The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 12, Page 3

  THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE

  CHAPTER I

  SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS

  The full truth of this odd matter is what the world has long beenlooking for, and public curiosity is sure to welcome. It so befell thatI was intimately mingled with the last years and history of the house;and there does not live one man so able as myself to make these mattersplain, or so desirous to narrate them faithfully. I knew the Master; onmany secret steps of his career I have an authentic memoir in my hand; Isailed with him on his last voyage almost alone; I made one upon thatwinter's journey of which so many tales have gone abroad; and I wasthere at the man's death. As for my late Lord Durrisdeer, I served himand loved him near twenty years; and thought more of him the more I knewof him. Altogether, I think it not fit that so much evidence shouldperish; the truth is a debt I owe my lord's memory; and I think my oldyears will flow more smoothly, and my white hair lie quieter on thepillow, when the debt is paid.

  The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong family in thesouth-west from the days of David First. A rhyme still current in thecountryside--

  "Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers, They ride wi' ower mony spears"--

  bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in another, whichcommon report attributes to Thomas of Ercildoune himself--I cannot sayhow truly, and which some have applied--I dare not say with how muchjustice--to the events of this narration:

  "Twa Duries in Durrisdeer, Ane to tie and ane to ride. An ill day for the groom And a waur day for the bride."

  Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits, which (to ourmodern eyes) seem not very commendable: and the family suffered its fullshare of those ups and downs to which the great houses of Scotland havebeen ever liable. But all these I pass over, to come to that memorableyear 1745, when the foundations of this tragedy were laid.

  At that time there dwelt a family of four persons in the house ofDurrisdeer, near St. Bride's, on the Solway shore; a chief hold of theirrace since the Reformation. My old lord, eighth of the name, was not oldin years, but he suffered prematurely from the disabilities of age; hisplace was at the chimney side; there he sat reading, in a lined gown,with few words for any man, and wry words for none: the model of an oldretired housekeeper; and yet his mind very well nourished with study,and reputed in the country to be more cunning than he seemed. The Masterof Ballantrae, James in baptism, took from his father the love ofserious reading; some of his tact, perhaps, as well, but that which wasonly policy in the father became black dissimulation in the son. Theface of his behaviour was merely popular and wild: he sat late at wine,later at the cards; had the name in the country of "an unco man for thelasses"; and was ever in the front of broils. But for all he was thefirst to go in, yet it was observed he was invariably the best to comeoff; and his partners in mischief were usually alone to pay the piper.This luck or dexterity got him several ill-wishers, but with the rest ofthe country enhanced his reputation; so that great things were lookedfor in his future, when he should have gained more gravity. One veryblack mark he had to his name; but the matter was hushed up at the time,and so defaced by legends before I came into these parts that I scrupleto set it down. If it was true, it was a horrid fact in one so young;and if false, it was a horrid calumny. I think it notable that he hadalways vaunted himself quite implacable, and was taken at his word; sothat he had the addition, among his neighbours of "an ill man to cross."Here was altogether a young nobleman (not yet twenty-four in the year'Forty-five) who had made a figure in the country beyond his time oflife. The less marvel if there were little heard of the second son, Mr.Henry (my late Lord Durrisdeer), who was neither very bad nor yet veryable, but an honest, solid sort of lad, like many of his neighbours.Little heard, I say; but indeed it was a case of little spoken. He wasknown among the salmon fishers in the firth, for that was a sport thathe assiduously followed; he was an excellent good horse-doctor besides;and took a chief hand, almost from a boy, in the management of theestates. How hard a part that was, in the situation of that family, noneknows better than myself; nor yet with how little colour of justice aman may there acquire the reputation of a tyrant and a miser. The fourthperson in the house was Miss Alison Graeme, a near kinswoman, an orphan,and the heir to a considerable fortune which her father had acquired intrade. This money was loudly called for by my lord's necessities;indeed, the land was deeply mortgaged; and Miss Alison was designedaccordingly to be the Master's wife, gladly enough on her side; with howmuch good-will on his is another matter. She was a comely girl, and inthose days very spirited and self-willed; for the old lord having nodaughter of his own, and my lady being long dead, she had grown up asbest she might.

