David Balfour

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  CHAPTER XII

  ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN

  It was likely between one and two; the moon (as I have said) was down; astrongish wind, carrying a heavy wrack of cloud, had set in suddenlyfrom the west; and we began our movement in as black a night as ever afugitive or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided us intothe sleeping town of Broughton, thence through Picardy, and beside myold acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little beyond we madea useful beacon, which was a light in an upper window of Lochend.Steering by this, but a good deal at random, and with some trampling ofthe harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the banks, we made ourway across country, and won forth at last upon the linky, boggy muirlandthat they call the Figgate Whins. Here, under a bush of whin, we laydown the remainder of that night and slumbered.

  The day called us about five. A beautiful morning it was, the highwesterly wind still blowing strong, but the clouds all blown away toEurope. Alan was already sitting up and smiling to himself. It was myfirst sight of my friend since we were parted, and I looked upon himwith enjoyment. He had still the same big great-coat on his back; but(what was new) he had now a pair of knitted boot-hose drawn above theknee. Doubtless these were intended for disguise; but, as the daypromised to be warm, he made a most unseasonable figure.

  "Well, Davie," said he, "is this no a bonny morning? Here is a day thatlooks the way that a day ought to. This is a great change of it from thebelly of my haystack; and while you were there sottering and sleeping Ihave done a thing that maybe I do over seldom."

  "And what was that?" said I.

  "O, just said my prayers," said he.

  "And where are my gentry, as ye call them?" I asked.

  "Gude kens," says he; "and the short and the long of it is that we musttake our chance of them. Up with your foot-soles, Davie! Forth, Fortune,once again of it! And a bonny walk we are like to have."

  So we went east by the beach of the sea, towards where the salt-panswere smoking in by the Esk mouth. No doubt there was a by-ordinary bonnyblink of morning sun on Arthur's Seat and the green Pentlands; and thepleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan among nettles.

  "I feel like a gomeral," says he, "to be leaving Scotland on a day likethis. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it better to stay hereand hing."

  "Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan," said I.

  "No but what France is a good place too," he explained; "but it's someway no the same. It's brawer, I believe, but it's no Scotland. I like itfine when I'm there, man; yet I kind of weary for Scots divots and theScots peat-reek."

  "If that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such greataffair," said I.

  "And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, "and me butnew out of yon de'il's haystack."

  "And so you were unco' weary of your haystack?" I asked.

  "Weary's nae word for it," said he. "I'm not just precisely a man that'seasily cast down; but I do better with caller air and the lift above myhead. I'm like the auld Black Douglas (wasnae't?) that likit better tohear the laverock sing than the mouse cheep. And yon place, ye see,Davie--whilk was a very suitable place to hide in, as I'm free toown--was pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. There were days (or nights, forhow would I tell one from other?) that seemed to me as long as a longwinter."

  "How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?" I asked.

  "The goodman brought me my meat and a drop brandy, and a candle-dowp toeat it by, about eleeven," said he. "So, when I had swallowed a bit, itwould be time to be getting to the wood. There I lay and wearied for yesore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "and guessed whenthe two hours would be about by--unless Charlie Stewart would come andtell me on his watch--and then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was adriech employ, and praise the Lord that I have warstled through withit!"

  "What did you do with yourself?" I asked.

  "Faith," said he, "the best I could! Whiles I played at theknucklebones. I'm an extraordinar good hand at the knucklebones, butit's a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire ye. Andwhiles I would make songs."

  "What were they about?" says I.

  "O, about the deer and the heather," says he, "and about the ancient oldchiefs that are all by with it long syne, and just about what songs areabout in general. And then whiles I would make believe I had a set ofpipes and I was playing. I played some grand springs, and I thought Iplayed them awful bonny; I vow whiles that I could hear the squeal ofthem! But the great affair is that it's done with."

  With that he carried me again to my adventures, which he heard all overagain with more particularity, and extraordinary approval, swearing atintervals that I was "a queer character of a callant."

  "So ye were frich'ened of Sym Fraser?" he asked once.

  "In troth was I!" cried I.

  "So would I have been, Davie," said he. "And that is indeed a dreidfulman. But it is only proper to give the de'il his due; and I can tell youhe is a most respectable person on the field of war."

  "Is he so brave?" I asked.

  "Brave!" said he. "He is as brave as my steel sword."

  The story of my duel set him beside himself.

  "To think of that!" he cried. "I showed ye the trick in Corrynakieghtoo. And three times--three times disarmed! It's a disgrace upon mycharacter that learned ye! Here, stand up, out with your airn; ye shallwalk no step beyond this place upon the road till ye can do yoursel' andme mair credit."

  "Alan," said I, "this is midsummer madness. Here is no time for fencinglessons."

