan, “the little man with the red head—I havenae mind of the
+name that he is called.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Riach,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “he was kind to me in his way.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do you mean by that?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, the fists were going,” said Alan; “and I saw one man go down like a pair
+of breeks. But I thought it would be better no to wait. Ye see there’s a strip
+of Campbells in that end of Mull, which is no good company for a gentleman like
+me. If it hadnae been for that I would have waited and looked for ye mysel’,
+let alone giving a hand to the little man.” (It was droll how Alan dwelt on Mr.
+Riach’s stature, for, to say the truth, the one was not much smaller than the
+other.) “So,” says he, continuing, “I set my best foot forward, and whenever I
+met in with any one I cried out there was a wreck ashore. Man, they didnae 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.”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0199.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XIX" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0019"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br/>
+THE HOUSE OF FEAR</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9199.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="N" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ight 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last, about half-past ten of the clock, we came to the top of a brae, and
+saw lights below us. It seemed a house door stood open and let out a beam of
+fire and candle-light; and all round the house and steading five or six persons
+were moving hurriedly about, each carrying a lighted brand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0201.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="He whistled three times,
+in a particular manner" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+James of the Glens turned to me for a moment, and greeted me courteously
+enough; the next he had turned to Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This has been a dreadful accident,” he cried. “It will bring trouble on the
+country.” And he wrung his hands.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoots!” said Alan, “ye must take the sour with the sweet, man. Colin Roy is
+dead, and be thankful for that!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said James, “and by my troth, I wish he was alive again! It’s all very
+fine to blow and boast beforehand; but now it’s done, Alan; and who’s to bear
+the wyte<a href="#fn21" name="fnref21"><sup>[21]</sup></a> 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn21"></a> <a href="#fnref21">[21]</a>
+Blame.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+While this was going on I looked about me at the servants. Some were on
+ladders, digging in the thatch of the house or the farm buildings, from which
+they brought out guns, swords, and different weapons of war; others carried
+them away; and by the sound of mattock blows from somewhere farther down the
+brae, I suppose they buried them. Though they were all so busy, there prevailed
+no kind of order in their efforts; men struggled together for the same gun and
+ran into each other with their burning torches; and James was continually
+turning about from his talk with Alan, to cry out orders which were apparently
+never understood. The faces in the torchlight were like those of people
+overborne with hurry and panic; and though none spoke above his breath, their
+speech sounded both anxious and angry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was about this time that a lassie came out of the house carrying a pack or
+bundle; and it has often made me smile to think how Alan’s instinct awoke at
+the mere sight of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s that the lassie has?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+James carried me accordingly into the kitchen, and sat down with me at table,
+smiling and talking at first in a very hospitable manner. But presently the
+gloom returned upon him; he sat frowning and biting his fingers; only
+remembered me from time to time; and then gave me but a word or two and a poor
+smile, and back into his private terrors. His wife sat by the fire and wept,
+with her face in her hands; his eldest son was crouched upon the floor, running
+over a great mass of papers and now and again setting one alight and burning it
+to the bitter end; all the while a servant lass with a red face was rummaging
+about the room, in a blind hurry of fear, and whimpering as she went; and every
+now and again one of the men would thrust in his face from the yard, and cry
+for orders.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Are you gone gyte?”<a href="#fn22" name="fnref22"><sup>[22]</sup></a> 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.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn22"></a> <a href="#fnref22">[22]</a>
+Mad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was all wretched for a stranger like myself to hear and see; and I was
+right glad when Alan returned, looking like himself in his fine French clothes,
+though (to be sure) they were now grown almost too battered and withered to
+deserve the name of fine. I was then taken out in my turn by another of the
+sons, and given that change of clothing of which I had stood so long in need,
+and a pair of Highland brogues made of deer-leather, rather strange at first,
+but after a little practice very easy to the feet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By the time I came back Alan must have told his story; for it seemed understood
+that I was to fly with him, and they were all busy upon our equipment. They
+gave us each a sword and pistols, though I professed my inability to use the
+former; and with these, and some ammunition, a bag of oatmeal, an iron pan, and
+a bottle of right French brandy, we were ready for the heather. Money, indeed,
+was lacking. I had about two guineas left; Alan’s belt having been despatched
+by another hand, that trusty messenger had no more than seventeen-pence to his
+whole fortune; and as for James, it appears he had brought himself so low with
+journeys to Edinburgh and legal expenses on behalf of the tenants, that he
+could only scrape together three-and-five-pence-halfpenny, the most of it in
+coppers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This’ll no do,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye must find a safe bit somewhere near by,” said James, “and get word sent to
+me. Ye see, ye’ll have to get this business prettily off, Alan. This is no time
+to be stayed for a guinea or two. They’re sure to get wind of ye, sure to seek
+ye, and by my way of it, sure to lay on ye the wyte of this day’s accident. If
+it falls on you, it falls on me that am your near kinsman and harboured ye
+while ye were in the country. And if it comes on me——” he paused, and bit his
+fingers, with a white face. “It would be a painful thing for our friends if I
+was to hang,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It would be an ill day for Appin,” says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But see here,” said James, returning to his former manner, “if they lay me by
+the heels, Alan, it’s then that you’ll be needing the money. For with all that
+I have said and that you have said, it will look very black against the two of
+us; do ye mark that? Well, follow me out, and ye’ll, I’ll see that I’ll have to
+get a paper out against ye mysel’; have to offer a reward for ye; ay, will I!
+It’s a sore thing to do between such near friends; but if I get the dirdum<a
+href="#fn23" name="fnref23"><sup>[23]</sup></a> of this dreadful accident, I’ll
+have to fend for myself, man. Do ye see that?”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn23"></a> <a href="#fnref23">[23]</a>
+Blame.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He spoke with a pleading earnestness, taking Alan by the breast of the coat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said Alan, “I see that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There’s one thing,” said Alan, musingly, “that naebody kens his name.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have but one word to say,” said I; “for to all this dispute I am a perfect
+stranger. But the plain common-sense is to set the blame where it belongs, and
+that is on the man who fired the shot. Paper him, as ye call it, set the hunt
+on him; and let honest, innocent folk show their faces in safety.” But at this
+both Alan and James cried out in horror; bidding me hold my tongue, for that
+was not to be thought of; and asking me what the Camerons would think? (which
+confirmed me, it must have been a Cameron from Mamore that did the act) and if
+I did not see that the lad might be caught? “Ye havenae surely thought of
+that?” said they, with such innocent earnestness, that my hands dropped at my
+side and I despaired of argument.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thought it best to put a fair face on my consent, for I saw Alan troubled;
+and, besides (thinks I to myself), as soon as my back is turned, they will
+paper me, as they call it, whether I consent or not. But in this I saw I was
+wrong; for I had no sooner said the words, than Mrs. Stewart leaped out of her
+chair, came running over to us, and wept first upon my neck and then on Alan’s,
+blessing God for our goodness to her family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!’<a href="#fn24"
+name="fnref24"><sup>[24]</sup></a> and running of red-coats; and it behoves you
+and me to the sooner be gone.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn24"></a> <a href="#fnref24">[24]</a>
+The rallying-word of the Campbells.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0208.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XX" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0020"></a>CHAPTER XX<br/>
+THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE ROCKS</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9208.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="S" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ometimes 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first peep of morning, then, showed us this horrible place, and I could see
+Alan knit his brow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This is no fit place for you and me,” he said. “This is a place they’re bound
+to watch.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So there we stood, side by side upon a small rock slippery with spray, a far
+broader leap in front of us, and the river dinning upon all sides. When I saw
+where I was, there came on me a deadly sickness of fear, and I put my hand over
+my eyes. Alan took me and shook me; I saw he was speaking, but the roaring of
+the falls and the trouble of my mind prevented me from hearing; only I saw his
+face was red with anger, and that he stamped upon the rock. The same look
+showed me the water raging by, and the mist hanging in the air: and with that I
+covered my eyes again and shuddered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0211.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I was bent low on my knees
+and flung myself forth" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+I was now alone upon the rock, which gave me the more room; the brandy was
+singing in my ears; I had this good example fresh before me, and just wit
+enough to see that if I did not leap at once, I should never leap at all. I
+bent low on my knees and flung myself forth, with that kind of anger of despair
+that has sometimes stood me in stead of courage. Sure enough, it was but my
+hands that reached the full length; these slipped, caught again, slipped again;
+and I was sliddering back into the lynn, when Alan seized me, first by the
+hair, then by the collar, and with a great strain dragged me into safety.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Never a word he said, but set off running again for his life, and I must
+stagger to my feet and run after him. I had been weary before, but now I was
+sick and bruised, and partly drunken with the brandy; I kept stumbling as I
+ran, I had a stitch that came near to overmaster me; and when at last Alan
+paused under a great rock that stood there among a number of others, it was
+none too soon for David Balfour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A great rock I have said; but by rights it was two rocks leaning together at
+the top, both some twenty feet high, and at the first sight inaccessible. Even
+Alan (though you may say he had as good as four hands) failed twice in an
+attempt to climb them; and it was only at the third trial, and then by standing
+on my shoulders and leaping up with such force as I thought must have broken my
+collar-bone, that he secured a lodgment. Once there, he let down his leathern
+girdle; and with the aid of that and a pair of shallow footholds in the rock, I
+scrambled up beside him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this while Alan had not said a word, and had run and climbed with such a
+savage, silent frenzy of hurry, that I knew that he was in mortal fear of some
+miscarriage. Even now we were on the rock he said nothing, nor so much as
+relaxed the frowning look upon his face; but clapped flat down, and keeping
+only one eye above the edge of our place of shelter scouted all round the
+compass. The dawn had come quite clear; we could see the stony sides of the
+valley, and its bottom, which was bestrewed with rocks, and the river, which
+went from one side to another, and made white falls; but nowhere the smoke of a
+house, nor any living creature but some eagles screaming round a cliff.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then at last Alan smiled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said he, “now we have a chance;” and then looking at me with some
+amusement, “Ye’re no very gleg<a href="#fn25"
+name="fnref25"><sup>[25]</sup></a> at the jumping,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn25"></a> <a href="#fnref25">[25]</a>
+Brisk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this I suppose I coloured with mortification, for he added at once, “Hoots!
