PR 5424 \9oo URIS LIBRARY PR5484.K57900"'™"'""-"'"^^ Kidnapped/ 3 1924 011 518 457 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924011518457 KIDNAPPED CLASSIC LIBRARY THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON KIDNAPPED THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO. CLEVELAND, OHIO NEW YORK, N. Y. URIS LIBRARY JUL I 1987 Printed in tie United States of America CONTENTS CHAPTER FACB I. I Set Off Upon My Journey to the House OF ShAWS 11 II. I Come to My Journey's End 16 III. I Make the Acquaintance of My Uncle . 22 IV. I Run a Great Danger in the House of Shaws 31 V. I Go to the Queen's Ferry 40 VI. What Befell at the Queen's Ferry . . 47 VII. I Go to Sea in the Brig "Covenant" of Dysart 53 VIII. The Round-house 61 IX. The Man with the Belt of Gold ... 67 X. The Siege of the Round-house .... 78 XI. The Captain Knuckles Under .... 86 XII. I Hear of the "Red Fox" 91 XIII. The Loss of the Brig 101 XIV. The Islet 107 XV. The Lad with the Silver Button: Through the Isle of Mull . . . . 117 XVI. The Lad with the Silver Button: Across Morven 126 XVII. The Death of the "Red Fox" .... 134 XVIII. I Talk with Alan in the Wood of Letter- more 140 XIX. The House of Fear 149 XX. The Flight in the Heather: the Rocks . t (,7 v VI CO NTENTS CHAPTER PAGE XXI. The Flight in the Heather: the Heugh OF Corrynakiegh 167 XXII. The Flight in the Heather: the Muir . 175 XXIII. Cluny's Cage 184 XXIV. The Flight in the Heather: the Quarrel 194 XXV. In Balquidder 205 XXVI. We Pass the Forth 213 XXVII. I Come to Mr. Rankeillor 226 XXVIII. I Go IN Quest of My Inheritance . . . 235 XXIX. I Come into My Kingdom 243 XXX. Good-Bye 251 INTRODUCTION When, in 1603, the Great Queen Elizabeth died, James VI of Scotland became James I of England. This was the beginning of the political union of England and Scotland, and the beginning of the Stuart period of English history. No period could be more turbulent, for it saw civil war, the establishment of the power of Parliament, the execu- tion of one king, and the deposing of another. Through all this the Scottish Highlanders and the English were on opposite sides. When James I and Charles I leaned ever closer to Cath- olicism the Scots clicked their tongues and shook their heads, for they had heard the preaching of Knox and had established Kirks throughout the land which were the bas- is of political as well as of religious activity. They had no patience with "Popery" and welcomed the day when Crom- well drew his sword for Parliamentarianism and Protes- tantism. In fact, the rebellion against Charles started upon the Scottish Border, for the fighting spirit of Scotland was already aroused in defense of Presbyterianism and Democ- racy. By this time England was divided into two parties: the Cavaliers who supported the King and the Established Church which was Catholic without being Roman, and the Roundheads, who supported the power of Parliament and extreme Protestantism, But the Protestantism of Eng- land and Scotland differed, and it was only through prom- ises — though vague — of a "thorough reformation" when the battle against the King should be won, that the Scots joined the Roundheads and won the victory of Marston Moor, in 1644. By Cromwell's violation of the vague promise and the repudiation of Presbyterianism, the Highlanders were thrown back upon the Cavaliers and became Jacobites, vii viii INTRODUCTION following the lead of the romantic Montrose. The Camp bell clan of the lowlands followed the Earl of Argyle, com- promised with the English. The Scotch Covenanters continued their meeting upon the hillsides and in the deep woods, with sentinels set to watch for the hated red-coats. These kilted Highlanders remained Jacobite, as much through hatred of the Camp bells as through loyalty to the Stuarts, and for many long years after peace had been established in England, and both England and Scotland had recognized William and Mary as their sovereigns, they intrigued with France for the restoration of James as the eighth king of Scotland by that name. The old feeling was fanned anew when George I, a Hanover, was brought to the British throne in 1714, and this caused the unsuccessful rebellion of 1715. George II's reign saw the final and unsuccessful rebellion in 1745. After that a keener appreciation of the Scotch problem and disposition worked for a peaceful settlement. It was during the reign of George II, when Highland hearts were still filled with hatred of the Campbells and the Whigs (successors to the Roundheads), and with a romantic love for James Stuart, that young David and Alan Beck took refuge among them. As the author says in his Dedication, he has not been overly careful in the exact- ness of historical data, but for all that, Kidnapped gives one a feeling for the Scotch Cause that many histories can- not give. More important than all this, in the mind of the reader, is the stirring interest of a good story well told. Any one who grows up without sharing the adventures of David Balfour has been cheated of a part of his inheritance. But even so, in his later years, he can recover much of what he missed, for Kidnapped can be enjoyed by men, and women too, when youth is long past. Constance Garrett DEDICATION My dear Charles Baxter, If you ever read this tale, you will likely ask yourself more questions than I should care to answer: as, for instance, how the Appin murder has come to fall in the year 1751, how the Torran rocks have crept so near to Earraid, or why the printed trial is silent as to all that touches David Balfour. These are nuts beyond my ability to break. 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 con- genial exercise of keeping it. I might go on for long to jus- tify one point and own another indefensible; it is more hon- est to confess at once how little I am touched by the desire of accuracy. This is no furniture for the scholar's library, but a book for the winter evening school-room when the tasks are over and the hour for bed draws near; and honest Alan, who was a grim old fire-eater in his day, has in this new avatar no more desperate purpose than to steal some young gentleman's attention from his Ovid, carry him awhile into the Highlands and the last century, and pack him to bed with some engaging images to mingle with his dreams. As for you, my dear Charles, I do not even ask you to like ix X DEDICATION the 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 Maclean— or may pass the comer 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 memoryl Let it not echo often without some kind thoughts of your friend. Iv. JL. o. Skerryvore, Bournemouth. Kidnapped CHAPTER I I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS TWILL begin the story of my adventures with a certain ■*• morning early in the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took the key for the last time out of the door of my father's house. The sun began to shine upon the summit of the hills as I went down the road; and by the time I had come as far as the manse, the blackbirds were whistling in the garden lilacs, and the mist that hung around the valley in the time of the dawn was beginning to arise and die away. Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, was waiting for me by the garden gate, good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted; and hearing that I lacked for nothing, he took my hand in both of his, and clapped it kindly under his arm. "Well, Davie lad," said he, "I will go with you as far as the ford, to set you on the way." And we began to walk forward in silence. "Are ye sorry to leave Essendean?" said he, after a while. "Why, sir," said I, "if I knew where I was going, or what was likely to become of me, I would tell you candidly. Es- 11 12 KIDNAPPED sendean is a good place indeed, and I have been very happy there; but then I have never been anywhere else. My father and mother, since they are both dead, I shall be no nearer to in Essendean than in the Kingdom of Hungary; and to speak truth, if I thought I had a chance to better myself where I was going, I would go with a good will." "Ay?" said Mr. Campbell. "Very well, Davie. Then it be- hoves 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." " "The house of Shawsl" I cried. "What had my poor father to do with the house of Shaws?" "Nay," said Mr. Campbell, "who can tell that for a surety? But the name of that family, Davie boy, is the name you bear — Balfours of Shaws: an ancient, honest, reputable house, peradventure in these latter days decayed. Your father, too, was a man of learning as befitted his position; no man more plausibly conducted school; nor had he the manner or the speech of a common dominie; but (as ye will yourself re- member) 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. KIDNAPPED 13 Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by th!e own hand of our departed brother." He gave me the letter, which was addressed in these words: "To the hands of Ebenezer Balfour, Esquire, of Shaws, in his house of Shaws, these will be delivered by my son, David Balfour." My heart was beating hard at this great prospect now suddenly opening before a lad of sixteen years of age, the son of a poor country dominie in the Forest of Ettrick. "Mr. Campbell," I stammered, "and if you were in my shoes, would you go?" "Of a surety," said the minister, "that would I, and with- out pause. A pretty lad like you should get to Cramond (which is near in by Edinburgh) in two days of walk. If the worst came to the worst, and your high relations (as I cannot but suppose them to be somewhat of your blood) should put you to the door, ye can but walk the two days back again and risp at the manse door. But I would rather hope that ye shall be well received, as your poor father forecast for you, and for anything that I ken, come to be a great man in time. And here, Davie laddie," he resumed, "it lies near upon my conscience to improve this parting, and set you on the right guard against the dangers of the world." Here he cast about for a comfortable seat, lighted on a big boulder under a birch by the trackside, sate down upon it with a very long serious upper lip, and the sun now shining in upon us between two peaks, put his pocket handkerchief over his cocked hat to shelter him. There, then, with up- lifted forefinger, he first put me on my guard against a con- siderable 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 14 KIDNAPPED that I was bound to, and how I should conduct myself with its inhabitants. "Be soople, Davie, in things immaterial," said he. "Bear ye this in mind, that, though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing. Dinnae shame us, Davie, dinnae shame us! In yon great, muckle house, with all these domestics, upper and under, show yourself as nice, as circumspect, as quick at the conception, and as slow of speech as any. As for the laird- remember he's the laird; I say no more: honour to whom honour. It's a pleasure to obey a laird; or should be, to the young." "Well, sir," said I, "it may be; and I'll promise you I'll try to make it so." "Why, very well said," replied Mr. Campbell, heartily. "And now to come to the material, or (to make a quibble) to the immaterial. I have here a little packet which contains four things." He tugged it, as he spoke, and with some diffi- culty, from the skirt pocket of his coat. "Of these four things, the first is your legal due: the little pickle money for your father's books and plenishing, which I have bought (as I have explained from the first) in the design of reselling at a profit to the incoming dominie. The other three are gifties that Mrs. Campbell and myself would be blithe of your ac- ceptance. 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 writ- ten upon, will stand by you through life, like a good staff for the road, and a good pillow to your head in sickness. And as for the last, which is cubical, that'll see you, it's my prayerful wish, into a better land." With that he got uppn his feet, took off his hat, and prayed KIDNAPPED 15 a little while aloud, and in aflEecting terms, for a young man Setting out into the world; then suddenly took me in his alms and embraced me very hard; then held me at arm's lehgth, looking at me with his face all working with sorrow; and then whipped about, and crying good-bye to me, set ofE backward by the way that we had come at a sort of jogging run. It mi^ht have been laughable to another; but I was in no mind to laugh. I watched him as long as he was in sight; and he never stopped hurrying, nor once looked back. Then it came in upon my mind that this was all his sorrow at my departure; and my conscience smote me hard and fast, because I, for my part, was overjoyed to get away out of that quiet country-side, and go to a great, busy house, among rich and respected gentlefolk of my own name and blood. "Davie, Davie," I thought, "was ever seen such black in- gratitude? Can you forget old favours and old friends at the mere whistle of a name? Fy, fy; think shamel" 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 hadjmuch doubt of; sure enough it was a little Bible, to carry in a plaid-neuk. That which he had called round, I found to be a shilling piece; and the third, which was to help me so wonderfully both in health and sickness all the days of my life, was a little piece of coarse yellow paper, written upon thus in red ink: "To Make Lilly of the Valley Water. — ^Take the flowers of lilly of the valley and distil them in sack, and drink a spooneful or two as there is occasion. It restores speech to those that have the dumb palsey. It is good against the Gout; it comforts the heart and strengthens the memory; and the flowers, put into a Glasse, close stopt, and set into ane hill of ants for a month, then take it out, and you will find a liquor which comes from the i6 KIDNAPPED flowers, which keep in a vial; it is good, ill or well, and whether man or woman." And then, in the minister's own hand, was added: "Likewise for sprains, rub it in; and for the cholic, a great spooneful in the hour." To be sure, I laughed over this; but it was rather trem- ulous laughter; and I was glad to get my bundle on my staflE's end and set out over the ford and up the hill upon the fur- ther side; till, just as I came on the green drove-road running wide through the heather, I took my last look of Kirk Essen- dean, the trees about the manse, and the big rowans in the kirkyard where my father and my mother lay. CHAPTER