DAVID BALFOUR

Being Memoirs of his Adventures at home
and Abroad

THE SECOND PART: _In which are set forth his Misfortunes
anent the_ APPIN _Murder; his Troubles with Lord Advocate_
GRANT; _Captivity on the Bass Rock; Journey into Holland
and France; and Singular Relations with_ JAMES MORE
DRUMMOND _or_ MACGREGOR, _a Son of the notorious_ ROB
ROY, _and his Daughter_ CATRIONA

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
AND NOW SET FORTH BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

_ILLUSTRATED_


NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1905

COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

       *       *       *       *       *




DEDICATION TO CHARLES BAXTER, _WRITER TO THE SIGNET_.

MY DEAR CHARLES,

It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them;
and, my David having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustre
in the British Linen Company's office, must expect his late reappearance
to be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles. Yet, when I remember the
days of our explorations, I am not without hope. There should be left in
our native city some seed of the elect; some long-legged, hot-headed
youth must repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings of so many years ago;
he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow
among named streets and numbered houses the country walks of David
Balfour, to identify Dean, and Silvermills, and Broughton, and Hope Park
and Pilrig, and poor old Lochend--if it still be standing, and the
Figgate Whins--if there be any of them left; or to push (on a long
holiday) so far afield as Gillane or the Bass. So, perhaps, his eye
shall be opened to behold the series of the generations, and he shall
weigh with surprise his momentous and nugatory gift of life.

You are still--as when first I saw, as when I last addressed you--in the
venerable city which I must always think of as my home. And I have come
so far; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me; and I see
like a vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the whole
stream of lives flowing down there, far in the north, with the sound of
laughter and tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet,
on those ultimate islands. And I admire and bow my head before the
romance of destiny.

    R.L.S.

    VAILIMA,
        UPOLU,
            SAMOA,
      1902.

       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS

    Part I

    _THE LORD ADVOCATE_

         I. A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK
        II. THE HIGHLAND WRITER
       III. I GO TO PILRIG
        IV. LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE
         V. IN THE ADVOCATE'S HOUSE
        VI. UMQHILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT
       VII. I MAKE A FAULT IN HONOUR
      VIII. THE BRAVO
        IX. THE HEATHER ON FIRE
         X. THE RED-HEADED MAN
        XI. THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS
       XII. ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN
      XIII. GILLANE SANDS
       XIV. THE BASS
        XV. BLACK ANDIE'S TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK
       XVI. THE MISSING WITNESS
      XVII. THE MEMORIAL
     XVIII. THE TEE'D BALL
       XIX. I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES
        XX. I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY

    Part II

    _FATHER AND DAUGHTER_

       XXI. THE VOYAGE INTO HOLLAND
      XXII. HELVOETSLUYS
     XXIII. TRAVELS IN HOLLAND
      XXIV. FULL STORY OF A COPY OF HEINECCIUS
       XXV. THE RETURN OF JAMES MORE
      XXVI. THE THREESOME
     XXVII. A TWOSOME
    XXVIII. IN WHICH I AM LEFT ALONE
      XXIX. WE MEET IN DUNKIRK
       XXX. THE LETTER FROM THE SHIP
      XXXI. CONCLUSION

       *       *       *       *       *




PART I

THE LORD ADVOCATE

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER I

A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK


The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David
Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me
with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me
from their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning, I
was like a beggarman by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to my
last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my own
head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. To-day I was
served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by me
carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of the
saying) the ball directly at my foot.

There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail.
The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still to
handle; the second, the place that I was in. The tall, black city, and
the numbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world for
me, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands, and the still country-sides
that I had frequented up to then. The throng of the citizens in
particular abashed me. Rankeillor's son was short and small in the
girth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain I was ill
qualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter. It was plain, if I did
so, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in my case) set
them asking questions. So that I behooved to come by some clothes of my
own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter's side, and put my hand
on his arm as though we were a pair of friends.

At a merchant's in the Luckenbooths, I had myself fitted out: none too
fine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback; but comely
and responsible, so that servants should respect me. Thence to an
armourer's, where I got a plain sword, to suit with my degree in life. I
felt safer with the weapon, though (for one so ignorant of defence) it
might be called an added danger. The porter, who was naturally a man of
some experience, judged my accoutrement to be well chosen.

"Naething kenspeckle,"[1] said he, "plain, dacent claes. As for the
rapier, nae doubt it sits wi' your degree; but an I had been you, I
would hae waired my siller better-gates than that." And proposed I
should buy winter-hosen from a wife in the Cowgate-back, that was a
cousin of his own, and made them "extraordinar endurable."