+small blame to ye! To be feared of a thing and yet to do it, is what makes the
+prettiest kind of a man. And then there was water there, and water’s a thing
+that dauntons even me. No, no,” said Alan, “it’s no you that’s to blame, it’s
+me.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I asked him why.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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’.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You!” I cried, “you were running fit to burst.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, I lay down to sleep; a little peaty earth had drifted in between
+the top of the two rocks, and some bracken grew there, to be a bed to me; the
+last thing I heard was still the crying of the eagles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I dare say it would be nine in the morning when I was roughly awakened, and
+found Alan’s hand pressed upon my mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Wheesht!” he whispered. “Ye were snoring.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, surprised at his anxious and dark face, “and why not?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He peered over the edge of the rock, and signed to me to do the like.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was now high day, cloudless, and very hot. The valley was as clear as in a
+picture. About half a mile up the water was a camp of red-coats; a big fire
+blazed in their midst, at which some were cooking; and near by, on the top of a
+rock about as high as ours, there stood a sentry, with the sun sparkling on his
+arms. All the way down along the river-side were posted other sentries; here
+near together, there widelier scattered; some planted like the first, on places
+of command, some on the ground level and marching and counter-marching, so as
+to meet half-way. Higher up the glen, where the ground was more open, the chain
+of posts was continued by horse-soldiers, whom we could see in the distance
+riding to and fro. Lower down, the infantry continued; but as the stream was
+suddenly swelled by the confluence of a considerable burn, they were more
+widely set, and only watched the fords and stepping-stones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I took but one look at them, and ducked again into my place. It was strange
+indeed to see this valley, which had lain so solitary in the hour of dawn,
+bristling with arms and dotted with the red coats and breeches.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye see,” said Alan, “this was what I was afraid of, Davie: that they would
+watch the burn-side. They began to come in about two hours ago, and, man! but
+ye’re a grand hand at the sleeping! We’re in a narrow place. If they get up the
+sides of the hill, they could easy spy us with a glass; but if they’ll only
+keep in the foot of the valley, we’ll do yet. The posts are thinner down the
+water; and, come night, we’ll try our hand at getting by them.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what are we to do till night?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Lie here,” says he, “and birstle.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That one good Scotch word, “birstle,” was indeed the most of the story of the
+day that we had now to pass. You are to remember that we lay on the bare top of
+a rock, like scones upon a girdle; the sun beat upon us cruelly; the rock grew
+so heated, a man could scarce endure the touch of it; and the little patch of
+earth and fern, which kept cooler, was only large enough for one at a time. We
+took turn about to lie on the naked rock, which was indeed like the position of
+that saint that was martyred on a gridiron; and it ran in my mind how strange
+it was, that in the same climate and at only a few days’ distance, I should
+have suffered so cruelly, first from cold upon my island and now from heat upon
+this rock.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was in this way that I first heard the right English speech; one fellow as
+he went by actually clapping his hand upon the sunny face of the rock on which
+we lay, and plucking it off again with an oath. “I tell you it’s ‘ot,” says he;
+and I was amazed at the clipping tones and the odd sing-song in which he spoke,
+and no less at that strange trick of dropping out the letter “h.” To be sure, I
+had heard Ransome; but he had taken his ways from all sorts of people, and
+spoke so imperfectly at the best, that I set down the most of it to
+childishness. My surprise was all the greater to hear that manner of speaking
+in the mouth of a grown man; and indeed I have never grown used to it; nor yet
+altogether with the English grammar, as perhaps a very critical eye might here
+and there spy out even in these memoirs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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:—
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+“The moon by night thee shall not smite,<br/>
+Nor yet the sun by day;”
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+and indeed it was only by God’s blessing that we were neither of us
+sun-smitten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“As well one death as another,” said Alan, and slipped over the edge and
+dropped on the ground on the shadowy side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Presently we began again to get a little strength; and as the soldiers were now
+lying closer along the river-side, Alan proposed that we should try a start. I
+was by this time afraid of but one thing in the world; and that was to be set
+back upon the rock; anything else was welcome to me; so we got ourselves at
+once in marching order, and began to slip from rock to rock one after the
+other, now crawling flat on our bellies in the shade, now making a run for it,
+heart in mouth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The soldiers, having searched this side of the valley after a fashion, and
+being perhaps somewhat sleepy with the sultriness of the afternoon, had now
+laid by much of their vigilance, and stood dozing at their posts or only kept a
+look-out along the banks of the river; so that in this way, keeping down the
+valley and at the same time towards the mountains, we drew steadily away from
+their neighbourhood. But the business was the most wearing I had ever taken
+part in. A man had need of a hundred eyes in every part of him, to keep
+concealed in that uneven country and within cry of so many and scattered
+sentries. When we must pass an open place, quickness was not all, but a swift
+judgment not only of the lie of the whole country, but of the solidity of every
+stone on which we must set foot; for the afternoon was now fallen so breathless
+that the rolling of a pebble sounded abroad like a pistol shot, and would start
+the echo calling among the hills and cliffs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By sundown we had made some distance, even by our slow rate of progress, though
+to be sure the sentry on the rock was still plainly in our view. But now we
+came on something that put all fears out of season; and that was a deep rushing
+burn, that tore down, in that part, to join the glen river. At the sight of
+this we cast ourselves on the ground and plunged head and shoulders in the
+water; and I cannot tell which was the more pleasant, the great shock as the
+cool stream went over us, or the greed with which we drank of it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 renewed, we got out the meal-bag and made drammach
+in the iron pan. This, though it is but cold water mingled with oatmeal, yet
+makes a good enough dish for a hungry man; and where there are no means of
+making fire, or (as in our case) good reason for not making one, it is the
+chief stand-by of those who have taken to the heather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moon rose at last and found us still on the road; it was in its last
+quarter, and was long beset with clouds; but after awhile shone out and showed
+me many dark heads of mountains, and was reflected far underneath us on the
+narrow arm of a sea-loch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0220.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXI" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0021"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br/>
+THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE HEUGH OF CORRYNAKIEGH</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9220.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="E" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+arly 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We slept in the cave, making our bed of heather bushes which we cut for that
+purpose, and covering ourselves with Alan’s great-coat. There was a low
+concealed place, in a turning of the glen, where we were so bold as to make
+fire: so that we could warm ourselves when the clouds set in, and cook hot
+porridge, and grill the little trouts that we caught with our hands under the
+stones and overhanging banks of the burn. This was indeed our chief pleasure
+and business; and not only to save our meal against worse times, but with a
+rivalry that much amused us, we spent a great part of our days at the
+water-side, stripped to the waist and groping about or (as they say) guddling
+for these fish. The largest we got might have been a quarter of a pound; but
+they were of good flesh and flavour, and when broiled upon the coals, lacked
+only a little salt to be delicious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In any by-time Alan must teach me to use my sword, for my ignorance had much
+distressed him; and I think besides, as I had sometimes the upper-hand of him
+in the fishing, he was not sorry to turn to an exercise where he had so much
+the upper-hand of me. He made it somewhat more of a pain than need have been,
+for he stormed at me all through the lessons in a very violent manner of
+scolding, and would push me so close that I made sure he must run me through
+the body. I was often tempted to turn tail, but held my ground for all that,
+and got some profit of my lessons; if it was but to stand on guard with an
+assured countenance, which is often all that is required. So, though I could
+never in the least please my master, I was not altogether displeased with
+myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the meanwhile, you are not to suppose that we neglected our chief business,
+which was to get away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It will be many a long day,” Alan said to me on our first morning, “before the
+red-coats think upon seeking Corrynakiegh; so now we must get word sent to
+James, and he must find the siller for us.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay?” said Alan. “Ye’re a man of small contrivance, David.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0223.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Getting a piece of wood,
+he fashioned it in a cross" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Now,” said he, “there is a little clachan” (what is called a hamlet in the
+English) “not very far from Corrynakiegh, and it has the name of Koalisnacoan.
+There there are living many friends of mine whom I could trust with my life,
+and some that I am no just so sure of. Ye see, David, there will be money set
+upon our heads; James himsel’ is to set money on them; and as for the
+Campbells, they would never spare siller where there was a Stewart to be hurt.
+If it was otherwise, I would go down to Koalisnacoan whatever, and trust my
+life into these people’s hands as lightly as I would trust another with my
+glove.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But being so?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Being so,” said he, “I would as lief they didnae see me. There’s bad folk
+everywhere, and what’s far worse, weak ones. So when it comes dark again, I
+will steal down into that clachan, and set this that I have been making in the
+window of a good friend of mine, John Breck Maccoll, a bouman<a href="#fn26"
+name="fnref26"><sup>[26]</sup></a> of Appin’s.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn26"></a> <a href="#fnref26">[26]</a>
+A bouman is a tenant who takes stock from the landlord and shares with him the
+increase.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“With all my heart,” says I; “and if he finds it, what is he to think?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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’, <i>The clan is not to rise, but there is something</i>.
+Then he will see my button, and that was Duncan Stewart’s. And then he will say
+to himsel’, <i>The son of Duncan is in the heather and has need of me</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “it may be. But even supposing so, there is a good deal of
+heather between here and the Forth.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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), <i>Alan will be lying in a
+wood which is both of pines and birches</i>. Then he will think to himsel’,
+<i>That is not so very rife hereabout;</i> 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was a ragged, wild, bearded man, about forty, grossly disfigured with the
+small pox, and looked both dull and savage. Although his English was very bad
+and broken, yet Alan (according to his very handsome use, whenever I was by)
+would suffer him to speak no Gaelic. Perhaps the strange language made him
+appear more backward than he really was; but I thought he had little good-will
+to serve us, and what he had was the child of terror.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I thought Alan would be gravelled at that, for we lacked the means of writing
+in that desert.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But he was a man of more resources than I knew; searched the wood until he
+found the quill of a cushat-dove, which he shaped into a pen; made himself a
+kind of ink with gunpowder from his horn and water from the running stream; and
+tearing a corner from his French military commission (which he carried in his
+pocket, like a talisman to keep him from the gallows), he sat down and wrote as
+follows:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+“D<small>EAR</small> K<small>INSMAN</small>,—Please send the money by the
+bearer to the place he kens of.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+“Your affectionate cousin,<br/>
+“A. S.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He gave us the news of the country; that it was alive with red-coats; that arms
+were being found, and poor folk brought in trouble daily; and that James and
+some of his servants were already clapped in prison at Fort William, under
+strong suspicion of complicity. It seemed it was noised on all sides that Alan
+Breck had fired the shot; and there was a bill issued for both him and me, with
+one hundred pounds reward.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was all as bad as could be; and the little note the bouman had carried us
+from Mrs. Stewart was of a miserable sadness. In it she besought Alan not to
+let himself be captured, assuring him, if he fell in the hands of the troops,
+both he and James were no better than dead men. The money she had sent was all
+that she could beg or borrow, and she prayed heaven we could be doing with it.
+Lastly, she said, she enclosed us one of the bills in which we were described.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This we looked upon with great curiosity and not a little fear, partly as a man
+may look in a mirror, partly as he might look into the barrel of an enemy’s gun
+to judge if it be truly aimed. Alan was advertised as “a small, pock-marked,
+active man of thirty-five or thereby, dressed in a feathered hat, a French
+side-coat of blue with silver buttons, and lace a great deal tarnished, a red
+waistcoat and breeches of black, shag;” and I as “a tall strong lad of about
+eighteen, wearing an old blue coat, very ragged, an old Highland bonnet, a long
+homespun waistcoat, blue breeches; his legs bare, low-country shoes, wanting
+the toes; speaks like a Lowlander, and has no beard.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan was well enough pleased to see his finery so fully remembered and set
+down; only when he came to the word tarnish, he looked upon his lace like one a
+little mortified. As for myself, I thought I cut a miserable figure in the
+bill; and yet was well enough pleased too, for since I had changed these rags,
+the description had ceased to be a danger and become a source of safety.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Alan,” said I, “you should change your clothes.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na, troth!” said Alan, “I have nae others. A fine sight I would be, if I went
+back to France in a bonnet!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This put a second reflection in my mind: that if I were to separate from Alan
+and his tell-tale clothes I should be safe against arrest, and might go openly
+about my business. Nor was this all; for suppose I was arrested when I was
+alone, there was little against me; but suppose I was taken in company with the
+reputed murderer, my case would begin to be grave. For generosity’s sake I dare
+not speak my mind upon this head; but I thought of it none the less.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But there was no thought of the sort in the honest head of my companion. He
+believed he was serving, helping, and protecting me. And what could I do but
+hold my peace, and chafe, and take my chance of it?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s little enough,” said Alan, putting the purse in his pocket, “but it’ll do
+my business. And now, John Breck, if ye will hand me over my button, this
+gentleman and me will be for taking the road.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lastly, the bouman took himself off by one way; and Alan and I (getting our
+chattels together) struck into another to resume our flight.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0230.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0022"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br/>
+THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9230.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="S" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+ome 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “I am tired indeed, but I could walk as far again, if that was
+all.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, then, east, ye see, we have the muirs,” said Alan. “Once there, David,
+it’s mere pitch-and-toss. Out on yon bald, naked, flat place, where can a body
+turn to? Let the red-coats come over a hill, they can spy you miles away; and
+the sorrow’s in their horses’ heels, they would soon ride you down. It’s no
+good place, David; and I’m free to say, it’s worse by daylight than by dark.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The mist rose and died away, and showed us that country lying as waste as the
+sea; only the moorfowl and the pewees crying upon it, and far over to the east,
+a herd of deer, moving like dots. Much of it was red with heather; much of the
+rest broken up with bogs and hags and peaty pools; some had been burnt black in
+a heath fire; and in another place there was quite a forest of dead firs,
+standing like skeletons. A wearier-looking desert man never saw; but at least
+it was clear of troops, which was our point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We went down accordingly into the waste, and began to make our toilsome and
+devious travel towards the eastern verge. There were the tops of mountains all
+round (you are to remember) from whence we might be spied at any moment; so it
+behoved us to keep in the hollow parts of the moor, and when these turned aside
+from our direction to move upon its naked face with infinite care. Sometimes,
+for half an hour together, we must crawl from one heather bush to another, as
+hunters do when they are hard upon the deer. It was a clear day again, with a
+blazing sun; the water in the brandy bottle was soon gone; and altogether, if I
+had guessed what it would be to crawl half the time upon my belly and to walk
+much of the rest stooping nearly to the knees, I should certainly have held
+back from such a killing enterprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Toiling and resting and toiling again, we wore away the morning; and about noon
+lay down in a thick bush of heather to sleep. Alan took the first watch; and it
+seemed to me I had scarce closed my eyes before I was shaken up to take the
+second. We had no clock to go by; and Alan stuck a sprig of heath in the ground
+to serve instead; so that as soon as the shadow of the bush should fall so far
+to the east, I might know to rouse him. But I was by this time so weary that I
+could have slept twelve hours at a stretch; I had the taste of sleep in my
+throat; my joints slept even when my mind was waking; the hot smell of the
+heather, and the drone of the wild bees, were like possets to me; and every now
+and again I would give a jump and find I had been dozing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The last time I woke I seemed to come back from farther away, and thought the
+sun had taken a great start in the heavens. I looked at the sprig of heath, and
+at that I could have cried aloud: for I saw I had betrayed my trust. My head
+was nearly turned with fear and shame; and at what I saw, when I looked out
+around me on the moor, my heart was like dying in my body. For sure enough, a
+body of horse-soldiers had come down during my sleep, and were drawing near to
+us from the south-east, spread out in the shape of a fan and riding their
+horses to and fro in the deep parts of the heather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What are we to do now?” I asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“We’ll have to play at being hares,” said he. “Do ye see yon mountain?”