  "I cannae well say no to that," he admitted. "But three times, man! Andyou standing there like a straw bogle and rinning to fetch your ainsword like a doggie with a pocket-napkin! David, this man Duncansby mustbe something altogether by-ordinar! He maun be extraordinar skilly. If Ihad the time, I would gang straight back and try a turn at him mysel'.The man must be a provost."

  "You silly fellow," said I, "you forget it was just me."

  "Na," said he, "but three times!"

  "When ye ken yourself that I am fair incompetent," I cried.

  "Well, I never heard tell the equal of it," said he.

  "I promise you the one thing, Alan," said I. "The next time that weforgather, I'll be better learned. You shall not continue to bear thedisgrace of a friend that cannot strike."

  "Ay, the next time!" says he. "And when will that be, I would like token?"

  "Well, Alan, I have had some thoughts of that, too," said I; "and myplan is this. It's my opinion to be called an advocate."

  "That's but a weary trade, Davie," says Alan, "and rather a blagyard oneforby. Ye would be better in a king's coat than that."

  "And no doubt that would be the way to have us meet," cried I. "But asyou'll be in King Lewie's coat, and I'll be in King Geordie's, we'llhave a dainty meeting of it."

  "There's some sense in that," he admitted.

  "An advocate, then, it'll have to be," I continued, "and I think it amore suitable trade for a gentleman that was _three times_ disarmed. Butthe beauty of the thing is this: that one of the best colleges for thatkind of learning--and the one where my kinsman, Pilrig, made hisstudies--is the college of Leyden in Holland. Now, what say you, Alan?Could not a cadet of _Royal Ecossais_ get a furlough, slip over themarches, and call in upon a Leyden student!"

  "Well, and I would think he could!" cried he. "Ye see, I stand well inwith my colonel, Count Drummond-Melfort; and, what's mair to thepurpose, I have a cousin of mine lieutenant-colonel in a regiment of theScots-Dutch. Naething could be mair proper than what I would get a leaveto see Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart of Halkett's. And Lord Melfort, who isa very scienteefic kind of a man, and writes books like Caesar, would bedoubtless very pleased to have the advantage of my observes."

  "Is Lord Melfort an author, then?" I asked, for much as Alan thought ofsoldiers, I thought more of the gentry that write books.

  "The very same, Davie," said he. "One would think a colonel would havesomething better to attend to. But what can
I say that make songs?"

  "Well, then," said I, "it only remains you should give me an address towrite you at in France; and as soon as I am got to Leyden I will sendyou mine."

  "The best will be to write me in the care of my chieftain," said he,"Charles Stewart, of Ardsheil, Esquire, at the town of Melons, in theIsle of France. It might take long, or it might take short, but it wouldaye get to my hands at the last of it."

  We had a haddock to our breakfast in Musselburgh, where it amused mevastly to hear Alan. His great-coat and boot-hose were extremelyremarkable this warm morning, and perhaps some hint of an explanationhad been wise; but Alan went into that matter like a business, or Ishould rather say, like a diversion. He engaged the goodwife of thehouse with some compliments upon the rizzoring of our haddocks; and thewhole of the rest of our stay held her in talk about a cold he had takenon his stomach, gravely relating all manner of symptoms and sufferings,and hearing with a vast show of interest all the old wives' remedies shecould supply him with in return.

  We left Musselburgh before the first ninepenny coach was due fromEdinburgh, for (as Alan said) that was a rencounter we might very wellavoid. The wind, although still high, was very mild, the sun shonestrong, and Alan began to suffer in proportion. From Prestonpans he hadme aside to the field of Gladsmuir, where he exerted himself a greatdeal more than needful to describe the stages of the battle. Thence, athis old round pace, we travelled to Cockenzie. Though they were buildingherring-busses there at Mrs. Cadell's, it seemed a desert-like,back-going town, about half full of ruined houses; but the ale-house wasclean, and Alan, who was now in a glowing heat, must indulge himselfwith a bottle of ale, and carry on to the new luckie with the old storyof the cold upon his stomach, only now the symptoms were all different.

  I sat listening; and it came in my mind that I had scarce ever heard himaddress three serious words to any woman, but he was always drolling andfleering and making a private mock of them, and yet brought to thatbusiness a remarkable degree of energy and interest. Something to thiseffect I remarked to him, when the good wife (as chanced) was calledaway.

  "What do ye want?" says he. "A man should aye put his best foot forritwith the womenkind; he should aye give them a bit of a story to divertthem, the poor lambs! It's what ye should learn to attend to, David; yeshould get the principles, it's like a trade. Now, if this had been ayoung lassie, or onyways bonnie, she would never have heard tell of mystomach, Davie. But aince they're too old to be seeking joes, they a'set up to be apotecaries. Why? What do I ken? They'll be just the wayGod made them, I suppose. But I think a man would be a gomeral thatdidnae give his attention to the same."

