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KIDNAPPED
KIDNAPPED
THE ADVENTURES OF DAVID BALFOUR
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
_ILLUSTRATED
By_
N. C. WYETH
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
KIDNAPPED
BEING MEMOIRS OF THE ADVENTURES OF DAVID
BALFOUR IN THE YEAR 1751
HOW HE WAS KIDNAPPED AND CAST AWAY; HIS SUFFERINGS IN A
DESERT ISLE; HIS JOURNEY IN THE WILD HIGHLANDS; HIS
ACQUAINTANCE WITH ALAN BRECK STEWART AND OTHER NOTORIOUS
HIGHLAND JACOBITES; WITH ALL THAT HE SUFFERED AT THE HANDS
OF HIS UNCLE, EBENEZER BALFOUR OF SHAWS, FALSELY SO CALLED
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
AND NOW SET FORTH BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1946
COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1913, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Printed in the United States of America
_All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced in any form without
the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons_
DEDICATION
MY DEAR CHARLES BAXTER:
If you ever read this tale, you will likely ask yourself more questions
than I should care to answer: as for instance how the Appin murder has
come to fall in the year 1751, how the Torran rocks have crept so near
to Earraid, or why the printed trial is silent as to all that touches
David Balfour. These are nuts beyond my ability to crack. But if you
tried me on the point of Alan’s guilt or innocence, I think I could
defend the reading of the text. To this day you will find the tradition
of Appin clear in Alan’s favour. If you inquire, you may even hear that
the descendants of “the other man” who fired the shot are in the country
to this day. But that other man’s name, inquire as you please, you shall
not hear; for the Highlander values a secret for itself and for the
congenial exercise of keeping it. I might go on for long to justify one
point and own another indefensible; it is more honest to confess at once
how little I am touched by the desire of accuracy. This is no furniture
for the scholar’s library, but a book for the winter evening school-room
when the tasks are over and the hour for bed draws near; and honest
Alan, who was a grim old fire-eater in his day, has in this new avatar
no more desperate purpose than to steal some young gentleman’s attention
from his Ovid, carry him awhile into the Highlands and the last century,
and pack him to bed with some engaging images to mingle with his dreams.
As for you, my dear Charles, I do not even ask you to like this tale.
But perhaps when he is older, your son will; he may then be pleased to
find his father’s name on the fly-leaf; and in the meanwhile it pleases
me to set it there, in memory of many days that were happy and some (now
perhaps as pleasant to remember) that were sad. If it is strange for me
to look back from a distance both in time and space on these bygone
adventures of our youth, it must be stranger for you who thread the
same streets--who may to-morrow open the door of the old Speculative,
where we begin to rank with Scott and Robert Emmet and the beloved and
inglorious Macbean--or may pass the corner of the close where that great
society, the L. J. R., held its meetings and drank its beer, sitting in
the seats of Burns and his companions. I think I see you, moving there
by plain daylight, beholding with your natural eyes those places that
have now become for your companion a part of the scenery of dreams. How,
in the intervals of present business, the past must echo in your memory!
Let it not echo often without some kind thoughts of your friend,
R. L. S.
SKERRYVORE,
BOURNEMOUTH.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS 3
II. I COME TO MY JOURNEY’S END 9
III. I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE 16
IV. I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS 26
V. I GO TO THE QUEEN’S FERRY 37
VI. WHAT BEFELL AT THE QUEEN’S FERRY 46
VII. I GO TO SEA IN THE BRIG “COVENANT” OF DYSART 53
VIII. THE ROUND-HOUSE 63
IX. THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD 70
X. THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE 82
XI. THE CAPTAIN KNUCKLES UNDER 91
XII. I HEAR OF THE “RED FOX” 97
XIII. THE LOSS OF THE BRIG 108
XIV. THE ISLET 116
XV. THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE
ISLE OF MULL 128
XVI. THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: ACROSS MORVEN 139
XVII. THE DEATH OF THE RED FOX 149
XVIII. I TALK WITH ALAN IN THE WOOD OF LETTERMORE 157
XIX. THE HOUSE OF FEAR 168
XX. THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE ROCKS 177
XXI. THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE HEUGH
OF CORRYNAKIEGH 188
XXII. THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR 198
XXIII. CLUNY’S CAGE 208
XXIV. THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE QUARREL 219
XXV. IN BALQUHIDDER 232
XXVI. END OF THE FLIGHT: WE PASS THE FORTH 241