+pointing to one on the north-eastern sky.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But, Alan,” cried I, “that will take us across the very coming of the
+soldiers!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+With that he began to run forward on his hands and knees with an incredible
+quickness, as though it were his natural way of going. All the time, too, he
+kept winding in and out in the lower parts of the moorland where we were the
+best concealed. Some of these had been burned or at least scathed with fire;
+and there rose in our faces (which were close to the ground) a blinding,
+choking dust as fine as smoke. The water was long out; and this posture of
+running on the hands and knees brings an overmastering weakness and weariness,
+so that the joints ache and the wrists faint under your weight.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At length, in the first gloaming of the night, we heard a trumpet sound, and
+looking back from among the heather, saw the troop beginning to collect. A
+little after, they had built a fire and camped for the night, about the middle
+of the waste.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this I begged and besought that we might lie down and sleep.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There shall be no sleep the night!” said Alan. “From now on, these weary
+dragoons of yours will keep the crown of the muirland, and none will get out of
+Appin but winged fowls. We got through in the nick of time, and shall we
+jeopard what we’ve gained? Na, na, when the day comes, it shall find you and me
+in a fast place on Ben Alder.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Very well, then,” said Alan. “I’ll carry ye.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Lead away!” said I. “I’ll follow.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He gave me one look as much as to say, “Well done, David!” and off he set again
+at his top speed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It grew cooler and even a little darker (but not much) with the coming of the
+night. The sky was cloudless; it was still early in July, and pretty far north;
+in the darkest part of that night, you would have needed pretty good eyes to
+read, but for all that, I have often seen it darker in a winter mid-day. Heavy
+dew fell and drenched the moor like rain; and this refreshed me for a while.
+When we stopped to breathe, and I had time to see all about me, the clearness
+and sweetness of the night, the shapes of the hills like things asleep, and the
+fire dwindling away behind us, like a bright spot in the midst of the moor,
+anger would come upon me in a clap that I must still drag myself in agony and
+eat the dust like a worm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By what I have read in books, I think few that have held a pen were ever really
+wearied, or they would write of it more strongly. I had no care of my life,
+neither past nor future, and I scarce remembered there was such a lad as David
+Balfour. I did not think of myself, but just of each fresh step which I was
+sure would be my last, with despair—and of Alan, who was the cause of it, with
+hatred. Alan was in the right trade as a soldier; this is the officer’s part to
+make men continue to do things, they know not wherefore, and when, if the
+choice was offered, they would lie down where they were and be killed. And I
+dare say I would have made a good enough private; for in these last hours it
+never occurred to me that I had any choice but just to obey as long as I was
+able, and die obeying.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Day began to come in, after years, I thought; and by that time we were past the
+greatest danger, and could walk upon our feet like men, instead of crawling
+like brutes. But, dear heart have mercy! what a pair we must have made, going
+double like old grandfathers, stumbling like babes, and as white as dead folk.
+Never a word passed between us; each set his mouth and kept his eyes in front
+of him, and lifted up his foot and set it down again, like people lifting
+weights at a country play;<a href="#fn27" name="fnref27"><sup>[27]</sup></a>
+all the while, with the moorfowl crying “peep!” in the heather, and the light
+coming slowly clearer in the east.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn27"></a> <a href="#fnref27">[27]</a>
+Village fair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0237.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="The next moment we were
+lying on our backs, each with a dirk at his throat" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+I don’t think I cared; the pain of this rough handling was quite swallowed up
+by the pains of which I was already full; and I was too glad to have stopped
+walking to mind about a dirk. I lay looking up in the face of the man that held
+me; and I mind his face was black with the sun, and his eyes very light, but I
+was not afraid of him. I heard Alan and another whispering in the Gaelic; and
+what they said was all one to me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then the dirks were put up, our weapons were taken away, and we were set face
+to face, sitting in the heather.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What,” I cried, “is Cluny still here?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, is he so!” said Alan. “Still in his own country and kept by his own clan.
+King George can do no more.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was no such thing possible for me. You have heard grasshoppers whirring
+in the grass in the summer time? Well, I had no sooner closed my eyes, than my
+body, and above all my head, belly, and wrists, seemed to be filled with
+whirring grasshoppers; and I must open my eyes again at once, and tumble and
+toss, and sit up and lie down; and look at the sky which dazzled me, or at
+Cluny’s wild and dirty sentries, peering out over the top of the brae and
+chattering to each other in the Gaelic.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+That was all the rest I had, until the messenger returned; when, as it appeared
+that Cluny would be glad to receive us, we must get once more upon our feet and
+set forward. Alan was in excellent good spirits, much refreshed by his sleep,
+very hungry, and looking pleasantly forward to a dram and a dish of hot
+collops, of which, it seems, the messenger had brought him word. For my part,
+it made me sick to hear of eating. I had been dead-heavy before, and now I felt
+a kind of dreadful lightness, which would not suffer me to walk. I drifted like
+a gossamer; the ground seemed to me a cloud, the hills a feather-weight, the
+air to have a current, like a running burn, which carried me to and fro. With
+all that, a sort of horror of despair sat on my mind, so that I could have wept
+at my own helplessness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0241.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXIII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0023"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br/>
+CLUNY’S CAGE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9241.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="W" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+e came at last to the foot of an exceeding steep wood, which scrambled up a
+craggy hillside, and was crowned by a naked precipice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s here,” said one of the guides, and we struck up hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Within, it was large enough to shelter five or six persons with some comfort. A
+projection of the cliff had been cunningly employed to be the fireplace; and
+the smoke rising against the face of the rock, and being not dissimilar in
+colour, readily escaped notice from below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was but one of Cluny’s hiding-places; he had caves, besides, and
+underground chambers in several parts of his country; and following the reports
+of his scouts, he moved from one to another as the soldiers drew near or moved
+away. By this manner of living, and thanks to the affection of his clan, he had
+not only stayed all this time in safety, while so many others had fled or been
+taken and slain: but stayed four or five years longer, and only went to France
+at last by the express command of his master. There he soon died; and it is
+strange to reflect that he may have regretted his Cage upon Ben Alder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When we came to the door he was seated by his rock chimney, watching a gillie
+about some cookery. He was mighty plainly habited, with a knitted nightcap
+drawn over his ears, and smoked a foul cutty pipe. For all that he had the
+manners of a king, and it was quite a sight to see him rise out of his place to
+welcome us.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, Mr. Stewart, come awa’, sir!” said he, “and bring in your friend that as
+yet I dinna ken the name of.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0243.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Here's a toast to ye: The
+restoration" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was certainly a strange place, and we had a strange host. In his long
+hiding, Cluny had grown to have all manner of precise habits, like those of an
+old maid. He had a particular place, where no one else must sit; the Cage was
+arranged in a particular way, which none must disturb; cookery was one of his
+chief fancies, and even while he was greeting us in, he kept an eye to the
+collops.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It appears, he sometimes visited or received visits from his wife and one or
+two of his nearest friends, under the cover of night; but for the more part
+lived quite alone, and communicated only with his sentinels and the gillies
+that waited on him in the Cage. The first thing in the morning, one of them,
+who was a barber, came and shaved him, and gave him the news of the country, of
+which he was immoderately greedy. There was no end to his questions; he put
+them as earnestly as a child; and at some of the answers, laughed out of all
+bounds of reason, and would break out again laughing at the mere memory, hours
+after the barber was gone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+To be sure, there might have been a purpose in his questions; for though he was
+thus sequestered, and like the other landed gentlemen of Scotland, stripped by
+the late Act of Parliament of legal powers, he still exercised a patriarchal
+justice in his clan. Disputes were brought to him in his hiding-hole to be
+decided; and the men of his country, who would have snapped their fingers at
+the Court of Session, laid aside revenge and paid down money at the bare word
+of this forfeited and hunted outlaw. When he was angered, which was often
+enough, he gave his commands and breathed threats of punishment like any king;
+and his gillies trembled and crouched away from him like children before a
+hasty father. With each of them, as he entered, he ceremoniously shook hands,
+both parties touching their bonnets at the same time in a military manner.