But I had other matters on my hand more pressing. Here I was in this
old, black city, which was for all the world like a rabbit-warren, not
only by the number of its indwellers, but the complication of its
passages and holes. It was indeed a place where no stranger had a chance
to find a friend, let be another stranger. Suppose him even to hit on
the right close, people dwelt so thronged in these tall houses, he might
very well seek a day before he chanced on the right door. The ordinary
course was to hire a lad they called a _caddie_, who was like a guide or
pilot, led you where you had occasion, and (your errands being done)
brought you again where you were lodging. But these caddies, being
always employed in the same sort of services, and having it for
obligation to be well informed of every house and person in the city,
had grown to form a brotherhood of spies; and I knew from tales of Mr.
Campbell's how they communicated one with another, what a rage of
curiosity they conceived as to their employer's business, and how they
were like eyes and fingers to the police. It would be a piece of little
wisdom, the way I was now placed, to tack such a ferret to my tails. I
had three visits to make, all immediately needful: to my kinsman Mr.
Balfour of Pilrig, to Stewart the Writer that was Appin's agent, and to
William Grant Esquire of Prestongrange, Lord Advocate of Scotland. Mr.
Balfour's was a non-committal visit; and besides (Pilrig being in the
country) I made bold to find way to it myself, with the help of my two
legs and a Scots tongue. But the rest were in a different case. Not only
was the visit to Appin's agent, in the midst of the cry about the Appin
murder, dangerous in itself, but it was highly inconsistent with the
other. I was like to have a bad enough time of it with my Lord Advocate
Grant, the best of ways; but to go to him hot-foot from Appin's agent,
was little likely to mend my own affairs, and might prove the mere ruin
of friend Alan's. The whole thing, besides, gave me a look of running
with the hare and hunting with the hounds that was little to my fancy. I
determined, therefore, to be done at once with Mr. Stewart and the whole
Jacobitical side of my business, and to profit for that purpose by the
guidance of the porter at my side. But it chanced I had scarce given him
the address, when there came a sprinkle of rain--nothing to hurt, only
for my new clothes--and we took shelter under a pend at the head of a
close or alley.

Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in. The narrow
paved way descended swiftly. Prodigious tall houses sprang upon each
side and bulged out, one story beyond another, as they rose. At the top
only a ribbon of sky showed in. By what I could spy in the windows, and
by the respectable persons that passed out and in, I saw the houses to
be very well occupied; and the whole appearance of the place interested
me like a tale.

I was still gazing, when there came a sudden brisk tramp of feet in time
and clash of steel behind me. Turning quickly, I was aware of a party of
armed soldiers, and, in their midst, a tall man in a great-coat. He
walked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy, genteel and
insinuating: he waved his hands plausibly as he went, and his face was
sly and handsome. I thought his eye took me in, but could not meet it.
This procession went by to a door in the close, which a serving-man in a
fine livery set open; and two of the soldier-lads carried the prisoner
within, the rest lingering with their firelocks by the door.

There can nothing pass in the streets of a city without some following
of idle folk and children. It was so now; but the more part melted away
incontinent until but three were left. One was a girl; she was dressed
like a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on her head; but
her comrades or (I should say) followers were ragged gillies, such as I
had seen the matches of by the dozen in my Highland journey. They all
spoke together earnestly in Gaelic, the sound of which was pleasant in
my ears for the sake of Alan; and though the rain was by again, and my
porter plucked at me to be going, I even drew nearer where they were, to
listen. The lady scolded sharply, the others making apologies and
cringeing before her, so that I made sure she was come of a chief's
house. All the while the three of them sought in their pockets, and by
what I could make out, they had the matter of half a farthing among the
party; which made me smile a little to see all Highland folk alike for
fine obeisances and empty sporrans.

It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for
the first time. There is no greater wonder than the way the face of a
young woman fits in a man's mind, and stays there, and he could never
tell you why; it just seems it was the thing he wanted. She had
wonderful bright eyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had a part in
it; but what I remember the most clearly was the way her lips were a
trifle open as she turned. And whatever was the cause, I stood there
staring like a fool. On her side, as she had not known there was anyone
so near, she looked at me a little longer, and perhaps with more
surprise, than was entirely civil.

It went through my country head she might be wondering at my new
clothes; with that, I blushed to my hair, and at the sight of my
colouring it's to be supposed she drew her own conclusions, for she
moved her gillies farther down the close, and they fell again to this
dispute where I could hear no more of it.

I had often admired a lassie before then, if scarce so sudden and
strong; and it was rather my disposition to withdraw than to come
forward, for I was much in fear of mockery from the womenkind. You would
have thought I had now all the more reason to pursue my common practice,
since I had met this young lady in the city street, seemingly following
a prisoner, and accompanied with two very ragged, indecent-like
Highlandmen. But there was here a different ingredient; it was plain the
girl thought I had been prying in her secrets; and with my new clothes
and sword, and at the top of my new fortunes, this was more than I could
swallow. The beggar on horseback could not bear to be thrust down so
low, or at the least of it, not by this young lady.

I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her, the best that I
was able.

"Madam," said I, "I think it only fair to myself to let you understand I
have no Gaelic. It is true I was listening, for I have friends of my own
across the Highland line, and the sound of that tongue comes friendly;
but for your private affairs, if you had spoken Greek, I might have had
more guess at them."

She made me a little, distant curtsey. "There is no harm done," said
she, with a pretty accent, most like the English (but more agreeable).
"A cat may look at a king."

"I do not mean to offend," said I. "I have no skill of city manners; I
never before this day set foot inside the doors of Edinburgh. Take me
for a country lad--it's what I am; and I would rather I told you than
you found it out."

"Indeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers to be speaking to
each other on the causeway," she replied. "But if you are landward[2]
bred it will be different. I am as landward as yourself; I am Highland
as you see, and think myself the farther from my home."

"It is not yet a week since I passed the line," said I. "Less than a
week ago I was on the Braes of Balwhidder."