  To these four came the news of Prince Charlie's landing, and set thempresently by the ears. My lord, like the chimney-keeper that he was, wasall for temporising. Miss Alison held the other side, because itappeared romantical; and the Master (though I have heard they did notagree often) was for this once of her opinion. The adventure temptedhim, as I conceive; he was tempted by the opportunity to raise thefortunes of the house, and not less by the hope of paying off hisprivate liabilities, which were heavy beyond all opinion. As for Mr.Henry, it appears he said little enough at first; his part came lateron. It took the three a whole day's disputation before they agreed tosteer a middle course, one son going forth to strike a blow for KingJames, my lord and the other staying at home to keep in favour with KingGeorge. Doubtless this was my lord's decision; and, as is well known, itwas the part played by many considerable families. But the one disputesettled, another opened. For my lord, Miss Alison, and Mr. Henry allheld the one view: that it was the cadet's part to go out; and theMaster, what with restlessness and vanity, would at no rate consent tostay at home. My lord pleaded, Miss Alison wept, Mr. Henry was veryplain spoken: all was of no avail.

  "It is the direct heir of Durrisdeer that should ride by his King'sbridle," says the Master.

  "If we were playing a manly part," says Mr. Henry, "there might be sensein such talk. But what are we doing? Cheating at cards!"

  "We are saving the house of Durrisdeer, Henry," his father said.

  "And see, James," said Mr. Henry, "if I go, and the Prince has the upperhand, it will be easy to make your peace with King James. But if you go,and the expedition fails, we divide the right and the title. And whatshall I be then?"

  "You will be Lord Durrisdeer," said the Master. "I put all I have uponthe table."

  "I play at no such game," cries Mr. Henry. "I shall be left in such asituation as no man of sense and honour could endure. I shall be neitherfish nor flesh!" he cried. And a little after he had anotherexpression, plainer perhaps than he intended. "It is your duty to behere with my father," said he. "You know well enough you are thefavourite."

  "Ay?" said the Master. "And there spoke Envy! Would you trip up myheels--Jacob?" said he, and dwelled upon the name maliciously.

  Mr. Henry went and walked at the low end of the hall without reply; forhe had an excellent gift of silence. Presently he came back.

  "I am the cadet, and I _should_ go," said he. "And my lord here is themaster, and he says I _shall_ go. What say ye to that, my brother?"

  "I say this, Harry," returned the Master, "that when very obstinate folkare met, there are only two ways out: Blows--and I think none of uscould care to go so far; or the arbitrament of chance--and here is aguinea piece. Will you stand by the toss of the coin?"

  "I will stand and fall by it," said Mr. Henry. "Heads, I go; shield, Istay."

  The coin was spun, and it fell shield. "So there is a lesson for Jacob,"says the Master.

  "We shall live to repent of this," says Mr. Henry, and flung out of thehall.

  As for Miss Alison, she caught up that piece of gold which had just senther lover to the wars, and flung it clean through the family shield inthe great painted window.

  "If you loved me as well as I love you, you would have stayed," criedshe.

  "'I could not love y
ou, dear, so well, loved I not honour more,'" sangthe Master.

  "_O!_" she cried, "you have no heart--I hope you may be killed!" and sheran from the room, and in tears, to her own chamber.

  It seems the Master turned to my lord with his most comical manner, andsays he, "This looks like a devil of a wife."

  "I think you are a devil of a son to me," cried his father, "you thathave always been the favourite, to my shame be it spoken. Never a goodhour have I gotten of you since you were born; no, never one good hour,"and repeated it again the third time. Whether it was the Master'slevity, or his insubordination, or Mr. Henry's word about the favouriteson, that had so much disturbed my lord, I do not know: but I incline tothink it was the last, for I have it by all accounts that Mr. Henry wasmore made up to from that hour.

  Altogether it was in pretty ill blood with his family that the Masterrode to the North; which was the more sorrowful for others to rememberwhen it seemed too late. By fear and favour he had scraped together nearupon a dozen men, principally tenants' sons; they were all pretty fullwhen they set forth, and rode up the hill by the old abbey, roaring andsinging, the white cockade in every hat. It was a desperate venture forso small a company to cross the most of Scotland unsupported; and (whatmade folk think so the more) even as that poor dozen was clattering upthe hill, a great ship of the King's navy, that could have brought themunder with a single boat, lay with her broad ensign streaming in thebay. The next afternoon, having given the Master a fair start, it wasMr. Henry's turn; and he rode off, all by himself, to offer his swordand carry letters from his father to King George's Government. MissAlison was shut in her room, and did little but weep, till both weregone; only she stitched the cockade upon the Master's hat, and (as JohnPaul told me) it was wetted with tears when he carried it down to him.