+Altogether, I had a fair chance to see some of the inner workings of a Highland
+clan; and this with a proscribed, fugitive chief; his country conquered; the
+troops riding upon all sides in quest of him, sometimes within a mile of where
+he lay; and when the least of the ragged fellows whom he rated and threatened,
+could have made a fortune by betraying him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They,” said he, meaning the collops, “are such as I gave his Royal Highness in
+this very house; bating the lemon juice, for at that time we were glad to get
+the meat and never fashed for kitchen.<a href="#fn28"
+name="fnref28"><sup>[28]</sup></a> Indeed, there were mair dragoons than lemons
+in my country in the year forty-six.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn28"></a> <a href="#fnref28">[28]</a>
+Condiment.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I do not know if the collops were truly very good, but my heart rose against
+the sight of them, and I could eat but little. All the while Cluny entertained
+us with stories of Prince Charlie’s stay in the Cage, giving us the very words
+of the speakers, and rising from his place to show us where they stood. By
+these, I gathered the Prince was a gracious, spirited boy, like the son of a
+race of polite kings, but not so wise as Solomon. I gathered, too, that while
+he was in the Cage, he was often drunk; so the fault that has since, by all
+accounts, made such a wreck of him, had even then begun to show itself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now this was one of the things I had been brought up to eschew like disgrace;
+it being held by my father neither the part of a Christian nor yet of a
+gentleman to set his own livelihood and fish for that of others, on the cast of
+painted pasteboard. To be sure, I might have pleaded my fatigue, which was
+excuse enough; but I thought it behoved that I should bear a testimony. I must
+have got very red in the face, but I spoke steadily, and told them I had no
+call to be a judge of others, but for my own part, it was a matter in which I
+had no clearness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sir,” says Cluny, “in this poor house of mine I would have you to ken that any
+gentleman may follow his pleasure. If your friend would like to stand on his
+head, he is welcome. And if either he, or you, or any other man, is not
+preceesely satisfied, I will be proud to step outside with him.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had no will that these two friends should cut their throats for my sake.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Say nae mair, say nae mair,” said Cluny, and pointed me to a bed of heather in
+a corner of the Cage. For all that he was displeased enough, looked at me
+askance, and grumbled when he looked. And indeed it must be owned that both my
+scruples and the words in which I declared them, smacked somewhat of the
+Covenanter, and were little in their place among wild Highland Jacobites.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The barber-gillie, who was a doctor too, was called in to prescribe for me; but
+as he spoke in the Gaelic, I understood not a word of his opinion, and was too
+sick even to ask for a translation. I knew well enough I was ill, and that was
+all I cared about.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I paid little heed while I lay in this poor pass. But Alan and Cluny were most
+of the time at the cards, and I am clear that Alan must have begun by winning;
+for I remember sitting up, and seeing them hard at it, and a great glittering
+pile of as much as sixty or a hundred guineas on the table. It looked strange
+enough, to see all this wealth in a nest upon a cliff-side, wattled about
+growing trees. And even then, I thought it seemed deep water for Alan to be
+riding, who had no better battle-horse than a green purse and a matter of five
+pounds.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He asked me for a loan of my money.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What for?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, just for a loan,” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But why?” I repeated. “I don’t see.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hut, David!” said Alan, “ye wouldnae grudge me a loan?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of the third day, when we had been forty-eight hours in the
+Cage, I awoke with a great relief of spirits, very weak and weary indeed, but
+seeing things of the right size and with their honest, everyday appearance. I
+had a mind to eat, moreover, rose from bed of my own movement, and as soon as
+we had breakfasted, stepped to the entry of the Cage and sat down outside in
+the top of the wood. It was a grey day with a cool, mild air: and I sat in a
+dream all morning, only disturbed by the passing by of Cluny’s scouts and
+servants coming with provisions and reports; for as the coast was at that time
+clear, you might almost say he held court openly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have no Gaelic, sir,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I saw cards on the table, but no gold; only a heap of little written papers,
+and these all on Cluny’s side. Alan, besides, had an odd look, like a man not
+very well content; and I began to have a strong misgiving.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan took his under-lip into his mouth, and looked upon the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“David,” says he at last, “I’ve lost it; there’s the naked truth.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My money too?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Your money too,” says Alan, with a groan. “Ye shouldnae have given it me. I’m
+daft when I get to the cartes.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot-toot! hoot-toot!” said Cluny. “It was all daffing; it’s all nonsense. Of
+course you’ll have your money back again, and the double of it, if ye’ll make
+so free with me. It would be a singular thing for me to keep it. It’s not to be
+supposed that I would be any hindrance to gentlemen in your situation; that
+would be a singular thing!” cries he, and began to pull gold out of his pocket
+with a mighty red face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan said nothing, only looked on the ground.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Will you step to the door with me, sir?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Cluny said he would be very glad, and followed me readily enough, but he looked
+flustered and put out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And now, sir,” says I, “I must first acknowledge your generosity.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am a young man,” said I, “and I ask your advice. Advise me as you would your
+son. My friend fairly lost his money, after having fairly gained a far greater
+sum of yours; can I accept it back again? Would that be the right part for me
+to play? Whatever I do, you can see for yourself it must be hard upon a man of
+any pride.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I am sure if ever Cluny hated any man it was David Balfour. He looked me all
+over with a warlike eye, and I saw the challenge at his lips. But either my
+youth disarmed him, or perhaps his own sense of justice. Certainly it was a
+mortifying matter for all concerned, and not least Cluny; the more credit that
+he took it as he did.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Balfour,” said he, “I think you are too nice and covenanting, but for all
+that you have the spirit of a very pretty gentleman. Upon my honest word, ye
+may take this money—it’s what I would tell my son—and here’s my hand along with
+it!”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0252.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXIV" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0024"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br/>
+THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE QUARREL</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9252.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+lan and I were put across Loch Errocht under cloud of night, and went down its
+eastern shore to another hiding-place near the head of Loch Rannoch, whither we
+were led by one of the gillies from the Cage. This fellow carried all our
+luggage and Alan’s great-coat in the bargain, trotting along under the burthen,
+far less than the half of which used to weigh me to the ground, like a stout
+hill pony with a feather; yet he was a man that, in plain contest, I could have
+broken on my knee.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Doubtless it was a great relief to walk disencumbered; and perhaps without that
+relief, and the consequent sense of liberty and lightness, I could not have
+walked at all. I was but new risen from a bed of sickness; and there was
+nothing in the state of our affairs to hearten me for much exertion;
+travelling, as we did, over the most dismal deserts in Scotland, under a cloudy
+heaven, and with divided hearts among the travellers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The thought of a separation ran always the stronger in my mind; and the more I
+approved of it, the more ashamed I grew of my approval. It would be a fine,
+handsome, generous thing, indeed, for Alan to turn round and say to me: “Go, I
+am in the most danger, and my company only increases yours.” But for me to turn
+to the friend who certainly loved me, and say to him: “You are in great danger,
+I am in but little; your friendship is a burden; go, take your risks and bear
+your hardships alone——” no, that was impossible; and even to think of it
+privily to myself, made my cheeks to burn.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O,” says I, “I have nothing.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed disconcerted; at which I was meanly pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said he, with rather a trembling voice, “but when I say I was to blame?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, of course, ye were to blame,” said I, coolly; “and you will bear me out
+that I have never reproached you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This pierced me like a sword, and seemed to lay bare my private disloyalty.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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——”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Which is what I never did,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But aside from that,” I continued, “what have I done that you should even me
+to dogs by such a supposition? I never yet failed a friend, and it’s not likely
+I’ll begin with you. There are things between us that I can never forget, even
+if you can.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You asked me to speak,” said I. “Well, then, I will. You own yourself that you
+have done me a disservice; I have had to swallow an affront: I have never
+reproached you, I never named the thing till you did. And now you blame me,”
+cried I, “because I cannae laugh and sing as if I was glad to be affronted. The
+next thing will be that I’m to go down upon my knees and thank you for it! Ye
+should think more of others, Alan Breck. If ye thought more of others, ye would
+perhaps speak less about yourself; and when a friend that likes you very well
+has passed over an offence without a word, you would be blithe to let it lie,
+instead of making it a stick to break his back with. By your own way of it, it
+was you that was to blame; then it shouldnae be you to seek the quarrel.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Aweel,” said Alan, “say nae mair.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And we fell back into our former silence; and came to our journey’s end, and
+supped, and lay down to sleep, without another word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The gillie put us across Loch Rannoch in the dusk of the next day, and gave us
+his opinion as to our best route. This was to get us up at once into the tops
+of the mountains: to go round by a circuit, turning the heads of Glen Lyon,
+Glen Lochay, and Glen Dochart, and come down upon the lowlands by Kippen and
+the upper waters of the Forth. Alan was little pleased with a route which led
+us through the country of his blood-foes, the Glenorchy Campbells. He objected
+that by turning to the east, we should come almost at once among the Athole
+Stewarts, a race of his own name and lineage, although following a different
+chief, and come besides by a far easier and swifter way to the place whither we
+were bound. But the gillie, who was indeed the chief man of Cluny’s scouts, had
+good reasons to give him on all hands, naming the force of troops in every
+district, and alleging finally (as well as I could understand) that we should
+nowhere be so little troubled as in a country of the Campbells.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We set forth accordingly by this itinerary; and for the best part of three
+nights travelled on eerie mountains and among the well-heads of wild rivers;
+often buried in mist, almost continually blown and rained upon, and not once
+cheered by any glimpse of sunshine. By day, we lay and slept in the drenching
+heather; by night, incessantly clambered upon break-neck hills and among rude
+crags. We often wandered; we were often so involved in fog, that we must lie
+quiet till it lightened. A fire was never to be thought of. Our only food was
+drammach and a portion of cold meat that we had carried from the Cage; and as
+for drink, Heaven knows we had no want of water.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was a dreadful time, rendered the more dreadful by the gloom of the
+weather and the country. I was never warm; my teeth chattered in my head; I was
+troubled with a very sore throat, such as I had on the isle; I had a painful
+stitch in my side, which never left me; and when I slept in my wet bed, with
+the rain beating above and the mud oozing below me, it was to live over again
+in fancy the worst part of my adventures—to see the tower of Shaws lit by
+lightning, Ransome carried below on the men’s backs, Shuan dying on the
+round-house floor, or Colin Campbell grasping at the bosom of his coat. From
+such broken slumbers, I would be aroused in the gloaming, to sit up in the same
+puddle where I had slept, and sup cold drammach; the rain driving sharp in my
+face or running down my back in icy trickles; the mist enfolding us like as in
+a gloomy chamber—or, perhaps, if the wind blew, falling suddenly apart and
+showing us the gulf of some dark valley where the streams were crying aloud.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of an infinite number of rivers came up from all round. In this
+steady rain the springs of the mountain were broken up; every glen gushed water
+like a cistern; every stream was in high spate, and had filled and overflowed
+its channel. During our night tramps, it was solemn to hear the voice of them
+below in the valleys, now booming like thunder, now with an angry cry. I could
+well understand the story of the Water Kelpie, that demon of the streams, who
+is fabled to keep wailing and roaring at the ford until the coming of the
+doomed traveller. Alan I saw believed it, or half believed it; and when the cry
+of the river rose more than usually sharp, I was little surprised (though, of
+course, I would still be shocked) to see him cross himself in the manner of the
+Catholics.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During all these horrid wanderings we had no familiarity, scarcely even that of
+speech. The truth is that I was sickening for my grave, which is my best
+excuse. But besides that I was of an unforgiving disposition from my birth,
+slow to take offence, slower to forget it, and now incensed both against my
+companion and myself. For the best part of two days he was unweariedly kind;
+silent, indeed, but always ready to help, and always hoping (as I could very
+well see) that my displeasure would blow by. For the same length of time I
+stayed in myself, nursing my anger, roughly refusing his services, and passing
+him over with my eyes as if he had been a bush or a stone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do very well, I thank you,” said I, as cold as ice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan flushed darkly. “I’ll not offer it again,” he said. “I’m not a patient
+man, David.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I never said you were,” said I, which was exactly the rude, silly speech of a
+boy of ten.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan made no answer at the time, but his conduct answered for him. Henceforth,
+it is to be thought, he quite forgave himself for the affair at Cluny’s; cocked
+his hat again, walked jauntily, whistled airs, and looked at me upon one side
+with a provoking smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I knew it was my own doing, and no one else’s; but I was too miserable to
+repent. I felt I could drag myself but little farther; pretty soon, I must lie
+down and die on these wet mountains like a sheep or a fox, and my bones must
+whiten there like the bones of a beast. My head was light perhaps; but I began
+to love the prospect, I began to glory in the thought of such a death, alone in
+the desert, with the wild eagles besieging my last moments. Alan would repent
+then, I thought; he would remember, when I was dead, how much he owed me, and
+the remembrance would be torture. So I went like a sick, silly, and bad-hearted
+schoolboy, feeding my anger against a fellow-man, when I would have been better
+on my knees, crying on God for mercy. And at each of Alan’s taunts, I hugged
+myself. “Ah!” thinks I to myself, “I have a better taunt in readiness; when I
+lie down and die, you will feel it like a buffet in your face; ah, what a
+revenge! ah, how you will regret your ingratitude and cruelty!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All the while, I was growing worse and worse. Once I had fallen, my leg simply
+doubling under me, and this had struck Alan for the moment; but I was afoot so
+briskly, and set off again with such a natural manner, that he soon forgot the
+incident. Flushes of heat went over me, and then spasms of shuddering. The
+stitch in my side was hardly bearable. At last I began to feel that I could
+trail myself no farther: and with that, there came on me all at once the wish
+to have it out with Alan, let my anger blaze, and be done with my life in a
+more sudden manner. He had just called me “Whig.” I stopped.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Stewart,” said I, in a voice that quivered like a fiddle-string, “you are
+older than I am, and should know your manners. Do you think it either very wise
+or very witty to cast my politics in my teeth? I thought, where folk differed,
+it was the part of gentlemen to differ civilly; and if I did not, I may tell
+you I could find a better taunt than some of yours.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+“Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waukin’ yet?<br/>
+And are your drums a-beatin’ yet?”
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+And it came in my mind that Alan, on the day of that battle, had been engaged
+upon the royal side.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why do ye take that air, Mr. Stewart?” said I. “Is that to remind me you have
+been beaten on both sides?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The air stopped on Alan’s lips. “David!” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am a Stewart—” began Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do you know that you insult me?” said Alan, very low.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am sorry for that,” said I, “for I am not done; and if you distaste the
+sermon, I doubt the pirliecue<a href="#fn29" name="fnref29"><sup>[29]</sup></a>
+will please you as little. You have been chased in the field by the grown men
+of my party; it seems a poor kind of pleasure to out-face a boy. Both the
+Campbells and the Whigs have beaten you; you have run before them like a hare.