II I COME TO MY JOURNEY'S END /^ 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. Presently after, I came by a house where a shepherd lived, and got a rough direction for the neighbourhood of Cra- mond; 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 won- der, I beheld a regiment marching to the fifes, every foot in KIDNAPPED 17 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 redcoats and the hearing of that merry music. A little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond pal- ish, and began to substitute in my inquiries the name of the house of Shaws. It was a word that seemed to surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I thought the plainness of my appearance, in my country habit, and that all dusty from the road, consorted ill with the greatness of the place to which I was bound But after two, or maybe three, had given me the same look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there was something strange about the Shaws itself. The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of my inquiries; and spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the shaft of his cart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the house of Shaws. He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others. "Ay," said he. "What for?" "It's a great house?" I asked. "Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, rauckle house," "Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?" "Folk?" cried he, "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there- to call folk." "What?" says I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?" "O, ay," says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting. What'U like be your business, man- nie?" "I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said, looking as modest as I could. i8 KIDNAPPED "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'U take a word from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws." The next person I came across was a dapper little man in a beautiful white wig, whom I saw to be a barber on his rounds; and knowing well that barbers were great gossips, I asked him plainly what sort of a man was Mr. Balfour of the Shaws. "Hoot, hoot, hoot," said the barber, "nae kind of a man, nae kind of a man at all;" and began to ask me very shrewdly what my business was; but I was more than a match for him at that, and he went on to his next customer no wiser than he came. I cannot well describe the blow this dealt to my illusions. The more indistinct the accusations were, the less I liked them, for they left the wider field to fancy. What kind of a great house was this, that all the parish should start and stare to be asked the way to it? or what sort of a gentleman, that his ill-fame should be thus current on the wayside? If an hour's walking would have brought me back to Essen- dean, I had left my adventure then and there, and returned to Mr. Campbell's. But when I had come so far away al- ready, mere shame would not suffer me to desist till I had put the matter to the touch of proof; I was bound, out of mere self-respect, to carry it through; and little as I liked the sound of what I heard, and slow as I began to travel, I still kept asking my way and still kept advancing. It was drawing on to sundown when I met a stout, dark, sour-looking woman coming trudging down a hill; and she, when I had put my usual question, turned sharp about, ac- companied me back to the summit she had just left, and KIDNAPPED ig pointed to a great bulk of building standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of the next valley. The country was pleasant round about, running in low hills, pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to my eyes, wonderfully good; but the house itself appeared to be a kind of ruin; no road led up to it; no smoke arose from any of the chimneys; nor was there any semblance of a garden. My heart sank. "That!" I cried. The woman's face lit up with a malignant anger. "That is the house of Shaws!" she cried. "Blood built it; blood stopped the building of it; blood shall bring it down. See here!" she cried again— "I spit upon the ground, and crack my thumb at it! Black be its fall! If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell him this makes the twelve hunner and nineteen time that Jennett Clouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre and stable, man, guest, and master, wife, miss, or bairn— black, black be their fall!" And the woman, whose voice had risen to a kind of eldritch sing-song, turned with a skip, and was gone. I stood where she left me, with my hair on end. In these days folk still be- lieved in witches and trembled at a curse; and this one, fall- ing so pat, like a wayside omen, to arrest me ere I carried out my purpose, took the pith out of my legs. I sat me down and stared at the house of Shaws. The more I looked, the pleasanter that country-side appeared; being all set with hawthorn bushes full of flowers; the fields dotted with sheep; a fine flight of rooks in the sky; and every sign of a kind soil and climate; and yet the barrack in the midst of it went sore against my fancy. Country folk went by from the fields as I sat there on the side of the ditch, but I lacked the spirit to give them a good- e'en. At last the sun went down, and then, right up against 20 KIDNAPPED 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 wonderfully— more, I feel sure, than a whole flask of the lily of the valley water that Mrs. Campbell set so great a store by. So I set forward by a little faint track in the grass that led in my direction. It was very faint indeed to be the only way to a place of habitation; yet I saw no other. Presently it brought me to stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them, and coats of arms upon the top. A main entrance, it was plainly meant to be, but never finished; instead of .gates of wrought iron, a pair of hurdles were tied across with a straw rope; and as there were no park walls, nor any sign of avenue, the track that I was following passed on the right hand of the pillars, and went wandering on toward the house. The nearer I got to that, the drearier it appeared. It seemed like the one wing of a house that had never been finished. What should have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors, and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of uncompleted masonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew in and out like doves out of a dove-cote. The night had begun to fall as I got close; and in three of the lower windows, which were very high up, and narrow, and well barred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer. Was this the palace I had been coming to? Was it within these walls that I was to seek new friends and begin great fortunes? Why, in my father's house on Essen-Waterside, KIDNAPPED 21 the fire and the bright lights would show a mile away, and the door open to a beggar's knock. I came forward cautiously, and giving ear as I came, heard some one rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that came in fits; but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked. The door, as well as I could see it in the dim