  In all that followed, Mr. Henry and my old lord were true to theirbargain. That ever they accomplished anything is more than I couldlearn; and that they were anyway strong on the King's side, more than Ibelieve. But they kept the letter of loyalty, corresponded with my LordPresident, sat still at home, and had little or no commerce with theMaster while that business lasted. Nor was he, on his side, morecommunicative. Miss Alison, indeed, was always sending him expresses,but I do not know if she had many answers. Macconochie rode for heronce, and found the Highlanders before Carlisle, and the Master ridingby the Prince's side in high favour; he took the letter (so Macconochietells), opened it, glanced it through with a mouth like a man whistling,and stuck it in his belt, whence, on his horse passageing, it fellunregarded to the ground. It was Macconochie who picked it up; and hestill kept it, and indeed I have seen it in his hands. News came toDurrisdeer of course, by the common report, as it goes travellingthrough a country, a thing always wonderful to me. By that means thefamily learned more of the Master's favour with the Prince, and theground it was said to stand on: for by a strange condescension in a manso proud--only that he was a man still more ambitious--he was said tohave crept into notability by truckling to the Irish. Sir ThomasSullivan, Colonel Burke, and the rest, were his daily comrades, by whichcourse he withdrew himself from his own country-folk. All the smallintrigues he had a hand in fomenting; thwarted my Lord George upon athousand points; was always for the advice that seemed palatable to thePrince, no matter if it was good or bad; and seems upon the whole (likethe gambler he was all through life) to have had less regard to thechances of the campaign than to the greatness of favour he might aspireto, if, by any luck, it should succeed. For the rest, he did very wellin the field; no one questioned that: for he was no coward.

  The next was the news of Culloden, which was brought to Durrisdeer byone of the tenants' sons--the only survivor, he declared, of all thosethat had gone singing up the hill. By an unfortunate chance John Pauland Macconochie had that very morning found the guinea piece--which wasthe root of all the evil--sticking in a holly bush; they had been "upthe gait," as the servants say at Durrisdeer, to the change-house; andif they had little left of the guinea, they had less of their wits.What must John Paul do but burst into the hall where the family sat atdinner, and cry the news to them that "Tam Macmorland was but newlichtit at the door, and--wirra, wirra--there were nane to come behindhim"?

  They took the word in silence like folk condemned; only Mr. Henrycarrying his palm to his face, and Miss Alison laying her head outrightupon her hands. As for my lord, he was like ashes.

  "I have still one son," says he. "And, Henry, I will do you thisjustice--it is the kinder that is left."

  It was a strange thing to say in such a moment; but my lord had neverforgotten Mr. Henry's speech, and he had years of injustice on hisconscience. Still it was a strange thing, and more than Miss Alisoncould let pass. She broke out and blamed my lord for his unnaturalwords, and Mr. Henry because he was sitting there in safety when hisbrother lay dead, and herself because she had given her sweetheart illwords at his departure, calling him the flower of the flock, wringingher hands, protesting her love, and crying on him by his name--so thatthe servants stood astonished.

  Mr. Henry got to his feet, and stood holding his chair. It was he thatwas like ashes now.

  "O!" he burst out suddenly, "I know you loved him."

  "The world knows that, glory be to God!" cries she; and then to Mr.Henry: "There is none but me to know one thing--that you were a traitorto him in your heart."

  "God knows," groans he, "it was lost love on both sides."

  Time went by in the house after that without much change; only they werenow three instead of four, which was a perpetual reminder of their loss.Miss Alison's money, you are to bear in mind, was highly needful for theestates; and the one brother being dead, my old lord soon set his heartupon her marrying the other. Day in, day out, he would work upon her,sitting by the chimney-side with his finger in his Latin book, and hiseyes set upon her face with a kind of pleasant intentness that becamethe old gentleman very well. If she wept, he would condole with her likean ancient man that has seen worse times and begins to think lightlyeven of sorrow; if she raged, he would fall to reading again in hisLatin book, but always with some civil excuse; if she offered, as sheoften did, to let them have her money in a gift, he would show her howlittle it consisted with his honour, and remind her, even if he shouldconsent, that Mr. Henry would certainly refuse. _Non vi sed saepecadendo_ was a favourite word of his; and no doubt this quietpersecution wore away much of her resolve; no doubt, besides, he had agreat influence on the girl, having stood in the place of both herparents; and, for that matter, she was herself filled with the spirit ofthe Duries, and would have gone a great way for the glory of Durrisdeer;but not so far, I think, as to marry my poor patron, had it notbeen--strangely enough--for the circumstance of his extremeunpopularity.

  This was the work of Tam Macmorland. There was not much harm in Tam; buthe had that grievous weakness, a long tongue; and as the only man inthat country who had been out--or, rather, who had come in again--he wassure of listeners. Those that have the underhand in any fighting, I haveobserved, are ever anxious to persuade themselves they were betrayed. ByTam's account of it, the rebels had been betrayed at every turn and byevery officer they had; they had been betrayed at Derby, and betrayed atFalkirk; the night march was a step of treachery of my Lord George's;and Culloden was lost by the treachery of the Macdonalds. This habit ofimputing treason grew upon the fool, till at last he must have in Mr.Henry also. Mr. Henry (by his account) had betrayed the lads ofDurrisdeer; he had promised to follow with more men, and instead of thathe had ridden to King George. "Ay, and the next day!" Tam would cry."The puir bonny Master, and the puir kind lads that rade wi' him, werehardly ower the scaur or he was aff--the Judis! Ay, weel--he has his wayo't: he's to be my lord, nae less, and there's mony a cold corp amangthe Hieland heather!" And at this, if Tam had been drinking, he wouldbegin to weep.