"Balwhither?" she cries; "come ye from Balwhither? The name of it makes
all there is of me rejoice. You will not have been long there, and not
known some of our friends or family?"

"I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren," I
replied.

"Well I know Duncan, and you give him the true name!" she said; "and if
he is an honest man, his wife is honest indeed."

"Ay," said I, "they are fine people, and the place is a bonny place."

"Where in the great world is such another?" she cries; "I am loving the
smell of that place and the roots that grew there."

I was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid. "I could be wishing
I had brought you a spray of that heather," says I. "And though I did
ill to speak with you at the first, now it seems we have common
acquaintance, I make it my petition you will not forget me. David
Balfour is the name I am known by. This is my lucky day when I have just
come into a landed estate and am not very long out of a deadly peril. I
wish you would keep my name in mind for the sake of Balquidder," said I,
"and I will yours for the sake of my lucky day."

"My name is not spoken," she replied, with a great deal of haughtiness.
"More than a hundred years it has not gone upon men's tongues, save for
a blink. I am nameless like the Folk of Peace.[3] Catriona Drummond is
the one I use."

Now indeed I knew where I was standing. In all broad Scotland there was
but the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the Macgregors.
Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, I plunged the
deeper in.

"I have been sitting with one who was in the same case with yourself,"
said I, "and I think he will be one of your friends. They called him
Robin Oig."

"Did ye so?" cries she. "Ye met Rob?"

"I passed the night with him," said I.

"He is a fowl of the night," said she.

"There was a set of pipes there," I went on, "so you may judge if the
time passed."

"You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his brother
there a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is him that I
call father."

"Is it so?" cried I. "Are you a daughter of James More's?"

"All the daughter that he has," says she: "the daughter of a prisoner;
that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers!"

Here one of the gillies addressed her in what he had of English, to know
what "she" (meaning by that himself) was to do about "ta sneeshin." I
took some note of him for a short, bandy-legged, red-haired, big-headed
man, that I was to know more of to my cost.

"There can be none the day, Neil," she replied. "How will you get
'sneeshin,' wanting siller? It will teach you another time to be more
careful; and I think James More will not be very well pleased with Neil
of the Tom."

"Miss Drummond," I said, "I told you I was in my lucky day. Here I am,
and a bank-porter at my tail. And remember I have had the hospitality of
your own country of Balwhidder."

"It was not one of my people gave it," said she.

"Ah, well," said I, "but I am owing your uncle at least for some springs
upon the pipes. Besides which, I have offered myself to be your friend,
and you have been so forgetful that you did not refuse me in the proper
time."

"If it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour," said she.
"But I will tell you what this is. James More lies shackled in prison;
but this time past, they will be bringing him down here daily to the
Advocate's..."

"The Advocate's?" I cried. "Is that...?"

"It is the house of the Lord Advocate, Grant of Prestongrange," said
she. "There they bring my father one time and another, for what purpose
I have no thought in my mind; but it seems there is some hope dawned for
him. All this same time they will not let me be seeing him, nor yet him
write; and we wait upon the King's street to catch him; and now we give
him his snuff as he goes by, and now something else. And here is this
son of trouble, Neil, son of Duncan, has lost my fourpenny-piece that
was to buy that snuff, and James More must go wanting, and will think
his daughter has forgotten him."

I took sixpence from my pocket, gave it to Neil, and bade him go about
his errand. Then to her, "That sixpence came with me by Balwhidder,"
said I.

"Ah!" she said, "you are a friend to the Gregara!"

"I would not like to deceive you either," said I. "I know very little of
the Gregara and less of James More and his doings; but since the while I
have been standing in this close, I seem to know something of yourself;
and if you will just say 'a friend to Miss Catriona' I will see you are
the less cheated."

"The one cannot be without the other," said she.

"I will even try," said I.

"And what will you be thinking of myself?" she cried, "to be holding my
hand to the first stranger!"

"I am thinking nothing but that you are a good daughter," said I.

"I must not be without repaying it," she said; "where is it you stop?"

"To tell the truth, I am stopping nowhere yet," said I, "being not full
three hours in the city; but if you will give me your direction, I will
be so bold as come seeking my sixpence for myself."

"Will I can trust you for that?" she asked.

"You have little fear," said I.

"James More could not bear it else," said she. "I stop beyond the
village of Dean, on the north side of the water, with Mrs.
Drummond-Ogilvy of Allardyce, who is my near friend and will be glad to
thank you."

"You are to see me then, so soon as what I have to do permits," said I;
and the remembrance of Alan rolling in again upon my mind, I made haste
to say farewell.

I could not but think, even as I did so, that we had made extraordinary
free upon short acquaintance, and that a really wise young lady would
have shown herself more backward. I think it was the bank-porter that
put me from this ungallant train of thought.

"I thoucht ye had been a lad of some kind o' sense," he began, shooting
out his lips. "Ye're no likely to gang far this gate. A fule and his
siller's shune parted. Eh, but ye're a green callant!" he cried, "an' a
veecious, tae! Cleikin' up wi' baubee-joes!"

"If you dare to speak of the young lady ..." I began.

"Leddy!" he cried. "Haud us and safe us, whatten leddy? Ca' _thon_ a
leddy? The toun's fu' o' them. Leddies! Man, it's weel seen ye're no
very acquant in Embro'!"

