HEADS, I go; shield, I STAY." (Frontis.) 
 
THE 
 
 ^STER OF BALLANTRAE 
 
 a ^Wnttv'^ Calf* 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, 
 
 Author of " Ki(lnapj)ed,^^ " Treasure Island,''^ 
 4c. 4-c. ^c. 
 
 WITH TEN FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. HOLE, R.S.A. 
 
 TWENTIETH THOUSAND. 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited: 
 
 LONDON, PARIS ct- MELBOURNE. 
 
 1891. 
 Tall fjghts reserved. 1 
 
HENRY MORSE STEPHEN* 
 
Sir IP^rrg Jflorenre antr fabn Sljclkn- 
 
 Here is a tale which extends over many years and travels into many 
 coimtries. By a peculiar fitness of circumstance the writer hegan, 
 continued it, and concluded it among distant and diverse scenes. 
 Above all, he was much upon the sea. The character and fortune 
 of the fraternal enemies, the hall and shrubhery of Durrisdeei, 
 the problem of Mackellar's homespun and how to shape it for 
 superior flights ; these were his company on deck in many star- 
 reflecting harbours, ran often in his mind at sea to the tune of 
 slatting canvas, and were dismissed (something of the suddenest) 
 on the approach of squalls. It is my hope tliat these surround- 
 ings of its manufacture may to some degree find favour for my 
 story with seafarers and sea-lovers like yourselves. 
 
 And at least here is a dedication from a great way off: written 
 by the loud shores of a subtropical island near upon ten thousand 
 miles from Boscombe Chine and Manor : scenes which rise before 
 me as I write, along with the faces and voices of my friends. 
 
 Well, I am for the sea once more ; no doubt Sir Percy also. 
 Let us make the signal B. R. D. ! 
 
 R. L. S. 
 
 Waikiki, May 17, 1889. 
 
 
 -J 
 
 3686 
 
C N T E K T S 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Summary op Events during the Master's 
 
 Wanderings I 
 
 II. Summary of Events (continued) 17 
 
 III. The Master's Wanderings : From the Memoirs of the 
 
 Chevalier de Burke 40 
 
 IV. Persecutions endured by Mr. Henry ... 84 
 
 V. Account of all that passed on the Night of 
 
 February 27th, 1757 132 
 
 VI. Summary of Events during the Master's Second 
 
 Absence 162 
 
 VII. Adventure of Chevalier Burke in India : Extracted 
 
 from his Memoirs 190 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 VIII. The Enemy in the House 196 
 
 IX. Mr. Mackellar's Journey with the Masiek . . 227 
 
 X. Passages at New York 253 
 
 XI. The Journey in the Wilderness . . . .278 
 
 Narrative of the Trader, Mowitain .... 292 
 
 XII. The Journey in the Wilderness — {continued) . . 312 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Heads, I go ; Shield, I stay " Frontis. 
 
 The bleak dangerous Sea-Surroundings, that made these Acts 
 
 of Piracy far the most revolting 55 
 
 The Track on both hands was enclosed by the unbroken 
 
 Woods 78 
 
 The Passenger standing alone upon the Point of Eock, a tall, 
 
 slender Figure of a Gentleman, habited in Black . . 100 
 The first to move was the Singer, who got to his Feet 
 
 suddenly and softly . 120 
 
 Beyond doubt He now recognised Himself for lost, and had 
 
 some Taste of the cold Agony of Fear ; or He had never 
 
 attempted the foul Stroke . . . . . .139 
 
 And then They were gone indeed, having looked their last 
 
 on the kind Roof of Durrisdeer . . . . .216 
 
 " I were liker a Man if I struck this Creature down" . . 244 
 Neither spoke ; nor did my Lord so much as cast a Glance upon 
 
 His Enemy 263 
 
 Secundra, absorbed in his Toil, heard or heeded not at all . 327 
 
The Master of Ballai^trae. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WANDERINGS. 
 
 The full truth of this odd matter is what the world 
 has long been looking for, and public curiosity is sure to 
 welcome. It so befell that I 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 
 matters plain, or so desirous to narrate them faithfully. 
 I knew the Master ; on many secret steps of his career 
 I have an authentic memoir in my hand ; I sailed with 
 him on his last voyage almost alone ; I made one upon 
 that winter's journey of which so many tales have gone 
 abroad; and I was there at the man's death. As for 
 my late Lord Durrisdeer, I served him and loved him 
 near twenty years ; and thought more of him the more 
 I knew of him. Altogether, I think it not fit that so 
 much evidence should perish ; the truth is a debt I owe 
 my lord's memory ; and I think my old years will flow 
 more smoothly, and my white hair lie quieter on the 
 pillow, when the debt is paid. 
 
 B 
 
2 THE MASTEH OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong 
 family in the south-west from the days of David First. 
 A rhyme still current in the countryside — 
 
 Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers, 
 They ride wi' ower mony spears — 
 
 bears the mark of its antiquity ; and the name appears 
 in another^ which common report attributes to Thomas 
 of Ercildoune himself — I cannot say liow truly, and 
 which some have applied — I dare not say with how 
 much justice — to the events of this narration : 
 
 Twa Duries in Dunisdeer, 
 
 Ane to tie and ane to ride. 
 An ill day for the groom 
 
 And a waiir day for the hride. 
 
 Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits 
 which (to our modern eyes) seem not very commendable : 
 and the family suffered its fall share of those ups and 
 downs to which the great houses of Scotland have been 
 ever liable. But all these I pass over, to come to that 
 memorable year 1745, when the foundations of this 
 tragedy were laid. 
 
 At that time there dwelt a family of four persons in 
 the house of Durrisdeer, near St. Bride''s, on the Solway 
 shore; a chief hold of their race since the Reformation. 
 My old lord, eighth of the name, was not old in years, but 
 he suffered prematurely from the disabilities of age ; his 
 place was at the chimney side; there he sat reading, in 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 
 
 a lined gowu^ with few words for any man, and wry 
 words for none : the model of an old retired housekeeper ; 
 and yet his mind very well nourished with study^ and 
 reputed in the country to be more cunning- than he 
 seemed. The master of Ballantrae, James in baptism, 
 took from his father the love of serious reading ; some 
 of his tact perhaps as well^ but that which was only 
 policy in tae father became black dissimulation in the 
 son. The face 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 the lasses ; " 
 and was ever in the front of broils. But for all he was 
 the first to g-o in, yet it was observed he was invariably 
 the best to come oif ; 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 of the country, 
 enhanced his reputation; so that great things were 
 looked for in his future, when he should have gained 
 more gravity. One very black mark he had to his name ; 
 but the matter was hushed up at the time, and so de- 
 faced by legends before I came into those parts, that I 
 scruple to 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 had always vaunted him- 
 self quite implacable, and was taken at his word ; so that 
 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 ^45) who had made a figure 
 B 2 
 
4 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTKAS. 
 
 in the country beyond his time of life. 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 very able, 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 was known among the salmon 
 fishers in the firth, for that was a sport that he assidu- 
 ously followed ; he was an excellent good horse-doctor 
 besides ; and took a chief hand, almost from a boy, in the 
 management of the estates. How hard a part that was, in 
 the situation of that family, none knows better than my- 
 self j nor yet with how little colour of justice a man may 
 there acquire the reputation of a tyrant and a miser. The 
 fourth person in the house was Miss Alison Graeme, a 
 near kinswoman, an orphan, and the heir to a consider- 
 able fortune which her father had acquired in trade. This 
 money was loudly called for by my lord^s necessities ; in- 
 deed the land was deeply mortgaged ; and Miss Alison 
 was designed accordingly to be the Master^s wife, gladly 
 enough on her side ; with how much good-will on his, is 
 another matter. She was a comely girl, and in those days 
 very spirited and self-willed; for the old lord having no 
 daughter of his own, and my lady being long dead, she 
 had grown up as best she might. 
 
 To these four came the news of Prince Charlie^s land- 
 ing, and set them presently by the ears. My lord, like 
 the chimney-keeper that he was, was all for temporising. 
 Miss Alison held the other side, because it appeared 
 
gUMAIARY OF EVENTS. 
 
 romantical ; and the Master (though I have heard they 
 did not agree often) was for this once of her opinion. 
 The adventure tempted him, as I conceive; he was 
 tempted by the opportunity to raise the fortunes of the 
 house, and not less by the hope of paying off his private 
 liabilities, which were heavy beyond all opinion. As for 
 Mr. Henry, it appears he said little enough at first ; his 
 part came later on. It took the three a whole day^s 
 disputation, before they agreed to steer a middle course, 
 one son going forth to strike a blow for King James, my 
 lord and the other staying at home to keep in favour with 
 King George. Doubtless this was my lord''s decision ; 
 and, as is well known, it was the part played by many 
 considerable families. But the one dispute settled, 
 another opened. For my lord. Miss Alison, and Mr. Henry 
 all held the one view : that it was the cadefs part to go 
 out ; and the Master, what with restlessness and vanity, 
 would at no rate consent to stay at home. My lord 
 pleaded. Miss Alison wept, Mr. Henry was very plain 
 spoken : all was of no avail. 
 
 " It is the direct heir of Durrisdeer that should ride 
 by his King's bridle,'"' says the Master. 
 
 " If we were playing a manly part,"*^ says Mr. Henry, 
 '' there might be sense in 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 
 
6 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 the Prince has the upper hand^ 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 
 what shall I be then ? " 
 
 " You will be Lord Durrisdeer/^ said the Master. '' I 
 put all I have upon the table.''' 
 
 '' I play at no such game/' cries Mr. Henry. " I 
 shall be left in such a situation as no man of sense and 
 honour could endure. I shall be neither fish nor 
 flesh ! " he cried. And a little after he had another 
 expression, plainer perhaps than he intended. '' It is 
 your duty to be here with my father/' said he. ^' You 
 know well enough you are the favourite." 
 
 " Ay ? " said the Master. " And there spoke Envy ! 
 Would you trip up my heels— Jacob ? " said he, and 
 dwelled upon the name maliciously. 
 
 Mr. Henry went and walked at the low end of the 
 hall without reply ; for he had an excellent gift of 
 silence. Presently he came bnck. 
 
 " I am the cadet and I sJiould go/' said he. " And 
 my lord here is the master, and he says I shall go. 
 "What say ye to that, my brother ? " 
 
 ^^I say this, Harry," returned the Master, "that 
 when very obstinate folk are met, there are only two 
 ways out : Blows — and I think none of us could care to 
 2*0 so far : or the arbitrament of chance — and here is 
 a guinea piece. AVill you stand by the toss of the 
 coin ? " 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. / 
 
 '' I will stand and fall by it/' said Mr. Henry. 
 '* Heads^ I go ; shield, I stay."*' 
 
 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 the hall. 
 
 As for Miss Alison, she caug-ht up that piece of gold 
 which had just sent her lover to the wars, and flung it 
 clean through the family shield in the great painted 
 window. 
 
 "If you loved me as well. as I love you, you would 
 have stayed,'' cried she. 
 
 " ^ I could not love you, dear, so well, loved I not 
 honour more,' " sang the Master. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, " you have no heart — I hope you 
 may be killed ! " and she ran from the room, and in 
 tears, to her own chamber. 
 
 It seems the Master turned to my lord with his 
 most comical manner, and says he, ^' This looks like a 
 devil of a wife." 
 
 " I think you are a devil of a son to me," cried his 
 father, ^' you that have always been the favourite, to my 
 shame be it spoken. Never a good hour 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's levity, or his insubordination, or Mr. 
 Henry's word about the favourite son, that had so much 
 disturbed my lord, I do not know ; but I incline to 
 
^ tllE MASTER OP BALLANTRAfi. 
 
 think it was the last^ for I have it by all accounts that 
 Mr. Henry was more made up to from that hour. 
 
 Altogether it was in pretty ill blood with his family 
 that the Master rode to the North; which was the more 
 sorrowful for others to remember when it seemed too 
 lat€. By fear and favour he had scraped together near 
 upon a dozen men^ principally tenants^ sons ; they were 
 all pretty full when they set forth^ and rode up the hill 
 by the old abbey, roaring and singing, the white cock- 
 ade in every hat. It was a desperate venture for so 
 small a company to cross the most of Scotland unsup- 
 ported; and (what made folk think so the more) even 
 as that poor dozen was clattering up the hill, a great 
 ship of the king^s navy, that could have brought them 
 under with a single boat, lay with her broad ensign 
 streaming in the bay. The next afternoon, having 
 given the Master a fair start, it was Mr. Henry^s turn ; 
 and he rode off, all by himself, to offer his sword and 
 carry letters from his father to King George^s Govern- 
 ment. Miss Alison was shut in her room, and did little 
 but weep, till both were gone; only she stitched the 
 cockade upon the Master's hat, and (as John Paul told 
 me) it was wetted with tears when he earned it down 
 to him. 
 
 In all that followed, Mr. Henry and my old lord 
 were true to their bargain. That ever they accom- 
 plished anything is more than I could learn ; and that 
 they were anyway strong on the king's side, more than 
 
SUMMARY OP EVENTS. 9 
 
 t believe. TJat they kept the letter of loyalty, corre- 
 sponded with my Lord President^ sat still at home, and 
 had little or no commerce with the Master while that 
 business lasted. Nor was he, on his side, more com- 
 municative. Miss Alison, indeed, was always sending 
 him expresses, but T do not know if she had many 
 answers. Macconochie rode for her once, and found the 
 Highlanders before Carlisle, and the Master riding by 
 the Prince's side in high favour ; he took the letter (so 
 Macconochie tells), opened it, glanced it through with a 
 mouth like a man whistling, and stuck it in his belt, 
 whence, on his horse passageing, it fell unregarded to 
 the ground. It was Macconochie who picked it up; and 
 he still kept it, and indeed I have seen it in his hands. 
 News came to Durrisdeer of course, by the common 
 report, as it goes travelling through a country, a thmg 
 always wonderful to me. By that means the family 
 learned more of the Master's favour with the Prince, 
 and the ground it was said to stand on: for by a strange 
 condescension in a man so proud — only that he was a 
 man still more ambitious — he was said to have crept 
 into notability by truckling to the Irish. Sir Thomas 
 Sullivan, Colonel Burke and the rest, were his daily 
 comrades, by which course he withdrew himself from 
 his own country-folk. All the small intrigues he had 
 a hand in fomenting ; thwarted my Lord George upon 
 a thousand points; was always for the advice that 
 seemed palatable to the Prince, no matter if it was good 
 
10 Tin: MASTER OP BALLANTRAK. 
 
 or bad ; and seems upon the whole (like the gambler he 
 was all through life) to have had less regard to the 
 chances of the campaign than to the greatness of favour 
 he might aspire to, if, by any luck, it should succeed. 
 For the rest, he did very well in the field; no one 
 questioned that ; for he was no coward. 
 
 The next was the news of Culloden, which was 
 brought to Durrisdeer by one of the tenants' sons — the 
 only survivor, he declared, of all those that had gone 
 singing up the hill. By an unfortunate chance John 
 Paul and Macconochie had that very morning found the 
 guinea piece — which was the root of all the evil — stick- 
 ing in a holly bush ; they had been " up the gait,"*"* as 
 the servants say at Durrisdeer, to the change-house; and 
 if 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 at dinner, and cry the 
 news to them that "Tam Macmorland was but new 
 lichtit at the door, and — wirra, wirra — there were nane 
 to come behind him '' ? 
 
 They took the word in silence like folk condemned ; 
 only Mr. Henry carrying his palm to his face, and Miss 
 Alison laying her head outright upon her hands. As 
 for my lord, he was like ashes. 
 
 " I have still one son,^^ says he. " And, Henry, 1 
 will do you this justice — it is the kinder that is left.^' 
 
 It was a strange thing to say in such a moment; but 
 my lord had never forgotten Mr. Henry ^s speech, and 
 
SUA[MARY OF EVENTS. 11 
 
 he had yeais of injustice on his conscience. Still it was 
 a strange things and more than Miss Alison could let 
 pass. She broke out and blamed my lord for his un- 
 natural words^ and Mr. Henry because he was sitting 
 there in safety when his brother lay dead^ and herself 
 because she bad given her sweetheart ill words at his 
 departure,, calling him the flower of the flock, wringing 
 her hands, protesting her love, and crying on him by 
 his name — so that the servants stood astonished. 
 
 Mr. Henry got to his feet, and stood holding his 
 chair. It was he that w^as like ashes now. 
 
 '' Oh ! ■'"' he burst out suddenly, " I know you loved 
 mm. 
 
 '^ 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 traitor to 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 were now 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 the estates ; and the one brother being dead, 
 my old lord soon set his heart upon her marrying the 
 other. Day in, day out, he would work upon her, sitting 
 by the chimney-side %ith his finger in his Latin book, 
 and his eyes set upon her face with a kind of pleasant 
 
12 THE MASTER OF BALLANTllAE. 
 
 intentness tliat became the old gentleman very well. IE 
 she wept^ he would condole with her like an ancient 
 man that has seen worse times and begins to think 
 lightly even of sorrow; if she raged, he would fall to 
 reading again in his Latin book, but always with some 
 civil excuse; if she offered, as she often did, to let them 
 have her money in a gift, he would show her how little 
 it consisted with his honour, and remind her, even if he 
 should consent, that Mr. Plenry would certainly refuse. 
 Non vi seel sape cadendo was a favourite word of his ; 
 and no doubt this quiet persecution wore away much of 
 her resolve ; no doubt, besides, he had a great influence 
 on the girl, having stood in the place of both her parents; 
 and, for that matter, she was herself filled with the 
 spirit of the 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 not been — strangely 
 enough — for the circumstance of his extreme unpopu- 
 larity. 
 
 This was the work of Tarn Macmorland. There was 
 not much harm in Tam; but he had that grievous 
 weakness, a long tongue ; and as the only man in that 
 country who had been out — or, rather, who had come in 
 again — he was sure of listeners. Those that have the 
 underhand in any fighting, I have observed, are ever 
 anxious to persuade themselves they were betrayed. By 
 Tam^s account of it, the rebels had been betrayed at 
 every turn and by every officer they had; they had been 
 
SUA] MARY OF EVENTS. 13 
 
 betrayed at Derby _, and betrayed at Falkirk ; the niglit 
 march was a step of treachery o£ my Lord George's ; and 
 Cnlloden was lost by the treachery of the Macdonalds. 
 This habit of imputing treason grew upon the fool, till 
 at last he must have in Mr. Henry also. Mr. Henry (by 
 his account) had betrayed the lads of Durrisdeer ; he 
 had promised to follow with more men, and instead of 
 that he had ridden to King George. " Ay, and the 
 next day ! ■'■' Tarn would cry. '* The puir bonnie Master, 
 and the puir, kind lads that rade wi' him, were hardly 
 ower the scaur, or he was ajf — the Judis ! Ay, weel — he 
 has his way o't : he's to be my lord, nae less, and there's 
 mony a cold corp amang the Hieland heather ! " And 
 at this, if Tarn had been drinking, he would begin to 
 weep. 
 
 Let anyone speak long enough, he will get believers. 
 This view of Mr. Henry's behaviour crept about the 
 country by little and little; it was talked upon by 
 folk that knew the contrary, but were short of topics ; 
 and it was heard and believed and given out for gospel 
 by the ignorant and the ill-willing. Mr. Henry began 
 to be shunned ; yet awhile, and the commons began 
 to murmur as he went by, and the women (who are 
 always the most bold because they are the most safe) to 
 cry out their reproaches to his face. The Master was 
 cried up for a saint. It was remembered how he had 
 never any hand in pressing the tenants ; as, indeed, no 
 more he had, except to spend the money. He was a 
 
14 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 little wiM perhaps, the folk said ; but how much beltei 
 was a natural, wild lad that would soon have settled 
 down, than a skinflint and a siieckdraw, sitting*, with 
 his nose in an account book, to persecute poor tenants ! 
 One trollop, who had had a child to the Master, and by 
 all accounts been very badly used, yet made herself a 
 kind of champion of his memory. She flung a stone 
 one day at Mr. Henry. 
 
 " Whaur^s the bonnie lad that trustit ye ? '''' she cried. 
 
 Mr. Henry reined in his horse and looked upon her, 
 the blood flowing from his lip. ''Ay, Jess?''"' says he. 
 '^ You too? And yet ye should ken me better. ■'■' 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 away screaming as though he had struck 
 her. 
 
 Next day word went about the country like wildfire 
 that Mr. Henry had beaten Jessie Broun within an 
 inch of her life. I give it as one instance of how this 
 snowball grew, and one calumny brought another ; until 
 my poor patron was so perished in reputation that he 
 began to keep the house like my lord. All this while, 
 you maybe very sure, he uttered no complaints at home; 
 the very ground of the scandal was too sore a matter to 
 be handled ; and jNIr. Henry was very proud and strangely 
 
 J 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 15 
 
 obstinate in silence. My old lord must have beard of 
 it, by John Paul, i£ by no one else ; and he must at least 
 have remarked the altered habits ot' his son. Yet even 
 he, it is probable, knew not how high the feeling ran ; 
 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 man could 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; some 
 grievance was fermenting, I forget what, if ever I 
 heard ; and it was currently said there would be broken 
 heads ere night, and that the sheriff had sent as far 
 as Dumfries for soldiers. My lord moved that Mr. 
 Henry should be present, assuring him it was neces- 
 sary to appear, for the credit of the house. ^' It will 
 soon be reported, '"^ said he, '^ that we do not take the 
 lead in our own country.'''' 
 
 '^ It is a strange lead that I can take,'''' said Mr. Henry; 
 and when they had pushed him further, "I tell you 
 the plain truth,'''' he said, " I dare not 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 his boots (the first time in four years 
 — a sore business John Paul had to get them on) , and 
 Miss Alison into her riding-coat, and all three rode 
 toiJ^ether to St. Bride's. 
 
 k.: 
 
16 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 The streets were full of the riff-mlf of all the country- 
 side, who had no sooner clapped eyes on Mr. Henry 
 than the hissing* began, and the hooting", 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 ^liss Alison's. It took 
 not ten minutes to persuade my lord that Mr. Henry 
 had been right. He said never a word, but turned his 
 horse about, and home again, with his chin upon his 
 bosom. Never a word said Miss Alison ; no doubt she 
 thought the more ; no doubt her pride was stung^ for 
 she was a bone-bred Durie; and no doubt her heart 
 was touched to see her cousin so unjustly used. That 
 night she was never in bed ; I have often blamed my 
 lady — when I call to mind that nig-lit, I readily forgive 
 her all ; and the first 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 himself she had a different sj^eech : ^^ 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 of the same year that first saw me 
 alighting at the doors of the great house ; and from 
 there I take up the history of events as they befell under 
 my own observation, like a witness in a court. 
 
 i 
 
17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SUMMARY OF EVENTS (continued), 
 
 f MADE tlie last of my journey in the cold end of De- 
 cember^ in a mighty dry day of frosty and who should be 
 my guide but Patey Macmorland^ brother of Tarn ! For 
 a tow-headed, bare-legged brat of ten, he had more ill 
 tales upon his tongue than ever I heard the match of; 
 having drunken betimes in his brother''s cup. I was still 
 not so old myself ; pride had not yet the upper hand of 
 curiosity ; and indeed it would have taken any man, that 
 cold morning, to hear all the old clashes of the country, 
 and be shown all the places by the way where strange 
 things had fallen out. I had tales of Claverhouse as 
 we came through the bogs, and tales of the devil as we 
 came over the top of the scaur. As we came in by the 
 abbey I heard somewhat of the old monks, and more 
 of the freetraders, wdio use its ruins for a magazine, 
 landing for that cause within a cannon-shot of Durris- 
 deer ; and along all the road the Duries and poor Mr. 
 Henry were in the first rank of slander. My mind was 
 thus highly prejudiced against the family I was about 
 to serve, so that I was half surprised when I beheld 
 Durrisdeer itself, lying in a pretty, sheltered bay, under 
 the Abbey Hill ; the house most commodiously built 
 in the French fashion, or perhaps Italianate^ for I have 
 c 
 
18 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 no skill in these arts ; and the place the most beautified 
 with gardens, lawns, shrubberies, and trees I had ever 
 seen. The money sunk here unproductively would have 
 quite restored the family ; but as it was, it cost a revenue 
 to keep it up. 
 
 Mr. Henry came himself to the door to welcome me : a 
 "tall dark young gentleman (the Daries are all black men) 
 of a plain and not cheerful face, very strong in body, but 
 not so strong in health : taking me by the hand without 
 any pride, and putting me at home with plain kind 
 speeches. He led me into the hall, booted as I was, to 
 present me to my lord. It was still daylight; and the 
 first thing I observed was a lozenge of clear glass in the 
 midst of the shield in the painted window, which I re- 
 member thinking a blemish on a room otherwise so hand- 
 some, with its family portraits, and the pargeted ceiling 
 with pendants, and the carved chimney, in one corner of 
 which my old lord sat reading in his Livy. He was 
 like Mr. Henry, with much the same plain countenance, 
 only more subtle and pleasant, and his talk a thousand 
 times more entertaining. He had many questions to 
 ask me, I remember, of Edinburgh College, where I had 
 just received my mastership of arts, and of the various 
 professors, with whom and their proficiency he seemed 
 well acquainted ; and thus, talking of things that I knew, 
 I soon got liberty of speech in my new home. 
 
 In the midst of this came Mrs. Henry into the room ; 
 she was very far gone, Miss Katharine being due in 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 19 
 
 about six weeks^ which made me think less of her 
 beauty at the first sight; and she used me with more of 
 condescension than the rest ; so that, upon all accounts, 
 I kept her in the third place of my esteem. 
 
 It did not take long before all Patey Macmorland^s 
 tales were blotted out of my belief, and I was become, 
 what I have ever since remained, a loving servant of the 
 house of Durrisdeer. Mr. Henry had the chief part of my 
 affection. It was with him I worked ; and I found him an 
 exacting master, keeping all his kindness for those hours 
 in which we were unemployed, and in the steward^s office 
 not only loading me with work, but viewing me with 
 a shrewd supervision. At length one day he looked up 
 from his paper with a kind of timidness, and says he^ 
 " Mr. Mackellar, I think I ought to tell you that you 
 do very well.'''' That was m}^ first word of commenda- 
 tion ; and from that day his jealousy of my performance 
 was relaxed; soon it was ^^ Mr. Mackellar ^^ here, and 
 ^' Mr. Mackellar '' there, with the whole family ; and 
 for much of my service at Durrisdeer, I have transacted 
 everything at my own time, and to my own fancy, and 
 never a farthing challenged. Even while he was driv- 
 ing me, I had begun to find my heart go out to Mr. 
 Henry; no doubt, partly in pity, he was a man so 
 palpably unhappy. He would fall into a deep muse over 
 our accounts, staring at the page or out of the window ; 
 and at those times the look of his face, and the sigh that 
 would break from him, awoke in me strong feelings of 
 c 2 
 
20 THE MASTEH OF BALLANTEAK. 
 
 curiosity and comtniseration. One day^ I remember, we 
 were late upon some business in the steward^s room. 
 This room is in the top of the house^ and has a view 
 upon the bay, and over a little wooded cape, on the long- 
 sands ; and there, right over against the sun, which was 
 then dipping, we saw the freetraders, with a great force 
 of men and horses, scouring on the beach. Mr. Henry 
 had been staring straight west, so that I marvelled he 
 was not blinded by the sun ; suddenly he frowns, rubs 
 his hand upon his brow, and turns to me with a smile. 
 
 '' You would not guess what I was thinking,''' says he. 
 " I was thinking I would be a happier man if I could 
 ride and run the danger of my life, with these lawless 
 companions.'^ 
 
 I told him I had observed he did not enjoy good 
 spirits; and that it was a common f?ncy to envy others 
 and think we should be the better of some change ; 
 quoting Horace to the point, like a young man fresh 
 from college. 
 
 "Why, just so/' said he. " And with that we may 
 get back to our accounts." 
 
 It was not long before I began to get wind of the 
 causes that so much depressed him. Indeed a blind man 
 must have soon discovered there was a shadow on that 
 house, the shadow of the Master of Ballantrae. Dead 
 or alive (and he was then supposed to be dead) that imny 
 was his brother's rival : his rival abroad, where there 
 was never a good word for j\Ir. Henry, and nothing but 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 21 
 
 regret and praise for the Master; and his rival at homej 
 not only with his father and his wife, but with the very 
 servants. 
 
 They were two old serving-men that were the leaders. 
 John Paul, a little, bald, solemn, stomachy man, a great 
 professor of piety and (take him for all in all) a pretty 
 faithful servant, was the chief of the Master^s faction. 
 None durst go so far as John. He took a pleasure in 
 disregarding Mr. Henry publicly, often with a slighting 
 comparison. My lord and Mrs. Henry took him up, to 
 be sure, but never so resolutely as they should ; and he 
 had only to pull his weeping face and begin his lamen- 
 tations for the Master — ^^ his laddie,^'' as he called him — 
 to have the whole condoned. As for Henry, he let 
 these things pass in silence, sometimes with a sad and 
 sometimes with a black look. There was no rivalling 
 the dead, he knew that; and how to censure an old 
 serving-man for a fault of loyalty, was more than he 
 could see. His was not the tongue to do it. 
 
 Macconochie was chief upon the other side ; an old, 
 ill-spoken, swearing, ranting, drunken dog ; and I have 
 often thought it an odd circumstance in human nature 
 that these two serving-men should each have been the 
 champion of his contrary, and blackened their own 
 faults and made light of their own virtues when they 
 beheld them in a master. Macconochie had soon smelled 
 out my secret inclination, took me much into his confi- 
 dence, and would rant against the Master by the hour, 
 
^^ THE MASTER OF SALLANTRAE. 
 
 SO that even my work suffered. ^' They^re a' daft here/' 
 he would cry, ^^ and be damned to them ! The Master 
 — the deiFs in their thrapples that should call him sae ! 
 it's Mr. Henry should be master now ! They were 
 nane sae fond o' the Master when the}^ had him, I'll can 
 tell ye that. Sorrow on his name ! Never a guid word 
 did I hear on his lips, nor naebody else, but just fleer- 
 ing- and flyting and profane cursing — deil hae him ! 
 There's nane kent his wickedness : him a gentleman ! 
 Did ever ye hear tell, Mr. Mackellar, o' Wully White 
 the wabster? No? Aweel, Wully was an unco praying 
 kind o' man ; a dreigh body, nane o' my kind, I never 
 could abide the sight o' him ; onyway he was a great 
 hand by his way of it, and he up and rebukit the blaster 
 for some of his on-goings. It was a grand thing for the 
 Master o' BalFntrae to tak up a feud wi' a' wabster, was- 
 nae't ? " Macconochie would sneer ; indeed, he never 
 took the full name upon his lips but with a sort of a 
 whine of hatred. " But he did ! A fine employ it 
 was : chapping at the man's door, and crying ^ boo ' in 
 his lum, and puttin' poother in his fire, and pee-oys^ in 
 his window ; till the man thocht it was auld Hornie was 
 come seekin' him. Weel, to mak a lang story short, 
 Wully gaed gyte. At the hinder end, they couldnae get 
 him frae his knees, but he just roared and prayed and 
 grat straucht on, till he got his release. It was fair 
 
 * A kind of firework made with damp powder. 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 23 
 
 murder^ a^body said that. Ask John Paul — he was 
 brawly ashamed o' that game, him that^s sic a Christian 
 man ! Grand doin's for the Master o' Bal^ntrae ! '' I 
 asked him what the Master had thought of it himself. 
 "How would I ken?^' says he. "He never said nae- 
 thing.'^ And on again in his usual manner of banning 
 and swearing, with every now and again a " Master of 
 Ballantrae " sneered through his nose. It was in one of 
 these confidences that he showed me the Carlisle letter, 
 the print of the horse-shoe still stamped in the paper. 
 Indeed, that was our last confidence; for he then ex- 
 pressed himself so ill-naturedly of Mrs. Henry that I 
 had to reprimand him sharply, and must thenceforth 
 hold him at a distance. 
 
 My old lord was uniformly kind to Mr. Henry ; he had 
 even pretty ways of gratitude, and would sometimes clap 
 him on the shoulder and say, as if to the world at large : 
 *^ This is a very good son to me.'''' And grateful he was, 
 no doubt, being a man of sense and justice. But I 
 think that was all, and I am sure Mr. Henry thought 
 so. The love was all for the dead son. Not that this 
 was often given breath to ; indeed, with me but once. 
 My lord had asked me one day how I got on with Mr. 
 Henry, and I had told him the truth. 
 
 " Ay,^"* said he, looking sideways on the burning fire, 
 '^ Henry is a good lad, a very good lad,^^ said he. " You 
 have heard, Mr. Mackellar, that I had another son ? I 
 am afraid he was not so virtuous a lad as Mr. Henry ; 
 
24 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 but dear me, he's dead, Mr. Mackellar ! and while he 
 lived we were all very proud of him, all very proud. If 
 he was not all he should have been in some ways, well, 
 perhaps we loved him better ! '' This last he said looking 
 musingly in the fire ; and then to me, with a great deal 
 of briskness, ^' But I am rejoiced you do so well with 
 Mr. Henry. You will find him a good master.''^ And 
 with that he opened his book, which was the customary 
 sisrnal of dismission. But it would be little that he 
 read, and less that he understood; Culloden field and 
 the Master, these would be the burthen of his thought ; 
 and the burthen of mine was an unnatural jealousy of 
 the dead man for Mr. Henry's sake, that had even then 
 begun to grow on me. 
 
 I am keeping Mrs. Henry for the last, so that this 
 expression of my sentiment may seem unwarrantably 
 strong : the reader shall judge for himself when I have 
 done. But I must first tell of another matter, which was 
 the means of bringing me more intimate. I had not yet 
 been six months at Durrisdeer when it chanced that 
 John Paul fell sick and must keep his bed ; drink was 
 the root of his malady, in my poor thought ; but he was 
 tended, and indeed carried himself, like an afllicted saint ; 
 and the very minister, who came to visit him, professed 
 himself edified when he went away. The third morning 
 of his sickness, Mr. Henry comes to me with something 
 of a hang-dog look. 
 
 " Mackellar,^' says he, " I wish I could trouble you 
 
I 
 
 SUMM.IRY OF EVENTS. 25 
 
 upon a, little service. There is a pension we pay; it 
 is Jobn^s part to carry it, and now that he is sick I 
 know not to whom I should look unless it was yourself. 
 The matter is very delicate ; I could not carry it with 
 my own hand for a sufficient reason; I dare not send 
 Maceonochie, who is a talker, and I am — I have — I am 
 desirous this should not come to Mrs. Henry^s ears/"* 
 says he, and flushed to his neck as he said it. 
 
 To say truth, when I found I was to carry money to 
 one Jessie Broun, who was no better than she should be, 
 I supposed it was some trip of his own that Mr. Henry 
 was dissembling. I was the more impressed when the 
 truth came out. 
 
 It was up a wynd off a side street in St. Bride's 
 that Jessie bad her lodging. The place was very ill 
 inhabited, mostly by the freetrading sort. There was 
 a man with a broken head at the entry ; half-way up, 
 in a tavern, fellows were roaring and singing, though it 
 was not yet nine in the day. Altogether, I bad never 
 seen a worse neigbbourhood, even in the great city of 
 Edinburgh, and I was in two minds to go back. Jessicas 
 room was of a piece with her surroundings, and • herself 
 no better. She would not give me the receipt (which 
 ]\ir. Henry bad told me to demand, for he was very 
 methodical) until she had sent out for spirits, and I bad 
 pledged her in a glass ; and all the time she carried on 
 in a light-headed, reckless way — now aping the manners 
 of a lady, now breaking into unseemly mhth, now 
 
26 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 making coquettish advances that oppressed me to the 
 ground. Of the money she spoke more tragically. 
 
 " It's blood money ! '' said she ; ^' I take it for that : 
 blood money for the betrayed ! See what I'm brought 
 down to ! Ah, if the bonnie lad were back again, it 
 would be changed days. But he's deid — he's lyin' deid 
 amang the Hieland hills — the bonnie lad, the bonnie 
 lad ! " 
 
 She had a rapt manner of crying on the bonnie lad, 
 clasping her hands and casting up her eyes, that I 
 think she must have learned of strolling players ; and I 
 thought her sorrow very much of an affectation, and 
 that she dwelled upon the business because her shame 
 was now all she had to be proud of. I will not say I 
 did not pity her, but it was a loathing pity at the best ; 
 and her last change of manner wiped it out. This was 
 when she had had enough of me for an audience, and 
 had set her name at last to the receipt. " There ! " says 
 she, and taking the most unwomanly oaths upon her 
 tongue, bade me begone and carry it to the Judas who 
 had sent me. It was the first time I had heard the 
 name applied to Mr. Henry ; I was staggered besides at 
 her sudden vehemence of word and manner, and got 
 forth from the room, under this shower of curses, like 
 a beaten dog. But even then I was not quit, for the 
 vixen threw up her window, and, leaning forth, continued 
 to revile me as I went up the wynd; the freetraders^ 
 coming to the tavern door, joined in the mockery, and 
 
StJMMARY OF EVENTS. 2? 
 
 one had even the inhumanity to set upon me a very 
 savage small dog, which bit me in the ankle. This 
 was a strong lesson, had I required one, to avoid ill 
 company ; and I rode home in much pain from the bite 
 and considerable indignation of mind. 
 
 Mr. Henry was in the steward's room, affecting 
 employment, but I could see he was only impatient to 
 hear of my errand. 
 
 '^ Well ? ■'' says he, as soon as I came in; and when I 
 had told him something of what passed, and that Jessie 
 seemed an undeserving woman and far from grateful : 
 '' She is no friend to me,'^ said he ; " but, indeed, Mac- 
 kellar, I have few friends to boast of, and Jessie has 
 some cause to be unjust. I need not dissemble what all 
 the country knows : she was not very well used by one 
 of our family."' This was the first time I had heard 
 him refer to the Master even distantly ; and I think he 
 found his tongue rebellious even for that much, but 
 presently he resumed — ''This is why I would have 
 nothing said. It would give pain to Mrs. Henry . . . 
 and to my father,'' he added, with another flush. 
 
 ^' Mr. Henry," said I, '^ if you will take a freedom 
 at my hands, I would tell you to let that woman be. 
 What service is your money to the like of her ? She 
 has no sobriety and no economy — as for gratitude, you 
 will as soon get milk from a whinstone ; and if you will 
 pretermit your bounty, it will make no change at all 
 but just to save the ankles of your messengers." 
 
28 THE .MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Mr. Henry smiled. " But I am grieved about 
 your ankle/'' said he_, tlie next moment, with a proper 
 gravity. 
 
 '' And observe/'' 1 continued, " I give you this 
 advice upon consideration; and yet my heart was 
 touched for the woman in the beginning.''^ 
 
 '^ Why, there it is, you see ! '' said Mr. Henry. 
 *^ And you are to remember that I knew her once a very 
 decent lass. Besides which, although I speak little of 
 my family, I think much of its repute.-'^ 
 
 And with that he broke up the talk, which was the 
 first we had together in such confidence. But the same 
 afternoon I had the proof that his father was perfectly 
 acquainted with the business, and that it was only from 
 his wife that Mr. Henry kept it secret. 
 
 '' I fear you had a painful errand to-day,'^ says my 
 lord to me, '^ for which, as it enters in no way among 
 your duties, I wish to thank you, and to remind you at 
 the same time (in case Mr. Henry should have neg- 
 lected) how very desirable it is that no word of it should 
 reach my daughter. Reflections on the dead, Mr. 
 Mackellar, are doubly painful.^'' 
 
 Anger glowed in my heart ; and I could have told 
 my lord to his face how little he had to do, bolstering 
 up the image of the dead in ]\Irs. Henry's heart, and 
 how much better he were employed to shatter that false 
 idol ; for by this time I saw very well how the land lay 
 between my patron and his wife. 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 29 
 
 My pen is clear enoug"!! to tell a plain tale ; but to 
 render the effect of an infinity of small things, not one 
 great enough in itself to be narrated ; and to translate 
 the story of looks, and the message of voices when they 
 are saying no great matter; and to put in half a page 
 the essence of near eighteen months — this is what I 
 despair to accomplish. The fault, to be very blunt, lay 
 all in Mrs. Henry. She felt it a merit to have con- 
 sented to the marriage, and she took it like a martyrdom ; 
 in which my old lord, whether he knew it or not, fomented 
 her. She made a merit, besides, of her constancy to 
 the dead, though its name, to a nicer conscience, should 
 have seemed rather disloyalty to the living; and here 
 also my lord gave her his countenance. I suppose he 
 was glad to talk of his loss, and ashamed to dwell on it 
 with Mr. Henry. Certainly, at least, he made a little 
 coterie apart in that family of three, and it was the 
 husband who was shut out. It seems it was an old 
 custom when the family were alone in Durrisdeer, that 
 my lord should take his wine to the chimney-side, and 
 Miss Alison, instead of withdrawing, should bring a 
 stool to his knee, and chatter to him privately; and 
 after she had become my patron'^s wife the same manner 
 of doing was continued. It should have been pleasant 
 to behold this ancient gcentleman so lovino: with his 
 daughter, but I was too much a partisan of Mr. Henry^s 
 to be anything but wroth at his exclusion. Many's the 
 time I have seen him make an obvious resolve, quit the 
 
30 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 table^ and go and join himself to his wife and niy Lord 
 Durrisdeer; and on their part, they were never back- 
 ward to make him welcome, turned to him smilingly as 
 to an intruding child, and took him into their talk with 
 an effort so ill-concealed that he was soon back again 
 beside me at the table, whence (so great is the hall of 
 Durrisdeer) we could but hear the murmur of voices at 
 the chimney. There he would sit and watch, and I 
 along with him ; and sometimes by my lord^'s head sor- 
 rowfully shaken, or his hand laid on Mrs. Henry's head, 
 or hers upon his knee as if in consolation, or sometimes 
 by an exchange of tearful looks, we would draw our 
 conclusion that the talk had gone to the old subject and 
 the shadow of the dead was in the hall. 
 
 I have hours when I blame Mr. Henry for taking 
 all too patiently; yet we are to remember he was 
 married in pity, and accepted his wife upon that term. 
 And, indeed, he had small encouragement to make a 
 stand. Once, I remember, he announced he had found 
 a man to replace the pane of the stained window, which, 
 as it was he that managed all the business, was a thing 
 clearly within his attributions. But to the Master's 
 fancies, that pane was like a relic; and on the first 
 word of any change, the blood flew to Mrs. Henry's 
 face. 
 
 " I wonder at you ! " she cried, 
 
 '^ I wonder at myself,'' says Mr. Henry, with more 
 of bitterness th^n I had eyer heard him to express, 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 31 
 
 Thereupon my old lord stepped in with his smooth 
 talk, so that before the meal was at an end all seemed 
 forgotten; only that, after dinner, when the pair had 
 withdrawn as usual to the chimney-side, we could see her 
 weeping with her head upon his knee. Mr. Henry kept 
 up the talk w4th me upon some topic of the estates — he 
 could speak of little else but business, and was never the 
 best of companj^ j but he kept it up that day with more 
 continuity, his eye straying ever and again to the chim- 
 ney, and his voice changing to another key, but without 
 check of delivery. The pane, however, was not replaced ; 
 and I believe he counted it a great defeat. 
 
 Whether he was stout enough or no, God knows he 
 was kind enough. Mrs. Henry had a manner of con- 
 descension with him, such as (in a wife) would have 
 pricked my vanity into an ulcer; he took it like a favour. 
 She held him at the staffs end; forgot and then re- 
 membered and unbent to him, as we do to children ; 
 burthened him with cold kindness ; reproved him with a 
 change of colour and a ])itten lip, like one shamed by 
 his disgrace : ordered him with a look of the eye, when 
 she was off her guard ; when she was on the watch, 
 pleaded with him for the most natural attentions, as 
 though they were unheard-of favours. And to all this 
 he replied with the most unwearied service ; loving, as 
 folk say, the very ground she trod on, and carrying that 
 love in his eyes as bright as a lamp. When Miss Katha- 
 rine was to be born, nothing would serve but he must 
 
32 THE MASTER OF BALLANTllAE. 
 
 stay in the room behind the head of the bed. There he 
 sat, as white (they tell me) as a sheet, and the sweat 
 dropping from his brow ; and the handkerchief he had 
 in his hand was crushed into a little ball no bigger than 
 a musket- bullet. Nor could he bear the sight of Miss 
 Katharine for many a day ; indeed, I doubt if he was 
 ever what he should have been to my young lady; 
 for the which want of natural feeling he was loudly 
 blamed. 
 
 Such was the state of this family down to the 7th 
 April, 1749, when there befell the first of that series of 
 events which were to break so many hearts and lose so 
 many lives. 
 
 On that day I was sitting in my room a little before 
 supper, when John Paul burst open the door with no 
 civility of knocking, and told me there was one below 
 that wished to speak with the steward ; sneering at the 
 name of my office. 
 
 I asked what manner of man, and what his nairie w^as ; 
 and this disclosed the cause of John^s ill-humour ; for 
 it appeared the visitor refused to name himself except 
 to me, a sore affront to the major-dome's consequence. 
 
 ^^ Well,''^ said T, smiling a little, '' I will see what he 
 wants.''"' 
 
 I found in the entrance hall a big man, very plainly 
 habited, and wrapped in a sea-cloak, like one new 
 landed, as indeed he was. Not far off Macconochie was 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 38 
 
 standing, with his toDgue out of his mouth and his band 
 upon his chin, hke a dull fellow thinking hard ; and the 
 stranger, who had brought his cloak about his face, 
 appeared uneasy. He had no sooner seen me comino- 
 than he went to meet me with an effusive manner. 
 
 " My dear man,^^ said he, '* a thousand apologies for 
 disturbing you, but Tm in the most awkward position. 
 And there''s a son of a ramrod there that I should know 
 the looks of, and more betoken I believe that he knows 
 mine. Being in this family, sir, and in a place of some 
 responsibility (which was the cause I took the liberty to 
 send for you), you are doubtless of the honest party? " 
 
 ^' You may be sure at least,-*^ says T, ^^ that all of that 
 party are quite safe in Durrisdeer.^^ 
 
 ^' My dear man, it is my very thought,"" says he. 
 " You see, I have just been set on shore here by a very 
 honest man, whose name I cannot remember, and who 
 is to stand off and on for me till morning, at some 
 danger to himself ; and, to be clear with you, I am a 
 little concerned lest it should be at some to me. I have 
 
 saved my life so often, Mr. , I forget your name, 
 
 which is a very good one— that, faith, I would be very 
 loath to lose it after all. And the son of a ramrod, 
 ryhom I believe I saw before Carlisle . . . ■'•' 
 
 *' Oh, sir,-'-' said I, '^ you can trust iMacconoehie until 
 to-morrow.-*' 
 
 " Well, and it's a delight to hear you say so,-" says 
 the stranger. " The truth is that my name is not a 
 
34 THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 very suitable one in this country of Scotland. With a 
 gentleman like you^ my dear man, I would have no con- 
 cealments of course; and by your leave 1^11 just breathe 
 it in your ear. They call me Francis Burke — Colonel 
 Francis Burke ; and I am here, at a most damnable risk- 
 to myself, to see your masters — if you'll! excuse me, my 
 good man, for giving them the name, for I^m sure it's 
 a circumstance I would never have guessed from your 
 appearance. And if you would just be so very obliging 
 as to take my name to them, you might say that I come 
 bearing letters which I am sure they will be very rejoiced 
 to have the reading of/' 
 
 Colonel Francis Burke was one of the Prince's Irish- 
 men, that did his cause such an infinity of hurt, and 
 were so much distasted of the Scots at the time of the 
 rebellion ; and it came at once into my mind, how the 
 Master of Ballantrae had astonished all men by going 
 with that party. In the same moment a strong fore- 
 boding of the truth possessed my soul. 
 
 " If you will step in here," said I, opening a chamber 
 door, " I Avill let my lord know." 
 
 *^ And I am sure it's very good of you, Mr. What-is- 
 your-name," says the Colonel. 
 
 Up to the hall I went, slow-footed. There they were, 
 all three — my old lord in his place, Mrs. Henry at work 
 by the window, Mr. Henry (as was much his custom) 
 pacing the low end. In the midst was the table laid 
 for supper. I told them briefly what I had to say. My 
 
SUMMAliY OF EVENTS. 35 
 
 old lord lay back in his seat. Mrs. Henry sprang up 
 standing with a mechanical motion^ and she and her 
 husband stared at each other^s eyes across the room ; it 
 was the strangest, challenging look these two exchanged, 
 and as they looked, the colour faded in their faces. 
 Then Mr. Henry turned to me ; not to speak, only to 
 sign with his finger ; but that was enough, and I went 
 down again for the Colonel. 
 
 When we returned, these three were in much the 
 same position I had left them in ; I believe no word 
 had passed. 
 
 " My Lord Durrisdeer, no doubt ? '^ says the Colonel, 
 bowing, and my lord bowed in answer. '^ And this,^^ 
 continues the Colonel, ^' should be the Master of 
 Ballantrae?^' 
 
 " I have never taken that name,^^ said Mr. Henry; 
 '^ but I am Henry Durie, at your service.'''' 
 
 Then the Colonel turns to Mrs. Henry, bowing with 
 his hat upon his heart and the most killing airs of 
 gallantry. " There can be no mistake about so fine a 
 figure of a lady,'' says he. " I address the seductive 
 Miss Alison, of whom I have so often heard ? ''■' 
 
 Once more husband and wife exchanged a look. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Henry Durie,''"' said she ; ^' but before 
 my marriage my name was Alison Graeme.'"' 
 
 Then my lord spoke up. " I am an old man. Colonel 
 Burke,'" said he, '' and a frail one. It will be mercy on 
 your part to be expeditious. Po you bring me news 
 d2 
 
36 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 of — ''■' he hesitated, and then the words broke from him 
 with a singular change of voice — " my son ? " 
 
 '' My dear lord, 1 will be round with you like a 
 soldier/' said the Colonel. '' I do/' 
 
 My lord held out a wavering hand; he seemed to 
 wave a signal, but whether it was to give him time or 
 to speak on, was more than we could guess. At length 
 he got out the one word, " Good ? '' 
 
 ^^ Why, the very best in the creation ! '' cries the 
 Colonel. " For my good friend and admired comrade is 
 at this hour in the fine city of Paris, and as like as not, 
 if I kaow anything of his habits, he will be drawing in 
 his chair to a piece of dinner. — Bed ad, I believe the 
 lady's fainting." 
 
 Mrs. Henry was indeed the colour of death, and 
 drooped against the window-frame. But when ^Ir. 
 Henry made a movement as if to run to her, she 
 straightened with a sort of shiver. " I am well," she 
 said, with her white lips. 
 
 Mr. Henry stopped, and his face had a strong twitch 
 of anger. The next moment he had turned to the 
 Colonel. ^' You must not blame yourself," says he, 
 " for this effect on Mrs. Durie. It is only natural j we 
 were all brought up like brother and sister." 
 
 Mrs. Henry looked at her husband with something 
 like relief or even gratitude. In my way of thinking, 
 that speech was the first step he made in her good 
 graces. 
 
 I 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 37 
 
 *' You must try to forgive me^ Mrs. Durie, for indeed 
 and I am just an Irish savage/' said the Colonel ; " and 
 I deserve to be shot for not breaking the matter more 
 artistically to a lady. But here are the Master's own 
 letters; one for each of the three of you; and to be 
 sure (if I know anything of my friend's genius) he will 
 iell his own story with a better grace.'' 
 
 He brought the three letters forth as he spoke, ar- 
 ranged them by their superscriptions, presented the first 
 to my lord, who took it greedily, and advanced towards 
 Mrs. Henry holding out the second. 
 
 But the lady waved it back. " To my husband/' 
 says she, with a choked voice. 
 
 The Colonel was a quick man, but at this he was some- 
 what nonplussed. ^^ To be sure ! " says he ; " how very 
 dull of me ! To be sure ! " But he still held the letter. 
 
 At last Mr. Henry reached forth his hand, and there 
 was nothing to be done but give it up. Mr. Henry took 
 the letters (both hers and his own), and looked upon 
 their outside, with his brows knit hard, as if he were 
 thinking. He had surprised me all through by his ex- 
 cellent behaviour ; but he was to excel himself now. 
 
 " Let me give you a hand to your room," said he to his 
 wife. " This has come something of the suddenest ; and, 
 at any rate, you will wish to read your letter by yourself." 
 
 Again she looked upon him with the same thought of 
 wonder ; but he gave her no time, coming straight to 
 where she stood. '' It will be better so, believe me," 
 
b8 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 said he ; " and Colonel Burke is too considerate not to 
 excuse you."'' And with that he took her hand by the 
 fingers, and led her from the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Henry returned no more that night ; and when 
 Mr. Henry went to visit her next morning, as I heard 
 long afterwards, she gave him the letter again, still 
 unopened. 
 
 ^^ Oh, read it and be done ! " he had cried. 
 
 ^' Spare me that,"" said she. 
 
 And by these two speeches, to my way of thinking, 
 each undid a great part of what they had previously 
 done well. But the letter, sure enough, came into my 
 hands, and by me was burned, unopened. 
 
 To be very exact as to the adventures of the ]\Iaster 
 atter Culloden, I wrote not long ago to Colonel Burke, 
 now a Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, begging him 
 for some notes in writing, since I could scarce depend 
 upon my memory at so great an interval. To confess 
 the truth, I have been somewhat embarrassed by his re- 
 sponse ; for he sent me the complete memoirs of his life, 
 touching only in places on the Master; running to a 
 much greater length than my whole story, and not 
 everywhere (as it seems to me) designed for edification. 
 He begged in his letter, dated from Ettenheim, that I 
 would find a publisher for the whole, after I had made 
 what use of it I required; and I think I shall best 
 answer my own purpose and fulfil his wishes by printing 
 
SUMMARY OF EVENTS. 39 
 
 certain parts of it in full. In this way my readers will 
 have a detailed, and, I believe, a very genuine account 
 of some essential matters ; and if any publisher should 
 take a fancy to the Chevalier^s manner of narration, he 
 knows where to apply for the rest, of which there is 
 plenty at his service. I put in my first extract here, so 
 that it may stand in the place of what the Chevalier told 
 us over our wine in the hall of Durrisdeer; but you are 
 to suppose it was not the brutal fact, but a very var- 
 nished version that he offered to my lord. 
 
 I 
 
4.0 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Fro7n the Memoirs of the Chevalier de Burke. 
 
 r, . . . I LEFT Rath veil (it's hardly necessary to 
 remark) with much greater satisfaction than I had come 
 to it; but whether I missed my way in the deserts, or 
 whether my companions failed me, I soon found myself 
 alone. This was a predicament very disagreeable ; for 1 
 never understood this horrid country or savage people, 
 and the last stroke of the Prince's withdrawal had made 
 us of the Irish more unpopular than ever. I was re- 
 flecting on my poor chances, when I saw another horse- 
 man on the hill, whom I supposed at first to have been 
 a phantom, the news of his death in the very front at 
 CuUoden being current in the army generally. This 
 was the Master of Ballantrae, my Lord Durrisdeer's son, 
 a young nobleman of the rarest gallantry and parts, and 
 equally designed by nature to adorn a Court and to reap 
 laurels in the field. Our meeting was the more welcome 
 to both, as he was one of the few Scots who had used 
 the Irish with consideration, and as he might now be 
 of very high utility in aiding my escape. Yet what 
 founded our particular friendship was a circumstance, by 
 itself as romantic as any fable of King Arthur. 
 
THE master's wanderings. 41 
 
 This was on the second day o£ our flight, after we 
 had slept one night in the rain upon the inclination of 
 a mountain. There was an Appin man, Akin Black 
 Stewart (or some such name,* but I have seen him 
 since in France) who chanced to be passing the same 
 way, and had a jealousy of my companion. Very un- 
 civil expressions were exchanged ; and Stewart calls 
 upon the Master to alight and have it out. 
 
 '' Why, ]\Ir. Stewart,'' says the Master, " I think at 
 the present time I would prefer to run a race with 
 you.'" And with the word claps spurs to his horse. 
 
 Stewart ran after us, a childish thing to do, for more 
 than a mile ; and I could not help laughing, as I looked 
 back at last and saw him on a hill, holding his hand to 
 his side, and nearly burst with running. 
 
 '^But, all the same,"' I could not help saying to my 
 companion, " I would let no man run after me for any 
 such proper purpose, and not give him his desire. It 
 was a good jest, but it smells a trifle cowardly.-" 
 
 He bent his brows at me. ^'1 do pretty well,'' says 
 he, " when I saddle myself with the most unpopular 
 man in Scotland, and let that suffice for courage." 
 
 '^ O, bedad," says I, " I could show you a more un- 
 popular with the naked eye. And if you like not my 
 company, you can 'saddle' yourself on some one else." 
 
 * Xote hy Mr. Mackellar. Should not this be Alan Brecli 
 Stewart, afterwards notorious as the Appin murderer ? The Cheva- 
 lier is sometimes very weak on names. 
 
42 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " Colonel Burke/' says he, '^ do not let us quarrel ; 
 and, to that effect, let me assure you I am the least 
 patient man in the world/' 
 
 '^I am as little patient as yourself,^' said I. ^^ I 
 care not who knows that/'' 
 
 '' At this rate/' says he, reining in, " we shall not go 
 very far. And T propose we do one of two things upon 
 the instant : either quarrel and be done ; or make a 
 sure bargain to bear everything at each other's hands/' 
 
 *^ Like a pair of brothers ? " said I. 
 