XXVII. I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR 255
XXVIII. I GO IN QUEST OF MY INHERITANCE 266
XXIX. I COME INTO MY KINGDOM 276
XXX. GOOD-BYE 285
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
MR. BALFOUR, OF THE HOUSE OF SHAWS 18
What he was, whether by trade or birth, was more than
I could fathom
AT QUEEN’S FERRY 48
And the spirit of all that I beheld put me in thoughts
of far voyages and foreign places
THE SIEGE OF THE ROUND-HOUSE 84
It came all of a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet
and a roar, and then a shout from Alan
THE WRECK OF THE “COVENANT” 112
It was the spare yard I had got hold of, and I was amazed
to see how far I had travelled from the brig
ON THE ISLAND OF EARRAID 122
But the second day passed; and as long as the light
lasted I kept a bright look-out for boats on the
sound or men passing on the Boss
THE MURDERER OF ROY CAMPBELL OF GLENURE 154
At that the murderer gave a little, quick look over his
shoulder, and began to run
AT THE CARDS IN CLUNY’S CAGE 214
But Alan and Cluny were most of the time at the cards
TWO PIPERS IN BALQUHIDDER 238
All night long the brose was going and the pipes changing
hands
THE PARTING 286
For we both knew without a word said that we had
come to where our ways parted
MAP 3
Sketch of the Cruise of the Brig _Covenant_ and the
probable course of David Balfour’s Wanderings
KIDNAPPED
[Illustration: SKETCH of the CRUISE of the BRIG COVENANT
And the probable course of DAVID BALFOUR’S WANDERINGS.
THE GRAY LITH. CO., N.Y.
]
CHAPTER I
I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in
the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took the key for the
last time out of the door of my father’s house. The sun began to shine
upon the summit of the hills as I went down the road; and by the time I
had come as far as the manse, the blackbirds were whistling in the
garden lilacs, and the mist that hung around the valley in the time of
the dawn was beginning to arise and die away.
Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, was waiting for me by the
garden gate, good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted; and hearing
that I lacked for nothing, he took my hand in both of his and clapped it
kindly under his arm.
“Well, Davie, lad,” said he, “I will go with you as far as the ford, to
set you on the way.”
And we began to walk forward in silence.
“Are ye sorry to leave Essendean?” said he, after awhile.
“Why, sir,” said I, “if I knew where I was going, or what was likely to
become of me, I would tell you candidly Essendean is a good place
indeed, and I have been very happy there; but then I have never been
anywhere else. My father and mother, since they are both dead, I shall
be no nearer to in Essendean than in the Kingdom of Hungary; and, to
speak truth, if I thought I had a chance to better myself where I was
going I would go with a good will.”
“Ay?” said Mr. Campbell. “Very well, Davie. Then it behoves me to tell
your fortune; or so far as I may. When your mother was gone, and your
father (the worthy, Christian man) began to sicken for his end, he gave
me in charge a certain letter, which he said was your inheritance. ‘So
soon,’ says he, ‘as I am gone, and the house is redd up and the gear
disposed of’ (all which, Davie, hath been done), ‘give my boy this
letter into his hand, and start him off to the house of Shaws, not far
from Cramond. That is the place I came from,’ he said, ‘and it’s where
it befits that my boy should return. He is a steady lad,’ your father
said, ‘and a canny goer; and I doubt not he will come safe, and be well
liked where he goes.’”
“The house of Shaws!” I cried. “What had my poor father to do with the
house of Shaws?”
“Nay,” said Mr. Campbell, “who can tell that for a surety? But the name
of that family, Davie, boy, is the name you bear--Balfours of Shaws: an
ancient, honest, reputable house, peradventure in these latter days
decayed. Your father, too, was a man of learning as befitted his
position; no man more plausibly conducted school; nor had he the manner
or the speech of a common dominie; but (as ye will yourself remember) I
took aye a pleasure to have him to the manse to meet the gentry; and
those of my own house, Campbell of Kilrennet, Campbell of Dunswire,
Campbell of Minch, and others, all well-kenned gentlemen, had pleasure
in his society. Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before
you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the own
hand of our departed brother.”
He gave me the letter, which was addressed in these words: “To the hands
of Ebenezer Balfour, Esquire, of Shaws, in his house of Shaws, these
will be delivered by my son, David Balfour.” My heart was beating hard
at this great prospect now suddenly opening before a lad of seventeen
years of age, the son of a poor country dominie in the Forest of
Ettrick.
“Mr. Campbell,” I stammered, “and if you were in my shoes, would you
go?”
