David Balfour

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  CHAPTER IV

  LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE

  My kinsman kept me to a meal, "for the honour of the roof," he said; andI believe I made the better speed on my return. I had no thought but tobe done with the next stage, and have myself fully committed; to aperson circumstanced as I was, the appearance of closing a door onhesitation and temptation was itself extremely tempting; and I was themore disappointed, when I came to Prestongrange's house, to be informedhe was abroad. I believe it was true at the moment, and for some hoursafter; and then I have no doubt the Advocate came home again, andenjoyed himself in a neighbouring chamber among friends, while perhapsthe very fact of my arrival was forgotten. I would have gone away adozen times, only for this strong drawing to have done with mydeclaration out of hand and be able to lay me down to sleep with a freeconscience. At first I read, for the little cabinet where I was leftcontained a variety of books. But I fear I read with little profit; andthe weather falling cloudy, the dusk coming up earlier than usual, andmy cabinet being lighted with but a loophole of a window, I was at lastobliged to desist from this diversion (such as it was), and pass therest of my time of waiting in a very burthensome vacuity. The sound ofpeople 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.

  I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long come, when the door ofthe cabinet opened, and I was aware, by the light behind him, of a tallfigure of a man upon the threshold. I rose at once.

  "Is anybody there?" he asked. "Who is that?"

  "I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the Lord Advocate,"said I.

  "Have you been here long?" he asked.

  "I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many hours," said I.

  "It is the first I hear of it," he replied, with a chuckle. "The ladsmust have forgotten you. But you are in the bit at last, for I amPrestongrange."

  So saying, he passed before me into the next room, whither (upon hissign) I followed him, and where he lit a candle and took his placebefore a business-table. It was a long room, of a good proportion,wholly lined with books. That small spark of light in a corner struckout the man's handsome person and strong face. He was flushed, his eyewatered and sparkled, and before he sat down I observed him to sway backand forth. No doubt he had been supping liberally; but his mind andtongue were under full control.

  "Well, sir, sit ye down," said he, "and let us see Pilrig's letter."

  He glanced it through in the beginning carelessly, looking up and bowingwhen he came to my name; but at the last words I thought I observed hisattention to redouble, and I made sure he read them twice. All thiswhile you are to suppose my heart was beating, for I had now crossed myRubicon and was come fairly on the field of battle.

  "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Balfour," he said, when hehad done. "Let me offer you a glass of claret."

  "Under your favour, my lord, I think it would scarce be fair on me,"said I. "I have come here, as the letter will have mentioned, on abusiness of some gravity to myself; and as I am little used with wine, Imight be the sooner affected."

  "You shall be the judge," said he. "But if you will permit, I believe Iwill even have the bottle in myself."

  He touched a bell, and the footman came, as at a signal, bringing wineand glasses.

  "You are sure you will not join me?" asked the Advocate. "Well, here isto our better acquaintance! In what way can I serve you?"

  "I should perhaps begin by telling you, my lord, that I am here at yourown pressing invitation," said I.

  "You have the advantage of me somewhere," said he, "for I profess Ithink I never heard of you before this evening."

  "Right, my lord; the name is indeed new to you," said I. "And yet youhave been for some time extremely wishful to make my acquaintance, andhave declared the same in public."

  "I wish you would afford me a clue," says he. "I am no Daniel."

  "It will perhaps serve for such," said I, "that if I was in a jestinghumour--which is far from the case--I believe I might lay a claim onyour lordship for two hundred pounds."

  "In what sense?" he inquired.

  "In the sense of rewards offered for my person," said I.

  He thrust away his glass once and for all, and sat straight up in thechair where he had been previously lolling. "What am I to understand?"said he.

  "_A tall strong lad of about eighteen_," I quoted, "_speaks like aLowlander, and has no beard_."

  "I recognise those words," said he, "which, if you have come here withany ill-judged intention of amusing yourself, are like to proveextremely prejudicial to your safety."

  "My purpose in this," I replied, "is just entirely as serious as lifeand death, and you have understood me perfectly. I am the boy who wasspeaking with Glenure when he was shot."

  "I can only suppose (seeing you here) that you claim to be innocent,"said he.

  "The inference is clear," I said. "I am a very loyal subject to KingGeorge, but if I had anything to reproach myself with, I would have hadmore discretion than to walk into your den."