 " I said no such foolishness," he replied. ^' I have a 
 brother of my own, and I think no more of him than 
 of a colewort. But if we are to have our noses rubbed 
 together in this course of flight, let us each dare to 
 be ourselves like savages, and each swear that he will 
 neither resent nor deprecate the other. I am a pretty 
 bad fellow at bottom, and I find the pretence of virtues 
 very irksome." 
 
 " O, I am as bad as yourself," said I. ^' There is no 
 skim milk in Francis Burke. But which is it to be? 
 Fio^ht or make friends ? " 
 
 " Why/' says he, '^ I think it will be the best manner 
 to spin a coin for it." 
 
 This proposition was too highly chivalrous not to 
 take my fancy; and, strange as it may seem of two well- 
 born gentlemen of to-day, we span a half-crown (like a 
 pair of ancient paladins) whether we were to cut each 
 other's throats or be sworn friends. A more romantic 
 
I tHE master's wanderings. 48 
 
 circumstance can rarely have occurred ; and it is one of 
 
 those points in my memoirs, by which we may see the 
 
 old tales o£ Homer and the poets are equally true to-day ^ 
 
 — at least, of the noble and genteel. The coin fell for 
 
 peace, and we shook hands upon our bargain. And 
 
 then it was that my companion explained to me his 
 
 thought in running away from Mr. Stewart, which was 
 
 certainly worthy of his political intellect. The report 
 
 of his death, he said, was a great guard to him ; Mr. 
 
 Stewart having recognised him, had become a danger ; 
 
 and he had taken the briefest road to that gentleman^s 
 
 silence. '^ For,^'' says he, " Alan Black is too vain a 
 
 man to narrate any such story of himself.^' 
 
 Towards afternoon we came down to the shores of 
 that loch for which we were heading ; and there was the 
 ship, but newly come to anchor. She was the Sainte- 
 Marie-des-Anges, out of the port of Havre-de-Grace. 
 The Master, after we had signalled for a boat, asked me 
 if I knew the captain. I told him he was a countryman 
 of mine, of the most unblemished integrity, but, I was 
 afraid, a rather timorous man. 
 
 '' No matter,'' says he. " For all that, he should 
 certainly hear the truth." 
 
 I asked him if he meant about the battle ? for if 
 the captain once knew the standard was down, he would 
 certainly put to sea again at once. 
 
 " And even then ! '' said he; " the arms are now of 
 no sort of utility."" 
 
44 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^ My dear man/^ said 1, " who thinks of the arms ? j 
 But, to be sure, we must remember our friends. They 
 will be close upon our heels, perhaps the Prince himself, 
 and if the shij) be gone, a great number of valuable lives 
 may be imperilled/^ | 
 
 " The captain and the crew have lives also, if you 
 come to that,'^ says Ballantrae. I 
 
 This I declared was but a quibble, and that I would j 
 not hear of the captain being told; and then it was that 
 Ballantrae made me a witty answer, for the sake of 
 which (and also because I have been blamed myself 
 in this business of the Sainte-Marie-des-Anges) I have 
 related the whole conversation as it passed. 
 
 " Frank,''"' says he, ^^ remember our bargain. I must 
 not object to your holding your tongue, which I hereby 
 even encourage you to do ; but, by the same terms, 
 you are not to resent my telling.'''' 
 
 I could not help laughing at this; though I still 
 forewarned him what would come of it. 
 
 ^' The devil may come of it for what I care,^^ says 
 the reckless fellow. " T have always done exactly as I 
 felt inclined.'''' 
 
 As is well known, my prediction came true. The 
 captain had no sooner heard the news than he cut his 
 cable and to sea again ; and before morning broke, we 
 were in the Great Mineli. 
 
 The ship was very old ; and the skipper, although 
 the most honest of men (and Irisji too), was one of the 
 
THE mastery's wanderings. 45 
 
 least capable. The wind blew very boisterous^ and the 
 sea raged extremely. All that day we had little heart 
 whether to eat or drink; went early to rest in some 
 concern o£ mind ; and (as if to give us a lesson) in the 
 night the wind chopped suddenly into the north-east, 
 and blew a hurricane. We were awaked by the dread- 
 ful thunder of the tempest and the stamping of the 
 mariners on deck ; so that I supposed our last hour was 
 certainly come ; and the terror of my mind was increased 
 out of all measure by Ballantrae, who mocked at my 
 devotions. It is in hours like these that a man of any 
 piety appears in his true light, and we find (what we are 
 taught as babes) the small trust that can be set in 
 worldly friends ; I would be unworthy of my religion if 
 I let this pass without particular remark. For three 
 days we lay in the dark in the cabin, and had but a 
 biscuit to nibble. On the fourth the wind fell, leaving 
 the ship dismasted and heaving on vast billows. The 
 captain had not a guess of whither we were blown ; he 
 was stark ignorant of his trade, and could do naught 
 but bless the Holy Virgin ; a very good thing, too, but 
 scarce the whole of seamanship. It seemed, our one hope 
 was to be picked up by another vessel; and if that 
 should prove to be an English ship, it might be no 
 great blessing to the Master and myself. 
 
 The fifth and sixth days we tossed there helpless. 
 The seventh some sail was got on her, but she was an 
 unwieldy vessel at the best, and we made little but 
 
46 THE MA.STER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 leeway. All the time, indeed, we had been drifting to 
 the south and west, and during the tempest must have 
 driven in that direction with unheard-of violence. The 
 ninth dawn was cold and black, with a great sea running, 
 and every mark of foul weather. In this situation we 
 were overjoyed to sight a small ship on the horizon, and 
 to perceive her go about and head for the Sahite- Marie. 
 But our gratification did not very long endure ; for when 
 she had laid to and lowered a boat, it was immediately 
 filled with disorderly fellows, who sang and shouted 
 as they pulled across to us, and swarmed in on our deck 
 with bare cutlasses, cursing loudly. Their leader was 
 a horrible villain, with his face blacked and his whiskers 
 curled in ringlets ; Teach, his name ; a most notorious 
 pirate. He stamped about the deck, raving and crying 
 out that his name was Satan, and his ship was called 
 Hell. There was something about him like a wicked 
 child or a half-witted person, that daunted me beyond 
 expression. I whispered in the ear of Ballantrae that 1 
 would not be the last to volunteer, and only prayed God 
 they might be short of hands ; he approved my purpose 
 with a nod. 
 
 '' Bedad,'' said I to Master Teach, " if you are Satxin, 
 here is a devil for ye.-'"' 
 
 The word pleased him ; and (not to dwell upon these 
 shocking incidents) Ballantrae and I and two others 
 were taken for recruits, while the skipper and all the 
 rest were cast into the sea by the method of walking th^ 
 
THE master's wanderings. 47 
 
 plank. It was the first time 1 liad seen this done ; my 
 heart died within me at the spectacle ; and Master Teach 
 or one of his acolytes (for my head was too much lost to 
 be precise) remarked upon my pale face in a very alarm- 
 ing manner. I had the strength to cut a step or two of 
 a jig, and cry out some ribaldry, which saved me for 
 that time ; but my legs were like water when I must 
 get down into the skiff among these miscreants ; and 
 what with my horror of my company and fear of the 
 monstrous billows, it was all I could do to keep an Irish 
 tongue and break a jest or two as we were pulled aboard. 
 By the blessing of God, there was a fiddle in the pirate 
 ship, which I had no sooner seen than I fell upon ; and 
 in my quality of crowd er I had the heavenly good luck 
 to get favour in their eyes. Crowding Pat was the 
 name they dubbed me with ; and it was little I cared for 
 a name so long as my skin was whole. 
 
 What kind of a pandemonium that vessel was, I can- 
 not describe, but she was commanded by a lunatic, and 
 might be called a floating Bedlam. Drinking, roaring, 
 singing, quarrelling, dancing, they were never all sober 
 at one time ; and there were days together when, if 
 a squall had supervened, it must have sent us to the 
 bottom ; or if a king^s ship had come along, it would 
 have found us quite helpless for defence. Once or 
 twice we sighted a sail, and, if we were sober enough, 
 overhauled it, God forgive us ! and if we were all too 
 drunk, she got away, and I would bless the saints under 
 
48 THE MASTER OF B.VLLANTRAE. 
 
 my breath. Teach ruled, if you can call that rule which 
 brought no order, by the terror he created ; and I 
 observed the man was very vain of his position. I have 
 known marshals of France — ay, and even Highland 
 chieftains — that were less openly puffed up ; which throws 
 a singular light on the pursuit of honour and glory. 
 Indeed, the longer we live, the more we perceive the 
 sagacity of Aristotle and the other old philosophers ; and 
 though I have all my life been eager for legitimate 
 distinctions, I can lay my hand upon my heart, at the 
 end of my career, and declare there is not one — no, nor 
 yet life itself — which is worth acquiring or preserving at 
 the slightest cost of dignity. 
 
 It was long before I got private speech of Ballantrae ; 
 but at length one night we crept out upon the boltsprit, 
 when the rest were better employed, and commiserated 
 our position. 
 
 " None can deliver us but the saints,"*' said 1. 
 '^ My mind is very different," said Ballantrae ; " for 
 I am going to deliver myself. This Teach is the poorest 
 creature possible ; we make no profit of him, and lie con- 
 tinually open to capture; and,'' says he, "I am not 
 going to be a tarry pirate for nothing, nor yet to hang in 
 chains if I can help it." And he told me what was in 
 his mind to better the state of the ship in the way of dis- 
 cipline, which would give us safety for the present, and 
 a sooner hope of deliverance when they should have 
 gained enough and should break up their com])any. 
 
THE master's WANDEEINGS. 49 
 
 I confessed to him ingenuously that my nerve was 
 quite shook amid these horrible surroundings,, and I 
 durst scarce tell him to count upon me. 
 
 '' I am not very easy frightened/'' said he, *' nor very 
 easy beat/'' 
 
 A few days after, there befell an accident which had 
 nearly hanged us all ; and offers the most extraordinary 
 picture of the folly that ruled in our concerns. AVe 
 were all pretty drunk : and some bedlamite spying a 
 sail, .Teach put the ship about in chase without a 
 glance, and we began to bustle up the arms and boast of 
 the horrors that should follow. I observed Ballantrae 
 stood quiet in the bows, looking under the shade of 
 his hand ; but for my part, true to my policy among 
 these savages, I was at work with the busiest and passing 
 Irish jests for their diversion. 
 
 " Run up the col ours,'' cries Teach. ^^ Show the s 
 
 the Jolly Roger! '' 
 
 It was the merest drunken braggadocio at such a 
 st-flge, and might have lost us a valuable prize ; but I 
 thought it no part of mine to reason, and I ran up the 
 black flag with my own hand. 
 
 Ballantrae steps presently aft with a smile upon his 
 face. 
 
 " You may perhaps like to know, you drunken dog/' 
 says he, " that you are chasing a king's ship." 
 
 Teach roared him the lie ; but he ran at the same time 
 to the bulwarks, and so did they all. 1 have never seen 
 
50 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 SO many drunken men struck suddenly sober. The 
 cruiser had gone about, upon our impudent display of 
 colours; she was just then filling on the new tack; 
 her ensign blew out quite plain to see ; and even as we 
 stared, there came a puff of smoke, and then a report, 
 and a shot plunged in the waves a good way short of us. 
 Some ran to the ropes, and got the Sarah round with 
 an incredible swiftness. One fellow fell on the rum 
 barrel, which stood broached upon the deck, and rolled 
 it promptly overboard. On my part, I made for the 
 Jolly Roger, struck it, tossed it in the sea; and could 
 have flung myself after, so vexed was I with our mis- 
 management. As for Teach, he grew as pale as death, 
 and incontinently went down to his cabin. Only twice 
 he came on deck that afternoon; went to the taffrail ; 
 took a long look at the king's ship, which was still 
 on the horizon heading after us; and then, without 
 speech, back to his cabin. You may say he deserted 
 us ; and if it had not been for one very capable sailor we 
 had on board, and for the hghtness of the airs that blew 
 all day, we must certainly have gone to the yard-arm. 
 
 It is to be supposed Teach was humiliated, and per- 
 haps alarmed for his position with the crew; and the 
 way in which he set about regaining what he had 
 lost, was highly characteristic of the man. Early next 
 day we smelled him burning sulphur in his cabin and 
 crjang out of '^ Hell, hell ! '' which was well understood 
 among the crew, and filled their minds with apprehension. 
 
THE MASTER^S WANDERINGS. 51 
 
 Presently he comes on deck, a perfect figure of fun, his 
 face blacked, his hair and whiskers curled, his belt stuck 
 full of pistols ; chewing bits of glass so that the blood 
 ran down his chin, and brandishing a dirk. I do not 
 know if he had taken these manners from the Indians of 
 America, where he was a native ; but such was his way, 
 and he would alw^ays thus announce that he was wound 
 up to horrid deeds. The first that came near him was 
 the fellow who had sent the rum overboard the day 
 before; him he stabbed to the heart, damning him 
 for a mutineer; and then capered about the body, 
 raving and swearing and daring us to come on. It was 
 the silliest exhibition ; and yet dangerous too, for the 
 cowardly fellow was plainly working himself up to 
 anothfc./- murder. 
 
 All of a sudden Ballantrae stepped forth. " Have 
 done with this play-acting,-*^ says he. " Do you think 
 to frighten us with making faces ? We saw nothing of 
 you yesterday, when you were wanted ; and we did well 
 without you, let me tell you that.'''' 
 
 There was a murmur and a movement in the crew, 
 of pleasure a\id alarm, I thought, in nearly equal parts. 
 As for Teach, he gave a barbarous howl, and swung his 
 dirk to fling it, an art in which (like many seamen) he 
 was very expert. 
 
 ^* Knock that out of his hand ! '''' says Ballantrae, so 
 sudden and sharp that my arm obeyed him before my 
 mind had understood. 
 S2 
 
52 THE MASTER OF BALLANTUAE. 
 
 Teach stood like one stupid, never thinking on his 
 pistols. 
 
 '' Go down to your cabin/^ cries Ballantrae, " and 
 come on deck again when you are sober. Do you think 
 we are going to hang for you, you black-faced, half- 
 witted, drunken brute and butcher ? Go down ! '' And 
 he stamped his foot at him with such a sudden smart- 
 ness that Teach fairly ran for it to the companion. 
 
 '' And now, mates," says Ballantrae, '' a word with 
 you. I don^t know if you are gentlemen of fortune 
 for the fun of the thing, but 1 am not. I want to 
 make money, and get ashore again^ and spend it like a 
 man. And on one thing my mind is made up : I will 
 not hang if I can help it. Come : give me a hint ; Fm 
 only a beginner ! Is there no way to get a little dis- 
 cipline and common sense about this business ? '' 
 
 One of the men spoke up : he s?,id by rights they 
 should have a quartermaster; and no sooner was the 
 word out of his mouth than they were all of that 
 opinion. The thing went by acclamation, Ballantrae 
 was made quarter aiaster, the rum was put in his charge, 
 laws were passed in imitation of those of a pirate by the 
 name of Boberts, and the last proposal was to make an 
 end of Teach. But Ballantrae was afraid of a more 
 efficient captain, who might be a counterweight to him- 
 self, and he opposed this stoutly. Teach, he said, was 
 good enough to board ships and frighten fools with his 
 blacked face and swearing ; we could scarce get a better 
 
THE master's wanderings. 53 
 
 man than Teach for that ; and besides, as the man was 
 now disconsidered and as good as deposed, we might 
 reduce his proportion of the plunder. This carried it ; 
 Teaches share was cut down to a mere derision, being 
 actually less than mine ; and there remained only two 
 points : whether he would consent, and who was to 
 announce to him this resolution. 
 
 " Do not let that stick you,^^ says Ballantrae, '^ I will 
 do that.'' 
 
 And he stepped to the companion and down alone into 
 the cabin to face that drunken savage. 
 
 ^'^ This is the man for us,-" cries one of the hands. 
 *' Three cheers for the quartermaster ! ''' which were 
 given with a will, my own voice among the loudest, and 
 T dare say these plaudits had their effect on Master 
 Teach in the cabin, as we have seen of late days how 
 shouting in the streets may trouble even the minds of 
 legislators. 
 
 What passed precisely was never known, though some 
 of the heads of it came to the surface later on ; and we 
 were all amazed, as well as gratified, when Ballantrae 
 came on deck with Teach upon his arm, and announced 
 that all had been consented. 
 
 I pass swiftly over those twelve or fifteen months in 
 which we continued to keep the sea in the North Atlan- 
 tic, getting our food and water from the ships we over- 
 hauled, and doing on the whole a pretty fortunate busi- 
 ness. Sure, no one could wish to read anything so 
 
54 THE MASTER OP BALLANTKAE. 
 
 ungenteel as the memoirs of a pirate^ even an unwilling 
 one like me ! Things went extremely better with our 
 designs, and Ballantrae kept his lead, to my admiration, 
 from that day forth. I would be tempted to suppose 
 that a gentleman must everywhere be first, even aboard 
 a rover : but my birth is every whit as good as 
 any Scottish lord's, and I am not ashamed to confess 
 that I stayed Crowding Pat until the end, and was not 
 much better than the crew's buffoon. Indeed, it was 
 no scene to bring out my merits. My health suffered 
 from a variety of reasons ; I was more at home to the 
 last on a horse's back than a ship's deck; and, to be 
 ingenuous, the fear of the sea was constantly in my 
 mind, battling with the fear of my companions. I need 
 not cry myself up for courage; I have done well on 
 many fields under the eyes of famous generals, and 
 earned my late advancement by an act of the most dis- 
 tinguished valour before many witnesses. But when 
 we must proceed on one of our abordages, the heart of 
 Francis Burke was in his boots ; the little egg-shell skiff 
 in which we must set forth, the horrible heaving of the 
 vast billows, the height of the ship that we must scale, 
 the thought of how many might be there in garrison 
 upon their legitimate defence, the scowling heavens 
 which (in that climate) so often looked darkly down 
 upon our exploits, and the mere crying of the wind in 
 my ears, were all considerations most unpalatable to my 
 valour. Besides which, as I was always a creature of 
 
THE BLEAK PANGEROUS SEA SURROUNDINGS THAT MADE THEIR ACTS OF 
 PIRACY FAR THE MOST REVOLTING. 
 
 {p. bb.) 
 
55 
 
 the nicest sensibility, the scenes that must follow on 
 our success tempted me as little as the chances of defeat. 
 Twice we found women on board ; and though I have 
 seen towns sacked, and of late days in France some 
 very horrid public tumults, there was something in 
 the smallness of the numbers engaged, and the bleak 
 dangerous sea-surroundings, that made these acts of 
 piracy far the most revolting. I confess ingenuously 
 I could never proceed unless I was three parts drunk ; 
 it w^as the same even with the crew; Teach himself 
 was fit for no enterprise till he was full of rum ; and it 
 was one of the most difficult parts of Ballantrae's per- 
 formance, to serve us with liquor in the proper quanti- 
 ties. Even this he did to admiration ; being upon the 
 whole the most capable man I ever met with, and the 
 one of the most natural genius. He did not even 
 scrape favour with the crew, as I did, by continual 
 buffoonery made upon a very anxious heart; but preserved 
 on most occasions a great deal of gravity and distance ; 
 so that he was like a parent among a family of young 
 children, or a schoolmaster with his boys. What made 
 his part the harder to perform, the men were most 
 inveterate grumblers ; Ballantrae's discipline, little as 
 it was, was yet irksome to their love of licence; and 
 what was worse, being kept sober they had time to 
 think. Some of them accordingly would fall to repent- 
 ing their abominable crimes ; one in particular, who 
 was a good Catholic, and with whom 1 would sometimes 
 
56 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 steal apart for prayer; above all in bad weather, fo^s, 
 lashing rain and the like, when we would be the less 
 observed ; and I am sure no two criminals in the cart 
 have ever performed their devotions with more anxious 
 sincerity. But the rest, having no such grounds of 
 hope, fell to another pastime, that of computation. All 
 day long they would be telling up their shares or 
 glooming over the result. I have said we were pretty 
 fortunate. But an observation falls to be made : that 
 in this world, in no business that T have tried, do the 
 profits rise to a man's expectations. We found many 
 ships and took many ; yet few of them contained much 
 money, their goods were usually nothing to our pur- 
 pose — what did we want with a cargo of ploughs, or 
 even of tobacco? — and it is quite a painful reflection 
 how many whole crews we have made to walk the plank 
 for no more than a stock of biscuit or an anker or two 
 of spirits. 
 
 In the meanwhile our ship was growing very foul, 
 and it was high time we should make for our port de 
 carrenage^ which was in the estuary of a river among 
 swamps. It was openly understood that we should then 
 break up and go and squander our proportions of the 
 spoil ; and this made every man greedy of a little more, 
 so that our decision was delayed from day to day. 
 What finally decided matters, was a trifling accident, 
 such as an ignorant person might suppose incidental to 
 our way of life. But here I must explain : on only one 
 
THE master's wanderings. 57 
 
 of all the ships we boarded, the first on which we found 
 women, did we meet with any genuine resistance. On 
 that occasion we had two men killed and several in- 
 jured, and if it had not been for the gallantry of Ballan- 
 trae we bad surely been beat back at last. Everywhere 
 else the defence (where there was any at all) was what 
 the worst troops in Europe would have laughed at ; so 
 that the most dangerous part of our employment was to 
 clamber up the side of the ship ; and I have even known 
 the poor souls on board to cast us a line, so eager were 
 they to volunteer instead of walking the plank. This 
 constant immunity had made our fellows very soft, so 
 that I understood how Teach had made so deep a mark 
 upon their minds ; for indeed the company of that 
 lunatic was the chief danger in our way of life. The 
 accident to which I have referred was this : — We had 
 sighted a little full-rigged ship very close under our 
 board in a haze ; she sailed near as well as we did — I 
 should be nearer truth if I said, near as ill ; and we 
 cleared the bow-chaser to see if we could bring a spar or 
 two about their ears. The swell was exceeding great ; 
 the motion of the ship beyond description ; it was little 
 wonder if our gunners should fire thrice and be still 
 quite broad of what they aimed at. But in the mean- 
 while the chase had cleared a stern gun, the thickness 
 of the air concealing them ; and being better marksmen, 
 their first shot struck us in the bows, knocked our two 
 gunners into mince- meat, so that we were all sprinkled 
 
58 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 with the blood, and plunged through the deck into the 
 forecast] C; where we slept. Ballantrae would have held 
 on ; indeed, there was nothing in this contretemps to 
 affect the mind of any soldier ; but he had a quick per- 
 ception of the men's wishes, and it was plain this lucky 
 shot had given them a sickener of their trade. In a 
 moment tliey were all of one mind : the chase was draw- 
 ing away from us, it was needless to hold on, the Sarah 
 was too foul to overhaul a bottle, it was mere foolery to 
 keep the sea with her; and on these pretended grounds 
 her head was incontinently put about and the course laid 
 for the river. It was strange to see what merriment fell 
 on that ship's company, and how they stamped about 
 the deck jesting, and each computing what increase had 
 come to his share by the death of the two gunners. 
 
 We were nine days making our port, so light were the 
 airs we had to sail on, so foul the ship's bottom ; but 
 early on the tenth, before dawn, and in a light lifting 
 haze, we passed the head. A little after, the haze lifted, 
 and fell again, showing us a cruiser very close. This 
 was a sore blow, happening so near our refuge. There 
 was a great debate of whether she had seen us, and if so 
 whether it was likely they had recognised the Sarah. 
 We were very careful, by destroying every member of 
 those crews we overhauled, to leave no evidence as to our 
 own persons; but the appearance of the Sarah herself 
 we could not keep so private ; and above all of late, 
 siuce she had been foul, and we had pursued many ships 
 
THE MASTEU^S WANDERINGS. 59 
 
 without success,, it was plain that her description had 
 been often published. I supposed this alert would have 
 made us separate upon the instant. But here again 
 that original genius of Ballantrae's had a surprise in 
 store for me. He and Teach (and it was the most re- 
 markable step of his success) had gone hand in hand 
 since the first day of his appointment. I often ques- 
 tioned him upon the fact^ and never got an answer but 
 once^ when he told me he and Teach had an understand- 
 ing '^ which would very much surprise the crew if they 
 should hear of it, and would surprise himself a good 
 deal if it w^as carried out."*' Well, here again he and 
 Teach were of a mind ; and by their joint procurement 
 the anchor was no sooner down than the whole crew 
 went off upon a scene of drunkenness indescribable. By 
 afternoon we were a mere shipful of lunatical persons, 
 throwing of things overboard, howling of different songs 
 at the same time, quarrelling and falling together, and 
 then forgetting our quarrels to embrace. Ballantrae 
 had bidden me drink nothing, and feign drunkenness, 
 as I valued my life ; and I have never passed a day so 
 wearisomely, lying the best part of the time upon the 
 forecastle and watching the swamps and thickets by 
 which our little basin was entirely surrounded for the 
 eye. A little after dusk Ballantrae stumbled up to my 
 side, feigned to fall, with a drunken laugh, and before 
 he got his feet again, whispered me to ^' reel dowTi into 
 the cabin and seem to fall asleep upon a locker, for 
 
60 THE MASTER OP BALLANTUAE. 
 
 there would be need of me soon/^ T did as I was told, 
 and coming into the cabin, where it was quite dark, let 
 myself fall on the first locker. There was a man there 
 already ; by the way he stirred and threw me off, I could 
 not think he was much in liquor; and yet when I had 
 found another place, he seemed to continue to sleep on. 
 My heart now beat very hard, for T saw some desperate 
 matter was in act. Presently down came Ballantrae, lit 
 the lamp, looked about the cabin, nodded as if pleased, 
 and on deck again without a word. I peered out from 
 between my fingers, and saw there were three of us 
 slumbering, or feigning to slumber, on the lockers : my- 
 self, one Button and one Grady, both resolute men. On 
 deck the rest were got to a pitch of revelry quite beyond 
 the bounds of what is human ; so that no reasonable 
 name can describe the sounds they were now making. T 
 have heard many a drunken bout in my time, many on 
 board that very Sarah, but never anything the least like 
 this, which made me early suppose the liquor had been 
 tampered with. It was a long while before these yells 
 and howls died out into a sort of miserable moaning, 
 and then to silence ; and it seemed a long while after 
 that before Ballantrae came down again, this time with 
 Teach upon his heels. The latter cursed at the sight of 
 us three upon the lockers. 
 
 " Tut,""^ says Ballantrae, ^^you might fire a pistol 
 at their ears. You know what stuff they have been 
 swallowing.^' 
 
THE master's wanderings. 61 
 
 There was a hatch in the cabin floor, and under that 
 the richest part of the booty was stored against the day of 
 division. It fastened with a ring and three padlocks, the 
 keys (for greater security) being divided ; one to Teach, 
 one to Ballantrae, and one to the mate, a man called 
 Hammond. Yet 1 was amazed to see they were now all 
 in the one hand ; and yet more amazed (still looking 
 through my fingers) to observe Ballantrae and Teach 
 bring up several packets, four of them in all, very care- 
 fully made up and with a loop for carriage. 
 
 '' And now,''^ says Teach, " let us be going.'''' 
 
 '^ One word,''' says Ballantrae. '* I have discovered 
 there is another man besides yourself who knows a pri- 
 vate path across the swamp ; and it seems it is shorter 
 than yours.''' 
 
 Teach cried out, in that case, they were undone. 
 
 ^^I do not know for that," says Ballantrae. " For 
 there are several other circumstances with which I must 
 acquaint you. First of all, there is no bullet in your 
 pistols, which (if you remember) I was kind enough to 
 load for both of us this morning. Secondly, as there is 
 someone else who knows a passage, you must think it 
 highly improbable I should saddle myself with a lunatic 
 like you. Thirdly, these gentlemen (who need no longer 
 pretend to be asleep) are those of my party, and will 
 now proceed to gag and bind you to the mast ; and when 
 your men awaken (if they ever do awake after the drugs 
 we have mingled in their liquor), I am sure they will b(? 
 
 ^ 
 
62 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 SO obliging as to deliver you, and you will have no diffi- 
 culty, I daresay, to explain the business of the keys/^ 
 
 Not a word said Teach, but looked at us like a 
 frightened baby as we gagged and bound him. 
 
 '' Now you see, you moon-calf,^^ says Ballantrae, 
 '^why we made four packets. Heretofore you have 
 been called Captain Teach, but I think you are now 
 rather Captain Learn/^ 
 
 That was our last word on board the Sarah. We four, 
 with our four packets, lowered ourselves softly into a skiff, 
 and left that ship behind us as silent as the grave, only 
 for the moaninoc of some of the drunkards. There was 
 a fog about breast-high on the waters ; so that Button, 
 who knew the passage, must stand on his feet to direct 
 our rowing; and this, as it forced us to row gently, was 
 the means of our deliverance. We were yet but a little 
 way from the ship, when it began to come grey, and the 
 birds to fly abroad upon the water. All of a sudden 
 Button clapped down upon his hams, and whispered us 
 to be silent for our lives, and hearken. Sure enough, 
 we heard a little faint creak of oars upon one hand, and 
 then again, and further off, a creak of oars upon the 
 other. It was clear we had been sighted yesterday in 
 the morning ; here were the cruiser's boats to cut us 
 out ; here were we defenceless in their very midst. Sure, 
 never were poor souls more perilously placed ; and as we 
 lay there on our oars, praying God the mist might hold, 
 the sweat poured from my brow. Presently we heard 
 
THE master's wanderings. 63 
 
 one o£ the boats wliere we might have thrown a biscuit 
 in her. ^''Softly, men/' we heard an officer whisper; 
 and I marvelled they could not hear the drumming of 
 my heart. 
 
 '' Never mind the path/' says Ballantrae ; " we must 
 get shelter anyhow; let ns pull straight ahead for the 
 sides of the basin." 
 
 This we did with the most anxious precaution, rowing, 
 as best we could, upon our hands, and steering at a ven- 
 ture in the fog, which was (for all that) our only safety. 
 But Heaven guided us ; we touched ground at a thicket ; 
 scrambled ashore with our treasure; and having no 
 other way of concealment, and the mist beginning 
 already to lighten, hove down the skiff and let her sink. 
 We were still but new under cover when the sun rose; 
 and at the same time, from the midst of the basin, a 
 great shouting of seamen sprang up, and we knew the 
 Sarah was being boarded. I heard afterwards the officer 
 that took her got great honour; nnd it's true the ap- 
 proach was creditably managed, but I think he had an 
 easy capture when he came to board.* 
 
 I was still blessing the saints for my escape, when I 
 
 * Note by Mi\ Mackellar. This Teach of the Sarah must not 
 be confused with the celebrated Blackbeard. The dates and facts 
 by no means tally. It is possible the second Teach may have at 
 once borrowed the name and imitated the more excessive part of 
 his manners from the fii'st. Even the Master of Ballantrae could 
 make admirers. 
 
64 THE MASTER OF BALT.AXTK AE. 
 
 became aware we were in trouble of anotber kind. We 
 were bere landed at random in a vast and dangerous 
 swamp ; and bow to come at tbe patb was a concern o£ 
 doubt, fatigue, and peril. Button, indeed, was of opinion 
 we sbould wait until tbe sbip was gone, and fisb up 
 tbe skiff ; for any delay would be more wise tban to go 
 blindly abead in tbat morass. One went back accord- 
 ingly to tbe basin-side and (peering tbrougb tbe tbicket) 
 saw tbe fog already quite drunk up, and Englisb colours 
 flying on tbe Sarah, but no movement made to get ber 
 under way. Our situation was now very doubtful. Tbe 
 swamp was an unbealtbf ul place to linger in ; we bad 
 been so greedy to bring treasures tbat we bad brougbt 
 but little food ; it was bigbly desirable, besides, tbat we 
 sbould get clear of tbe neigbbourbood and into tbe settle- 
 ments before tbe news of tbe capture went abroad ; and 
 ao'ainst all tbese considerations, tbere was only tbe peril 
 of tbe passage on tbe otber side. T tbink it not wonder- 
 ful we decided on tbe active part. 
 
 It was already blistering bot wben we set fortb to 
 pass tbe marsb, or ratber to strike tbe patb, by com- 
 pass. Button took tbe compass, and one or otber of us 
 tbree carried bis proportion of tbe treasure. I promise 
 you be kept a sbarp eye to bis rear, for it was like tbe 
 man^s soul tbat be must trust us witb. Tbe tbicket was 
 as close as a busb ; tbe ground very treacberous, so tbat 
 we often sank in tbe most terrifying manner, and must 
 go round about ; tbe beat, besides, was stifling, tbe air 
 
65 
 
 singularly heavy, and the sting-ing insects abounded in 
 such myriads that each of us walked under his own 
 cloud. It has often been commented on, how much 
 better gentlemen of birth endure fatigue than persons 
 of the rabble ; so that walking officers who must tramp 
 in the dirt beside their men, shame them by their con- 
 stancy. This was well to be observed in the present in- 
 stance; for here were Ballantrae and I, two gentlemen 
 of the highest breeding, on the one hand ; and on the 
 other, Grady, a common mariner, and a man nearly a 
 giant in physical strength. The case of Dutton is not 
 ill point, for I confess he did as well as any of us."^ But 
 as for Grady, he began early to lament his case, tailed in 
 the rear, refused to carry Dutton^s packet when it came 
 his turn, clamoured continually for rum (of which we 
 had too little), and at last even threatened us from be- 
 hind with a cocked pistol, unless w^e should allow him 
 rest. Ballantrae would have fought it out, I believe ; but 
 I prevailed with him the other wa}^ ; and we made a stop 
 and ate a meal. It seemed to benefit Grady little ; he 
 was in the rear again at once, growling and bemoanino* 
 his lot; and at last, by some carelessness, not having 
 followed properly in our tracks, stumbled into a deep 
 part of the slough where it was mostly water, gave some 
 
 * Note by Mr. Mackellar. And is not this the whole explana- 
 tion? since this Dutton, exactly like the officers, enjoyed the 
 stimulus of some responsibility, 
 y 
 
66 THE xMASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 very dreadful screams, and before we could come to his 
 aid had sunk along with his booty. His fate, and 
 above all these screams of his, appalled us to the soul ; 
 yet it was on the whole a fortunate circumstance and 
 the means of our deliverance, for it moved Dutton to 
 mount into a tree, whence he was able to perceive and to 
 show me, who had climbed after him, a hig-h piece of 
 the wood, which was a landmark for the path. He 
 went forward the more carelessly, I must suppose ; for 
 presently we saw him sink a little down, draw up his 
 feet and sink again, and so twice. Then he turned his 
 face to us, pretty white. 
 
 " Lend a hand,''"' said he, " I am in a bad place."'' 
 
 " I don^t know about that,''"' says Ballantrae, standing 
 still. 
 
 Dutton broke out into the most violent oaths, sinking 
 a little lower as he did, so that the mud was nearly to 
 his waist, and plucking a pistol from his belt, " Help 
 me,'' he cries, ^^ or die and be damned to you ! " 
 
 '^ Nay," says Ballantrae, " I did but jest. I am com- 
 ing." And he set down his own packet and Button's, 
 which he was then carrying. ^^Do not venture near 
 till we see if you are needed," said he to me, and went 
 forward alone to where the man was bogged. He was 
 quiet now, though he still held the pistol ; and the 
 marks of terror in his countenance were very moving to 
 behold. 
 
 " For the Lord's sake/' says he, '' look sharp." 
 
THE master's ^TANDERINGS. 67 
 
 Ballantrae was now got close up. " Keep still/' 
 says lie, and seemed to consider ; and then, '' Reach out 
 both your hands ! '' 
 
 Dutton laid down his pistol, and so watery was the 
 top surface that it went clear out of sight; with an 
 oath he stooped to snatch it ; and as he did so, Ballan- 
 trae leaned forth and stabbed him between the shoulders. 
 Up went his hands over his head — I know not whether 
 with the pain or to ward himself; and the next moment 
 he doubled forward in the mud. 
 
 Ballantrae was already over the ankles; but he 
 plucked himself out, and came back to me, where I 
 stood with my knees smiting' one another. '^ The devil 
 take you, Francis!'' says he. '^1 believe you are a half- 
 hearted fellow, after all. I have only done justice on a 
 pirate. And here we are quite clear of the Sarakf Who 
 shall now say that we have dipped our hands in any 
 irregularities ? "" 
 
 I assured him he did me injustice; but my sense 
 of humanity was so much affected by the horridness 
 of the fact that I could scarce find breath to answer 
 with. 
 
 "Come," said he, "you must be more resolved. The 
 need for this fellow ceased when he had shown you where 
 the path ran ; and you cannot deny I would have been 
 daft to let slip so fair an opportunity." 
 
 I could not deny but he was right in principle ; nor 
 yet could I refrain from shedding tears, of which J 
 
 w '> 
 
68 THE MASTEK OF BALLANTRAfi. 
 
 think no man of valour need have been ashamed ; and 
 it was not until I had a share of the rum that I was 
 able to proceed. I repeat, I am far from ashamed of my 
 generous emotion ; mercy is honourable in the warrior ; 
 and yet I cannot altogether censure Ballantrae, whose 
 step was really fortunate, as we struck the path without 
 further misadventure, and the same night, about sun- 
 down, came to the edge of the morass. 
 
 We were too weary to seek far ; on some dry sands, 
 still warm with the day^s sun, and close under a wood 
 of pines, we lay down and were instantly plunged in 
 sleep. 
 
 We awaked the next morning very early, and began 
 with a sullen spirit a conversation that came near 
 to end in blows. We were now cast on shore in the 
 southern provinces, thousands of miles from any 
 French settlement; a dreadful journey and a thou- 
 sand perils lay in front of us ; and sure, if there was 
 ever need for amity, it was in such an hour. I must 
 suppose that Ballantrae had suffered in his sense of 
 what is truly polite ; indeed, and there is nothing 
 strange in the idea, after the sea- wolves we had con- 
 sorted with so long ; and as for myself, he fubbed me 
 off unhandsomely, and any gentleman would have 
 resented his behaviour. 
 
 I told him in what light I saw his conduct ; he 
 walked a little off, I following to upbraid him ; and at 
 last he stopped me with his hand. 
 
THE master's WANDEKINGS. 69 
 
 " Frank/' says he, ^' you know what we swore ; and 
 yet there is no oath invented would induce me to swal- 
 low such expressions, if I did not regard you with sin- 
 cere affection. It is impossible you should doubt me 
 there : I have given proofs. Dutton I had to take, 
 because he knew the pass, and Grady because Dutton 
 would not move without him ; but what call was there 
 to carry you along ? You are a perpetual danger to me 
 with your cursed Irish tongue. By rights you should 
 now be in irons in the cruiser. And you quarrel with 
 me like a baby for some trinkets ! "" 
 
 I considered this one of the most unhandsome 
 speeches ever made ; and indeed to this day I can scarce 
 reconcile it to my notion of a gentleman that was my 
 friend. I retorted' upon him with his Scotch accent, of 
 which he had not so much as some, but enough to be 
 very barbarous and disgusting, as I told him plainly ; 
 and the affair would have gone to a great length, but 
 for an alarming intervention. 
 
 We had got some way off upon the sand. The place 
 where we had slept, with the packets lying undone and 
 the money scattered openly, was now between us and 
 the pines ; and it was out of these the stranger must 
 have come. There he was at least, a great hulking 
 fellow of the country, with a broad axe on his shoulder, 
 looking open-mouthed, now at the treasure, which was 
 just at his feet, and now at our disputation, in which we 
 had gone far enough to have weapons in our hands. 
 
70 tHE MASTER OF BALTANTRAE. 
 
 We had no sooner observed him than he found his legs 
 and made ofl: again among the pines. 
 
 This was no scene to put our minds at rest: a couple 
 of armed men in sea-clothes found quarrelling over a 
 treasure, not many miles from where a pirate had been 
 captured — here was enough to bring the whole country 
 about our ears. The quarrel was not even made up ; it 
 was blotted from our minds; and we got our packets to- 
 gether in the twinkling of an eye, and made off, running 
 with the best will in the world. But the trouble was, 
 we did not know in what direction, and must continually 
 return upon our steps. Ballantrae had indeed collected 
 what he could from Dutton ; but it^'s hard to travel 
 upon hearsay ; and the estuary, which spreads into a 
 vast irregular harbour, turned us off upon every side 
 with a new stretch of water. 
 
 We were near beside ourselves, aud alread}^ quite 
 spent with running, when, coming to the top of a dune, 
 we saw we were again cut oif by another ramification of 
 the bay. This was a creek, however, very different from 
 those that had arrested us before ; being set in rocks, 
 and so precipitously deep that a small vessel was able to 
 lie alongside, made fast with a hawser; and her crew 
 had laid a plank to the shore. Here they had lighted a 
 fire, and were sitting at their meal. As for the vessel 
 herself, she was one of those they build in the Bermudas. 
 
 The love of gold and the great hatred that every- 
 body has to pirates were motives of the most inllueiitial, 
 
THE MASTER^S WANDERINGS. 71 
 
 and would certainly raise the country in our pursuit. 
 Besides^ it was now plain we were on some sort of 
 straggling peninsula, iike the fingers of a hand ; and 
 the wrist, or passage to the mainland^ which we should 
 have taken at the first, was by this time not improbably 
 secured. These considerations put us on a bolder coun- 
 sel. For as long as we dared^ looking every moment to 
 hear sounds of the chase, we lay among some bushes on 
 the top of the dune ; and having by this means secured 
 a little breath and recomposed our appearance, we 
 strolled down at last, with a great affectation of care- 
 lessness, to the party by the fire. 
 
 It was a trader and his negroes, belonging to Albany, 
 in the province of New York, and now on the way home 
 from the Indies with a cargo ; his name I cannot recall. 
 We were amazed to learn he had put in here from terror 
 of the Sarah ; for we had no thought our exploits had 
 been so notorious. As soon as the Albanian heard she 
 had been taken the day before, he jumped to his feet, 
 gave us a cup of spirits for our good news, and sent his 
 negroes to get sail on the Bermudan. On our side, we 
 profited by the dram to become more confidential, and 
 at last offered ourselves as passengers. He looked 
 askance at our tarry clothes and pistols, and replied 
 civilly enough that he had scarce accommodation for 
 himself; nor could either our prayers or our offers of 
 money, in which we advanced pretty far, avail to shake 
 him. 
 
 \ 
 
7^ THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAB 
 
 ^•I see, you think ill of us/' says Ballantrae, ^^but T 
 will show you how well we think of you by telling- you 
 the truth. ^Ye are Jacobite fugitives, and there is a 
 price upon our heads/' 
 
 At this, the Albanian was plainly moved a little. He 
 asked us many questions as to the Scotch war, which 
 Ballantrae very patiently answered. And then, with a 
 wink, in a vulgar manner, "I guess you and your Prince 
 Charlie got more than you cared about,"" said he. 
 
 " Bedad, and that we did," said I. '' And, my dear 
 man, I wish you would set a new example and give us 
 just that much.'' 
 
 This I said in the Irish way, about which there is 
 allowed to be something very engaging. It's a remark- 
 able thing, and a testimony to the love with which our 
 nation is regarded, that this address scarce ever fails 
 in a handsome fellow. I cannot tell how often I have 
 seen a private soldier escape the horse, or a beggar 
 wheedle out a good alms by a touch of the brogue. 
 And, indeed, as soon as the Albanian had laughed at me 
 I was pretty much at rest. Even then, however, he 
 made many conditions, and — for one thing — took away 
 our arms, before he suffered us aboard ; which was th« 
 signal to cast off ; so that in a moment after, we were 
 gliding down the bay with a good breeze, and blessing 
 the name of God for our deliverance. Almost in the 
 mouth of the estuary, we passed the cruiser, and a little 
 after the poor Sara/i with her prize crew ; and these 
 
73 
 
 were both sights to make us tremble. The Bermudan 
 seemed a very safe place to be in, and our bold stroke to 
 have been fortunately played, when we were thus re- 
 minded of the case of our companions. For all that, we 
 had only exchanged traps, jumped out of the frying-pan 
 into the fire, run from the yard-arm to the block, and 
 escaped the open hostility of the man-of-war to lie at the 
 mercy of the doubtful faith of our Albanian merchant. 
 
 From many circumstances, it chanced we were safer 
 than we could have dared to hope. The town of Albany 
 was at that time much concerned in contraband trade 
 across the desert with the Indians and the French. 
 This, as it was highly illegal, relaxed their loyalty, and 
 as it brought them in relation with the politest people 
 on the earth, divided even their sympathies. In short, 
 they were like all the smugglers in the world, spies and 
 agents ready-made for either party. Our Albanian, 
 besides, was a very honest man indeed, and very greedy ; 
 and, to crown our luck, he conceived a great delight in 
 our society. Before we had reached the town of New 
 York we had come to a full agreement, that he should 
 carry us as far as Albany upon his ship, and thence put 
 us on a way to pass the boundaries and join the French. 
 For all this we were to pay at a high rate ; but beggars 
 cannot be choosers, nor outlaws bargainers. 
 
 We sailed, then, up the Hudson River, which, I 
 protest, is a very fine stream, and put up at the " King's 
 Arms '' in Albany. The town was full of the militia of 
 
74 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 the province, breathing slaughter against the French. 
 Governor Clinton was there himself, a very busy man, 
 and, by what I could learn, very near distracted by the 
 factiousness of his Assembly. The Indians on both 
 sides were on the war-path; we saw parties of them 
 bringing in prisoners and (what was much worse) scalps, 
 both male and female, for which they were paid at a 
 fixed rate; and I assure you the sight was not en- 
 couraging. Altogether, we could scarce have come at a 
 period more unsuitable for our designs ; our position in 
 the chief inn was dreadfully conspicuous ; our Albanian 
 fubbed us off with a thousand delays, and seemed upon 
 the point of a retreat from his engagements ; nothing but 
 peril appeared to environ the poor fugitives, and for 
 some time we drowned our concern in a very irregular 
 course of living. 
 
 This, too, proved to be fortunate ; and it^s one of the 
 remarks that fall to be made upon our escape, how 
 providentially our steps were conducted to the very end. 
 What a humiliation to the dignity of man ! My philo- 
 sophy, the extraordinary genius of Ballantrae, our valour, 
 in which I grant that we were equal — all these might 
 have proved insufficient without the Divine blessing on 
 our efforts. And how true it is, as the Church tells us, 
 that the Truths of Religion are, after all, quite applicable 
 even to daily affairs ! At least, it was in the course of 
 our revelry that we made the acquaintance of a spirited 
 youth by the name of Chew. He was one of the most 
 
THE master's wanderings. 75 
 
 daring of the Indian traders,, very well acquainted with 
 the secret paths of the wilderness^ needy, dissolute, and, 
 by a last good fortune, in some disgrace with his family. 
 Him we persuaded to come to our relief ; he privately 
 provided what was needful for our flight, and one day 
 we slipped out of Albany, without a word to our former 
 friend, and embarked, a little above, in a canoe. 
 
 To the toils and perils of this journey, it would re- 
 quire a pen more elegant than mine to do full justice. 
 The reader must conceive for himself the dreadful 
 wilderness which we had now to thread; its thickets, 
 swamps, precipitous rocks, impetuous rivers, and amazing 
 waterfalls. Among these barbarous scenes we must toil 
 all day, now paddling, now carrying our canoe upon our 
 shoulders ; and at night we slept about a fire, surrounded 
 by the howling of wolves and other savage animals. It 
 was our design to mount the headwaters of the Hudson, 
 to the neighbourhood of Crown Point, where the French 
 had a strong place in the woods, upon Lake Champlain. 
 But to have done this directly were too perilous ; and it 
 was accordingly gone upon by such a labyrinth of rivers, 
 lakes, and portages as makes my head giddy to re- 
 member. These paths were in ordinary times entirely 
 desert ; but the country was now up, the tribes on the 
 war-path, the woods full of Indian scouts. Again and 
 again we came upon these parties when we least ex- 
 pected them ; and one day, in particular, I shall never 
 forget, how, as dawn was coming in, we were suddenly 
 
76 THE MASTEll OF B\LLANTRAE. 
 
 surrounded by five or six of these painted devils, uttering 
 a very drAry sort of cry^ and brandishing their hatchets. 
 It passed off harmlessly, indeed, as did the rest of oui 
 encounters; for Chew was well known and highly 
 valued among the different tribes. Indeed, he was a 
 very gallant, respectable young man ; but even with the 
 advantage of his companionship, you must not think 
 these meetings were without sensible peril. To prove 
 friendship on our part, it was needful to draw upon our 
 stock of rum — indeed, under whatever disguise, that is 
 the true business of the Indian trader, to keep a travel- 
 ling public-house in the forest; and when once the 
 braves had got their bottle of scaura (as they call this 
 beastly liquor), it behoved us to set forth and paddle 
 for our scalps. Once they were a little drunk, good- 
 bye to any sense or decency; they had but the one 
 thought, to get more scaura. They might easily take 
 it in their heads to give us chase, and had we been 
 overtaken, I had never written these memoirs. 
 
 We were come to the most critical portion of our 
 course, where we might equally expect to fall into the 
 hands of French or English, when a terrible calamity be- 
 fell us. Chew was taken suddenly sick with symptoms like 
 those of poison, and in the course of a few hours expired 
 in the bottom of the canoe. We thus lost at once our 
 guide, our interpreter, our boatman, and our passport> 
 for he was all these in one; and found ourselves reduced, 
 at a blow, to the most desperate and irremediable distress. 
 
THE MASTER^S WANDERINGS. 7? 
 
 Chew, who took a great pride In his knowledge^ had in- 
 deed often lectured us on the geography ; and Ballantrae, 
 I helieve^ would listen. But for my part I have always 
 found such information highly tedious ; and heyond the 
 fact that we were now in the country of the Adirondack 
 Indians^ and not so distant from our destination, could 
 we but have found the way, I was entirely ignorant. 
 The wisdom of my course was soon the more apparent ; 
 for with all his pains, Ballantrae was no further advanced 
 than myself. He knew we must continue to go up one 
 stream ; then, by way of a portage, down another ; and 
 then up a third. But you are to consider, in a moun- 
 tain country, how many streams come rolling in from 
 every hand. And how is a gentleman, who is a perfect 
 stranger in that part of the world, to tell any one of 
 them from any other ? Nor was this our only trouble. 
 We were great novices, besides, in handling a canoe; the 
 portages were almost beyond our strength, so that I have 
 seen us sit down in despair for half an hour at a time 
 without one word; and the appearance of a single 
 Indian, since we had now no means of speaking to them, 
 would have been in all probability the means of our 
 destruction. There is altogether some excuse if Ballan- 
 trae showed something of a glooming disposition; his 
 habit of imputing blame to others, quite as capable as 
 himself, was less tolerable, and his language it was not 
 always easy to accept. Indeed, he had contracted on 
 board the pirate ship a manner of address which was in 
 
78 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 a high degree unusual between gentlemen ; and now, 
 when you might say he was in a fever, it increased upon 
 him hugely. 
 
 The third day of these wanderings, as we were carry- 
 ing the canoe upon a rocky portage, she fell, and was 
 entirely bilged. The portage was between two lakes, 
 both pretty extensive ; the track, such as it was, opened 
 at both ends upon the water, and on both hands was en- 
 closed by the unbroken woods ; and the sides of the lakes 
 were quite impassable with bog : so that we beheld our- 
 selves not only condemned to go without our boat and 
 the greater part of our provisions, but to plunge at once 
 into impenetrable thickets and to desert what little guid- 
 ance we still had — the course of the river. Each stuck 
 his pistols in his belt, shouldered an axe, made a pack of 
 his treasure and as much food as he could stagger under ; 
 and deserting the rest of our possessions, even to our 
 swords, which would have much embarrassed us among 
 the woods, we set forth on this deplorable adventure. 
 The labours of Hercules, so finely described by Homer, 
 were a trifle to what we now underwent. Some parts of 
 the forest were perfectly dense down to the ground, so 
 that we must cut our way like mites in a cheese. In some 
 the bottom was full of deep swamp, and the whole wood 
 entirely rotten. I have leaped on a great fallen log and 
 sunk to the knees in touchwood ; T have sought to stay 
 myself, in falling, against what looked to be a solid trunk, 
 and the whole thing has whiffed away at my touch like 
 
THE TRACK ON BOTH HANDS WAS ENCLOSED BY THE UNBROKEN WOODS. 
 
 {p. 78.) 
 

 • ' , • ♦ 
 
THE master's wanderings. 79 
 
 a sheet of paper. Stumbling, falling, bogging to the 
 knees, hewing our way, our eyes almost put out with twigs 
 and branches, our clothes plucked from our bodies, we 
 laboured all day, and it is doubtful if we made two miles. 
 What was worse, as we could rarely get a view of the 
 country, and were perpetually justled from our path by 
 obstacles, it was impossible even to have a guess in what 
 direction we were moving. 
 
 A little before sundown, in an open place with a 
 stream, and set about with barbarous mountains, Bal- 
 lantrae threw down his pack. " I will go no further,^^ 
 said he, and bade me light the fire, damning my blood 
 in terms not proper for a chairman. 
 
 I told him to try to forget he had ever been a pirate, 
 and to remember he had been a gentleman. 
 
 ^^ Are you mad ? -''' he cried. " Don^t cross me here ! '^ 
 And then, shaking his fist at the hills, ^' To think,^' 
 cries he, " that I must leave my bones in this miserable 
 wilderness ! Would God I had died upon the scaffold 
 Hke a gentleman ! ■'"' This he said ranting like an actor ; 
 and then sat biting his fingers and staring on the 
 ground, a most unchristian object. 
 
 I took a certain horror of the man, for I thought a 
 soldier and a gentleman should confront his end with 
 more philosophy. I made him no reply, therefore, in 
 words; and presently the evening fell so chill that I 
 was glad, for my own sake, to kindle a fire. And yet 
 G-od knows, in such an open spot, and the country alive 
 
80 THE MASTEU OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 with savages, the act was little short of lunacy. Bal- 
 laiitrae seemed never to observe me ; but at last, as I 
 was about parching a little corn, he looked up. 
 
 '^ Have you ever a brother ? " said he. 
 
 '^ By the blessing of Heaven/^ said I, "^not less than 
 five.'^ 
 
 *^I have the one,'"* said he, with a strange voice; and 
 then presently, " He shall pay me for all this,^"* he 
 added. And when I asked him what was his brother's 
 part in our distress, '^ What ! " he cried, ^' he sits in my 
 place, he bears my name, he courts my wife ; and I am 
 here alone with a damned Irishman in this tooth-chat- 
 tering desert ! Oh, 1 have been a common gull ! " he 
 cried. 
 
 The explosion was in all ways so foreign to my 
 friend's nature that I was daunted out of all my just 
 susceptibility. Sure, an offensive expression, however 
 vivacious, appears a wonderfully small affair in circum- 
 stances so extreme ! But here there is a strange thing 
 to be noted. He had only once before referred to the 
 lady with whom lie was contracted. That was when we 
 came in view of the town of New York, when he had told 
 me, if all had their rights, he was now in sight of his 
 own property, for Miss Graeme enjoyed a large estate in 
 che province. And this was certainly a natural occa- 
 sion ; but now here she was named a second time ; and 
 what is surely fit to be observed, in this very month, 
 which was November, '47, and / believe tijoon that very 
 
THE master's wanderings. 81 
 
 day as we sat among these barbarous mountains^ his 
 brother and Miss Graeme were married. I am the least 
 superstitious of men; but the hand o£ Providence is 
 here disphiyed too openly not to be remarked."^ 
 
 The next day, and the next, were passed in similar 
 labours ; Ballantrae often deciding on our course by the 
 spinning of a coin; and once, when I expostulated on 
 this childishness, he had an odd remark that I have 
 never forgotten. '^ I know no better way/' said he, 
 '•'to express my scorn of human reason.'''' I think it 
 was the third day that we found the body of a Christian, 
 scalped and most abominably mangled, and lying in 
 a pudder of his blood; the birds of the desert screaming 
 over him, as thick as flies. I cannot describe how 
 dreadfully this sight affected us ; but it robbed me of 
 all strength and all hope for this world. The same day, 
 and only a little after, we were scrambling over a part 
 of the forest that had been burned, when Ballantrae, 
 who was a little ahead, ducked suddenly behind a fallen 
 trunk. I joined him in this shelter, whence we could 
 look abroad without being seen ourselves ; and in the 
 bottom of the next vale, beheld a large war party of the 
 savages going by across our line. There might be 
 the value of a weak battalion present ; all naked to the 
 waist, blacked with grease and soot, and painted with 
 white lead and vermilion, according to their beastly 
 
 * Note by Mr. Maclcellar : A complete blunder : there was at thi? 
 date no word of the marriage : see above in my own narration. 
 G 
 
82 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 habits. They went one behind another like a string of 
 geese, and at a quickish trot ; so that they took but a 
 little while to rattle by, and disappear again among the 
 woods. Yet I suppose we endured a greater agony of 
 hesitation and suspense in these few minutes than goes 
 usually to a man^s whole life. Whether they were 
 French or English Indians, whether they desired scalps 
 or prisoners, whether we should declare ourselves upon 
 the chance, or lie quiet and continue the heart-breaking 
 business of our journey : sure, I think these were, ques- 
 tions to have puzzled the brains of Aristotle himself. 
 Ballantrae turned to me with a face all wrinkled up and 
 his teetli showing in his mouth, like what I have read 
 of people starving ; he said no word, but his whole 
 appearance was a kind of dreadful question. 
 
 ^^ They may be of the English side,^"* I whispered; 
 '^ and think ! the best we could then hope, is to begin 
 this over again.'''' 
 
 " I know — I know,''^ he said. '^ Yet it must come to 
 a plunge at last.'''' And he suddenly plucked out his 
 coin, shook it in his closed hands, looked at it, and then 
 lay down with his face in the dust. 
 
