Chapter XXIX. I Come Into My Kingdom

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　For some time Alan volleyed upon the door, and his knocking onlyroused the echoes of the house and neighbourhood. At last,however, I could hear the noise of a window gently thrust up, andknew that my uncle had come to his observatory. By what lightthere was, he would see Alan standing, like a dark shadow, on thesteps; the three witnesses were hidden quite out of his view; sothat there was nothing to alarm an honest man in his own house.For all that, he studied his visitor awhile in silence, and whenhe spoke his voice had a quaver of misgiving."What's this?" says he. "This is nae kind of time of night fordecent folk; and I hae nae trokings[34] wi' night-hawks. Whatbrings ye here? I have a blunderbush."[34]Dealings."Is that yoursel', Mr. Balfour?" returned Alan, stepping back andlooking up into the darkness. "Have a care of that blunderbuss;they're nasty 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 thecountry-side," said Alan; "but what brings me here is anotherstory, being more of your affair than mine; and if ye're sureit's what ye would like, I'll set it to a tune and sing it toyou.""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 yein," says my uncle, doubtfully."I dare say that," said Alan; "but the point is, Would I go? NowI will tell you what I am thinking. I am thinking that it ishere upon this doorstep that we must confer upon this business;and it shall be here or nowhere at all whatever; for I would haveyou to understand that I am as stiffnecked as yoursel', and agentleman 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,"and shut the window. But it took him a long time to getdown-stairs, and a still longer to undo the fastenings, repenting(I dare say) and taken with fresh claps of fear at every secondstep and every bolt and bar. At last, however, we heard thecreak of the hinges, and it seems my uncle slipped gingerly outand (seeing that Alan had stepped back a pace or two) sate himdown on the top doorstep with the blunderbuss ready in his hands."And, now" says he, "mind I have my blunderbush, and if ye take astep nearer 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 chanty kind of aproceeding, and I'm bound to be prepared. And now that weunderstand each other, ye'll can name your business.""Why," says Alan, "you that are a man of so much understanding,will doubtless have perceived that I am a Hieland gentleman. Myname has nae business in my story; but the county of my friendsis no very far from the Isle of Mull, of which ye will haveheard. It seems there was a ship lost in those parts; and thenext day a gentleman of my family was seeking wreck-wood for hisfire along the sands, when he came upon a lad that was halfdrowned. Well, he brought him to; and he and some othergentleman took and clapped him in an auld, ruined castle, wherefrom that day to this he has been a great expense to my friends.My friends are a wee wild-like, and not so particular about thelaw as some that I could name; and finding that the lad ownedsome decent folk, and was your born nephew, Mr. Balfour, theyasked me to give ye a bit call and confer upon the matter. And Imay tell ye at the off-go, unless we can 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. "Hewasnae a good lad at the best of it, and I've nae call tointerfere.""Ay, ay," said Alan, "I see what ye would be at: pretending yedon't care, to make the ransom smaller.""Na," said my uncle, "it's the mere truth. I take nae manner ofinterest in the lad, and I'll pay nae ransome, and ye can make akirk and a mill of him for what I care.""Hoot, sir," says Alan. "Blood's thicker than water, in thedeil's name! Ye cannae desert your brother's son for the fairshame of it; and if ye did, and it came to be kennt, ye wouldnaebe very popular in your country-side, or I'm the more deceived.""I'm no just very popular the way it is," returned Ebenezer; "andI dinnae see how it would come to be kennt. No by me, onyway;nor yet by you 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 keepyour nephew as long as there was any likelihood of siller to bemade of it, but if there was nane, I am clearly of opinion theywould let him gang where he pleased, and be damned to him!""Ay, but I'm no very caring about that either," said my uncle."I wouldnae 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 were two ways of it: either ye liked David and would pay toget him back; or else ye had very good reasons for not wantinghim, and would pay for us to keep him. It seems it's not thefirst; well then, it's the second; and blythe am I to ken it, forit should be a pretty penny in my pocket and the pockets of myfriends.""I dinnae follow ye there," said my uncle."No?" said Alan. "Well, see here: you dinnae 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 you to ken that I am agentleman; I bear a king's name; I am nae rider to kick my shanksat your hall door. Either give me an answer in civility, andthat out of hand; or by the top of Glencoe, I will ram three feetof iron through your vitals.""Eh, man," cried my uncle, scrambling to his feet, "give me ameenit! What's like wrong with ye? I'm just a plain man