  And here, the luckie coming back, he turned from me as if withimpatience to renew their former conversation. The lady had branchedsome while before from Alan's stomach to the case of a goodbrother ofher own in Aberlady, whose last sickness and demise she was describingat extraordinary length. Sometimes it was merely dull, sometimes bothdull and awful, for she talked with unction. The upshot was that I fellin a deep muse, looking forth of the window on the road, and scarcemarking what I saw. Presently had any been looking they might have seenme to start.

  "We pit a fomentation to his feet," the goodwife was saying, "and a hetstane to his wame, and we gied him hyssop and water of pennyroyal, andfine, clean balsam of sulphur for the hoast...."

  "Sir," says I, cutting very quietly in, "there's a friend of mine goneby the house."

  "Is that e'en sae?" replies Alan, as though it were a thing ofsmall-account. And then, "Ye were saying, mem?" says he; and thewearyful wife went on.

  Presently, however, he paid her with a half-crown piece, and she must goforth after the change.

  "Was it him with the red head?" asked Alan.

  "Ye have it," said I.

  "What did I tell you in the wood?" he cried. "And yet it's strange heshould be here too! Was he his lane?"

  "His lee-lane for what I could see," said I.

  "Did he gang by?" he asked.

  "Straight by," said I, "and looked neither to the right nor left."

  "And that's queerer yet," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind, Davie, thatwe should be stirring. But where to?--deil hae't! This is like old daysfairly," cries he.

  "There is one big differ, though," said I, "that now we have money inour pockets."

  "And another big differ, Mr. Balfour," says he, "that now we have dogsat our tail. They're on the scent; they're in full cry, David. It's abad business and be damned to it." And he sat thinking hard with a lookof his that I knew well.

  "I'm saying, Luckie," says he, when the goodwife returned, "have ye aback road out of this change house?"

  She told him there was and where it led to.

  "Then, sir," says he to me, "I think that will be the shortest road forus. And here's good-bye to ye, my braw woman; and I'll no forget thon ofthe cinnamon water."

  We went out by way of the woman's kale yard, and up a lane among fields.Alan looked sharply to all sides, and seeing we were in a little hollowplace of the country, out of view of men, sat down.

  "Now for a council of war, Davie," said he. "But first of all, a bitlesson to ye. Suppose that I had been like you, what would yon old wifehave minded of the pair of us? Just that we had gone out by the backgate. And what does she mind now? A fine, canty, friendly, cracky man,that suffered with the stomach, poor body! and was real ta'en up aboutthe goodbrother. O man, David, try and learn to have some kind ofintelligence!"

  "I'll try, Alan," said I.

  "And now for him of the red head," says he; "was he gaun fast or slow?"

  "Betwixt and between," said I.

  "No kind of a hurry about the man?" he asked.

  "Never a sign of it," said I.

  "Nhm!" said Alan, "it looks queer. We saw nothing of them this morningon the Whins; he's passed us by, he doesnae seem to be looking, and yethere he is on our road! Dod, Davie, I begin to take a notion. I thinkit's no you they're seeking, I think it's me; and I think they ken finewhere they're gaun."

  "They ken?" I asked.

  "I think Andie Scougal's sold me--him or his mate wha kent some part ofthe affair--or else Chairlie's clerk callant, which would be a pitytoo," says Alan; "and if you askit me for just my inward privateconviction, I think there'll be heads cracked on Gillane sands."

  "Alan," I cried, "if you're at all right there'll be folk there and tospare. It'll be small service to crack heads."

  "It would aye be a satisfaction though," says Alan. "But bide a bit,bide a bit; I'm thinking--and thanks to this bonny westland wind, Ibelieve I've still a chance of it. It's this way, Davie. I'm no trystedwith this man Scougal till the gloaming comes. _But_," says he, "_if Ican get a bit of a wind out of the west I'll be there long or that_," hesays, "_and lie-to for ye behind the Isle of Fidra_. Now if your gentrykens the place, they ken the time forbye. Do ye see me coming, Davie?Thanks to Johnnie Cope and other red-coat gomerals, I should ken thiscountry like the back of my hand; and if ye're ready for another bit runwith Alan Breck, we'll can cast back inshore, and come down to theseaside again by Dirleton. If the ship's there, we'll try and get onboard of her. If she's no there, I'll just have to get back to my wearyhaystack. But either way of it, I think we will leave your gentrywhistling on their thumbs."

  "I believe there's some chance in it," said I. "Have on with ye, Alan!"

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