 Addition hy Mr. Mackellar. — I drop the Chevalier^s 
 narration at this point because the couj^le quarrelled 
 and separated the same day ; and the Chevalier''s account 
 of the quarrel seems to me (I must confess) quite in- 
 compatible with the nature of either of the men. Hence- 
 forth they wandered alone, undergoing extraordinary 
 
THE master's wanderings. 83 
 
 sufferings ; until first one and then the other was picked 
 up by a party from Fort St. Frederick. Only two 
 things are to be noted. And first (as most important 
 for my purpose) that the Master, in the course of his 
 miseries buried his treasure, at a point never since dis- 
 covered, but of which he took a drawing in his own 
 blood on the lining of his hat. And second, that on his 
 coming thus penniless to the Fort, he was welcomed like 
 a brother by the Chevalier, who thence paid his way to 
 France. The simplicity of Mr. Burke^'s character leads 
 him at this point to praise the Master exceedingly ; to 
 an eye more worldly wise, it would seem it was the 
 Chevalier alone that was to be commended. I have the 
 more pleasure in pointing to this really very noble trait 
 of my esteemed correspondent, as I fear I may have 
 wounded him immediately before. I have refrained 
 from comments on any of his extraordinary and (in my 
 eyes) immoral opinions, for I know him to be jealous of 
 respect. But his version of the quarrel is really more 
 than I can reproduce ; for I knew the Master myself, 
 and a man more insusceptible of fear is not conceivable. 
 I regret this oversight of the Chevalier's, and all the 
 more because the tenor of his narrative (set aside a few 
 flourishes) strikes me as highly ingenuous. 
 
 a 2 
 
84 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PERSECUTIONS ENDURED BY MB HENRY. 
 
 You can guess on what part of his adventures tlie 
 Colonel principally dwelled. Indeed^, if we had heard 
 it all; it is to be thought the current of this business had 
 been wholly altered ; but the pirate ship was very gently 
 touched upon. Nor did I hear the Colonel to an end 
 even of that which he was willing to disclose ; for Mr. 
 Henry, having for some while been plunged in a brown 
 study, rose at last from his seat and (reminding the 
 Colonel there were matters that he must attend to) bade 
 me follow him immediately to the office. 
 
 Once there, he sought no longer to dissemble his 
 concern, walking to and fro in the room with a con- 
 torted face, and passing his hand repeatedly upon his 
 brow. 
 
 ^^ We have some business," he began at last ; and 
 there broke off, declared we must have wine, and sent for 
 a magnum of the best. This was extremely foreign to 
 his habitudes ; and what was still more so, when the wine 
 had come, he gulped down one glass upon another like 
 a man careless of appearances. But the drink steadied 
 him. 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 85 
 
 '' You will scarce be surprised, Mackellar/' says he, 
 *' when I tell you that my brother — whose safety we are 
 uil rejoiced to learn — stands in some need of money /^ 
 
 I told him I had misdoubted as much ; but the time 
 was not very fortunate, as the stock was low. 
 
 " Not mine/^ said he. " There is the money for the 
 mortgage.''^ 
 
 I reminded him it was Mrs. Henry's. 
 
 *' I will be answerable to my wife/' he cried violently. 
 
 '' And then/' said I, ^' there is the mortgage." 
 
 " I know/' said he ; " it is oa that I would consult 
 you." 
 
 I showed him how unfortunate a time it was to divert 
 this money from its destination ; and how, by so doing, 
 we must lose the profit of our past economies, and 
 plunge back the estate into the mire. I even took the 
 Hberty to plead with him ; and when he still opposed 
 me with a shake of the head and a bitter dogged smile, 
 my zeal quite carried me beyond my place. " This is 
 midsummer madness/' cried I ; " and I for one will be 
 no party to it." 
 
 " You speak as though I did it for my pleasure," 
 says he. '^ But I have a child now ; and, besides, I love 
 order; and to say the honest truth, Mackellar, I had 
 begun to take a pride in the estates." He gloomed for 
 a moment. " But what would you have ? " he went on. 
 *' Nothing is mine, nothing. This day's news has 
 knocked the bottom out of my life. I have only the 
 
86 THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 name and the shadow of things — only the shadow; there 
 is no substance in my rights/^ 
 
 " They will prove substantial enough before a court/' 
 said I. 
 
 He looked at me with a burning eye^ and seemed to 
 repress the word upon his lips ; and I repented what I 
 had saidj for I saw that while he spoke of the estate 
 he had still a side-thought to his marriage. And then, 
 of a sudden, he twitched the letter from his pocket, 
 where it lay all crumpled, smoothed it violently on the 
 table, and read these words to me with a trembling 
 tongue : — " ' My dear Jacob ' — This is how he begins ! '' 
 cries he — " ' My dear Jacob, I once called you so, you 
 may remember; and you have now done the business, 
 and ifung my heels as high as Criffel/ What do you 
 think of that, Mackellar,''' says he, " from an only 
 brother ? I declare to God I liked him very well ; I 
 was always staunch to him ; and this is how he writes ! 
 But I will not sit down under the imputation ■'■' — walk- 
 ing to and fro — ^^ I am as good as he ; I am a better 
 man than he, I call on God to prove it ! I cannot give 
 him all the monstrous sum he asks ; he knows the estate 
 to be incompetent ; but I will give him what I have, 
 and it is more than he expects. I have borne all this 
 too long. See what he writes further on ; read it for 
 yourself : ^ I know you are a niggardly dog.' A nig- 
 gardly dog ! I niggardly ? Is that true, Mackellar ? 
 You think it is?'' 1 really thought he would have 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 87 
 
 ^■struck me at that. " Oh, you all think so ! Well, you 
 Hlshall see, and he shall see, and God shall see. If I ruin 
 the estate and g-o barefoot, I shall stuff this bloodsucker. 
 Let him ask all — all, and he shall have it ! It is all his 
 by rights. Ah ! '' he cried, '' and I foresaw all this, and 
 worse, when he would not let me go.^-* He poured out 
 another glass of wine, and was about to carry it to his 
 lips, when I made so bold as to lay a finger on his arm. 
 He stopped a moment. ^' You are right, "^ said he, and 
 flung glass and all in the fireplace. " Come, let us 
 count the money.^^ 
 
 I durst no longer oppose him ; indeed, I was very 
 much affected by the sight of so much disorder in a 
 man usually so controlled ; and we sat down together, 
 counted the money, and made it up in packets for the 
 greater ease of Colonel Burke, who was to be the bearer. 
 This done, Mr. Henry returned to the hall, where he 
 and my old lord sat all night through with their 
 guest. 
 
 A little before dawn I was called and set out with the 
 Colonel. He would scarce have liked a less responsible 
 convoy, for he was a man who valued himself; nor 
 could we afford him one more dignified, for Mr. Henry 
 must not appear with the freetraders. It was a very 
 bitter morning of wind, and as we went down through 
 the long shrubbery the Colonel held himself muffled in 
 his cloak. 
 
 *^ Sir,^' said I, '^this is a great sum of money that 
 
88 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 your friend requires. I must suppose his necessities to 
 be very great/"* 
 
 " We must suppose so/' says he, I thought drily , 
 but perhaps it was the cloak about his mouth. 
 
 " I am only a servant of the family/' said I. " You 
 may deal openly with me. I think we are likely to get 
 Httle good by him ? " 
 
 " My dear man/' said the Colonel, '' Ballantrae is a 
 gentleman of the most eminent natural abilities, and a 
 man that I admire, and that I revere, to the very grouna 
 he treads on." And then he seemed to me to pause like 
 one in a difficulty. 
 
 ^'But for all that," said T, "we are likely to get little 
 good by him ? " 
 
 '' Sure, and you can have it your own way, my dear 
 man/' says the Colonel. 
 
 By this time we had come to the side of the creek, 
 where the boat awaited him. " Well," said he, *' I am 
 sure I am very much your debtor for all your civility, 
 Mr. Whatever-your-name-is; and just as a last word, and 
 since you show so much intelligent interest, I will mention 
 a small circumstance that may be of use to the family. 
 For I believe my friend omitted to mention that he has 
 the largest pension on the Scots Fund of any refugee 
 m Paris ; and it's the more disgraceful, sir," cries the 
 Colonel, warming, ^'because there's not one dirty penny 
 for myself." 
 
 He cocked his hat at me, as if I had been to blame for 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 89 
 
 this partiality; then chang-ed again into his usual swag- 
 geriDg civility _, shook me by the hand^ and set off down 
 to the boat, with the money under his arms, and whist-. 
 ling as he went the pathetic air of Slmle Aroon. It 
 was the first time I had heard that tune ; I was to hear 
 it again, words and all, as you shall learn, but I re- 
 member how that little stave of it ran in my head after 
 the freetraders had bade him ^' Wheesht, in the deiFs 
 name,^^ and the grating of the oars had taken its place, 
 and I stood and watched the dawn creeping on the sea, 
 and the boat drawing away, and the lugger lying with 
 her foresail backed awaiting it. 
 
 The gap made in our money was a sore embarrass- 
 ment, and, among other consequences, it had this : that 
 I must ride to Edinburgh, and there raise a new loan 
 on very questionable terms to keep the old afloat ; and 
 was thus, for close upon three weeks, absent from the 
 house of Durrisdeer. 
 
 What passed in the interval I had none to tell me, 
 but I found Mrs. Henry, upon my return, much changed 
 in her demeanour. The old talks with my lord for the 
 most part pretermitted; a certain deprecation visible 
 towards her husband, to whom I thought she addressed 
 herself more often; and, for one thing, she was now 
 greatly wrapped up in Miss Katharine. You would think 
 the change was agreeable to Mr. Henry; no such matter ! 
 To the contrary, every circumstance of alteration was a 
 
90 THE MASTEU OF BALLANTRAft. 
 
 stab to him ; he read in each the avowal of her truant 
 fancies. That constancy to the Master of which she 
 was proud while she supposed him dead, she had to blush 
 for now she knew he was alive, and these blushes were 
 the hated spring of her new conduct. I am to conceal 
 no truth; and I will here say plainly, I think this was 
 the period in which Mr. Henry showed the worst. He 
 contained himself, indeed, in public; but there was a 
 deep-seated irritation visible underneath. "With me, 
 from whom he had less concealment, he was often grossly 
 unjust, and even for his wife he would sometimes have 
 a sharp retort : perhaps when she had ruffled him with 
 some unwonted kindness ; perhaps upon no tangible 
 occasion, the mere habitual tenor of the mane's annoyance 
 bursting spontaneously forth. When he would thus 
 forget himself (a thing so strangely out of keeping with 
 the terms of their relation) , there went a shock through 
 the whole company, and the pair would look upon each 
 other in a kind of pained amazement. 
 
 All the time, too, while he was injuring himself by 
 this defect of temper, he was hurting his position by a 
 silence, of which I scarce know whether to say it was the 
 child of generosity or pride. The freetraders came again 
 and again, bringing messengers from the Master, and none 
 departed empty-handed. I never durst reason with Mr. 
 Henry; he gave what was asked of him in a kind of 
 noble rage. Perhaps because he knew he was by nature 
 inclining to the parsimonious, he took a backforemost 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 91 
 
 pleasure in the recklessness with which he supplied his 
 brother^s exigence. Perhaps the falsity o£ the position 
 would have spurred a humbler man into the same ex- 
 cess. But the estate (if I may say so) groaned under it ; 
 our daily expenses were shorn lower and lower; the 
 stables were emptied^ all but four roadsters; servants 
 were discharged, which raised a dreadful murmuring in 
 the country, and heated up the old disfavour upon Mr. 
 Henry ; and at last the yearly visit to Edinburgh must 
 be discontinued. 
 
 This was in 1756. You are to suppose that for seven 
 years this bloodsucker had been drawing the lifers blood 
 from Durrisdeer, and that all this time my patron had 
 held his peace. It was an effect of devilish malice in the 
 Master that he addressed Mr, Henry alone upon the matter 
 of his demands, and there was never a word to my lord. 
 The family had looked on, wondering at our economies. 
 They had lamented, I have no doubt, that my patron 
 had become so great a miser — a fault always despicable, 
 but in the young abhorrent, and Mr. Henry was not yet 
 thirty years of age. Still, he had managed the business 
 of Durrisdeer almost from a boy ; and they bore with 
 these changes in a silence as proud and bitter as his own, 
 until the coping-stone of the Edinburgh visit. 
 
 At this time I believe my patron and his wife were 
 rarely together, save at meals. Immediately on the back 
 of Colonel Burke's announcement Mrs. Henry made 
 palpable advances ; you might say she had laid a sort of 
 
92 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 timid court to her husband, different, indeed, from her 
 former manner of unconcern and distance. I never had 
 the heart to blame Mr. Henry because he recoiled from 
 these advances ; nor yet to censure the wife, when she 
 was cut to the quick by their rejection. But the result 
 was an entire estrangement, so that (as I say) they rarely 
 spoke, except at meals. Even the matter of the Edin- 
 burgh visit was first broached at table, and it chanced 
 that Mrs. Henry was that day ailing and querulous. 
 She had no sooner understood her husband^s meaning 
 than the red flew in her face. 
 
 '' At last,''^ she cried, " this is too much ! Heaven 
 knows what pleasure I have in my life, that I should be 
 denied my only consolation. These shameful proclivities 
 must be trod down ; we are already a mark and an eye- 
 sore in the neighbourhood. I will not endure this fresh 
 insanity.-'' 
 
 "I cannot afford it,'' says Mr. Henry. 
 
 " Afford ? '' she cried. " For shame ! But I have 
 money of my own.'"' 
 
 " That is all mine, madam, by marriage,'* he snarled, 
 and instantly left the room. 
 
 My old lord threw up his hands to Heaven, and he 
 and his daughter, withdrawing to the chimney, gave me 
 a broad hint to be gone. I found Mr. Henry in his usual 
 retreat, the steward's room, perched on the end of the 
 table, and plunging his penknife in it with a very ugly 
 countenance. 
 
PET^SECUTIONS. 93 
 
 " Mr. Henry /^ said I, '' jou do yourself too much 
 injustice^ and it is time this should cease.'"' 
 
 " Oh ! '' cries he, " nobody minds here. They think 
 it only natural. I havp shameful proclivities. I am a 
 nio-gardly dog/' and he drove his knife up to the hilt. 
 '' But I will show that fellow/^ he cried with an oath, 
 " I will show him which is the more generous.''-' 
 
 ^' This is no generosity/-' said I ; " this is only 
 pride.^^ 
 
 ^^ Do YOU think I want morality ? *' he asked. 
 
 I thought he wanted help, and I should give it him, 
 willy-nilly ; and no sooner was Mrs. Henry gone to her 
 room than I presented myself at her door and sought 
 admittance. 
 
 She openly showed her wonder. ^^What do you 
 want with me, Mr. Mackellar ? -'^ said she. 
 
 ^' The Lord knows, madam,"-' says I, " I have never 
 troubled you before with any freedoms ; but this thing 
 lies too hard upon my conscience, and it will out. Is 
 it possible that two people can be so blind as you and 
 my lord ? and have lived all these years with a noble 
 gentleman like Mi\ Henry, and understand so little of 
 his nature ? ''-' 
 
 *^ What does this mean? '" she cried. 
 
 " Do you not know where his money goes to ? his — 
 and years — and the money for the very wine he does 
 not drink at table ? ^^ I went on. "To Paris — to that 
 man ! Eight thousand pounds has he had of us in 
 
94 THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 seven years, and my patron fool enough to keep it 
 secret ! " 
 
 " Eight thousand pounds ! " she repeated. ^' It is 
 impossible ; the estate is not sufficient/' 
 
 " God knows how we have sweated farthings to pro- 
 duce it/'' said I. "But eight thousand and sixty is the 
 sum, beside odd shillings. And if you can think my 
 patron miserly after that, this shall be my last inter- 
 ference.'''' 
 
 " You need say no more, Mr. Mackellar,''' said she. 
 ^^ You have done most properly in what you too mod- 
 estly call your interference. I am much to blame ; you 
 must think me indeed a very unobservant wife '' (look- 
 ing upon me with a strange smile), "but I shall put 
 this right at once. The Master was always of a very 
 thoughtless nature ; but his heart is excellent ; he is the 
 soul of generosity. I shall write to him myself. You 
 cannot think how you have pained me by this commu- 
 nication.''^ 
 
 "Indeed, madam, I had hoped to have pleased 
 you,'"* said I, for I raged to see her still thinking of the 
 Master. 
 
 "And pleased,-*' said she, " and pleased me of course.-'' 
 
 That same day (I will not say but what I watched) I 
 had the satisfaction to see Mr. Henry come from his 
 wife^s room in a state most unlike himself ; for his face 
 was all bloated with weeping, and yet he seemed to me 
 to walk upon the air. By this, I was sure his wife had 
 
PETISECUTI0N3. 95 
 
 lade him full amends for once. '' Ah," thought I to 
 ijselfj '^ I have done a brave stroke this day/^ 
 
 On the morrowj as I was seated at my books, Mr. 
 [enry came in softly behind me, took me by the 
 shoulders, and shook me in a manner of playfulness. 
 " I find you are a faithless fellow after all/' says he, 
 which was his only reference to my part ; but the tone he 
 spoke in was more to me than any eloquence of pro- 
 testation. Nor was this all I had effected; for when 
 the next messenger came (as he did not long- afterwards) 
 from the Master, he got nothing away with him but a 
 letter. For some while back it had been I myself who 
 had conducted these affairs ; Mr. Henry not setting pen 
 to paper, and I only in the dryest and most formal terms. 
 But this letter I did not even see ; it would scarce be 
 pleasant reading, for Mr. Henry felt he had his wife 
 behind him for once, and I observed, on the day it was 
 despatched, he had a very gratified expression. 
 
 Thmgs went better now in the family, though it 
 could scarce be pretended they went well. There was 
 now at least no misconception ; there was kindness upon 
 all sides j_and I believe my patron and his wife might 
 again have drawn together if he could but have pocketed 
 his pride, and she forgot (what was the ground of all) 
 her brooding on another man. It is wonderful how a 
 private thought leaks out ; it is wonderful to me now 
 how we should all have followed the current of her sen- 
 timents ; and though she bore herself quietly, and had a 
 
yO THE MASTEE OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 very even disposition^ yet we should have known when- 
 ever her fancy ran to Paris. And would not any one 
 have thought that my disclosure must have rooted up 
 that idol ? T think there is the devil in women : all these 
 years passed^ never a sight of the man^ little enough 
 kindness to remember (by all accounts) even while she 
 had him, the notion of his death intervening, his heart- 
 less rapacity laid bare to her; that all should not do, 
 and she must still keep the best place in her heart for 
 this accursed fellow, is a thing to make a plain man 
 rage. I had never much natural sympathy for the 
 passion of love ; but this unreason in my patron''s wife 
 disgusted me outright with the whole matter. I re- 
 member checking a maid because she sang som^e bairnly 
 kickshaw while my mind was thus engaged ; and my 
 asperity brought about my ears the enmity of all the 
 petticoats about the house ; of which I recked very little, 
 but it amused Mr. Henry, who rallied me much upon 
 our joint unpopularity. It is strange enough (for my 
 own mother was certainly one of the salt of the earth, 
 and my Aunt Dickson, who paid my fees at the Univer- 
 sity, a very notable woman) , but I have never had much 
 toleration for the female sex, possibly not much under- 
 standing ; and being far from a bold man, I have ever 
 shunned their company. Not only do I see no cause to 
 regret this diffidence in myself, but have invariably 
 remarked the most unhappy consequences follow those 
 who were less wise. So much I thought proper to set 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 97 
 
 down, lest I show myself unjust to Mrs. Henry. And, 
 besides, tlie remark arose naturally, on a re-perusal of 
 the letter which was the next step in these affairs^ and 
 reached me, to my sincere astonishment, by a private 
 hand, some week or so after the departure of the last 
 
 Letter from Colonel ^mv^^il [afterwards Chevalier) to Mr. Mackellar. 
 
 Troyes in Champagne, 
 Jicly 12, 1756. 
 
 My Dear Sir, — You will doubtless be surprised to receive a com- 
 munication from one so little known to you ; but on the occasion I had 
 the good fortune to rencounter you at Durrisdeer, I remarked you 
 for a young man of a solid gravity of character : a qualification which 
 r profess I admire and revere next to natural genius or the bold 
 chivalrous spirit of the soldier. I was, besides, interested in the noble 
 family which you have the honour to serve, or (to speak more by the 
 book) to be the humble and respected fiiend of ; and a conversation I 
 had the pleasure to have with you very early in the morning has 
 remained much upon my mind. 
 
 Being the other day in Paris, on a visit from this famous city, 
 where I am in garrison, I took occasion to inquire your name 
 (which I profess I had forgot) at my friend, the ]\Iaster of B.; 
 and a fair opportunity occurring, I write to inform you of what's 
 new. 
 
 The Master of B. (when we had last some talk of him together) 
 was in receipt, as I think I then told you, of a highly advantageous 
 pension on the Scots Fund. He next received a company, and was soon 
 after advanced to a regiment of his own. My dear sir, I do not offer 
 to explain this circumstance ; any more than why I myself, who have 
 rid at the right hand of Princes, should be fubbed off with a pair of 
 colours and sent to rot in a hole at the bottom of the province. Accus- 
 tomed as 1 am to Courts, I cannot but feel it is no atmosphere for a 
 II. 
 
98 THE MASTEB OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 plain soldier ; and I could never hope to advance by similar means, 
 even could I stoop to the endeavour. But our friend has a particular 
 aptitude to succeed hy the means of ladies ; and if all be true that I 
 have heard, he enjoyed a remarkable protection. It is like this turned 
 against him ; for when I had the honour to shake him by the hand, 
 he was but newly released from the Bastille, where he had been cast on 
 a sealed letter ; and, though now released, has both lost his regiment 
 and his pension. My dear sir, the loyalty of a plain Irishman will 
 ultimately succeed in the place of craft ; as I am sure a gentleman of 
 your probity will agree 
 
 Now, sir, the Master is a man whose genius I admire beyond ex- 
 pression, and, besides, he is my friend ; but I thought a little word of 
 this revolution in his fortunes would not come amiss, for, in my 
 opinion, the man's desperate. He spoke, when I saw him, of a trip to 
 India (whither I am myself in some hope of accompanying my illus- 
 trious countrjTnan, Mr. Lally) ; but for this he would require (as I 
 understood) more money than was readily at his command. You may 
 have heard a military proverb : that it is a good thing to make a 
 bridge of gold to a flying enemy ? I trust you will take my meaning 
 and I subscribe myself, with proper respects to my Lord Durrisdeer, to 
 his son, and to the beauteous Mrs. Durie, 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your obedient humble servant, 
 
 Francis Burke 
 
 This missive I carried at once to Mr. Henry ; and I 
 think there was but the one thought between the two 
 of us : that it had come a week too late. I made haste 
 to send an answer to Colonel Burke, in which- I begged 
 him, if he should see the Master, to assure him his next 
 messenger would be attended to. But with all my haste 
 T was not in time to avert what was impending ; the 
 arrow had been drawn, it must now fly. I could almost 
 
I 
 
 PERSECUTIONS. 99 
 
 oubt the power o£ Providence (and certainly His will) 
 to stay the issue of events ; and it is a strang-e thought, 
 how many of us had been storing up the elements of 
 this catastrophe^ for how long a time, and with how 
 blind an ig-norance of what we did. 
 
 From the coming of the ColoneFs letter, I had a spy- 
 glass in my room, began to drop questions to the tenant 
 folk, and as there was no great secrecy observed, and 
 the freetrade (in our part) went by force as much as 
 stealth, I had soon got together a knowledge of the sig- 
 nals in use, and knew pretty well to an hour when any 
 messenger might be expected. I say, I questioned the 
 tenants; for with the traders themselves, desperate 
 blades that went habitually armed, I could never brino* 
 myself to meddle willingly. Indeed, by what proved in 
 the sequel an unhappy chance, I was an object of scorn 
 to some of these braggadocios ; who had not only grati- 
 fied me with a nickname, but catching me one night 
 upon a by-path, and being all (as they would have said) 
 somewhat merry, had caused me to dance for their 
 diversion. The method employed was that of cruelly 
 chipping at my toes with naked cutlasses, shouting at 
 the same time " Square-Toes '''' ; and though they did 
 me no bodily mischief, I was none the less deplorably 
 affected, and was indeed for several days confined to my 
 bed : a scandal on the state of Scotland on which i^o 
 comment is required, 
 h2 
 
100 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 It happened on tlie afternoon of November 7th, in 
 this same unfortunate year, that I espied, during my 
 walk, the smoke of a beacon fire upon the Muckleross. 
 It was drawing near time for my return; but the un- 
 easiness upon my spirits was that day so great that I 
 must burst through the thickets to the edge of what 
 they call the Craig Head. The sun was already down, 
 but there was still a broad light in the west, which 
 showed me some of the smugglers treading out fcheir sig- 
 nal fire upon the Ross, and in the bay the lugger lying 
 with her sails brailed up. She was plainly but new come 
 to anchor, and yet the skiff was already lowered and 
 pulling for the landing-place at the end of the long 
 shrubbery. And this I knew could signify but one 
 thing, the coming of a messenger for Darrisdeer. 
 
 I laid aside the remainder of my terrors, clambered 
 down the brae — a place I had never ventured through 
 before, and was hid among the shore-side thickets in 
 time to see the boat touch. Captain Crail himself was 
 steering, a thing not usual ; by his side there sat a pas- 
 senger ; and the men gave way with difficulty, being 
 hampered with near upon half a dozen portmanteaus, 
 oreat and small. But the business of landing was 
 briskly carried through ; and presently the baggage was 
 all tumbled on shore, the boat on its return voyage to 
 the lugger, and the passenger standing alone upon the 
 point of rock, a tall slender figure of a gentleman, 
 habited in black, with a sword by his side and a 
 
THE PASSENGER STANDING ALONE UPON THE POINT OF ROCK, A TALL, 
 SLENDER FIGURE OF A GENTLEMAN, HABITED IN BLACK. 
 
 {p. 100,) 
 
PEESECUTIONS. ' lOl 
 
 walking-cane upon his wrist. As he so stood, he waved 
 the cane to Captain Crail by way of salutation, with 
 something both o£ grace and mockery that wrote the 
 gesture deeply on my mind. 
 
 No sooner was the boat away with my sworn enemies 
 
 (than I took a sort of half courage, came forth to the 
 margin of the thicket, and there halted again, my mind 
 being greatly pulled about between natural diffidence 
 and a dark foreboding of the truth. Indeed, I might 
 have stood there swithering all night, had not the stran- 
 ger turned, spied me through the mists, which were be- 
 ginning to fall, and waved and cried on me to draw 
 near. I did so with a heart like lead. 
 
 '' Here, my good man,'-' said he, in the English 
 accent, '^ here are some things for Durrisdeer.''' 
 
 I was now near enough to see him, a very handsome 
 figure and countenance, swarthy, lean, long, with a 
 quick, alert, black look, as of one who was a fighter, and 
 accustomed to command; upon one cheek he had a 
 mole, not unbecoming ; a large diamond sparkled on his 
 hand ; his clothes, although of the one hue, were of a 
 French and foppish design ; his ruffles, which he wore 
 longer than common, of exquisite lace ; and I wondered 
 the more to see him in such a guise when he was but 
 newly landed from a dirty smuggling lugger. At the 
 same time he had a better look at me, toised me a 
 second time sharply, and then smiled. 
 
 *' 1 wager, my friend,^^ says he, ^Hhat 1 know 
 
102 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRxlE. 
 
 both your name and your nickname. I divined these 
 very clothes upon your hand of writing, Mr. Mac- 
 kellar/^ 
 
 At these words I fell to shaking. 
 
 '^ Oh/'' says he, '^ you need not be afraid of me. I 
 bear no malice for your tedious letters; and it is my 
 purpose to employ you a good deal. You may call me 
 Mr. Bally : it is the name I have assumed ; or rather 
 (since I am addressing so great a precision) it is so I 
 have curtailed my own. Come now, pick up that and 
 that '^ — indicating two of the portmanteaus. '' That 
 will be as much as you are fit to bear, and the rest can 
 very well wait. Come, lose no more time^ if you 
 please.^^ 
 
 His tone was so cutting that I managed to do as he 
 bid by a sort of instinct, my mind being all the time 
 quite lost. No sooner had I picked up the portman- 
 teaus than he turned his back and marched off through 
 the long shrubbery, where it began already to be dusk, 
 for the wood is thick and evergreen. I followed behind, 
 loaded almost to the dust, though I profess I was not 
 conscious of the burthen; being swallowed up in the 
 monstrosity of this return, and my mind flying like a 
 weaver^s shuttle. 
 
 On a sudden I set the portmanteaus to the ground 
 and halted. He turned and looked back at me. 
 
 "Well?'' said he. 
 
 " You are the Master of Ballantrae ? '' 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 103 
 
 " You will do me the justice to observe/' says he, 
 '^that I have made no secret with the astute Mac- 
 kellar/' 
 
 '' And in the name of God/' cries T, " what brings 
 you here ? Go back_, while it is yet time/' 
 
 '' I thank you/' said he. " Your master has chosen 
 this way, and not I ; but since he has made the choice, 
 he (and you also) must abide by the result. And now 
 pick up these things of mine, which you have set down 
 in a very boggy place, and attend to that which I have 
 made your business." 
 
 But I had no thought now of obedience; I came 
 straight up to him. " If nothing will move you to go 
 back," said I; '^though, sure, under all the circum- 
 stances, any Christian or even any gentleman would 
 scruple to go forward . . ." 
 
 '^ These are gratifying expressions," he threw in. 
 
 '^ If nothing will move you to go back," I continued, 
 ''there are still some decencies to be observed. Wait 
 here with your baggage, and I will go forward and 
 prepare your family. Your father is an old man ; and 
 . . . " I stumbled . . . '' there are decencies to be 
 observed." 
 
 '' Truly," said he, '' this Mackellar improves upon 
 acquaintance. But look you here, my man, and under- 
 stand it once for all — you waste your breath upon me, 
 and I go my own way with inevitable motion." 
 
 /' Ah ! " says I. 'Is that so ? We shall see then ! " 
 
104 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 And I turned and took to my heels for Durrlsdeer. 
 He clutched at me and cried out angrily, and then I 
 believe I heard him laugh, and then I am certain he 
 pursued me for a step or two, and (I suppose) desisted. 
 One thing at least is sure, that I came but a few 
 minutes later to the door of the great house, nearly 
 strangled for the lack of breath, but quite alone. 
 Straight up the stair I ran, and burst into the hall, and 
 stopped before the family without the power of speech ; 
 but I must have carried my story in my looks, for they 
 rose out of their places and stared on me like change- 
 lings. 
 
 '^ He has come/' I panted out at last. 
 
 "He?'' said Mr. Henry. 
 
 " Himself,'' said I. 
 
 *' My son?" cried my lord. "Imprudent, impru- 
 dent boy ! Oh, could he not stay where he was 
 safe ! " 
 
 Never a word says Mrs. Henry ; nor did I look at her, 
 I scarce knew why. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Henry, with a very deep breath, 
 '' and where is he ? " 
 
 " I left him in the long shrubbery," said I. 
 
 " Take me to him," said he. 
 
 So we went out together, he and I, without another 
 word from any one ; and in the midst of the gravelled 
 plot encountered the Master strolling up, whistling as 
 he came, and beating the air with his cane. There was 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 105 
 
 still lig-ht enough overhead to recognise, though not to 
 read, a countenance. 
 
 *' Ah ! Jacob/' says the Master. " So here is Esau 
 back/' 
 
 " James/' says Mr. Henry, '' for God's sake, call me 
 by my name. I will noi pretend that I am glad to see 
 you ; but I would fain make you as welcome as I can in 
 the house of our fathers.''' 
 
 '^Or in m/i/ house? or yours?" says the Master. 
 '^ Which were you about to say ? But this is an old 
 sore, and we need not rub it. If you would not share 
 with me in Paris, I hope you will yet scarce deny your 
 elder brother a corner of the fire at Durrisdeer ?" 
 
 ^^ That is very idle speech/' replied Mr. Henry. ^' And 
 you understand the power of your position excellently 
 well." 
 
 *^Why, I believe I do," said the other with a little 
 laugh. And this, though they had never touched 
 hands, was (as we may say) the end of the brothers' 
 meeting ; for at this the Master turned to me and bade 
 me fetch his baggage. 
 
 I, on my side, turned to Mr. Henry for a confirma- 
 tion ; perhaps with some defiance. 
 
 *' As long as the Master is here, Mr. Mackellar, you 
 will very much oblige me by regarding his wishes as you 
 would my own," says Mr. Henry. " We are constantly 
 troubling you : will you be so good as send one of the 
 servants ? " — with an accent on the word. 
 
106 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 If this speech were anything at all^ it was surely a well- 
 deserved reproof upon the stranger; and yet^ so devilish 
 was his impudence, he twisted it the other way. 
 
 ^^ And shall we be common enough to say ^ Sneck 
 up ^ ? ^^ inquires he softly, looking upon me sideways. 
 
 Had a kingdom depended on the act, I could not 
 have trusted myself in words ; even to call a servant 
 was beyond me ; I had rather serve the man myself 
 than speak ; and I turned away in silence and went into 
 the long shrubbery, with a heart full of anger and 
 despair. It was dark under the trees, and I walked be- 
 fore me and forgot what business I was come upon, till 
 I near broke my shin on the portmanteaus. Then it 
 was that I remarked a strange particular ; for whereas 
 I had before carried both and scarce observed it, it was 
 now as much as I could do to manage one. And this, 
 as it forced me to make two journeys, kept me the 
 longer from the hall. 
 
 When I got there, the business of welcome was over 
 long ago ; the company was already at supper ; and by 
 an oversight that cut me to the quick, my place had 
 been forgotten. I had seen one side of the Master^s 
 return ; now I was to see the other. It was he who first 
 remarked my coming in and standing back (as I did) in 
 some annoyance. He jumped from his seat. 
 
 " And if I have not got the good Mackellar's place ! ^' 
 cries he. '' John, lay another for Mr. Bally ; I protest he 
 will disturb no one, and your table is big enough for all.'^ 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 107 
 
 I could scarce credit my ears, nor yet my sensef;^ whea 
 he took me by the shoulders and thrust me, laughing^ 
 into my own place — such an affectionate playfulness 
 was in his voice. And while John laid the fresh place 
 for him (a thing on which he still insisted), he went and 
 leaned on his father^s chair and looked down upon him, 
 and the old man turned about and looked upwards on 
 his son, with such a pleasant mutual tenderness that I 
 could have carried my hand to my head in mere amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Yet all was of a piece. Never a harsh word fell 
 from him, never a sneer showed upon his lip. He had 
 laid aside even his cutting English accent, and spoke 
 with the kindly Scots tongue, that set a value on affec- 
 tionate words ; and though his manners had a graceful 
 elegance mighty foreign to our ways in Durrisdeer, it 
 was still a homely courtliness, that did not shame but 
 flattered us. All that he did throughout the meal, 
 indeed, drinking wine with me with a notable respect, 
 turning about for a pleasant word with John, fondling 
 his father's hand, breaking into little merry tales of his 
 adventures, calling up the past with happy reference — all 
 he did was so becoming, and himself so handsome, that 
 1 could scarce wonder if my lord and Mrs. Henry sat 
 about the board with radiant faces, or if John waited 
 behind with dropping tears. 
 
 As soon as supper was over, Mrs. Henry rose to with- 
 draw 
 
 k 
 
108 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " This was never your way, Alison/'' said he. 
 
 '' It is my way now/'' she replied : which was notori- 
 ously false, ^^ and I will give you a good-nig-ht, James, 
 and a welcome — from the dead/"* said she, and her voice 
 dropped and trembled. 
 
 Poor Mr. Henry, who had made rather a heavy 
 figure through the meal, was more concerned than ever ; 
 pleased to see his wife withdraw, and yet half displeased, 
 as he thought upon the cause of it; and the next 
 moment altogether dashed by the fervour of her speech. 
 
 On my part, I thought I was now one too many j 
 and was stealing after Mrs. Henry, when the Master 
 saw me. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Mackellar/^ says he, " I take this near 
 on an unfriendliness. I cannot have you go : this is to 
 make a stranger of the prodigal son ; and let me remind 
 you where — in his own father's house ! Come, sit ye 
 down, and drink another glass with Mr. Bally.'"' 
 
 " Ay, ay, Mr. Mackellar,-" says my lord, ^^ we must 
 not make a stranger either of him or you. I have been 
 telling my son,'"' he added, his voice brightening as usual 
 on the word, '^ how much we valued all your friendly 
 service.'"' 
 
 So I sat there, silent, till my usual hour; and might 
 have been almost deceived in the man's nature but for 
 one passage, in which his perfidy appeared too plain. 
 Here was the passage ; of which, after what he knows 
 of the brothers' meeting, the reader shall consider for 
 
PEESECUTIONS. 109 
 
 himself. Mr. Henry sitting somewhat dully, in spite of 
 his best endeavours to carry things before my lord, up 
 jumps the Master, passes about the board, and claps his 
 brother on the shoulder. 
 
 *' Come, come, Kairry lad" says he, with a broad 
 accent such as they must have used together when they 
 were boys, "you must not be downcast because your 
 brother has come home. AlFs yours, that''s sure enough, 
 and little I grudge it you. Neither must you grudge 
 me my place beside my father^s fire.^^ 
 
 "And that is too true, Henry,'''' says my old lord with 
 a little frown, a thing rare with him. " You have been 
 the elder brother of the parable in the good sense ; you 
 must be careful of the other.''^ 
 
 '^ I am easily put in the wrong,''' said Mr. Henry. 
 
 " Who puts you in the wrong ? '''' cried my lord, I 
 thought very tartly for so mild a man. " You have 
 earned my gratitude and your brother^s many thousand 
 times : you may count on its endurance ; and let that 
 suffice.^^ 
 
 " Ay, Harry, that you m.ay,^^ said the Master ; and 
 I thought Mr. Henry looked at him with a kind of 
 wildness in his eye. 
 
 On all the miserable business that now followed, I 
 have four questions that I asked myself often at the 
 time and ask myself still : — Was- the man moved by a 
 particular sentiment against Mr. Henry ? or by what he 
 
110 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAfe. 
 
 thought to be his interest ? or by a mere delight in 
 cruelty such as eats display and theologians tell us of 
 the devil ? or by what he would have called love ? My 
 common opinion halts among the three first ; but 
 perhaps there lay at the spring of his behaviour an 
 element of all. As thus : — Animosity to Mr. Henry 
 would explain his hateful usage of him when they were 
 alone ; the interests he came to serve would explain his 
 very different attitude before my lord ; that and some 
 spice of a design of gallantry _, his care to stand well with 
 Mrs. Henry ; and the pleasure of malice for itself^ the 
 pains he was continually at to mingle and oppose these 
 lines of conduct. 
 
 Partly because I was a very open friend to my 
 patron^ partly because in my letters to Paris I had 
 often given myself some freedom of remonstrance, I was 
 included in his diabolical amusement. When I was 
 alone with him, he pursued me with sneers; before the 
 family he used me with the extreme of friendly con- 
 descension. This was not only painful in itself; not 
 only did it put me continually in the wrong ; but there 
 was in it an element of insult indescribable. That he 
 should thus leave me out in his dissimulation, as though 
 even my testimony were too despicable to be considered, 
 galled me to the blood. But what it was to me is not 
 worth notice. I make but memorandum of it here; and 
 chiefly for this reason, that it had one good result, and 
 gave me the quicker sense of Mr. Henry's martyrdom. 
 
PERSECUTIONS. Ill 
 
 It was on liim the burthen fell How was he to 
 respond to the public advances of one who never lost a 
 chance of gibing* him in private? How was he to smile 
 back on the deceiver and the in suiter ? He was con- 
 demned to seem ungracious. He was condemned to 
 silence. Had he been less proud, had he spoken, who 
 would have credited the truth? The acted calumny had 
 done its work ; my lord and Mrs. Henry were the dailv 
 witnesses of what went on ; they could have sworn in 
 court that the Master was a model of lono-.sufferino" 
 good-nature, and Mr. Henry a pattern of jealousy and 
 thanklessness. And ugly enough as these must have 
 appeared in any one, they seemed tenfold uglier in Mr. 
 Henry ; for who could forget that the Master lav in 
 peril of his hfe, and that he had already lost his mistress, 
 his title, and his fortune ? 
 
 " Henry, will you ride with me ? '' asks the Master 
 one day. 
 
 And Mr. Henry, who had been goaded by the man 
 all morning, raps out : '^ I will not/^ 
 
 " I sometimes wish you would be kinder, Henry,'' 
 says the other, wistfully. 
 
 I give this for a specimen ; but such scenes befell 
 continually. Small wonder if Mr. Henry was blamed; 
 small wonder if I fretted myself into something near 
 upon a bilious fever ; nay, and at the mere recollection 
 feel a bitterness in my blood. 
 
 Sure, never in this world was a more diabolical 
 
 I 
 
112 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 contrivance : so perfidious, so simple, so impossible to 
 combat. And yet I think again, and I think always, 
 Mrs. Henry might have read between the lines ; she 
 might have had more knowledge o£ her busband^s 
 nature; after all these years of marriage she might have 
 commanded or captured his confidence. And my old 
 lord, too — that very watchful gentleman — where was all 
 his observation? But, for one thing, the deceit was 
 practised by a master hand, and might have gulled an 
 angel. For another (in the case of Mrs. Henry), I have 
 observed there are no persons so far away as those who 
 are both married and estranged, so tliat they seem out of 
 ear-shot or to have no common tongue. For a third (in 
 the case of both of these spectators), they were blinded by 
 old ingrained predilection. And for a fourth, the risk 
 the Master was supposed to stand in (supposed, I say — 
 you will soon hear why) made it seem the more un- 
 generous to criticise ; and, keeping them in a perpetual 
 tender solicitude about his life, blinded them the more 
 effectually to his faults. 
 
 It was during this time that 1 perceived most clearly 
 the effect of manner, and was led to lament most deeply 
 the plainness of my own. Mr. Henry had the essence 
 of a gentleman ; when he was moved, when there was 
 any call of circumstance, he could play his part with 
 dignity and spirit ; but in the day's commerce (it is idle 
 to deny it) he fell short of the ornamental. The Master 
 (on the other hand) had never a movement but if 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 113 
 
 commended him. So it befell that when the one appeared 
 gracious and the other ungracious, every trick of their 
 bodies seemed to call out confirmation. Not that alone: 
 but the more deeply Mr. Henry floundered in his 
 brother^s toils, the more clownish he grew ; and the more 
 the Master enjoyed his spiteful entertainment, the more 
 engagingly, the more smilingly, he went ! So that the 
 plot, by its own scope and progress, furthered and con- 
 firmed itself. 
 
 It was one of the mane's arts to use the peril in which 
 (as I say) he was supposed to stand. He spoke of it to 
 those who loved him with a gentle pleasantry, which 
 made it the more touching. To Mr. Henry he used it 
 as a cruel weapon of offence. I remember his laying 
 his finger on the clean lozenge of the painted window 
 one day when we three were alone together in the hall. 
 " Here went your lucky guinea, Jacob,"*^ said he. And 
 when Mr. Henry only looked upon him darkly, ^' Oh ! '^ 
 he added, '^'you need not look such impotent malice, 
 my good fly. You can be rid of your spider when you 
 please. How long, O Lord? When are you to be wrought 
 to the point of a denunciation, scrupulous brother ? It 
 is one of my interests in this dreary hole. I ever loved 
 experiment.'''' Still Mr. Henry only stared upon him 
 with a glooming brow, and a changed colour; and at last 
 the Master broke out in a laugh and clapped him on 
 the shoulder, calling him a sulky dog. At this my 
 patron leaped back with a gesture I thought very 
 
 I 
 
114 THE MASTER OP BALLANTEAE. ♦ 
 
 dangerous ; and I must suppose the Master thought so 
 too, for he looked the least in the world discountenanced, 
 and I do not remember him again to have laid hands on 
 Mr. Henry. 
 
 But though he had his peril always on his lips in the 
 one way or the other, I thought his conduct strangely 
 incautious, and began to fancy the Government — who 
 had set a price upon his head — was gone sound asleep. I 
 will not deny I was tempted with the wish to denounce 
 him; but two thoughts withheld me: one, that if he were 
 thus to end his life upon an honourable scaffold, the man 
 would be canonised for good in the minds of his father 
 and my patron^s wife ; the other, that if I was anyway 
 mingled in the matter, Mr. Henry himself would scarce 
 escape some glancings of suspicion. And in the mean- 
 while our enemy went in and out more than I could 
 have thought possible, the fact that he was home again 
 was buzzed about all the country-side, and yet he was 
 never stirred. Of all these so-many and so-different 
 persons who were acquainted with his presence, none had 
 the least greed — as I used to say in my annoyance — or 
 the least loyalty ; and the man rode here and there — fully 
 more welcome, considering the lees of old unpopularity, 
 than Mr. Henry — and considering the freetraders, far 
 safer than myself. 
 
 Not but what he had a trouble of his own ; and this, 
 as it brought about the gi*avest consequences, I must now 
 relate. The reader will scarce liave forgotten Jessie 
 
PEKSECUTIONS. 115 
 
 Broun ; her way of life was much among the smuggling 
 party ; Captain Crail himself was of her intimates ; and 
 she had early word of Mr. Bally^s presence at the house. 
 In my opinion^ she bad long ceased to care two straws 
 for the Master's person ; but it was become her habit 
 to connect herself continually with the Master's name ; 
 that was the ground of all her play-acting ; and so now, 
 when he was back, she thougl.it she owed it to herself 
 to grow a haunter of the neighbourhood of Durrisdeer. 
 The Master could scarce go abroad but she was there in 
 wait for him ; a scandalous figure of a woman, not often 
 sober ; hailing him wildly as '' her bonny laddie/' quoting 
 pedlar's poetry, and, as I receive the story, even seeking 
 to weep upon his neck. I own I rubbed my hands over 
 this persecution ; but the Master, who laid so much upon 
 others, was himself the least patient of men. There were 
 strange scenes enacted in the policies. Some say he took 
 his cane to her, and Jessie fell back upon her former 
 weapons — stones. It is certain at least that he made a 
 motion to Captain Crail to have the woman trepanned, 
 and that the Captain refused the proposition with un- 
 common vehemence. And the end of the matter was 
 victory for Jessie. Money was got together; an inter- 
 view took place, in which my proud gentleman must con- 
 sent to be kissed and wept upon ; and the woman was set 
 up in a public of her own, somewhere on Sol way side 
 (but I forget where) , and, by the only news I ever had of 
 it, extremely ill-frequented. 
 I 2 
 
116 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 This is to look forward. After Jessie liad been but a 
 little while upon his heels, the Master comes to me one 
 day in the steward's office, and with more civility than 
 usual, '' Mackellar/' says he, 'Hhere is a damned crazy 
 wench comes about here. I cannot well move in the 
 matter myself, which brings me to you. Be so good as 
 to see to it : the men must have a strict injunction to drive 
 the wench away.'' 
 
 " Sir," said I, trembling a little, ''you can do your own 
 dirty errands for yourself." 
 
 He said not a word to that, and left the room. 
 Presently came Mr. Henry. " Here is news ! " cried 
 he. "It seems all is not enough, and you must add 
 to my wretchedness. It seems you have insulted !Mr. 
 Bally." 
 
 " Under your kind favour, Mr. Henry," said I, " it 
 was he that insulted me, and, as I think, grossly. But I 
 may have been careless of your position when I spoke ; 
 and if you think so when you know all, my dear patron, 
 you have but to say the word. For you I would obey 
 in any point whatever, even to sin, God pardon me ! ^' 
 And thereupon I told him what had passed. 
 
 Mr. Henry smiled to himse-lf ; a grimmer smile I never 
 witnessed. ^ " You did exactly well," said he. " He 
 shall drink his Jessie Broun to the dregs." And then, 
 spying the Master outside, he opened the window, and 
 crying to him by the name of J\Ir. Bally, asked him to 
 step up and have a word. 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 117 
 
 " James/'' said he, when our persecutor had come in 
 and closed the door behind him, looking* at me with a 
 smile, as if he thought I was to be humbled^ ^'^ you 
 broug-ht me a complaint against Mr. Maekellar, into 
 which I have inquired. I need not tell you I would 
 always take his word against yours ; for we are alone, 
 and I am going to use something of your own freedom. 
 Mr. Maekellar is a gentleman I value ; and you must 
 contrive, so long as you are under this roof, to bring your- 
 self into no more collisions with one whom I will sup- 
 port at any possible cost to me or mine. As for the 
 errand upon which you came to him, you must deliver 
 yourself from the consequences of your own cruelty, and, 
 none of my servants shall be at all employed in such a 
 case.'''' 
 
 ^' My father's servants, I believe,^^ says the Master. 
 
 '^ Go to him with this tale,"*^ said Mr. Henry. 
 
 The Master grew very white. He pointed at me 
 with his finger. " I want that man discharged,''' he 
 said. 
 
 " He shall not be,^"* said Mr. Henry. 
 
 " You shall pay pretty dear for this,-*^ says the 
 Master. 
 
 " I have paid so dear already for a wicked brother,^^ 
 said Mr. Henry, '^that I am bankrupt even of fears. 
 You have no place left where you can strike me.''"' 
 
 " I will show you about that/^ says the Master, and 
 went softly away. 
 
118 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 ^^What will he do next, Mackellar?'' cries Mr. 
 Henry. 
 
 " Let me go away/' said I. " My dear patron, let 
 me go away; I am but the beginning of fresh 
 sorrows/^ 
 
 " Would you leave me quite alone ? " said he. 
 
 We were not long in suspense as to the nature of the 
 new assault. Up to that hour the Master had played a 
 very close game with Mrs. T-Ienr}^; avoiding pointedly 
 to be alone with her, which I took at the time for an 
 effect of decency, but now think to be a most insidious 
 art j meeting her, you may say, at meal-time only ; and 
 behaving, when he did so, like an affectionate brother. 
 Up to that hour, you may say he had scarce directly 
 interfered between Mr. Henry and his wife ; except in so 
 far as he had manoeuvred the one quite forth from the 
 good graces of the other. Now all that was to be 
 changed ; but whether really in revenge, or because he 
 was wearying of Durrisdeer and looked about for somft 
 diversion, who but the devil shall decide ? 
 
 From that hour, at least, began the siege of Mrs. 
 Henry ; a thing so deftly carried on that I scarce know 
 if she was aware of it herself, and that her husband 
 must look on in silence. The first parallel was opened 
 (as was made to appear) by accident. The talk fell, as 
 it did often, on the exiles in France ; so it glided to the 
 matter of their songs. 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 119 
 
 '' There is one/' says the Master, " if you are curious 
 in the&ie matters, that has always seemed to me very 
 moving. The poetry is harsh; and yet, perhaps be- 
 cause of my situation, it has always found the way to 
 my heart. It is supposed to be sung-, I should tell you, 
 by an exile's sweetheart; and represents perhaps, not 
 so much the truth of what she is thinking, as the truth 
 of what he hopes of her, poor soul ! in these far lands.'" 
 And here the Master sighed. '' I protest it is a pathetic 
 sight when a score of rough Irish, ail common senti- 
 nels, get to this song ; and you may see, by their fall- 
 ing tears, how it strikes home to them. It goes thus, 
 father,"' says he, very adroitly taking my lord for his 
 listener, ^^and if I cannot get to the end of it, you 
 must think it is a common case with us exiles." And 
 thereupon he struck up the same air as I had heard the 
 Colonel whistle ; but now to words, rustic indeed, yet 
 most pathetically setting forth a poor girl's aspirations 
 for an exiled lover; of which one verse indeed (or some- 
 thing like it) still sticks by me : — 
 
 0, I will dye my petticoat red, 
 With my dear boy I'll beg my bread, 
 Though all my friends should wish me dead, 
 For Willie among the rushes, ! 
 
 He sang it well, even as a song ; but he did better yet 
 as a performer. I have heard famous actors, when there 
 was not a dry eye in the Edinburgh theatre ; a great 
 wonder to behold ; but no more wonderful than how the 
 
120 THE MASTER OF BALLA.NTRAE. 
 
 Master played upon that little ballad, and on those who 
 heard him, like an instrument, and seemed now upon the 
 point of failing", and now to conquer his distress, so that 
 words and music seemed to pour out of his own heart and 
 his own past, and to be aimed directly at Mrs. Henry. And 
 his art went further yet ; for all was so delicately touched, 
 it seemed impossible to suspect him of the least design ; 
 and so far from making a parade of emotion, you would 
 have sworn he was striving to be calm. When it came 
 to an endj we all sat silent for a time ; he had chosen 
 the dusk of the afternoon, so that none could see his 
 neio-hbour^s face ; but it seemed as if we held our breath- 
 ing ; only my old lord cleared his throat. The first to 
 move was the singer, who got to his feet suddenly and 
 softly, and went and walked softly to and fro in the low 
 end of the hall, Mr. Henry's customary place. We were 
 to suppose that he there struggled down the last of his 
 emotion ; for he presently returned and launched into 
 a disquisition on the nature of the Irish (always so much 
 miscalled, and whom he defended) in his natural voice ; 
 so that, before the lights were brought, we were in the 
 usual course of talk. But even then, methought Mrs. 
 Henry's face was a shade pale ; and, for another thing, 
 she withdrew almost at once. 
 
 The next sign was a friendship this insidious devil 
 struck up with innocent Miss Katharine ; so that they 
 were always together, hand in hand, or she climbing on 
 his knee, like a pair of children. Like all his diabolical 
 
THE FIRST TO MOVE WAS THE SINGER, WHO GOT TO HIS FEET 
 SUDDENLY AND SOFTLY. 
 
 (;;. 120.) 
 
*.'' c 'r' ' ''^ ^ ''* '■ « "a^' 
 
PERSECUTIONb. 121 
 
 acts, this cut in several ways. It was the last stroke to 
 Mr. Henry, to see his own babe debauched ag-ainst him ; 
 it made him harsh with the poor innocent, which 
 brought him still a peg lower in his wife's esteem ; and 
 (to conclude) it was a bond of union between the lady 
 and the Master. Under this influence, their old reserve 
 melted by daily stages. Presently there came walks in 
 the long shrubber}^, talks in the Belvedere, and I know 
 not what tender familiarity. T am sure Mrs. Henry was 
 like many a good woman ; she had a whole conscience, 
 but perhaps by the means of a little winking. For even 
 to so dull an observer as myself, it was plain her kind- 
 ness was of a more moving nature than the sisterly. 
 The tones of her voice appeared more numerous ; she 
 had a light and softness in her eye ; she was more gentle 
 with all of us, even with Mr. Henry, even with myself ; 
 methought she breathed of some quiet melancholy 
 happiness. 
 
 To look on at this, what a torment it was for Mr. 
 Henry ! And yet it brought our ultimate deliverance, 
 as I am soon to tell. 
 
 The purport of the Master's stay was no more noble 
 (gild it as they might) than to wring money out. He 
 had some design of a fortune in the French Indies, as 
 the Chevalier wrote me ; and it was the sum required 
 for this that he came seeking. For the rest of the 
 family it spelled ruin ; but my lord, in his incredible 
 
122 THE MASTER OF BALLANTHAE. 
 
 partiality, pushed ever for the granting. The family was 
 now so narrowed down (indeed, there were no more of 
 them than just the father and the two sons) that it was 
 possible to break the entail and alienate a piece of land. 
 And to this, at first by hints, and then by open pressure, 
 Mr. Henry was brought to consent. He never would 
 have done so, I am very well assured, but for the weight 
 of the distress under which he laboured. But for his 
 passionate eagerness to see his brother gone, he would 
 not thus have broken with his own sentiment and the 
 traditions of his house. And even so, he sold them his 
 consent at a dear rate, speaking for once openly, and 
 holding the business up in its own shameful colours. 
 
 " You will observe,'' he said, '' this is an iDJustice to 
 my son, if ever I have one.'''' 
 
 " But that you are not likely to have," said my lord. 
 
 ^' God knows ! '* says Mr. Henry. ^' And considering 
 the cruel falseness of the position in which I stand to 
 my brother, and that you, my lord, are my father, and 
 have the right to command me, I set my hand to this 
 paper. But one thing I will say first : I have been un- 
 generously pushed, and when next, my lord, you are 
 tempted to compare your sons, I call on you to remem- 
 ber what I have done and what he has done. Acts are 
 the fair test.''"' 
 
 My lord was the most uneasy man I ever saw ; even 
 in his old face the blood came up. ^' I think this is not 
 a very wisely chosen moment, Henry, for complaints,'' 
 
 ( 
 
PERSECUTIONS. ' 123 
 
 said he. " This takes away from the merit of your 
 generosity.'"' 
 
 '^ Do not deceive yourself, my lord/' said Mr. Henry. 
 '' This injustice is not done from generosity to him, but 
 in obedience to yourself.'' 
 
 /^Before strangers . . ." begins my lord, still 
 more unhappily affected. 
 
 " There is no one but ]Mackellar here/' said Mr. 
 Henry ; 'Hie is my friend. And, my lord, as you make 
 him no stranger to your frequent blame, it were hard if 
 I must keep him one to a thing so rare as my defence/' 
 
 Almost I believe my lord would have rescinded h?^,s 
 decision; but the Master was on the watch. 
 
 ^^ Ah ! Henry, Henry/' says he, '^you are the best of us 
 still. Rugged and true ! Ah ! man, I wish I was as good." 
 
 And at that instance of his favourite's generosity my 
 lord desisted from his hesitation, and the deed was signed. 
 