+It behoves you to speak of them as of your betters.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn29"></a> <a href="#fnref29">[29]</a>
+A second sermon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan stood quite still, the tails of his great-coat clapping behind him in the
+wind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This is a pity,” he said at last. “There are things said that cannot be passed
+over.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I never asked you to,” said I. “I am as ready as yourself.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ready?” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“David!” he cried. “Are ye daft? I cannae draw upon ye, David. It’s fair
+murder.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That was your look-out when you insulted me,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this the last of my anger oozed all out of me; and I found myself only sick,
+and sorry, and blank, and wondering at myself. I would have given the world to
+take back what I had said; but a word once spoken, who can recapture it? I
+minded me of all Alan’s kindness and courage in the past, how he had helped and
+cheered and borne with me in our evil days; and then recalled my own insults,
+and saw that I had lost for ever that doughty friend. At the same time, the
+sickness that hung upon me seemed to redouble, and the pang in my side was like
+a sword for sharpness. I thought I must have swooned where I stood.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He started up sitting, and looked at me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s true,” said I. “I’m by with it. O, let me get into the bield of a
+house—I’ll can die there easier.” I had no need to pretend; whether I chose or
+not, I spoke in a weeping voice that would have melted a heart of stone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Can ye walk?” asked Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0261.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Do ye gang..." />
+</div>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0263.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Do ye gang easier so,
+Davie? " />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“Ay,” said I, “I can be doing this way;” and I pressed his arm with my hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, Alan,” says I, “and me a good twelve inches taller?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Alan,” cried I, “what makes ye so good to me? What makes ye care for such a
+thankless fellow?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“‘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!”
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0267.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXV" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0025"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br/>
+IN BALQUHIDDER</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9267.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="A" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+t the door of the first house we came to, Alan knocked, which was of no very
+safe enterprise in such a part of the Highlands as the Braes of Balquhidder. No
+great clan held rule there; it was filled and disputed by small septs, and
+broken remnants, and what they call “chiefless folk,” driven into the wild
+country about the springs of Forth and Teith by the advance of the Campbells.
+Here were Stewarts and Maclarens, which came to the same thing, for the
+Maclarens followed Alan’s chief in war, and made but one clan with Appin. Here,
+too, were many of that old, proscribed, nameless, red-handed clan of the
+Macgregors. They had always been ill-considered, and now worse than ever,
+having credit with no side or party in the whole country of Scotland. Their
+chief, Macgregor of Macgregor, was in exile; the more immediate leader of that
+part of them about Balquhidder, James More, Rob Roy’s eldest son, lay waiting
+his trial in Edinburgh Castle; they were in ill-blood with Highlander and
+Lowlander, with the Grahames, the Maclarens, and the Stewarts; and Alan, who
+took up the quarrel of any friend, however distant, was extremely wishful to
+avoid them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Chance served us very well; for it was a household of Maclarens that we found,
+where Alan was not only welcome for his name’s sake but known by reputation.
+Here then I was got to bed without delay, and a doctor fetched, who found me in
+a sorry plight. But whether because he was a very good doctor, or I a very
+young, strong man, I lay bedridden for no more than a week, and before a month
+I was able to take the road again with a good heart.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All this time Alan would not leave me though I often pressed him, and indeed
+his foolhardiness in staying was a common subject of outcry with the two or
+three friends that were let into the secret. He hid by day in a hole of the
+braes under a little wood; and at night, when the coast was clear, would come
+into the house to visit me. I need not say if I was pleased to see him; Mrs.
+Maclaren, our hostess, thought nothing good enough for such a guest; and as
+Duncan Dhu (which was the name of our host) had a pair of pipes in his house,
+and was much of a lover of music, this time of my recovery was quite a
+festival, and we commonly turned night into day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The soldiers let us be; although once a party of two companies and some
+dragoons went by in the bottom of the valley, where I could see them through
+the window as I lay in bed. What was much more astonishing, no magistrate came
+near me, and there was no question put of whence I came or whither I was going;
+and in that time of excitement, I was as free of all inquiry as though I had
+lain in a desert. Yet my presence was known before I left to all the people in
+Balquhidder and the adjacent parts; many coming about the house on visits and
+these (after the custom of the country) spreading the news among their
+neighbours. The bills, too, had now been printed. There was one pinned near the
+foot of my bed, where I could read my own not very flattering portrait and, in
+larger characters, the amount of the blood money that had been set upon my
+life. Duncan Dhu and the rest that knew that I had come there in Alan’s
+company, could have entertained no doubt of who I was; and many others must
+have had their guess. For though I had changed my clothes, I could not change
+my age or person; and Lowland boys of eighteen were not so rife in these parts
+of the world, and above all about that time, that they could fail to put one
+thing with another, and connect me with the bill. So it was, at least. Other
+folk keep a secret among two or three near friends, and somehow it leaks out;
+but among these clansmen, it is told to a whole countryside, and they will keep
+it for a century.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was but one thing happened worth narrating; and that is the visit I had
+of Robin Oig, one of the sons of the notorious Rob Roy. He was sought upon all
+sides on a charge of carrying a young woman from Balfron and marrying her (as
+was alleged) by force; yet he stepped about Balquhidder like a gentleman in his
+own walled policy. It was he who had shot James Maclaren at the plough stilts,
+a quarrel never satisfied; yet he walked into the house of his blood enemies as
+a rider<a href="#fn30" name="fnref30"><sup>[30]</sup></a> might into a public
+inn.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn30"></a> <a href="#fnref30">[30]</a>
+Commercial traveller.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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 having thus set himself (as he would have thought) in a proper
+light, came to my bedside and bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I am given to know, sir,” says he, “that your name is Balfour.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“They call me David Balfour,” said I, “at your service.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, sir,” said I, a little alarmed; “nor yet of your father,
+Macgregor-Campbell.” And I sat up and bowed in bed; for I thought best to
+compliment him, in case he was proud of having had an outlaw to his father.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bowed in return. “But what I am come to say, sir,” he went on, “is this. In
+the year ‘45, my brother raised a part of the ‘Gregara’ and marched six
+companies to strike a stroke for the good side; and the surgeon that marched
+with our clan and cured my brother’s leg when it was broken in the brush at
+Preston Pans, was a gentleman of the same name precisely as yourself. He was
+brother to Balfour of Baith; and if you are in any reasonable degree of
+nearness one of that gentleman’s kin, I have come to put myself and my people
+at your command.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Robin told me shortly he was sorry he had put himself about, turned his back
+upon me without a sign of salutation, and as he went towards the door, I could
+hear him telling Duncan that I was “only some kinless loon that didn’t know his
+own father.” Angry as I was at these words, and ashamed of my own ignorance, I
+could scarce keep from smiling that a man who was under the lash of the law
+(and was indeed hanged some three years later) should be so nice as to the
+descent of his acquaintances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Mr. Stewart, I am thinking,” says Robin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Troth, Mr. Macgregor, it’s not a name to be ashamed of,” answered Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I did not know ye were in my country, sir,” says Robin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It sticks in my mind that I am in the country of my friends the Maclarens,”
+says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do ye mean my father, sir?” says Robin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, I wouldnae wonder,” said Alan. “The gentleman I have in my mind had the
+ill-taste to clap Campbell to his name.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My father was an old man,” returned Robin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The match was unequal. You and me would make a better pair, sir.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was thinking that,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was half out of bed, and Duncan had been hanging at the elbow of these
+fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least occasion. But when that word
+was uttered, it was a case of now or never; and Duncan, with something of a
+white face to be sure, thrust himself between.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Gentlemen,” said he, “I will have been thinking of a very different matter,
+whateffer. Here are my pipes, and here are you two gentlemen who are baith
+acclaimed pipers. It’s an auld dispute which one of ye’s the best. Here will be
+a braw chance to settle it.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, sir,” said Alan, still addressing Robin, from whom indeed he had not so
+much as shifted his eyes, nor yet Robin from him, “why, sir,” says Alan, “I
+think I will have heard some sough<a href="#fn31"
+name="fnref31"><sup>[31]</sup></a> of the sort. Have ye music, as folk say? Are
+ye a bit of a piper?”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn31"></a> <a href="#fnref31">[31]</a>
+Rumour.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I can pipe like a Macrimmon!” cries Robin.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And that is a very bold word,” quoth Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I have made bolder words good before now,” returned Robin, “and that against
+better adversaries.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It is easy to try that,” says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I will take no advantages, Mr. Stewart,” replied Robin. “Eat and drink; I’ll
+follow you.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the brose to Mrs.
+Maclaren; and then after a great number of civilities, Robin took the pipes and
+played a little spring in a very ranting manner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had been pleased with Robin’s playing, Alan’s ravished me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s no very bad, Mr. Stewart,” said the rival, “but ye show a poor device
+in your warblers.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Me!” cried Alan, the blood starting to his face. “I give ye the lie.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then,” said Robin, “that ye seek to
+change them for the sword?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, ye have music,” said Alan, gloomily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0273.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Robin Oid, he said, Ye are
+a great piper" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0277.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXVI" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0026"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br/>
+END OF THE FLIGHT: WE PASS THE FORTH</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9277.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="T" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+he 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s a chief principle in military affairs,” said he, “to go where ye are
+least expected. Forth is our trouble; ye ken the saying, ‘Forth bridles the
+wild Hielandman.’ Well, if we seek to creep round about the head of that river
+and come down by Kippen or Balfron, it’s just precisely there that they’ll be
+looking to lay hands on us. But if we stave on straight to the auld Brig of
+Stirling, I’ll lay my sword they let us pass unchallenged.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The first night, accordingly, we pushed to the house of a Maclaren in
+Strathire, a friend of Duncan’s, where we slept the twenty-first of the month,
+and whence we set forth again about the fall of night to make another easy
+stage. The twenty-second we lay in a heather bush on the hillside in Uam Var,
+within view of a herd of deer, the happiest ten hours of sleep in a fine,
+breathing sunshine and on bone-dry ground, that I have ever tasted. That night
+we struck Allan Water, and followed it down; and coming to the edge of the
+hills saw the whole Carse of Stirling underfoot, as flat as a pancake, with the
+town and castle on a hill in the midst of it, and the moon shining on the Links
+of Forth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was for pushing straight across; but Alan was more wary.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It looks unco’ quiet,” said he; “but for all that we’ll lie down here cannily
+behind a dyke, and make sure.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So we lay for about a quarter of an hour, whiles whispering, whiles lying still
+and hearing nothing earthly but the washing of the water on the piers. At last
+there came by an old, hobbling woman with a crutch stick; who first stopped a
+little, close to where we lay, and bemoaned herself and the long way she had
+travelled; and then set forth again up the steep spring of the bridge. The
+woman was so little, and the night still so dark, that we soon lost sight of
+her; only heard the sound of her steps, and her stick, and a cough that she had
+by fits, draw slowly farther away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“She’s bound to be across now,” I whispered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Na,” said Alan, “her foot still sounds boss<a href="#fn32"
+name="fnref32"><sup>[32]</sup></a> upon the bridge.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn32"></a> <a href="#fnref32">[32]</a>
+Hollow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“This’ll never do,” said Alan. “This’ll never, never do for us, David.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And why go east?” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“There are fords upon the river, and none upon the firth,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To be sure there are fords, and a bridge forbye,” quoth Alan; “and of what
+service, when they are watched?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said I, “but a river can be swum.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But there’s such a thing as a boat,” says Alan, “or I’m the more deceived.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye think so?” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do that,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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—-”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All night, then, we walked through the north side of the Carse under the high
+line of the Ochil mountains; and by Alloa and Clackmannan and Culross, all of
+which we avoided: and about ten in the morning, mighty hungry and tired, came
+to the little clachan of Limekilns. This is a place that sits near in by the
+water-side, and looks across the Hope to the town of the Queensferry. Smoke
+went up from both of these, and from other villages and farms upon all hands.