A clap of anger took me.

"Here," said I, "lead me where I told you, and keep your foul mouth
shut!"

He did not wholly obey me, for though he no more addressed me directly,
he sang at me as he went in a very impudent manner of innuendo, and with
an exceedingly ill voice and ear--

    "As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee.
    She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee,
    And we're a' gaun east and wast, we're a' gaun ajee,
    We're a' gaun east and wast courtin' Mally Lee."

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER II

THE HIGHLAND WRITER


Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair
that ever mason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when
I had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his
master was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing.

"Awa' east and wast wi' ye!" said I, took the money bag out of his
hands, and followed the clerk in.

The outer room was an office with the clerk's chair at a table spread
with law papers. In the inner chamber, which opened from it, a little
brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes
upon my entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as
though prepared to show me out and fall again to his studies. This
pleased me little enough; and what pleased me less, I thought the clerk
was in a good posture to overhear what should pass between us.

I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.

"The same," says he; "and if the question is equally fair, who may you
be yourself?"

"You never heard tell of my name nor of me either," said I, "but I bring
you a token from a friend that you know well. That you know well," I
repeated, lowering my voice, "but maybe are not just so keen to hear
from at this present being. And the bits of business that I have to
propone to you are rather in the nature of being confidential. In short,
I would like to think we were quite private."

He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man
ill-pleased, sent forth his clerk of an errand, and shut to the
house-door behind him.

"Now, sir," said he, returning, "speak out your mind and fear nothing;
though before you begin," he cries out, "I tell you mine misgives me! I
tell you beforehand, ye're either a Stewart or a Stewart sent ye. A good
name it is, and one it would ill-become my father's son to lightly. But
I begin to grue at the sound of it."

"My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him
that sent me, I will let his token speak." And I showed the silver
button.

"Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he, "Ye need name no names. The
deevil's buckie, I ken the button of him! And de'il hae't! Where is he
now?"

I told him I knew not where Alan was, but he had some sure place (or
thought he had) about the north side, where he was to lie until a ship
was found for him; and how and where he had appointed to be spoken with.

"It's been always my opinion that I would hang in a tow for this family
of mine," he cried, "and, dod! I believe the day's come now! Get a ship
for him, quot' he! And who's to pay for it? The man's daft!"

"That is my part of the affair, Mr. Stewart," said I. "Here is a bag of
good money, and if more be wanted, more is to be had where it came
from."

"I needn't ask your politics," said he.

"Ye need not," said I, smiling, "for I'm as big a Whig as grows."

"Stop a bit, stop a bit," says Mr. Stewart. "What's all this? A Whig?
Then why are you here with Alan's button? and what kind of a black-foot
traffic is this that I find ye out in, Mr. Whig? Here is a forfeited
rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred pounds on his life, and
ye ask me to meddle in his business, and then tell me ye're a Whig! I
have no mind of any such Whigs before, though I've kent plenty of them."

"He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the man's my
friend." I can only wish he had been better guided. And an accused
murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune; but wrongfully accused."

"I hear you say so," said Stewart.

"More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. "Alan Breck
is innocent, and so is James."

"Oh!" says he, "the two cases hang together. If Alan is out, James can
never be in."

Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the
accident that brought me present at the Appin murder, and the various
passages of our escape among the heather, and my recovery of my estate.
"So, sir, you have now the whole train of these events," I went on, "and
can see for yourself how I come to be so much mingled up with the
affairs of your family and friends, which (for all of our sakes) I wish
had been plainer and less bloody. You can see for yourself, too, that I
have certain pieces of business depending, which were scarcely fit to
lay before a lawyer chosen at random. No more remains, but to ask if you
will undertake my service?"

"I have no great mind to it; but coming as you do with Alan's button,
the choice is scarcely left me," said he. "What are your instructions?"
he added, and took up his pen.

"The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country," said I, "but
I need not be repeating that."

"I am little likely to forget it," said Stewart.

"The next thing is the bit money I am owing to Cluny," I went on. "It
would be ill for me to find a conveyance, but that should be no stick to
you. It was two pounds five shillings and three-halfpence farthing
sterling."

He noted it.

"Then," said I, "there's a Mr. Henderland, a licensed preacher and
missionary in Ardgour, that I would like well to get some snuff into the
hands of; and as I daresay you keep touch with your friends in Appin (so
near by), it's a job you could doubtless overtake with the other."

"How much snuff are we to say?" he asked.

"I was thinking of two pounds," said I.

"Two," said he.

"Then there's the lass Alison Hastie, in Limekilns," said I. "Her that
helped Alan and me across the Forth. I was thinking if I could get her a
good Sunday gown, such as she could wear with decency in her degree, it
would be an ease to my conscience: for the mere truth is, we owe her our
two lives."

"I am glad to see you are thrifty, Mr. Balfour," says he, making his
notes.

"I would think shame to be otherwise the first day of my fortune," said
I. "And now, if you will compute the outlay and your own proper charges,
I would be glad to know if I could get some spending-money back. It's
not that I grudge the whole of it to get Alan safe; it's not that I lack
more; but having drawn so much the one day, I think it would have a very
ill appearance if I was back again seeking, the next. Only be sure you
have enough," I added, "for I am very undesirous to meet with you
again."

