CHAPTER XXIX
I COME INTO MY KINGDOM
For some time Alan volleyed upon the door, and his knocking only rousedthe echoes of the house and neighbourhood. At last, however, I couldhear the noise of a window gently thrust up, and knew that my uncle hadcome to his observatory. By what light there was he would see Alanstanding, like a dark shadow, on the steps; the three witnesses werehidden quite out of his view; so that there was nothing to alarm anhonest man in his own house. For all that, he studied his visitor awhile in silence, and when he spoke his voice had a quaver of misgiving.
"What's this?" says he. "This is nae kind of time of night for decentfolk; and I hae nae trokings[34] wi' night-hawks. What brings ye here? Ihave a blunderbush."
"Is that yoursel', Mr. Balfour?" returned Alan, stepping back andlooking up into the darkness. "Have a care of that blunderbuss; they'renasty things to burst."
"What brings ye here? and whae are ye?" says my uncle angrily.
"I have no manner of inclination to rowt out my name to thecountryside," said Alan; "but what brings me here is another story,being more of your affairs than mine; and if ye're sure it's what yewould like, I'll set it to a tune and sing it to you."
"And what is't?" asked my uncle.
"David," says Alan.
"What was that?" cried my uncle, in a mighty changed voice.
"Shall I give ye the rest of the name, then?" said Alan.
There was a pause; and then, "I'm thinking I'll better let ye in," saysmy uncle doubtfully.
"I daresay that," said Alan; "but the point is, Would I go? Now I willtell you what I am thinking. I am thinking that it is here, upon thisdoorstep, that we must confer upon this business; and it shall be hereor nowhere at all whatever; for I would have you to understand that I amas stiffnecked as yoursel', and a gentleman of better family."
This change of note disconcerted Ebenezer; he was a little whiledigesting it, and then says he, "Weel, weel, what must be must," andshut the window. But it took him a long time to get downstairs, and astill longer to undo the fastenings, repenting (I daresay) and takenwith fresh claps of fear at every second step and every bolt and bar. Atlast, however, we heard the creak of the hinges, and it seems my uncleslipped gingerly out and (seeing that Alan had stepped back a pace ortwo) sate him down on the top doorstep with the blunderbuss ready in hishands.
"And now," says he, "mind I have my blunderbush, and if ye take a stepnearer ye're as good as deid."
"And a very civil speech," says Alan, "to be sure."
"Na," says my uncle, "but this is no' a very chancy kind of aproceeding, and I'm bound to be prepared. And now that we understandeach other, ye'll can name your business."
"Why," says Alan, "you that are a man of so much understanding willdoubtless have perceived that I am a Hieland gentleman. My name has naebusiness in my story; but the county of my friends is no' very far fromthe Isle of Mull, of which ye will have heard. It seems there was a shiplost in those parts; and the next day a gentleman of my family wasseeking wreck-wood for his fire along the sands, when he came upon a ladthat was half drowned. Well, he brought him to; and he and some othergentlemen took and clapped him in an auld, ruined castle, where fromthat day to this he has been a great expense to my friends. My friendsare a wee wild-like, and not so particular about the law as some that Icould name; and finding that the lad owned some decent folk, and wasyour born nephew, Mr. Balfour, they asked me to give ye a bit call andto confer upon the matter. And I may tell ye at the off-go, unless wecan agree upon some terms, ye are little likely to set eyes upon him.For my friends," added Alan simply, "are no' very well off."
My uncle cleared his throat. "I'm no' very caring," says he. "He wasna agood lad at the best of it, and I've nae call to interfere."
"Ay, ay," said Alan, "I see what ye would be at: pretending ye don'tcare, to make the ransom smaller."
"Na," said my uncle, "it's the mere truth. I take nae manner of interestin the lad, and I'll pay nae ransom, and ye can make a kirk and a millof him for what I care."