+The fields were being reaped; two ships lay anchored, and boats were coming and
+going on the Hope. It was altogether a right pleasant sight to me; and I could
+not take my fill of gazing at these comfortable, green, cultivated hills and
+the busy people both of the field and sea.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, Alan!” said I, “to think of it! Over there, there’s all that heart could
+want waiting me; and the birds go over, and the boats go over—all that please
+can go, but just me only! O, man, but it’s a heart-break!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In Limekilns we entered a small change-house, which we only knew to be a public
+by the wand over the door, and bought some bread and cheese from a good-looking
+lass that was the servant. This we carried with us in a bundle, meaning to sit
+and eat it in a bush of wood on the sea-shore, that we saw some third part of a
+mile in front. As we went, I kept looking across the water and sighing to
+myself; and though I took no heed of it, Alan had fallen into a muse. At last
+he stopped in the way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did ye take heed of the lass we bought this of?” says he, tapping on the bread
+and cheese.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“To be sure,” said I, “and a bonny lass she was.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye thought that?” cries he. “Man, David, that’s good news.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In the name of all that’s wonderful, why so?” says I. “What good can that do?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” said Alan, with one of his droll looks, “I was rather in hopes it would
+maybe get us that boat.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“If it were the other way about, it would be liker it,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I followed him, laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“David Balfour,” said he, “ye’re a very funny gentleman by your way of it, and
+this is a very funny employ for ye, no doubt. For all that, if ye have any
+affection for my neck (to say nothing of your own) ye will perhaps be kind
+enough to take this matter responsibly. I am going to do a bit of play-acting,
+the bottom ground of which is just exactly as serious as the gallows for the
+pair of us. So bear it, if ye please, in mind, and conduct yourself according.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, well,” said I, “have it as you will.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As we got near the clachan, he made me take his arm and hang upon it like one
+almost helpless with weariness; and by the time he pushed open the change-house
+door, he seemed to be half carrying me. The maid appeared surprised (as well
+she might be) at our speedy return; but Alan had no words to spare for her in
+explanation, helped me to a chair, called for a tass of brandy with which he
+fed me in little sips, and then breaking up the bread and cheese helped me to
+eat it like a nursery-lass; the whole with that grave, concerned, affectionate
+countenance, that might have imposed upon a judge. It was small wonder if the
+maid were taken with the picture we presented, of a poor, sick, overwrought lad
+and his most tender comrade. She drew quite near, and stood leaning with her
+back on the next table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s like wrong with him?” said she at last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He’s young for the like of that,” said the maid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ower young,” said Alan, with his back to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“He would be better riding,” says she.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye neednae tell me,” she said at last—“ye’re gentry.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sighed at this, as if she were herself some disinherited great lady. “No,”
+says she, “that’s true indeed.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was all this while chafing at the part I played, and sitting tongue-tied
+between shame and merriment; but somehow at this I could hold in no longer, and
+bade Alan let me be, for I was better already. My voice stuck in my throat, for
+I ever hated to take part in lies; but my very embarrassment helped on the
+plot, for the lass no doubt set down my husky voice to sickness and fatigue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Has he nae friends?” said she, in a tearful voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That has he so!” cried Alan, “if we could but win to them!—friends and rich
+friends, beds to lie in, food to eat, doctors to see to him—and here he must
+tramp in the dubs and sleep in the heather like a beggarman.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And why that?” says the lass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Wheesht,” says she, and looked over her shoulder to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s it,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And him so young!” cries the lass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It would be a black shame,” she cried, flushing high.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It’s what will be, though,” said Alan, “unless we manage the better.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this the lass turned and ran out of that part of the house, leaving us alone
+together. Alan in high good humour at the furthering of his schemes, and I in
+bitter dudgeon at being called a Jacobite and treated like a child.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Alan,” I cried, “I can stand no more of this.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Poor lamb!” says she, and had no sooner set the meat before us, than she
+touched me on the shoulder with a little friendly touch, as much as to bid me
+cheer up. Then she told us to fall to, and there would be no more to pay; for
+the inn was her own, or at least her father’s, and he was gone for the day to
+Pittencrieff. We waited for no second bidding, for bread and cheese is but cold
+comfort and the puddings smelt excellently well; and while we sat and ate, she
+took up that same place by the next table, looking on, and thinking, and
+frowning to herself, and drawing the string of her apron through her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I’m thinking ye have rather a long tongue,” she said at last to Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay” said Alan; “but ye see I ken the folk I speak to.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I would never betray ye,” said she, “if ye mean that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said he, “ye’re not that kind. But I’ll tell ye what ye would do, ye
+would help.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I couldnae,” said she, shaking her head. “Na, I couldnae.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No,” said he, “but if ye could?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She answered him nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Look here, my lass,” said Alan, “there are boats in the Kingdom of Fife, for I
+saw two (no less) upon the beach, as I came in by your town’s end. Now if we
+could have the use of a boat to pass under cloud of night into Lothian, and
+some secret, decent kind of a man to bring that boat back again and keep his
+counsel, there would be two souls saved—mine to all likelihood—his to a dead
+surety. If we lack that boat, we have but three shillings left in this wide
+world; and where to go, and how to do, and what other place there is for us
+except the chains of a gibbet—I give you my naked word, I kenna! Shall we go
+wanting, lassie? Are ye to lie in your warm bed and think upon us, when the
+wind gowls in the chimney and the rain tirls on the roof? Are ye to eat your
+meat by the cheeks of a red fire, and think upon this poor sick lad of mine,
+biting his finger ends on a blae muir for cauld and hunger? Sick or sound, he
+must aye be moving; with the death grapple at his throat he must aye be
+trailing in the rain on the lang roads; and when he gants his last on a rickle
+of cauld stanes, there will be nae friends near him but only me and God.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At this appeal, I could see the lass was in great trouble of mind, being
+tempted to help us, and yet in some fear she might be helping malefactors; and
+so now I determined to step in myself and to allay her scruples with a portion
+of the truth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did ever you hear,” said I, “of Mr. Rankeillor of the Ferry?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Rankeillor the writer?” said she. “I daur say that!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her face cleared up mightily at this, although Alan’s darkened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+We had but one trouble all day; when a strolling piper came and sat in the same
+wood with us; a red-nosed, bleareyed, drunken dog, with a great bottle of
+whisky in his pocket, and a long story of wrongs that had been done him by all
+sorts of persons, from the Lord President of the Court of Session, who had
+denied him justice, down to the Bailies of Inverkeithing who had given him more
+of it than he desired. It was impossible but he should conceive some suspicion
+of two men lying all day concealed in a thicket and having no business to
+allege. As long as he stayed there he kept us in hot water with prying
+questions; and after he was gone, as he was a man not very likely to hold his
+tongue, we were in the greater impatience to be gone ourselves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The day came to an end with the same brightness; the night fell quiet and
+clear; lights came out in houses and hamlets and then, one after another, began
+to be put out; but it was past eleven, and we were long since strangely
+tortured with anxieties, before we heard the grinding of oars upon the
+rowing-pins. At that, we looked out and saw the lass herself coming rowing to
+us in a boat. She had trusted no one with our affairs, not even her sweetheart,
+if she had one; but as soon as her father was asleep, had left the house by a
+window, stolen a neighbour’s boat, and come to our assistance single-handed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0287.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="David, it is a very fine
+lass" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“It is a very fine lass,” he said at last. “David, it is a very fine lass.” And
+a matter of an hour later, as we were lying in a den on the sea-shore and I had
+been already dozing, he broke out again in commendations of her character. For
+my part, I could say nothing, she was so simple a creature that my heart smote
+me both with remorse and fear: remorse because we had traded upon her
+ignorance; and fear lest we should have anyway involved her in the dangers of
+our situation.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0291.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXVII " />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0027"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br/>
+I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9291.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="T" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+he next day it was agreed that Alan should fend for himself till sunset; but as
+soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in the fields by the roadside near
+to Newhalls, and stir for naught until he heard me whistling. At first I
+proposed I should give him for a signal the “Bonnie House of Airlie,” which was
+a favourite of mine; but he objected that as the piece was very commonly known,
+any ploughman might whistle it by accident; and taught me instead a little
+fragment of a Highland air, which has run in my head from that day to this, and
+will likely run in my head when I lie dying. Every time it comes to me, it
+takes me off to that last day of my uncertainty, with Alan sitting up in the
+bottom of the den, whistling and beating the measure with a finger, and the
+grey of the dawn coming on his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As the morning went on, and the fires began to be kindled, and the windows to
+open, and the people to appear out of the houses, my concern and despondency
+grew ever the blacker. I saw now that I had no grounds to stand upon; and no
+clear proof of my rights, nor so much as of my own identity. If it was all a
+bubble, I was indeed sorely cheated and left in a sore pass. Even if things
+were as I conceived, it would in all likelihood take time to establish my
+contentions; and what time had I to spare with less than three shillings in my
+pocket, and a condemned, hunted man upon my hands to ship out of the country?
+Truly, if my hope broke with me, it might come to the gallows yet for both of
+us. And as I continued to walk up and down, and saw people looking askance at
+me upon the street or out of windows, and nudging or speaking one to another
+with smiles, I began to take a fresh apprehension: that it might be no easy
+matter even to come to speech of the lawyer, far less to convince him of my
+story.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For the life of me I could not muster up the courage to address any of these
+reputable burghers; I thought shame even to speak with them in such a pickle of
+rags and dirt; and if I had asked for the house of such a man as Mr.
+Rankeillor, I suppose they would have burst out laughing in my face. So I went
+up and down, and through the street, and down to the harbour-side, like a dog
+that has lost its master, with a strange gnawing in my inwards, and every now
+and then a movement of despair. It grew to be high day at last, perhaps nine in
+the forenoon; and I was worn with these wanderings, and chanced to have stopped
+in front of a very good house on the landward side, a house with beautiful,
+clear glass windows, flowering knots upon the sills, the walls new-harled<a
+href="#fn33" name="fnref33"><sup>[33]</sup></a> 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.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn33"></a> <a href="#fnref33">[33]</a>
+Newly rough-cast.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then, sir,” said I, “I have to beg the favour of an interview.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I do not know your name,” said he, “nor yet your face.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My name is David Balfour,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed to muse awhile, holding his lip in his hand, and looking now at me
+and now upon the causeway of the street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Yes,” says he, “that will be the best, no doubt.” And he led me back with him
+into his house, cried out to some one whom I could not see that he would be
+engaged all morning, and brought me into a little dusty chamber full of books
+and documents. Here he sate down, and bade me be seated; though I thought he
+looked a little ruefully from his clean chair to my muddy rags. “And now,” says
+he, “if you have any business, pray be brief and come swiftly to the point.
+<i>Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo</i>—do you understand that?” says
+he, with a keen look.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0293.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Here he sate down, and
+bade me be seated" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“I will even do as Horace says, sir,” I answered, smiling, “and carry you <i>in
+medias res</i>.” 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He got a paper book out of a drawer and set it before him open. “Well?” said
+he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But I had shot my bolt and sat speechless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come, come, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “you must continue. Where were you born?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In Essendean, sir,” said I, “the year 1733, the 12th of March.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He seemed to follow this statement in his paper book; but what that meant I
+knew not. “Your father and mother?” said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“My father was Alexander Balfour, schoolmaster of that place,” said I, “and my
+mother Grace Pitarrow; I think her people were from Angus.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Have you any papers proving your identity?” asked Mr. Rankeillor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Meaning Mr. Ebenezer Balfour?” says he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The same,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Whom you have seen?” he asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“By whom I was received into his own house,” I answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Did you ever meet a man of the name of Hoseason?” asked Mr. Rankeillor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You say you were shipwrecked,” said Rankeillor; “where was that?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ah!” says he, smiling, “you are deeper than me in the geography. But so far, I
+may tell you, this agrees pretty exactly with other informations that I hold.
