Chapter II. I Come to My Journey's End

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　On the forenoon of the second day, coming to the top of a hill, Isaw all the country fall away before me down to the sea; and inthe midst of this descent, on a long ridge, the city of Edinburghsmoking like a kiln. There was a flag upon the castle, and shipsmoving or lying anchored in the firth; both of which, for as faraway as they were, I could distinguish clearly; and both broughtmy country heart into my mouth.Presently after, I came by a house where a shepherd lived, andgot a rough direction for the neighbourhood of Cramond; and so,from one to another, worked my way to the westward of the capitalby Colinton, till I came out upon the Glasgow road. And there,to my great pleasure and wonder, I beheld a regiment marching tothe fifes, every foot in time; an old red-faced general on a greyhorse at the one end, and at the other the company of Grenadiers,with their Pope's-hats. The pride of life seemed to mount intomy brain at the sight of the red coats and the hearing of thatmerry music.A little farther on, and I was told I was in Cramond parish, andbegan to substitute in my inquiries the name of the house ofShaws. It was a word that seemed to surprise those of whom Isought my way. At first I thought the plainness of myappearance, in my country habit, and that all dusty from theroad, consorted ill with the greatness of the place to which Iwas bound. But after two, or maybe three, had given me the samelook and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there wassomething strange about the Shaws itself.The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of myinquiries; and spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on theshaft of his cart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of ahouse they called the house of Shaws.He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others."Ay" said he. "What for?""It's a great house?" I asked."Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle house.""Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?""Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there -- tocall folk.""What?" say I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?""Ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it'shim you're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?""I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said,looking as modest as I could."What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horsestarted; and then, "Well, mannie," he added, "it's nane of myaffairs; but ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take aword from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws."The next person I came across was a dapper little man in abeautiful white wig, whom I saw to be a barber on his rounds; andknowing well that barbers were great gossips, I asked him plainlywhat sort of a man was Mr. Balfour of the Shaws."Hoot, hoot, hoot," said the barber, "nae kind of a man, nae kindof a man at all;" and began to ask me very shrewdly what mybusiness was; but I was more than a match for him at that, and hewent on to his next customer no wiser than he came.I cannot well describe the blow this dealt to my illusions. Themore indistinct the accusations were, the less I liked them, forthey left the wider field to fancy. What kind of a great housewas this, that all the parish should start and stare to be askedthe way to it? or what sort of a gentleman, that his ill-fameshould be thus current on the wayside? If an hour's walking wouldhave brought me back to Essendean, had left my adventure then andthere, and returned to Mr. Campbell's. But when I had come sofar a way already, mere shame would not suffer me to desist tillI had put the matter to the touch of proof; I was bound, out ofmere self-respect, to carry it through; and little as I liked thesound of what I heard, and slow as I began to travel, I stillkept asking my way and still kept advancing.It was drawing on to sundown when I met a stout, dark,sour-looking woman coming trudging down a hill; and she, when Ihad put my usual question, turned sharp about, accompanied meback to the summit she had just left, and pointed to a great bulkof building standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of thenext valley. The country was pleasant round about, running inlow hills, pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to myeyes, wonderfully good; but the house itself appeared to be akind of ruin; no road led up to it; no smoke arose from any ofthe chimneys; nor was there any semblance of a garden. My heartsank. "That!" I cried.The woman's face lit up with a malignant anger. "That is thehouse of Shaws!" she cried. "Blood built it; blood stopped thebuilding of it; blood shall bring it down. See here!" she criedagain -- "I spit upon the ground, and crack my thumb at it! Blackbe its fall! If ye see the laird, tell him what ye hear; tell himthis makes the twelve