  "I am glad of that," said he. "This horrid crime, Mr. Balfour, is of adye which cannot permit any clemency. Blood has been barbarously shed.It has been shed in direct opposition to his Majesty and our whole frameof laws, by those who are their known and public oppugnants. I take avery high sense of this. I will not deny that I consider the crime asdirectly personal to his Majesty."

  "And unfortunately, my lord," I added a little drily, "directly personalto another great personage who may be nameless."

  "If you mean anything by those words, I must tell you I consider themunfit for a good subject; and were they spoke publicly I should make itmy business to take note of them," said he. "You do not appear to me torecognise the gravity of your situation, or you would be more carefulnot to pejorate the same by words which glance upon the purity ofjustice. Justice, in this country, and in my poor hands, is no respecterof persons."

  "You give me too great a share in my own speech, my lord," said I. "Idid but repeat the common talk of the country, which I have heardeverywhere, and from men of all opinions as I came along."

  "When you are come to more discretion you will understand such talk isnot to be listened to, how much less repeated," says the Advocate. "ButI acquit you of an ill intention. That nobleman, whom we all honour andwho has indeed been wounded in a near place by the late barbarity, sitstoo high to be reached by these aspersions. The Duke of Argyle--you seethat I deal plainly with you--takes it to heart as I do, and as we areboth bound to do by our judicial functions and the service of hisMajesty; and I could wish that all hands, in this ill age, were equallyclean of family rancour. But from the accident that this is a Campbellwho has fallen martyr to his duty--as who else but the Campbells haveever put themselves foremost on that path? I may say it, who am noCampbell--and that the chief of that great house happens (for all ouradvantages) to be the present head of the College of Justice, smallminds and disaffected tongues are set agog in every changehouse in thecountry; and I find a young gentleman like Mr. Balfour so ill-advised asto make himself their echo." So much he spoke with a very oratoricaldelivery, as if in court, and then declined again upon the manner of agentleman. "All this apart," said he. "It now remains that I shouldlearn what I am to do with you."

  "I had thought it was rather I that should learn the same from yourlordship," said I.

  "Ay, true," says the Advocate. "But, you see, you come to me wellrecommended. There is a good honest Whig name to this letter," says he,picking it up a moment from the table. "And--extra-judicially, Mr.Balfour--there is always the possibility of some arrangement. I tellyou, and I tell you beforehand that you may be the more upon your guard,your fate lies with me singly. In such a matter (be it said withreverence) I am more powerful than the king's Majesty; and should youplease me--and of course satisfy my conscience--in what remains to beheld of our interview, I tell you it may remain between ourselves."

  "Meaning how?
" I asked.

  "Why, I mean it thus, Mr. Balfour," said he, "that if you givesatisfaction, no soul need know so much as that you visited my house;and you may observe that I do not even call my clerk."

  I saw what way he was driving. "I suppose it is needless anyone shouldbe informed upon my visit," said I, "though the precise nature of mygains by that I cannot see. I am not at all ashamed of coming here."

  "And have no cause to be," says he, encouragingly. "Nor yet (if you arecareful) to fear the consequences."

  "My lord," said I, "speaking under your correction, I am not very easyto be frightened."

  "And I am sure I do not seek to frighten you," says he. "But to theinterrogation; and let me warn you to volunteer nothing beyond thequestions I shall ask you. It may consist very immediately with yoursafety. I have a great discretion, it is true, but there are bounds toit."

  "I shall try to follow your lordship's advice," said I.

  He spread a sheet of paper on the table and wrote a heading. "It appearsyou were present, by the way, in the wood of Lettermore at the moment ofthe fatal shot," he began. "Was this by accident?"

  "By accident," said I.

  "How came you in speech with Colin Campbell?" he asked.

  "I was inquiring my way of him to Aucharn," I replied.

  I observed he did not write this answer down.

  "H'm, true," said he, "I had forgotten that. And do you know, Mr.Balfour, I would dwell, if I were you, as little as might be on yourrelations with these Stewarts? It might be found to complicate ourbusiness. I am not yet inclined to regard these matters as essential."

  "I had thought, my lord, that all points of fact were equally materialin such a case," said I.