"Hoot, sir," says Alan. "Blood's thicker than water, in the deil's name!Ye canna desert your brother's son for the fair shame of it; and if yedid, and it came to be kennt, ye wouldna be very popular in yourcountryside, or I'm the more deceived."
"I'm no' just very popular the way it is," returned Ebenezer; "and Idinna see how it would come to be kennt. No' by me, onyway; nor yet byyou or your friends. So that's idle talk, my buckie," says he.
"Then it'll have to be David that tells it," said Alan.
"How that?" says my uncle sharply.
"Ou, just this way," says Alan. "My friends would doubtless keep yournephew as long as there was any likelihood of siller to be made of it,but if there was nane, I am clearly of opinion they would let him gangwhere he pleased, and be damned to him!"
"Ay, but I'm no very caring about that either," said my uncle. "Iwouldna be muckle made up with that."
"I was thinking that," said Alan.
"And what for why?" asked Ebenezer.
"Why, Mr. Balfour," replied Alan, "by all that I could hear, there weretwo ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay to get him back; orelse ye had very good reasons for not wanting him, and would pay for usto keep him. It seems it's not the first; well then, it's the second;and blithe am I to ken it, for it should be a pretty penny in my pocketand the pockets of my friends."
"I dinna follow ye there," said my uncle.
"No?" said Alan. "Well, see here: you dinna want the lad back; well,what do ye want done with him, and how much will ye pay?"
My uncle made no answer, but shifted uneasily on his seat.
"Come, sir," cried Alan. "I would have ye to ken that I am a gentleman;I bear a king's name; I am nae rider to kick my shanks at yourhall-door. Either give me an answer in civility, and that out of hand;or, by the top of Glencoe, I will ram three feet of iron through yourvitals."
"Eh, man," cried my uncle, scrambling to his feet, "give me a meenit!What's like wrong with ye? I'm just a plain man and nae dancing-master;and I'm trying to be as ceevil as it's morally possible. As for thatwild talk, it's fair disrepitable. Vitals, says you! And where would Ibe with my blunderbush?" he snarled.
"Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallow againstthe bright steel in the hands of Alan," said the other. "Before yourjottering finger could find the trigger, the hilt would dirl on yourbreast-bane."
"Eh, man, whae's denying it?" said my uncle. "Pit it as ye please, hae'tyour ain way; I'll do naething to cross ye. Just tell me what like ye'llbe wanting, and ye'll see that we'll can agree fine."
"Troth, sir," said Alan, "I ask for nothing but plain dealing. In twowords: do ye want the lad killed or kept?"
"O sirs!" cried Ebenezer. "O sirs me! that's no kind of language!"
"Killed or kept?" repeated Alan.
"O, keepit, keepit!" wailed my uncle. "We'll have nae bloodshed, if youplease."
"Well," says Alan, "as ye please; that'll be the dearer."
"The dearer?" cries Ebenezer. "Would ye fyle your hands wi' crime?"
"Hoot!" said Alan, "they're baith crime, whatever! And the killing'seasier, and quicker, and surer. Keeping the lad'll be a fashious[35]job, a fashious, kittle business."
"I'll have him keepit, though," returned my uncle. "I never had naethingto do with onything morally wrong; and I'm no' gaun to begin to pleasurea wild Hielandman."
"Ye're unco scrupulous," sneered Alan.
"I'm a man o' principle," said Ebenezer simply; "and if I have to payfor it, I'll have to pay for it. And besides," says he, "ye forget thelad's my brother's son."
"Well, well," said Alan, "and now about the price. It's no' very easyfor me to set a name upon it; I would first have to ken some smallmatters. I would have to ken, for instance, what ye gave Hoseason at thefirst off-go?"
"Hoseason!" cries my uncle, struck aback. "What for?"
"For kidnapping David," says Alan.
"It's a lee, it's a black l
ee!" cried my uncle. "He was never kidnapped.He lee'd in his throat that tauld ye that. Kidnapped? He never was!"
