Chapter XXVI. End of the Flight: We Pass the Forth

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　The month, as I have said, was not yet out, but it was alreadyfar through August, and beautiful warm weather, with every signof an early and great harvest, when I was pronounced able for myjourney. Our money was now run to so low an ebb that we mustthink first of all on speed; for if we came not soon to Mr.Rankeillor's, or if when we came there he should fail to help me,we must surely starve. In Alan's view, besides, the hunt musthave now greatly slackened; and the line of the Forth and evenStirling Bridge, which is the main pass over that river, would bewatched with little interest."It's a chief principle in military affairs," said he, "to gowhere ye are least expected. Forth is our trouble; ye ken thesaying, 'Forth bridles the wild Hielandman.' Well, if we seek tocreep round about the head of that river and come down by Kippenor Balfron, it's just precisely there that they'll be looking tolay hands on us. But if we stave on straight to the auld Brig ofStirling, I'll lay my sword they let us pass unchallenged."The first night, accordingly, we pushed to the house of aMaclaren in Strathire, a friend of Duncan's, where we slept thetwenty-first of the month, and whence we set forth again aboutthe fall of night to make another easy stage. The twenty-secondwe lay in a heather bush on the hillside in Uam Var, within viewof a herd of deer, the happiest ten hours of sleep in a fine,breathing sunshine and on bone-dry ground, that I have evertasted. That night we struck Allan Water, and followed it down;and coming to the edge of the hills saw the whole Carse ofStirling underfoot, as flat as a pancake, with the town andcastle on a hill in the midst of it, and the moon shining on theLinks of Forth."Now," said Alan, "I kenna if ye care, but ye're in your own landagain. We passed the Hieland Line in the first hour; and now ifwe could but pass yon crooked water, we might cast our bonnets inthe air."In Allan Water, near by where it falls into the Forth, we found alittle sandy islet, overgrown with burdock, butterbur and thelike low plants, that would just cover us if we lay flat. Hereit was we made our camp, within plain view of Stirling Castle,whence we could hear the drums beat as some part of the garrisonparaded. Shearers worked all day in a field on one side of theriver, and we could hear the stones going on the hooks and thevoices and even the words of the men talking. It behoved to lieclose and keep silent. But the sand of the little isle wassun-warm, the green plants gave us shelter for our heads, we hadfood and drink in plenty; and to crown all, we were within sightof safety.As soon as the shearers quit their work and the dusk began tofall, we waded ashore and struck for the Bridge of Stirling,keeping to the fields and under the field fences.The bridge is close under the castle hill, an old, high, narrowbridge with pinnacles along the parapet; and you may conceivewith how much interest I looked upon it, not only as a placefamous in history, but as the very doors of salvation to Alan andmyself. The moon was not yet up when we came there; a few lightsshone along the front of the fortress, and lower down a fewlighted windows in the town; but it was all mighty still, andthere seemed to be no guard upon the passage.I was for pushing straight across; but Alan was more wary."It looks unco' quiet," said he; "but for all that we'll lie downhere cannily behind a dyke, and make sure."So we lay for about a quarter of an hour, whiles whispering,whiles lying still and hearing nothing earthly but the washing ofthe water on the piers. At last there came by an old, hobblingwoman with a crutch stick; who first stopped a little, close towhere we lay, and bemoaned herself and the long way she hadtravelled; and then set forth again up the steep spring of thebridge. The woman was so little, and the night still so dark,that we soon lost sight of her; only heard the sound of hersteps, and her stick, and a cough that she had by fits, drawslowly farther away."She's bound to be across now," I whispered."Na," said Alan, "her foot still sounds boss[32] upon thebridge."