 As soon as it could be brought about, the land of 
 Ochterhall was sold for much below its value, and the 
 money paid over to our leech and sent by some private 
 carriage into France. Or so he said ; though I have 
 suspected since it did not go so far. And now here was 
 all the man's business brought to a successful head, and 
 his pockets once more bulgmg with our gold ; and yet 
 the point for which we had consented to this sacrifice 
 was still denied us, and the visitor still lingered on at 
 Durrisdeer. Whether in malice, or because the time 
 was not yet come for liis adventure to the Indies, or 
 
124- THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 because he had hopes of his design on Mrs. Henry, or 
 from the orders of the Government, who shall say ? but 
 linger he did, and that for weeks. 
 
 You will observe I say : from the orders of Gov- 
 ernment; for about this time the man^s disreputable 
 secret trickled out. 
 
 The first hint I had was from a tenant, who com- 
 mented on the Master^s stay, and yet more on his 
 security ; for this tenant was a Jacobitish sympathiser, 
 and had lost a son at Culloden, which gave him the 
 more critical eye. ^' There is one thing,-'' said he, '^ that 
 I cannot but think strange ; and that is how he got to 
 Cockermouth." 
 
 ^^ To Cockermouth ? '^ said I, with a sudden memory 
 of my first wonder on beholding the man disembark so 
 point-de-vice after so long a voyage. 
 
 " Why, yes,''"' says the tenant, '^ it was there he was 
 picked up by Captain Crail. You thought he had 
 come from France by sea ? And so we all did.'' 
 
 I turned this news a little in my head, and then 
 carried it to Mr. Henry. ^' Here is an odd circum- 
 stance,'' said I, and told him. 
 
 " What matters how he came, Mackellar, so long as 
 he is here ? " groans Mr. Henry. 
 
 '' No, sir," said I, " but think again ! Does not this 
 smack a little of some Government connivance ? You 
 know how much we have wondered already at the man's 
 security/' 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 125 
 
 '' Stop/' said ]\Ir. Henry. '' Let me think of this.'-' 
 And as he thoug-ht^ there came that grim smile upon 
 his face that was a little like the Master's. " Give me 
 paper/' said he. And he sat without another word and 
 wrote to a gentleman of his acquaintance — I will name 
 no unnecessary names, but he was one in a high place. 
 This letter I despatched by the only hand I could de- 
 pend upon in such a case — Macconochie's ; and the old 
 man rode hard, for he was back with the reply before 
 even my eagerness had ventured to expect him. Again, 
 as he read it, Mr. Henry had the same grim smile. 
 
 " This is the best you have done for me yet, Mac- 
 kellar/' says he. " With this in my hand I will give 
 him a shog. Watch for us at dinner." 
 
 At dinner accordingly Mr. Henry proposed some 
 very public appearance for the Master ; and my lord, as 
 he had hoped, objected to the danger of the course. 
 
 " Oh ! " says Mr. Henry, very easily, '^ you need no 
 longer keep this up with me. I am as much in the 
 secret as yourself." 
 
 " In the secret ? " says my lord. ^' What do you 
 mean, Henry ? I give you my word, I am in no secret 
 from which you are excluded." 
 
 The Master had changed countenance, and I saw he 
 was struck in a joint of his harness. 
 
 ^' How ? " says Mr. Henry, turning to him with a 
 huge appearance of surprise. '^ I see you serve your 
 masters very faithfully ; but I had thought you would 
 
126 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 have been humane enough to set your father^s mind at 
 rest/' 
 
 " What are you talking of ? I refuse to have my 
 business publicly discussed. I order this to cease/"* cries 
 the Master very foolishly and passionately, and indeed 
 more like a child than a man. 
 
 '* So much discretion was not looked for at your 
 hands, I can assure you/"* continued Mr. Henry. " For 
 see what my correspondent writes '"' — unfolding- the 
 paper — " ' It is, of course, in the interests both of the 
 Government and the gentleman whom we may per- 
 haps, best continue to call Mr. Bally, to keep this under- 
 standing secret ; but it was never meant his own family 
 should continue to endure the suspense you paint so 
 feelingly ; and I am pleased mine should be the hand to 
 set these fears at rest. Mr. Bally is as safe in Great 
 Britain as yourself.' '' 
 
 " Is this possible ? ■" cries my lord, looking at his 
 son, with a great deal of wonder and still more of sus- 
 picion in his face. 
 
 " My dear father,'^ says the Master, already much re- 
 covered. ^^ I am overjoyed that this may be disclosed. 
 My own instructions, direct from London, bore a very 
 contrary sense, and I was charged to keep the indul- 
 gence secret from every one, yourself not excepted, and 
 indeed yourself expressly named — as I can show in black 
 and white unless I have destroyed the letter. They 
 must have changed their mind very swiftly, for the 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 127 
 
 whole matter is still quite fresh ; or rather, Henry's cor- 
 respondent must have misconceived that part, as he 
 seems to have misconceived the rest. To tell you the 
 truth, sir,^-* he continued, getting visibly more easy, ^' I 
 had supposed this unexplained favour to a rebel was 
 the effect of some application from yourself ; and the 
 injunction to secrecy among my family the result of a 
 desire on your part to conceal your kindness. Hence I 
 was the more careful to obey orders. It remains now to 
 guess by what other channel indulgence can have flowed 
 on so notorious an offender as myself; for I do not 
 think your son need defend himself from what seems 
 hinted at in Henry^s letter. I have never yet heard of 
 a Durrisdeer who was a turncoat or a spy,^' says he, 
 proudly. 
 
 And so it seemed he had swum out of this danger 
 unharmed; but this was to reckon without a blunder he 
 had made, and without the pertinacity of Mr. Henry, 
 who was now to show he had something of his brother''s 
 spirit. 
 
 " You say the matter is still fresh,''-' says Mr. Henry. 
 
 " It is recent/' says the Master, with a fair show of 
 stoutness and yet not without a quaver. 
 
 " Is it so recent as that ? ''■' asks Mr. Henry, like a 
 man a little puzzled, and spreading his letter forth again. 
 
 In all the letter there was no word as to the date ; 
 but how was the Master to know that ? 
 
 " It seemed to come late enough for me,^-* says he, 
 
128 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 with a laugh. And at the sound of that laugh, which 
 rang false, like a cracked bell, my lord looked at him 
 again across the table, and I saw his old lips draw 
 together close. 
 
 " No,^^ said Mr. Henry, still glancing on his letter, 
 ^^ but I remember your expression. You said it was very 
 fresh.^^ 
 
 And here we had a proof of our victory, and the 
 strongest instance yet of my lord's incredible indulgence; 
 for what must he do but interfere to save his favourite 
 from exposure ! 
 
 '' I think, Henry,'''' says he, with a kind of pitiful 
 eagerness, " I think we need dispute no more. We are 
 all rejoiced at last to find your brother safe ; we are all 
 at one on that; and, as grateful subjects, we can do no 
 less than drink to the king^s health and bounty .■'' 
 
 Thus was the Master extricated ; but at least he had 
 been put to his defence, he had come lamely out, and 
 the attraction of his personal danger was now publicly 
 plucked away from him. My lord, in his heart of hearts, 
 now knew his favourite to be a Government spy ; and 
 Mrs. Henry (however she explained the tale) was notably 
 cold in her behaviour to the discredited hero of romance. 
 Thus in the best fabric of duplicity, there is some weak 
 point, if you can strike it, which will loosen all ; and if, 
 by this fortunate stroke, we had not shaken the idol, who 
 can say how it might have gone with us at the catastrophe? 
 
 And yet at the time we seemed to have accomplished 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 129 
 
 nothing. Before a day or two he had wiped off the ill- 
 results o£ his discomfiture, and, to all appearance, stood 
 as high as ever. As for my Lord Durrisdeer, he was 
 sunk in parental partiality ; it was not so much love, 
 which should be an active quality, as an apathy and 
 torpor of his other powers ; and forg-iveness (so to mis- 
 apply a noble word) flowed from him in sheer weakness, 
 like the tears of senility. Mrs. Henry's was a different 
 case ; and Heaven alone knows what he found to say to 
 her, or how he persuaded her from her contem.pt. It is 
 one of the worst things of sentiment, that the voice 
 grows to be more important than the words, and the 
 speaker than that which is spoken. But some excuse 
 the ?>Iastcr must have found, or perhaps he had even 
 struck upon some art to wrest this exposure to his own 
 advantage ; for after a time of coldness, it seemed as if 
 things went worse than ever between him and Mrs. 
 Henry. They were then constantly together. I would 
 not be thought to cast one shadow of blame, beyond 
 what is due to a half-wilful blindness, on that unfortu- 
 nate lady ; but I do think, in these last days, she was 
 playing very near the fire; and whether I be wrong or 
 not in that, one thing is sure and quite sufficient : Mr. 
 Henry thought so. The poor gentleman sat for days in 
 my room, so great a picture of distress that I could 
 never venture to address him ; yet it is to be thought he 
 found some comfort even in my presence and the know- 
 ledge of my sympathy. There were times, too, when we 
 J 
 
130 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 talked, and a strang-e manner of talk it was ; there was 
 never a person named, nor an individual circumstance 
 referred to ; yet we had the same matter in our minds, 
 and we were each aware of it. It is a strange art that 
 can thus be practised ; to talk for hours of a thing, and 
 never name nor yet so much as hint at it. And I 
 remember I wondered if it was by some such natural 
 skill that the Master made love to Mrs. Henry all day 
 long (as he manifestly did), yet never startled her into 
 reserve. 
 
 To show how far affairs had gone with j\Ir. Henry, I 
 will give some words of his, uttered (as I have cause not 
 to forget) upon the 26th of February, 1757. It was 
 unseasonable weather, a cast back into Winter : wind- 
 less, bitter cold, the world all white with rime, the sky 
 low and gray : the sea black and silent like a quarry- 
 hole. Mr. Henry sat close by the fire, and debated (as 
 was now common with him) whether " a man '' should 
 '^ do things,^' whether '' interference was wise,^' and the 
 like general propositions, which each of us particularly 
 applied. I was by the window, looking out, when there 
 passed below me the Master, ]\Irs. Henry, and Miss 
 Katharine, that now constant trio. The child was 
 running to and fro, delighted with the frost; the Master 
 spoke close in the lady's ear with what seemed (even 
 from so far) a devilish grace of insinuation ; and she 
 on her part looked on the ground like a person lost in 
 listening. I broke out of my reserve. 
 
I 
 
 PERSECUTIONS. 131 
 
 '' If I were you, Mr. Henry," said I, '' I would deal 
 openly with my lord." 
 
 " Maekellar, Mackellar/' said he, '' you do not see 
 the weakness of my ground. I cau carry no such base 
 thoughts to any one — to my father least of all ; that 
 would be to fall into the bottom of his scorn. The 
 weakness of my ground," he continued, " lies in myself, 
 that I am not one who engages love. I have their grati- 
 tude, they all tell me that ; T have a rich estate of it ! 
 But I am not present in their minds ; they are moved 
 neither to think with me nor to think for me. There is 
 my loss ! " He got to his feet, and trod down the fire. 
 '^ But some method must be found, Maekellar," said he, 
 looking at me suddenly over his shoulder ; " some way 
 must be found. I am a man of a great deal of patience 
 — far too much — far too much. I begin to despise my- 
 self. And yet, sure, never was a man involved in such a 
 toil ! " He fell back to his brooding. 
 
 '' Cheer up," said I. '' It will burst of itself." 
 
 '' I am far past anger now," says he, which had so 
 little coherency with my own observation that I let 
 both fall. 
 
132 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ACCOUXT OP ALL TU VT PASSED OX THE NIGHT O? 
 FEBRUARY 27TII^ 1757. 
 
 On llic cveulng o£ ilie interview referred to, the Master 
 went abroad ; he was abroad a great deal of the next 
 day alsoj that fatal 27 th ; but where he went, or what 
 he did, we never concerned ourselves to ask until next 
 day. If we had done so, and by any chance found out, 
 it might have changed all. But as all we did was done 
 in ignorance, and should be so judged, I shall so narrate 
 these passages as they appeared to us in the moment of 
 their birth, and reserve all that I since discovered for 
 the time of its discovery. For I have now come to one 
 of the dark parts of my narrative, and must engage the 
 reader's indulgence for my patron. 
 
 All the 27th that rigorous weather endured : a stifling 
 cold ; the folk passing about like smoking chimneys ; 
 the wide hearth in the hall piled high with fuel ; some 
 of the spring birds that had already blundered north 
 into our neighbourhood, besieging the windows of the 
 house or trotting on the frozen turf like things dis- 
 tracted. About noon there came a blink of sunshine; 
 showing a very pretty, wintry, frosty landscape of white 
 hills and woods^ v,'itU CraiVs lugger waiting for a wind 
 
THE NIGHT OF I'EBRUAIIY 27Tn. 133 
 
 under the Craig Head, and the smoke mounting straight 
 into the air from every farm and cottage. With the 
 coming of night, the haze closed in overhead; it felJ 
 dark and still and starless, and exceeding cold : a night 
 the most unseasonable, fit for strange events. 
 
 Mrs. Henry withdrew, as was now her custom, very 
 early. AVe had set ourselves of late to pass the evening 
 with a game of cards ; another mark that our visitor 
 was wearying mightily of the life at Durrisdeer ; and 
 we had not been long at this when my old lord slipped 
 from his place beside the fire, and was oif without a 
 word to seek the warmth of bed. The three thus left 
 together had neither love nor courtesy to share ; not one 
 of us would have sat up one instant to oblige another ; 
 yet from the influence of custom, and as the cards had 
 just been dealt, we continued the form of playing out 
 the round. I should say we were late sitters; and 
 though my lord had departed earlier than was his 
 custom, twelve was already gone some time upon the 
 clock, and the servants long ago in bed. Another thing 
 I should say, that although I never saw the Master 
 anyway aftected with liquor, he had been drinking 
 freely, and was perhaps (although he showed it not) a 
 triile heated. 
 
 Anyway, he now practised one of his transitions j 
 and so soon as the door closed behind my lord, and 
 vv^ithout the smallest change of voice, shifted from 
 ordinary civil talk into a stream of insult. 
 
134 THE MASTER OF BALLANTllAE. 
 
 " My dear Henry^ it is yours to play/-* he had been 
 saying", and now continued : '^ It is a very strange thing 
 hoWj even in so small a matter as a game of cards, you 
 display your rusticity. You play, Jacob, like a bonnet 
 laird, or a sailor in a tavern. The same dulness, the 
 same petty greed, cette lenteur d'hcbete qui me fait rager ; 
 it is strange I should have such a brother. Even 
 Square-toes has a certain vivacity when his stake is 
 imperilled ; but the dreariness of a game with you ? 
 positively lack language to depict.'''' 
 
 Mr. Henry continued to look at his cards, as though 
 very maturely considering some play ; but his mind was 
 elsewhere. 
 
 " Dear God, will this never be done ? ^' cries the 
 Master. '*" Q^uel lourcleaif^l But why do I trouble you 
 with French expressions, which are lost on such an 
 ignoramus? A lourdeau, my dear brother, is as we 
 might say a bumpkin, a clown, a clodpole : a fellow with- 
 out grace, lightness, quickness ; any gift of pleasing, any 
 natural brilliancy : such a one as you shall see, when you 
 desire, by looking in the mirror. I tell you these things 
 for your good, I assure you; and besides. Square-toes^' 
 (looking at me and stifling a yawn), ^*it is one of my 
 diversions in this very dreary spot to toast you and your 
 master at the fire like chestnuts. I have great pleasure 
 in your case, for I observe the nickname (rustic as it is) 
 has always the power to make you writhe. But sometiaies 
 1 have more trouble with this dear fellow here, who seems 
 
I 
 
 THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TH. 135 
 
 to have gone to sleep upon his cards. Do you not see 
 the applicability of the epithet I have just explained, 
 dear Henry? Let me show you. For instance, with all 
 those solid qualities which I delig-ht to recognise in you, 
 I never knew a woman who did not prefer me — nor, I 
 think,''' he continued, with the most silken deliberation, 
 " I think — who did not continue to prefer me.'' 
 
 Mr. Henry laid down his cards. He rose to his feci 
 very softly, and seemed all the while like a person in 
 deep thought. '' You coward ! " he said gently, as if to 
 himself. And then, with neither hurry nor any par- 
 ticular violence, he struck the Master in the mouth. 
 
 The Master sprang to his feet like one transfigured ; 
 I had never seen the man so beautifuk " A blow ! " he 
 cried. " I would not take a blow from God Almighty ! " 
 
 ^' Lower your voice," said Mr. Henry. "Do you 
 wish my father to interfere for you again ? '' 
 
 '^Gentlemen, gentlemen/' I cried, and sought to 
 come between them. 
 
 The Master caught me by the shoulder, held me at 
 arm's length, and still addressing his brother ; " Do 
 you know what this means ? " said he. 
 
 " It was the most deliberate act of my life/^ says 
 Mr. Henry. 
 
 " I must have blood, I must have blood for this," 
 says the Master. 
 
 " Plcitse God it shall be yours," said Mr. Henry ; and 
 he went to the wall and took down a pair of swords that 
 
loC THE MASTER OF BALLAKtIlAS. 
 
 hung there with others^ nuked. These he presented to 
 the Master hy the points. '^ Mackellar shall see us pla/ 
 fair/^ said Mr. Henry. " I think it very needfuh"'^ 
 
 '^ You need insult me no more/^ said the Master, 
 taking one of the swords at random. '^ I have hated you 
 all my life.'^ 
 
 '^My father is but newly gone to bed/' said ^vlr. 
 Henry. ^^ We must go somewhere forth of the house.'' 
 
 '' There is an excellent place in the long shrubbery/'' 
 gaid the Master. 
 
 '^Gentlemen/' said I, '^ shame upon you both ! Sons 
 of the same mother, would you turn against the life she 
 gave you ? ^* 
 
 '' Even so^ Mackellar/' said Mr. Henry, with tlie same 
 perfect quietude of manner he had shown throughout. 
 
 " It is what I v/ill prevent/' said I. 
 
 And now here is a blot upon my life. At these 
 words of mine the Master turned his blade against my 
 bosom j I saw the light run along the steel ; and I 
 threw up my arms and fell to my knees before him on 
 the floor. " No, no/' I cried, like a baby. 
 
 " We shall have no more trouble with him," said the 
 Master. ^' It is a good thing to have a coward in the 
 house." 
 
 *' We must have light,''' said Mr. Henry, as though 
 there had been no interruption. 
 
 '' This trembler can bring a pair of candles," said the 
 [Master. 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TU. 13 1 
 
 To my shame be it said, I was still so blinded witli 
 the flashing" of that bare sword that I volunteered to 
 bring a lantern. 
 
 " We do not need a l-l-lantern/-* says the Master, 
 mocking me. '^ There is no breath of air. Come, get 
 to your feet, take a pair of lights, and go before. I am 
 close behind with this — '^ making the blade glitter 
 as he spoke. 
 
 I took up the candlesticks and went before them, 
 steps that I would give my hand to recall ; but a coward 
 is a slave at the best : and even as I went, my teeth 
 smote each other in my mouth. It was as he had said ; 
 there was no breath stirring ; a windless stricture of 
 frost had bound the air ; and as we went forth in the 
 shine of the candles, the blackness was like a roof over 
 our heads. Never a w^ord was said ; there was never a 
 sound but tlie creaking of our steps along the frozen 
 path. The cold of the night fell about me like a bucket 
 of water ; I shook as I went with more than terror; but 
 my companions, bare-headed like myself, and fresh 
 from the warm hall, appeared not even conscious of 
 the change. 
 
 " Here is the place,^' said the Master. " Set down 
 the candles.^' 
 
 I did as he bid me, and presently the llames went 
 up, as steady as in a chamber, in the midst of the 
 frosted trees, and I beheld these two brothers take their 
 places. 
 
138 THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " The light is something in my eyes/' said the 
 Master. 
 
 ^'I will give you every advantage/' replied Mr. 
 Henry, shifting his ground, ^' for I think you are 
 about to die.'' He spoke rather sadly than otherwise, 
 yet there was a ring in his voice. 
 
 " Henry Durie/' said the Master, " two words before 
 I begin. You are a fencer, you can hold a foil ; you 
 little know what a change it makes to hold a sword 
 And by that I know you are to fall. But see how 
 strong is my situation ! If you fall, 1 shift out of this 
 country to where my money is before me. If I fall, 
 where are you ? My father, your wife — who is in love 
 with me, as you very well know — your child even, who 
 prefers me to yourself : — how will these avenge me ! 
 Had you thought of that, dear Henry ? " He looked 
 at his brother with a smile ; then made a fencing-room 
 salute. 
 
 Never a word said Mr. Henry, but saluted too, and 
 the swords rang together. 
 
 I am no judge of the play ; my head, besides, was gone 
 with cold and fear and horror; but it seems that Mr. 
 Henry took and kept the upper hand from the engage- 
 ment, crowding in upon his foe with a contained and 
 glowing fury. Nearer and nearer he crept upon the man, 
 till of a sudden the Master leaped back with a little 
 sobbing oath ; and I believe the movement brought the 
 light once more against his eyes. To it they went again. 
 
BEYOND DOUBT HE NOW RECOGNIZED HIMSELF FOR liOST, AND HAD SOME 
 TASTE OF THE COLD AGONY OF FEAR, OR HE HAD NEVER ATTEMPTED 
 THE FOUL STROKE. 
 
 {p. 139.) 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TH. 139 
 
 OD the fresh ground ; but now methouglit closer, Mr. 
 Henry pressing more outrageous] y_, the Master beyond 
 doubt with shaken confidence. For it is beyond doubt 
 he now recognised himself for lost, and had some taste 
 of the cold agony of fear; or he had never attempted 
 the foul stroke. I cannot say I followed it, my un- 
 trained eye was never quick enough to seize details, but 
 it appears he caught his brother's blade with his left 
 hand, a practice not permitted. Certainly ^Ir. Henry 
 only saved himself by leaping on one side ; as certainly 
 the Master, lunging in the air, stumbled on his knee, and 
 before he could move the sword was through his body. 
 
 I cried out with a stifled scream, and ran in ; but the 
 body was already fallen to the ground, where it writhed a 
 moment like a trodden worm, and then lay motionless. 
 
 ^' Look at his left hand,"*' said Mr. Henry. 
 
 '' It is all bloody,'' said I. 
 
 " On the inside ? " said he. 
 
 "It is cut on the inside,'' said I. 
 
 '^ I thought so," said he, and turned his back. 
 
 I opened the man's clothes ; the heart was quite still, 
 it gave not a flutter. 
 
 " God forgive us, Mr. Henry ! " said I. '^ He is dead." 
 
 '' Dead ? " he repeated, a little stupidly ; and then 
 with a rising tone, " Dead ? dead ? " says he, and sud- 
 denly cast his bloody sword upon the ground. 
 
 *'What must we do?" said I. '^ Be yourself, sir. 
 It is too laxe now : you must be yourself." 
 
110 THE MASTEll OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 He turned and stared at me. '^ Ob^ Mackellar ! ^' says 
 he, and put his face in his hands. 
 
 I plucked him by the coat. " For God's sake^ for all 
 our sakes; he more courageous ! '' said I. ^^ What must 
 wedo?^' 
 
 He showed m.e his face with the same stupid stare. 
 " Do ? '' says he. And with that his eye fell on the 
 body, and ^^ Oh ! " he cries out, with his hand to his 
 brow, as if he had never remembered ; and, turning 
 from me, made ofE towards the house of Durrisdcer at a 
 strange stumbling run. 
 
 T stood a moment mused ; then it seemed to me my 
 duty lay most plain on the side of the living ; and 1 
 ran after him, leaving the candles on the frosty ground 
 and the body lying in their light under the trees. 
 But run as I pleased, he had the start of me, and 
 was got into the house, and up to the hall, where I 
 found him standing before the fire with his face once 
 more in his hands, and as he so stood he visibly shud- 
 dered. 
 
 '' Mr. Henry, Mr. Henry," I said, '' this will be the 
 ruin of us all.'^ 
 
 " What is this that I have done ? '' cries he, and then 
 looking upon me with a countenance that I shall never 
 forget, " Who is to tell the old man ? '^ he said. 
 
 The word knocked at my heart; but it was no time 
 for weakness. I went and poured him out a glass oP 
 brandy. ''Drink that," said I, ''drink it down." 1 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBIIUARY 27TII. Ill 
 
 forced liim to swallow it like a cliild ; and, being still 
 perished with the cold of the night, I followed his 
 example. 
 
 " It has to be told, Mackellar/^ said he. " It must 
 be told.'' And he fell suddenly in a seat — my old lord's 
 seat by the chimney-side — and was shaken with dry 
 sobs. 
 
 Dismay came upon my soul ; it was plain there was 
 no help in Mr. Henry. '' Well/' said I, " sit there, and 
 leave all to me." And taking a candle in my hand, I 
 set forth out of the room in the dark house. There 
 was no movement; I must suppose that all had gone 
 unobserved ; and I was now to consider how to smuggle 
 through the rest with the like secrecy. It was no hour 
 for scruples ; and I opened my lady's door without so 
 much as a knock, and passed boldly in. 
 W\ " There is some calamity happGncd," she cried, sittin'^* 
 up in bed. 
 
 " Madam," said I, " I will go forth again into the 
 passage ; and do you get as quickly as you can into your 
 clothes. There is much to be done." 
 
 She troubled me with no questions, nor did she keep 
 me waiting. Ere I had time to prepare a word of tliat 
 which I must say to her, she was on the threshold sign- 
 ing me to enter. 
 
 "Madam," said I, '^^ if you cannot be very brave, T 
 must go elsewhere; for if no one helps me to-night, 
 there is an end of the house of Dun'isdeer." 
 
142 THE MASTER OF BALLA.NTRAE. 
 
 '' I am very courageous/^ said she ; and she looked at 
 me with a sort o£ smile, very painful to see, but very 
 brave too. 
 
 ^' It has come to a duel/' said I. 
 
 " A duel ? "' she repeated. ''A duel ! Henry and " 
 
 ''And the Master/' said I. "Things have been 
 borne so long, things of which you know nothing, 
 which you would not believe if I should tell. But to- 
 night it went too far, and when he insulted you " 
 
 " Stop/' said she. " He ? Who ? " 
 
 " Oh ! madam,^' cried I, my bitterness breaking forth, 
 " do you ask me such a question ? Indeed, then, I may 
 go elsewhere for help ; there is none here I " 
 
 " I do not know in what I have offended you,'' said 
 she. " Forgive me ; put me out of this suspense/' 
 
 But I dared not tell her yet ; I felt not sure of her ; 
 and at the doubt, and under the sense of impotence it 
 brought with it, I turned on the poor woman with some- 
 thing near to anger. 
 
 " Madam/' said I, '' we are speaking of two men : 
 one of them insulted you, and you ask me which. I 
 will help you to the answer. With one of these men 
 you have spent all your hours : has the other reproached 
 you^ To one you have been always kind; to the 
 other, as God sees me and judges between us two, 
 I think not always : has his love ever failed you ? 
 To-night one of these two men told the other, in my 
 hearing — the hearing of a hired stranger, — that you 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TH. 143 
 
 were in love with him. Before I say one word, you 
 shall answer your own question : Which was it ? Nay^ 
 madam, you shall answer me another : If it has come 
 to this dreadful end, whose fault is it ? '' 
 
 She stared .at me like one dazzled. ^' Good God ! ^' 
 she said once, in a kind of bursting exclamation ; and 
 then a second time .n a whisper to herself : '^ Great 
 God ! — In the name of mercy, INIackellar, what is 
 wrong ? '^ she cried. ^^ I am made up ; I can hear all." 
 
 "You are not fit to hear," said I. ^^ Whatever it 
 was, you shall say first it was your fault." 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, with a gesture of wringing her 
 hands, " this man will drive me mad ! Can you not 
 put me out of your thoughts ? " 
 
 " I think not once of you," I cried. " I think of 
 none but my dear unhappy master." 
 
 " Ah ! " she cried, with her hand to her heart, '^ is 
 Henry dead ? '''' 
 
 " Lower your voice," said I. " The other." 
 
 I saw her sway like something stricken by the wind ; 
 and I know not whether in cowardice or misery, turned 
 aside and looked upon the floor. " These are dreadful 
 tidings,^'' said I at length, when her silence began to put 
 me in some fear; "and you and I behove to be the 
 more bold if the house is to be saved." Still she 
 answered nothing. " There is Miss Katharine, besides," 
 I added : " unless we bring this matter through, her 
 inheritance is like to be of shame." 
 
Mi THE MASTEU OF BALLANTllAE. 
 
 I do not know if it was the thouglit of her child or 
 the naked word shame^ that gave her deliverance; at 
 least, I had no sooner spoken than a sound passed her 
 lipsj the like of it I never heard ; it was as though she 
 had lain buried under a hill and sought to move that 
 burthen. And the next moment she had found a sort 
 of voice. 
 
 '^ It was a fight/' she whispered. ^' It was not — ? '^ 
 and she paused upon the word. 
 
 '' It was a fair fight on my dear master's part/' said I. 
 " As for the other_, he was slain in the very act of a foul 
 stroke.'' 
 
 " Not now ! '' she cried. 
 
 '' Madam/' said I, " hatred of that man glows in my 
 bosom like a burning fire; ay, even now he is dead. 
 God knows, I would have stopped the fighting, had I 
 dared. It is my shame I did not. But when I saw him 
 fall, if I could have spared one thought from pitying of 
 my master, it had been to exult in that deliverance." 
 
 I do not know if she marked ; but her next words 
 were, " T^Iy lord ? " 
 
 '' That shall be my part," said I. 
 
 " You will not speak to him as you have to me ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 "Madam," said I, "have you not some one else to 
 think of ? Leave my lord to me." 
 
 " Some one else ? '"' she repeated. 
 
 " Your husband/' said I. She looked at me with a 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBllUARY 27TH. 14-5 
 
 countenance illegible. ^^Are you going to turn your 
 back on bim ?" 1 asked. 
 
 Still sbe looked at me; tlien ber band went to ber 
 beart again. '^ No/^ said sbe. 
 
 ^^ God bless you for tbat word ! " I said. '' Go to 
 bim now, wbere be sits in tbe ball ; speak to bim — it 
 matters not wbat you say; give bim your band; say, 
 'I know all;' — if God gives you grace enougb, say^ 
 ' Forgive me."* " 
 
 *' God strcngtben you, and make you merciful,^' said 
 slie. '^ I will go to my busband." 
 
 " Let me ligbt you tbere,^' said T, taking up tbe 
 candle. 
 
 ^' I will find my way in tbe dark,'' sbe said, witb a 
 sb udder, and I tbink tbe sbudder was at me. 
 
 So we separated — sbe down stairs to wbere a little 
 ligbt glimmered in tbe ball-door, I along tbe passage to 
 my lord's room. It seems bard to say wby, but I could 
 not burst in on tbe old man as I could on tbe young 
 woman ; witb wbatever reluctance, I must knock. But 
 bis old slumbers were ligbt, or perbaps be slept not; 
 and at tbe first summons I was bidden enter. 
 
 lie, too, sat up in bed ; very aged and bloodless bo 
 looked; and wbereas be bad a certain largeness of 
 appearance wben dressed for dayligbt, be now seemed 
 frail and little, and bis face (tbe wig being laid aside) 
 not bigger tban a cbild's. Tbis daunted me; nor less, 
 tbe baggard surmise of misfortune in bis eye. Yet bis 
 
 K 
 
146 THE MASTER OF BALLA.XTRAE. 
 
 voice was even peaceful as he inquired my errand. 1 
 set my candle down upon a chair, leaned on the bed- 
 foot, and looked at him. 
 
 " Lord Durrisdeer,^' said I, " it is very well known to 
 you that I am a partisan in your family.^' 
 
 "I hope we are none of us partisans,^^ said he. 
 "That you love my son sincerely, I have always been 
 g-lad to recognise."" 
 
 '^ Oh ! my lord, we are past the hour of these civilities,^' 
 I replied. " If we are to save anything out of the fire, 
 we must look the fact in its bare countenance. A parti- 
 san I am j partisans we have all been ; it is as a parti- 
 san that I am here in the middle of the night to plead 
 before you. Hear me ; before I go, I will tell you why/' 
 
 " I would always hear you, Mr. Afackellar,'' said he, 
 " and that at any hour, whether of the day or night, 
 for I would be always sure you had a reason. You 
 spoke once before to very proper purpose ; I have not 
 forgotten thaf 
 
 *' I am here to plead the cause of my master,'" 1 said. 
 " I need not tell you how he acts. You know how he 
 is placed. You know with what generosity he has 
 always met your other — met your wishes," I corrected 
 myself, stumbling at that name of son. " You know 
 — you must know — what he has suffered — what he has 
 suffered about his wife."" 
 
 " Mr. Mackellar 1 " cried my lord, rising in bed like 
 a bearded lion. 
 
THE NIGHT OF FRBHUAKY 27TH. 147 
 
 " You said you would hear me/' I continued. 
 *' What you do not know, what you should know, one of 
 the things I am here to speak of, is the persecution he 
 must bear in private. Your back is not turned before 
 one whom I dare not nanfie to you falls upon him with 
 the most unfeeling" taunts ; twits him — pardon me, my 
 lord — twits him with your partiality, calls him Jacob, 
 calls him clown, pursues him with ungenerous raillery, 
 not to be borne by man. And let but one of you appear, 
 instantly he changes; and my master must srnile and 
 courtesy to the man who has been feeding him with 
 insults ; I know, for I have shared in some of it, and 
 I tell you the life is insupportable. All these months 
 it has endured; it began with the man^s landing; it 
 was by the name of Jacob that my master was greeted 
 the first night.''' 
 
 My lord made a movement as if to thi'ow aside the 
 
 clothes and rise. " J^ there be any truth in this " 
 
 said he. 
 
 '^Do I look like a man lying?'' I interrupted, 
 checking him with my hand. 
 
 " You should have told me at first," he said. 
 
 " Ah, my lord ! indeed I should, and you may well 
 hate the face of this unfaithful servant ! " I cried. 
 
 " I will take order," said he, '^ at once." And again 
 made the movement to rise. 
 
 Again I checked him. '^ I have not done," said I. 
 '^ Would God I had ! All this my dear, unfortunate 
 K 2 
 
148 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 patron has endured without help or countenance. Your 
 own best word, my lord, was only gratitude. Oh, but 
 he was your son, too ! He had no other father. lie 
 was hated in the country, God knows how unjustly. 
 lie had a loveless marriage. He stood on all hands 
 without affection or support — dear, generous, ill-fated, 
 noble heart ! " 
 
 ^' Your tears do you much honour and me much 
 shame," says my lord, with a palsied trembling. '' But 
 you do me some injustice. Henry has been ever dear 
 to me, very dear. James (I do not deny it, ^Ir. Mac- 
 kellar), James is perhaps dearer; you have not seen my 
 James in quite a favourable light j he has suffered under 
 his misfortunes ; and we can only remember how great 
 and how unmerited these were. And even now his is 
 the more affectionate nature. But I will not speak of 
 liim. All that you say of Henry is most true; I do not 
 wonder, I know him to be very magnanimous; you will 
 say I trade upon the knowledge ? It is possible; there 
 are dangerous virtues: virtues that tempt the encroacher. 
 ;Mr. Mackellar, I will make it up to him ; I will take 
 order with all this. I have been weak ; and, what is 
 worse, I have been dull." 
 
 ^' I must not hear you blame yourself, my lord, with 
 that which I have yet to tell upon my conscience,'''' I 
 replied. " You have not been u^eak ; you have been 
 abused by a devilish dissembler. You saw yourself how 
 be had deceived you in the matter of his danger; he has 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUAllY 27TIt. 119 
 
 deceived you throughout in every step of his career. I 
 wish to pluck him from your heart; I wish to force 
 your eyes upon your other son ; ah^ you have a son 
 there ! '' 
 
 ^^ No, no/' said he, ^^ two sons — I have two sons/' 
 
 I made some gesture of despair that struck him ; he 
 looked at me with a changed face. " There is much 
 worse behind ? '' he asked, his voice dying as it rose 
 upon the question. 
 
 " Much worse,^' I answered. " This night he said 
 these words to Mr. Henry : ' I have never known a 
 woman who did not prefer me to you, and I think who 
 did not continue to prefer me.' '' 
 
 "I will hear nothing against my daughter,'' he 
 cried ; and from his readiness to stop me in this 
 direction, I conclude his eyes were not so dull as I had 
 fancied, and he had looked not without anxiety upon 
 the siege of jNIrs. Henry. 
 
 ^' I think not of blaming her," cried I. ^' It is not 
 that. These words were said in my hearing to Mr. 
 Henry; and if you find them not yet plain enough, 
 these others but a little after : ^ Your wife, who is in 
 love w^ith me.'" 
 
 " They have quarrelled ? " he said. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 ^' I must fly to them," he said, beginning once again 
 to leave his bed. 
 
 *' Xo, no 1 " I cried, holding forth my hands. 
 
150 THE MASTER OF BALLANTIIAE. 
 
 ^^ You do not know/^ said he. *' These are dangerous 
 words." 
 
 '^ Will nothing make you understand, my lord ? ^' 
 said I. 
 
 His eyes besought me for the truth. 
 
 I flung myself on my knees by the bedside. *' Oh, 
 my lord/' cried I, '^ think on him you have left ; think 
 of this poor sinner whom you begot, whom your wife 
 bore to you, whom we have none of us strengthened as 
 we could ; think of him, not of yourself ; he is the other 
 sufferer — think of him ! That is the door for sorrow 
 — Christ's door, God's door : oh ! it stands open. Think 
 of him, even as he thought of you. ' Jr/io is to tell the 
 old man ? ' — these were his words. It was for that I 
 came ; that is why I am here pleading at your feet.'' 
 
 " Let me get up," he cried, thrusting me aside, and 
 was on his feet before myself. His voice shook like a 
 sail in the w^ind, yet he spoke with a good loudness ; his 
 face was like the snow, but his eyes were steady and dry. 
 *' Here is too much speech," said he. ^' Where was it ? " 
 
 " In the shrubbery," said T. 
 
 " And Mr. Henry ? " he asked. And when I had 
 told him he knotted his old face in thought. 
 
 " And Mr. James ? " says he. 
 
 '' I have left him lying," said I, " beside the candles.'* 
 
 " Candles ? ^' he cried. And with that he ran to the 
 window, opened it, and looked abroad. ''It might be 
 spied from the road." 
 
THE NIGHT OP FEBRUARY 27TH. 15] 
 
 " Where none goes by at such an hour/' I objected. 
 
 '^ It makes no matter/^ he said. *' One mig-ht. 
 Hark ! '' cries he. " What is that > " 
 
 It was the sound of men very guardedly rowing in 
 the bay ; and I told him so. 
 
 *' The freetraders/'' said my lord. " Run at once, 
 Mackellar; put these candles out. I will dress in the 
 meanwhile; and when you return we can debate on 
 what is wisest/^ 
 
 I groped my way downstairs, and out at the door. 
 From quite a far way off a sheen was visible, making 
 points of brightness in the shrubbery; in so black a 
 night it might have been remarked for miles; and I 
 blamed myself bitterly for my incaution. How much 
 more sharply when I reached the place ! One of the 
 candlesticks was overthrown, and that taper quenched. 
 The other burned steadily by itself , and made a broad 
 space of light upon the frosted ground. All within that 
 circle seemed, by the force of contrast and the overhang- 
 ing blackness, brighter than by day. And there was the 
 bloodstain in the midst; and a little farther off Mr. 
 Henry^s sword, the pommel of which was of silver ; but 
 of the body, not a trace. My heart thumped upon my 
 ribs, the hair stirred upon my scalp, as I stood there 
 staring — so strange was the sight, so dire the fears it 
 wakened. I looked right and left ; the ground was so 
 hard, it told no story. I stood and listened till my ears 
 ached, but the night was hollow about me like an empty 
 
152 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 church; not even a ripple stirred upon the shore; it 
 seemed you might have heard a pin drop in the county. 
 
 I put the candle out, and the blackness fell about me 
 groping dark; it was like a crowd surrounding me; and 
 I went back to the house of Durrisdeer, with my chin 
 upon my shoulder, startling, as I went, with craven sup- 
 positions. In the door a figure moved to meet me, and 
 I had near screamed with terror ere I recognised INIrs. 
 Henry. 
 
 " Have you told him ? ^' says she. 
 
 " It was he who sent me,^^ said I. '^ It is gone. But 
 why arc you here ? " 
 
 " It is gone ! '^ she repeated. *' What is gone ? '^ 
 
 '^The hody/' said I. " Why are you not with your 
 husband ? '^ 
 
 ^^Gone?^' said she. ''You cannot have looked. 
 Come back.'^ 
 
 " There is no light now,'' said I. '' I dare not.'' 
 
 *"' 1 can see in the dark. I have been standing here 
 so long — so long/' said she. "Come, give me your 
 hand." 
 
 We returned to the shrubbery hand in hand, and to 
 the fatal place. 
 
 '' Take care of the blood," said I. 
 
 ''Blood? " she cried, and started violently back. 
 
 " I suppose it will be," said I. " I am like a blind 
 man." 
 
 " No," said she, " nothing ! Have you not dreamed ? " 
 
THE NIGHT OP FEBRUARY 27TH. 153 
 
 *' Ah, would to God we bad ! '' cried T. 
 
 She spied the sword, picked it up, and seeing- the 
 blood, let it fall agaiu with her bands thrown wide. 
 *' Ah ! '' she cried. And then, with an instant courage, 
 bandied it the second time, and thrust it to the bilt into 
 the frozen ground. '' I will take it back and clean it 
 properly,'' says she, and again looked about ber on all 
 sides. " It cannot be that be was dead ? '' she added. 
 
 "There was no flutter of bis heart,'' said I, and 
 then remembering : '' Why are you not with your bus- 
 band?" 
 
 '' It is no use," said she; " he will not speak to me." 
 
 " Not speak to you ? " I repeated. " Oh ! you have 
 not tried." 
 
 " You have a right to doubt me," she replied, with a 
 gentle dignity. 
 
 At this, for the first time, I was seized with sorrow 
 for ber. " God knows, madam," I cried, '^ God knows 
 I am not so bard as I appear ; on this dreadful night 
 who can veneer bis words ? But I am a friend to all 
 who are not Henry Durie's enemies." 
 
 "It is hard, then, you should hesitate about bis 
 wife," said she. 
 
 I saw all at once, like the rending of a veil, bow 
 nobly she had borne this unnatural calamity, and how 
 generously my reproaches. 
 
 '' We must go back and tell this to my lord," said I. 
 
 ''Him I cannot face," she cried. 
 
154 TUE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " You will find him the least moved of all of us/' 
 said I. 
 
 ^' And yet I cannot face him/^ said she. 
 
 ^^ Well/'' said I, " you can return to Mr. Henry ; I 
 will see my lord." 
 
 As we walked back, I bearing the candlesticks, she 
 the sword — a strange burthen for that woman— she had 
 another thought. " Should we tell Henry ? ^' she asked. 
 
 '^ Let my lord decide/'' said I. 
 
 My lord was nearly dressed when I came to his 
 chamber. He heard me with a frown. ^^The free- 
 traders/^ said he. " But whether dead or alive ? '' 
 
 '' I thought him '^ said I, and paused, ashamed 
 
 of the word. 
 
 "I know; but you may very well have been in 
 error. Why should they remove him if not living ? ''■' he 
 asked. " Oh ! here is a great door of hope. It must be 
 given out that he departed — as he came — without any 
 note of preparation. We must save all scandal.'''' 
 
 I saw he had fallen,- like the rest of us, to think 
 mainly of the house. Now that all the living members 
 of the family were plunged in irremediable sorrow, it 
 was strange how we turned to that conjoint abstraction 
 of the family itself, and sought to bolster up the airy 
 nothing of its reputation : not the Duries only, but tlu 
 hired steward himself. 
 
 '^ Are we to tell Mr. Henry ? '^ I asked him. 
 
 " I will see," said he. ^' I am going first to visit him ; 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TH. 155 
 
 then I go forth with you to view the shrubbery and 
 consider/' 
 
 We went downstairs into the hall. Mr. Henry sat 
 by the table with his head upon his hand, like a man of 
 stone. His wife stood a little back from him, her hand 
 at her mouth ; it was plain she could not move him. 
 My old lord walked very steadily to where his son was 
 sitting ; he had a steady countenance, too, but me- 
 thought a little cold. When he was come quite up, he 
 held out both his hands and said, " My son ! '' 
 
 AVith a broken, strangled cry, ^Ir. Henry leaped up 
 and fell on his father's neck, crying and weeping, the 
 most pitiful sight that ever a man witnessed. '^ Oh ! 
 father,''' he cried, '' you know I loved him ; you know 
 I loved him in the beginning ; I could have died for 
 him — you know that ! I would have given my life for 
 him and you. Oh ! say you know that. Oh ! say you 
 can forgive me. O father, father, what have I done — 
 what have I done ? And we used to be bairns together ! " 
 and wept and sobbed, and fondled the old man, and 
 clutched him about the neck, with the passion of a 
 child in terror. 
 
 And then he caught sight of his wife (you would 
 have thought for the first time), where she stood weeping 
 to hear him, and in a moment had fallen at her knees. 
 '^ And O my lass," he cried, " you must forgive me, 
 too ! Not your husband — I have only been the ruin of 
 your life. But you knew me when I was a lad ; there 
 
156 THE MASTER OF BALLANTKAE. 
 
 was no harm in Henry Darie then ; he meant aye to be 
 a friend to you. It's him — it's the old bairn that 
 played with you — oh^ can ye never, never forgive him ? '' 
 
 Throughout all this my lord was like a cold, kind 
 spectator with his wits about him. At the first cry, 
 wliich was indeed enough to call the house about us, he 
 had said to me over his shoulder, "Close the door/' 
 And now he nodded to himself. 
 
 '^We may leave him to his wife now," says he. 
 " Bring a light, Mr. Mackellar." 
 
 Upon my going forth again with my lord, I was aware 
 o£ a strange phenomenon ; for though it was quite dark, 
 and the night not yet old, methought I smelt the morn- 
 ing. At the same time there went a tossing through 
 the branches of the evergreens, so that they sounded 
 like a quiet sea, and the air puffed at times against our 
 faces, and the flame of the candle shook. We made the 
 more speedy I believe, being surrounded by this bustle ; 
 visited the scene of the duel, where my lord looked upon 
 the blood with stoicism ; and passing farther on toward 
 the landing-place, came at last upon some evidences 
 of the truth. For, first of all, where there was a pool 
 across the path, the ice had been trodden in, plainly by 
 more than one man's weight; next, and but a little 
 farther, a young tree was broken, and down by the 
 landing-place, where the traders' boats w^ere usually 
 beached, another stain of blood marked where the body 
 must have been infallibly set down to rest the bearers. 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TII. 157 
 
 This stain we set ourselves to wash away with the 
 sea-water^ carrying it in my lord's hat ; and as we were 
 thus engaged there came up a sudden moaning gust and 
 left us instantly benighted. 
 
 '^ It will come to snow/' says my lord ; " and the 
 best thing that we could hope. Let us go back now ; 
 we can do nothing in the dark.'' 
 
 As we went houseward, the wind being again sub- 
 sidedj we were aware of a strong pattering noise about 
 us in the night; and when we issued from the shelter 
 of the trees_, we found it raining smartly. 
 
 Throughout the whole of this^ my lord's clearness of 
 mind, no less than his activity of body, had not ceased 
 to minister to my amazement. He set the crown upon 
 it in the council we held on our return. The free- 
 traders had certainly secured the Master, though whether 
 dead or alive we were still left to our conjectures ; the 
 rain would, long before day, wipe out all marks of the 
 transaction ; by this we must profit. The Master had 
 unexpectedly come after the fall of night ; it must now 
 be §iven out he had as suddenly departed before the 
 break of day; and, to make all this plausible, it now 
 only remained for me to mount into the man's chamber, 
 and pack and conceal his baggage. True, we still lay at 
 the discretion of the traders ; but that was the incur- 
 able weakness of our guilt. 
 
 I heard him, as I said, with wonder, and hastened to 
 o]>ey. J\lr. and ^Irs. Henry were gone from the hall ; 
 
158 THE MASTER OF BALLA.NTEAE. 
 
 my lord, for warmth's sake, hurried to his bed; there 
 was still no sign of stir among the serv^ants, and as T 
 went up the tower stair, and entered the dead man^s 
 room, a horror of solitude weighed upon my mind. To 
 my extreme surprise, it was all in the disorder of de- 
 parture. Of his three portmanteaux, two were already 
 locked; the third lay open and near full. At once there 
 flashed upon me some suspicion of the truth. The man 
 had been going, after all ; he had but waited upon Crail, 
 as Crail waited upon the wind ; early in the night the 
 seamen had perceived the weather changing ; the boat 
 had come to give notice of the change and call the pas- 
 senger aboard, and the boat's crew had stumbled on him 
 lying in his blood. Nay, and there was more behind. 
 This pre-arranged departure shed some light upon his 
 inconceivable insult of the night before; it was a part- 
 ing shot, hatred being no longer checked by policy. 
 A.nd, for another thing, the nature of that insult, and 
 the conduct of Mrs. Henry, pointed to one conclusion, 
 which I have never verified, and can now never verify 
 until the great assize — the conclusion that he had at last 
 forgotten himself, had gone too far in his advances, and 
 had been rebuffed. It can never be verified, as I say ; 
 but as I thought of it that morning among his baggage, 
 the thought was sweet to me like honey. 
 
 Into the open portmanteau I dipped a little ere I 
 closed it. The most beautiful lace and linen, many suits 
 of those fine plain clothes in which he loved to appear; 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBUUAUY 27Tn. 159 
 
 a book or two, and those of the best, Caesar^s *^ Com- 
 mentaries/^ a vohime of Mr. Hobbes, the ^' Henriade '' 
 of M. de Voltaire, a book upon the Indies, one on the 
 mathematics, far beyond where I have studied : these 
 were what I observed with very mingled feelings. But 
 in the open portmanteau, no papers of any description. 
 This set me musing. It was possible the man was dead ; 
 but, since the traders had carried him away, not likely. 
 It was possible he might still die of his wound ; hut it 
 was also possible he might not. And in this latter case 
 I was determined to have the means of some defence. 
 
 One after another I carried his portmanteaux to a loft 
 in the top of the house which we kept locked ; went to 
 my own room for my keys, and, returning to the loft, 
 had the gratification to find two that fitted pretty well. 
 In one of the portmanteaux there was a shagreen letter- 
 case, which I cut open with my knife ; and thenceforth 
 (so far as any credit went) the man was at my mercy. 
 Here was a vast deal of gallant correspondence, chiefly 
 of his Paris days ; and, what was more to the purpose, 
 here were the copies of his own reports to the English 
 Secretary, and the originals of the Secretary's answers : 
 a most damning series : such as to publish would be to 
 wreck the Master's honour and to set a price upon his 
 life. I chuckled to myself as I ran through the doc- 
 uments ; I rubbed my hands, I sang aloud in my glee. 
 Day found me at the pleasing task; nor did I then 
 remit my diligence, except in so far as I went to the 
 
]60 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 window — looked out for a moment, to see the frost quite 
 gone, the world turned black again, and the rain and 
 the wind driving in the bay — and to assure myself that 
 the lugger was gone from its anchorage, and the Master 
 (whether dead or alive) now tumbling on the Irish Sea. 
 It is proper I should add in this place the very little 
 1 have subsequently angled out upon the doings of that 
 night. It took me a long while to gather it ; for W3 
 dared not openly ask, and the freetraders regarded me 
 with enmity, if not with scorn. It was near six months 
 before we even knew for certain that the man survived ; 
 and it was years before I learned from one of Crail^s 
 men, turned publican on his ill-gotten gain, some par- 
 ticulars which smack to me of truth. It seems the 
 traders found the Master struggled on one elbow, and 
 now staring round him, and now gazing at the candle or 
 at his hand which was all bloodied, like a man stupid. 
 Upon their coming, he would seem to have found his 
 mind, bade them carry him aboard, and hold their 
 tongues ; and on the captain asking how he had come 
 in such a pickle, replied with a burst of passionate 
 swearing, and incontinently fainted. They held some 
 debate, but they were momently looking for a wind, 
 they were highly paid to smuggle him to France, and 
 did not care to delay. Besides which, he was well 
 enough liked by these abominable wretches : they sup- 
 posed him under capital sentence, knew not in what 
 mischief he might have got his wound, and judged it a 
 
THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 27TII. IGI 
 
 piece of good nature to remove liim out of the way of 
 danger. So he was taken aboard^ recovered on the pas- 
 sage over, and was set ashore a convaleseent at the Havre 
 de Grace. "What is truly notable : he said not a word to 
 anyone of the duel, and not a trader knows to this day 
 in what quarrel, or by the hand of what adversary, he 
 fell. "With any other man I should have set this down 
 to natural decency; with him, to pride. He could not 
 bear to avow, perhaps even to himself, that he had been 
 vanquished by one whom he had so much insulted and 
 whom he so cruelly despised. 
 
1^2 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 SECOND ABSENCE. 
 
 Op the heavy sickness which declared itself next morn- 
 ing I can think with equanimity, as of the last unmingled 
 trouble that befell my master ; and even that was per- 
 haps a mercy in disguise ; for what pains of the body 
 could equal the miseries of his mind ? Mrs. Henry and 
 I had the watching by the bed. My old lord called from 
 time to time to take the news, but would not usually 
 pass the door. Once, I remember, when hope was nigh 
 gone, he stepped to the bedside, looked awhile in his 
 son^s face, and turned away with a singular gesture of 
 the head and hand thrown up, that remains upon my 
 mind as something tragic; such grief and such a scorn 
 of sublunary things were there expressed. But the must 
 of the time Mrs. Henry and I had the room to ourselves, 
 taking turns by night, and bearing each other company 
 by day, for it was dreary watching. Mr. Henry, his 
 shaven head bound in a napkin, tossed to and fro with- 
 out remission, beating the bed with his hands. His 
 tongue never lay; his voice ran continuously like a 
 river, so that ray heart was weary with the sound of it. 
 It was notable, and to me inexpressibly mortifying, that ,■ 
 
THE master's second ABSENCE. 163 
 
 he spoke all the while on matters of no import : com- 
 ings and goings, horses — which he was ever calling to 
 have saddled, thinking perhaps (the poor soul !) that he 
 might ride away from his discomfort— matters of the 
 garden, the salmon nets, and (what I particularly raged 
 to hear) continually of his affairs, cyphering figures and 
 holding disputation with the tenantry. Never a word of 
 his father or his wife, nor of the Master, save only for 
 a day or two, when his mind dwelled entirely in the 
 past, and he supposed himself a boy again and upon some 
 innocent child's play with his brother. What made 
 this the more affecting: it appeared the Master had 
 then run some peril of his life, for there was a cry — 
 '' Oh ! Jamie will be drowned — Oh, save Jamie ! '' which 
 he came over and over with a great deal of passion. 
 
 This, I say, was affecting, both to Mrs. Plenry and 
 myself; but the balance of my master^s wanderings did 
 him little justice. It seemed he had set out to justify 
 his brother^s calumnies ; as though he was bent to prove 
 himself a man of a dry nature, immersed in money- 
 getting. Had I been there alone, I would not have 
 troubled my thumb ; but all the while, as I listened, I 
 was estimating the effect on the man's wife, and telling 
 myself that he fell lower every day. I was the one 
 person on the surface of the globe that comprehended 
 him, and I was bound there should be yet another. 
 Whether he was to die there and his virtues perish : 
 or whether he should save his days and come back to 
 L 2 
 
164 THE MASTER OF CALLAXTRAE. 
 
 that inheritance of sorrows^ his right memory : I was 
 bound he should be heartily lamented in the one case, 
 and unaffectedly welcomed in the other, by the person 
 he loved the most, his wife. 
 
 Finding no occasion of free speech, I bethought me at 
 last of a kind of documentary disclosure ; and for some 
 nights, when I was off duty and should have been asleep, 
 I gave my time to the preparation of that which I may 
 call my budget. But this I found to be the easiest 
 portion of my task, and that which remained — namely, 
 the presentation to my lady — almost more than I had 
 fortitude to overtake. Several days I went about with 
 my papers under my arm, spying for some juncture of 
 talk to serve as introduction. I will not deny but that 
 some offered ; only when they did my tongue clove to 
 the roof of my mouth ; and I think I might have been 
 carrying about my packet till this day, had not a 
 fortunate accident delivered me from all my hesitations. 
 This was at night, when I was once more leaving the 
 room, the thing not yet done, and myself in despair at 
 my own cowardice. 
 
 "What do you carry about with you, Islr. Mackellar ?^^ 
 she asked. " These last days, I see you always coming 
 in and out with the same armful.^'' 
 
 I returned upon my steps without a word, laid the 
 papers before her on the table, and left her to her read- 
 ino*. Of what that was, I am now to giv^e you some 
 idea ; and the best will be to reproduce a letter of my 
 
165 
 
 own which came first in the budget and of which 
 (accordinf^ to an excellent habitude) I have preserved 
 the scroll. It will show^ too, the moderation of my part 
 in these affairs, a thintj which some have called reck- 
 lessly in question. 
 
 *' Durrisdeer. 
 '^757. 
 '' Honoured Madam, 
 
 *^ I trust I would not step out of my place without 
 occasion ; but I see hoAV much evil has flowed in the 
 past to all of your noble house from that unhappy and 
 secretive fault of reticency, and the papers on which I 
 venture to call your attention are family pa2:)ers, and all 
 highly worthy your acquaintance. 
 