  Let any one speak long enough, he will get believers. This view of Mr.Henry's behaviour crept about the country by little and little; it wastalked upon by folk that knew the contrary, but wer
e short of topics;and it was heard and believed and given out for gospel by the ignorantand the ill-willing. Mr. Henry began to be shunned; yet a while, and thecommons began to murmur as he went by, and the women (who are always themost bold because they are the most safe) to cry out their reproaches tohis face. The Master was cried up for a saint. It was remembered how hehad never any hand in pressing the tenants; as, indeed, no more he had,except to spend the money. He was a little wild perhaps, the folk said;but how much better was a natural, wild lad that would soon have settleddown, than a skinflint and a sneckdraw, sitting with his nose in anaccount-book to persecute poor tenants! One trollop, who had had a childto the Master, and by all accounts been very badly used, yet madeherself a kind of champion of his memory. She flung a stone one day atMr. Henry.

  "Whaur's the bonny lad that trustit ye?" she cried.

  Mr. Henry reined in his horse and looked upon her, the blood flowingfrom his lip. "Ay, Jess?" says he. "You too? And yet ye should ken mebetter." For it was he who had helped her with money.

  The woman had another stone ready, which she made as if she would cast;and he, to ward himself, threw up the hand that held his riding-rod.

  "What, would ye beat a lassie, ye ugly----?" cries she, and ran awayscreaming as though he had struck her.

  Next day word went about the country like wildfire that Mr. Henry hadbeaten Jessie Broun within an inch of her life. I give it as oneinstance of how this snowball grew, and one calumny brought another;until my poor patron was so perished in reputation that he began to keepthe house like my lord. All this while, you may be very sure, he utteredno complaints at home; the very ground of the scandal was too sore amatter to be handled; and Mr. Henry was very proud, and strangelyobstinate in silence. My old lord must have heard of it, by John Paul,if by no one else; and he must at least have remarked the altered habitsof his son. Yet even he, it is probable, knew not how high the feelingran; and as for Miss Alison, she was ever the last person to hear news,and the least interested when she heard them.

  In the height of the ill-feeling (for it died away as it came, no mancould say why) there was an election forward in the town of St. Bride's,which is the next to Durrisdeer, standing on the Water of Swift; somegrievance was fermenting, I forget what, if ever I heard: and it wascurrently said there would be broken heads ere night, and that thesheriff had sent as far as Dumfries for soldiers. My lord moved that Mr.Henry should be present, assuring him it was necessary to appear, forthe credit of the house. "It will soon be reported," said he, "that wedo not take the lead in our own country."

  "It is a strange lead that I can take," said Mr. Henry; and when theyhad pushed him further, "I tell you the plain truth," he said: "I darenot show my face."

  "You are the first of the house that ever said so," cries Miss Alison.

  "We will go all three," said my lord; and sure enough he got into hisboots (the first time in four years--a sore business John Paul had toget them on), and Miss Alison into her riding-coat, and all three rodetogether to St. Bride's.

  The streets were full of the riff-raff of all the countryside, who hadno sooner clapped eyes on Mr. Henry than the hissing began, and thehooting, and the cries of "Judas!" and "Where was the Master?" and"Where were the poor lads that rode with him?" Even a stone was cast;but the more part cried shame at that, for my old lord's sake, and MissAlison's. It took not ten minutes to persuade my lord that Mr. Henry hadbeen right. He said never a word, but turned his horse about, and homeagain, with his chin upon his bosom. Never a word said Miss Alison; nodoubt she thought the more; no doubt her pride was stung, for she was abone-bred Durie; and no doubt her heart was touched to see her cousin sounjustly used. That night she was never in bed; I have often blamed mylady--when I call to mind that night I readily forgive her all; and thefirst thing in the morning she came to the old lord in his usual seat.

  "If Henry still wants me," said she, "he can have me now." To himselfshe had a different speech: "I bring you no love, Henry; but God knows,all the pity in the world."

  June the 1st, 1748, was the day of their marriage. It was December ofthe same year that first saw me alighting at the doors of the greathouse; and from there I take up the history of events as they befellunder my own observation, like a witness in a court.