light, was a great piece of wood all studded with nails; and I lifted my hand with a faint heart under my jacket, and knocked once. Then I stood and waited. The house had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minute passed away, and nothing stirred but the bats overhead. I knocked again, and hearkened again. By this time my ears had grown so accustomed to the quiet, that I could hear the ticking of the clock inside as it slowly count- ed out the seconds; but whoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have held his breath. I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upper hand, and I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door, and to shout out aloud for Mr. Balfour. I was in full career, when I heard the cough right overhead, and jumping back and looking up, beheld a man's head in a tall nightcap, and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first storey windows. "It's loaded," said a voice. "I have come here with a letter," I said, "to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws. Is he here?" "From whom is it?" asked the man with the blunderbuss. "That is neither here nor there," said I, for I was growing very wroth. "Well," was the reply, "ye can put it down upon the door- step, and be off with ye." » "I will do no such thing," I cried. "I will deliver it into 22 KIDNAPPED Mr, Balfour's hands, as it was meant I should. It is a letter of introduction." "A what?" cried the voice, sharply. I repeated what I had said. "Who are ye, yourself?" was the next question, after a con- siderable pause. "I am not ashamed of my name," said I. "They call me David Balfour." At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blun- derbuss rattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause, and with a curious change of voice, that the next question followed: "Is your father dead?" I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice to answer, but stood staring. "Ay," the man resumed, "he'll be dead, no doubt; and that'll be what brings ye chapping to my door." Another pause, and then, defiantly, "Well, man," he said, "I'll let ye in;" and he disappeared from the window. CHAPTER III I MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE "PRESENTLY there came a great rattling of chains and •*■ bolts, and the door was cautiously opened, and shut to again behind me as soon as I had passed. "Go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; and while the person of the house set himself to replacing the defences of the door, I groped my way forward and en- tered the kitchen. KIDNAPPED 23 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 lock- fast chests arranged along the wall and a comer cupboard with a padlock. As soon as the last chain was up the man rejoined me. He was a mean, stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his age might have been anything between fifty and seventy. His nightcap was of flannel, and so was the nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat, over his ragged shirt. He was long unshaved; but what most dis- tressed 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 servingman, who should have been left in charge of that big house upon board wages. "Are ye sharp-set?" he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee. "Ye can eat that drop parritch." I said I feared it was his own supper. "O," said he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale though, for it slockens * 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. I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him. "And who do ye think I am?" says he. "Give me Alexan- der's letterl" * Moistens. 84 KIDNAPPED "You know my father's name?" "It would be strange if I didnae," he returned, "for he was my born brother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house, or my good parritch, I'm your born uncle, Davie my man, and you my born nephew. So give us the let- ter, and sit down and fill your kyte." If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weari- ness, and disappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, I could find no words, neither black nor white, but handed him the letter, and sat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever a young man had. Meanwhile, my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over and over in his hands. "Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked suddenly. "You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not been broken." "Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?" "To give the letter," said I. "No," says he, cunningly, "but ye'U have had some hopes, nae doubt?" "1 confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kins- folk well-to-do, I deed indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in my life. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your hands, and I want none that are not freely given. For as poor as I appear, I have friends of my own that will be blithe to help me." "Hoot-hoot!" 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 KIDNAPPED 25 to himself and fell to. "Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind; he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never do mair than pyke at food." He took a pull at the small beer, which probably reminded him of hospitable duties; for his next speech ran thus: "If ye're dry, ye'll find water behind the door." To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet, and looking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, on his part, continued to eat like a man under some pressure of time, and to throw out little darting glances now at my shoes and now at my homespun 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 alto- gether different man. From this I was awakened by his sharp voice. "Your father's been long dead?" he asked. "Three weeks, sir," said I. "He was a secret man, Alexander; a secret, silent man," he continued. "He never said muckle when he was young. He'll never have spoken muckle of me?" "I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had any brother." "Dear me, dear mel" said Ebenezer. "Nor yet of Shaws, I daresay?" "Not so much as the name, sir," said I. "To think o' that!" said he. "A strange nature of a man!" For all that, he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or with this conduct of my father's, was more 86 KIDNAPPED than I could read. Certainly, however, he seemed to be out- growing 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 yetl" he cried. "I'm just as glad I let you in. And now come awa' to your bed." To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the dark passage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight of steps, and paused before a door, which he un- locked. I was close upon his heels, having stumbled after him as best I might! and he bade me go in, for that was my chamber. I did as he bid, but paused after a few steps, and begged a light to go to bed with." "Hoot-toot!" said Uncle Ebenezer, "there's a fine moon." "Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk," * said I, "I cannae see the bed." "Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!" said he. "Lights in a house is a thing I dinnae agree with. I'm unco feared of fires. Good night to ye, Davie my man." And before I had time to add a further protest, he pulled the door to, and I heard him lock me in from the outside. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The room was as cold as a well, and the bed, when I had found my way to it, as damp as a peat-hag; but by good fortune I had caugh,t up my bundle and my plaid, and rolling myself in the latter, I lay down upon the floor under the lee of the big bedstead, and fell speedily asleep. With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find my- self in a great chamber, hung with stamped leather, fur- nished with fine embroidered furniture, and lit by three fair * Dark as the pit. KIDNAPPED 27 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 — ^per- haps with Jennet Clouston at their head. Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold in that miserable room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler came an^ let me out. He carried me to the back of the house, where was a draw well, and told me to "wash my face there, if I wanted;" and when that was done, I made the best of my own way back to the kitchen, where he had lit the fire and was making the porridge. The table was laid with two bowls and two horn spoons, but the same single measure of small beer. Perhaps my eye rested on this particular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncle observed it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought, asking me if I would like to drink ale— for so he called it. I told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about. "Na, na," said he; "I'll deny you nothing in reason." He fetched another cup from the shelf; and then, to my great surprise, instead of drawing more beer, he poured an accurate half from one cup to the other. There was a kind of nobleness in this that took my breath away; if my uncle was certainly a miser, he was one of that thorough breed that goes near to make the vice respectable. When we had made an end of our meal, my uncle Ebenez- er 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 wind- 28 KIDNAPPED ows and silently smoked. From time to time his eyes came coasting round to me, and he shot out one of his questions. Once it was, "And your mother?" and when I had told him that she, too, was dead, "Ay, she was a bonnie lassie!" Then after another long pause, "Whae were these friends o' yours?" I told him they were different gentlemen of the name of Campbell; though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, that had ever taken the least note of me; but I be- gan to think my uncle made too light of my position, and finding myself all alone with him, I did not wish him to sup- pose me helpless. He seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, "Davie my man," said he, "ye've come to the right bit when ye came to your Uncle Ebenezer. I've a great notion of the family, and I mean to do the right by you; but while I'm taking a bit think to mysel' of what's the best thing to put you to— wheth- er 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 mes- sages; no kind of word to onybody; or else— there's my door." "Uncle Ebenezer," said I, "I've no manner of reason to suppose you mean anything but well by me. For all that, I would have you to know that I have a pride of my own. It was by no will of mine that I came seeking you; and if you show me your door again, I'll take you at the word." He seemed grievously put out. "Hoots-toots," said he, "ca' cannie, man— ca' canniel Bide a day or two. I'm nae war- lock, to find a fortune for you in the bottom of a parritch bowl; but just you give me a day or two, and say naething to naebody, and as sure as sure, I'll do the right by you." "Very well," said I, "enough said. If you want to help me. KIDNAPPED 29 there's no doubt but I'll be glad of it, and none but I'll be grateful." It seemed to me (too soon, I daresay) that I was getting the upper hand of my uncle; and I began next to say that I must have the bed and bedclothes aired and put to sun-dry! for nothing would make me sleep in such a pickle. "Is this my house or yours?" said he, in his keen voice, and then all of a sudden broke off. "Na, na," said he, "I dinnae mean that. What's mine is yours, Davie my man, and what's yours is mine. Blood's thicker than water; and there's no- body but you and me that ought the name." And then on he rambled about the family, and its ancient greatness, and his father that began to enlarge the house, and himself that stopped the building as a sinful waste; and this put it in my head to give him Jennet Clouston's message. "The limmer!" he cried. "Twelve hunner and fifteen— that's every day since I had the limmer row-pit!* 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." And with that he opened a chest, and got out a very old' and well-preserved blue coat and waistcoat, and a good enough beaver hat, both without lace. These he threw on any way, and taking a staff from the cupboard, locked all up again, and was for setting out, when a thought arrested him. "I cahnae leave you by yoursel' in the house," said he. "I'll have to lock you out." The blood came into my face. "If you lock me out," I said, "it'll be the last you see of me in friendship." He turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in. "This is no way," he said, looking wickedly at a corner of the floor— "this is no way to win my favour, David." * Sold up. 50 KIDNAPPED "Sir," says I, "with a proper reverence for your age and our common blood, I do not value your favour at a boddle's pur- chase. I was brought up to have a good conceit of myself; and if you were all the uncle, and all the family, I had in the world ten times over, I wouldn't buy your liking at such prices." Uncle Ebenezer went and looked out of the window for a while. I could see him all trembling and twitching, like a man with palsy. But when he turned round, he had a smile upon his face. "Well, well," said he, "we must bear and forbear. I'll no go; that's all that's to be said of it." "Uncle Ebenezer," I said, "I can make nothing out of this. You use me like a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you let me see it, every word and every minute; it's not pos- sible 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 mel" "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 could- nae let you leave the way ye came. Bide here quiet, there's a good lad; just you bide here quiet a bittie, and ye'll find that we agree." "Well, sir," said I, after I had thought the matter out in silence, "I'll stay a while. 