  "You forget we are now trying these Stewarts," he replied, with greatsignificance. "If we should ever come to be trying you, it will be verydifferent; and I shall press these very questions that I am now willingto glide upon. But to resume: I have it here in Mr. Mungo Campbell'sprecognition that you ran immediately up the brae. How came that?"

  "Not immediately, my lord, and the cause was my seeing of the murderer."

  "You saw him, then?"

  "As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near hand."

  "You know him?"

  "I should know him again."

  "In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as to overtake him?"

  "I was not."

  "Was he alone?"

  "He was alone."

  "There was no one else in that neighbourhood?"

  "Alan Breck Stewart was not far off, in a piece of a wood."

  The Advocate laid his pen down. "I think we are playing at crosspurposes," said he, "which you will find to prove a very ill amusementfor yourself."

  "I content myself with following your lordship's advice, and answeringwhat I am asked," said I.

  "Be so wise as to bethink yourself in time," said he. "I use you withthe most anxious tenderness, which you scarce seem to appreciate, andwhich (unless you be more careful) may prove to be in vain."

  "I do appreciate your tenderness, but conceive it to be mistaken," Ireplied, with something of a falter, for I saw we were come to grips atlast. "I am here to lay before you certain information, by which I shallconvince you Alan had no hand whatever in the killing of Glenure."

  The Advocate appeared for a moment at a stick, sitting with pursed lips,and blinking his eyes upon me like an angry cat. "Mr. Balfour," he saidat last, "I tell you pointedly you go an ill way for your owninterests."

  "My lord," I said, "I am as free of the charge of considering my owninterests in this matter as your lordship. As God judges me, I have butthe one design, and that is to see justice executed and the innocent goclear. If in pursuit of that I come to fall under your lordship'sdispleasure, I must bear it as I may."

  At this he rose from his chair, lit a second candle, and for a whilegazed upon me steadily. I was surprised to see a great change of gravityfallen upon his face, and I could have almost thought he was a littlepale.

  "You are either very simple, or extremely the reverse, and I see that Imust deal with you more confidentially," says he. "This is a politicalcase--ah, yes, Mr. Balfour! whether we like it or no, the case ispolitical--and I tremble when I think what issues may depend from it. Toa political case, I need scarce tell a young man of your education, weapproach with very different thoughts from one which is criminal only._Salus populi suprema lex_ is a maxim susceptible of great abuse, but ithas that force which we find elsewhere only in the laws of nature: Imean it has the force of necessity. I will open this out to you, if youwill allow me, at more length. You would have me believe--"

  "Under your pardon, my lord, I would have you to believe nothing butthat which I can prove," said I.

  "Tut! tut! young gentleman," says he, "be not so pragmatical, and suffera man who might be your father (if it was nothing more) to employ hisown imperfect language, and express his own poor thoughts, even whenthey have the misfortune not to coincide with Mr. Balfour's. You wouldhave me to believe Breck innocent. I would think this of little account,the more so as we cannot catch our man. But the matter of Breck'sinnocence shoots beyond itself. Once admitted, it would destroy thewhole presumptions of our case against another and a very differentcriminal; a man grown old in treason, already twice in arms against hisking and already twice forgiven; a fomenter of discontent, and (whoevermay have fired the shot) the unmistakable original of the deed inquestion. I need not tell you that I mean James Stewart."

  "And I can just say plainly that the innocence of Alan and of James iswhat I am here to declare in private to your lordship, and what I amprepared to establish at the trial by my testimony," said I.

  "To which I can only answer by an equal plainness, Mr. Balfour," saidhe, "that (in that case) your testimony will not be called by me, and Idesire you to withhold it altogether."

  "You are at the head of Justice in this country," I cried, "and youpropose to me a crime!"

  "I am a man nursing with both hands the interests of this country," hereplied, "and I press on you a political necessity. Patriotism is notalways moral in the formal sense. You might be glad of it, I think: itis your own protection; the facts are heavy against you; and if I amstill trying to except you from a very dangerous place, it is in part ofcourse because I am not insensible to your honesty in coming here; inpart because of Pilrig's letter; but in part, and in chief part, becauseI regard in this matter my political duty first and my judicial dutyonly second. For the same reason--I repeat it to you in the same frankwords--I do not want your testimony."

