David Balfour, Page 4

  CHAPTER III

  I GO TO PILRIG

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

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

  Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice: and I thoughtthat a fine word, and reasoned it out that (since we dwelt in polities,at some discomfort to each one of us) the main thing of all must stillbe justice, and the death of any innocent man a wound upon the wholecommunity. Next, again, it was the Accuser of the Brethren that gave mea turn of his argument; bid me think shame for pretending myselfconcerned in these high matters, and told me I was but a prating vainchild, who had spoken big words to Rankeillor and to Stewart, and heldmyself bound upon my vanity to make good that boastfulness. Nay, and hehit me with the other end of the stick; for he accused me of a kind ofartful cowardice, going about at the expense of a little risk topurchase greater safety. No doubt, until I had declared and clearedmyself, I might any day encounter Mungo Campbell or the sheriff'sofficer, and be recognised, and dragged into the Appin murder by theheels; and, no doubt, in case I could manage my declaration withsuccess, I should breathe more free for ever after. But when I lookedthis argument full in the face I could see nothing to be ashamed of. Asfor the rest, "Here are the two roads," I thought, "and both go to thesame place. It's unjust that James should hang if I can save him; and itwould be ridiculous in me to have talked so much and then do nothing.It's lucky for James of the Glens that I have boasted beforehand; andnone so unlucky for myself, because now I'm committed to do right. Ihave the name of a gentleman and the means of one; it would be a poordiscovery that I was wanting in the essence." And then I thought thiswas a Pagan spirit, and said a prayer in to myself, asking for whatcourage I might lack, and that I might go straight to my duty like asoldier to battle, and come off again scatheless as so many do.

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

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

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

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

  "What did they suffer for?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved, whenI came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the walksideamong some brave young woods. The laird's horse was standing saddled atthe door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where he receivedme in the midst of learned works and musical instruments, for he was notonly a deep philosopher but much of a musician. He greeted me at firstpretty well, and when he had read Rankeillor's letter, placed himselfobligingly at my disposal.

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

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

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

  "I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour," said I; "I havenothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just thecommon infirmities of mankind. 'The guilt of Adam's first sin, the wantof o
riginal righteousness, and the corruption of my whole nature,' somuch I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look forhelp," I said; for I judged from the look of the man he would think thebetter of me if I knew my questions.[11] "But in the way of worldlyhonour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with; and mydifficulties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all thatI can see) without my fault. My trouble is to have become dipped in apolitical complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to avoida knowledge of."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Let me explain ..." I began.

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

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

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

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

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

  "PILRIG, _August 26th_, 1751.

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

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

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

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

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