"Well, and I'm pleased to see you're cautious too," said the Writer.
"But I think ye take a risk to lay so considerable a sum at my
discretion."

He said this with a plain sneer.

"I'll have to run the hazard," I replied. "O, and there's another
service I would ask, and that's to direct me to a lodging, for I have no
roof to my head. But it must be a lodging I may seem to have hit upon by
accident, for it would never do if the Lord Advocate were to get any
jealousy of our acquaintance."

"Ye may set your weary spirit at rest," said he. "I will never name your
name, sir; and it's my belief the Advocate is still so much to be
sympathised with that he doesnae ken of your existence."

I saw I had got to the wrong side of the man.

"There's a braw day coming for him, then," said I, "for he'll have to
learn of it on the deaf side of his head no later than to-morrow, when I
call on him."

"When ye _call_ on him!" repeated Mr. Stewart. "Am I daft, or are you?
What takes ye near the Advocate?"

"O, just to give myself up," said I.

"Mr. Balfour," he cried, "are ye making a mock of me?"

"No, sir," said I, "though I think you have allowed yourself some such
freedom with myself. But I give you to understand once and for all that
I am in no jesting spirit."

"Nor yet me," says Stewart. "And I give you to understand (if that's to
be the word) that I like the looks of your behaviour less and less. You
come here to me with all sorts of propositions, which will put me in a
train of very doubtful acts and bring me among very undesirable persons
this many a day to come. And then you tell me you're going straight out
of my office to make your peace with the Advocate! Alan's button here or
Alan's button there, the four quarters of Alan wouldnae bribe me further
in."

"I would take it with a little more temper," said I, "and perhaps we can
avoid what you object to. I can see no way for it but to give myself up,
but perhaps you can see another; and if you could, I could never deny
but what I would be rather relieved. For I think my traffic with his
lordship is little likely to agree with my health. There's just the one
thing clear, that I have to give my evidence; for I hope it'll save
Alan's character (what's left of it), and James's neck, which is the
more immediate."

He was silent for a breathing-space, and then, "My man," said he,
"you'll never be allowed to give such evidence."

"We'll have to see about that," said I; "I'm stiff-necked when I like."

"Ye muckle ass!" cried Stewart, "it's James they want; James has got to
hang--Alan too, if they could catch him--but James whatever! Go near the
Advocate with any such business, and you'll see! he'll find a way to
muzzle ye."

"I think better of the Advocate than that," said I.

"The Advocate be damned!" cries he. "It's the Campbells, man! You'll
have the whole clanjamfry of them on your back; and so will the Advocate
too, poor body! It's extraordinar ye cannot see where ye stand! If
there's no fair way to stop your gab, there's a foul one gaping. They
can put ye in the dock, do ye no see that?" he cried, and stabbed me
with one finger in the leg.

"Ay," said I, "I was told that same no further back than this morning by
another lawyer."

"And who was he?" asked Stewart. "He spoke sense at least."

I told I must be excused from naming him, for he was a decent stout old
Whig, and had little mind to be mixed up in such affairs.

"I think all the world seems to be mixed up in it!" cries Stewart. "But
what said you?"

I told him what had passed between Rankeillor and myself before the
house of Shaws.

"Well, and so ye will hang!" said he. "Ye'll hang beside James Stewart.
There's your fortune told."

"I hope better of it yet than that," said I; "but I could never deny
there was a risk."

"Risk!" says he, and then sat silent again. "I ought to thank you for
your staunchness to my friends, to whom you show a very good spirit," he
says, "if you have the strength to stand by it. But I warn you that
you're wading deep. I wouldn't put myself in your place (me that's a
Stewart born!) for all the Stewarts that ever there were since Noah.
Risk? ay, I take over-many, but to be tried in court before a Campbell
jury and a Campbell judge, and that in a Campbell country and upon a
Campbell quarrel--think what you like of me, Balfour, it's beyond me."

"It's a different way of thinking, I suppose," said I; "I was brought up
to this one by my father before me."

"Glory to his bones! he has left a decent son to his name," says he.
"Yet I would not have you judge me over-sorely. My case is dooms hard.
See, sir! ye tell me ye're a Whig: I wonder what I am. No Whig to be
sure; I couldnae be just that. But--laigh in your ear, man--I'm maybe no
very keen on the other side."

"Is that a fact?" cried I. "It's what I would think of a man of your
intelligence."

"Hut! none of your whillywhas!"[4] cries he. "There's intelligence upon
both sides. But for my private part I have no particular desire to harm
King George; and as for King James, God bless him! he does very well for
me across the water. I'm a lawyer, ye see: fond of my books and my
bottle, a good plea, a well-drawn deed, a crack in the Parliament House
with other lawyer bodies, and perhaps a turn at the golf on a Saturday
at e'en. Where do ye come in with your Hieland plaids and claymores?"

"Well," said I, "it's a fact ye have little of the wild Highlandman."