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." KIDNAPPED 31 CHAPTER IV I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS pOR a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. -*■ We had the porridge cold again at noon, and hot pot' ridge at night: porridge and small beer was my uncle's diet. He spoke but little, and that in the same way as before, shoot- ing a question at me after a long silence; and when I sought to lead him in talk about my future, slipped out of it again. In a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go, I found a great number of books, both Latin and English, in which I took great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed the time passed so lightly in this good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my residence at Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playing hide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust. One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an entry on the fly-leaf of a chapbook (one of Patrick Walker's) plainly written by my father's hand and thus con- ceived: "To my brother Ebenezer on his fifth birthday." Now, what puzzled me was this: That as my father was of course the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error, or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clear, manly hand of writing. I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down many interesting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, this notion of my father's hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length I went back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and small beer, the first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my father had not been very quick at his book. 38 KIDNAPPED "Alexander? No him!" was the reply. "I was far quicker mysel'; I was a clever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon as he could." This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked if he and my father had been twins. He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon the floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and caught me by the breast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes; his own, which were little and light, and bright like a bird's, blinking and winking strange- ly- "What do you mean!" I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger than he, and not easily frightened. "Take your hand from my jacket. This is no way to behave." My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod, man David," he said, "ye shouldnae speak to me about your father. That's where the mistake is." He sat a while and shook, blinking in his plate: "He was all the brother that ever I had," he added, but with no heart in his voice; and then he caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but still shaking. Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person and sudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond my comprehension that it put me into both fear and hope. On the one hand, I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous; on the other, there came up into my mind (quite unbidden by me and even dis- couraged) 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? KIDNAPPED 33 With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless ;etting firmly settled in my head, I now began to imitate his overt looks; so that we sat at table like a cat and a mouse, ach stealthily observing the other. Not another word had he o say to me, black or white, but was busy turning something ecretly over in his mind; and the longer we sat and the more looked at him, the more certain I became that the some- hing was unfriendly to myself. When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipe- ul of tobacco, just as in the morning, turned round a stool nto the chimney corner, and sat a while smoking, with his )ack to me. "Davie," he said, at length, "I've been thinking;" then he >aused, and said it again. "There's a wee bit siller that I half tromised ye before ye were born," he continued; "promised t to your father. O, naething legal, ye understand; just gentle- tien daffing at their wine. Well, I keepit that bit money eparate— it was a great expense, but a promise is a promise— nd it has grown by now to be a maitter of just precisely— ust exactly"— and here he paused and stumbled— "of just xactly forty pounds!" This last he rapped out with a side- ang glance over his shoulder; and the next moment added, Imost with a scream, "Scots!" The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shil- ing, the difference made by this second thought was consid- rable; I could see, , besides, that the whole story was a lie, [ivented with some end which it puzzled me to guess; and made no attempt to conceal the tone of raillery in which I nswered: "O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!" "That's what I said," returned my uncle; "pounds sterling! Lnd if you'll step out-by to the door a minute, just to see 84 KIDNAPPED what kind of a night it is, I'll get it out to ye and call ye in again." I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars low down; and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a hollow moaning of wind far off among the hills. I said to myself there was something thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vast im- portance that should prove to me before the evening passed. When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and thirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold and silver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change into his pocket. "There," said he, "that'll show you! I'm a queer man and strange wi' strangers; but my word is my bond, and there's the proof of it." Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this sudden generosity, and could find no words in which to thank him. "No a word!" said he. "Nae thanks; I want nae thanks. I do my duty; I'm no saying that everybody would have done it; but for my part (though I'm a careful body, too) it's a pleasure to me to do the right by my brother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to think that now we'll can agree as such near friends should." I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able; but all the while I was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted with his precious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would have refused it. Presently, he looked towards me sideways: "And see here," says he, "tit for tat." I told him 1 was ready to prove my gratitude in any reason- KIDNAPPED 35 le degree, and then waited, looking for some monstrous mand. And yet, when at last he plucked up courage to :ak, it was only to tell me (very properly, as I thought) It he was growing old and a little broken, and that he luld expect me to help him with the house and the bit rden. I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve. "Well," he said, "let's begin." He pulled out of his pocket rusty key. "There," says he, "there's the key of the stair- ver at the far end of the house. Ye can only win into it )m the outside, for that part of the house is no finished, mg ye in there, and up the stairs, and bring me down the est that's at the top. There's papers in't," he added. "Can I have a light, sir?" said I. "Na," said he, very cunningly. "Nae lights in my house." "Very well, sir," said I. "Are the stairs good?" "They're grand," said he; and then as I was going, "Keep the wall," he added; "there's nae banisters. But the stairs ; grand underfoot." Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in : distance, though never a breath of it came near the house Shaws. It had fallen blacker than ever; and I was glad to :1 along the wall, till I came the length of the stair-tower or at the far end of the unfinished wing. I had got the key ;o the keyhole and had just turned it, when all upon a sud- n, without sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky was hted up with wild fire and went black again. I had to put I hand over my eyes to get back to the colour of the dark- ss; and indeed I was already half blinded when I stepped ;o the tower. [t was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe, I I pushed out with foot and hand, and presently struck the 36 KIDNAPPED 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 mason-work, and regular and solid underfoot. Mind- ing my uncle's word about the banisters, I kept close to the tower side, and felt my way up in the pitch darkness with a beating heart. The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not counting lofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and a thought more lightsome; and I was wondering what might be the cause of this change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went. If I did not cry out, it was because fear had me by the throat; and if I did not fall, it was more by Heaven's mercy than my own strength. It was not only that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in the wall, so that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but the same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length, and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of the well. This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust of a kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here, certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settle that "perhaps," if I should break my neck for it; got me down upon my hands and knees; and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me every inch, and testing the solidity of every stone, I continued to ascend the stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to have redoubled; nor was that all; for my ears were now troubled and my mind confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and the foul beasts, flying down- wards, sometimes beat about my face and body. KIDNAPPED 37 rhe tower, I should have said, was square; and in every ner the step was made of a great stone of a different shape, join the flights. Well, I had come close to one of these ns, when, feeling forward as usual, my hand slipped upon edge and found nothing but emptiness beyond it. The r had been carried no higher: to set a stranger mounting n the darkness was to send him straight to his death; and though, thanks to the lightning and my own precautions, 'as safe enough) the mere thought of the peril in which I jht have stood, and the dreadful height I might have fallen tn, brought out the sweat upon my body and relaxed my Its. iut I knew what I wanted now, and turned and groped way down again, with a wonderful anger in my heart, out half-way down, the wind sprang up in a clap and lok the tower, and died again; the rain followed; and be- e I had reached the ground level, it fell in buckets. I put : my head into the storm, and looked along towards the :hen. The door, which I had shut behind me when I left, V stood open, and shed a little glimmer of light; and I lught I could see a figure standing in the rain, quite still, ; a man hearkening. And then there came a blinding h, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where I had cied him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great r-Tow of thunder. "Jow, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound 3iy fall, or whether he heard in it God's voice denouncing rder, I will leave you to guess. Certain it is, at least, that was seized on by a kind of panic fear, and that he ran 3 the house and left the door open behind him. I followed softly as I could, and coming unheard into the kitchen, id and watched him. S8 KIDNAPPED He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case bottle of aqua vitas, and now sat with his back towards me at the table. Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering and groan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the raw spirits by the mouthful. I stepped forward, came close behind him where he .sat, and suddenly clapping my two hands down upon his shoul- ders-" Ah!" cried I. » My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat, flung up his arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shocked at this; but I had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitate to let him lie as he had fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard; and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and the power of devising evil. In the cup- board 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 neces- saries, that were nothing to my purpose. Thence I turned to the chests. The first was full of meal; the second of money- bags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with many other things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty, ugly-looking Highland dirk without the scabbard. This, then, I concealed inside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle. He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one arm sprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemed to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then I got water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come a little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids. At last be KIDNAPPED 39 3oked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror hat was not of this world. "Come, come," said I, "sit up." "Are ye alive?" he sobbed. "O man, are ye alive?" "That am I," said I. "Small thanks to youl" He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. "The ilue phial," said he— "in the aumry— the blue phial." His ireath came slower still. I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a ilue phial of medicine, with the dose written on it on a laper, and this I administered to him with what speed I light. "It's the trouble," said he, reviving a little; "I have a rouble, Davie. It's the heart." I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt ame pity for a man that looked so sick, but I was full besides f righteous anger; and I numbered over before him the oints on which I wanted explanation: why he lied to me at very word; why he feared that I should leave him; why he isliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins— "Is lat because it is true?" I asked; why he had given me money ) which I was convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why e had tried to kill me. He heard me all through in silence; nd then, in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed. "I'll tell ye the morn," he said; "as sure as death I will." And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent, locked him into his room, however, and pocketed the key, id then returning to the kitchen, made up such a blaze as ad not shone there for many a long year, and wrapping my- :1£ in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fell asleep. 