and naedancing master; and I'm tryin to be as ceevil as it's morallypossible. As for that wild talk, it's fair disrepitable.Vitals, says you! And where would I be with my blunderbush?" hesnarled."Powder and your auld hands are but as the snail to the swallowagainst the bright steel in the hands of Alan," said the other."Before your jottering finger could find the trigger, the hiltwould dirl on your breast-bane.""Eh, man, whae's denying it?" said my uncle. "Pit it as yeplease, hae't your ain way; I'll do naething to cross ye. Justtell me what like ye'll be wanting, and ye'll see that we'll canagree fine.""Troth, sir," said Alan, "I ask for nothing but plain dealing.In two words: do ye want the lad killed or kept?""O, sirs!" cried Ebenezer. "O, sirs, me! that's no kind oflanguage!""Killed or kept!" repeated Alan."O, keepit, keepit!" wailed my uncle. "We'll have nae bloodshed,if you please.""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 thekilling's easier, and quicker, and surer. Keeping the lad'll bea fashious[35] job, a fashious, kittle business."[35]Troublesome."I'll have him keepit, though," returned my uncle. "I never hadnaething to do with onything morally wrong; and I'm no gaun tobegin to pleasure a wild Hielandman.""Ye're unco scrupulous," sneered Alan."I'm a man o' principle," said Ebenezer, simply; "and if I haveto pay for it, I'll have to pay for it. And besides," says he,"ye forget the lad's my brother's son.""Well, well," said Alan, "and now about the price. It's no veryeasy for me to set a name upon it; I would first have to ken somesmall matters. I would have to ken, for instance, what ye gaveHoseason at the first off-go?""Hoseason!" cries my uncle, struck aback. "What for?""For kidnapping David," says Alan."It's a lee, it's a black lee!" cried my uncle. "He was neverkidnapped. He leed in his throat that tauld ye that. Kidnapped?He never was!""That's no fault of mine nor yet of yours," said Alan; "nor yetof Hoseason'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 yedrove a fool's bargain when ye let a man like the sailor-man sofar forward in your private matters. But that's past prayingfor; and ye must lie on your bed the way ye made it. And thepoint in hand is just this: what did ye pay him?""Has he tauld ye himsel'?" asked my uncle."That's my concern," said Alan."Weel," said my uncle, "I dinnae care what he said, he leed, andthe solemn God's truth is this, that I gave him twenty pound.But I'll be perfec'ly honest with ye: forby that, he was to havethe selling of the lad in Caroliny, whilk would be as mucklemair, but no from my pocket, ye see.""Thank you, Mr. Thomson. That will do excellently well," saidthe lawyer, 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 satwhere he was on the top door-step and stared upon us like a manturned to stone. Alan filched away his blunderbuss; and thelawyer, taking him by the arm, plucked him up from the doorstep,led him into the kitchen, whither we all followed, and set himdown in a chair beside the hearth, where the fire was out andonly a rush-light 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 abottle of your father's wine in honour of the event." Then,turning to me and taking me by the hand, "Mr. David," says he, "Iwish you all joy in your good fortune, which I believe to bedeserved." And then to Alan, with a spice of drollery, "Mr.Thomson, I pay you my compliment; it was most artfully conducted;but in one point you somewhat outran my comprehension. Do Iunderstand your name to be James? or Charles? or is it 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," repliedRankeillor; "and as there has never yet been a King Thomson, orhis fame at least has never come my way, I judged you must referto that you had in baptism."This was just the stab that Alan would feel keenest, and I amfree to confess he took it very ill. Not a word would he answer,but stepped off to the far end of the kitchen, and sat down andsulked; and it was not till I stepped after him, and gave him myhand, and thanked him by title as the chief spring of my success,that he began to smile a bit, and was at last prevailed upon tojoin our party.By that time we had the fire lighted, and a bottle of wineuncorked; a good supper came out of the basket, to which Torranceand I and Alan set ourselves down; while the lawyer and my unclepassed into the next chamber to consult. They stayed therecloseted about an hour; at the end of which period they had cometo a good understanding, and my uncle and I set our hands to theagreement in a formal manner. By the terms of this, my unclebound himself to satisfy Rankeillor as to his intromissions, andto pay me two clear thirds of the yearly income of Shaws.So the beggar in the ballad had come home; and when I lay downthat night on the kitchen chests, I was a man of means and had aname in the country. Alan and Torrance and Rankeillor slept andsnored on their hard beds; but for me who had lain out underheaven and upon dirt and stones, so many days and nights, andoften with an empty belly, and in fear of death, this good changein my case unmanned me more than any of the former evil ones; andI lay till dawn, looking at the fire on the roof and planning thefuture.