"Little?" quoth he. "Nothing, man! And yet I'm Hieland born, and when
the clan pipes, who but me has to dance? The clan and the name, that
goes by all. It's just what you said yourself; my father learned it to
me, and a bonny trade I have of it. Treason and traitors, and the
smuggling of them out and in; and the French recruiting, weary fall it!
and the smuggling through of the recruits; and their pleas--a sorrow of
their pleas! Here haye I been moving one for young Ardshiel, my cousin;
claimed the estate under the marriage contract--a forfeited estate! I
told them it was nonsense: muckle they cared! And there was I cocking
behind a yadvocate that liked the business as little as myself, for it
was fair ruin to the pair of us--a black mark, _disaffected_, branded on
our hurdies, like folk's names upon their kye! And what can I do? I'm a
Stewart, ye see, and must fend for my clan and family. Then no later by
than yesterday there was one of our Stewart lads carried to the Castle.
What for? I ken fine: Act of 1736: recruiting for King Lewie. And you'll
see, he'll whistle me in to be his lawyer, and there'll be another black
mark on my chara'ter! I tell you fair: if I but kent the heid of a
Hebrew word from the hurdies of it be dammed but I would fling the whole
thing up and turn minister!"

"It's rather a hard position," said I.

"Dooms hard!" cries he. "And that's what makes me think so much of
ye--you that's no Stewart--to stick your head so deep in Stewart
business. And for what, I do not know; unless it was the sense of duty."

"I hope it will be that," said I.

"Well," says he, "it's a grand quality. But here is my clerk back; and,
by your leave, we'll pick a bit of dinner, all the three of us. When
that's done, I'll give you the direction of a very decent man, that'll
be very fain to have you for a lodger. And I'll fill your pockets to ye,
forbye, out of your ain bag. For this business'll not be near as dear as
ye suppose--not even the ship part of it."

I made him a sign that his clerk was within hearing.

"Hoot, ye neednae mind for Robbie," cries he. "A Stewart too, puir
deevil! and has smuggled out more French recruits and trafficking
Papists than what he has hairs upon his face. Why, it's Robin that
manages that branch of my affairs. Who will we have now, Rob, for across
the water?"

"There'll be Andie Scougal, in the _Thristle_," replied Rob. "I saw
Hoseason the other day, but it seems he's wanting the ship. Then
there'll be Tarn Stobo; but I'm none so sure of Tam. I've seen him
colloguing with some gey queer acquaintances; and if it was anybody
important, I would give Tam the go-by."

"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart.

"Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck?" cried the clerk.

"Just Alan," said his master.

"Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie then;
Andie'll be the best."

"It seems it's quite a big business," I observed.

"Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart.

"There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason. That must
be my man, I think: Hoseason, of the brig _Covenant_. Would you set your
trust on him?"

"He didnae behave very well to you and Alan," said Mr. Stewart; "but my
mind of the man in general is rather otherwise. If he had taken Alan on
board his ship on an agreement, it's my notion he would have proved a
just dealer. How say ye, Rob?"

"No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli," said the clerk. "I would
lippen to[5] Eli's word--ay, if it was the Chevalier, or Appin himsel',"
he added.

"And it was him that brought the doctor, wasnae't?" asked the master.

"He was the very man," said the clerk.

"And I think he took the doctor back?" says Stewart.

"Ay, with his sporran full!" cried Robin. "And Eli kent of that!"[6]

"Well, it seems it's hard to ken folk rightly," said I.

"That was just what I forgot when ye came in, Mr. Balfour!" says the
Writer.


       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER III

I GO TO PILRIG


The next morning, I was no sooner awake in my new lodging than I was up
and into my new clothes; and no sooner the breakfast swallowed, than I
was forth on my adventures. Alan, I could hope, was fended for; James
was like to be a more difficult affair, and I could not but think that
enterprise might cost me dear, even as everybody said to whom I had
opened my opinion. It seemed I was come to the top of the mountain only
to cast myself down; that I had clambered up, through so many and hard
trials, to be rich, to be recognised, to wear city clothes and a sword
to my side, all to commit mere suicide at the last end of it, and the
worst kind of suicide besides, which is to get hanged at the King's
charges.

What was I doing it for? I asked, as I went down the High Street and out
north by Leith Wynd. First I said it was to save James Stewart, and no
doubt the memory of his distress, and his wife's cries, and a word or so
I had let drop on that occasion worked upon me strongly. At the same
time I reflected that it was (or ought to be) the most indifferent
matter to my father's son, whether James died in his bed or from a
scaffold. He was Alan's cousin, to be sure; but so far as regarded Alan,
the best thing would be to lie low, and let the King, and his Grace of
Argyll, and the corbie crows, pick the bones of his kinsman their own
way. Nor could I forget that, while we were all in the pot together,
James had shown no such particular anxiety whether for Alan or me.

Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice: and I thought
that a fine word, and reasoned it out that (since we dwelt in polities,
at some discomfort to each one of us) the main thing of all must still
be justice, and the death of any innocent man a wound upon the whole
community. Next, again, it was the Accuser of the Brethren that gave me
a turn of his argument; bid me think shame for pretending myself
concerned in these high matters, and told me I was but a prating vain
child, who had spoken big words to Rankeillor and to Stewart, and held
myself bound upon my vanity to make good that boastfulness. Nay, and he
hit me with the other end of the stick; for he accused me of a kind of
artful cowardice, going about at the expense of a little risk to
purchase greater safety. No doubt, until I had declared and cleared
myself, I might any day encounter Mungo Campbell or the sheriff's
officer, and be recognised, and dragged into the Appin murder by the
heels; and, no doubt, in case I could manage my declaration with
success, I should breathe more free for ever after. But when I looked
this argument full in the face I could see nothing to be ashamed of. As
for the rest, "Here are the two roads," I thought, "and both go to the
same place. It's unjust that James should hang if I can save him; and it
would be ridiculous in me to have talked so much and then do nothing.
It's lucky for James of the Glens that I have boasted beforehand; and
none so unlucky for myself, because now I'm committed to do right. I
have the name of a gentleman and the means of one; it would be a poor
discovery that I was wanting in the essence." And then I thought this
was a Pagan spirit, and said a prayer in to myself, asking for what
courage I might lack, and that I might go straight to my duty like a
soldier to battle, and come off again scatheless as so many do.