 " I append a schedule with some necessary observa- 
 tiousj 
 
 '^ xVnd am, 
 
 " Honoured Madam, 
 *^ Your ladyship's obliged, obedient servant, 
 
 '^ Epiiraim Mackellar. 
 
 ^* Schedule of Fapers. 
 
 " A. Scroll of ten letters from Ephraim Mackellar to 
 the Hon. James Durie, Esq., by courtesy ]\f aster of Bal- 
 lantrae during the latter's residence in Paris : under 
 dates . . J' [folloio the dates) . . . '' Nota : to 
 be read in connection with B. and C. 
 
 " B. Seven orioi-inal letters from the said M"" of 
 
 k 
 
166 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Ballantrae to the said E. Mackellar^ under dates . . /'^ 
 (follow the dates.) 
 
 ^^ C. Three original letters from the said M*" of 
 Ballantrae to the Hon. Henry Durie, Esq., under 
 dates . . " (follow the dates) . . . '' Nota : 
 given me by Mr, Henry to answer : copies of my answers 
 A 4, A 5, and A 9 of these productions. The purport 
 of Mr. Henry^s communications, of which I can find no 
 scroll, may be gathered from those of his unnatural brother. 
 
 " D. A correspondence, original and scroll, extending 
 over a period of three years till January of the current 
 
 year, between the said M*" of Ballantrae and , 
 
 Under Secretary of State ; twenty-seven in all. Mota : 
 found among the Master's papers.^'' 
 
 Weary as I was with watching and distress of mind, it 
 was impossible for me to sleep. All night long I walked 
 in my chamber, revolving what should be the issue, and 
 sometimes repenting the temerity of my immixture in 
 affairs so private ; and with the first peep of the morn- 
 ing I was at the sick-room door. Mrs. Henry had 
 thrown open the shutters and even the window, for the 
 temperature was mild. She looked steadfastly before 
 her ; where was nothing to see, or only the blue of the 
 morning creeping among woods. Upon the stir of my 
 entrance she did not so much as turn about her face : 
 a circumstance from which I augured very ill. 
 
 '' Madam," I began ; and then again, " Madam ; '' but 
 
THE MASTER^S SECOND ABSENCE. 167 
 
 could make no more of it. Nor yet did Mrs. Henry 
 come to my assistance with a word. In this pass I began 
 gathering up the papers where they lay scattered on the 
 table ; and the first thing that struck me, their bulk 
 appeared to have diminished. Once I ran them through, 
 and twice; but the correspondence with the Secretary 
 of State, on which I had reckoned so much against the 
 future, was nowhere to be found. I looked in the chim- 
 ney ; amid the smouldering embers^ black ashes of paper 
 fluttered in the draught ; and at that my timidity van- 
 ished. 
 
 " Good God, madam/^ cried I, in a voice not fitting 
 for a sick-room, '^ Good God, madam, what have you 
 done with m^^ papers ? '' 
 
 ^' I have burned them," said Mrs. Henry, turning 
 about. " It is enough, it is too much, that you and I 
 have seen them.''^ 
 
 " This is a fine night's work that you have done V 
 cried I. " And all to save the reputation of a man that 
 ate bread by the shedding of his comrades^ blood, as I do 
 by the shedding of ink.'' 
 
 '' To save the reputation of that family in which you 
 are a servant, Mr. ^lackellar," she returned, " and for 
 which you have already done so much." 
 
 ^' It is a family I will not serve much longer," I cried, 
 ^' for I am driven desperate. You have stricken the 
 sword out of my hands ; you have left us all defenceless. 
 I had always these letters I could shake over his head ; 
 
168 THE MASTER OF BALLANTEAE. 
 
 and now — what is to do ? We are so falsely situate we 
 dare not show the man the door; the country would fiy 
 on fire against us ; and I had this one hold upon him — 
 and now it is gone — now he may come back to-morrow, 
 and we must all sit down with him to dinner, go for a 
 stroll with him on the terrace, or take a hand at cards, 
 of all things, to divert his leisure ! No, madam ! God 
 forgive you, if He can find it in His heart ; for I cannot 
 find it in mine/' 
 
 '' I wonder to find you so simple, Mr. IMackellar,'^ 
 said jMrs. Henry. ^^ What docs this man value reputa- 
 tion ? But he knows how high we prize it ; he knows we 
 would rather die than make these letters public ; and do 
 you suppose he would not trade upon the knowledge ? 
 What you call your sword, ^Ir. Mackellar, and which 
 had been one indeed against a man of any remnant of 
 propriety, would have been but a sword of paper against 
 him. He would smile in your face at such a threat. He 
 stands upon his degradation, he makes that his strength; 
 it is in vain to struggle with such characters/'' She cried 
 out this last a little desperately, and then with more 
 quiet : '' No, Mr. Mackellar ; I have thought upon this 
 matter all night, and there is no way out of it. Papers 
 or no papers, the door of this house stands open for 
 him; he is the rightful heir, forsooth I If we sought 
 to exclude him, all would redound against poor Henry, 
 and I should see him stoned again upon the streets. 
 Ah! if Henry dies, it is a different matter! They 
 
THE master's second absence. 1G9 
 
 have broke the entail for their own good purposes ; the 
 estate goes to my daughter ; and I shall see who sets 
 a foot upon it. But if Henry lives_, my poor Mr. 
 ^rackellar, and that man returns, we must suffer : only 
 this time it w411 be together.'"' 
 
 On the whole I was well pleased with Mrs. Henry's 
 attitude of mind ; nor could I even deny there was some 
 cogency in that which she advanced about the papers. 
 
 '^ Let us say no more about it/' said I. ^^ I can only 
 be sorry I trusted a lady with the originals, which was 
 an unbusinesslike proceeding at the best. As for what 
 I said of leaving the service of the family, it was spoken 
 with the tongue only; and you may set your mind at 
 rest. I belong to Durrisdeer, ^Mrs. Henry, as if I had 
 been born there" 
 
 I must do her the justice to say she seemed perfectly 
 relieved; so that we began this morning, as we were 
 to continue for so many years, on a proper ground of 
 mutual indulgence and respect. 
 
 The same day, which was certainly prededicate to joy, 
 we observed the lirst signal of recovery in Mr. Henry ; 
 and about three of the following afternoon he found his 
 mind again, recognising me by name with the strongest 
 evidences of affection. Mrs. Henry was also in the room, 
 at the bedfoot; but it did not appear that he observed 
 her. And indeed (the fever being gone) he was so weak 
 that he made but the one effort and sank again into 
 a lethargy. The course of his restoration was now slow 
 
170 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 but equal; every day his appetite improved; every 
 week we were able to remark an increase both of 
 strength and flesh; and before the end of the mouth 
 he was out of bed and had even begun to be carried in 
 his chair upon the terrace. 
 
 It was perhaps at this time that Mrs. Henry and I 
 were the most uneasy in mind. Apprehension for his 
 days was at an end ; and a worse fear succeeded. Every 
 day we drew consciously nearer to a day of reckoning ; 
 and the days passed on^ and still there was nothing. 
 Mr. Henry bettered in strength, he held long talks with 
 us on a great diversity of subjects, his father came and 
 sat with him and went again ; and still there was no 
 reference to the late tragedy or to the former troubles 
 which had brought it on. Did he remember, and conceal 
 his dreadful knowledge ? or was the whole blotted from 
 his mind ? This was the problem that kept us watching 
 and trembling all day when we were in his company 
 and held us awake at night when we were in our lonely 
 beds. We knew not even which alternative to hope for, 
 both appearing so unnatural and pointing so directly 
 to an unsound brain. Once this fear offered, I observed 
 his conduct with sedulous particularity. Something of 
 the child he exhibited : a cheerfulness quite foreign to 
 his previous character, an interest readily aroused, and 
 then very tenacious, in small matters which he had 
 heretofore despised. AVhen he was stricken down, I was 
 his only confidant, and I may say his only friend, and 
 
i tHE MASTER S SECOND ABSENCE. 171 
 
 he was on terms of division with his wife ; upon his 
 recovery^ all was changed, the past forgotten, tlie wife 
 first and even single in his thoughts. He turned to 
 her with all his emotions, like a child to its mother, 
 and seemed secure of sympathy ; called her in all his 
 needs with something of that querulous familiarity that 
 marks a certainty of indulgence ; and I must say, in 
 justice to the woman, he was never disappointed. To 
 her, indeed, this changed behaviour was inexpressibly 
 affecting ; and I think she felt it secretly as a reproach ; 
 so that I have seen her, in early days, escape out of the 
 room that she might indulge herself in weeping. But 
 to me the change appeared not natural ; and viewing it 
 along with all the rest, I began to wonder, with many 
 head-shakings, whether his reason were perfectly erect. 
 
 As this doubt stretched over many years, endured 
 indeed until my master's death, and clouded all our 
 subsequent relations, I may well consider of it more at 
 large. When he was able to resume some charge of 
 his affairs, I had many opportunities to try him with 
 precision. There was no lack of understanding, nor yet 
 of authority ; but the old continuous interest had quite 
 departed ; he grew readily fatigued, and fell to yawning ; 
 and he carried into money r*-lri,tions, where it is certainly 
 out of place, a facility that bordered upon slackness. 
 True, since we had no longer the exactions of the Master 
 to contend against, there was the less occasion to raise 
 strictness into principle or do battle for a farthing. True, 
 
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 farmer pradaoe, acnfl ^wifaiieii arwailkBiiBfl ssd Ttnniffti ^ssmsimoA 
 act liifi timfi, lit is tt® Hek, -ly^tHj^ ttlhatft I nnnsBtt Ihrar ttfte • 
 ttottaill Hf^; of near Trppiu Itw© Ibmiifliifflfl ]|fHnini^ mum? ttlbai 
 
TEM juisrsBars secxesd ABsisrcB. 173 
 
 I eoodd love flarelif lais nn^il^mu*^ 
 le. Bat ht prefimed Iqob or an j 
 to a emfiiiBUiee «£ mcnlad 
 
 M AM far £nEii 08ir imane&te tronUe : 
 Ind l otg uiia k liis hte diead- 
 m wliat 1^^ lie sieved 
 T) OS soddenlj, and was indeed 
 ««f m J life. He laad Been 
 jjow he^namg io walk 9, 
 : ed I doald be kflk 
 ~ r^ hjBMtd Id me widi 
 't^vs use when in 
 vidMNit ihe 
 
174 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 raise a hope that may be found deceptive, but in my 
 heart I think it very prohable he is alive/'' 
 
 "Ah ! '^ says Mr. Henry; and suddenly rising from 
 his seat with more alacrity than he had yet discovered, 
 set one finger on my breast, and cried at me in a kind of 
 screaming whisper, ^' Mackellar ^^ — these were his words 
 — " nothing can kill that man. He is not mortal. He 
 is bound upon my back to all eternity — to all God^s 
 eternity ! '^ says he, and, sitting down again, fell upon a 
 stubborn silence. 
 
 A day or two after, with the same secret smile, and 
 first looking about as if to be sure we were alone, 
 " Mackellar,^^ said he, "when you have any intelli- 
 gence, be sure and let me know. We must keep an eye 
 upon him, or he will take us when we least expect.'* 
 
 " He will not show face here again," said I. 
 
 " Oh yes he will,'' said Mr. Henry. " Wherever I am, 
 there will he be." And again he looked all about him. 
 
 " You must not dwell upon this thought, ^Ir. Henry,'* 
 said I. 
 
 " No," said he, " that is a very good advice. We will 
 never think of it, except when you have new^s. And we 
 do not know yet," he added ; " he may be dead." 
 
 The manner of his saying this convinced me tho- 
 roughly of what I had scarce ventured to suspect : that, 
 so far from suffering any penitence for the attempt, he 
 did but lament his failure. This v/as a discovery I kept 
 to myself, fearing it might do him a prejudice with his 
 
175 
 
 wife. But I n^xight have saved myself the trouble ; she 
 had divined it for herself, and found the sentiment 
 quite natural. Indeed, I could not but say that there 
 were three of us, all of the same mind ; nor could any 
 news have reached Durrisdeer more generally welcome 
 than tidings of the Master's death. 
 
 This brings me to speak of the exception, my old lord. 
 As soon as my anxiety for my own master began to be 
 relaxed, I was aware of a change in the old gentleman, 
 his father, that seemed to threaten mortal consequences. 
 
 His face was pale and swollen ; as he sat in the chim- 
 ney-side with his Latin, he would drop off sleeping and 
 the book roll in the ashes ; some days he would drag his 
 foot, others stumble in speaking. The amenity of his 
 beliaviour appeared more extreme; full of excuses for 
 the least trouble, very thoughtful for all ; to myself, of 
 a most iiattering civility. One day, that he had sent for 
 his lawyer and remained a long while private, he met 
 me as he was crossing the hall with painful footsteps, 
 and took me kindly by the hand. '' Mr. Mackellar,'' 
 said he, ^' I have had many occasions to set a proper 
 value on your services ; and to-day, when I re-cast my 
 will, I have taken the freedom to name you for one of 
 my executors. I believe you bear love enough to our 
 house to render me this service.^'' At that very time 
 he passed the greater portion of his days in slumber, 
 from which it was often difficult to rouse him ; seemed 
 to have lost all count of years, and had several times 
 
176 THE MASTER OF CALLANTRAE. 
 
 (particularly on waking) called for his wife and for an 
 old servant whose very gravestone was now green with 
 moss. If I had heen put to my oath^ I must have declared 
 he was incapable of testing; and yet there was never 
 a will drawn more sensible in every trait, or showing 
 a more excellent judgment both of persons and affairs. 
 
 His dissolution, though it took not very long, pro- 
 ceeded by infinitesimal gradations. Ilis faculties de- 
 cayed together steadily; the power of his limbs was 
 almost gone, he was extremely deaf, his speech had sunk 
 into mere mumblings ; and yet to the end he managed 
 to discover something of his former courtesy and kind- 
 ness, pressing the hand of any that helped him, present- 
 ing me with one of his Latin books, in which he had 
 laboriously traced my name, and in a thousand ways 
 reminding us of the greatness of that loss which it 
 mio-ht almost be said we had already suffered. To the 
 end, the power of articulation returned to him in flashes ; 
 it seemed he had only forgotten the art of speech as a 
 child forgets his lesson, and at times he would call 
 some part of it to mind. On the last night of his life 
 he suddenly broke silence with these words from Virgil : 
 '' Gnatique pratlsque, alma, precor, miserere,^' perfectly 
 uttered, and with a fitting accent. At the sudden clear 
 sound of it we started from our several occupations ; 
 but it was in vain we turned to him ; he sat there silent, 
 and, to all appearance, fatuous. A little later he was 
 had to bed Avith more diflficulty than ever before; and 
 
i 
 
 THE master's second absexce. 177 
 
 some time in the niglii, without any mortal violence, 
 Ills spirit fled. 
 
 At a far later period I chanced to speak o£ these 
 particulars with a doctor of medicine, a man of so hig-li 
 a reputation that I scruple to adduce his name. By his 
 view of it father and son both suffered from the same 
 affection : the father from the strain of his unnatural 
 sorrows — the son perhaps in the excitation of the fever; 
 each had ruptured a vessel on the brain, and there was 
 probably (my doctor added) some predisposition in the 
 family to accidents of that description. The father 
 sank, the son recovered all the externals of a healthy 
 man ; but it is like there was some destruction in those 
 delicate tissues where the soul resides and does her 
 earthly business; her heavenly, I would fain hope, 
 cannot be thus obstructed by material accidents. And 
 yet, upon a more mature opinion, it matters not one jot; 
 for He who shall pass judgment on the records of our 
 life is the same that formed us in frailty. 
 
 The death of my old lord w^as the occasion of a fresh 
 surprise to us who watched the behaviour of his successor. 
 To any considering mind, the tw^o sons had between 
 them slain their father, and he who took the sword 
 might be even said to have slain him with his hand; 
 but no such thought appeared to trouble my new lord. 
 He was becomingly grave ; I could scarce say sorrowful, 
 or only wdtli a pleasant sorrow; talking of the dead 
 with a regretful cheerfulness, relating old examples of 
 
 M 
 
178 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 his character, smiling at them with a good conscience j 
 and when the day of the funeral came round, doing the 
 honours with exact propriety. I could perceive, besides, 
 that he found a solid gratification in his accession to the 
 title ; the which he was punctilious in exacting. 
 
 And now there came upon the scene a new character, 
 and one that played his part, too, in the story ; 1 mean 
 the present lord, Alexander, whose birth (17th July, 
 1757) filled the cup of my poor master's happiness. 
 There was nothing then left him to wish for; nor 
 yet leisure to wish for it. Indeed, there never was a 
 parent so fond and doting as he showed himself. He 
 was continually uneasy in his son's absence. Was the 
 child abroad ? the father would be watching the clouds 
 in case it rained. Was it night ? he would rise out of 
 his bed to observe its slumbers. His conversation grew 
 even wearyful to strangers, since he talked of little but 
 his son. In matters relating to the estate, all was 
 designed with a particular eye to Alexander; and it 
 would be : — ^' Let us put it in hand at once, that the A 
 wood may be grown against Alexander's majority;" ■ 
 or, " This will fall in again handsomely for Alexander's 
 marriage.-" Every day this absorption of the man's 
 nature became more observable, with many touching 
 and some very blameworthy particulars. Soon the child 
 could walk abroad with him, at first on the terrace, hand 
 in hand, and afterward at large about the policies ; and 
 
179 
 
 this grew to be my lord's chief occupation. The sound 
 of their two voices (audible a great way off, for they 
 spoke loud) became familiar in the neighbourhood ; and 
 for my part I found it more agreeable than the sound of 
 birds. It was pretty to see the pair returning, full 
 of briars, and the father as flushed and sometimes as 
 bemuddied as the child, for they were equal sharers in 
 all sorts of boyish entertainment, digging in the beach, 
 damming of streams, and what not; and I have seen 
 them gaze through a fence at cattle with the same 
 childish contemplation. 
 
 The mention of these rambles brino^s me to a stranfre 
 scene of which I was a witness. There was one walk 
 I never followed myself without emotion, so often had 
 I gone there upon miserable errands, so much had there 
 befallen against the house of Durrisdeer. But the path 
 lay handy from all points beyond the Muckle Ross; and 
 I was driven, although much against my will, to take 
 my use of it perhaps once in the two months. It befell 
 when Mr. Alexander was of the age of seven or eight, I 
 had some business on the far side in the morning, and 
 entered the shrubbery, on my homeward way, about 
 nine of a bright forenoon. It was that time of year 
 when the woods are all in their spring colours, the thorns 
 all in flower, and the birds in the high season of their 
 singing. In contrast to this merriment, the shrubbery 
 was only the more sad, and I the more oppressed by its 
 associations. In this situation of spirit it struck me 
 M 2 
 
180 THE MASTER OF CALLANTRAE. 
 
 disagreeably to hear voices a little way in front, and to 
 recognise the tones of my lord and Mr. Alexander. I 
 pushed ahead, and came presently into their vievv\ They 
 stood together in the open space where the duel was, 
 my lord with his hand on his son's shoulder, and speak- 
 ing with some gravity. At least, as he raised his head 
 upon my coming, I thought I could perceive his 
 countenance to lighten. 
 
 '^ Ah ! " says he^ " here comes the good Mackellar. 1 
 have just been telling Sandie the story of this place, 
 and how there was a man whom the devil tried to kill, 
 and how near he came to kill the devil instead .''' 
 
 I had thought it strange enough he should bring 
 the child into that scene ; that he should actually be dis- 
 coursing of his act, passed measure. But the worst was 
 yet to come ; for he added, turning to his son — ^^ You 
 can ask Mackellar ; he was here and saw it.'' 
 
 ''Is it true, Mr. Mackellar?" asked the child. 
 " And did 3^ou really see the devil ? " 
 
 "I have not heard the tale," I replied; '^and I am in 
 a press of business." So far I said a little sourly, fencing 
 with the embarrassment of the position ; and suddenly 
 the bitterness of the past, and the terror of that scene by 
 candle-lighfc, rushed in upon my mind. I bethought me 
 that, for a difference of a second's quickness in parade, 
 the child before me might have never seen the day ; and 
 the emotion that always fluttered round my heart in 
 that dark shrubbery burst forth in words. "But so 
 
THE MASTEll S SECOND ABSENCE. 181 
 
 much is true/-' I cried^ '^ that I Lave met the devil iu 
 these woodsj and seen him foiled here. Blessed be God 
 that we escaped with life — blessed be God that one stone 
 yet stands upon another in the walls of Durrisdeer ! 
 And, oh ! INIr. Alexander, if ever yon come by this spot, 
 though it was a hundred years hence, and you came 
 with the gayest and the highest in the land, I would 
 step aside and remember a bit j^rayer." 
 
 My lord bowed his head gravely. '^ Ah ! '' says he, 
 '^ Mackellar is always in the right. Come, Alexander, 
 take your bonnet oR.'' And with that he uncovered, and 
 held out his hand. '' O Lord,'' said he, '' I thank Thee, 
 and my son thanks Thee, for Thy manifold great mercies. 
 Let us have peace for a little ; defend us from the evil 
 man. Smite him, O Lord, upon the lying mouth ! '' 
 The last broke out of him like a cry; and at that, 
 whether remembered anger choked his utterance, or 
 whether he perceived this was a singular sort of prayer, 
 at least he suddenly came to a full stop; and, after a 
 moment, set back his hat upon hrs head. 
 
 " I think you have forgot a word, my lord," said I. 
 ff f Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that 
 trespass against us. For Thine is the kingdom, and the 
 power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.' " 
 
 ^^ Ah ! that is easy saying," said my lord. '' That is 
 very easy saying, Mackellar. But for me to forgive ! — 
 I think I would cut a very silly figure if I had the 
 affectation to pretend it." 
 
182 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^ The bairn, my lord ! ■'"' said I, with some severity, 
 for I thought his expressions little fitted for the ears of 
 children. 
 
 ^^ Why, very true,^^ said he. '^ This is dull work for 
 a bairn. Let's go nesting.^"* 
 
 I forget if it was the same day, but it was soon 
 after, my lord, finding me alone, opened himself a little 
 more on the same head. 
 
 " Mackellar,'' he said, '^ I am now a very happy 
 man.'' 
 
 " I think so indeed, my lord,^^ said I, " and the sight 
 of it gives me a light heart." 
 
 ^' There is an obligation in happiness — do you not 
 think so ? " says he, musingly. 
 
 " I think so indeed,'^ says I, *^ and one in sorrow, 
 too. If we are not here to try to do the best, in my 
 humble opinion the sooner we are away the better for 
 all parties." 
 
 "Ay, but if you were in my shoes, would you 
 forgive him ? ■" asks my lord. 
 
 The suddenness of the attack a little gravelled me. 
 ''It is a duty laid upon us strictly," said I. 
 
 "Hut ! " said he. "These are expressions! Do you 
 forgive the man yourself ? " 
 
 " Well— no ! " said I. " God forgive me, I do not." 
 
 " Shake hands upon that ! " cries my lord, with a 
 kind of joviality. 
 
 " It is an ill sentiment to shake hands upon," said 
 
THE MASTER^S SECOND ABSENCE. 183 
 
 r, ''for Christian people. I think I will give you mine 
 on some more evangelical occasion.^' 
 
 This I said, smiling a little j but as for my lord^ he 
 went from the room laughing aloud. 
 
 For my lord^s slavery to the child, I can find no 
 expression adequate. He lost himself in that continual 
 thought : business, friends, and wife being all alike for- 
 gotten, or only remembered with a painful effort, like 
 that of one struggling with a posset. It was most 
 notable in the matter of his wife. Since I had known 
 Durrisdeer, she had been the burthen of his thought and 
 the loadstone of his eyes ; and now she was quite cast 
 out. I have seen him come to the door of a room, look 
 round, and pass my lady over as though she were a 
 dog before the fire. It would be Alexander he was seek- 
 ing, and my lady knew it well. I have heard him 
 speak to her so ruggedly that I nearly found it in my 
 heart to intervene : the cause would still be the same, 
 that she had in some way thwarted Alexander. With- 
 out doubt this was in the nature of a judgment on my 
 lady. Without doubt she had the tables turned upon 
 her, as only Providence can do it ; she who had been 
 cold so many years to every mark of tenderness, it was 
 her part now to be neglected : the more praise to her 
 that she played it well. 
 
 An odd situation resulted : that we had once more 
 two parties in the house, and thsvt now I was of my 
 
184 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 lady's. Not that ever I lost the love I bore my master. 
 But, for one thing, he had the less use for my society. 
 For another, I could not but compare the case of Mr. 
 Alexander with that of Miss Katharine ; for whom my 
 lord had never found the least attention. And for a 
 third, I was wounded by the change he discovered to 
 his wife, which struck me in the nature of an infidelity. 
 I could not but admire, besides, the constancy and kind- 
 ness she displayed. Perhaps her sentiment to my lord, 
 as it had been founded from the first in pity, was that 
 rather of a mother than a wife ; perhaps it pleased her 
 —if I may so say — to behold her two children so happy 
 in each other; the more as one had suffered so unjustly 
 in the past. But, for all that, and though I could never 
 trace in her one spark of jealousy, she must fall back 
 for society on poor neglected Miss Katharine ; and I, 
 on my part, came to pass my spare hours more and 
 more with the mother and daughter. It would be 
 easy to make too much of this division, for it was a 
 pleasant family, as families go ; still the thing existed ; 
 whether my lord knew it or not, I am in doubt. I do 
 not think he did; he was bound up so entirely in his 
 eon; but the rest of us knew it, and in a manner 
 suffered from the knowledge. 
 
 "What troubled us most, however, was the great and 
 growmg danger to the child. My lord was his father 
 over again ; it was to be feared the son would prove a 
 second Master. Time has proved these fears to have 
 
 i 
 
THE master's second ABSENCE. 185 
 
 been quite exaggerate. Certainly there is no more 
 worthy gentleman to-day in Scotland than the seventh 
 Lord Dnrrisdcer. Of my own exodus from his employ- 
 ment it docs not become me to speak_, above all in a 
 memorandum written only to justify his father. . . . 
 
 \_EdUor's Note. Five pages of Mr. MacJcellar's MS. 
 are here omilied. I Jiave gathered from their peruml 
 an imjyression thai Mr. MacJcellar, in his old age, was 
 rathe?' an exacting servant. Against the seventh Lord 
 Darrisdeer {loith whom, at any rate, we have no concern) 
 nothing material is alleged. — R. L. S.'] 
 
 . . . But our fear at the time was lest he should 
 turn out; in the person of his son^ a second edition of his 
 brother. My lady had tried to interject some whole- 
 some discipline ; she had been glad to give that up, and 
 now looked on with secret dismay ; sometimes she even 
 spoke of it by hints ; and sometimes, when there was 
 broneht to her knowled":e some monstrous instance of 
 my lord^s indulgence, she would betray herself in a ges- 
 ture or perhaps an exclamation. As for myself, I was 
 haunted by the thought both day and night : not so 
 much for the child's sake as for the father's. The man 
 had gone to sleep, he was dreaming a dream, and any 
 rough wakening must infallibly prove mortal. That he 
 should survive its death was inconceivable ; and the fear 
 of its dishonour made me cover my face. 
 
 It was this continual preoccupation that screwed me 
 
186 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAK. 
 
 up at last to a remonstrance : a matter worthy to be 
 narrated in detail. My lord and I sat one day at the 
 same table upon some tedious business of detail; I 
 have said that he had lost his former interest in such 
 occupations ; he was plainly itching to be gone, and 
 he looked fretful, weary, and methought older than I 
 had ever previously observed. I suppose it was the 
 haggard face that put me suddenly upon my enter- 
 prise. 
 
 " My lord/^ said I, with my head down, and feigning 
 to continue my occupation — " or, rather, let me call you 
 again by the name of Mr. Henry, for I fear your anger 
 and want you to think upon old times " 
 
 " My good Mackellar ! '' said he ; and that in tones so 
 kindly that I had near forsook my purpose. But I called 
 to mind that I was speaking for his good, and stuck to 
 my colours. 
 
 " Has it never come in upon your mind what you 
 are doing ?'^ I asked. 
 
 " What I am doing ? '' he repeated ; " I was never 
 good at guessing riddles." 
 
 '' What you are doing with your son ?" said 1. 
 
 " Well," said he, with some defiance in his tone, 
 '^ and what am I doing with my son ? ■" 
 
 ^' Your father was a very good man," says I, straying 
 from the direct path. " But do you think he was a wise 
 father?" 
 
 There was a pause before he spoke, and then : "I 
 
THE MASTER^S SECOND ABSENCE. 187 
 
 say nothing against liim/^ he replied. '^ I had the 
 most cause perhaps ; but I say nothing.''^ 
 
 ^^ Why, there it is/^ said I. " You had the cause at 
 least. And yet your father was a good man; I never 
 knew a better, save on the one point, nor yet a wiser. 
 Where he stumbled, it is highly possible another man 
 should fall. He had the two sons " 
 
 My lord rapped suddenly and violently on the table. 
 
 " What is this ? '' cried he. " Speak out ! '' 
 
 '^ I will, then,'' said I, my voice almost strangled with 
 the thumping of my heart. " If you continue to indulge 
 Mr. Alexander, you are following in your father's foot- 
 steps. Beware, my lord, lest (when he grows up) your 
 son should follow in the Master's." 
 
 I had never meant to put the thing so crudely; but in 
 the extreme of fear, there comes a brutal kind of cour- 
 age, the most brutal indeed of all ; and I burnt my ships 
 with that plain word. I never had the answer. When 
 I lifted my head, my lord had risen to his feet, and the 
 next moment he fell heavily on the floor. The fit or 
 seizure endured not very long ; he came to himself 
 vacantly, put his hand to his head, which I was then 
 supporting, and says he, in a broken voice : '' I have 
 been ill," and a little after : '*' Help me." I got him 
 to his feet, and he stood pretty well, though he kept 
 hold of the table. '^ I have been ill, Mackellar," he 
 said again. " Something broke, Mackellar — or was 
 going to break, and then all swam away. I think I was 
 
188 THE MASTER OF BALLA.XTRAE. 
 
 very angry. Never you mind; Mackellar ; never you 
 mind; my man. I wonldnae hurt a liair upon youi 
 liead. Too mucli lias come and gone. It^s a certain 
 thing between us tv^o. But I think, Mackellar, I will 
 go to Mrs. Henry— I think I will go to Mrs. Henry/' 
 said he, and got pretty steadily from the room, leaving 
 me overcome with penitence. 
 
 Presently the door flew open, and my lady swept in 
 with flashing eyes. "What is all this?" she cried, 
 " What have you done to my husband ? Will nothing 
 teach you your position in this house ? Will you never 
 cease from making and meddling ? '' 
 
 " My lady,'' said I, " since I have been in this house 
 I have had plenty of hard words. For a Avhile they were 
 my daily diet, and I swallowed them all. As for to-day, 
 you may call me what you please ; you will never And 
 the name hard enough for such a blunder. And yet I 
 meant it for the best.'' 
 
 I told her all with ingenuity, even as it is written 
 here ; and when she had heard me out, she pondered, 
 and I could see her animosity fall. '' Yes,'' she said, 
 '^ you meant well indeed. I have had the same thought 
 mvself, or the same temptation rather, wdiich makes 
 me pardon you. But, dear God, can you not under- 
 stand that he can bear no more ? He can bear no 
 more !" she cried. '' The cord is stretched to snapping. 
 What matters the future if he have one or two good 
 days ? " 
 
THE Mx^ster's second absence. 189 
 
 " Ameii/^ said I. ^^ I will meddle no more. I rim 
 pleased enough that you should recognise the kindness 
 of my meaning." 
 
 ^' Yes/-' said my lady ; " but when it came to the 
 pointy I have to suppose your courage failed you; for 
 what you said was said cruelly.'''' She paused, looking 
 at me ; then suddenly smiled a little, and said a singular 
 thing: ^' Do you know what you are^ !Mr. Mackellar? 
 You are an old maid.'''' 
 
 No more incident of any note occurred in the family 
 until the return of that ill-starred man the Master. 
 But I have to place here a second extract from the 
 memoirs of Chevalier Burke, interesting in itself, and 
 highly necessary for my purpose. It is our only sight 
 of the Master on his Indian travels ; and the first word 
 in these pages of Secundra Dass. One fact, it is to 
 observe, appears here very clearly, which if we had 
 known some twenty years ago, how many calamities and 
 sorrows had been spared 1 — that Secundra Dass spoke 
 Eno-lish. 
 
190 
 
 CHAPTER VTT. 
 
 ADVENTURE OF CHEVALIER BURKE IN INDIA. 
 
 Extracted from his Memoirs. 
 
 . , . Here was I, therefore, on the streets of that 
 city, the name of which I cannot call to mind, while 
 even then I was so ill-acquainted with its situation that 
 I knew not whether to go south or north. The alert 
 being sudden, I had run forth without shoes or stock- 
 ings ; my hat had been struck from my head in the 
 mellay ; my kit was in the hands of the English ; I had 
 no companion but the cipaye, no weapon but my sword, 
 and the devil a coin in my pocket. In short, I was for 
 all the world like one of those calendars with whom Mr. 
 Galland has made us acquainted in his elegant tales. 
 These gentlemen, you will remember, were for ever fall- 
 ing in with extraordinary incidents ; and I was myself 
 upon the brink of one so astonishing that I protest I 
 cannot explain it to this day. 
 
 The cipaye was a very honest man ; he had served 
 many years with the French colours, and would have let 
 himself be cut to pieces for any of the brave country- 
 men of Mr. Lally. It is the same fellow (his name has 
 quite escaped me) of whom I have narrated already a 
 
ADVENTURE OP CHEVALIER BURKE. 191 
 
 surprising instance of generosity of mind — when he 
 found Mr. de Fessae and myself upon the ramparts, 
 entirely overcome with liquor, and covered us with 
 straw while the commandant was passing by. I con- 
 sulted him, therefore, with perfect freedom. It was 
 a fine question what to do ; but we decided at last to 
 escalade a garden wall, where we could certainly sleep 
 in the shadow of the trees, and might perhaps find an 
 occasion to get hold of a pair of slippers and a turban. 
 In that part of the city we had only the difficulty of 
 the choice, for it was a quarter consisting entirely of 
 walled gardens, and the lanes which divided them were 
 at that hour of the night deserted. I gave the cipaye a 
 back, and we had soon dropped into a large enclosure 
 full of trees. The place was soaking with the dew, 
 which, in that country, is exceedingly unwholesome, 
 above all to whites ; yet my fatigue was so extreme that 
 I was already half asleep, when the cipaye recalled me 
 to my senses. In the far end of the enclosure a bright 
 light had suddenly shone out, and continued to burn 
 steadily among the leaves. It was a circumstance highly 
 unusual in such a place and hour ; and, in our situation, 
 it behoved us to proceed with some timidity. The cipaye 
 was sent to reconnoitre, and pretty soon returned with 
 the intelligence that we had fallen extremely amiss, for 
 the house belonged to a white man, who was in all 
 likelihood English. 
 
 " Faith/^ says I, ^Mf there is a wdiite man to be seen, 
 
192 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 I will have a look at him ; for, tnc Lord be praised ! 
 there are more sorts than the one ! '^ 
 
 The cipaye led me forward accordingly to a place 
 from which I had a clear view upon the house. It was 
 surrounded with a wide verandah; a lamp, very w^ell 
 trimmed, stood upon the floor of it, and on either side of 
 the lamp there sat a'man, cross-leggeJ, after the Oriental 
 manner. Both, besides, were bundled up in muslin like 
 two natives; and yet one of them v/as not only a white 
 man, but a man very well known to me and the reader, 
 being indeed that very Master of Eallantrae of whose 
 gallantry and genius I have had to speak so often. Word 
 had reached me that he was come to the Indies, though 
 we had never met at least, and I heard little of his occu- 
 pations. But, sure, I had no sooner recognised him, and 
 found myself in the arms of so old a comrade, than I 
 supposed my tribulations were quite done. I stepped 
 plainly forth into the light of the moon, which shone 
 exceeding strong, and hailing Ballantrae by name, made 
 him in a few words master of my grievous situation. 
 He turned, started the least thing in the world, looked 
 me fair in the face wdiile I was speaking, and when 
 I had done addressed himself to his companion in the 
 barbarous native dialect. The second person, who was 
 of an extraordinary delicate ai)pearance, with legs like 
 walking canes and fingers like the stalk of a tobacco 
 pipe,"^ now rose to his feet. 
 
 * Xotehtj Mr. MacMIar .—Vl^ivAy Sccundra Dass.— E. McK. 
 
ADVENTURE OK CHEVALFER BUllKE. 193 
 
 " The Sahib/' says he, " understands no English 
 language. I understand it myself, and I see you make 
 some small mistake — oh ! which may ha^^pen very often. 
 But the Sahib would be glad to know how you come in 
 a garden. '"' 
 
 " Ballantrae ! '' T cried, ^' have you the damned impu- 
 dence to deny me to my face ? '* 
 
 Ballantrae never moved a muscle, staring at me like 
 an image in a pagoda. 
 
 '^ The Sahib understands no English language/' says 
 the native, as glib as before. '' He be glad to know how 
 you come in a garden.'' 
 
 '' Oh ! the divil fetch him," says I. " He would be 
 glad to know how I come in a garden, would he ? Well, 
 now, my dear man, just have the civility to tell the 
 Sahib, with my kind love, that we are two soldiers here 
 whom he never met and never heard of, but the cipaye 
 is a broth of a boy, and I am a broth of a boy myself ; 
 and if we don^t get a full meal of meat, and a turban^ 
 and slippers, and the value of a gold mohur in small 
 change as a matter of convenience, bedad, my friend, I 
 could lay my finger on a garden where there is going to 
 be trouble." 
 
 They carried their comedy so far as to converse 
 awhile in Hindustanee ; and then says the Hindu, with 
 the same smile, but sighing as if he were tired of the 
 repetition, '' The Sahib would be glad to know how you 
 come in a garden." 
 
194 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^ Is that the way of it ? '' says 1, and laying my hand 
 on my sword-hilt I bade the cipaye draw. 
 
 Ballantrae^s Hindu, still smiling, pulled out a pistol 
 from his bosom, and though Ballantrae himself never 
 moved a muscle I knew him well enough to be sure he 
 was prepared. 
 
 "The Sahib thinks you better go away/' says the 
 Hindu. 
 
 Well, to be plain, it was what I was thinking my- 
 self ; for the report of a pistol would have been, under 
 Providence, the means of hanging the pair of us. 
 
 *' Tell the Sahib I consider him no gentleman,^^ says 
 I, and turned away with a gesture of contempt. 
 
 I was not gone three steps when the voice of the 
 Hindu called me back. '*" The Sahib would be glad to 
 know if you are a dam low Irishman,^^ says he ; and at 
 the words Ballantrae smiled and bowed very low. 
 
 "What is that?'' says I. 
 
 " The Sahib say you ask your friend Mackellar,'' says 
 the Hindu. " The Sahib he cry quits."" 
 
 '^ Tell the Sahib I will give him a cure for the Scots 
 fiddle when next we meet,"" cried I. 
 
 The pair were still smiling as I left. 
 
 There is little doubt some flaws may be picked in 
 my own behaviour ; and when a man, however gallant, 
 appeals to posterity with an account of his exploits, he 
 m.ust almost certainly expect to share the fate of Csesar 
 and Alexander, and to meet with some detractors. But 
 
ADVENTURE Oi" CHEVALIER BURKE. 195 
 
 there is one thing that can never be laid at the door 
 of Francis Burke : he never turned his back on a 
 friend. 
 
 (Here follows a passage which the Chevalier Burke 
 has been at the pains to delete before sending me his 
 manuscript. Doubtless it was some very natural com- 
 plaint of what he supposed to be an indiscretion on my 
 part ; though, indeed, I can call none to mind. Perhaps 
 Mr. Henry was less guarded ; or it is just possible the 
 Master found the means to examine my correspondence, 
 and himself read the letter from Troyes : in revenge for 
 which this cruel jest was perpetrated on Mr. Burke in 
 his extreme necessity. The Master, for all his wicked- 
 ness, was not without some natural affection ; I believe 
 he was sincerely attached to Mr. Burke in the begin- 
 ning ; but the thought of treachery dried up the springs 
 of his very shallow friendship, and his detestable nature 
 appeared naked. — E. McK.) 
 
 K -a 
 
196 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 It is a strange thing that I should be at a stick for a 
 date — the date, besides, of an incident that changed the 
 very nature of my life, and sent us all into foreign lands. 
 But the truth is, I was stricken out of all my habitudes, 
 and find my journals very ill redd-up,"^ the day not 
 indicated sometimes for a week or two together, and 
 the whole fashion of the thing like that of a man near 
 desperate. It was late in March at least, or early in 
 April, 1764. I had slept heavily, and wakened with a 
 premonition of some evil to befall. So strong was this 
 upon my spirit that I hurried downstairs in my shirt 
 and breeches, and my hand (I remember) shook upon the 
 rail. It was a cold, sunny morning, with a thick white 
 frost; the blackbirds sang exceeding sweet and loud 
 about the house of Durrisdeer, and there was a noise of 
 the sea in all the chambers. As I came by the doors 
 of the hall, another sound arrested me — of voices talk- 
 ing. I drew nearer, and stood like a man dreaming. 
 Here was certainly a human voice, and that in my own 
 master's house, and yet I knew it not; certainly human 
 
 * Ordered. 
 
The enemy in the housj). 197 
 
 speech, and that in my native land ; and yet^, listen as I 
 pleased, I could not catch one syllable. An old tale 
 started up in my mind of a fairy wife (or perhaps onl^ 
 a wandering stranger), that came to the place of my 
 fathers some generations back, and stayed the matter of 
 a week, talking often in a tongue that signified nothing 
 to the hearers ; and went again, as she had come, under 
 cloud of night, leaving not so much as a name behind 
 her. A little fear T had, but more curiosity; and I 
 opened the hall-door, and entered. 
 
 The supper-things still lay upon the table ; the shut- 
 ters were still closed, although day peeped in the divi- 
 sions ; and the great room was lighted only with a single 
 taper and some lurching reverberation of the fire. Close 
 in the chimney sat two men. The one that was wrapped 
 in a cloak and wore boots, 1 knew at once : it was the 
 bird of ill omen back again. Of the other, who was 
 set close to the red embers, and made up into a bundle 
 like a mummy, I could but see that he was an alien, of 
 a darker hue than any man of Europe, very frailly built, 
 with a singular tall forehead, and a secret eye. Several 
 bundles and a small valise were on the floor; and to 
 judge by the smallness of this luggage, and by the con- 
 dition of the Master^s boots, grossly patched by some 
 unscrupulous country cobbler, evil had not prospered. 
 
 He rose upon my entrance ; our eyes crossed ; and I 
 know not why it should have been, but my courage rose 
 like a lark on a May morning. 
 
198 The MASTEU of BALLAXtllAE. 
 
 '^ Ha ! '* said I, '^ is this you ? " — and I was pleased 
 with the unconcern of my own voice. 
 
 '^ It is even myself^ worthy Mackellar/' says the 
 Master. 
 
 ^^ This time you have brought the black dog visibly 
 upon your back/'' I continued. 
 
 '' Referring to Secundra Dass ? " asked the Master. 
 " Let me present you. He is a native gentleman of India.'''' 
 
 " Hum ! '^ said I. " I am no great lover either of 
 you or your friends, Mr. Bally. But I will let a little 
 daylight in, and have a look at you.'''' And so sayings 
 I undid the shutters of the eastern window. 
 
 By the light of the morning I could perceive the 
 man was changed. Later, when we were all together, I 
 was more struck to see how lightly time had dealt with 
 him ; but the first glance was otherwise. 
 
 '' You are getting an old man,^^ said I. 
 
 A shade came upon his face. '' If you could see 
 yourself,^' said he, ^^you would perhaps not dwell upon 
 the topic" 
 
 ^' Hut ! " I returned, *' old age is nothing to me. I 
 think I have been always old ; and I am now, I thank 
 God, better known and more respected. It is not every 
 one that can say that, Mr. Bally ! The lines in ?/oicr 
 brow are calamities; your life begins to close in upon 
 you like a prison ; death will soon be rapping at the 
 door; and I see not from what source you are to draw 
 your consolations.^^ 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 199 
 
 Here the Master addressed himself to Secundra Das? 
 in Hindustaiiee, from which I gathered (I freely con- 
 fess, with a high degree of pleasure) that my remark;? 
 annoyed him. All this while, you may be sure, my 
 mind had been busy upon other matters, even while I 
 rallied my enemy ; and chiefly as to how I should com- 
 municate secretly and quickly with my lord. To this, 
 in the breathing-space now given me, I turned all the 
 forces of my mind ; when, suddenly shifting my eyes, I 
 was aware of the man himself standing in the doorway, 
 and, to all appearance, quite composed. He had no sooner 
 met my looks than he stepped across the threshold. 
 The Master heard him coming, and advanced upon the 
 other side; about four feet apart, these brothers came 
 to a full pause, and stood exchanging steady looks, and 
 then my lord smiled, bowed a little forward, and turned 
 briskly away. 
 
 "Mackellar," says he, ^'we must see to breakfast 
 for these travellers.''^ 
 
 It was plain the Master was a trifle disconcerted; 
 but he assumed the more impudence of speech and 
 manner. ^^ I am as hungry as a hawk,^^ says he. ^^ Let 
 it be something good, Henry.''^ 
 
 My lord turned to him with the same hard smile. 
 " Lord Durrisdeer,'''' says he. 
 
 '^ Oh ! never in the family,^' returned the Master. 
 
 ^' Every one in this house renders me my proper title,^^ 
 says my lord. " If it please you to make an exception, 
 
•200 THE MASTER OF BALLANTKAE. 
 
 1 will leave you to coDsider what appearance it wdll bear 
 to strangers, and whether it may not be translated as an 
 effect of impotent jealousy. ''' 
 
 I could have clapped my hands together with delight: 
 tlie more so as my lord left no time for any answer, but, 
 bidding me with a sign to follow him, went straight out 
 of the halL 
 
 '' Come quick/^ says he ; *^ we have to sweep vermin 
 from the house/^ And he sped through the passages, 
 with so swift a step that I could scarce keep up with 
 him, straight to the door of John Paul, the which he 
 opened without summons and walked in. John was, to 
 all appearance, sound asleep, but my lord made no pre- 
 tence of waking him. 
 
 '' John Paul,"*^ said he, speaking as quietly as ever I 
 heard him, " you served, my father long, or I would 
 pack 3^ou from the house like a dog. If in half an 
 hour^s time I find you gone, you shall continue to 
 receive your wages in Edinburgh. If you linger here 
 or in St. Bride^s — old man, old servant, and alto- 
 gether — I shall fmd some very astonishing way to 
 make you smart for your disloyalty. Up and begone. 
 The door you let them in by will serve for your de- 
 parture. I do not choose my son shall see your face 
 again. ■'^ 
 
 '• I am rejoiced to find you bear the thing so quietly," 
 said I, when we were forth again by ourselves. 
 
 *' Quietly I '' cries he, and put my hand suddenly 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 201 
 
 against his hearty which struck upon his bosom like a 
 sledge. 
 
 At this revelation I was filled with wonder and fear. 
 There was no constitution could Lear so violent a strain 
 — his least of all, that was unhinged already; and I 
 decided in my mind that we must bring this monstrous 
 situation to an end. 
 
 " It would be well, I think, i£ I took word to my 
 lady/"* said I. Indeed, he should have gone himself, but 
 I counted — not in vain — on his indifference. 
 
 ^^ Aye,'^ says he, " do. I will hurry breakfast : we 
 must all a^opear at the table, even Alexander; it must 
 appear we are untroubled."''' 
 
 I ran to my lady^s room, and with no preparatory 
 cruelty disclosed my news. 
 
 ^^ My mind was long ago made up,''^ said she. " We 
 must make our packets secretly to-day, and leave secretly 
 to-night. Thank Heaven, we have another house ! The 
 first ship that sails shall bear us to New York.''"' 
 
 '' And what of him ? " I asked. 
 
 ^^ We leave him Durrisdeer,^'' she cried. ^^ Let him 
 work his pleasure upon that.''"' 
 
 ^^Not so, by your leave,^^ said I. '^ There shall be a 
 dog at his heels that can hold fast. Bed he shall have, 
 and board, and a horse to ride upon, if he behave him- 
 self ; but the keys — if you think well of it, my lady — 
 shall be left in the hands of one Mackellar. There will 
 be good care taken ; trust him for that.^' 
 
202 THE MASTER OF BALLANTKAE. 
 
 *' Mr. Maekellar/^ she cried, '' I thank you for that 
 thought. All shall be left in your hands. If we must 
 go into a savage country, I bequeath it to you to take 
 our vengeance. Send Macconochie to St. Bride's, to 
 arrange privately for horses and to call the lawyer. My 
 lord must leave procuration. "'' 
 
 At that moment my lord came to the door, and we 
 opened our plan to him. 
 
 ^'1 will never hear of it,"*"* he cried; '^he would think 
 I feared him. I will stay in my own house, please God, 
 until I die. There lives not the man can beard me out 
 of it. Once and for all, here I am, and here I stay, in 
 spite of all the devils in hell.''' I can give no idea of 
 the vehemency of his words and utterance; but we 
 both stood aghast, and I in particular, who had been a 
 witness of his former self-restraint. 
 
 My lady looked at me with an appeal that went to my 
 heart and recalled me to my wits. I made her a private 
 sign to go, and when my lord and I were alone, went up 
 to him where he was racing to and fro in one end of the 
 room like a half -lunatic, and set my hand firmly on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "My lord,'' says I, "I am going to be the plain-dealer 
 once more ; if for the last time, so much the better, for 
 I am grown weary of the part." 
 
 '^Nothing will change me,'^ he answered. ^^ God 
 forbid I should refuse to hear you ; but nothing 
 will change me." This he said firmly, with no 
 
THE ENEMY IN TEE HOUSE. 203 
 
 BiguiA o£ the former violence, which already raised my 
 hopes. 
 
 '' Very well/^ said I. "I can afford to waste my 
 breath/'' I pointed to a chair_, and he sat down and 
 looked at me. '^ I can remember a time when my lady 
 very much neglected you/^ said I. 
 
 ^* I never spoke of it while it lasted/^ returned my 
 lord, with a high flush of colour ; " and it is all changed 
 now." 
 ■ ^' ^0 you know how much ?'' I said. ^' Do you knov.' 
 ^ how much it is all changed ? The tables are turned, 
 my lord ! It is my lady that now courts you for a 
 word, a look — ay, and courts you in vain. Do you know 
 with whom she passes her days while you are out galli- 
 vanting in the policies ? My lord, she is glad to pass 
 them with a certain dry old grieve^ of the name of 
 Ephraira Mackellar ; and I think you may be able to 
 remember what that means, for I am the more in a 
 mistake or you were once driven to the same company 
 yourself.''^ 
 
 " Mackellar ! " cries my lord, getting to his feet. '' O 
 my God, Mackellar ! '' 
 
 '^ It is neither the name of Mackellar nor the name of 
 God that can change the truth,'' said I; ''and I am telling 
 you the fact. Now for you, that suffered so much, to 
 deal out the same suffering to another, is that the part 
 uf any Christian ? But you are so swallowed up in youi 
 * Land steward. 
 
204 THE MASTEU OF BALLANTRAB. 
 
 new friend that the old are all forgotten. They are all 
 clean vanished from your memory. And yet they stood 
 oy you at the darkest ; my lady not the least. And does 
 my lady ever cross your mind ? Does it ever cross your 
 mind what she went through that night ? — or what man- 
 ner of a wife she has been to you thenceforward ? — or in 
 what kind of a position she fmds herself to-day ? Never. 
 It is your pride to stay and face him out, and she must 
 stay along with you. Oh ! my lord^s pride — that's the 
 great affair ! And yet she is the woman, and you are a 
 great hulking man ! She is the woman that you swore 
 to protect j and, more betoken, the own mother of that 
 son of yours ! '^ 
 
 " You are speaking very bitterly, Mackellar,'"' said he; 
 " but, the Lord knows, I fear you are speaking very true. 
 I have not proved worthy of my happiness. Bring my 
 lady back.^' 
 
 My lady was waiting near at hand to learn the issue. 
 When I brought her in, my lord took a hand of each of 
 us, and laid them both upon his bosom. '^ I have had 
 two friends in my life,^' said he. ^^All the comfort 
 ever I had, it came from one or other. When you two 
 are in a mind, I think I would be an ungrateful dog — " 
 He shut his mouth very hard, and looked on us with 
 swimming eyes. ^' Do what ye like with me,"*' says he, 
 " only don''t think — ''■' He stopped again. '^ Do what 
 ye please with me : God knows I love and honour 
 you." And dropping our two hands, he turned his 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 205 
 
 back and went and gazed out of the window. But my 
 lady ran after, calling his name, and threw herself upon 
 his neck in a passion of weeping. 
 
 I went out and shut the door behind me, and stood 
 and thanked God from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 At the breakfast board, according to my lord's design, 
 we were all met. The Master had by that time plucked 
 off his patched boots and made a toilet suitable to the 
 hour; Secundra Dass was no longer bundled up in 
 wrappers, but wore a decent plain black suit, which 
 misbecame him strangely; and the pair were at the 
 great window, looking forth, when the family entered. 
 They turned ; and the black man (as they had already 
 named him in the house) bowed almost to his knees, but 
 the Master was for running forward like one of the 
 family. My lady stopped him, curtseying low from the 
 far end of the hall, and keeping her children at her 
 back. My lord was a little in front : so there were 
 the three cousins of Durrisdeer face to face. The hand 
 of time was very legible on all; I seemed to read in 
 their changed faces a meynento mori ; and what affected 
 me still more, it was the wicked man that bore his years 
 the handsomest. My lady was quite transfigured into 
 the matron, a becoming woman for the head of a great 
 tableful of children and dependents. My lord was 
 grown slack in his limbs ; he stooped ; he walked with 
 a running motion, as though he had learned again from 
 
206 THE SfASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Mr. Alexander ; his face was drawn ; it seemed a trifle 
 longer than of old ; and it wore at times a smile very 
 singularly mingled, and which (in my eyes) appoared 
 both bitter and pathetic. But the Master still bore him- 
 self erect_, although perhaps with effort ; his brow barred 
 about the centre with imperious lines, his mouth set as 
 for command. He had all the gravity and something of 
 the splendour of Satan in the ^' Paradise Lost."*^ I could 
 not help but see the man with admiration, and was only 
 surprised that I saw him with so little fear. 
 
 But indeed (as long as we were at the table) it seemed 
 as if his authority were quite vanished and his teeth all 
 drawn. We had known him a magician that controlled 
 the elements ; and here he was, transformed into an 
 ordinary gentleman, chatting like his neighbours at the 
 breakfast-board. For now the father was dead^ and my 
 lord and lady reconciled, in what ear was he to pour his 
 calumnies ? It came upon me in a kind of vision how 
 hugely I had overrated the man's subtlety. He had his 
 malice still ; he was false as ever ; and, the occasion being 
 gone that made his strength, he sat there impotent ; he 
 was still the viper, but now spent his venom on a file. 
 Two more thoughts occurred to me while yet we sat 
 at breakfast : the first, that he was abashed — I had 
 almost said, distressed — to find his wickedness quite 
 unavailing; the second, that perhaps my lord was in 
 the right, and we did amiss to fly from our dismasted 
 enemy. But my poor master's leaping heart came Id 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 207 
 
 my mind, and I remembered it was for his life we played 
 the coward. 
 
 When the meal was over, the Master followed me to 
 my room, and, taking a chair (which I had never offered 
 him), asked me what was to be done with him. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Bally,'^ said I, "the house will still be 
 open to you for a time.''^ 
 
 " For a time ? '' says he. " I do not know if I quite 
 take your meaning.''^ 
 
 " It is plain enough,^^ said I. " We keep you for our 
 reputation ; as soon as you shall have publicly disgraced 
 yourself by some of your misconduct, we shall pack you 
 forth again. ■'■' 
 
 "You are become an impudent rogue,^'' said the 
 Master, bending his brows at me dangerously. 
 
 "I learned in a good school,''' I returned. "And 
 you must have perceived yourself that with my old 
 lord's death your power is quite departed. I do not 
 fear you now, Mr. Bally; I think even — God forgive 
 me — that I take a certain pleasure in your comjoany."" 
 
 He broke out in a burst of laughter, which I clearly 
 saw to be assumed. 
 
 " I have come with empty pockets,"" says he, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I do not think there will be any money going,-" I 
 replied. " I would advise you not to build on that.'' 
 
 " I shall have something to say on the point/' he 
 returned. 
 
208 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^ Indeed ? ''^ said I. "T have not a g-uess what il 
 will be, then/^ 
 
 '^ Oh ! you affect confidence/' said the Master. '^ 1 
 have still one strong position — that you people fear a 
 scandal, and I enjoy it/' 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Bally/' says I. "We do not in 
 the least fear a scandal against you." 
 
 He laughed again. "You have been studying re- 
 partee/' he said. " But speech is very easy, and some- 
 times very deceptive. I warn you fairly : you will find 
 me vitriol in the house. You would do wiser to pay 
 money down and see my back." And with that he 
 waved his hand to me and left the room. 
 
 A little after, my lord came with the lawyer, ^Ir. 
 Carlyle ; a bottle of old w^ine was brought, and we all 
 had a glass before we fell to business. The necessary 
 deeds w^ere then prepared and executed, and the Scotch 
 estates made over in trust to Mr. Carlyle and myself. 
 