+But you say you were kidnapped; in what sense?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“In the plain meaning of the word, sir,” said I. “I was on my way to your
+house, when I was trepanned on board the brig, cruelly struck down, thrown
+below, and knew no more of anything till we were far at sea. I was destined for
+the plantations; a fate that, in God’s providence, I have escaped.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“No, no,” said he, “it is not so bad as that. <i>Fui, non sum</i>. I was indeed
+your uncle’s man of business; but while you (<i>imberbis juvenis custode
+remoto</i>) were gallivanting in the west, a good deal of water has run under
+the bridges; and if your ears did not sing, it was not for lack of being talked
+about. On the very day of your sea disaster, Mr. Campbell stalked into my
+office, demanding you from all the winds. I had never heard of your existence;
+but I had known your father; and from matters in my competence (to be touched
+upon hereafter) I was disposed to fear the worst. Mr. Ebenezer admitted having
+seen you; declared (what seemed improbable) that he had given you considerable
+sums; and that you had started for the continent of Europe, intending to fulfil
+your education, which was probable and praiseworthy. Interrogated how you had
+come to send no word to Mr. Campbell, he deponed that you had expressed a great
+desire to break with your past life. Further interrogated where you now were,
+protested ignorance, but believed you were in Leyden. That is a close sum of
+his replies. I am not exactly sure that any one believed him,” continued Mr.
+Rankeillor with a smile; “and in particular he so much disrelished me
+expressions of mine that (in a word) he showed me to the door. We were then at
+a full stand; for whatever shrewd suspicions we might entertain, we had no
+shadow of probation. In the very article, comes Captain Hoseason with the story
+of your drowning; whereupon all fell through; with no consequences but concern
+to Mr. Campbell, injury to my pocket, and another blot upon your uncle’s
+character, which could very ill afford it. And now, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “you
+understand the whole process of these matters, and can judge for yourself to
+what extent I may be trusted.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Indeed he was more pedantic than I can represent him, and placed more scraps of
+Latin in his speech; but it was all uttered with a fine geniality of eye and
+manner which went far to conquer my distrust. Moreover, I could see he now
+treated me as if I was myself beyond a doubt; so that first point of my
+identity seemed fully granted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thereupon I told him my story from the first, he listening with his spectacles
+thrust up and his eyes closed, so that I sometimes feared he was asleep. But no
+such matter! he heard every word (as I found afterward) with such quickness of
+hearing and precision of memory as often surprised me. Even strange outlandish
+Gaelic names, heard for that time only, he remembered and would remind me of,
+years after. Yet when I called Alan Breck in full, we had an odd scene. The
+name of Alan had of course rung through Scotland, with the news of the Appin
+murder and the offer of the reward; and it had no sooner escaped me than the
+lawyer moved in his seat and opened his eyes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I would name no unnecessary names, Mr. Balfour,” said he; “above all of
+Highlanders, many of whom are obnoxious to the law.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, it might have been better not,” said I, “but since I have let it slip, I
+may as well continue.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By this, I saw he must have heard the name all too clearly, and had already
+guessed I might be coming to the murder. If he chose to play this part of
+ignorance, it was no matter of mine; so I smiled, said it was no very
+Highland-sounding name, and consented. Through all the rest of my story Alan
+was Mr. Thomson; which amused me the more, as it was a piece of policy after
+his own heart. James Stewart, in like manner, was mentioned under the style of
+Mr. Thomson’s kinsman; Colin Campbell passed as a Mr. Glen; and to Cluny, when
+I came to that part of my tale, I gave the name of “Mr. Jameson, a Highland
+chief.” It was truly the most open farce, and I wondered that the lawyer should
+care to keep it up; but, after all, it was quite in the taste of that age, when
+there were two parties in the state, and quiet persons, with no very high
+opinions of their own, sought out every cranny to avoid offence to either.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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; <i>quæ regio in terris</i>—what
+parish in Scotland (to make a homely translation) has not been filled with your
+wanderings? You have shown, besides, a singular aptitude for getting into false
+positions; and, yes, upon the whole, for behaving well in them. This Mr.
+Thomson seems to me a gentleman of some choice qualities, though perhaps a
+trifle bloody-minded. It would please me none the worse, if (with all his
+merits) he were soused in the North Sea, for the man, Mr. David, is a sore
+embarrassment. But you are doubtless quite right to adhere to him; indubitably,
+he adhered to you. <i>It comes</i>—we may say—he was your true companion; nor
+less <i>paribus curis vestigia figit</i>, 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he thus moralised on my adventures, he looked upon me with so much humour
+and benignity that I could scarce contain my satisfaction. I had been so long
+wandering with lawless people, and making my bed upon the hills and under the
+bare sky, that to sit once more in a clean, covered house, and to talk amicably
+with a gentleman in broadcloth, seemed mighty elevations. Even as I thought so,
+my eye fell on my unseemly tatters, and I was once more plunged in confusion.
+But the lawyer saw and understood me. He rose, called over the stair to lay
+another plate, for Mr. Balfour would stay to dinner, and led me into a bedroom
+in the upper part of the house. Here he set before me water and soap, and a
+comb; and laid out some clothes that belonged to his son; and here, with
+another apposite tag, he left me to my toilet.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0302.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXVIII" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0028"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br/>
+I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9302.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="I" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+aving 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Sit ye down, Mr. David,” said he, “and now that you are looking a little more
+like yourself, let me see if I can find you any news. You will be wondering, no
+doubt, about your father and your uncle? To be sure it is a singular tale; and
+the explanation is one that I blush to have to offer you. For,” says he, really
+with embarrassment, “the matter hinges on a love affair.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Truly,” said I, “I cannot very well join that notion with my uncle.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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 <i>Odi te, qui bellus es, Sabelle</i>.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“It sounds like a dream,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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 <i>multum
+gementem;</i> to the mirth of the whole country. However, <i>majora
+canamus</i>—the two lads fell in love, and that with the same lady. Mr.
+Ebenezer, who was the admired and the beloved, and the spoiled one, made, no
+doubt, mighty certain of the victory; and when he found he had deceived
+himself, screamed like a peacock. The whole country heard of it; now he lay
+sick at home, with his silly family standing round the bed in tears; now he
+rode from public-house to public-house, and shouted his sorrows into the lug of
+Tom, Dick, and Harry. Your father, Mr. David, was a kind gentleman; but he was
+weak, dolefully weak; took all this folly with a long countenance; and one
+day—by your leave!—resigned the lady. She was no such fool, however; it’s from
+her you must inherit your excellent good sense; and she refused to be bandied
+from one to another. Both got upon their knees to her; and the upshot of the
+matter for that while was that she showed both of them the door. That was in
+August; dear me! the same year I came from college. The scene must have been
+highly farcical.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, no, sir, not at all,” returned the lawyer. “For tragedy implies some
+ponderable matter in dispute, some <i>dignus vindice nodus;</i> and this piece
+of work was all about the petulance of a young ass that had been spoiled, and
+wanted nothing so much as to be tied up and soundly belted. However, that was
+not your father’s view; and the end of it was, that from concession to
+concession on your father’s part, and from one height to another of squalling,
+sentimental selfishness upon your uncle’s, they came at last to drive a sort of
+bargain, from whose ill results you have recently been smarting. The one man
+took the lady, the other the estate. Now, Mr. David, they talk a great deal of
+charity and generosity; but in this disputable state of life, I often think the
+happiest consequences seem to flow when a gentleman consults his lawyer, and
+takes all the law allows him. Anyhow, this piece of Quixotry on your father’s
+part, as it was unjust in itself, has brought forth a monstrous family of
+injustices. Your father and mother lived and died poor folk; you were poorly
+reared; and in the meanwhile, what a time it has been for the tenants on the
+estate of Shaws! And I might add (if it was a matter I cared much about) what a
+time for Mr. Ebenezer!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And yet that is certainly the strangest part of all,” said I, “that a man’s
+nature should thus change.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” said I, “and in all this, what is my position?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The estate is yours beyond a doubt,” replied the lawyer. “It matters nothing
+what your father signed, you are the heir of entail. But your uncle is a man to
+fight the indefensible; and it would be likely your identity that he would call
+in question. A lawsuit is always expensive, and a family lawsuit always
+scandalous; besides which, if any of your doings with your friend Mr. Thomson
+were to come out, we might find that we had burned our fingers. The kidnapping,
+to be sure, would be a court card upon our side, if we could only prove it. But
+it may be difficult to prove; and my advice (upon the whole) is to make a very
+easy bargain with your uncle, perhaps even leaving him at Shaws where he has
+taken root for a quarter of a century, and contenting yourself in the meanwhile
+with a fair provision.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I told him I was very willing to be easy, and that to carry family concerns
+before the public was a step from which I was naturally much averse. In the
+meantime (thinking to myself) I began to see the outlines of that scheme on
+which we afterwards acted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The great affair,” I asked, “is to bring home to him the kidnapping?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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 <i>Covenant</i> who
+would swear to your reclusion; but once they were in the box, we could no
+longer check their testimony, and some word of your friend Mr. Thomson must
+certainly crop out. Which (from what you have let fall) I cannot think to be
+desirable.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, sir,” said I, “here is my way of it.” And I opened my plot to him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“But this would seem to involve my meeting the man Thomson?” says he, when I
+had done.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I think so, indeed, sir,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Dear doctor!” cries he, rubbing his brow. “Dear doctor! No, Mr. David, I am
+afraid your scheme is inadmissible. I say nothing against your friend, Mr.
+Thomson: I know nothing against him; and if I did—mark this, Mr. David!—it
+would be my duty to lay hands on him. Now I put it to you: is it wise to meet?
+He may have matters to his charge. He may not have told you all. His name may
+not be even Thomson!” cries the lawyer, twinkling; “for some of these fellows
+will pick up names by the roadside as another would gather haws.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“You must be the judge, sir,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for he kept musing to
+himself till we were called to dinner and the company of Mrs. Rankeillor; and
+that lady had scarce left us again to ourselves and a bottle of wine, ere he
+was back harping on my proposal. When and where was I to meet my friend Mr.
+Thomson; was I sure of Mr. T.‘s discretion; supposing we could catch the old
+fox tripping, would I consent to such and such a term of an agreement—these and
+the like questions he kept asking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully
+rolled his wine upon his tongue. When I had answered all of them, seemingly to
+his contentment, he fell into a still deeper muse, even the claret being now
+forgotten. Then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and set to work writing
+and weighing every word; and at last touched a bell and had his clerk into the
+chamber.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What, sir,” cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, “are you to venture it?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, so it would appear,” says he, filling his glass. “But let us speak no
+more of business. The very sight of Torrance brings in my head a little droll
+matter of some years ago, when I had made a tryst with the poor oaf at the
+cross of Edinburgh. Each had gone his proper errand; and when it came four
+o’clock, Torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, and I,
+who had forgot my spectacles, was so blind without them, that I give you my
+word I did not know my own clerk.” And thereupon he laughed heartily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I said it was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but what held me all
+the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and dwelling on this story, and
+telling it again with fresh details and laughter; so that I began at last to be
+quite put out of countenance and feel ashamed for my friend’s folly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Towards the time I had appointed with Alan, we set out from the house, Mr.