This train of reasoning brought me to a more resolved complexion; though
it was far from closing up my sense of the dangers that surrounded me,
nor of how very apt I was (if I went on) to stumble on the ladder of the
gallows. It was a plain, fair morning, but the wind in the east. The
little chill of it sang in my blood, and gave me a feeling of the
autumn, and the dead leaves, and dead folks' bodies in their graves. It
seemed the devil was in it, if I was to die in that tide of my fortunes
and for other folks' affairs. On the top of the Calton Hill, though it
was not the customary time of year for that diversion, some children
were crying and running with their kites. These toys appeared very plain
against the sky; I remarked a great one soar on the wind to a high
altitude and then plump among the whins; and I thought to myself at
sight of it, "There goes Davie."

My way lay over Mouter's Hill, and through an end of a clachan on the
braeside among fields. There was a whirr of looms in it went from house
to house; bees bummed in the gardens; the neighbours that I saw at the
doorsteps talked in a strange tongue; and I found out later that this
was Picardy, a village where the French weavers wrought for the Linen
Company. Here I got a fresh direction for Pilrig, my destination; and a
little beyond, on the wayside, came by a gibbet and two men hanged in
chains. They were dipped in tar, as the manner is; the wind span them,
the chains clattered, and the birds hung about the uncanny jumping-jacks
and cried. The sight coming on me suddenly, like an illustration of my
fears, I could scarce be done with examining it and drinking in
discomfort. And as I thus turned and turned about the gibbet, what
should I strike on, but a weird old wife, that sat behind a leg of it,
and nodded, and talked aloud to herself with becks and courtesies.

"Who are these two, mother?" I asked, and pointed to the corpses.

"A blessing on your precious face!" she cried. "Twa joes[7] o' mine:
just twa o' my old joes, my hinny dear."

"What did they suffer for?" I asked.

"Ou, just for the guid cause," said she. "Aften I spaed to them the way
that it would end. Twa shillin' Scots; no pickle mair; and there are twa
bonny callants hingin' for 't! They took it frae a wean[8] belanged to
Brouchton."

"Ay!" said I to myself, and not to the daft limmer, "and did they come
to such a figure for so poor a business? This is to lose all indeed."

"Gie's your loof,[9] hinny," says she, "and let me spae your weird to
ye."

"No, mother," said I, "I see far enough the way I am. It's an unco thing
to see too far in front."

"I read it in your bree," she said. "There's a bonnie lassie that has
bricht een, and there's a wee man in a braw coat, and a big man in a
pouthered wig, and there's the shadow of the wuddy,[10] joe, that lies
braid across your path. Gie's your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren spae
it to ye bonny."

The two chance shots that seemed to point at Alan and the daughter of
James More, struck me hard; and I fled from the eldritch creature,
casting her a baubee, which she continued to sit and play with under the
moving shadows of the hanged.

My way down the causeway of Leith Walk would have been more pleasant to
me but for this encounter. The old rampart ran among fields, the like of
them I had never seen for artfulness of agriculture; I was pleased,
besides, to be so far in the still countryside; but the shackles of the
gibbet clattered in my head; and the mops and mows of the old witch, and
the thought of the dead men, hag-rode my spirits. To hang on a gallows,
that seemed a hard case; and whether a man came to hang there for two
shillings Scots, or (as Mr. Stewart had it) from the sense of duty, once
he was tarred and shackled and hung up, the difference seemed small.
There might David Balfour hang, and other lads pass on their errands and
think light of him; and old daft limmers sit at leg-foot and spae their
fortunes; and the clean genty maids go by, and look to the other side,
and hold a nose. I saw them plain, and they had grey eyes, and their
screens upon their heads were of the Drummond colours.

I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved, when
I came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the walkside
among some brave young woods. The laird's horse was standing saddled at
the door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where he received
me in the midst of learned works and musical instruments, for he was not
only a deep philosopher but much of a musician. He greeted me at first
pretty well, and when he had read Rankeillor's letter, placed himself
obligingly at my disposal.

"And what is it, cousin David?" says he--"since it appears that we are
cousins--what is this that I can do for you? A word to Prestongrange?
Doubtless that is easily given. But what should be the word?"

"Mr. Balfour," said I, "if I were to tell you my whole story the way it
fell out, it's my opinion (and it was Rankeillor's before me) that you
would be very little made up with it."

"I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman," says he.

"I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour," said I; "I have
nothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just the
common infirmities of mankind. 'The guilt of Adam's first sin, the want
of original righteousness, and the corruption of my whole nature,' so
much I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look for
help," I said; for I judged from the look of the man he would think the
better of me if I knew my questions.[11] "But in the way of worldly
honour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with; and my
difficulties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all that
I can see) without my fault. My trouble is to have become dipped in a
political complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to avoid
a knowledge of."