 " There is one point, Mr. Carlyle," said my lord, 
 when these affairs had been adjusted, " on which I msh 
 that you would do us justice. This sudden departure 
 coinciding with my brother's return will be certainly 
 commented on. I wish you would discourage any con- 
 junction of the two." 
 
 " I wall make a point of it, my lord," said Mr. 
 Carlyle. "The Mas — Mr. Bally does not, then, accom- 
 -pany you ? " 
 
 "It is a point I must approach/' said my lord 
 
^ 
 
 THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 209 
 
 '' Mr. Bally remains at Durrisdeer, under the care of 
 Mr. Mackellar ; and I do not mean that he shall even 
 know our destination/^ 
 
 " Common report, however '' began the lawyer. 
 
 " Ah ! but, Mr. Carlyle, this is to be a secret quite 
 among ourselves/^ interrupted my lord. '' None but 
 you and Mackellar are to be made acquainted with my 
 movements.'''' 
 
 ^ And Mr. Bally stays here ? Quite so/' said Mr. 
 
 Carlyle. " The powers you leave ''■' Then he broke 
 
 off again. "Mr. Mackellar^ we have a rather heavy 
 weight upon us.''^ 
 
 " No doubt, sir,'-* said I. 
 
 " No doubt,^^ said he. " Mr. Bally will have no 
 voice ? ■''' 
 
 " He will have no voice/' said my lord ; " and, 1 
 hope, no influence. Mr. Bally is not a good adviser."*' 
 
 " I see,''"' said the lawyer. " By the way, has ^Ir. 
 Bally means ? '^ 
 
 " I understand him to have nothing/' replied my 
 lord. " I give him table, fire, and candle in this house."" 
 
 " And in the mattei* of an allowance ? If I am 
 to share the responsibility, you will see how highly 
 desirable it is that I should understand your views,"" 
 said the lawyer. " On the question of an allowance ? " 
 
 '" There will be no allowance," said my lord. " I 
 wish Mr. Bally to live very private. We have not 
 always been gratified with his behaviour."''' 
 
210 THE MASTEH OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 *^ And in the matter o£ money/'' I added/ "he has 
 shown himself an infamous bad husband. Glance youi 
 eye upon that docket^ Mr. Carlyle, where I have brought 
 too^ether the different sums the man has drawn from 
 the estate in the last fifteen or twenty years. The total 
 is pretty.-*^ 
 
 Mr. Carlyle made the motion of whistling. " I had 
 no guess of this/^ said he. " Excuse me once more, my 
 lord, if 1 appear to push you ; but it is really desirable 
 I should penetrate your intentions. Mr. Mackellar 
 might die, when I should find myself alone upon this 
 trust. Would it not be rather your lordship^s prefer- 
 ence that Mr. Bally should — ahem — should leave the 
 country ? '''' 
 
 My lord looked at IMr. Carlyle. '' Why do you ask 
 that ? '' said he. 
 
 "I gather, my lord, that Mr. Bally is not a comfort 
 to his family,''"' says the lawyer with a smile. 
 
 My lord^s face became suddenly knotted. " I wish 
 he was in hell ! " cried he, and filled himself a glass of 
 wine, but with a hand so tottering that he spilled the 
 half into his bosom. This was the second time that, in 
 the midst of the most regular and wise behaviour, his 
 animosity had spirted out. It startled Mr. Carlyle, who 
 observed my lord thenceforth with covert curiosity ; and 
 to me it restored the certainty that we were acting foi 
 the best in view of my lord^s health and reason. 
 
 Except for this explosion the interview was very 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE 211 
 
 successfully conducted. No doubt Mr. Carlyle would 
 talk, as lawyers do_, little by little. We could thus feel 
 we had laid the foundations of a better feeling in the 
 country, and the man^s own misconduct would certainly 
 complete what we had begun. Indeed, before his de- 
 parture, the lawyer showed us there had already gone 
 abroad some fflimmerino-s of the truth. 
 
 " I should perhaps explain to you, my lord/'' said he, 
 pausing, with his hat in his hand, '' that I have not 
 been altogether surprised with your lordship^'s disposi- 
 tions in the case of Mr. Bally. Something of this 
 nature oozed out when he was last in Durrisdeer. There 
 was some talk of a woman at St. Bride^s, to whom you 
 had behaved extremely handsome, and Mr. Bally with no 
 small degree of cruelty. There was the entail, again, 
 which was much controverted. In short, there was no 
 want of talk, back and forward ; and some of our wise- 
 acres took up a strong opinion. I remained in suspense, 
 as became one of my cloth ; but Mr. Mackellar's docket 
 here has finally opened my eyes. I do not think, Mr. 
 Mackellar, that you and I will give him that much rope.''^ 
 
 The rest of that important day passed prosperously 
 through. It was our policy to keep the enemy in view, 
 and I took my turn to be his watchman with the rest. 
 I think his spirits rose as he perceived us to be so atten- 
 tive, and I know that mine insensibly declined. What 
 chiefly daunted me was the man's singular dexterity to 
 
212 THE MASTEU OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 worm himself into our troubles. You may have felt 
 (after a horse accident) the hand of a bone-setter artfully 
 divide and interrogate the muscles^ and settle strongly 
 on the injured place ? It was so with the Master's tongue, 
 that was so cunning to question ; and his eyes, that were 
 so quick to observe. I seemed to have said nothing, and 
 yet to have let all out. Before I knew where I was the 
 man was condoling with me on my lord's neglect of 
 my lady and myself, and his hurtful indulgence to his 
 son. On this last point I perceived him (with panic fear) 
 to return repeatedly. The boy had displayed a certain 
 shrinking from his uncle; it was strong in my mind 
 his father had been fool enough to indoctrinate the 
 same, which was no wise beginning : and when I looked 
 upon the man before me, still so handsome, so apt a 
 speaker, with so great a variety of fortunes to relate, I 
 saw he was the very personage to captivate a boyish fancy. 
 John Paul had left only that morning ; it was not to be 
 supposed he had been altogether dumb upon his favourite 
 iubject: so that here would be Mr. Alexander m the 
 part of Dido, with a curiosity inflamed to hear; and 
 there would be the Master, Hke a diabolical ^neas, full 
 of matter the most pleasing in the world to any youthful 
 ear, such as battles, sea-disasters, flights, the forests of 
 the West, and (since his later voyage) the ancient cities 
 of the Indies. How cunningly these baits might bo 
 employed, and what an empire might be so founded, 
 little by little, iu the mind of any boy, stood obviously 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 213 
 
 clear to me. There was no inhibition, so long as the man 
 was in the house, that would be strong enough to hold 
 these two apart ; for if it be hard to charm serpents, it is 
 no very difficult thing to cast a glamour on a little chip 
 of manhood not very long in breeches. I recalled an 
 ancient sailor-man who dwelt in a lone house beyond the 
 Figgate Whins (I believe, he called it after Portobello), 
 and how the boys would troop out of Leith on a Satur- 
 day, and sit and listen to his swearing tales, as thick 
 as crows about a carrion : a thing I often remarked as 
 I went by, a young student, on my own more meditative 
 holiday diversion. Many of these boys went, no doubt, 
 in the face of an express command; many feared and 
 even hated the old brute of whom they made their hero ; 
 and I have seen them flee from him when he was tipsy, 
 and stone him when he was drunk. And yet there they 
 came each Saturday ! How much more easily would 
 a boy like ^Ir. Alexander fall under the influence of a 
 high-looking, high-spoken gentleman-adventurer, who 
 should conceive the fancy to entrap him; and, the 
 influence gained, how easy to employ it for the child^s 
 perversion ! 
 
 I doubt if our enemy had named Mr. Alexander three 
 times before I perceived which way his mind was aim- 
 ing—all this train of thought and memory passed in one 
 pulsation through my own — and you may say I started 
 back as though an open hole had gaped across a path- 
 way. ^Ir. Alexander : there was the weak point, there 
 
^214 litE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 was the Eve in our perishable paradise ; and the serpent 
 was already hissing on the trail. 
 
 I promise you, I went the more heartily about the 
 preparations ; my last scruple gone^ the danger of delay 
 written before me in huge characters. From that 
 moment forth I seem not to have sat down or breathed 
 Now I would be at my post with the Master and his 
 Indian ; now in the garret, buckling a valise ; now send- 
 ing forth Macconochie by the side postern and the wood- 
 path to bear it to the try sting-place ; and, again^ snatch- 
 ing some words of counsel with my lady. This was the 
 verso of our life in Durrisdeer that day ; but on the recto 
 all appeared quite settled, as of a family at home in its 
 paternal seat; and what perturbation may have been 
 observable, the Master would set down to the blow 
 of his unlooked-for coming, and the fear he was accus- 
 tomed to inspire. 
 
 Supper went creditably off^ cold salutations passed, 
 and the company trooped to their respective chambers. 
 I attended the Master to the last. We had put him 
 next door to his Indian, in the north wing; because 
 that was the most distant and could be severed from the 
 body of the house with doors. I saw he was a kind 
 triend or a good master (whichever it was) to his Secun- 
 dra Dass — seeing to his comfort ; mending the fire with 
 his own hand, for the Indian complained of cold ; in- 
 quiring as to the rice on which the stranger made his 
 diet; talking with him pleasantly in the Hindustanee, 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 215 
 
 while I stood by, my candle in my hand, and affected 
 to be overcome with slumber. At length the Master 
 observed my signals of distress. " I perceive/"' says he, 
 " that you have all your ancient habits : early to bed 
 and early to rise. Yawn yourself away ! '' 
 
 Once in my own room^ I made the customary motions 
 of undressing, so that I might time myself; and when 
 the cycle was complete, set my tinder-box ready, and blew 
 out my taper. The matter of an hour afterward I made 
 a light again, put on my shoes of list that I had worn 
 by my lord^s sick-bed, and set forth into the house to call 
 the voyagers. All were dressed and waiting — my lord, 
 my lady, Miss Katharine, Mr. Alexander, my lady's 
 woman Christie ; and I observed the effect of secrecy 
 even upon quite innocent persons, that one after another 
 showed in the chink of the door a face as white as paper. 
 We slipped out of the side postern into a night of dark- 
 ness, scarce broken by a star or two ; so that at first we 
 groped and stumbled and fell among the bushes. A few 
 hundred yards up the wood-path Macconochie was wait- 
 ing us with a great lantern ; so the rest of the way we 
 went easy enough, but still in a kind of guilty silence. 
 A little beyond the abbey the path debouched on the 
 main road; and somxC quarter of a mile farther, at the 
 place called Eagles, where the moors begin, we saw the 
 lights of the two carriages stand shining by the way- 
 side. Scarce a word or two was uttered at our parting, 
 and these regarded business : a silent grasping of hands, 
 
216 THE MASTEE, Oh' BALLANTRAE. 
 
 a turning of faces aside, and the thing was ovei ) the 
 horses broke into a trot, the lamplight sped like Will- 
 o'-the-Wisp upon the broken moorland, it dipped beyond 
 Stony Brae; and there were Macconochie and I alone 
 with our lantern on the road. There was one thing 
 more to wait for, and that was the reappearance of the 
 coach upon Cartmore. It seems they must have pulled 
 up upon the summit, looked back for a last time, and 
 seen our lantern not yet moved away from the place 
 of separation. For a lamp was taken from a carriage, 
 and waved three times up and down by way of a fare- 
 well. And then they were gone indeed, having looked 
 their last on the kind roof of Durrisdeer, their faces 
 toward a barbarous country. I never knew before, the 
 greatness of that vault of night in which we two poor 
 serving-men — the one old, and the one elderly — stood for 
 the first time deserted ; I had never felt before my 
 own dependency upon the countenance of others. The 
 sense of isolation burned in my bowels like a fire. It 
 seemed that we who remained at home were the trut? 
 exiles, and that Durrisdeer and Solwayside, and all 
 that made my country native, its air good to me, and 
 its language welcome, had gone forth and was far over 
 the sea with my old masters. 
 
 The remainder of that night I paced to and fro on 
 the smooth highway, reflecting on the future and the 
 past. My thoughts, which at first dwelled tenderly on 
 those who were just gone, took a more manly temper as 
 
AND THEN THEY WERE GOiNE, INDEED, HAVING LOOKED THEIR LAST ON THE 
 KIND ROOF OF DURRISDEER. 
 
 {p. 21G.) 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 217 
 
 I considered what remained for me to do. Day came 
 upon the inland mountain-tops, and the fowls began to 
 cry, and the smoke of homesteads to arise in the brown 
 bosom of the moors, before I turned my face homeward, 
 and went down the path to where the roof of Durrisdeer 
 shone in the morning by the sea. 
 
 At the customary hour I had the Master called, and 
 awaited his coming in the hall with a quiet mind. 
 He looked about him at the empty room and the three 
 covers set. 
 
 ^' We are a small party, ^^ said he. '' How comes 
 that ?'' ' 
 
 " This is the party to which we must grow accus- 
 tomed,'"' I replied. 
 
 He looked at me with a sadden sharpness. ^' What 
 is all this ? "'"' said he. 
 
 ^^ You and I and your friend Mr. Dass are now all 
 the company,^-' I replied. " My lord, my lady, and the 
 children, are gone upon a voyage.''^ 
 
 " Upon my word ! "''' said he. ^' Can this be pos- 
 sible ? I have indeed fluttered your Volscians in Corioli ! 
 But this is no reason why our breakfast should go cold. 
 Sit down, Mr. Mackellar, if you please '''' — taking, as he 
 spoke, the head of the table, which I had designed to 
 occupy myself — '' and as we eat, you can give me the 
 details of this evasion. ^^ 
 
 I could see he was more alfected than his language 
 
218 THE MASTER OP BALLANTKAE. 
 
 carried, and I determined to equal him in coolness. " I 
 was about to ask you to take the head of the table/' 
 said I ; ^^ for though I am now thrust into the position 
 of your host, I could never forget that you were, after 
 all, a member of the family/' 
 
 For a while he pla3/ed the part of entertainer, 
 giving directions to Macconochie, who received them 
 with an evil grace, and attending specially upon Se- 
 cundra. '^ And where has my good family withdrawn 
 to ? "" he asked carelessly. 
 
 ^^ Ah ! Mr. Bally, that is another point,'' said I. 
 " I have no orders to communicate their destination." 
 " To me," he corrected. 
 " To any one,'' said I. 
 
 " It is the less pointed,'^ said the master ; " c^est de 
 Ion ton: my brother improves as he continues. And 
 I, dear Mr. Mackellar ? " 
 
 " You will have bed and board, Mr. Bally," said I. 
 " I am permitted to give you the run of the cellar, 
 which is pretty reasonably stocked. You have only to 
 keep well with me, which is no very difficult matter, and 
 you shall want neither for wine nor a saddle-horse." 
 
 He made an excuse to send Macconochie from the 
 room. 
 
 '^ And for money ? " he inquired. '^ Have I to keep 
 (veil with my good friend Mackellar for my pocket- 
 money also ? This is a pleasing return to the prin- 
 ciples of boyhood." 
 
tHE EK"EMt IN THE HOUSfe. 219 
 
 " There was no allowance made/^ said I ; '' but 1 
 will take it on myself to see you are supplied in 
 moderation/' 
 
 ''In moderation ? ■'■' he repeated. "And you will 
 take it on yourself ? '' He drew himself up, and looked 
 about the hall at the dark rows of portraits. "In the 
 name of my ancestors, I thank you/'' says he; and 
 then, with a return to irony, "But there must cer- 
 tainly be an allowance for Secundra Dass?"*' he said. 
 " It is not possible they have omitted that ? " 
 
 "I will make a note of it, and ask instructions 
 when I write,"*' said I. 
 
 And he, with a sudden change of manner, and lean- 
 ing forward with an elbow on the table — " Do you tliink 
 this entirely wise ? " 
 
 " I execute my orders, Mr. Bally,"" said I 
 
 "Profoundly modest,"'"' said the Master; ''perhaps 
 not equally ingenuous. You told me yesterday my 
 power was fallen with my father's death. How comes 
 it, then, that a peer of the realm flees under cloud of 
 nio["ht out of a house in which his fathers have stood 
 several sieges ? that he conceals his address, which must 
 be a matter of concern to his Gracious Majesty and to 
 the whole republic? and that he should leave me in 
 possession, and under the paternal charge of his invalu- 
 able Mackellar? This smacks to me of a very con- 
 siderable and genuine apprehension.'" 
 
 I sought to interrupt him with some not very truthful 
 
220 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 denegation; but he waved me down, and pursued his 
 speech. 
 
 "I say, it smacks o£ it/' he said; ''but I will go beyond 
 that, for I think the apprehension grounded.. I came 
 to this house with some reluctancy. In view of the 
 manner of my last departure, nothing but necessity could 
 have induced me to return. Money, however, is that 
 which I must have. You will not give with a good 
 grace ; well, I have the power to force it from you. In- 
 side of a week, without leaving Durrisdeer, I will find out 
 where these fools are fled to. I will follow ; and when 
 I have run my quarry down, I will drive a wedge into 
 that family that shall once more burst it into shivers. 
 I shall see then whether my Lord Durrisdeer'' (said 
 with indescribable scorn and rage) " will choose to buy 
 my absence ; and you will all see whether, by that time, 
 I decide for profit or revenge." ^ 
 
 I was amazed to hear the man so open. The truth 
 is, he was consumed with anger at my lord's successful 
 flight, felt himself to figure as a dupe, and was in no 
 humour to weigh language. 
 
 " Do you consider this entirely wise ? '^ said I, copy- 
 ing his words. 
 
 ''These twenty years I have lived by my poor 
 wisdom," he answered with a smile that seemed almost 
 foolish in its vanity. 
 
 " And come out a beggar in the end," eaid I, " if 
 be":o:ar be a strong enough word for it." 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 221 
 
 " I would have you to observe, Mr. Maekellar/^ 
 cried he, with a sudden imperious heat, in which I 
 could not but admire him, ^^ that I ,am scrupulously 
 civil: copy me in that, and we shall be the better 
 friends.^^ 
 
 Throughout this dialogue I had been incommoded 
 by the observation of Secundra Dass. Not one o£ us, 
 since the first word, had made a feint of eatino: : our 
 eyes were in each other's faces — you might say, in each 
 other's bosoms; and those of the Indian troubled me 
 with a certain changing brightness, as of comprehension. 
 But I brushed the fancy aside, telling myself once more 
 he understood no English; only, from the gravity of 
 both voices, and the occasional scorn and anger in the 
 Master's, smelled out there was something of import in 
 the wind. 
 
 For the matter of three weeks we continued to live 
 together in the house of Durrisdeer : the beginning of 
 that most singular chapter of my life — what I must call 
 my intimacy with the Master. At first he was some- 
 what changeable in his behaviour : now civil, now return- 
 ing to his old manner of flouting me to my face ; and 
 in both I met him half-way. Thanks be to Providence, 
 I had now no measure to keep with the man; and I 
 ivas never afraid of black brows, only of naked swords. 
 So that I found a certain entertainment in these bouts 
 of incivility, and was not ahvays ill-inspired in my 
 
222 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 rejoinders. At last (it was at supper) I had a droll 
 expression that entirely vanquished him. He laughed 
 again and again ; and " Who would have guessed/^ he 
 cried, ^' that this old wife had any wit under his petti- 
 coats ? " 
 
 'at is no wit, Mr. Bally/' said I: '^a dry Scot's 
 humour^ and something of the driest."" And, indeed, I 
 never had the least pretension to be thought a wit. 
 
 From that hour he was never rude with me, but all 
 passed between us in a manner of pleasantry. One of 
 our chief times of daffing"^ was when he required a 
 horse^ another bottle, or some money. He would ap- 
 proach me then after the manner of a schoolboy, and I 
 would carry it on by way of being his father : on both 
 sides, with an infinity of mirth. I could not but per- 
 ceive that he thought more of me, which tickled that 
 poor pjart of mankind, the vanity. He dropped, besides 
 (I must suppose unconsciously), into a manner that was 
 not only familiar, but even friendly ; and this, on the 
 part of one who had so long detested me, I found the 
 more insidious. He went little abroad; sometimes even 
 refusing invitations. '^ No,"" he would say, '^ what do 
 I care for these thick-headed bonnet-lairds ? I will stay 
 at home, Mackellar ; and we shall share a bottle quietly, 
 and have one of our good talks."" And, indeed, meal- 
 time at Durrisdeer must have been a delight to any one, 
 by reason of the brilliancy of the discourse. He would 
 * Fooling, 
 
THE ENE^IY IN THE HOUSE. 223 
 
 often express wonder at his former indifference to my 
 society. " But, you see/^ he would add, '^ we were upon 
 opposite sides. And so we are to-day ; but let us never 
 speak of that. I would think much less of you if you 
 were not staunch to your employer."'-' You are to con- 
 sider he seemed to me quite impotent for any evil ; and 
 how it is a most engaging form of flattery when (after 
 many years) tardy justice is done to a man^s character 
 and parts. But I have no thought to excuse myself. 
 I was to blame; I let him cajole me, and, in short,, I 
 think the watch-dog was going sound asleep, when he 
 was suddenly aroused. 
 
 I should say the Indian was continually travelling 
 to and fro in the house. He never spoke, save in his 
 own dialect and with the Master; walked without sound ; 
 and was always turning up where you would least ex- 
 pect him, fallen into a deep abstraction, from which he 
 would start (upon your coming) to mock you with one 
 of his grovelling obeisances. He seemed' so quiet, so 
 frail, and so wrapped in his own fancies, that I came to 
 pass him over without much regard, or even to pity him 
 for a harmless exile from his country. And yet without 
 doubt the creature was still eavesdropping; and with- 
 out doubt it was through his stealth and my security 
 that our secret reached the Master. 
 
 It was one very wild night, after supper, and when 
 we had been making more than usually merry, that the 
 blow fell on me. 
 
<J24 THE MASTER OP BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 '' This is all very fine/' says the Master, " but we 
 should do better to be buckling our valise/'' 
 
 '' Why so ? '''' I cried. " Are you leaving ? '"' 
 
 ''We are all leaving to-morrow in the morning/* 
 said he. " For the port of Glascow first, thence for 
 the province of New York.'''' 
 
 I suppose I must have groaned aloud. 
 
 " Yes/-' he continued, '' I boasted ; I said a week, 
 and it has taken me near twenty days. But never 
 mind ; I shall make it up ; I will go the faster.^'' 
 
 " Have you the money for this voyage ?" 1 asked. 
 
 " Dear and ingenuous personage, I have,''' said he. 
 " Blame me, if you choose, for my duplicity ; but while 
 I have been wringing shillings from my daddy, T had a 
 stock of my own put by against a rainy day. You will 
 pay for your own passage, if you choose to accompany 
 us on our flank march ; I have enough for Secundra 
 and myself, but not more — enough to be dangerous, not 
 enough to be generous. There is, however, an outside 
 seat upon the chaise which I will let you have upon a 
 moderate commutation ; so that the whole menagerie 
 can go together — the house-dog, the monkey, and the 
 tiger.'' 
 
 ^^ I go with you," said I. 
 
 ^' I count upon it," said the JNIaster. " You have 
 seen me foiled; I mean you shall see me victorious. To 
 gain that I will risk wetting you like a sop in this wild 
 weather." 
 
THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 225 
 
 " And at least/^ I added, ^^ you know very well you 
 could not throw me off/^ 
 
 '^ Not easily/^ said he. '^ You put your finger on 
 the point with your usual excellent good sense. I never 
 fight with the inevitable.''^ 
 
 '^ I suppose it is useless to appeal to you ? ^^ said I. 
 
 ^' Believe me, perfectly/^ said he. 
 
 ''And yet, if you would give me time, I could 
 write — — ■'■' I began. 
 
 ''And what would be my Lord Durrisdeer's 
 answer ? ''■' asks he. 
 
 " Aye,'' said I, " that is the rub.'' 
 
 " And, at any rate, how much more expeditious that 
 I should go myself ! " says he. "But all this is quite 
 a waste of breath. At seven to-morrow the chaise will 
 be at the door. For I start from the door, Mackellar ; 
 I do not skulk through woods and take my chaise upon 
 the wayside — shall we say, at Eagles ?" 
 
 My mind was now thoroughly made up. " Can you 
 spare me quarter of an hour at St. Bride's ? " said I. 
 " I have a little necessary business with Carlyle." 
 
 " An hour, if you prefer," said he. " I do not seek 
 to deny that the money for your seat is an object to 
 me ; and you could always get the first to Glascow with 
 saddle-horses." 
 
 " Well," said I, " I never thought to leave old Scot- 
 land." 
 
 " It will brisken you up," says he. 
 p 
 
226 THE JIASTEE OF BALLANTKAK. 
 
 ^' This will be an ill journey for some one/"* I said. 
 
 (( 
 
 I think, sir, for 3'ou. Something speaks in my bosom ; 
 and so much it says plain — that this is an ill-omened 
 journey/' 
 
 ^^ If you take to prophecy/^ says he, " listen to 
 that/' 
 
 There came up a violent squall off the open Sol way, 
 and the rain was dashed on the great windows. 
 
 ^^ Do ye ken what that bodes, warlock ? '' said he, in 
 a broad accent : " that there'll be a man Mackellar 
 unco' sick at sea." 
 
 When I got to ray chamber, I sat there under a pain- 
 ful excitation, hearkening to the turmoil of the gale, 
 which struck full upon that gable of the house. What 
 with the pressure on my spirits, the eldritch cries of the 
 wind among the turret-tops, and the perpetual trepida- 
 tion of the masoned house, sleep fled my eyelids utterly. 
 I sat by my taper, looking on the black panes of the 
 window, where the storm appeared continually on the 
 point of bursting in its entrance ; and upon that empty 
 field I beheld a perspective of consequences that made 
 the hair to rise upon my scalp. The child corrupted, 
 the home brok.en up, my master dead or worse than 
 dead, my mistress plunged in desolation — all these I 
 saw before me painted brightly on the darkness ; and 
 the outcry of the wind appeared to mock at my inaction. 
 
227 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The chaise came to the door in a strong drenching 
 mist. We took our leave in silence : the house of Dur- 
 risdeer standing with dropping gutters and windows 
 closed^ like a place dedicate to melancholy. I observed 
 the Master kept his head out^ looking back on these 
 splashed walls and glimmering roofs^ till they were sud- 
 denly "swallowed in the mist ; and I must suppose some 
 natural sadness fell upon the man at this departure ; or 
 was it some pre-vision of the end ? At leasts upon our 
 mounting the long brae from Durrisdeer, as we walked 
 side by side in the wet^ he began first to whistle and then 
 to sing the saddest of our country tunes, which sets 
 folk weeping in a tavern, Wandering Willie. The set of 
 words he used with it I have not heard elsewhere, and 
 could never come by any copy ; but some of them which 
 were the most appropriate to our departure linger in my 
 memory. One verse began — 
 
 Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces ; 
 Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child- 
 
 And ended somewhat thus— ' 
 
228 THE MA.STER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Now, when day dawns on the hrow of the moorland, 
 Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold. 
 
 Lone let it stand, now the folks are all departed, 
 
 The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old. 
 
 I could never be a judge of the merit of these verses; they 
 were so hallowed by the melancholy of the air^ and_were 
 sung (or rather " soothed '^) to me by a master-singer at 
 a time so fitting. He looked in my face when he had 
 done, and saw that my eyes watered. 
 
 " Ah I Mackellar/' said he, *' do you think I have 
 never a regret ? " 
 
 ^' I do not tliuik you could be so bad a man/^ said I, 
 '^ if you had not all the machinery to be a good one.'''' 
 
 "No, not alV^ says he : "not all. You are there 
 in error. The malady of not wanting, my evangelist.'" 
 But methought he sighed as he mounted again into the 
 chaise. 
 
 All day long we journeyed in the same miserable 
 weather : the mist besetting us closely, the heavens 
 incessantly weeping on my head. The road lay over 
 moorish hills, where was no sound but the crying of 
 moor-fowl in the wet heather and the pouring of the 
 swollen burns. Sometimes I would doze off in slum- 
 ber, when I would find myself plunged at once in some 
 foul and ominous nightmare, from the which I would 
 awake strangling. Sometimes, if the way was steep and 
 the wheels turning slowly, I would overhear the voices 
 from within, talking in that tropical tongue which was 
 
I 
 
 ME,. MACKELLAIl's JOURNEY. 229 
 
 to me as inarticulate as the piping of the fowls. Some- 
 times^ at a longer ascent^ the Master would set foot to 
 ground and walk by my side^ mostly without speech. 
 And all the time, sleej^ing or waking,, I beheld the same 
 black perspective of approaching ruin ; and the same 
 pictures rose in my view, only they were now painted 
 upon hillside mist. One, I remember, stood before me 
 with the colours of a true illusion. It showed me my 
 lord seated at a table in a small room ; his head, which 
 was at first buried in his hands, he slowly raised, and 
 turned upon me a countenance from which hope had 
 fled. I saw it first on the black window-panes, my last 
 night in Durrisdeer ; it haunted and returned upon me 
 half the voyage through ; and yet it was no eifect of 
 lunacy, for I have come to a ripe old age with no decay 
 of my intelligence ; nor yet (as I was then tempted to 
 suppose) a heaven-sent warning of the future, for all 
 manner of calamities befell, not that calamity — and I 
 saw many pitiful sights, but never that one. 
 
 It was decided we should travel on all night ; and it 
 was singular, once the dusk had fallen, my spirits some- 
 what rose. The bright lamps, shining forth into the 
 mist and on the smoking horses and the hodding post-boy, 
 gave me perhaps an outlook intrinsically more cheerful 
 than what day had shown; or perhaps my mind had 
 become wearied of its melancholy. At least^ I spent some 
 waking hours, not without satisfaction in my thoughts, 
 although wet and weary in my body; and fell at last 
 
230 THE MASTER OF BALLANTEAE. 
 
 into a natural slumber without dreams. Yet 1 must 
 have been at work even in the deepest of my sleep ; and 
 at work with at least a measure of intelligence. For I 
 started broad awake, in the very act of crying out to 
 myself 
 
 Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child, 
 
 stricken to find in it an appropriateness^ which I had 
 not yesterday observed, to the Master's detestable pur- 
 pose in the present journey. 
 
 We were then close upon the city of Glascow, where 
 we were soon breakfasting together at an inn, and where 
 (as the devil would have it) we found a ship in the very 
 article of sailing. We took our places in the cabin; 
 and, two days after, carried our effects on board. Her 
 name was the Nonestich, a very ancient ship and very 
 happily named. By all accounts this should be her 
 last voyage ; people shook their heads upon the quays, 
 and I had several warnings offered me by strangers 
 in the street to the effect that she was rotten as a 
 cheese, too deeply loaden, and must infallibly founder 
 if we met a gale. From this it fell out we were the 
 only passengers ; the Captain, McMurtrie, was a silent, 
 absorbed man, with the Glascow or Gaelic accent ; the 
 mates ignorant rough seafarers, come in through the 
 hawsehole ; and the Master and I were cast upon each 
 other's company. 
 
 The Nones2icJi carried a fair wind out of the Clyde, 
 
UU. MACKELLAR''S JOURNEY. 231 
 
 and for near upon a week we enjoyed bright weather 
 and a sense of progress. I found myself (to my wonder) 
 a born seaman, in so far at least as I was never sick ; yet 
 I was far from tasting the usual serenity of my health. 
 Whether it was the motion of the ship on the billows, 
 the confinement, the salted food^ or all of these together, 
 I suffered from a blackness of spirit and a painful strain 
 upon my temper. The nature of my errand on that 
 ship perhaps contributed; I think it did no more; the 
 malady (whatever it was) sprang from my environ- 
 ment ; and if the ship were not to blame, then it was 
 the Master. Hatred and fear are ill bedfellows ; but (to 
 my shame be it spoken) I have tasted those in other 
 places, lain down and got up with them, and eaten 
 and drunk with them, and yet never before, nor after, 
 have I been so poisoned through and through, in soul 
 and body, as I was on board the Nonesuch. I freely 
 confess my enemy set me a fair example of forbearance; 
 in our worst days displayed the most patient geniality, 
 holding me in conversation as long as I would suffer, 
 and when I had rebuffed his civility, stretching himself 
 on deck to read. The book he had on board with him 
 was Mr. Richardson^s famous Clarissa ! and among other 
 small attentions he would read m^ passages aloud; nor 
 could any elocutionist have given with greater potency 
 the pathetic portions of that work. I would retort 
 upon him with passages out of the Bible, which was all 
 my library — and very fresh to me, my religious duties 
 
232 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 (1 grieve to say it) being always and even to this day 
 extremely neglected. He tasted the merits of the work 
 like the connoisseur he was ; and would sometimes take 
 it from my hand, turn the leaves over like a man that 
 knew his way, and give me, with his fine declamation, 
 a Roland for my Oliver. But it was singular how little 
 he applied his reading to himself ; it passed high above 
 his head like summer thunder : Lovelace and Clarissa, 
 the tales of David's generosity, the psalms of his peni- 
 tence, the solemn questions of the book of Job; the 
 touching poetry of Isaiah — they were to him a source of 
 entertainment only, like the scraping of a fiddle in a 
 change-house. This outer sensibility and inner tough- 
 ness set me against him ; it seemed of a piece with that 
 impudent grossness which I knew to underlie the veneer 
 of his fine manners; and sometimes my gorge rose 
 against him as thouq-h he were deformed — and some- 
 times I would draw away as though from something 
 partly spectral. I had moments when I thought of him 
 as of a man of pasteboard — as though, if one should 
 strike smartly through the buckram of his countenance, 
 there would be found a mere vacuity within. This 
 horror (not merely fanciful, I think) vastly increased my 
 detestation of his neighbourhood ; I began to feel some- 
 thing shiver within me on his drawing near ; I had at 
 times a longing to cry out; there were days when I 
 thous-ht I could have struck him. This frame of mind 
 was doubtless helped by shame, because I had dropped 
 
MR. MACKELLATl's JOURNEY. 233 
 
 during" our last days at Durrisdeer into a certain tolera- 
 tion of the man ; and i£ any one had then told me I 
 should drop into it again, I must have laughed in his 
 face. It is possible he remained unconscious of this 
 extreme fever of my resentment; yet I think he was 
 too quick ; and rather that he had fallen, in a long life 
 af idleness, into a positive need of company, which 
 obliged him to confront and tolerate my unconcealed 
 aversion. Certain, at least, that he loved the note of 
 his own tongue, as, indeed, he entirely loved all the 
 parts and properties of himself; a sort of imbecility 
 which almost necessarily attends on wickedness. 1 
 have seen him driven, when I proved recalcitrant, to 
 long discourses with the skipper ; and this, although 
 the man plainly testified his weariness, fiddling miser- 
 abl}'- with both hand and foot, and replying only with 
 a grunt. 
 
 After the first week out we fell in with foul winds 
 and heavy weather. The sea was high. The None- 
 suck, being an old-fashioned ship and badly loaden, 
 rolled beyond belief; so that the skipper trembled for 
 his masts, and I for my life. We made no progress on 
 our course. An unbearable ill-humour settled on the 
 ship : men, mates, and master, girding at one another 
 all day long. A saucy word on the one hand, and a 
 blow on the other, made a daily incident. There were 
 times when the whole crew refused their duty ; and we 
 of the afterguard were twice got under arms — being 
 
234 THE MASTEil OF BALLAKTUAfi. 
 
 the first time that ever I bore weapons — in the fear of 
 mutiny. 
 
 In the midst of our evil season sprang up a hurricane 
 of wind; so that all supposed she must go down. I 
 was shut in the cabin from noon of one day till sun- 
 down of the next ; the Master was somewhere lashed on 
 deck. Secundra had eaten of some drug and lay insen- 
 sible; so you may say I passed these hours in an 
 unbroken solitude. At first I was terrified beyond 
 motion, and almost beyond thought, my mind appearing 
 to be frozen. Presently there stole in on me a ray of 
 comfort. If the Nonesuch foundered, she would carry 
 down with her into the deeps of that unsounded sea the 
 creature whom we all so feared and hated ; there would 
 be no more Master of Ballantrae, the fish would sport 
 among his ribs; his schemes all brought to nothing, 
 his harmless enemies at peace. At first, I have said, it 
 was but a ray of comfort; but it had soon grown to be 
 broad sunshine. The thought of the man's death, of 
 his deletion from this world, which he embittered for 
 so many, took possession of my mind. I hugged it, I 
 found it sweet in my belly. I conceived the ship's last 
 plunge, the sea bursting upon all sides into the cabin, 
 the brief mortal conflict there, all by myself, in that 
 closed place; I numbered the horrors, I had almost 
 said with satisfaction ; I felt I could bear all and more, 
 if the Nonesuch carried down with her, overtook by 
 • the same ruin, the enemy of my poor master's house. 
 
MR. mackellar's journey. 235 
 
 Towards noon of the second day the screaming of the 
 wind abated ; the ship lay not so perilously over, and it 
 began to be clear to me that we were past the height of 
 the tempest. As I hope for mercy, I was singly dis- 
 appointed. In the selfishness of that vile, absorbing 
 passion of hatred, I forgot the case of our innocent ship- 
 mates, and thought but of myself and my enemy. For 
 myself, I was already old ; I had never been young, I 
 was not formed far the world's pleasures, I had few 
 affections; it mattered not the toss of a silver tester 
 whether I was drowned there and then in the Atlantic, 
 or dribbled out a few more years, to die, perhaps no less 
 terribly, in a deserted sick-bed. Down I went upon my 
 knees — holding on by the locker, or else I had been 
 instantly dashed across the tossing cabin — and, lifting 
 up my voice in the midst of that clamour of the 
 abating hurricane, impiously prayed for my own death. 
 ^'^ O God ! ■'"' I cried, ^^ I would be liker a man if I rose 
 and struck this creature down ; but Thou madest me a 
 coward from my mother's womb. O Lord, Thou 
 madest me so. Thou knowest my weakness. Thou knowest 
 that any face of death will set me shaking in my shoes. 
 But, lo ! here is Thy servant ready, his mortal weakness 
 laid aside. Let me give my life for this creature's; 
 ta,ke the two of them. Lord ! take the two, and have 
 mercy on the innocent ! '' In some such words as 
 these, only yet more irreverent and with more sacred 
 adjurations, I continued to pour forth my spirit. 
 
236 THE MASTElt OF BALLANTEAE. 
 
 God heard me not^ I must suppose in mercy ; and 1 
 was still absorbed in my agony of supplication when 
 some one_, removing the tarpaulin cover, let the light of 
 the sunset pour into the cabin. I stumbled to my feet 
 ashamed^ and was seized with surprise to find myself 
 totter and ache like one that had been stretched upon 
 the rack. Secundra Dass^ who had slept off the effects 
 of his drug, stood in a corner not far off, gazing at me 
 with wild eyes ; and from the open skylight the captain 
 thanked me for my supplications. 
 
 " Ifs you that saved the ship, Mr. ^Mackellar/^ says 
 he. " There is no craft of seamanship that could have 
 kept her floating : well muy we say, ' Except the Lord 
 the city keep, the watchmen watch in vain ! ' " 
 
 I was abashed by the captain's error ; abashed, also, , 
 by the surprise and fear with which the Indian regarded 
 me at first, and the obsequious civilities with which he 
 soon began to cumber me. I know now that he must 
 have overheard and comprehended the peculiar nature 
 of my prayers. It is certain, of course, that he at once 
 disclosed the matter to his patron; and looking back 
 with greater knowledge, I can now understand what 
 so much puzzled me at the moment, those singular and 
 (so to speak) approving smiles with which the Master 
 honoured me. Similarly, I can understand a word that f 
 I remember to have fallen from him in conversation " ' 
 that same night ; when, holding up his hand and smil- 
 ing, " Ah ! Mackellar," said he, ^' not every man is so 
 
MR. MACKELLAR's JOURNEY. 237 
 
 great a coward as lie thinks he is — nor yet so good a 
 Christian." He did not guess how true he spoke ! For 
 the fact is, the thoughts which had come to me in the 
 violence of the storm retained their hold upon my 
 spirit ; and the words that rose to my lips unbidden in 
 the instancy of prayer continued to sound in my ears : 
 with what shameful consequences, it is fitting I should 
 honestly relate ; for I could not support a part of such 
 disloyalty as to describe the sins of others and conceal 
 my own. 
 
 The wind fell, but the sea hove ever the higher. All 
 night the 'Nonesuch rolled outrageously ; the next day 
 dawned, and the next, and brought no change. To 
 cross the cabin was scarce possible; old experienced 
 seamen were cast down upon the deck, and one cruelly 
 mauled in the concussion ; every board and block in 
 the old ship cried out aloud ; and the great bell by the 
 anchor-bitts continually and dolefully rang. One of 
 these days the Master and I sate alone together at the 
 break of the poop. I should say the Nonesuch carried a 
 high, raised poop. About the top of it ran consider- 
 able bulwarks, which made the ship unweatherly ; and 
 these, as they approached the front on each side, ran 
 down in a fine, old-fashioned, carven scroll to join the 
 bulwarks of the waist. From this disposition, which 
 seems designed rather for ornament than use, it fob 
 lowed there w^as a discontinuance of protection : and 
 that, besides, at the very maro:in of the elevated part 
 
238 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 where (in certain movements of the ship) it might be 
 the most needful. It was here we were sitting : our 
 feet hanging down^ the Master betwixt me and the side, 
 and I holding on with both hands to the grating of the 
 cabin skylight ; for it struck me it was a dangerous posi- 
 tion, the more so as I had continually before my eyes a 
 measure of our evolutions in the person of the Master, 
 which stood out in the break of the bulwarks against 
 the sun. Now his head would be in the zenith and his 
 shadow fall quite beyond the Nonesuch on the farther 
 side ; and now he would swing down till he was under- 
 neath my feet, and the line of the sea leaped high above 
 him like the ceiling of a room. I looked on upon this 
 with a growing fascination, as birds are said to look 
 on snakes. My mind, besides, was troubled with an as- 
 tonishing diversity of noises ; for now that we had all 
 sails spread in the vain hope to bring her to the sea, the 
 ship sounded like a factory wath their reverberations. 
 We spoke first of the mutiny with which we had been 
 threatened; this led us on to the topic of assassina- 
 tion ; and that offered a temptation to the Master more 
 strong than he was able to resist. He must tell me a 
 tale, and show me at the same time how clever he was 
 and how wicked. It was a thing he did always with 
 affectation and display ; generally with a good effect. 
 But this tale, told in a high key in the midst of so 
 great a tumult, and by a narrator who was one moment 
 looking down at me from the skies and the next peering 
 
239 
 
 up from under the soles of my feet — this particular tale, 
 I say, took hold upon me in a degree quite singular. 
 
 '^ My friend the count/^ it was thus that he began 
 his story, ^^ had for an enemy a certain German baron, 
 a stranger in Rome. It matters not what was the 
 ground of the count^s enmity ; but as he had a firm 
 design to be revenged, and that with safety to himself, 
 he kept it secret even from the baron. Indeed, that is 
 the first principle of vengeance ; and hatred betrayed is 
 hatred impotent. The count was a man of a curious, 
 searching mindj he had something of the artist; if 
 anything fell for him to do, it must always be done with 
 an exact perfection, not only as to the result, but in the 
 very means and instruments, or he thought the thing 
 miscarried. It chanced he was one day riding in the 
 outer suburbs, when he came to a disused by-road 
 branching off into the moor which lies about Rome. 
 On the one hand was an ancient Roman tomb ; on the 
 other a deserted house in a garden of evergreen trees. 
 This road brought him presently into a field of ruins, in 
 the midst of which, in the side of a hill, he saw an open 
 door, and, not far off, a single stunted pine no greater 
 than a currant-bush. The place was desert and very 
 secret; a voice spoke in the count^s bosom that there 
 was something here to his advantage. He tied his horse 
 to the pine-tree, took his flint and steel in his hand to 
 make a light, and entered into the hill. The doorway 
 opened on a passage of old Roman masanry, which 
 
240 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 shortly after branched in two. The count took the 
 turning to the right, and followed it, groping forward 
 in the dark, till he was brought up by a kind of fence, 
 about elbow-high, which extended quite across the 
 pass?.ge. Sounding forward with his foot, he found 
 an edge of polished stone, and then vacancy. All his 
 curiosity was now awakened, and, getting some rotten 
 sticks that lay about the floor, he made a fire. In front 
 of him was a profound well ; doubtless some neighbour- 
 ing peasant had once used it for his water, and it was 
 he that had set up the fence. A long while the count 
 stood leaning on the .rail and looking down into the 
 pit. It was of Roman foundation, and, like all that 
 nation set their hands to, built as for eternity ; the 
 sides were still straight, and the joints smooth ; to a man 
 who should fall in, no escape was possible. ' Now/ the 
 count was thinking, ^a strong impulsion brought me 
 to this place. What for ? what have I gained ? why 
 should I be sent to gaze into this well ? ' when the rail 
 of the fence gave suddenly under his weight, and he 
 came within an ace of falling headlong in. Leaping 
 back to save himself, he trod out the last flicker of his 
 fire, which gave him thenceforward no more light, only 
 an incommoding smoke. 'Was I sent here to my 
 death ? ^ says he, and shook from head to foot. And then 
 a thought flashed in his mind. He crept forth on hands 
 and knees to the brink of the i)it, and felt above him in 
 the air. The rail had been fast to a pair of uprights ; 
 
ME. MACKELLAR's JOURNEY. 241 
 
 it had only broken from the one, and still depended 
 from the other. The count set it back again as h^ 
 had found it, so that the place meant death to the first 
 comer, and groped out of the catacomb like a sick man. 
 The next day, riding in the Corso with the baron, he 
 purposely betrayed a strong preoccupation. The other 
 (as he had designed) inquired into the cause ; and he, 
 after some fencing, admitted that his spirits had been 
 dashed by an unusual dream. This was calculated to 
 draw on the baron — a superstitious man, who affected the 
 scorn of superstition. Some rallying followed, and then 
 the count, as if suddenly carried away, called on his 
 friend to beware, for it was of him that he had dreamed. 
 You know enough of human nature, my excellent Mac- 
 kellar, to be certain of one thing : I mean that the baron 
 did not rest till he had heard the dream. The count, 
 sure that he would never desist, kept him in play till his 
 curiosity was highly inflamed, and then suffered himself, 
 with seeming reluctance, to be overborne. * I warn 
 you,^ says he, ^ evil will come of it ; something tells me 
 so. But since there is to be no peace either for you or 
 me except on this condition, the blame be on your own 
 head ! This was the dream : — I beheld you riding, I 
 know not where, yet I think it must have been near 
 Home, for on your one hand was an ancient tomb, and 
 on the other a garden of evergreen trees. Methought I 
 cried and cried upon you to come back in a very agony 
 of terror ; whether you heard me I know not^ but you 
 
245 TUB MASTKR OP PxtLV VIU \>!. 
 
 w^nt dog^nlly on. The i\\id brouirht you to a Jo^ovt 
 pla<\> amon^ ruins, where \vn^ a door in :i hilkide, and 
 hai\l by the d^vr a luislvijv^tteu piue. Hen? you dis- 
 inouutevl (I still oryino: on \-ini to Wwsir^), tieil your 
 horse to tlie pine-tn\\ and eutor\^\l n>soUitely in by the 
 door. Withiu, ifc was dark ; but in my dn^viu I could 
 still set^ you, and still K^':»u^ht you to hoUl Ivaok. You 
 felt your way alon^ the riirht-hand wi^ll, t<^><>k a branch- 
 ing pass;»^^ to the ri^ht, and came to a little chamber, 
 where was a well with a railing. At this — I ki\ow not 
 why — my alarm for you incrt\\sei.i a thousjuulfold. so 
 that I seemevl to s^»ream myst^lf hvvt\rse with w^\rniui:'s, 
 cr)-inir it n\*:»s still time, and bidding j-ou bci^>ne at once 
 trv>m that vestibule. Such was the word I used in mj 
 da^im. and it seemtxl then to ha\-e a clear si^niticancy ; 
 but to-day, and awake, I prv>fess I know not what it 
 means. To all my outcry you T>?ndercd not the least 
 attention, lesiuing" the wkile u|x>n the rail and looking 
 down intently in the \>-ater. And then there was made 
 to j'ou a communication; I do not think I even tratherc^l 
 what it was, but the fear of it plucked me clean out of 
 ray sUimlvr, and I awoke shakino;^ and sobbing. And 
 now,* continues the cvnuit, * 1 thank you from my heart 
 for your insistency. This drx>am lay on me like a loiid ; 
 and now I have told it in plain worvls and in the brv>ad 
 daylig^ht, it seems no g^reat matter.' — * I do not know,' 
 Siiys the barv^n, ' It is in some ^vints str:*nge. A cv>m- 
 munication, did you say ? Oh ! it is an o<ld dream. It 
 
MR. MACKEr.LAll'S JOURNEY. 243 
 
 will make a story to amuse our friends/ — ' I am not so 
 sure/ says the count. ' I am sensible of some reluc- 
 tancy. Let us rather forget it/ — ' By all means/ says 
 the baron. And (in fact) the dream was not again 
 referred to. Some days after, the count proposed a 
 ride in the fields, which the baron (since they were 
 daily growing faster friends) very readily accepted. On 
 the way back to Rome, the count led them insensibly by 
 a particular route. Presently he reined in his horse, 
 clapped his hand before his eyes, and cried out aloud. 
 Then he showed his face again (which was now quite 
 white, for he was a consummate actor), and stared upon 
 the baron. ' What ails you ? ' cries the baron. ' What 
 is wrong with you ? ' — ' Nothing,' cries the count. ' It 
 is nothing. A seizure, I know not what. Let us hurry 
 back to Rome.' But in the meanwhile the baron had 
 looked about him; and there, on the left-hand side of 
 the way as they went back to Rome, he saw a dust^; 
 by-road with a tomb upon the one hand and a garden of 
 uvergreen trees upon the other. — ^ Yes,' says he, with a 
 changed voice. ' Let us by all means hurry back to 
 Rome. I fear you are not well in health.'' — 'Oh, for 
 God's sake ! ^ cries the count, shudderiug, ' back to 
 Rome and let me get to bed.' They made their return 
 with scarce a word ; and the count, who should by 
 rights have gone into society, took to his bed and gave 
 out he had a touch of country fever. The next day the 
 baron's horse was found tied to the pine, but himself 
 Q 2 
 
244 THE MASTETl OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 was never heard of from that hour. — And^ now, was that 
 a murder ? ^' says the Master, breaking sharply off. 
 
 " Are you sure he was a count ? '' 1 asked. 
 
 ^' I am not certain of the title/' said he, " but he was 
 a gentleman of family : and the Lord deliver you, Mac- 
 kellar, from an enemy so subtile ! '^ 
 
 These last words he spoke down at me, smiling, from 
 high above; the next, he was under my feet. I con- 
 tinued to follow his evolutions with a childish fixity; 
 they made me giddy and vacant, and I spoke as in a 
 dream. 
 
 ^^ He hated the baron with a great hatred ? '^ I asked. 
 
 '^ His belly moved when the man came near him," 
 said the Master. 
 
 '^ I have felt that same,"*' said I. 
 
 " Verily ! ■'"' cries the Master. ^^ Here is news indeed ! 
 I wonder — do I flatter myself ? or am I the cause of 
 these ventral perturbations ? ''■' 
 
 He was quite capable of choosing out a graceful pos- 
 ture, even with no one to behold him but myself, and 
 all the more if there were any element of peril. He 
 sat now with one knee flung across the other, his arms 
 on his bosom, fitting the swing of the ship with an 
 exquisite balance, such as a featherweight might over- 
 throw. All at once I had the vision of my lord at the 
 table, with his head upon his hands ; only now, when he 
 showed me his countenance, it was heavy with reproach. 
 The words of my own prayer — / were liker a man if 1 
 

 
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MR. MACKELLMl's JOURNEY. 245 
 
 struck this creature down — shot at the same time into 
 my memory. I called my energ-ies together, and (the 
 ship then heeling downward toward my enemy) thrust 
 at him swiftly with my foot. It was written I should 
 have the guilt of this attempt without the profit. 
 Whether from my own uncertainty or his incredible 
 quickness, he escaped the thrust, leaping to his feet 
 and catching hold at the same moment of a stay. 
 
 I do not know how long a time passed by : I lying 
 where I was upon the deck, overcome with terror and 
 remorse and shame : he standing with the stay in his 
 hand, backed against the bulwarks, and regarding me 
 with an expression singularly mingled. At last he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Mackellar,''^ said he, ^' I make no reproaches, but I 
 offer you a bargain. On your side, I do not suppose 
 you desire to have this exploit made public; on mine, 
 I own to you freely 1 do not care to draw my breath in 
 a perpetual terror of assassination by the man I sit at 
 meat with. Promise me — but no,''"' says he, breaking 
 off, '^ you are not yet in the quiet possession of your 
 mind ; you might think I had extorted the promise 
 from your weakness; and I would leave no door open 
 for casuistry to come in — that dishonesty of the con- 
 scientious. Take time to meditate.'''' 
 
 With that he made off up the sliding deck like a 
 squirrel, and plunged into the cabin. About half an 
 hour later he retm*ned — I still lying as he had left me. 
 
^46 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^ Now/^ says he, ^' will you give me your troth as a 
 Christian, and a faithful servant of my brother's, that I 
 shall have no more to fear from your attempts ? " 
 
 " I give it you/' said I. 
 
 '^ I shall require your hand upon \i" says he. 
 
 '^ You have the right to make conditions/- I replied, 
 and we shook hands. 
 
 He sat down at once in the same place and the old 
 perilous attitude. 
 
 '^ Hold on ! '^ cried I, covering my eyes. " I cannot 
 bear to see you in that posture. The least irregularity 
 of the sea might plunge you overboard.'''' 
 
 " You are highly inconsistent,'^ he replied, smiling, 
 but doing as I asked. ^' For all that, Mackellar, I 
 would have you to know you have risen forty feet in my 
 esteem. You think I cannot set a price upon fidelity ? 
 But why do you suppose I carry that Secundra Dass 
 about the world with me? Because he would die or 
 do murder for me to-morrow; and I love him for it. 
 Well, you may think it odd, but I like you the better 
 for this afternoon's performance. I thought you were 
 magnetised with the Ten Commandments ; but no — God 
 damn my soul ! " — he cries, '' the old wife has blood in 
 his body after all ! Which does not change the fact," 
 he continued, smiling again, '^ that you have done well 
 to give your promise; for I doubt if you would ever 
 shine in your new trade." 
 
 '^ I suppose/' said I, " I should ask your pardon and 
 
247 
 
 God's for my attempt. At any rate^ I have passed my 
 word^ wliich I will keep faithfull3^ But when I think 
 of those you persecute '* I paused. 
 
 "■ Life is a singular thing/' said he, ^^ and mankind a 
 very singular people. You suppose yourself to love my 
 brother. I assure you_, it is merely custom. Interrogate 
 your memory; and when first you came to Durrisdeer, 
 you will find you considered him a dull, ordinary youth. 
 He is as dull and ordinary now, though not so young 
 Had you instead fallen in with me, you would to-day be 
 as strong upon my side." 
 
 " I would never say you were ordinary, Mr. Bally,'' 
 I returned ; ^^ but here you prove yourself dull. You 
 have just shown your reliance on my word. In other 
 terms, that is my conscience — the same which starts 
 instinctively back from you, like the eye from a strong 
 light." 
 
 '^ Ah ! " says he, ^' but I mean otherwise. I mean, 
 had I met you in my youth. You are to consider I was 
 not always as I am to-day; nor (had I met in with a 
 friend of your description) should I have ever been so." 
 
 ^' Hut, Mr. Bally," says I, '^ you would have made a 
 mock of me ; you would never have spent ten civil words 
 on such a Square-toes." 
 
 But he was now fairly started on his new course of 
 justification, with which he wearied me throughout the 
 remainder of the passage. No doubt in the past he had 
 iaken pleasure to paint himself unnecessarily black, and 
 
M8 . THE MA.STER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 made a vaunt of his wickedness, bearing it for a coat-of- 
 arms. Nor was he so illogical as to abate one item of 
 his old confessions. " But now that I know you are a 
 human being/^ he would say, " I can take the trouble 
 fco explain myself. For I assure you I am human, too, 
 and have my virtues, like my neighbours.^' I say, he 
 wearied me, for I had only the one word to say in 
 answer : twenty times I must have said it : " Give up 
 your present purpose and return with me to Durrisdeer ; 
 then I will believe you.'' 
 
 Thereupon he would shake his head at me. " Ah ! 
 Mackellar, you might live a thousand years and never 
 understand my nature," he would say. '^ This battle is 
 now committed, the hour of reflection quite past, the 
 hour for mercy not yet come. It began between us when 
 we span a coin in the hall of Durrisdeer, now twenty 
 years ago ; we have had our ups and downs, but never 
 either of us dreamed of giving in ; and as for me, when 
 my glove is cast, life and honour go with it."" 
 
 " A fig for your honour ! " I would say. " And by 
 your leave, these warlike similitudes are something too 
 high-sounding for the matter in hand. You want some 
 dirty money; there is the bottom of your contention; 
 and as for your means, what are they ? to stir up sorrow 
 in a family that never harmed you, to debauch (if you 
 can) your own nephew, and to wring the heart of 
 your born brother ! A footpad that kills an old granny 
 in a woollen mutch with a dirty bludgeon, and that for 
 
MR. MACKELLAll's JOURNEY. 249 
 
 a shilling'-piece and a paper of snuff — there is all the 
 warrior that you are." 
 
 When I would attack him thus (or somewhat thus) 
 he would smile^ and sigh like a man misunderstood. 
 Once, I remember, he defended himself more at large, 
 and had some curious sophistries, worth repeating, for a 
 light upon his character. 
 