“Of a surety,” said the minister, “that would I, and without pause. A
pretty lad like you should get to Cramond (which is near in by
Edinburgh) in two days of walk. If the worst came to the worst, and your
high relations (as I cannot but suppose them to be somewhat of your
blood) should put you to the door, ye can but walk the two days back
again and risp at the manse door. But I would rather hope that ye shall
be well received, as your poor father forecast for you, and for anything
that I ken come to be a great man in time. And here, Davie, laddie,” he
resumed, “it lies near upon my conscience to improve this parting, and
set you on the right guard against the dangers of the world.”
Here he cast about for a comfortable seat, lighted on a big boulder
under a birch by the trackside, sate down upon it with a very long,
serious upper lip, and the sun now shining in upon us between two peaks,
put his pocket-handkerchief over his cocked hat to shelter him. There,
then, with up-lifted forefinger, he first put me on my guard against a
considerable number of heresies, to which I had no temptation, and urged
upon me to be instant in my prayers and reading of the Bible. That done,
he drew a picture of the great house that I was bound to, and how I
should conduct myself with its inhabitants.
“Be soople, Davie, in things immaterial,” said he. “Bear ye this in
mind, that, though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing. Dinnae
shame us, Davie, dinnae shame us! In yon great, muckle house, with all
these domestics, upper and under, show yourself as nice, as circumspect,
as quick at the conception, and as slow of speech as any. As for the
laird--remember he’s the laird; I say no more: honour to whom honour.
It’s a pleasure to obey a laird; or should be, to the young.”
“Well, sir,” said I, “it may be; and I’ll promise you I’ll try to make
it so.”
“Why, very well said,” replied Mr. Campbell, heartily. “And now to come
to the material, or (to make a quibble) to the immaterial. I have here a
little packet which contains four things.” He tugged it, as he spoke,
and with some great difficulty, from the skirt pocket of his coat. “Of
these four things, the first is your legal due: the little pickle money
for your father’s books and plenishing, which I have bought (as I have
explained from the first) in the design of re-selling at a profit to the
incoming dominie. The other three are gifties that Mrs. Campbell and
myself would be blithe of your acceptance. The first, which is round,
will likely please ye best at the first off-go; but, O Davie, laddie,
it’s but a drop of water in the sea; it’ll help you but a step, and
vanish like the morning. The second, which is flat and square and
written upon, will stand by you through life, like a good staff for the
road, and a good pillow to your head in sickness. And as for the last,
which is cubical, that’ll see you, it’s my prayerful wish, into a better
land.”
With that he got upon his feet, took off his hat, and prayed a little
while aloud, and in affecting terms, for a young man setting out into
the world; then suddenly took me in his arms and embraced me very hard;
then held me at arm’s length, looking at me with his face all working
with sorrow; and then whipped about, and crying good-bye to me, set off
backward by the way that we had come at a sort of jogging run. It might
have been laughable to another; but I was in no mind to laugh. I watched
him as long as he was in sight; and he never stopped hurrying, nor once
looked back. Then it came in upon my mind that this was all his sorrow
at my departure; and my conscience smote me hard and fast, because I,
for my part, was overjoyed to get away out of that quiet country-side,
and go to a great, busy house, among rich and respected gentlefolk of my
own name and blood.
“Davie, Davie,” I thought, “was ever seen such black ingratitude? Can
you forget old favours and old friends at the mere whistle of a name?
Fie, fie; think shame!”
And I sat down on the boulder the good man had just left, and opened
the parcel to see the nature of my gifts. That which he had called
cubical, I had never had much doubt of; sure enough it was a little
Bible, to carry in a plaid-neuk. That which he had called round, I found
to be a shilling piece; and the third, which was to help me so
wonderfully both in health and sickness all the days of my life, was a
little piece of coarse yellow paper, written upon thus in red ink:
“TO MAKE LILLY OF THE VALLEY WATER.--Take the flowers of lilly of
the valley and distil them in sack, and drink a spooneful or two as
there is occasion. It restores speech to those that have the dumb
palsey. It is good against the Gout; it comforts the heart and
strengthens the memory; and the flowers, put into a Glasse, close
stopt, and set into ane hill of ants for a month, then take it out,
and you will find a liquor which comes from the flowers, which keep
in a vial; it is good, ill or well, and whether man or woman.”
And then, in the minister’s own hand, was added:
“Likewise for sprains, rub it in; and for the cholic, a great
spooneful in the hour.”
To be sure, I laughed over this; but it was rather tremulous laughter;
and I was glad to get my bundle on my staff’s end and set out over the
ford and up the hill upon the farther side; till, just as I came on the
green drove-road running wide through the heather, I took my last look
of Kirk Essendean, the trees about the manse, and the big rowans in the
kirkyard where my father and my mother lay.