+Rankeillor and I arm in arm, and Torrance following behind with the deed in his
+pocket and a covered basket in his hand. All through the town, the lawyer was
+bowing right and left, and continually being button-holed by gentlemen on
+matters of burgh or private business; and I could see he was one greatly looked
+up to in the county. At last we were clear of the houses, and began to go along
+the side of the haven and towards the Hawes Inn and the Ferry pier, the scene
+of my misfortune. I could not look upon the place without emotion, recalling
+how many that had been there with me that day were now no more: Ransome taken,
+I could hope, from the evil to come; Shuan passed where I dared not follow him;
+and the poor souls that had gone down with the brig in her last plunge. All
+these, and the brig herself, I had outlived; and come through these hardships
+and fearful perils without scath. My only thought should have been of
+gratitude; and yet I could not behold the place without sorrow for others and a
+chill of recollected fear.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I was so thinking when, upon a sudden, Mr. Rankeillor cried out, clapped his
+hand to his pockets, and began to laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why,” he cries, “if this be not a farcical adventure! After all that I said, I
+have forgot my glasses!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At that, of course, I understood the purpose of his anecdote, and knew that if
+he had left his spectacles at home, it had been done on purpose, so that he
+might have the benefit of Alan’s help without the awkwardness of recognising
+him. And indeed it was well thought upon; for now (suppose things to go the
+very worst) how could Rankeillor swear to my friend’s identity, or how be made
+to bear damaging evidence against myself? For all that, he had been a long
+while of finding out his want, and had spoken to and recognised a good few
+persons as we came through the town; and I had little doubt myself that he saw
+reasonably well.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As soon as we were past the Hawes (where I recognised the landlord smoking his
+pipe in the door, and was amazed to see him look no older) Mr. Rankeillor
+changed the order of march, walking behind with Torrance and sending me forward
+in the manner of a scout. I went up the hill, whistling from time to time my
+Gaelic air; and at length I had the pleasure to hear it answered and to see
+Alan rise from behind a bush. He was somewhat dashed in spirits, having passed
+a long day alone skulking in the county, and made but a poor meal in an
+alehouse near Dundas. But at the mere sight of my clothes, he began to brighten
+up; and as soon as I had told him in what a forward state our matters were and
+the part I looked to him to play in what remained, he sprang into a new man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly I cried and waved on Mr. Rankeillor, who came up alone and was
+presented to my friend, Mr. Thomson.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This he said, thinking that Alan would be pleased; but the Highlandman’s vanity
+was ready to startle at a less matter than that.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly these two went on ahead in very close talk, and Torrance and I
+brought up the rear.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0309.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="These two went on ahead in
+very close talk, and Torrance and I brought up the rear" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0312.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXIX" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0029"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br/>
+I COME INTO MY KINGDOM</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9312.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="F " width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+or 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What’s this?” says he. “This is nae kind of time of night for decent folk; and
+I hae nae trokings<a href="#fn34" name="fnref34"><sup>[34]</sup></a> wi’
+night-hawks. What brings ye here? I have a blunderbush.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn34"></a> <a href="#fnref34">[34]</a>
+Dealings.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What brings ye here? and whae are ye?” says my uncle, angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what is’t?” asked my uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“David,” says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What was that?” cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Shall I give ye the rest of the name, then?” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a pause; and then, “I’m thinking I’ll better let ye in,” says my
+uncle, doubtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I dare say that,” said Alan; “but the point is, Would I go? Now I will tell
+you what I am thinking. I am thinking that it is here upon this doorstep that
+we must confer upon this business; and it shall be here or nowhere at all
+whatever; for I would have you to understand that I am as stiffnecked as
+yoursel’, and a gentleman of better family.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And, now” says he, “mind I have my blunderbush, and if ye take a step nearer
+ye’re as good as deid.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And a very civil speech,” says Alan, “to be sure.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why,” says Alan, “you that are a man of so much understanding, will doubtless
+have perceived that I am a Hieland gentleman. My name has nae business in my
+story; but the county of my friends is no very far from the Isle of Mull, of
+which ye will have heard. It seems there was a ship lost in those parts; and
+the next day a gentleman of my family was seeking wreck-wood for his fire along
+the sands, when he came upon a lad that was half drowned. Well, he brought him
+to; and he and some other gentleman took and clapped him in an auld, ruined
+castle, where from that day to this he has been a great expense to my friends.
+My friends are a wee wild-like, and not so particular about the law as some
+that I could name; and finding that the lad owned some decent folk, and was
+your born nephew, Mr. Balfour, they asked me to give ye a bit call and confer
+upon the matter. And I may tell ye at the off-go, unless we can agree upon some
+terms, ye are little likely to set eyes upon him. For my friends,” added Alan,
+simply, “are no very well off.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, ay,” said Alan, “I see what ye would be at: pretending ye don’t care, to
+make the ransom smaller.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Then it’ll have to be David that tells it,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“How that?” says my uncle, sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ay, but I’m no very caring about that either,” said my uncle. “I wouldnae be
+muckle made up with that.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I was thinking that,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And what for why?” asked Ebenezer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Why, Mr. Balfour,” replied Alan, “by all that I could hear, there were two
+ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay to get him back; or else ye had
+very good reasons for not wanting him, and would pay for us to keep him. It
+seems it’s not the first; well then, it’s the second; and blythe am I to ken
+it, for it should be a pretty penny in my pocket and the pockets of my
+friends.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“I dinnae follow ye there,” said my uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+My uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow against the
+bright steel in the hands of Alan,” said the other. “Before your jottering
+finger could find the trigger, the hilt would dirl on your breast-bane.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Troth, sir,” said Alan, “I ask for nothing but plain dealing. In two words: do
+ye want the lad killed or kept?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, sirs!” cried Ebenezer. “O, sirs, me! that’s no kind of language!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Killed or kept!” repeated Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“O, keepit, keepit!” wailed my uncle. “We’ll have nae bloodshed, if you
+please.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well,” says Alan, “as ye please; that’ll be the dearer.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“The dearer?” cries Ebenezer. “Would ye fyle your hands wi’ crime?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoot!” said Alan, “they’re baith crime, whatever! And the killing’s easier,
+and quicker, and surer. Keeping the lad’ll be a fashious<a href="#fn35"
+name="fnref35"><sup>[35]</sup></a> job, a fashious, kittle business.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn35"></a> <a href="#fnref35">[35]</a>
+Troublesome.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Ye’re unco scrupulous,” sneered Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Hoseason!” cries my uncle, struck aback. “What for?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“For kidnapping David,” says Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“What do ye mean?” cried Ebenezer. “Did Hoseason tell ye?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Has he tauld ye himsel’?” asked my uncle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“That’s my concern,” said Alan.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Thank you, Mr. Thomson. That will do excellently well,” said the lawyer,
+stepping forward; and then mighty civilly, “Good-evening, Mr. Balfour,” said
+he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, “Good-evening, Uncle Ebenezer,” said I.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And, “It’s a braw nicht, Mr. Balfour,” added Torrance.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0317.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="My uncle just sat where he
+was on the top doorstep and stared upon us like a man turned to stone" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Come, come, Mr. Ebenezer,” said the lawyer, “you must not be down-hearted, for
+I promise you we shall make easy terms. In the meanwhile give us the cellar
+key, and Torrance shall draw us a bottle of your father’s wine in honour of the
+event.” Then, turning to me and taking me by the hand, “Mr. David,” says he, “I
+wish you all joy in your good fortune, which I believe to be deserved.” And
+then to Alan, with a spice of drollery, “Mr. Thomson, I pay you my compliment;
+it was most artfully conducted; but in one point you somewhat outran my
+comprehension. Do I understand your name to be James? or Charles? or is it
+George, perhaps?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“And why should it be any of the three, sir?” quoth Alan, drawing himself up,
+like one who smelt an offence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This was just the stab that Alan would feel keenest, and I am free to confess
+he took it very ill. Not a word would he answer, but stepped off to the far end
+of the kitchen, and sat down and sulked; and it was not till I stepped after
+him, and gave him my hand, and thanked him by title as the chief spring of my
+success, that he began to smile a bit, and was at last prevailed upon to join
+our party.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+By that time we had the fire lighted, and a bottle of wine uncorked; a good
+supper came out of the basket, to which Torrance and I and Alan set ourselves
+down; while the lawyer and my uncle passed into the next chamber to consult.
+They stayed there closeted about an hour; at the end of which period they had
+come to a good understanding, and my uncle and I set our hands to the agreement
+in a formal manner. By the terms of this, my uncle bound himself to satisfy
+Rankeillor as to his intromissions, and to pay me two clear thirds of the
+yearly income of Shaws.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So the beggar in the ballad had come home; and when I lay down that night on
+the kitchen chests, I was a man of means and had a name in the country. Alan
+and Torrance and Rankeillor slept and snored on their hard beds; but for me who
+had lain out under heaven and upon dirt and stones, so many days and nights,
+and often with an empty belly, and in fear of death, this good change in my
+case unmanned me more than any of the former evil ones; and I lay till dawn,
+looking at the fire on the roof and planning the future.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0322.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Chapter XXX" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="link2HCH0030"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br/>
+GOOD-BYE</h2>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width:15%;">
+<img src="images/9322.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="S" width="100%" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+o 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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.)<a href="#fn36" name="fnref36"><sup>[36]</sup></a>
+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, <i>timeo qui
+nocuere deos</i>. 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.”
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+<a name="fn36"></a> <a href="#fnref36">[36]</a>
+The Duke of Argyle.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now I had made all these reasonings before and found no very good reply to
+them; so I put on all the simplicity I could. “In that case, sir,” said I, “I
+would just have to be hanged—would I not?”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Not many, sir,” said I, smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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.”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“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. Thomson, I would be even prodigal. Then
+for his kinsman, there is no better way than that you should seek the Advocate,
+tell him your tale, and offer testimony; whether he may take it or not, is
+quite another matter, and will turn on the D. of A. Now, that you may reach the
+Lord Advocate well recommended, I give you here a letter to a namesake of your
+own, the learned Mr. Balfour of Pilrig, a man whom I esteem. It will look
+better that you should be presented by one of your own name; and the laird of
+Pilrig is much looked up to in the Faculty and stands well with Lord Advocate
+Grant. I would not trouble him, if I were you, with any particulars; and (do
+you know?) I think it would be needless to refer to Mr. Thomson. Form yourself
+upon the laird, he is a good model; when you deal with the Advocate, be
+discreet; and in all these matters, may the Lord guide you, Mr. David!”
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Thereupon he took his farewell, and set out with Torrance for the Ferry, while
+Alan and I turned our faces for the city of Edinburgh. As we went by the
+footpath and beside the gateposts and the unfinished lodge, we kept looking
+back at the house of my fathers. It stood there, bare and great and smokeless,
+like a place not lived in; only in one of the top windows, there was the peak
+of a nightcap bobbing up and down and back and forward, like the head of a
+rabbit from a burrow. I had little welcome when I came, and less kindness while
+I stayed; but at least I was watched as I went away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Alan and I went slowly forward upon our way, having little heart either to walk
+or speak. The same thought was uppermost in both, that we were near the time of
+our parting; and remembrance of all the bygone days sate upon us sorely. We
+talked indeed of what should be done; and it was resolved that Alan should keep
+to the county, biding now here, now there, but coming once in the day to a
+particular place where I might be able to communicate with him, either in my
+own person or by messenger. In the meanwhile, I was to seek out a lawyer, who
+was an Appin Stewart, and a man therefore to be wholly trusted; and it should
+be his part to find a ship and to arrange for Alan’s safe embarkation. No
+sooner was this business done, than the words seemed to leave us; and though I
+would seek to jest with Alan under the name of Mr. Thomson, and he with me on
+my new clothes and my estate, you could feel very well that we were nearer
+tears than laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+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.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+“Well, good-bye,” said Alan, and held out his left hand.
+</p>
+
+<div class="fig" style="width:60%;">
+<img src="images/0325.jpg" style="width:100%;"  alt="Well, good-by, said Alan,
+and held out his left hand" />
+</div>
+
+<p>
+“Good-bye,” said I, and gave the hand a little grasp, and went off down hill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Neither one of us looked the other in the face, nor so long as he was in my
+view did I take one back glance at the friend I was leaving. But as I went on
+my way to the city, I felt so lost and lonesome, that I could have found it in
+my heart to sit down by the dyke, and cry and weep like any baby.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was coming near noon when I passed in by the West Kirk and the Grassmarket
+into the streets of the capital. The huge height of the buildings, running up
+to ten and fifteen storeys, the narrow arched entries that continually vomited
+passengers, the wares of the merchants in their windows, the hubbub and endless
+stir, the foul smells and the fine clothes, and a hundred other particulars too
+small to mention, struck me into a kind of stupor of surprise, so that I let
+the crowd carry me to and fro; and yet all the time what I was thinking of was
+Alan at Rest-and-be-Thankful; and all the time (although you would think I
+would not choose but be delighted with these braws and novelties) there was a
+cold gnawing in my inside like a remorse for something wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The hand of Providence brought me in my drifting to the very doors of the
+British Linen Company’s bank.
+</p>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 421 ***</div>
+</body>
+
+</html>
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 05:15:08 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 05:15:08 -0700
commit	3b5c47dab6acc4797ecaf0097949abcef35004b1 (patch)
tree	a526cd4740d5bf7439e98565e62ca2d84a717185 /421-h