 '^ You are very like a civilian to think war consists 
 in drums and banners/'' said he. '^War (as the ancients 
 said very wisely) is ultima ratio. When we take our 
 advantage unrelentingly, then we make war. Ah ! Mac- 
 kellar, you are a devil of a soldier in the steward^s room 
 at Durrisdeer, or the tenants do you sad injustice ! " 
 
 '^I think little of what war is or is not," I replied. 
 " But you weary me with claiming my respect. Your 
 brother is a good man, and you are a bad one — neither 
 more nor less." 
 
 '*■ Had I been Alexander " he began. 
 
 '' It is so we all dupe ourselves,'''' I cried. " Had I 
 been St. Paul, it would have been all one; I would have 
 made the same hash of that career that you now see me 
 making of my own.^' 
 
 '^ I tell you,^'' he cried, bearing down my interruption, 
 " had I been the least petty chieftain in the Highlands, 
 had I been the least king of naked negroes in the African 
 desert, my people would have adored me. A bad man^ 
 am I ? Ah ! but I was born for a good tyrant ! Ask 
 Secundra Dass ; he wdl tell you I treat him like a son. 
 
250 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Cast in your lot with me to-morrow^ become my slave, 
 my chattel^ a thing I can command as I command the 
 powers of my own limbs and spirit — you will see no 
 more that dark side that I turn upon the world in anger. 
 I must have all or none . But where all is given, I give 
 it back with usury. I have a kingly nature : there is 
 my loss ! " 
 
 '' It has been hitherto rather the loss of others/^ I 
 remarked, ^' which seems a little on the hither side of 
 royalty/' 
 
 " Tilly- vally ! " cried he. *^ Even now, I tell you, I 
 would spare that family in which you take so great 
 an interest: yes, even now — to-morrow I would leave 
 them to their petty welfare, and disappear in that 
 forest of cut-throats and thimble-riggers that we call 
 the world. I would do it to-morrow ! '^ says he. '^ Only 
 -only- '' 
 
 "Only what? '■' I asked. 
 
 " Only they must beg it on their bended knees. I 
 think in public, too/"* he added, smiling. '''Indeed, 
 Mackellar, I doubt if there be a hall big enough to 
 serve my purpose for that act of reparation."*' 
 
 "Vanity, vanity!'' I moralised. "To think that 
 this great force for evil should be swayed by the same 
 sentiment that sets a lassie mincing to her glass I '' 
 
 " Oh ! there are double words for everything : the 
 word that swells, the word that belittles ; you cannot 
 fio:ht me with a word ! " said he. *' You said the other 
 
251 
 
 day that I relied on your conscience : were I in your 
 humour of detraction, I might say I built upon your 
 vanity. It is your pretension to be im homme de parole ; 
 'tis mine not to accept defeat. Call it vanity, call it 
 virtue, call it greatness of soul — what signifies the 
 expression? But recognise in each of us a common 
 strain : that we both live for an idea/'' 
 
 It will be gathered from so much familiar talk, and 
 60 much patience on both sides, that we now lived 
 together upon excellent terms. Such was again the 
 fact, and this time more seriously than before. Apart 
 from disputations such as that which I have tried to 
 reproduce, not only consideration reigned, but, I am 
 tempted to say, even kindness. When I fell sick (as I 
 did shortly after our great storm), he sat by my berth 
 to entertain me with his conversation, and treated me 
 with excellent remedies, which I accepted with security. 
 Himself commented on the circumstance. ^' You see,^' 
 gays he, ''^you begin to know me better. A very little 
 while ago, upon this lonely ship, where no one but 
 myself has any smattering of science, you would have 
 made sure I had designs upon your life. And, observe, 
 it is since I found you had designs upon my own, that 
 I have shown you most respect. You will tell me if 
 this speaks of a small mind.''"' I found little to reply. 
 In so far as regarded myself, I believed him to mean 
 well j I am, perhaps, the more a dupe of his dissimu- 
 lation, but I believed (and I still believe) that he 
 
252 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 regarded me with genuine kindness. Singular and sad 
 fact! so soon as this change began, my animosity 
 abated, and these haunting visions o£ my master passed 
 utterly away. So that, perhaps, there was truth in the 
 man^s last vaunting word to me, uttered on the second 
 day of July, when our long voyage was at last brought 
 almost to an end, and we lay becalmed at the sea end of 
 the vast harbour of New York, in a gasping heat, which 
 was presently exchanged for a surprising waterfall of 
 rain. I stood on the poop, regarding the green shores 
 near at hand, and now and then the light smoke o£ the 
 little town, our destination. And as I was even then 
 devising how to steal a march on my familiar enemy, I 
 was conscious of a shade of embarrassment when he 
 approached me with his hand extended. 
 
 ^' I am now to bid you farewell/^ said he, " and that 
 for ever. For now you go among my enemies, where all 
 your former prejudices will revive. I never yet failed 
 to charm a person when I wanted ; even you, my good 
 friend — to call you so for once — even you have now a 
 very different portrait of me in your memory, and one 
 that you will never quite forget. The voyage has not 
 lasted long enough, or ^_^idd biLve wrote the impjes^ 
 sion deeper. But now all is at an end, and we are again 
 at war. Judge by this little interlude how dangerous I 
 am ; and tell those fools ''—pointing with his finger to 
 the town — ''to think twice and thrice before they set 
 me at defiance/* 
 
253 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 
 
 I HAVE mentioned I was resolved to steal a march 
 upon the Master ; and this, with the complicity o£ Cap- 
 tain McMurtrie, was mighty easily effected : a boat being 
 partly loaded on the one side of our ship and the Master 
 placed on board of it, the while a skiff put off from 
 the other, carryii.g me alone. I had no more trouble in 
 finding a direction to my lord^s house, whither I went 
 at top speed, and which I found to be on the outskirts 
 of the place, a very suitable mansion, in a fine garden, 
 with an extraordinary large barn, byre, and stable, all in 
 one. It was here my lord was walking when I arrived ; 
 indeed, it had become his chief place of frequentation, 
 and his mind was now filled with farming. I burst in 
 upon him breathless, and gave him my news : which was 
 indeed no news at all, several ships having outsailed the 
 Nonesuch in the interval. 
 
 We have been expecting you long,"*^ said my lord ; 
 '''and indeed, of late days, ceased to expect you any 
 more. I am glad to take your hand again, Mackellar. 
 I thought you had been at the bottom of the sea.'''' 
 
 "■ Ah ! my lord, would God I had ! '' cried I. " Things 
 would have been better for yourself." 
 
254 THE MASTER OK BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '' Not in the least/^ says lie, grimly. ^^ I could not ask 
 better. There is a long score to pay, and now — at last 
 — I can begin to pay it.^' 
 
 I cried out against his security. 
 
 " Oh ! '' says he, " this is not Durrisdeer, and I hav(? 
 taken my precautions. His -reputation awaits him ; 1 
 have prepared a welcome for my brother. Indeed, fortune 
 has served me ; for I found here a merchant of Albany 
 who knew him after the ''45 and had mighty convenient 
 suspicions of a murder : some one of the name of Chew 
 it was, another Albanian. No one here will be surprised 
 if I deny him my door; he will not be suffered to 
 address my children, nor even to salute my wife : as for 
 myself, I make so much exception for a brother that he 
 may speak to me. I should lose my pleasure else,'' 
 says my lord, rubbing his palms. 
 
 Presently he bethought himself, and set men off run- 
 ning, with billets, to summon the magnates of the pro- 
 vince. I cannot recall what pretext he employed; at 
 least, it was successful; and when our ancient enemy 
 appeared upon the scene, he found my lord pacing in 
 front of his house under some trees of shade, with the 
 Governor upon one hand and various notables upon the 
 other. My lady, who was seated in the verandah, rose 
 with a very pinched expression and carried her children 
 into the house. 
 
 The Master, well dressed and with an elegant walking- 
 sword, bowed to the company in a handsome manner and 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YOUK. 255 
 
 nodded to my lord with familiarity. My lord did not 
 accept the salutation, but looked upon his brother with 
 bended brows. 
 
 ^' Well, sir/^ says he, at last, '^ what ill wind brings 
 you hither of all places, where (to our common disgrace) 
 your reputation has preceded you ? '^ 
 
 ^' Your lordship is plet^sed to be civil,^-' cries the 
 Master, with a fine start. 
 
 " I am pleased to be very plain,^^ returned my lord ; 
 "because it is needful you should clearly understand 
 your situation. At home, where you were so little 
 known, it was still possible to keep appearances; that 
 would be quite vain in this province; and I have to 
 tell you that I am quite resolved to wash my hands of 
 you. You have already ruined me almost to the door, 
 as you ruined my father before me ; — whose heart you 
 also broke. Your crimes escape the law; but my 
 friend th«. Governor has promised protection to my 
 family. Have a care, sir ! ''■' cries my lord, shaking his 
 cane at him : '^ if you are observed to utter two words to 
 any of my innocent household, the law shall be stretched 
 to make you smart for it.'''' 
 
 " Ah ! '' says the Master, very slowly. " And so this 
 is the advantage of a foreign land ! These gentlemen are 
 unacquainted with our story, I perceive. They do not 
 know that I am the Lord Durrisdeer ; they do not know 
 you are my younger brother, sitting in my place under a 
 sworn family compact; they do not know (or they would 
 
256 THE MASTER OF BALLANTllAE. 
 
 not be seen with you in familiar correspondence) that 
 every acre is mine before God Almighty — and every doit 
 of the money you withhold from me^ you do it as a thief, 
 a perjurer, and a disloyal brother ! '' 
 
 " General Clinton/-' I cried, " do not listen to his 
 lies. I am the steward of the estate, and there is not 
 one word of truth in it. The man is a forfeited rebel 
 turned into a hired spy : there is his story in t^^o words.''' 
 
 It was thus that (in the heat of the moment) T let 
 slip his infamy. 
 
 '' Fellow," said the Governor, turning his face sternly 
 on the Master, " I know more of you than you think 
 for. We have some broken ends of your adventures in 
 the provinces, which you will do very well not to drive 
 me to investigate. There is the disappearance of Mr. 
 Jacob Chew with all his merchandise; there is the 
 matter of where you came ashore from with so much 
 money and jewels, when you were picked up by a Ber- 
 mudan out of Albany. Believe me, if I let these matters 
 lie, it is in commiseration for your family and out 
 of respect for my valued friend. Lord Durrisdeer.^'' 
 
 There was a murmur of applause from the pro- 
 vincials. 
 
 " I should have remembered how a title would shine 
 out in such a hole as this,-*' says the Master, white as a 
 sheet : ^' no matter how unjustly come by. It remains 
 for me, then, to die at my lord^s door, where my dead 
 bodv will form a very cheerful ornament.'''' 
 
I 
 
 PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 257 
 
 " Away with your affectations ! ''■' cries my lord. 
 ^' You. know very well I have no such meaning; only 
 to protect myself from calumny,, and my home from 
 your intrusion. I offer you a choice. Either I shall 
 pay your passage home on the first ship^ when you may 
 perhaps he able to resume your occupations under 
 Government, although God knows I would rather see 
 you on the highway ! Or, if that likes you not, stay 
 here and welcome ! I have inquired the least sum on 
 which body and soul can be decently kept together in 
 New York; so much you shall have, paid weekly; and 
 if you cannot labour with your hands to better it, high 
 time you should betake yourself to learn. The condition 
 is — that you speak with no member of my family except 
 my self ,^'' he added. 
 
 I do not think 1 have ever seen any man so pale aa 
 was the Master ; but he was erect and his mouth firm. 
 
 " I have been met here with some very unmerited 
 insults,''^ said he, '^ from which I have certainly no idea 
 to take refuge by flight. Give me your pittance; I 
 take it without shame, for it is mine already — like the 
 shirt upon your back ; and I choose to stay until these 
 gentlemen shall understand me better. Already they 
 must spy the cloven hoof, since with all your pretended 
 eagerness for the family honour, you take a pleasure to 
 degrade it in my person.'''' 
 
 "This is all very fine,^^ says my lord; "but to us who 
 know you of old, you must be sure it signifies nothing. 
 
 E 
 
'^58 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTEAE. 
 
 You take that alternative out of which you think that 
 you can make the most. Take it, if you can^ in silence ; 
 it will serve you better in the long run, you may believe 
 me, than this ostentation of ingratitude/^ 
 
 " Oh, gratitude, my lord ! '''' cries the Master, with a 
 mounting intonation and his forefinger very conspicu- 
 ously lifted up. '^ Be at rest : it will not fail you. It 
 now remains that I should salute these gentlemen whom 
 we have wearied with our family affairs.'" 
 
 And he bowed to each in succession, settled his walk- 
 ing-sword, and took himself off, leaving every one 
 amazed at his behaviour, and me not less so at my lord''s. 
 
 We were now to enter on a changed phase of this 
 family division. The Master was by no manner of 
 mieans so helpless as my lord supposed, having at his 
 hand, and entirely devoted to his service, an excellent 
 artist in aU sorts of goldsmith work. With my lord^s 
 allowance, which was not so scanty as he had described 
 it, the pair could support life ; and all the earnings of 
 Secundra Dass might be laid upon one side for any 
 future purpose. That this was done, I have no doubt. 
 It was in all likelihood the Master's design la gather a 
 sufficiency, and then proceed in quest of that treasure 
 which he had buried long before among the mountains ; 
 to which, if he had confined himself, he would have 
 been more happily inspired. But unfortunately for 
 himself and all of us, he took counsel of his anger. 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YOUK. 259 
 
 The public disgrace of his arrival — which I sometimes 
 wonder he could manage to survive — rankled in his 
 bones; he was in that humour when a man — in the 
 words of the old adage — will crut off his nose to spite 
 his face ; and he must make himself a public spectacle 
 in the hopes that some of the disgrace might spatter on 
 my lord. 
 
 He chosC;, in a poor quarter of the town^ a lonely, 
 small house of boards, overhung with some acacias. 
 It was furnished in front with a sort of hutch opening, 
 like that of a dog's kennel, but about as high as a table 
 from the ground, in which the poor man that built it 
 had formerly displayed some wares; and it was this 
 which took the Master's fancy and possibly suggested 
 his proceedings. It appears, on board the pirate ship 
 he had acquired some quickness with the needle — 
 enough, at least, to play the part of tailor in the public 
 eye ; which was all that was required by the nature of 
 his vengeance. A placard was hung above the hutch, 
 bearing these words in something of the following dis- 
 position : 
 Y James Durie, 
 
 FORMERLY MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 Clothes Neatly Clouted. 
 
 SECUNDRA DASS, 
 
 Decayed Gentleman of India. 
 fine goldsmith work. 
 
^6-0 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 Underneath this^ when he had a job^ my gentleman 
 sat withinside tailor-wise and busily stitching. I say, 
 when he had a job ; but such customers as came were 
 rather for Secundra^ and the Master^s sewing would 
 be more in the manner of Penelope's. He could never 
 have designed to gain even butter to his bread by such 
 a means of livelihood : enough for him that there was 
 the name of Durie dragged in the dirt on the placard, 
 and the sometime heir of that proud family set up 
 cross-legged in public for a reproach upon his brother's 
 meanness. And in so far his device succeeded that 
 there was murmuring in the town and a party formed 
 highly inimical to my lord. My lord-'s favour with the 
 Governor laid him more open on the other side ; my 
 lady (who was never so well received in the colony) met 
 with painful innuendoes ; in a party of women, where it 
 would be the topic most natural to introduce, she was 
 almost debarred from the naming of needle-work; and I 
 have seen her retm-n with a flushed countenance and vow 
 that she would go abroad no more. 
 
 In the meanwhile my lord dwelled in his decent 
 mansion, immersed in farming; a popular man with 
 his intimates, and careless or unconscious of the rest. 
 He laid on flesh ; had a bright, busy face ; even the heat 
 seemed to prosper with him ; and my lady — in despite 
 of her own annoyances — daily blessed Heaven her father 
 should have left her such a paradise. She had looked 
 on from a window upon the Master's humiliation; 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 261 
 
 and from that hour appeared to feel at ease. I was 
 not so sure myself; as thne went on^ there seemed 
 to me a something not quite wholesome in my lord^s 
 condition. Happy he was, beyond a doubt, but the 
 grounds of this felicity were secret ; even in the bosom 
 of his family he brooded with manifest delight upon 
 some private thought ; and I conceived at last the sus- 
 picion (quite unworthy of us both) that he kept a 
 mistress somewhere in the town. Yet he went little 
 abroad, and his day was very fully occupied; indeed, 
 there was but a single period, and that pretty early in 
 the morning, while Mr. Alexander was at his lesson- 
 book, of which I was not certain of the disposition. 
 It should be borne in mind, in the defence of that 
 which I now did, that I was always in some fear my 
 lord was not quite justly in his reason ; and with our 
 enemy sitting so still in the same town with us, I did 
 well to be upon my guard. Accordingly I made a pre- 
 text, had the hour changed at which I taught Mr. Alex- 
 and-er the foundation of cyphering and the mathematic, 
 and set myself instead to dog my master^s footsteps. 
 
 Every morning, fair or foul, he took his gold-headed 
 cane, set his hat on the back of his head — a recent 
 habitude, whicb I thought to indicate a burning brow — 
 and betook himself to make a certain circuit. At the 
 first his way was among pleasant trees and beside a 
 graveyard, where he would sit awhile, if the day were 
 fine, in meditation. Presently the path turned down to 
 
262 THE MASTER OF BALLANTllAE, 
 
 the waterside^ and came back along the harbour-front 
 and past the Master's booth. As he approached this 
 second part of his ch'cuit, my Lord Durrisdeer began 
 to pace more leisurely, like a man delighted with the 
 air and scene ; and before the booth, half-way between 
 that and the water's edge, would pause a little, leaning 
 on his staff. It was the hour when the Master sate 
 within upon his board and plied his needle. So these 
 two brothers would gaze upon each other with hard 
 faces; and then my lord move on again, smiling to 
 himself. 
 
 It was but twice that I must stoop to that ungrateful 
 necessity of playing spy. I was then certain of my 
 lord's purpose in his rambles and of the secret source 
 of his delight. Here was his mistress : it was hatred 
 and not love that gave him healthful colours. Some 
 moralists might have been relieved by the discovery ; I 
 confess that I was dismayed. I found this situation of 
 two brethren not only odious in itself, but big with 
 possibilities of further evil ; and I made it my practice, 
 in so far as many occupations would allow, to go by a 
 shorter path and be secretly present at their meeting. 
 Coming down one day a little late, after I had been 
 near a week prevented, I was struck with surprise to 
 find a new development. I should say there was a 
 bench against the Master's house, where customers 
 might sit to parley with the shopman; and here I 
 found my lord seated, nursing his cane and looking 
 
NEITIIKK SI'OKE; NOK DID MY f.ORD SO MUCH AS CAST A GLANCE 
 UPON HIS ENEMY. 
 
 (;;. 2G3.) 
 
t 
 
 i 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 
 
 263 
 
 pleasantly forth upon the bay. Not three feet from 
 him sate the Master, stitching. Neither spoke ; nor (in 
 this new situation) did my lord so much as cast a glance 
 upon his enemy. He tasted his neighbourhood, I must 
 f suppose, less indirectly in the bare proximity of person; 
 and, without doubt, drank deep of hateful pleasures. 
 
 He had no sooner come away than I openly joined him. 
 
 " My lord, my lord,^' said I, '^ this is no manner of 
 behaviour/^ 
 
 ••' I grow fat upon it,'"* he replied ; and not merely 
 the words, which were strange enough, but the whole 
 character of his expression, shocked me. 
 
 ^^ I warn you, my lord, against this indulgency of evil 
 feeling,^^ said I. ^^ I know not to which it is more 
 perilous, the soul or the reason ; but you go the way to 
 murder both.^-' 
 
 *' You cannot understand,''^ said he. " You had never 
 such mountains of bitterness upon your heart.'"' 
 
 '^ And if it were no more,'"* I added, " you will surely 
 goad the man to some extremity.'"' 
 
 ^^To the contrary; I am breaking his spirit,"" says 
 my lord. 
 
 Every morning for hard upon a week my lord took 
 his same place upon the bench. It was a pleasant place, 
 under the green acacias, with a sight upon the bay and 
 shipping, and a sound (from some way off) of mariners 
 singing at their employ. Here the two sate without 
 
264 THE MASTEU OF BALLANTHAE. 
 
 speech or any external movement^ beyond that of the 
 needle or the Master biting off a thread, for he still 
 clung to his pretence of industry; and here I made a 
 point to join themj wondering at myself and my com- 
 panions. If any of my lord^s friends went by, he would 
 hail them cheerfully, and cry out he was there to give 
 some good advice to his brother, who was now (to his 
 delight) grown quite industrious. And even this the 
 Master accepted with a steady countenance ; what was 
 in his mind, God knows, or perhaps Satan only. 
 
 All of a sudden, on a still day of what they call the 
 Indian Summer, when the woods were changed into 
 gold and pink and scarlet, the Master laid down his 
 needle and burst into a fit of merriment. I think he 
 must have been preparing it a long while in silence, 
 for the note in itself was pretty naturally pitched ; but 
 breaking suddenly from so extreme a silence, and in cir- 
 cumstances so averse from mirth, it sounded ominously 
 on my ear. 
 
 '^ Henry,''^ said he, ^' 1 have for once made a false step, 
 and for once you have had the wit to profit by it. The 
 farce of the cobbler ends to-day ; and I confess to you 
 (with my compliments) that you have had the best of it. 
 Blood will out ; and you have certainly a choice idea of 
 how to make yourself unpleasant."*' 
 
 Never a word said my lord ; it was just as though the 
 Master had not broken silence. 
 
 " Come,'' resumed the Master, " do not be sulky ; it 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 265 
 
 will spoil your attitude. You can now afford (believe 
 me) to be a little gracious ; for I have not merely a de- 
 feat to accejot. I had meant to continue this performance 
 till I had gathered enough money for a certain purpose ; 
 I confess ingenuously, I have not the courage. You 
 naturally desire my absence from this town; I have 
 come round by another way to the same idea. And I 
 have a proposition to make ; or, if your lordship prefers, 
 a favour to ask.'^ 
 
 " Ask it," says my lord. 
 
 '^You may have heard that I had once in this 
 country a considerable treasure," returned the Master ; 
 '^ it matters not whether or no — such is the fact ; and 
 I was obliged to bury it in a spot of which I have 
 sufficient indications. To the recovery of this, has my 
 ambition now come down ; and, as it is my own, you 
 will not grudge it me." 
 
 ''Go and get it," says my lord. ''I make no 
 opposition."*' 
 
 '' Yes," said the Master ; " but to do so, I must find 
 men and carriage. The way is long and rough, and the 
 country infested with wild Indians. Advance me only 
 so much as shall be needful : either as a lump sum, in 
 lieu of my allowance; or, if you prefer it, as a loan, 
 which I shall repay on my return. And then, if you so 
 decide, you may have seen the last of me." 
 
 My lord stared him steadily in the eyes ; there was a 
 hard smile upon his face, but he uttered nothing. 
 
2QQ THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " Heniy/^ said the Master, with a f ormidabL^ quiet-' 
 ness_, and drawing at the same time somewhat back — 
 *^ Henry, I had the honour to address you/' 
 
 ''^Let us be stepping homeward/' says my lord to 
 me, who was plucking at his sleeve ; and with that he 
 rose, stretched himself, settled his hat, and still without 
 a syllable of response, began to walk steadily along the 
 shore. 
 
 I hesitated awhile between the two brothers, so 
 serious a climax did we seem to have reached. But 
 the Master had resumed his occupation, his eyes 
 lowered, his hand seemingly as deft as ever; and I 
 decided to pursue my lord. 
 
 ^^ Are you mad ? ''■' I cried, so soon as I had overtook 
 him. " Would you cast away so fair an opportunity ? '^ 
 
 '^Is it possible you should still believe in him?''' 
 mquired my lord, almost with a sneer. 
 
 " I wish him forth of this town!"" I cried. "I wish 
 him anywhere and anyhow but as he is.'' 
 
 '^ I have said my say," returned my lord, '^ and you 
 have said yours. There let it rest." 
 
 But I was bent on dislodging the Master. That 
 sight of him patiently returning to his needlework was 
 more than my imagination could digest. There was 
 never a man made, and the Master the least of any, that 
 could accept so long a series of insults. The air smelt 
 blood to me. And I vowed there should be no neglect 
 of mine if, through any chink of possibility, crime 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 267 
 
 could be yet turned aside. That same day^ therefore, 
 I came to my lord in his business room, where he sat 
 upon some trivial occupation. 
 
 " My lord/^ said I, '^ I have found a suitable invest- 
 ment for my small economies. But these are unhappily 
 in Scotland; it will take some time to lift them, and 
 the affair presses. Could your lordship see his way to 
 advance me the amount against my note ? '' 
 
 He read me awhile with keen eyes. '^ I have never 
 inquired into tlie state of your affairs, Mackellar," says 
 he. "Beyond the amount of your caution, you may 
 not be worth a farthing, for what I know.'"' 
 
 " I have been a long while in your service, and never 
 -told a lie, nor yet asked a favour for myself,^^ said I, 
 " until to-day.'' 
 
 '^A favour for the Master,'' he returned, quietly. 
 " Do you take me for a fool, Mackellar ? Understand 
 it once and for all, I treat this beast in my own way ; 
 fear nor favour shall not move me; and before I am 
 hood\vinked, it will require a trickster less transparent 
 than yourself. I ask service, loyal service; not that 
 you should make and mar behind my back, and steal 
 my own money to defeat me." 
 
 "My lord," said I, "these are very unpardonable 
 expressions." 
 
 "Think once more, Mackellar," he rephed; "and 
 you will see they fit the fact. It is your own subter- 
 
 kfuge that is unpardonable. Deny (if you can) that yon 
 
268 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 designed this money to evade my orders with^ and I will 
 ask your pardon freely. I£ you cannot, you must have 
 the resolution to hear your conduct go by its own name/' 
 
 " If you think I had any design but to save 
 you '^ I began. 
 
 ^' Oh ! my old friend/'' said he, " you know very well 
 what I think ! Here is my hand to you with all my 
 heart ; but of money, not one rap/' 
 
 Defeated upon this side, I went straight to my 
 room, wrote a letter, ran with it to the harbour, for I 
 knew a ship was on the point of sailing ; and came to 
 the Master's door a little before dusk. Entering with- 
 out the form of any knock, I found him sitting with 
 his Indian at a simple meal of maize porridge with some 
 milk. The house within was clean and poor; only a 
 few books upon a shelf distinguished it, and (in one 
 corner) Secundra's little bench. 
 
 " Mr. Bally ,^'' said I, " I have near five hundred 
 pounds laid by in Scotland, the economies of a hard life. 
 A letter goes by yon ship to have it lifted. Have so 
 much patience till the return ship comes in, and it is all 
 yours, upon the same condition you offered to my lord 
 this morning.'''' 
 
 He rose from the table, came forward, took me by 
 the shoulders, and looked me in the face, smiling. 
 
 '^ And yet you are very fond of money ! '''' said he. 
 " And yet you love money beyond all things else, 
 except my brother ! " 
 
PASSAGES AT NLW YORK. 269 
 
 " 1 fear old age and poverty/^ said 1^ '' which is 
 another matter/^ 
 
 " I will never quarrel for a name. Call it so/'' he 
 replied. '^ Ah ! Mackellar, Mackellar, if this were done 
 from any love to me, how gladly would I close upon 
 your offer ! '' 
 
 '' And yet/"* I eagerly answered — '* I say it to my 
 shame, but I cannot see you in this poor place without 
 compunction. It is not my single though t, nor my 
 first ; and yet iVs there ! I would gladly see you de- 
 livered. I do not offer it in love, and far from that; 
 butj as God judges me — and I wonder at it too ! — quite 
 without enmity." 
 
 " Ah ! ■'■' says he, still holding my shoulders, and now 
 gently shaking me, ^' you think of me more than you 
 suppose. ^ And I wonder at it too/ '* he added, repeating 
 my expression and, I suppose, something of my voice. 
 ^' You are an honest man^ and for that cause I spare you.'' 
 
 " Spare me ? ^^ I cried. 
 
 '^ Spare you,'' he repeated, letting me go and turning 
 away. And then, fronting me once more : ^' You little 
 know what I would do with it, Mackellar ! Did you 
 think I had swallowed my defeat indeed ? Listen : my 
 life has been a series of unmerited cast-backs. That 
 fool, Prince Charlie, mismanaged a most promising 
 affair : there fell my first fortune. In Paris I had my 
 foot once more high upon the ladder : that time it was 
 an accident ; a letter came to the wrong hand, and I was 
 
kJ70 THE M.iSTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 bare again. A third time, I found my opportunity; 
 I built up a place for myself in India with an infinite 
 patience; and then Clive came, my rajah was swallowed 
 up, and I escaped out of the convulsion, like another 
 i^neas, with Secundra Dass upon my back. Three times 
 I have had my hand upon the highest station: and I am 
 not yet three-and-forty. I know the world as few men 
 know it when they come to die — Court and camp, the 
 East and the West ; I know where to go, I see a thou- 
 sand openings. I am now at the height of my resources, 
 sound of health, of inordinate ambition. Well, all this 
 I resign ; I care not if I die, and the world never hear of 
 me; I care only for one thing, and that I will have. 
 Mind yourself ; lest, when the roof falls, you, too, should 
 be crushed under the ruins." 
 
 As I came out of his house, all hope of intervention 
 quite destroyed, I was aware of a stir on the harbour- 
 side, and, raising my eyes, there was a great ship newly 
 come to anchor. It seems strange I could have looked 
 upon her with so much indifference, for she brought 
 death to the brothers of Durrisdeer. After all the 
 desperate episodes of this contention, the insults, the 
 opposing interests, the fraternal duel in the shrubbery, 
 it was reserved for some poor devil in Grub Street, scrib- 
 bling for his dinner, and not caring what he scribbled, 
 to cast a spell across four thousand miles of the salt sea, 
 and send forth both these brothers into savage and 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 271 
 
 wintry deserts^ there to die. But such a thought was 
 distant from my mind ; and while all the provincials 
 were fluttered about me by the unusual animation of 
 their port^ I passed throughout their midst on my 
 return homeward, quite absorbed in the recollection 
 of my visit and the Master^s speech. 
 
 The same night there was brought to us from the 
 ship a little packet of pamphlets. The next day my 
 lord was under engagement to go with the Governor 
 upon some party of pleasure ; the time was nearly due, 
 and I left him for a moment alone in his room and 
 skimming through the pamphlets. When I returned_, 
 his head had fallen upon the table^ his arms lying 
 abroad amongst the crumpled papers. 
 
 " My lord^ my lord ! '' I cried as I ran forward, for 
 I supposed he was in some fit. 
 
 He sprang up like a figure upon wires, his counte- 
 nance deformed with fury, so that in a strange place I 
 should scarce have known him. His hand at the same 
 time flew above his head, as though to strike me down. 
 '^ Leave me alone ! '''' he screeched, and I fled, as fast 
 as my shaking legs would bear me, for my lady. She, 
 too, lost no time ; but when we returned, he had the 
 door locked within, and only cried to us from the other 
 side to leave him be. We looked in each other^s faces, 
 very white — each supposing the blow had come at last. 
 
 " I will write to the Governor to excuse him,''-' says 
 she. '' We must keep our strong friends.''"' But when 
 
272 THE MASTER OF BALLAXTRAE. 
 
 she took up the pen, it flew out of her fingers. " I 
 cannot write/"* said she. " Can you ? '^ 
 
 *' I will make a shift, my lady/^ said I. 
 
 She looked over me as I wrote. " That will do/' 
 she said, when I had done. " Thank God, Mackellar, I 
 have you to lean upon ! But what can it be now ? 
 What, what can it be ? " 
 
 In my own mind, I believed there was no explanation 
 possible, and none required ; it was my fear that the 
 man's madness had now simply burst forth its way, like 
 the long- smothered flames of a volcano ; but to this (in 
 mere mercy to my lady) I durst not give expression. 
 
 ^^ It is more to the purpose to consider our own be- 
 haviour,^' said I. " Must we leave him there alone ? " 
 
 ^' I do not dare disturb him," she replied. ^^ Nature 
 may know best; it may be Nature that cries to be 
 alone; and we grope in the dark. Oh yes, I would 
 leave him as he is." 
 
 ^' I will, then, despatch this letter, my lady, and 
 return here, if you please, to sit with you," said I. 
 
 " Pray do," cries my lady. 
 
 All afternoon we sat together, mostly in silence, 
 watching my lord's door. My own mind was busy with 
 the scene that had just passed, and its singular resem- 
 blance to my vision. I must say a word upon this, for 
 the story has gone abroad with great exaggeration, and 
 I have even seen it printed, and my own name referred to 
 for particulars. So much was the same : here was my 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 273 
 
 lord in a room^ with his head upon the table, and when 
 he raised his face, it wore such an expression as distressed 
 me to the soul. But the room was different, my lord's 
 attitude at the table not at all the same, and his face, 
 when he disclosed it, expressed a painful degree of fury 
 instead of that haunting despair which had always (except 
 once, already referred to) characterised it in the vision. 
 There is the whole truth at last before the public ; and if 
 the differences be great, the coincidence was yet enough 
 to fill me with uneasiness. All afternoon, as I say, I 
 sat and pondered upon this quite to myself ; for my lady 
 had trouble of her own, and it was my last thought to 
 vex her with fancies. About the midst of our time of 
 waiting, she conceived an ingenious scheme, had Mr. 
 Alexander fetched, and bid him knock at his father's 
 door. My lord sent the boy about his business, but with- 
 out the least violence, whether of manner or expression ; 
 so that I began to entertain a hope the fit was over. 
 
 At last, as the night fell and I was lighting a lamp that 
 stood there trimmed, the door opened and my lord stood 
 within upon the threshold. The light was not so strong 
 that we could read his countenance; when he spoke, 
 methought his voice a little altered but yet perfectly 
 steady. 
 
 ^^ Mackellar,'''' said he, " carry this note to its desti- 
 nation with your own hand. It is highly private. Find 
 the person alone when you deliver it.^*' 
 
 " Henry/' says my lady, '' you are not ill ? ^' 
 
jJ74 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 *' No, no/^ says he, querulously, '' I am occupied. 
 Not at all ; I am only occupied. It is a singular thing 
 a man must be supposed to be ill when he has any busi- 
 ness ! Send me supper to this room^ and a basket oi 
 wine : I expect the visit of a friend. Otherwise I am 
 not to be disturbed.''^ 
 
 And with that he once more shut himself in. 
 
 The note was addressed to one Captain Harris, at a 
 tavern on the portside. I knew Harris (by reputation) 
 for a dangerous adventurer, highly suspected of piracy 
 in the past, and now following the rude business of an 
 Indian trader. What my lord should have to say to 
 him, or he to my lord, it passed my imagination to con- 
 ceive : or yet how my lord had heard of him, unless by 
 a disgraceful trial from which the man was recently 
 escaped. Altogether I went upon the errand with reluc- 
 tance, and from the little I saw of the captain, returned 
 from it with sorrow. I found him in a foul-smelling 
 chamber, sitting by a guttering candle and an empty 
 bottle; he had the remains of a military carriage, or 
 rather perhaps it was an affectation, for his manners 
 were low. 
 
 " Tell my lord, with my service, that I will wait upon 
 his lordship in the inside of half an hour,^"* says he, 
 when he had read the note ; and then had the servility, 
 pointing to his empty bottle, to propose that I should 
 buy him liquor. 
 
 Although I returned with my best speed, the Captain 
 
PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 275 
 
 followed close upon my heels^ and lie stayed late into the 
 night. The cock was crowing a second time when I saw 
 (from my chamber window) my lord lighting him to the 
 gate, both men very much affected with their potations^ 
 and sometimes leaning one upon the other to confabulate. 
 Yet the next morning my lord was abroad again early 
 with a hundred pounds of money in his pocket. I never 
 supposed that he returned with it ; and yet I was quite 
 sure it did not find its way to the Master, for I lingered 
 all morning within view of the booth. That was the last 
 time my Lord Durrisdeer passed his own enclosure till 
 we left New York ; he walked in his barn, or sat and 
 talked with his family, all much as usual ; but the town 
 saw notliing of him, and his daily visits to the Master 
 seemed forgotten. Nor yet did Harris reappear j or not 
 until the end. 
 
 I was now much oppressed with a sense of the 
 mysteries in which we had begun to move. It was plain, 
 if only from his change of habitude, my lord had some- 
 thing on his mind of a grave nature ; but what it was, 
 whence it sprang, or why he should now keep the house 
 and garden, I could make no guess at. It was clear, 
 even to probation, the pamphlets had some share in this 
 revolution ; I read all I could find, and they were all 
 extremely insignificant, and of the usual kind of party 
 scurrility ; even to a high politician, I could spy out no 
 particular matter of offence, and my lord was a man 
 rather indifferent on public questions. The truth is, 
 8 'Z 
 
'Z7Q THE xVIASTEE OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 the pamphlet which was the spring of this affair, lay 
 all the time on my lord^s bosom. There it was that 
 I found it at last, after he was dead, in the midst of 
 the north wilderness : in such a place, in such dismal 
 circumstances, I was to read for the first time these 
 idle, lying words of a Whig pamphleteer declaiming 
 against indulgency to Jacobites : — '^ Another notorious 
 
 Rebel, the if r of B e, is to have his Title 
 
 restored,^^ the passage ran. ^'This Business has been 
 long in hand, since he rendered some very disgrace- 
 ful Services in Scotland and France. His Brother, 
 Z d D r, is known to be no better than him- 
 self in Inclination; and the supposed Heir, who is 
 now to be set aside, was bred up in the most detest- 
 able Principles. In the old Phrase, it is siw of the 
 one and half a dozen of the other ; but the Favour of 
 such a Reposition is too extreme to be passed over.^' A 
 man in his right wits could not have cared two straws 
 for a tale so manifestly false ; that Government should 
 ever entertain the notion, was inconceivable to any 
 reasoning creature, unless possibly the fool that penned 
 it ; and my lord, though never brilliant, was ever remark- 
 able for sense. That he should credit such a rodo- 
 montade, and carry the pamphlet on his bosom and 
 the words in his heart, is the clear proof of the man's 
 lunacy. Doubtless the mere mention of Mr. Alexan- 
 der, and the threat directly held out against the 
 child's succession, precipitated that which had so long 
 
I 
 
 PASSAGES AT NEW YOllK. 277 
 
 impended. Or else my master had been truly mad for 
 a long time^ and we were too dull or too much used 
 to him, and did not perceive the extent of his infirmity. 
 
 About a week after the day of the pamphlets I was 
 late upon the harbour-side, and took a turn towards the 
 Ma sterns, as I often did. The door opened, a flood of 
 light came forth upon the road, and I beheld a man 
 taking hi^ departure with friendly salutations. I cannot 
 say how singularly I was shaken to recognise the adven- 
 turer Harris. I could not but conclude it was the hand 
 of my lord that had brought him there ; and prolonged 
 my walk in very serious and apprehensive thought. It 
 was late when I came home, and there was my lord 
 making up his portmanteau for a voyage. 
 
 ^' Why do you come so late ? " he cried. ^' We leave 
 to-morrow for Albany, you and I together; and it is 
 high time you were about your preparations/^ 
 
 " For Albany, my lord ? ^^ I cried. " And for what 
 earthly purpose ? " 
 
 '' Change of scene,^' said he. 
 
 And my lady, who appeared to have been weeping, 
 gave me the signal to obey without more parley. She 
 told me a little later (when we found occasion to 
 exchange some words) that he had suddenly announced 
 his intention after a visit from Captain Harris, and 
 her best endeavours, whether to dissuade him from the 
 journey, or to elicit some explanation of its purpose, had 
 alike proved unavailing. 
 
278 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 We made a prosperous voyage up that fine river of 
 the Hudson, the weather grateful, the hills singularly 
 beautified with the colours of the autumn. At Albany 
 we had our residence at an inn, where I was not so blind 
 and my lord not so cunning but what I could see he 
 had some design to hold me prisoner. The work he 
 found for me to do was not so pressing that we should 
 transact it apart from necessary papers in the chamber 
 of an inn ; nor was it of such importance that I should 
 be set upon as many as four or five scrolls of the same 
 document. I submitted in appearance; but I took 
 private measures on my own side, and had the news of 
 the town communicated to me daily by the politeness of 
 our host. In this way I received at last a piece of in- 
 telligence for which, I may say, I had been waiting. 
 Captain Harris (I was told) with ^' Mr. Mountain, the 
 trader, ■'"' had gone by up the river in a boat. I would 
 have feared the landlord''s eye, so strong the sense of 
 some complicity upon my master^s part oppressed me. 
 But I made out to say I had some knowledge of the 
 Captain, although none of Mr. Mountain, and to in- 
 quire who else was of the party. My informant knew 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS, *279 
 
 not ; I\Ir. Mountain had come ashore upon some needful 
 purchases ; had gone round the town buying, drinking, 
 and prating ; and it seemed the party went upon some 
 likely venture, for he had spoken much of great things 
 he would do when he returned. No more was known, 
 for none of the rest had come ashore, and it seemed 
 they were pressed for time to reach a certain spot before 
 the snow should fall. 
 
 And sure enough, the next day, there fell a sprinkle 
 v.ven in Albany ; but it passed as it came, and was but 
 a reminder of what lay before us. I thought of it 
 lightly then, knowing so little as I did of that inclement 
 province : the retrospect is different ; and I wonder 
 at times if some of the horror of these events which I 
 must now rehearse flowed not from the foul skies and 
 savage winds to which we were exposed, and the agony 
 of cold that we must suffer. 
 
 The boat having passed by, I thought at first we 
 should have left the town. But no such matter. My 
 lord continued his stay in Albany where he had no 
 ostensible affairs, and kept me by him, far from my due 
 employment, and making a pretence of occupation. 
 It is upon this passage I expect, and perhaps deserve, 
 censure. I was not so dull but what I had my own 
 thouo^hts. I could not see the Master entrust himself 
 into the hands of Harris, and not suspect some under- 
 hand contrivance. Harris bore a villainous reputation, 
 and he had been tampered with in private by my lord ; 
 
280 THE MASTEU OF BALLA.NTRAE. 
 
 Mountain^ the trader, proved, upon inquiry, to be another 
 of the same kidney; the errand they were all gone 
 upon being the recovery of ill-gotten treasures, offered 
 in itself a very strong incentive to foul play ; and the 
 character of the country where they journeyed promised 
 impunity to deeds of blood. Well : it is true I had all 
 these thoughts and fears, and guesses of the Master's 
 fate. But you are to consider I was the same man that 
 sought to dash him from the bulwarks of a ship in the 
 mid-sea ; the same that, a little before, very impiously 
 but sincerely offered God a bargain, seeking to hire God 
 to be my bravo. It is true again that I had a good deal 
 melted towards our enemy. But this I always thought 
 of as a weakness of the flesh and even culpable; my 
 mind remaining steady and quite bent against him. 
 True, yet again, that it was one thing to assume on my 
 own shoulders the guilt and danger of a criminal 
 attempt, and another to stand by and see my lord im- 
 peril and besmirch himself. But this was the very 
 ground of my inaction. For (should I anyway stir in 
 the business) I might fail indeed to save the Master, 
 but I could not miss to make a byword of my lord. 
 
 Thus it was that I did nothing ; and upon the same 
 reasons, I am still strong to justify my course. We 
 lived meanwhile in Albany, but though alone together 
 in a strange place, had little traffic beyond formal salu- 
 tations. My lord had carried with him several intro- 
 ductions to chief people of the town and neighbourhood ; 
 
 m 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDEEXESS. 281 
 
 others he had before encountered in New York : with 
 this consequence, that he went much abroad, and I am 
 sorry to say was altogether too convivial in his habits. 
 I was often in bed, but never asleep, when he returned ; 
 and there was scarce a night when he did not betray the 
 influence of liquor. By day he would still lay upon 
 me endless tasks, which he showed considerable ingenu- 
 ity to fish up and renew, in the manner of Penelope's 
 web. I never refused, as I say, for I was hired to do his 
 bidding ; but I took no pains to keep my penetration 
 under a bushel, and would sometimes smile in his face. 
 
 " I think I must be the devil and you Michael Scott,'^ 
 I said to him one day. '^ I have bridged Tweed and split 
 the Eildons ; and now you set me to the rope of sand."'' 
 
 He looked at me with shining eyes, and looked away 
 again, his jaw chewing, but without words. 
 
 ^' Well, well, my lord,'' said T, ^' your will is my plea- 
 sure. I will do this thing for the fourth time; but I- 
 would beg of you to invent another task against to- 
 morrow, for by my troth, I am weary of this one.''' 
 
 ^•' You do not know what you are saying," returned 
 my lord, putting on his hat and turning his back to me. 
 ^' It is a strange thing you should take a pleasure to 
 annoy me. A friend — but that is a different affair. It 
 is a strange thing. I am a man that has had ill-fortune 
 all my life through. I am still surrounded by con- 
 trivances. I am always treading in plots," he burst 
 out. ^' The whole world is banded against me." 
 
282 tllE MASTEU OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 " I would not talk wicked nonsense if I were you/' 
 said I ; " but I will tell you wliat I would do — I would 
 put my head in cold water, for you had more last night 
 than you could carry/' 
 
 ^^ Do ye think that?'' said he, with a manner of 
 interest highly awakened. ^* Would that be good for 
 me ? It's a thing I never tried." 
 
 " I mind the days when you had no call to try, and I 
 wish, my lord, that they were back again," said I. 
 "But the plain truth is, if you continue to exceed, you 
 will do yourself a mischief." 
 
 " I don't appear to carry drink the way I used to/' 
 said my lord. '^ I get overtaken, Mackellar. But I will 
 be more upon my guard." 
 
 ^^ That is what I would ask of you," I replied. " You 
 are to bear in mind that you are Mr. Alexander's father : 
 give the bairn a chance to carry his name with some 
 responsibility." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said he. "Ye're a very sensible man, 
 Mackellar, and have been long in my employ. But I 
 think, if you have nothing more to say to me I will be 
 stepping. If you have nothing more to say ? " he added, 
 with that burning, childish eagerness that was now so 
 common with the man. 
 
 " No, my lord, I have nothing more," said I, diyly 
 enough. 
 
 " Then I thiuk I will be ste2">piug," says my lord, and 
 stood and looked at me fidgeting with his hat, which he 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 283 
 
 had taken off again. "I suppose you will have no 
 errands ? No ? I am to meet Sir William Johnson, 
 but I will be more upon my guard.'' He was silent for 
 a time, and then, smiling : '^ Do you call to mind a 
 place, Mackellar — it's a little below Engles — where the 
 burn runs very deep under a wood of rowans. I mind 
 being there when I was a lad — dear, it comes over me 
 like an old song ! — I was after the fishing, and I made a 
 bonny cast. Eh, but I was happy. I wonder, Mackel- 
 lar, why I am never happy now ? " 
 
 '' My lord," said I, " if you would drink with more 
 moderation you would have the better chance. It is an 
 old byword that the bottle is a false consoler." 
 
 ''No doubt," said he, ''no doubt. Well, I think T 
 will be going." 
 
 " Good-morning, my lord," said I. 
 
 " Good-morning, good-morning," said he, and so got 
 himself at last from the apartment. 
 
 I give that for a fair specimen of my lord in the 
 morning ; and I must have described my patron very ill 
 if the reader does not perceive a notable falling off. To 
 behold the man thus fallen : to know him accepted 
 among his companions for a poor, muddled toper, wel- 
 come (if he were welcome at all) for the bare considera- 
 tion of his title ; and to recall the virtues he had once 
 displayed against such odds of fortune ; was not this a 
 thing at once to rage and to be humbled at ? 
 
 In his cups, he was more excessive. I will give bui 
 
284 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 the one scene, close upon the end, which is strongly 
 marked upon my memory to this day, and at the time 
 affected me almost with horror. 
 
 I was in bed, lying there awake, when I heard him 
 stumbling on the stair and singing. My lord had no 
 gift of music, his brother had all the graces of the family, 
 so that when I say singing, you are to understand a 
 manner of high, carolling utterance, which was truly 
 neither speech nor song. Something not unlike is to be 
 heard upon the lips of children, ere they learn shame ; 
 from those of a man grown elderly, it had a strange 
 effect. He opened the door with noisy precaution ; 
 peered in, shading his candle ; conceived me to slumber ; 
 entered, set his light upon the table, and took off his 
 hat. I saw him very plain ; a high, feverish exultation 
 appeared to boil in his veins, and he stood and smiled 
 and smirked upon the candle. Presently he lifted up 
 his arm, snapped his fingers, and fell to undress. As he 
 did so, having once more forgot my presence, he took 
 back to his singing ; and now I could hear the words, 
 which were those from the old song of the Tioa Corbies 
 endlessly repeated : 
 
 *' And over his banes when they are bare 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair ! " 
 
 I have said there was no music in the man. His 
 strains had no logical succession except in so far as they 
 in'jlined a little to the minor mode ; but they exercised 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 285 
 
 A lude potency upon the feelings, and followed the 
 words_, and signified the feelings of the singer with 
 barbaric fitness. He took it first in the time and manner 
 of a rant ; presently this ill-favoured gleef ulness abated, 
 he began to dwell upon the notes more feelingly, and 
 sank at last into a degree of maudlin pathos that was to 
 me scarce bearable. By equal steps, the original brisk- 
 ness of his acts declined ; and when he was stripped to 
 his breeches, he sat on the bedside and fell to whimper- 
 ing. I know nothing less respectable than the tears of 
 drunkenness, and turned my back impatiently on this 
 poor sight. 
 
 But he had started himself (I am to suppose) on that 
 slippery descent of self-pity ; on the which^ to a man 
 unstrung by old sorrows and recent potations there is 
 no arrest except exhaustion. His tears continued to flow, 
 and the man to sit there, three parts naked, in the cold 
 air of the chamber. I twitted myself alternately with 
 inhumanity and sentimental weakness, now half rising 
 in my bed to interfere, now reading myself lessons of 
 indifference and courting slumber, until, upon a sudden, 
 the quantum mutatus ah illo shot into my mind j and 
 calling to remembrance his old wisdom, constancy, and 
 patience, I was overborne with a pity almost approach- 
 ing the passionate, not for my master alone but for the 
 sons of man. 
 
 At this I leaped from my place, went over to his side 
 and laid a hand on his bare shoulder, which was cold 
 
286 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 as stone. He uncovered his face and showed it me all 
 swollen and begmtten ^ like a child^s ; and at the sight 
 my impatience partially revived. 
 
 " Think shame to yourself/' said I. " This is bairnl^^ 
 conduct. I might have been snivelling myself^ if I had 
 cared to swill my belly with wine. But I went to my 
 bed sober like a man. Come : get into yours^ and have 
 done with this pitiable exhibition.''^ 
 
 ^' Oh, Mackellar/'' said he, '^ my heart is wae ! '^ 
 
 '^Wae?^^ cried I. ^'^ For a good cause, I think. 
 What words were these you sang as you came in ? Show 
 pity to others, we then can talk of pity to yourself. You 
 can be the one thing or the other, but I will be no party 
 to half-way houses. If you're a striker, strike, and if 
 you^re a bleater, bleat ! ''■' 
 
 " Cry ! '^ cries he, with a burst, ^^ that's it — strike ! 
 that^s talking ! Man, V\q stood it all too long. But 
 when they laid a hand upon the child, when the china's 
 threatened '^ — his momentary vigour whimpering off — 
 '' my child, my Alexander ! '' — and he was at his tears 
 again. 
 
 I took him by the shoulders and shook him. ^^ Alex- 
 ander ! '' said I. " Do you even think of him ? Not 
 you ! Look yours- jlf in the face like a brave man, and 
 you'll find you're but a self-deceiver. The wife, the 
 friend, the child, they're all equally forgot, and you 
 sunk in a mere log of selfishness." 
 * Tear-marked. 
 
THE JOURNEY lx\ THE WILDERNESS. 287 
 
 ^' Mackellar/'' said he, with a wonderful return to his 
 old manner and appearance, '^^you may say what you 
 will of me, but one thing I never was — I was never 
 selfish/^ 
 
 "1 will open your eyes in your despite/^ said I. 
 ''"How long have we been here? and how often have 
 you written to your family ? I think this is the first 
 fcim-e you were ever separate : have you written at all ? 
 Do they know if you are dead or living ? ■'-' 
 
 I had caught him here too openly; it braced his 
 better nature ; there was no more weeping, he thanked 
 me very penitently, got to bed and was soon fast asleep ; 
 and the first thing he did the next morning was to sit 
 down and begin a letter to my lady : a very tender letter 
 it was too, though it was never finished. Indeed all 
 communication with New York was transacted by my- 
 self ; and it will be judged I had a thankless task of it. 
 What to tell my lady and in what words, and how far 
 to be false and how far cruel, was a thing that kept me 
 often from my slumber. 
 
 All this while, no doubt; my lord waited with growing 
 impatiency for news of his accomplices. Harris, it is 
 to be thought, had promised a high degree of expedi- 
 tion j the time was already overpast when word was to 
 be looked for j and suspense was a very evil counsellor to 
 a man of an impaired intelligence. My lord^s mind 
 throughout this interval dwelled almost wholly in the 
 Wilderness, following that party with whose deeds he 
 
288 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 had so much concern. He continually conjured up 
 their camps and progresses, the fashion of the country, 
 the perpetration in a thousand different manners of the 
 same horrid fact, and that consequent spectacle of the 
 Master's bones lying- scattered in the wind. These pri- 
 vate, guilty considerations I would continually observe 
 to peep forth in the man's talk, like rabbits from a hill. 
 And it is the less wonder if the scene of his meditations 
 began to draw him bodily. 
 
 It is well known what pretext he took. Sir William 
 Johnson had a diplomatic errand in these parts; and 
 my lord and I (from curiosity, as was given out) went 
 in his company. Sir William was well attended and 
 liberally supplied. Hunters brought us venison, fish 
 was taken for us daily in the streams, and brandy ran 
 like water. We proceeded by day and encamped by 
 night in the military style; sentinels were set and 
 changed; every man had his named duty ; and Sir Wil- 
 liam was the spring of all. There was much in this that 
 might at times have entertained me ; but for our mis- 
 fortune, the weather was extremely harsh, the days were 
 in the beginning open, but the nights frosty from the*, 
 first. A painful keen wind blew most of the time, so 
 that we sat in the boat with blue fingers, and at night^'* 
 as we scorched our faces at the fire, the clothes upon our 
 back appeared to be of paper. A dreadful solitude sur- 
 rounded our steps ; the land was quite dispeopled, there 
 
 M. 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDEUNESS. 289 
 
 was no smoke of fires, and save for a single boat of 
 merchants on the second day, we met no travellers. 
 The season was indeed late, but this desertion of the 
 waterways impressed Sir William himself ; and I have 
 heard him more than once express a sense of intimida- 
 tion. " I have come too late, I fear ; they must have 
 dug up the hatchet ; " he said ; and the future proved 
 how justly he had reasoned. 
 
 I could never depict the blackness of my soul upon 
 this journey. I have none of those minds that are in 
 love with the unusual : to see the winter coming and to 
 lie in the field so far from any house, oppressed me like 
 a nightmare ; it seemed, indeed, a kind of awful braving 
 of God's power; and this thought, which I daresay 
 only writes me down a coward, was greatly exaggerated 
 by my private knowledge of the errand we were come 
 upon. I was besides encumbered by my duties to Sir 
 William, whom it fell upon me to entertain; for my 
 lord was quite sunk into a state bordering oti pervigi- 
 lium, watching the woods with a rapt eye, sleeping 
 scarce at all, and speaking sometimes not twenty words 
 in a whole day. That which he said was still coherent; 
 but it turned almost invariably upon the party for 
 whom he kept his crazy lookout. He would tell Sir 
 William often, and always as if it were a new communi- 
 cation, that he had ^^a brother somewhere in the 
 woods/^ and beg that the sentinels should be directed 
 ^' to inquire for him.'' " I am anxious for news of my 
 
 T 
 
290 THE MASTER OP BALLANTKAE. 
 
 brother/^ he would say. And sometimes^ when we 
 were under way, he would fancy he spied a canoe far 
 off upon the water or a camp on the shore, and exhibit 
 painful agitation. It was impossible but Sir William 
 should be struck with these singularities; and at last 
 he led me aside, and hinted his uneasiness. I touched 
 my head and shook it ; quite rejoiced to prepare a little 
 testimony against possible disclosures. 
 
 " But in that case,"^ cries Sir William, '' is it wise to 
 let him go at large ? " 
 
 '^ Those that know him best," said I, " are persuaded 
 that he should be humoured.-'^ 
 
 '' Well, well,'' replied Sir William, '' it is none of 
 my affairs. But if I had understood, you would never 
 have been here.'' 
 