"Why, very well, Mr. David," he replied, "I am pleased to see you are
all that Rankeillor represented. And for what you say of political
complications, you do me no more than justice. It is my study to be
beyond suspicion, and indeed outside the field of it. The question is,"
says he, "how, if I am to know nothing of the matter, I can very well
assist you?"

"Why, sir," said I, "I propose you should write to his lordship, that I
am a young man of reasonable good family and of good means: both of
which I believe to be the case."

"I have Rankeillor's word for it," said Mr. Balfour, "and I count that a
warrandice against all deadly."

"To which you might add (if you will take my word for so much) that I am
a good churchman, loyal to King George, and so brought up," I went on.

"None of which will do you any harm," said Mr. Balfour.

"Then you might go on to say that I sought his lordship on a matter of
great moment, connected with His Majesty's service and the
administration of justice," I suggested.

"As I am not to hear the matter," says the laird, "I will not take upon
myself to qualify its weight. 'Great moment' therefore falls, and
'moment' along with it. For the rest, I might express myself much as you
propose."

"And then, sir," said I, and rubbed my neck a little with my thumb,
"then I would be very desirous if you could slip in a word that might
perhaps tell for my protection."

"Protection?" says he. "For your protection? Here is a phrase that
somewhat dampens me. If the matter be so dangerous, I own I would be a
little loath to move in it blindfold."

"I believe I could indicate in two words where the thing sticks," said
I.

"Perhaps that would be the best," said he.

"Well, it's the Appin murder," said I.

He held up both the hands. "Sirs! sirs!" cried he.

I thought by the expression of his face and voice that I had lost my
helper.

"Let me explain ..." I began.

"I thank you kindly, I will hear no more of it," says he. "I decline _in
toto_ to hear more of it. For your name's sake and Rankeillor's, and
perhaps a little for your own, I will do what I can to help you; but I
will hear no more upon the facts. And it is my first clear duty to warn
you. These are deep waters, Mr. David, and you are a young man. Be
cautious and think twice."

"It is to be supposed I will have thought oftener than that, Mr.
Balfour," said I, "and I will direct your attention again to
Rankeillor's letter, where (I hope and believe) he has registered his
approval of that which I design."

"Well, well," said he; and then again, "Well, well! I will do what I can
for you." Therewith he took a pen and paper, sat awhile in thought, and
began to write with much consideration. "I understand that Rankeillor
approves of what you have in mind?" he asked presently.

"After some discussion, sir, he bade me to go forward in God's name,"
said I.

"That is the name to go in," said Mr. Balfour, and resumed his writing.
Presently, he signed, re-read what he had written, and addressed me
again. "Now here, Mr. David," said he, "is a letter of introduction,
which I will seal without closing, and give into your hands open, as the
form requires. But since I am acting in the dark, I will just read it to
you, so that you may see if it will secure your end--


     "PILRIG, _August 26th_, 1751.

     "MY LORD,--This is to bring to your notice my namesake and
     cousin, David Balfour Esquire of Shaws, a young gentleman
     of unblemished descent and good estate. He has enjoyed besides
     the more valuable advantages of a godly training, and his
     political
     principles are all that your lordship can desire. I am not in
     Mr. Balfour's confidence, but I understand him to have a
     matter
     to declare, touching His Majesty's service and the
     administration
     of justice: purposes for which your lordship's zeal is known.
     I should add that the young gentleman's intention is known to
     and approved by some of his friends, who will watch with
     hopeful
     anxiety the event of his success or failure.'


"Whereupon," continued Mr. Balfour, "I have subscribed myself with the
usual compliments. You observe I have said 'some of your friends;' I
hope you can justify my plural?"

"Perfectly, sir; my purpose is known and approved by more than one,"
said I. "And your letter, which I take a pleasure to thank you for, is
all I could have hoped."

"It was all I could squeeze out," said he; "and from what I know of the
matter you design to meddle in, I can only pray God that it may prove
sufficient."

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER IV

LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE


My kinsman kept me to a meal, "for the honour of the roof," he said; and
I believe I made the better speed on my return. I had no thought but to
be done with the next stage, and have myself fully committed; to a
person circumstanced as I was, the appearance of closing a door on
hesitation and temptation was itself extremely tempting; and I was the
more disappointed, when I came to Prestongrange's house, to be informed
he was abroad. I believe it was true at the moment, and for some hours
after; and then I have no doubt the Advocate came home again, and
enjoyed himself in a neighbouring chamber among friends, while perhaps
the very fact of my arrival was forgotten. I would have gone away a
dozen times, only for this strong drawing to have done with my
declaration out of hand and be able to lay me down to sleep with a free
conscience. At first I read, for the little cabinet where I was left
contained a variety of books. But I fear I read with little profit; and
the weather falling cloudy, the dusk coming up earlier than usual, and
my cabinet being lighted with but a loophole of a window, I was at last
obliged to desist from this diversion (such as it was), and pass the
rest of my time of waiting in a very burthensome vacuity. The sound of
people talking in a naer chamber, the pleasant note of a harpsichord,
and once the voice of a lady singing, bore me a kind of company.