"That's no fault of mine, nor yet of yours," said Alan; "nor yet ofHoseason's, if he's a man that can be trusted."
"What do ye mean?" cried Ebenezer. "Did Hoseason tell ye?"
"Why, ye donnered auld runt, how else would I ken?" cried Alan."Hoseason and me are partners; we gang shares; so ye can see foryoursel' what good ye can do leeing. And I must plainly say ye drove afool's bargain when ye let a man like the sailor-man so far forward inyour private matters. But that's past praying for; and ye must lie onyour bed the way ye made it. And the point in hand is just this: whatdid ye pay him?"
"Has he tauld ye himsel'?" asked my uncle.
"That's my concern," said Alan.
"Weel," said my uncle, "I dinna care what he said; he lee'd; and thesolemn God's truth is this, that I gave him twenty pound. But I'll beperfec'ly honest with ye: forbye that, he was to have the selling of thelad in Caroliny, whilk would be as muckle mair, but no' from my pocket,ye see."
"Thank you, Mr. Thomson. That will do excellently well," said thelawyer, stepping forward; and then mighty civilly, "Good-evening, Mr.Balfour," said he.
And "Good-evening, uncle Ebenezer," said I.
And "It's a braw nicht, Mr. Balfour," added Torrance.
Never a word said my uncle, neither black nor white; but just sat wherehe was on the top doorstep, and stared upon us like a man turned tostone. Alan filched away his blunderbuss; and the lawyer, taking him bythe arm, plucked him up from the doorstep, led him into the kitchen,whither we all followed, and set him down in a chair beside the hearth,where the fire was out and only a rushlight burning.
There we all looked upon him for a while, exulting greatly in oursuccess, but yet with a sort of pity for the man's shame.
"Come, come, Mr. Ebenezer," said the lawyer, "you must not bedown-hearted, for I promise you we shall make easy terms. In themeanwhile give us the cellar key, and Torrance shall draw us a bottle ofyour father's wine in honour of the event." Then, turning to me, andtaking me by the hand, "Mr. David," says he, "I wish you all joy in yourgood fortune, which I believe to be deserved." And then to Alan, with aspice of drollery, "Mr. Thomson, I pay you my compliment; it was mostartfully conducted; but in one point you somewhat outran mycomprehension. Do I understand your name to be James? or Charles? or isit George, perhaps?"
"And why should it be any of the three, sir?" quoth Alan, drawinghimself up, like one who smelt an offence.
"Only, sir, that you mentioned a king's name," replied Rankeillor; "andas there has never yet been a King Thomson, or his fame at least hasnever come my way, I judged you must refer to that you had in baptism."
This was just the stab that Alan would feel keenest, and I am free toconfess he took it very ill. Not a word would he answer, but stepped offto the far end of the kitchen and sat down and sulked; and it was nottill I stepped after him, and gave him my hand, and thanked him by titleas the chief spring of my success, that he began to smile a bit, and wasat last prevailed upon to join our party.
By that time we had the fire lighted, and a bottle of wine uncorked; agood supper came out of the basket, to which Torrance and I and Alan setourselves down; while the lawyer and my uncle passed into the nextchamber to consult. They stayed there closeted about an hour; at the endof which period they had come to a good understanding, and my uncle andI set our hands to the agreement in a formal manner. By the terms ofthis, my uncle bound himself to satisfy Rankeillor as to hisintromissions, and to pay me two clear thirds of the yearly income ofShaws.
So the beggar in the ballad had come home; and when I lay down thatnight on the kitchen chests, I was a man of means and had a name in thecountry. Alan and Torrance and Rankeillor slept and snored on their hardbeds; but for me, who had lain out under heaven and upon dirt andstones, so many days and nights, and often with an empty belly, and infear of death, this good change in my case unmanned me more than any ofthe former evil ones; and I lay till dawn, looking at the fire on theroof and planning the future.
FOOTNOTES:
[34] Dealings.
[35] Troublesome.
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 10 Page 40