 Our advance into this savage country had thus 
 uneventfully proceeded for about a week, when we 
 encamped for a night at a place where the river ran 
 among considerable mountains clothed in wood. The 
 fires were lighted on a level space at the water's edge ; 
 and we supped and lay down to sleep in the customary 
 fashion. It chanced the night fell murderously cold ; 
 the stringency of the frost seized and bit me through 
 my coverings, so that pain kept me wakeful ; and I 
 was afoot again before the peep of day, crouching by 
 the fires or trotting to and fro at. the stream's edge, 
 to combat the aching of my limbs. At last dawn 
 beo-an to break upon hoar woods and mountains, the 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 291 
 
 sleepers rolled in their robes, and the boisterous river 
 dashing among spears of ice. I stood looking about 
 me, swaddled in my stiff coat of a bull's fur, and the 
 breath smoking from my scorched nostrils, when, upon 
 a sudden, a singular, eager cry rang from the borders 
 of the wood. The sentries answered it, the sleepers 
 sprang to their feet ; one pointed, the rest followed his 
 direction with their eyes, and there, upon the edge of 
 the forest and betwixt two trees, we beheld the figure 
 of a man reaching forth his hands like one in ecstasy. 
 The next moment he ran forward, fell on his knees at 
 the side of the camp, and burst in tears. 
 p. This was John Mountain, the trader, escaped from 
 the most horrid perils ; and his first word, when he got 
 speech, was to ask if we had seen Secundra Dass. 
 '' Seen what ? '' cries Sir William. 
 ''No,'' said 1, ''we have seen nothiug of him. 
 Why ? " 
 
 " Nothing ? " says Mountain. " Then I was right 
 after all.-" With that he struck his palm upon his 
 brow. " But what takes him back ? " he cried. 
 "What takes the man back among dead bodies. 
 There is some damned mystery here." 
 
 This was a word which highly aroused our curiosity 
 but I shall be more perspicacious, if I narrate these 
 incidents in their true order. Here follows a narrative 
 which I have compiled out of three sources, not very 
 consistent in all points : 
 
t^'l THE MASTEK OF BAT,LANTRAK. 
 
 First, a written statement by Mountain, in which 
 
 everything" criminal is cleverly smuggled out of view ; 
 
 Second, two conversations with Secundra Dass ; and 
 
 Third, many conversations with Mountain himself, 
 
 in which he was pleased to be entirely plain ; for the 
 
 truth is he regarded me as an accomplice. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF THE TRADER, MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The crew that went up the river under the joint com- 
 mand of Captain Harris and the Master numbered in all 
 nine persons, of whom (if I except Secundra Dass) there 
 was not one that had not merited the gallows. From 
 Harris downward the voyagers were notorious in that 
 colony for desperate, bloody-minded miscreants ; some 
 were reputed pirates, the most hawkers of rum ; all 
 ranters and drinkers; all fit associates, embarking to- 
 gether without remorse, upon this treacherous and 
 murderous design. I could not hear there was much 
 discipline or any set captain in the gang ; but Harris 
 and four others, Mountain himself, two Scotchmen — 
 Pinkerton and Hastie — and a man of the name of 
 Hicks, a drunken shoemaker, put their heads together 
 and agreed upon the course. In a material sense, they 
 were well enough provided ; and the Master in par- 
 ticular brought with him a tent where he might enjoy 
 some privacy and shelter. 
 
 Even this small indutence told against him in the 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 293 
 
 minds of his companions. But indeed he was in a 
 position so entirely false (and even ridiculous) that all 
 his habit of command and arts of pleasing were here 
 thrown away. In the eyes of all, except Secundra Dass, 
 he figured as a common gull and designated victim ; 
 going unconsciously to death ; yet he could not bui 
 suppose himself the contriver and the leader of the ex- 
 pedition j he could scarce help but so conduct himself ; 
 and at the least hint of authority or condescension, his 
 deceivers would be laughing in their sleeves. I was so 
 used to see and to conceive him in a high, authoritative 
 attitude, that when I had conceived his position on this 
 journey, I was pained and could have blushed. How 
 soon he may have entertained a first surmise, we cannot 
 know ; but it was long, and the party had advanced into 
 the Wilderness beyond the reach of any help, ere he was 
 fully awakened to the truth. 
 
 It fell thus. Harris and some others had drawn 
 apart into the woods for consultation, when they were 
 startled by a rustling in the brush. They were all 
 accustomed to the arts of Indian warfare, and Mountain 
 had not only lived and hunted, but fought and earned 
 some reputation, with the savages. He could move in 
 the woods without noise, and follow a trail like a hound ; 
 and upon the emergence of this alert, he was deputed 
 by the rest to plunge into the thicket for intelligence. 
 He was soon convinced there was a man in his close 
 neighbourhood, moving with precaution but without art 
 
294 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 among the leaves and branches ; and coming shortly to 
 a place of advantage, he was able to observe Secundra 
 Dass crawling briskly off with many backward glances. 
 At this he knew not whether to laugh or cry ; and his 
 accomplices, when he had returned and reported, were 
 in much the same dubiety. There was now no danger 
 of an Indian onslaught ; but on the other hand, since 
 Secundra Dass was at the pains to spy upon them, it 
 was highly probable he knew English, and if he knew 
 English it was certain the whole of their design was in 
 the Master^s knowledge. There was one singularity in 
 the position. If Secundra Dass knew and concealed 
 his knowledge of English, Harris was a proficient in 
 several of the tongues of India, and as his career in 
 that part of the world had been a great deal worse than 
 profligate, he had not thought proper to remark upon 
 the circumstance. Each side had thus a spy-hole on the 
 counsels of the other. The plotters, so soon as this 
 advantage was explained, returned to camp ; Harris, 
 hearing the Hindustani was once more closeted with his 
 master, crept to the side of the tent ; and the rest, sit- 
 ting about the fire with their tobacco, awaited his report 
 with impatience. When he came at last, his face was 
 very black. He had overheard enough to confirm the 
 worst of his suspicions. Secundra Dass was a good 
 English scholar ; he had been some days creeping and 
 listening, the Master was now fully informed of the 
 conspiracy, and the pair proposed on the morrow to fall 
 
tHE JOURNEV in the WILDERNESS. 295 
 
 out of line at a carrying place and plunge at a venture 
 in the woods : preferring the full risk of famine, savage 
 beasts, and savage men to their position in the midst of 
 traitors. 
 
 What, then, was to be done ? Some were for killing 
 the Master on the spot ; but Harris assured them that 
 would be a crime without profit, since the secret of the 
 treasure must die along with him that buried it. Others 
 were for desisting at once from the whole enterprise and 
 making for New York; but the appetising name of 
 treasure, and the thought of the long way they had 
 already travelled dissuaded the majority. I imagine 
 they were dull fellows for the most part. Harris, in- 
 deed, had some acquirements. Mountain was no fool, 
 Hastie was an educated man ; but even these had mani- 
 festly failed in life, and the rest were the dregs of 
 colonial rascality. The conclusion they reached, at least, 
 was more the offspring of greed and hope, than reason. 
 It was to temporise, to be wary and watch the Master, 
 to be silent and supply no further aliment to his sus- 
 picions, and to depend entirely (as well as I make out) 
 on the chance that their victim was as greedy, hopeful, 
 and irrational as themselves, and might, after all, betray 
 his life and treasure. 
 
 Twice in the course of the next day Secundra and 
 the Master must have appeared to themselves to have 
 escaped ; and twice they were circumvented. The 
 Master, save that the second time he grew a little pale, 
 
296 THE MASTETl OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 dis2:)layed no sign of disappointment^ apologised for the 
 stupidity with which he had fallen aside^ thanked his 
 recapturers as for a service, and rejoined the caravan 
 with all his usual gallantry and cheerfulness of mier. 
 and bearing. But it is certain he had smelled a rat ; 
 for from thenceforth he and Secundra spoke only in 
 each other^s ear, and Harris listened and shivered by the 
 tent in vain. The same night it was announced they 
 were to leave the boats and proceed by foot, a circum- 
 stance which (as it put an end to the confusion of the 
 portages) greatly lessened the chances of escape. 
 
 And now there began between the two sides a silent 
 contest, for life on the one hand, for riches on the other. 
 They were now near that quarter of the desert in which 
 the Master himself must begin to play the part of guide ; 
 and using this for a pretext of prosecution, Harris and 
 his men sat with him every night about the fire, and 
 laboured to entrap him into some admission. If he let 
 slip his secret, he knew well it was the warrant for his 
 death; on the other hand, he durst not refuse their 
 questions, and must appear to help them to the best of 
 his capacity, or he practically published his mistrust. 
 And yet Mountain assures me the man^s brow was never 
 ruffled. He sat in the midst of these jackals, his life 
 depending by a thread, like some easy, witty householder 
 at home by his own fire ; an answer he had for every- 
 thing — as often as not, a jesting answer ; avoided threats, 
 pvaded insults ; talked, laughed, and listened with an 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 297 
 
 open countenance ; and, in short, conducted himself in 
 such a manner as must have disarmed suspicion, and 
 vventnear to stagger knowledge. Indeed, Mountain con- 
 fessed to me they would soon havo disbelieved the Cap- 
 taints story, and supposed their designated victim still 
 quite innocent of their designs ; but for the fact that 
 he continued (however ingeniously) to give the slip to 
 questions, and the yet stronger confirmation of his 
 repeated efforts to escape. The last of these, which 
 brought things to a head, I am now to relate. And first 
 I should say that by this time the temper of Harris's 
 companions was utterly worn out ; civility was scarce 
 pretended; and for one very significant circumstance, 
 the Master and Secundra had been (on some pretext) 
 deprived of weapons. On their side, however, the 
 threatened pair kept up the parade of friendship hand- 
 somely ; Secundra was all bows, the Master all smiles ; 
 and on the last night of the truce he had even gone so 
 far as to sing for the diversion of the company. It was 
 observed that he had also eaten with unusual heartiness, 
 and drank deep, doubtless from design. 
 
 At least, about three in the morning, he came out of 
 the tent into the open air, audibly mourning and com- 
 plaining, with all the manner of a sufferer from surfeit. 
 For some while, Secundra publicly attended on his 
 patron, who at last became more easy, and fell asleep 
 on the frosty ground behind the tent, the Indian re- 
 turning within. Some time after, the sentry uas 
 
298 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 changed ; had the Master pointed out to him^, where he 
 lay in what is called a robe of buffalo : and thenceforth 
 kept an eye upon him (he declared) without remission. 
 With the first of the dawn, a draught of wind came 
 suddenly and blew open one side the corner of the robe ; 
 and with the same puff, the Master's hat whirled in the 
 air and fell some yards away. The sentry thinking it 
 remarkable the sleeper should not awaken, thereupon 
 drew near ; and the next moment, with a great shout, 
 informed the camp their prisoner was escaped. He had 
 left behind his Indian, who (in the first vivacity of the 
 surprise) came near to pay the forfeit of his life, and 
 was, in fact^ inhumanly mishandled ; but Secundra, in 
 the midst of threats and cruelties, stuck to it with 
 extraordinary loyalty, that he was quite ignorant of his 
 master's plans, which might indeed be true, and of the 
 manner of his escape, which was demonstrably false. 
 Nothing was therefore left to the conspirators but to 
 rely entirely on the skill of Mountain. The night had 
 been frosty, the ground quite hard ; and the sun was no 
 sooner up than a strong thaw set in. It was Mountain's 
 boast that few men could have followed that trail, and 
 still fewer (even of the native Indians) found it. The 
 Master had thus a long start before his pursuers had 
 the scent, and he must have travelled with surprising 
 energy for a pedestrian so unused, since it was near 
 noon before Mountain had a view of him. At this 
 conjuncture the trader was alone, all his companions 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 299 
 
 following', at his own request, several hundred yards in 
 the rear ; he knew the Master was unarmed ; his heart 
 v\^as besides heated with the exercise and lust of hunting ; 
 and seeing the quarry so close, so defenceless, and seem- 
 ing so fatigued, he vain-gloriously determined to effect 
 the capture with his single hand. A step or two farther 
 brought him to one margin of a little clearing ; on the 
 other, with his arms folded and his back to a huge stone, 
 the Master sat. It is possible Mountain may have made 
 a rustle, it is certain, at least, the Master raised his 
 head and gazed directly at that quarter of the thicket 
 where his hunter lay ; '^ I could not be sure he saw 
 me,"*^ Mountain said ; '' he just looked my way like a 
 man with his mind made up, and all the courage ran 
 out of me like rum out of a bottle.^^ And presently, 
 when the Master looked away again, and appeared to 
 resume those meditations in which he had sat im- 
 mersed before the trader^s coming, Mountain slunk 
 stealthily back and returned to seek the help of his 
 companions. 
 
 And now began the chapter of surprises, for the scout 
 had scarce informed the others of his discovery, and 
 they were yet preparing their weapons for a rush upon 
 the fugitive, when the man himself appeared in their 
 midst, walking openly and quietly, with his hands be- 
 hind his back. 
 
 ^' Ah, men ! '' says he, on his beholding them. ^' Here 
 is a fortunate encounter. Let us get back to camp.'^ 
 
300 TIip: Master of ballantiue. 
 
 Mountain had not mentioned liis own weakness or 
 the Master's disconcerting" gaze upon the thicket, so 
 that (with all the rest) his return appeared spontaneous. 
 For all that, a hubbub arose; oaths flew, fists were 
 shaken, and guns pointed. 
 
 ^' Let us get back to camp," said the Master. " I 
 have an explanation to make, but it must be laid before 
 you all. And in the meanwhile I would put up these 
 weapons, one o£ which might very easily go off and 
 blow away your hopes of treasure. I would not kill,^^ 
 says he, smiling, '' the goose with the golden eggs.'^ 
 
 The charm of his superiority once more triumphed ; 
 and the party, in no particular order, set off on their 
 return. By the way, he found occasion to get a word 
 or two apart with Mountain. 
 
 "■ You are a clever fellow and a bold," says he, ^' but 
 I am not so sure that you are doing yourself justice. I 
 would have you to consider whether you would not do 
 better, ay, and safer, to serve me instead of serving so 
 commonplace a rascal as Mr. Harris. Consider of it,'^ 
 he concluded, dealing the man a gentle tap upon the 
 shoulder, "and don^t be in haste. Dead or alive, you 
 will find me an ill man to quarr-el with.-" 
 
 When they were come back to the camp, where 
 Harris and Pinkerton stood guard over Secuudra, these 
 two ran upon the Master like viragoes, and were amazed 
 out of measure when they were bidden by their com- 
 rades to '^ stand back and hear what the gentleman had 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 301 
 
 to say." The Master had not flinched before their on- 
 slang-ht ; nor, at this proof of the ground he had gained, 
 did he betray the least sutReiency. 
 
 ^' Do not let us be in haste/' says he. " Meat first 
 and public speaking after.^^ 
 
 With that they made a hasty meal : and as soon as it 
 was done, the Master, leaning on one elbow, began his 
 speech. He spoke long, addressing himself to each 
 except Harris, findiug for each (with the same excep- 
 tion) some particular flattery. He called them ''bold, 
 honest blades,^'' declared he had never seen a more jovial 
 company, work better done, or paius more merrily sun- 
 ported. '' Well, then/'' says he, '' some one asks me. 
 Why the devil I ran away ? But that is scarce worth 
 answer, for I think you all know pretty well. But you 
 know only pretty well : that is a point I shall arrive at 
 presently, and be you ready to remark it when it comes. 
 There is a traitor here : a double traitor : I will give 
 you his name before I am done ; and let that suffice for 
 now. But here comes some other gentleman and asks 
 me, * Why, in the devil, I came back ? ' Well, before I 
 answer that question, I have one to put to you. It was 
 this cur here, this Harris, that speaks Hindustani ? " 
 cries he, rising on one knee and pointing fair at the 
 man's face, with a gesture indescribably menacing ; and 
 when he had been answered in the affirmative, ''Ah ! " 
 says he, '' then are all my suspicions verified, and I did 
 rightly to come back. Now, men, hear the truth for 
 
802 THE MASTER OF BAl.LANTRAE. 
 
 the first time/^ Thereupon he launched forth in a 
 lons^ ^tory, told with extraordinary skill, how he had all 
 along suspected Harris, how he had found the confirma- 
 tion of his fears, and how Harris must have misrepre- 
 sented what passed between Secundra and himself. At 
 this point he made a bold stroke with excellent effect. 
 "I suppose," says he, "you think you are going shares 
 with Harris, I suppose you think you will see to that 
 yourselves; you would naturally not think so flat a 
 rogue could cozen you. But have a care ! These half 
 idiots have a sort of cunning, as the skunk has its 
 stench ; and it may be news to you that Harris has taken 
 care of himself already. Yes, for him the treasure is 
 all money in the bargain. You must find it or go starve. 
 But he has been paid beforehand ; my brother paid him 
 to destroy me ; look at him, if you doubt — look at him, 
 grinning and gulping, a detected thief l'"* Thence, hav- 
 ing made this happy impression, he explained how he 
 had escaped, and thought better of it, and at last con- 
 cluded to come back, lay the truth before the company, 
 and take his chance with them once more : persuaded 
 as he was, they would instantly depose Harris and elect 
 some other leader. ^' There is the whole truth," said 
 he : ^^ and with one exception, I put myself entirely in 
 your hands. What is the exception ? There he sits," 
 he cried, pointing once more to Harris ; "a man that 
 has to die ! Weapons and conditions are all one tc 
 me ; put me face to face with him, and if you give md 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 803 
 
 nothing but a stick, in five minutes I will show you a 
 sop of broken carrion_, fit for dogs to roll in/'' 
 
 It was dark night when he made an end ; they had 
 listened in almost perfect silence; but the firelight 
 scarce permitted any one to judge, from the look of his 
 neighbours, with what result of persuasion or convic- 
 tion. Indeed, the Master had set himself in the bright- 
 est place, and kept his face there, to be the centre 
 of men's eyes : doubtless on a profound calculation. 
 Silence followed for awhile, and presently the whole 
 party became involved in disputation : the Master lying 
 on his back, with his hands knit under his head and 
 one knee flung across the other, like a person uncon- 
 cerned in the result. And here, I daresay, his bravado 
 carried him too far and prejudiced his case. At least, 
 after a cast or two back and forward, opinion settled 
 finally against him. It's possible he hoped to repeat 
 the business of the pirate ship, and be himself, perhaps, 
 on hard enough conditions, elected leader; and things 
 went so far that way, that Mountain actually threw out 
 the proposition. But the rock he split upon was 
 Hastie. This fellow was not well liked, being sour and 
 slow, with an ugly, glowering disposition, but he had 
 studied some time for the church at Edinburgh Col- 
 lege, before ill conduct had destroyed his prospects, and 
 he now remembered and applied what he had learned. 
 Indeed he had not proceeded very far, when the Master 
 rolled carelessly upon one side, which was done (In 
 
:304) THE MASTER OF BALLANTRxVE. 
 
 Mountaiu's opinion) to conceal the beginnings of de- 
 spair upon his countenance. Hastie dismissed the most 
 o£ what they had heard as nothing to the matter : what 
 they wanted w^as the treasure. All that was said of 
 Harris might be true, and they would have to see to 
 that in time. But what had that to do with the trea- 
 sure ? They had heard a vast of words ; but the truth 
 was just this, that Mr. Durie was damnably frightened 
 and had several times run off. Here he was — whethei 
 caught or come back was all one to Hastie : the point 
 was to make an end of the business. As for the talk of 
 deposing and electing captains, he hoped they were all 
 free men and could attend their own affairs. That was 
 dust flung in their eyes, and so was the proposal to fight 
 Harris. " He shall fight no one in this camp, I can 
 tell him that,^^ said Hastie. '* We had trouble enough 
 to get his arms away from him, and we should look 
 pretty fools to give them back again. But if it^s excite- 
 ment the gentleman is after, I can supply him with 
 more than perhaps he cares about. For I have no 
 intention to spend the remainder of my life in these 
 mountains; already I have been too long; and I pro- 
 pose that he should immediately tell us where that 
 treasure is, or else immediately be shot. And there," 
 says he, producing his weapon, ^' there is the pistol that 
 I mean to use.''^ 
 
 " Come, I call you a man,'' cries the Master, sitting 
 up and looking at the speaker with an air of admiration. 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 305 
 
 " I didn't ask you to call me anything'/'' returned 
 Hastie ! '' which is it to be ? " 
 
 " That-'s an idle question/' said the Master. " Needs 
 must when the devil drives. The truth is we are within 
 easy walk of the place, and I will show it you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 With that^ as if all were quite settled, and settled 
 exactly to his mind, he walked off to his tent, whither 
 Secundra had preceded him. 
 
 I cannot think of these last turns and wriggles of my 
 old enemy except with admiration ; scarce even pity is 
 mingled with the sentiment, so strongly the man sup- 
 ported, so boldly resisted his misfortunes. Even at that 
 hour, when he perceived himself quite lost, when he 
 saw he had but effected an exchange of enemies, and 
 overthrown Harris to set Hastie up, no sign of weakness 
 appeared in his behaviour, and he withdrew to his tent, 
 already determined (I must suppose) upon affronting 
 the incredible hazard of his last expedient, with the 
 same easy, assured, genteel expression and demeanour as 
 he might have left a theatre withal to join a supper of 
 the wits. But doubtless within, if we could see there, 
 his soul trembled. 
 
 Early in the night, word went about the camp that 
 he was sick; and the first thing the next morning he 
 called Hastie to his side, and inquired most anxiously 
 if he had any skill in medicine. As a matter of fact, 
 this was a vanity of that fallen divinity student's, to 
 u 
 
306 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 which he had cunningly addressed himself. Hastie ex- 
 amined him ; and being flattered, ignorant, and highly 
 suspicious, knew not in the least whether the man was 
 sick or malingering. In this state he went forth again 
 to his companions ; and (as the thing which would give 
 himself most consequence either way) announced that 
 the patient was in a fair way to die. 
 
 '^ For all that/" he added with an oath, '' and if he 
 bursts by the wayside, he must bring us this morning 
 to the treasure.'" 
 
 But there were several in the camp (Mountain among 
 the number) whom this brutality revolted. They would 
 have seen the Master pistolled, or pistolled him them- 
 selves, without the smallest sentiment of pity ; but they 
 seemed to have been touched by his gallant fight and 
 unequivocal defeat the night before ;' perhaps, too, they 
 were even already beginning to oppose themselves to 
 their new leader : at least, they now declared that (if 
 the man was sick) he should have a day's rest in spite 
 of Hastie's teeth. 
 
 The next morning he was manifestly worse, and 
 Hastie himself began to display something of humane 
 concern, so easily does even the pretence of doctoring 
 awaken sympathy. The third the Master called Moun- 
 tain and Hastie to the tent, announced himself to be 
 dying, gave them full particulars as to the position of 
 the cache, and begged them to set out incontinently on 
 the quest, so that they might see if he deceived them, 
 
THE JOURNKY IN THE WILDERNESS. 307 
 
 and (if they were at first unsuccessful) he should be 
 able to correct their error. 
 
 But here arose a difiiculty on which he doubtless 
 counted. None of these men would trust another, none 
 would consent to stay behind. On the other hand^ al- 
 though the Master seemed extremely low,, spoke scarce 
 above a whisper, and lay much of the time insensible, it 
 was still possible it was a fraudulent sickness ; and if 
 all went treasure-hunting", it might prove they had gone 
 upon a wild-goose chase^ and return to find their prisoner 
 flown. They concluded, therefore, to hang idling round 
 the camp, alleging symp)athy to their reason ; and cer- 
 tainly, so mingled are our dispositions, several were sin- 
 cerely (if not very deeply) affected by the natural peril 
 of the man whom they callously designed to murder. 
 In the afternoon, Hastie was called to the bedside to 
 pray : the which (incredible as it must appear) he did 
 with unction ; about eight at night, the waihng of Se- 
 cundra announced that all was over ; and before ten, 
 the Indian, with a link stuck in the ground, was toiling 
 at the grave. Sunrise of next day beheld the Master's 
 burial, all hands attending with great decency of de- 
 meanour ; and the body was laid in the earth, wrapped 
 in a fur robe, with only the face uncovered ; which last 
 was of a waxy whiteness, and had the nostrils plugged 
 according to some Oriental habit of Secundra's. No 
 sooner was the grave filled than the lamentations 
 of the Indian once more struck concern to every 
 D 2 
 
808 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 heart; and it appears this gang of murderers, so 
 far from resenting his outcries^ although both dis- 
 tressful and (in such a country) perilous to their 
 own safety, roughly but kindly endeavoured to console 
 him. 
 
 But if human nature is even in the worst of men 
 occasionally kind, it is still, and before all things, 
 greedy ; and they soon turned from the mourner to 
 their own concerns. The cache of the treasure being 
 hard by, although yet unidentified, it was concluded 
 not to break camp ; and the day passed, on the part of 
 the voyagers, in unavailing exploration of the woods, 
 Secundra the while lying on his master's grave. That 
 night they placed no sentinel, but lay altogether about 
 the fire, in the customary woodman fashion, the heads 
 outward, like the spokes of a wheel. Morning found 
 them in the same disposition; only Pinkerton, who lay 
 on Mountain's right, between him and Hastie, had (in 
 the hours of darkness) been secretly butchered, and 
 there lay, still wrapped as to his body in his mantle, but 
 offering above that ungodly and horrific spectacle of the 
 scalped head. The gang were that morning as pale as a 
 company of phantoms, for the pertinacity of Indian war 
 (or to speak more correctly, Indian murder) was well 
 known to all. But they laid the chief blame on their 
 unsentinelled posture; and fired with the neighbourhood 
 of the treasure, deteimined to continue where they were. 
 Pinkerton was buried hard by the Master ; the survivors 
 
THE JOURNEY IN TITE WILDERN-ESS. 309 
 
 again passed the day in exploration^ and returned in 
 a mingled humour of anxiety and hope, being partly 
 certain they were now close on the discovery of what 
 they sought, and on the other hand (with the return of 
 darkness) were infected with the fear of Indians. Moun- 
 tain was the first sentry ; he declares he neither slept 
 nor yet sat down, but kept his watch with a perpetual 
 and straining vigilance, and it was even with unconcern 
 that (when he saw by the stars his time was up) he drew 
 near the fire to awaken his successor. This man (it was 
 Hicks the shoemaker) slept on the lee side of the circle, 
 something farther off in consequence than those to 
 windward, and in a place darkened by the blowing 
 smoke. Mountain stooped and took him by the 
 shoulder ; his hand was at once smeared by some ad- 
 hesive wetness ; and (the wind at the moment veering) 
 the firelight shone upon the sleeper, and showed him, 
 like Pinkerton, dead and scalped. 
 
 It was clear they had fallen in the hands of one of 
 those matchless Indian bravos, that will sometimes 
 follow a party for days, and in spite of indefatigable 
 travel, and unsleeping watch, continue to keep up with 
 their advance, and steal a scalp at every resting-place. 
 Upon this discovery, the treasure-seekers, already reduced 
 to a poor half dozen, fell into mere dismay, seized a few 
 necessaries, and deserting the remainder of their goods, 
 fled outright into the forest. Their fire they left still 
 burning, and their dead comrade unburied. All day 
 
310 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 they ceased not to fleO; enting by the way^ from hand to 
 mouth ; and since they feared to sleep, continued to ad- 
 vance at random even in the hours of darkness. But 
 the limit of man^s endurance is soon reached; when 
 they rested at last it was to sleep profoundly ; and 
 when they woke, it was to find that the enemy was 
 still upon their heels, and death and mutilation had 
 once more lessened and deformed their company. 
 
 By this they had become light-headed, they had 
 quite missed their path in the wilderness, their stores 
 were already running low. With the further horrors, it 
 Is superfluous that I should swell this narrative, already 
 too prolonged. Sufiice it to say that when at length a 
 night passed by innocuous, and they might breathe 
 again in the hope that the murderer had at last desisted 
 from pursuit. Mountain and Secundra were alone. 
 The trader is firmly persuaded their unseen enemy was 
 some warrior of his own acquaintance, and that he him- 
 self was spared by favour. The mercy extended to Se- 
 cundra he explains on the ground that the East Indian 
 was thought to be insane ; partly from the fact that, 
 through all the horrors of the flight and while others were 
 casting away their very food and weapons, Secundra 
 continued to stagger forward with a mattock on his 
 shoulder, and partly because, in the last days and with 
 a great degree of heat and fluency, he perpetually spoke 
 with himself in his own language. But he was sane 
 enough when it came to English. 
 
I 
 
 THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 3ll 
 
 '^ You think he will be gone quite away ? '' he 
 asked, upon their blest awakening in safety. 
 
 " I pray God so, I believe so_, I dare to believe so/' 
 Mountain had replied almost with incoherence, as he 
 described the scene to me. 
 
 And indeed he was so much distempered that until 
 he met us, the next morning, he could scarce be certain 
 whether he had dreamed, or whether it was a fact, that 
 Secundra had thereupon turned directly about and 
 returned without a word upon their footprints, setting 
 his face for these wintry and hungry solitudes, along a 
 path whose every stage was mile-stoned with a muti- 
 lated corpse. 
 
&12 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS {continued). 
 
 Mountain's story, as it was laid before Sir William 
 Johnson and my lord, was shorn, of course, of all the 
 earlier particulars, and the expedition described to have 
 proceeded uneventfully, until the Master sickened. 
 But the latter part was very forcibly related, the speaker 
 visibly thrilling to his recollections; and our then 
 situation, on the fringe of the same desert, and the 
 private interests of each, gave him an audience pro- 
 pared to share in his emotions. For Mountain's 
 intelligence not only changed the world for my Lord 
 Durrisdeer, but materially affected the designs of Sir 
 William Johnson. 
 
 These I find I must lay more at length before the 
 reader. Word had reached Albany of dubious import ; 
 it had been rumoured some hostility was to be put in 
 act ; and the Indian diplomatist had, thereupon, sped 
 into the wilderness, even at the approach of winter, to 
 nip that mischief in the bud. Here, on the borders, he 
 learned that he was come too late ; and a difficult 
 choice was thus presented to a man (upon the whole) 
 not any more bold than prudent. His standing with 
 
thp: journey in the wilderness. 313 
 
 the painted braves may be compared to that of my Lord 
 President Cutloden among the chiefs of our own 
 Highlanders at the 'Forty-five ; that is as much as to 
 say, he was, to these men, reason''s only speaking 
 trumpet, and counsels of peace and moderation, if they 
 were to prevail at all, must prevail singly through 
 his influence. If, then, he should return, the province 
 must lie open to all the abominable tragedies of Indian 
 war — the houses blaze, the wayfarer be cut off, 
 and the men of the woods collect their usual dis- 
 gusting spoil of human scalps. On the other side, 
 to go farther forth, to risk so small a party deeper 
 in the desert, to carry words of peace among warlike 
 savages already rejoicing to return to war : here was 
 an extremity from which it was easy to perceive his 
 mind revolted. 
 
 " I have come too late,'^ he said more than once, and 
 would fall into a deep consideration, his head bowed in 
 his hands, his foot patting the ground. 
 
 At length he raised his face and looked upon us, that 
 is to say upon my lord. Mountain, and myself, sitting 
 close round a small fire, which had been made for 
 privacy in one corner of the camp. 
 
 " My lord, to be quite frank with you, I find my- 
 self in two minds,''^ said he. " I think it very need- 
 ful I should go on, but not at all proper I should any 
 longer enjoy the pleasure of your company. We are 
 here still upon the water side ; and I think the risk 
 
314 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 to southward no great matter. Will not 3^ourself and 
 Mr. Mackellar take a single boat^s crew and return to 
 Albany ?'' 
 
 My lord, I should say, had listened to Mountain's 
 narrative, regarding him throughout with a painful in- 
 tensity of gaze; and since the tale concluded, had sat 
 as in a dream. There was something very daunting in 
 his look ; something to my eyes not rightly human ; the 
 face, lean, and dark, and aged, the mouth painful, the 
 teeth disclosed in a perpetual rictus ; the eyeball swim- 
 ming clear of the lids upon a field of blood-shot white. 
 I could not behold him myself without a jarring irrita- 
 tion, such as, I believe, is too frequently the uppermost 
 feeling on the sickness of those dear to us. Others, I 
 could not but remark, were scarce able to support his 
 neighbourhood — Sir William eviting to be near him, 
 Mountain dodging his eye, and, when he met it, blench- 
 ing and halting in his story. At this appeal, however, 
 my lord appeared to recover his command upon him- 
 self. 
 
 " To Albany ? '' said he, with a good voice. 
 
 "Not short of it, at least,''"' replied Sir William 
 " There is no safety nearer hand.''' 
 
 " I would be very sweir"^ to return,''' says my lord. 
 " I am not afraid — of Indians," he added, with a 
 jerk. 
 
 " I wish that I could say so much," returned Sir 
 * Unwilling. 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WTLDERXESS. 315 
 
 William, smiling ; ^' althougli, if any man dm-st say it, 
 it should be myself. But you are to keep in view my 
 responsibility, and that as the voyage has now become 
 highly dangerous, and your business — if you ever had 
 any/^ says he, ^' brought quite to a conclusion by the 
 distressing family intelligence you have received, I 
 should be hardly justified if I even suffered you to pro- 
 ceed, and run the risk of some obloquy if anything 
 regrettable should follow/^ 
 
 My lord turned to Mountain. " What did he pre- 
 tend he died of ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don''t think I understand your honour,^^ said the 
 trader, pausing like a man very much affected, in the 
 dressing of some cruel frost-bites. 
 
 For a moment my lord seemed at a full stop ; and 
 then, with some irritation, ^' I ask you what he died of. 
 Surely that's a plain question,''^ said he. 
 
 '' Oh ! I don't know,'"* said Mountain. " Hastie 
 even never knew. He seemed to sicken natural, and 
 just pass away." 
 
 " There it is, you see ! " concluded my lord^ turning 
 to Sir William. 
 
 '^ Your lordship is too deep for me,'"" replied Sir 
 William. 
 
 " Why," says my lord, " this is a matter of suc- 
 cession ; my son's title may be called in doubt ; and the 
 man being supposed to be dead of nobody can tell what, 
 a great deal of suspicion would be naturally roused." 
 
'616 THE MASTER OF blLLANTRAE. 
 
 " But, God damn me, the man^s buried ! '' cried Sir 
 William. 
 
 '^ I will never believe that/^ returned my lord, 
 painfully trembling. " Fll never believe it ! '■' he cried 
 again, and jumped to his feet. '^ Did he look dead ? '' 
 he asked of Mountain. 
 
 ^' Look dead ? '' repeated the trader. '^ He looked 
 white. Why, what would he be at ? I tell you, I put 
 the sods upon him.^^ 
 
 My lord caught Sir William by the coat with a 
 hooked hand. '^This man has the name of my brother," 
 says he, " but it's well understood that he was never 
 canny. ^^ 
 
 " Canny ? '' says Sir William. " What is that ? '' 
 
 '' He's not of this world,'' whispered my lord, 
 " neither him nor the black deil that serves him. I 
 have struck my sword throughout his vitals," he 
 cried j " 1 have felt the hilt dirl"^ on his breastbone, 
 and the hot blood spirt in my very face, time and 
 again, time and again ! " he rej^eated, with a gesture 
 indescribable. " But he was never dead for that," said 
 he, and I sighed aloud. '' Why should I think he 
 was dead now ? No, not till I see him rotting," says 
 he. 
 
 Sir William looked across at me with a long face. 
 Mountain forgot his wounds, staring and gaping. 
 
 *' My lord,'-* said I, " I wish you would collect your 
 * Ring. 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 317 
 
 spirits/^ But my throat was so dry, and my own wits 
 so scattered, I could add no more. 
 
 " No/^ says my lord, '' ifs not to be supposed that 
 he would understand me. Mackellar does, for he kens 
 all, and has seen him buried before now. This is a very 
 good servant to me. Sir William, this man Mackellar; 
 he buried him with his own hands — he and my father — 
 by the light of two siller candlesticks. The other man 
 is a familiar spirit ; he brought him from Coromandel. 
 I would have told ye this long syne. Sir William, only 
 it was in the family.''^ These last remarks he made 
 with a kind of a melancholy composure, and his time of 
 aberration seemed to pass away. ^^ You can ask your- 
 self what it all means,"" he proceeded. '^My brother 
 falls sick, and dies, and is buried, as so they say ; and 
 all seems very plain. But why did the familiar go 
 back? I think ye must see for yourself it^s a point 
 that wants some clearing. ^^ 
 
 "I will be at your service, my lord, in half a minute,'^ 
 said Sir William, rising. " Mr. Mackellar, two words 
 with youj^^ and he led me without the camp, the 
 frost crunching in our steps, the trees standing at our 
 elbow, hoar with frost, even as on that night in the Long 
 Shrubbery. '^ Of course, this is midsummer madness/' 
 said Sir William, as soon as we were gotten out of 
 hearing. 
 
 '^ Why, certainly,'^ said I. '^'^The man is mad- T 
 think that manifest/' 
 
318 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '' Shall I seize and bind him ? '' asked Sir William. 
 ^^ T will upon your authority. If these are all ravings, 
 that should certainly be done/' 
 
 I looked down upon the ground, back at the camp, 
 with its bright fires and the folk watching us, and about 
 me on the woods and mountains ; there was just the 
 one way that I could not look, and that was in Sir 
 William's face. 
 
 '' Sir William,'' said I at last, '' I think my lord not 
 sane, and have long thought him so. But there are 
 degrees in madness ; and whether he should be brought 
 under restraint — Sir William, I am no fit judge," I 
 concluded. 
 
 " I will be the judge," said he. " I ask for facts. 
 Was there, in all that jargon, any word of truth or 
 sanity? Do you hesitate?" he asked. ^^Am I to 
 understand you have buried this gentleman before ? " 
 
 '^ Not buried," said I ; and then, taking up courage 
 at last, ^' Sir William," said I, " unless I were to tell 
 you a long story, which much concerns a noble family 
 (and myself not in the least), it would be impossible to 
 make this matter clear to you. Say the word, and I will 
 do it, right or wrong. And, at any rate, I will say so 
 much, that my lord is not so crazy as he seems. This 
 is a strange matter, into the tail of which you are 
 unhappily drifted." 
 
 ^' I desire none of your secrets," replied Sir William ; 
 " but I will be plain, at the risk of incivility, and 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 319 
 
 confess that I take little pleasure in my present 
 company/^ 
 
 " I would be the last to blame you/' said I, ^' for 
 that." 
 
 " I have not asked either for your censure or your 
 praise^ sir/' returned Sir William. " I desire simply to 
 be quit of you; and to that effect, I put a boat and 
 complement of men at your disposal. '"^ 
 
 ^' This is fairly offered/' said I, after reflection. 
 " But you must suffer me to say a word upon the other 
 side. We have a natural curiosity to learn the truth of 
 this affair; I have some of it myself; my lord (it is 
 very plain) has but too much. The matter of the 
 Indian's return is enigmatical.'' 
 
 '^1 think so myself, '■* Sir William interrupted, "and 
 I propose (since I go in that direction) to probe it to 
 the bottom. Whether or not the man has gone like a 
 dog to die upon his master's grave, his life, at least, is in 
 great danger, and I propose, if I can, to save it. There 
 is nothing against his character ? " 
 
 "Nothing, Sir William," I replied. 
 
 " And the other ? " he said. " I have heard my lord, 
 of course ; but, from the circumstances of his servant's 
 loyalty, I must suppose he had some noble qualities.'^ 
 
 " You must not ask me that ! " I cried. " Hell may 
 have noble flames. I have known him a score of years, 
 and always hated, and always admired, and always 
 slavishly feared him.''^ 
 
320 THE MASTER OF BALLANTKAE. 
 
 " I appear to intrude again upon your secrets/'' saia 
 Sir William, *' believe me_, inadvertently. Enougli that 
 I will see the grave, and (if possible) rescue the Indian. 
 Upon these terms, can you persuade your master to 
 return to Albany ? " 
 
 " Sir William/-' said 1, '' I will tell you how it is. 
 You do not see my lord to advantage ; it will seem 
 even strange to you that I should love him ; but I do, 
 and I am not alone. If he goes back to Albany, 
 it must be by force, and it will be the death-warrant 
 of his reason, and perhaps his life. That is my 
 sincere belief ; but I am in your hands, and ready to 
 obey, if you will assume so much responsibility as to 
 command. ^^ 
 
 *' I will have no shred of responsibility ; it is my 
 single endeavour to avoid the same,'''' cried Sir William. 
 *' You insist upon following this journey up j and be it 
 so ! I wash my hands of the whole matter." 
 
 With which word, he turned upon his heel and gave 
 the order to break camp ; and my lord, who had been 
 hovering near by, came instantly to my side. 
 
 '' Which is it to be ? '' said he. 
 
 " You are to have your way/' I answered. " You 
 shall see the grave.'''' 
 
 The situation of the Master's grave was, between 
 guides, easily described; it lay, indeed, beside a chief 
 landmark of the wilderness, a certain range of peaks. 
 
THE JOUKXEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 321 
 
 consj^icuous by their design and altitude, and the source 
 of many brawling tributaries to that inland sea, Lake 
 Champlain. It was therefore possible to strike for it 
 direct, instead of following back the blood-stained trail 
 of the fugitives, and to cover, in some sixteen hours of 
 march, a distance which their perturbed wanderings 
 had extended over more than sixty. Our boats we left 
 under a guard upon the river ; it was, indeed, probable 
 we should return to find them frozen fast ; and the 
 small equipment with which we set forth upon the 
 expedition, included not only an infinity of furs to pro- 
 tect us from the cold, but an arsenal of snow-shoes to 
 render travel possible, when the inevitable snow should 
 fall. Considerable alarm was manifested at our de- 
 parture j the march was conducted with soldierly 
 precaution, the camp at night sedulously chosen and 
 patrolled ; and it was a consideration of this sort that 
 arrested us, the second day, within not many hundred 
 yards of our destination — the night being ah-eady 
 imminent, the spot in which we stood well qualified to 
 be a stroiig camp for a party of our numbers; and Sir 
 William, therefore, on a sudden thought, arresting our 
 advance. 
 
 Before us was the high range of mountains toward 
 which we had been all day deviously drawing near. 
 From the first light of the dawn, their silver peaks had 
 been the goal of our advance across a tumbled lowland 
 forest, thrid with rough streams, and strewn with 
 
32Z THE MASTER OF BALI-ANTRAE. 
 
 monstrous boulders ; the peaks (as I say) silver^ for already 
 at the hig-her altitudes the snow fell nightly ; but the 
 woods and the low ground only breathed upon with 
 frost. All day heaven had been charged with ugly 
 vapours, in the which the sun swam and glimmered like 
 a shilling piece ; all day the wind blew on our left cheek 
 barbarous cold, but very pure to breathe. With the end 
 of the afternoon, however, the wind fell ; the clouds, 
 beinoc no lono-er reinforced, were scattered or drunk 
 up ; the sun set behind us with some wintry splendour, 
 and the white brow of the mountains shared its dying 
 glow. 
 
 It was dark ere we had supper ; we ate in silence, and 
 the meal was scarce despatched before my lord slunk 
 from the fireside to the margin of the camp ; whither 
 I made haste to follow him. The camp was on high 
 ground, overlooking a frozen lake, perhaps a mile in its 
 longest measurement ; all about us, the forest lay in 
 heights and hollows ; above rose the white mountains ; 
 and higher yet, the moon rode in a fair sky. There was 
 no breath of air ; nowhere a twig creaked ; and the 
 sounds of our own camp were hushed and swallowed up 
 in the surrounding stillness. Now that the sun and the 
 wind were both gone down, it appeared almost warm, 
 like a night of July : a singular illusion of the sense, 
 when earth, air, and water were strained to bursting 
 with the extremity of frost. 
 
 Illy lord (or what I still continued to call by his loved 
 
TIJE JOURXEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 323 
 
 name) stood with his elbow in one hand, and his chin 
 sunk in the other, gazing ])efore him on the siuface of 
 the wood. My eyes followed his, and resfed almost 
 pleasantly npon the fi'ostod contexture of tlie pines, 
 rising in moonlit hillocks, or sinking in the shadow of 
 small glens. Hard hy, I told mj^self, was the grave of 
 our enemy, now gone where the wicked cease from 
 trouhling, the earth heaped for ever on his once so active 
 limhs. I could not hut think of him as somehow for- 
 tunate to be thus done with man^s anxiety and weari- 
 ness, the daily expense of spirit, and that daily river of 
 circumstance to be swum through, at any hazard, under 
 the ])enalty of shame or death. I could not hut think 
 how good was the end of that long travel; and with 
 that, my mind swung at a tangent to my lord. For was 
 not my lord dead also ? a maimed soldier, looking vainly 
 for discharge, lingering derided in the line of battle ? 
 A kind man, I remembered him; wise, with a decent 
 pride, a son perhaps too dutiful, a husband only too 
 loving, one that could suffer and be silent, one whose 
 hand I loved to press. Of a sudden, pity caught in my 
 windpipe with a sob ; I could have wept aloud to re- 
 member and behold him ; and standing thus by his 
 elbow, under the broad moon, I prayed fervently either 
 that he should be released, or I strengthened to persist 
 in my affection. 
 
 '^ Oh God,'''' said I, '^ this was the best man to me 
 and to himself, and now I shrink from him. He did uc 
 
324 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 vvrong", or not till he was broke with sorrows ; these are 
 but his honourable wounds that we begin to shrink from. 
 Oh, cover them up, oh, take him away, before we hate 
 him ! '' 
 
 I was still so engaged in my own bosom, when a sound 
 broke suddenly upon the night. It was neither very 
 loud, nor very near ; yet, bursting as it did from so pro- 
 found and so prolonged a silence, it startled the camp 
 like an alarm of trumpets. Ere I had taken breath, Sir 
 William was beside me, the main part of the voyagers 
 clustered at his back, intently giving ear. Methought, 
 as I glanced at them across my shoulder, there was a 
 whiteness, other than moonlight, on their cheeks; and 
 the rays of the moon reflected with a sparkle on the eyes 
 of some, and the shadows lying black under the brows 
 of others (according as they raised or bowed the head to 
 listen) gave to the group a strange air of animation 
 and anxiety. My lord was to the front, crouching a 
 little forth, his hand raised as for silence : a man turned 
 to stone. And still the sounds continued, breathlessly 
 renewed with a precipitate rhythm. 
 
 Suddenly Mountain spoke in a loud, broken whisper, 
 as of a man relieved. ^^ I have it now,"*^ he said ; and, 
 as we all turned to hear him, " the Indian must have 
 known the cacbe,^'' he added. '^ That is he — he is dig- 
 ging out the treasure."*^ 
 
 '^ Why, to be sure ! " exclaimed Sir William. '^ We 
 were geese not to have supposed so much.''^ 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS :i25 
 
 " The only thing is/^ Mountain resumed, '^ the sound 
 is very close to our old camp. And, again^ I do not 
 see how he is there before us, unless the man had 
 wings ! ■'•' 
 
 '' Greed and fear are wings/^ remarked Sir William. 
 " But this rogue has given us an alert, and I have a 
 notion to return the compliment. What say you, gentle- 
 men, shall we have a moonlight hunt ? ''■' 
 
 It was so agreed ; dispositions were made to surround 
 Secundra at his task; some of Sir William's Indians 
 hastened in advance ; and a strong guard being left at 
 our headquarters, we set forth along the uneven bottom 
 of the forest ; frost crackling, ice sometimes loudly 
 splitting under foot; and overhead the blackness of 
 pine- woods, and the broken brightness of the moon. 
 Our way led down into a hollow of the land; and 
 as we descended, the sounds diminished and had almost 
 died away. Upon the other slope it was more open, 
 only dotted with a few pines, and several vast and 
 scattered rocks that made inky shadows in the moon- 
 light. Here the sounds began to reach us more dis- 
 tinctly; we could now perceive the ring of iron, and 
 more exactly estimate the furious degree of haste with 
 which the digger plied his instrument. As we neared 
 the top of the ascent, a bird or two winged aloft and 
 hovered darkly in the moonlight; and the next mo- 
 ment we were gazing through a fringe of trees upon 
 a singular picture. 
 
326 THE MASTER OF BALLINTRAE. 
 
 A narrow plateau, overlooked by the white mountains, 
 and encompassed nearer hand by woods, lay bare to the 
 strong radiance of the moon. Rough goods, such as 
 make the wealth of foresters, were sprinkled here and 
 there upon the ground in meaningless disarray. About 
 the midst, a tent stood, silvered with frost : the door 
 open, gaping on the black interior. At the one end of 
 this small stage lay what seemed the tattered remnants 
 of a man. Without doubt we had arrived upon the 
 scene of Harrises encampment; there v/ere the goods 
 scattered in the panic of flight ; it was in yon tent the 
 Master breathed his last; and the frozen carrion that 
 lay before us was the body of the drunken shoemaker. 
 It was always moving to come upon the theatre of any 
 tragic incident; to come upon it after so many [days, 
 and to find it (in the seclusion of a desert^ still 
 unchanged, must have impressed the mind of the 
 most careless. And yet it was not that which struck 
 us into pillars of stone; but the sight (which yet we 
 had been half expecting) of Secundra ankle deep in 
 the grave of his late master. He had cast the main 
 part of his raiment by, yet his frail arms and shoulders 
 glistered in the moonlight with a copious sweat; his 
 face was contracted with anxiety and expectation; his 
 blows resounded on the grave, as thick as sobs; and 
 behind him, strangely deformed and ink-black upon the 
 frosty ground, the creature^s shadow repeated and paro- 
 died his swift gesticulations. Some night birds arose 
 
I 
 
 SECUNDRA, ABSORBED IN HIS TOIL, HEARD OR HEEDED NOT AT ALL. 
 
 [p. oil.) 
 
) 
 
 THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 327 
 
 from the boughs ujDon our coming-, and then settled 
 back; but Secundra, absorbed in his toil, heard or 
 heeded not at all. 
 
 I heard Mountain whisper to Sir William, '' Good 
 God ! it's the grave ! He^s digging him up ! '* It was 
 what we had all guessed, and yet to hear it put in 
 language thrilled me. Sir William violently started. 
 
 ^' You damned sacrilegious hound ! " he cried. 
 "What^s this?^^ 
 
 Secundra leaped in the air, a little breathless cry 
 escaped him, the tool flew from his grasp, and he stood 
 one instant staring at the speaker. The next, swift as 
 an arrow, he sped for the woods upon the farther 
 side; and the next again, throwing up his hands with a 
 violent gesture of resolution, he had begun already to 
 retrace his steps. 
 
 ^''Well, then, you come, you help '' he was 
 
 saying. But by now my lord had stepped beside Sir 
 William; the moon shone fair upon his face, and 
 the words were still upon Secundra^s lips, when he 
 beheld and recognised his master^s enemy. '' Him ! " 
 he screamed, clasping his hands, and shrinking on 
 himself. 
 
 "Come, come \'' said Sir William. "There is none 
 here to do you harm, if you be innocent ; and if you be 
 guilty, your escape is quite cut off. Speak, wliat do 
 you here among the graves '^f the dead and the remains 
 of the unburied ? '' 
 
328 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 '^You no murderer?^' inquired Secundra. "Yon 
 true man ? Yon see me safe ? '' 
 
 " I will see yon safe, if yon be innocent/' returned 
 Sir William. ^'I have said the thing, and I see not 
 wherefore yon should doubt it/^ 
 
 "There all murderers/" cried Secundra, " that is why! 
 He kill — murderer/' pointing to Mountain; "there 
 two hire-murderers/' pointing to my lord and myself — 
 " all gallows-murderers ! Ah ! I see you all swing in a 
 rope. Now I go save the sahib ; he see you swing in a 
 rope. The sahib/" he continued, pointing to the grave, 
 "he not dead. He bury, he not dead."" 
 
 My lord uttered a little noise, moved nearer to the 
 grave, and stood and stared in it. 
 
 "Buried and not dead?"" exclaimed Sir William. 
 " What kind of rant is this ? "" 
 
 "See, sahib,"" said Secundra. " The sahib and I 
 alone with murderers; try all way to escape, no way 
 good. Then try this way : good way in warm climate, 
 good way in India ; here, in this dam cold place, who 
 can tell ? I tell you pretty good hurry : you help, you 
 light a fire, help rub."" 
 
 "What is the creature talking of?"" cried Sir William. 
 " My head goes round."' 
 
 " I tell you I bury him alive,"" said Secundra. " 1 
 teach him swallow his tongue. Now dig him up pretty 
 good hurry, and he not much worse. You light a 
 fire."" 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDP^RNESS. 329 
 
 Sir William turned to the nearest of his men. 
 '* Light a fire/^ said he. " My lot seems to be cast 
 with the insane.'' 
 
 ''You good man/' returned Seeundra. '^Now I go 
 dig the sahib up.'' 
 
 He returned as he spoke to the grave^ and resumed 
 his former toil. My lord stood rooted^ and I at my 
 lord's side^ fearing I knew not what. 
 
 The frost was not yet very deep^ and presently the 
 Indian threw aside his tool^ and began to scoop the dirt 
 by handfuls. Then he disengaged a corner of a buffalo 
 robe j and then I saw hair catch among his fingers : yet 
 a moment more, and the moon shone on something 
 white. Awhile Seeundra crouched upon his knees, 
 scraping with delicate fingers, breathing with puffed 
 lips ; and when he moved aside, I beheld the face of the 
 Master wholly disengaged. It was deadly white, the 
 eyes closed, the ears and nostrils plugged, the cheeks 
 fallen, the nose sharp as if in death ; but for all he had 
 lain so many days under the sod, corruption had not 
 approached him, and (what strangely affected all of us) 
 his lips and chin were mantled with a swarthy beard. 
 
 '* My God ! " cried Mountain, " he was as smooth as 
 a baby when we laid him there ! " 
 
 " They say hair grows upon the dead," observed Sir 
 William ; but his voice was thick and weak. 
 
 Seeundra paid no heed to our remarks, digging swift 
 as a terrier in the loose earth. Every moment the form 
 
330 'THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 
 
 of the Master^ swathed in his buffalo robe^ grew more 
 distinct in the bottom of that shallow trough; the 
 moon shining strong, and the shadows of the 
 standers-by, as they drew forward and Ijack, falling 
 and flitting over his emergent countenance. The sight 
 held us with a horror not before oxporienced. I flared 
 not look my lord in the face; jjut for as long as it 
 lasted, I never observed him to draw breath ; and a 
 little in the background one of the men (I know not 
 whom) burst into a kind of sobbing. 
 
 *' Now/' said Secundra^ "you help me lift him out/* 
 Of the flight of time, I have no idea; it may have 
 been three hours, and it may have been fiv^e, that the 
 Indian laboured to reanimate his master's ho^j. One 
 thing only I know, that it was still night, and the moon 
 w^as not yet set, although it had sunk low, and now 
 barred the plateau with long shadows, when Secundra 
 uttered a small cr}^ of satisfaction ; and, leaning swiftly 
 forth, I thought I could myself perceive a change upon 
 that icy countenance of the unburied. The next 
 moment I beheld his eyelids flutter ; the next they rose 
 entirely, and the week-old corpse looked me for a 
 moment in the face. 
 
 So much displa}^ of life I can myself swear to. I 
 have heard from others that he visibly strove to speak, 
 that his teeth showed in his beard, and that his brow 
 was contorted as wath an agony of pain and effort. 
 And this mav have been ; I know not, T was otherwise 
 
THE JOURNEY IN THE WlLDEllNESS. 3'3l 
 
 engaged. For at that first disclosure of the dead man's 
 eyes^ my Lord Durrisdeer fell to the ground, and when 
 [ raised him up, he was a corpse. 
 
 Day came, and still Seciindra could not be persuaded 
 to desist from his unavailing efforts. Sir William, 
 leaving a small party under my command, proceeded on 
 his embassy with the first light ; and still the Indian 
 rubbed the limbs and breathed in the mouth of the 
 dead body. You would think such labours might have 
 vitalised a stone ; but, except for that one moment 
 (which was my lord''s death), the black spirit of the 
 Master held aloof from its discarded clay; and by 
 about the hour of noon, even the faithful servant 
 was at length convinced. He took it with unshaken 
 quietude. 
 
 " Too cold," said he, '' good way in India, no 
 good here.'''' And, asking for some food, which he 
 ravenously devoured as soon as it was set before him^ 
 he drew near to the fire and took his place at my elbow. 
 In the same spot, as soon as he had eaten^ he stretched 
 himself out, and fell into a childlike slumber, fiom 
 which I must arouse him, some hours afterwards, 
 to take his part as one of the mourners at the 
 double funeral. It was tlie same throughout; he 
 seemed to have outlived at once and with the same 
 effort, his grief for his master and his terror of myself 
 and Mountain. 
 
332 THE MASTER OF BALLANTEAE. 
 
 One of the men left with me was skilled in stone- 
 cutting; and before Sir WilHam returned to pick us up, 
 I had chiselled on a boulder this inscription, with a cop}' 
 of which I may fitly bring my narrative to a close : 
 
 J. D., 
 HEIR TO A SCOTTISH TITLE, 
 A MASTER OF THE ARTS AND GRACES, 
 ADMIRED IN EUROPE, ASIA, AMERICA, 
 IN WAR AND PEACE, 
 IN THE TENTS OF SAVAGE HUNTERS AND TH B 
 CITADELS OF KINGS, AFTER SO MUCH 
 ACQUIRED, ACCOMPLISHED, AND 
 ENDURED, LIES HERE FOR- 
 GOTTEN. 
 
 H. D., 
 
 HIS BROTHER, 
 
 AFTER A LIFE OF UNMERITED DISTRESS, 
 
 BRAVELY SUPPORTED, 
 
 DIED ALMOST IN THE SAME HOUR, 
 
 AND SLEEPS IN THE SAME GRAVE 
 
 WITH HIS FRATERNAL ENEMY. 
 
 THE PIETY OF HIS WIFE AND ONE OLD 
 
 SERVANT RAISED THIS STONE 
 
 '10 BOTH. 
 
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 Edward S. Ellis. 
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 Wishes were Horses." 
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 Tom Morris's Error. 
 
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 Tom Heriot. 
 
 Through Peril to Fortune. 
 
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 School Girls. 
 
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 In Quest of Gold; or, TJnder 
 
 the "Whanga Falls. 
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 Martin Leigh's Log. 
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 Esther West. 
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