4» KIDNAPPED CHAPTER V I GO TO THE QUEEN'S FERRlf ly/rUCH rain fell in the night; and the next morning there -*■'■'• blew a bitter wintry wind out of the north-west, driv- ing scattered clouds. For all that, and before the sun began to peep or the last of the stars had vanished, I made my way to the side of the burn, and had a plunge in a deep whirling pool. All aglow from my bath, I sat down once more beside the fire, which I replenished, and began gravely to consider my position. There was now no doubt about my uncle's enmity; there was no doubt I carried my life in my hand, and he would leave no stone unturned that he might compass my destruc- tion. But I was young and spirited, and like most lads that have been country-bred, I had a great opinion of my shrewd- ness. I had come to his door no better than a beggar and little more than a child; he had met me with treachery and vio- lence; it would be a fine consummation to take the upper hand, and drive him like a herd of sheep. I sat there nursing my knee and smiling at the fire; and I saw myself in fancy smell out his secrets one after another, and grow to be that man's king and ruler. The warlock of Essendean, they say, had made a mirror in which men could read the future; it must have been of other stuff than burn- ing coal; for in all the shapes and pictures that I sat and gared at, there was never a ship, never a seaman with a hairy cap, never a big bludgeon for my silly head, or the least sign of all those tribulations that were ripe to fall on me. Presently, all swollen with conceit, I went up-stairs and gave my prisoner his liberty. He gave me good morning KIDNAPPED 41 civilly; and I gave the same to him, smiling down upon him from the heights of my sufficiency. Soon we were set to break- fast, as it might have been the day before. "Well, sir," said I, with a jeering tone, "have you nothing more to say to me?" And then, as he made no articulate re- ply, "It will be time, I think, to understand each other," I continued. "You took me for a country Johnnie Raw, with no more mother-wit or courage than a porridge-stick. I took you for a good man, or no worse than others at the least. It seems we were both wrong. What cause you have to fear me, to cheat me, and to attempt my life " He murmured something about a jest, and that he liked a bit of fun; and then, seeing me smile, changed his tone, and assured me he would make all clear as soon as we had breakfasted. I saw by his face that he had no lie ready for me, though he was hard at work preparing one; and I think I was about to tell him so, when we were interrupted by a knocking at the door. Bidding my uncle sit where he was, I went to open it, and found on the doorstep a half-grown boy in sea-clothes. He had no sooner seen me than he began to dance some steps of the sea-hornpipe (which I had never before heard of, far less seen) snapping his fingers in the air and footing it right cleverly. For all that, he was blue with the cold; and there was something in his face, a look between tears and laughter, that was highly pathetic and consisted ill with this gaiety of manner. "What cheer, mate?" says he, with a cracked voice. I asked him soberly to name his pleasure. "O, pleasure!" says he; and then began to sing: "For it'k my delight, of a shiny night In the season of the year." 42 KIDNAPPED "Well," said I, "if you have no pleasure at all, I will even be so unmannerly as shut you out." "Stay, brother!" he cried. "Have you no fun about you? or do you want to get me thrashed? I've brought a letter from old Heasy-oasy to Mr. Belflower." He showed me a letter as he spoke. "And I say, mate," he added, "I'm mortal hungry." "Well," said I, "come into the house, and you shall have a bite if I go empty for it." With that I brought him in and set him down to my own place, where he fell-to greedily on the remains of breakfast, winking to me between whiles, and making many faces, which I think the poor soul considered manly. Meanwhile, my uncle had read the letter and sat thinking; then, sud- denly, he got to his feet with a great air of liveliness, and pulled me apart into the furthest corner of the room. "Read that," said he, and put the letter in my hand. Here it is, lying before me as I write: "The Hawes Inn, at the Queen's Ferry. "Sir, — ^I lie here with my hawser up and down, and send my cabin-boy to informe. If you have any further commands for ever-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,* Mr. Rankeillor; of which, if not speedily redd up, you may looke to see some losses follow. I have drawn a bill upon you, as per margin, and am, sir, your most obedt, humble servant, Elias Hoseason." "You see, Davie," resumed my uncle, as soon as he saw that I had done, "I have a venture with this man Hoseason, the captain of a trading brig, the Covenant, of Dysart. Now, if you and me was to walk over with yon lad, I could see the * Agent. KIDNAPPED 43 captain at the Hawes, or maybe on board the Covenant, if there was papers to be signed; and so far from a loss of time, we can jog on to the lawyer, Mr. Rankeillor's. After a' that's cpme and gone, ye would be swierf to believe me upon my naked word; but ye'll can believe Rankeillor. He's factor to half the gentry in these parts; an auld man, forby: highly respeckit; and he kenned your father." I stood awhile and thought. I was going to some place of shipping, which was doubtless populous, and where my uncle durst attempt no violence, and, indeed, even the society of the cabinrboy so far protected me. Once there, I believed I could force on the visit to the laTAryer, even if my uncle were now insincere in proposing it; and perhaps, in the bottom of my heart, I wished a nearer view of the sea and ships. You are to remember I had lived all my life in the inland hills, and just two days before had my first sight of the firth lying like a blue floor, and the sailed ships moving on the face of it, no bigger than toys. One thing with another, I made up my mind. "Very well," said I, "let us go to the ferry." My uncle got into his hat and coat, and buckled an old rusty cutlass on; and then we trod the fire out, locked the door, and set forth upon our walk. The wind, being in that cold quarter, the north-west, blew nearly in our faces as we went. It was the month of June; the grass was all white with daisies and the trees with blos- som; but, to judge by our blue nails and aching wrists, the time might have been winter and the whiteness a December frost. Uncle Ebenezer trudged in the ditch, jogging from side to t Unwilling. 44 KIDNAPPED 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 re- membered, but more like a silly schoolboy than a man; and boasted of many wild and bad things that he had done: stealthy thefts, false accusations, ay, and even murder; but all with such a dearth of likelihood in the details, and such a weak and crazy swagger in the delivery, as disposed me rather to pity than to believe him. I asked him of the brig (which he declared was the finest ship that sailed) and of Captain Hoseason, in whose praise he was equally loud. Heasy-oasy (for so he still named the skipper) was a man, by his account, that minded for noth- ing 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, fed wound that made my blood run cold. "He done that Mr. Shuan done it," he said, with an air of pride. "What!" I cried, "do you take such savage usage at his hands? Why, you are no slave to be so handled!" "No," said the poor moon