hunner and nineteen time that JennetClouston has called down the curse on him and his house, byre andstable, man, guest, and master, wife, miss, or bairn -- black,black be their fall!"And the woman, whose voice had risen to a kind of eldritchsing-song, turned with a skip, and was gone. I stood where sheleft me, with my hair on end. In those days folk still believedin witches and trembled at a curse; and this one, falling so pat,like a wayside omen, to arrest me ere I carried out my purpose,took the pith out of my legs.I sat me down and stared at the house of Shaws. The more Ilooked, the pleasanter that country-side appeared; being all setwith hawthorn bushes full of flowers; the fields dotted withsheep; a fine flight of rooks in the sky; and every sign of akind soil and climate; and yet the barrack in the midst of itwent sore against my fancy.Country folk went by from the fields as I sat there on the sideof the ditch, but I lacked the spirit to give them a good-e'en.At last the sun went down, and then, right up against the yellowsky, I saw a scroll of smoke go mounting, not much thicker, as itseemed to me, than the smoke of a candle; but still there it was,and meant a fire, and warmth, and cookery, and some livinginhabitant that must have lit it; and this comforted my heart.So I set forward by a little faint track in the grass that led inmy direction. It was very faint indeed to be the only way to aplace of habitation; yet I saw no other. Presently it brought meto stone uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them, and coatsof arms upon the top. A main entrance it was plainly meant tobe, but never finished; instead of gates of wrought iron, a pairof hurdles were tied across with a straw rope; and as there wereno park walls, nor any sign of avenue, the track that I wasfollowing passed on the right hand of the pillars, and wentwandering on toward the house.The nearer I got to that, the drearier it appeared. It seemedlike the one wing of a house that had never been finished. Whatshould have been the inner end stood open on the upper floors,and showed against the sky with steps and stairs of uncompletedmasonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew in andout like doves out of a dove-cote.The night had begun to fall as I got close; and in three of thelower windows, which were very high up and narrow, and wellbarred, the changing light of a little fire began to glimmer.Was this the palace I had been coming to? Was it within thesewalls that I was to seek new friends and begin great fortunes?Why, in my father's house on Essen-Waterside, the fire and thebright lights would show a mile away, and the door open to abeggar's knock!I came forward cautiously, and giving ear as I came, heard someone rattling with dishes, and a little dry, eager cough that camein fits; but there was no sound of speech, and not a dog barked.The door, as well as I could see it in the dim light, was a greatpiece of wood all studded with nails; and I lifted my hand with afaint heart under my jacket, and knocked once. Then I stood andwaited. The house had fallen into a dead silence; a whole minutepassed away, and nothing stirred but the bats overhead. Iknocked again, and hearkened again. By this time my ears hadgrown so accustomed to the quiet, that I could hear the tickingof the clock inside as it slowly counted out the seconds; butwhoever was in that house kept deadly still, and must have heldhis breath.I was in two minds whether to run away; but anger got the upperhand, and I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door,and to shout out aloud for Mr. Balfour. I was in full career,when I heard the cough right overhead, and jumping back andlooking up, beheld a man's head in a tall nightcap, and the bellmouth of a blunderbuss, at one of the first-storey windows."It's loaded," said a voice."I have come here with a letter," I said, "to Mr. EbenezerBalfour of Shaws. Is he here?""From whom is it?" asked the man with the blunderbuss."That is neither here nor there," said I, for I was growing verywroth."Well," was the reply, "ye can put it down upon the doorstep, andbe off with ye.""I will do no such thing," I cried. "I will deliver it into Mr.Balfour's hands, as it was meant I should. It is a letter ofintroduction.""A what?" cried the voice, sharply.I repeated what I had said."Who are ye, yourself?" was the next question, after aconsiderable pause."I am not ashamed of my name," said I. "They call me DavidBalfour."At that, I made sure the man started, for I heard the blunderbussrattle on the window-sill; and it was after quite a long pause,and with a curious change of voice, that the next questionfollowed:"Is your father dead?"I was so much surprised at this, that I could find no voice toanswer, but stood staring."Ay" the man resumed, "he'll be dead, no doubt; and that'll bewhat brings ye chapping to my door." Another pause, and thendefiantly, "Well, man," he said, "I'll let ye in;" and hedisappeared from the window.