  "I desire not to be thought to make a repartee, when I express only theplain sense of our position," said I. "But if your lordship has no needof my testimony, I believe the other side would be extremely blythe toget it."

  Prestongrange arose and began to pace to and fro in the room. "You arenot so young," he said, "but what you must remember very clearly theyear '45 and the shock that went about the country. I read in Pilrig'sletter that you are sound in Kirk and State. Who saved them in thatfatal year? I do not refer to his Royal Highness and his ramrods, whichwere extremely useful in their day; but the country had been saved andthe field won before ever Cumberland came upon Drummossie. Who saved it?I repeat; who saved the Protestant religion and the whole frame of ourcivil institutions? The late Lord President Culloden, for one; he playeda man's part, and small thanks he got for it--even as I, whom you seebefore you, straining every nerve in the same service, look for noreward beyond the conscience of my duties done. After the President, whoelse? You know the answer as well as I do; 'tis partly a scandal, andyou glanced at it yourself, and I reproved you for it, when you firstcame in. It was the Duke and the great clan of Campbell. Now here is aCampbell foully murdered, and that in the King's service. The Duke and Iare Highlanders. But we are Highlanders civilised, and it is not so withthe great mass of our clans and families. They have still savage virtuesand defects. They are still barbarians, like these Stewarts; only theCampbells were barbarians
on the right side, and the Stewarts werebarbarians on the wrong. Now be you the judge. The Campbells expectvengeance. If they do not get it--if this man James escape--there willbe trouble with the Campbells. That means disturbance in the Highlands,which are uneasy and very far from being disarmed: the disarming is afarce...."

  "I can bear you out in that," said I.

  "Disturbance in the Highlands makes the hour of our old watchful enemy,"pursued his lordship, holding out a finger as he paced; "and I give youmy word we may have a '45 again with the Campbells on the other side. Toprotect the life of this man Stewart--which is forfeit already onhalf-a-dozen different counts if not on this--do you propose to plungeyour country in war, to jeopardise the faith of your fathers, and toexpose the lives and fortunes of how many thousand innocent persons? . . .These are considerations that weigh with me, and that I hope will weighno less with yourself, Mr. Balfour, as a lover of your country, goodgovernment, and religious truth."

  "You deal with me very frankly, and I thank you for it," said I. "I willtry on my side to be no less honest. I believe your policy to be sound.I believe these deep duties may lie upon your lordship; I believe youmay have laid them on your conscience when you took the oaths of thehigh office which you hold. But for me, who am just a plain man--orscarce a man yet--the plain duties must suffice. I can think but of twothings, of a poor soul in the immediate and unjust danger of a shamefuldeath, and of the cries and tears of his wife that still tingle in myhead. I cannot see beyond, my lord. It's the way that I am made. If thecountry has to fall, it has to fall. And I pray God, if this be wilfulblindness, that he may enlighten me before too late."

  He had heard me motionless, and stood so a while longer.

  "This is an unexpected obstacle," says he, aloud, but to himself.

  "And how is your lordship to dispose of me?" I asked.

  "If I wished," said he, "you know that you might sleep in gaol?"

  "My lord," says I, "I have slept in worse places."

  "Well, my boy," said he, "there is one thing appears very plainly fromour interview, that I may rely on your pledged word. Give me your honourthat you will be wholly secret, not only on what has passed to-night,but in the matter of the Appin case, and I let you go free."

  "I will give it till to-morrow or any other near day that you may pleaseto set," said I. "I would not be thought too wily; but if I gave thepromise without qualification, your lordship would have attained hisend."

  "I had no thought to entrap you," said he.

  "I am sure of that," said I.

  "Let me see," he continued. "To-morrow is the Sabbath. Come to me onMonday by eight in the morning, and give me your promise until then."

  "Freely given, my lord," said I. "And with regard to what has fallenfrom yourself, I will give it for as long as it shall please God tospare your days."

  "You will observe," he said next, "that I have made no employment ofmenaces."

  "It was like your lordship's nobility," said I. "Yet I am not altogetherso dull but what I can perceive the nature of those you have notuttered."

  "Well," said he, "good-night to you. May you sleep well, for I think itis more than I am like to do."

  With that he sighed, took up a candle, and gave me his conveyance as faras the street door.

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