[32]Hollow.And just then -- "Who goes?" cried a voice, and we heard the buttof a musket rattle on the stones. I must suppose the sentry hadbeen sleeping, so that had we tried, we might have passed unseen;but he was awake now, and the chance forfeited."This'll never do," said Alan. "This'll never, never do for us,David."And without another word, he began to crawl away through thefields; and a little after, being well out of eye-shot, got tohis feet again, and struck along a road that led to the eastward.I could not conceive what he was doing; and indeed I was sosharply cut by the disappointment, that I was little likely to bepleased with anything. A moment back and I had seen myselfknocking at Mr. Rankeillor's door to claim my inheritance, like ahero in a ballad; and here was I back again, a wandering, huntedblackguard, on the wrong side of Forth."Well?" said I."Well," said Alan, "what would ye have? They're none such foolsas I took them for. We have still the Forth to pass, Davie --weary fall the rains that fed and the hillsides that guided it!""And why go east?" said I."Ou, just upon the chance!" said he. "If we cannae pass theriver, we'll have to see what we can do for the firth.""There are fords upon the river, and none upon the firth," saidI."To be sure there are fords, and a bridge forbye," quoth Alan;"and of what service, when they are watched?""Well," said I, "but a river can be swum.""By them that have the skill of it," returned he; "but I have yetto hear that either you or me is much of a hand at that exercise;and for my own part, I swim like a stone.""I'm not up to you in talking back, Alan," I said; "but I can seewe're making bad worse. If it's hard to pass a river, it standsto reason it must be worse to pass a sea.""But there's such a thing as a boat," says Alan, "or I'm the moredeceived.""Ay, and such a thing as money," says I. "But for us that haveneither one nor other, they might just as well not have beeninvented.""Ye think so?" said Alan."I do that," said I."David," says he, "ye're a man of small invention and less faith.But let me set my wits upon the hone, and if I cannae beg,borrow, nor yet steal a boat, I'll make one!""I think I see ye!" said I. "And what's more than all that: ifye pass a bridge, it can tell no tales; but if we pass the firth,there's the boat on the wrong side -- somebody must have broughtit -- the country-side will all be in a bizz ---""Man!" cried Alan, "if I make a boat, I'll make a body to take itback again! So deave me with no more of your nonsense, but walk(for that's what you've got to do) --and let Alan think for ye."All night, then, we walked through the north side of the Carseunder the high line of the Ochil mountains; and by Alloa andClackmannan and Culross, all of which we avoided: and about tenin the morning, mighty hungry and tired, came to the littleclachan of Limekilns. This is a place that sits near in by thewater-side, and looks across the Hope to the town of theQueensferry. Smoke went up from both of these, and from othervillages and farms upon all hands. The fields were being reaped;two ships lay anchored, and boats were coming and going on theHope. It was altogether a right pleasant sight to me; and Icould not take my fill of gazing at these comfortable, green,cultivated hills and the busy people both of the field and sea.For all that, there was Mr. Rankeillor's house on the southshore, where I had no doubt wealth awaited me; and here was Iupon the north, clad in poor enough attire of an outlandishfashion, with three silver shillings left to me of all myfortune, a price set upon my head, and an outlawed man for mysole company."O, Alan!" said I, "to think of it! Over there, there's all thatheart could want waiting me; and the birds go over, and the boatsgo over -- all that please can go, but just me only! O, man, butit's a heart-break!"In Limekilns we entered a small change-house, which we only knewto be a public by the wand over the door, and bought some breadand cheese from a good-looking lass that was the servant. Thiswe carried with us in a bundle, meaning to sit and eat it in abush of wood on the sea-shore, that we saw some third part of amile in front. As we went, I kept looking across the water andsighing to myself; and though I took no heed of it, Alan hadfallen into a muse. At last he stopped in the way."Did ye take heed of the lass we bought this of?" says he,tapping on the bread and cheese."To be sure," said I, "and a bonny lass she was.""Ye thought that?" cries he. "Man, David, that's good news.""In the name of all that's wonderful, why so?" says I. "Whatgood can that do?""Well," said Alan, with one of his droll looks, "I was rather inhopes it would maybe get us that boat.""If it were the other way about, it would be liker it," said I."That's all that you ken, ye see," said Alan. "I don't want thelass to fall in love with ye, I want her to be sorry for ye,David; to which end there is no manner of need that she shouldtake you for a beauty. Let me see" (looking me curiously over)."I wish ye were a wee thing paler; but apart from that ye'll dofine for my purpose -- ye have a fine, hang-dog, rag-and-tatter,clappermaclaw kind of a look to ye, as if ye had stolen the coatfrom a potato-bogle. Come; right about, and back to thechange-house for that boat of ours."I followed him, laughing."David Balfour," said he, "ye're a very funny gentleman by yourway of it, and this is a very funny employ for ye, no doubt. Forall that, if ye have any affection for my neck (to say nothing ofyour own) ye will perhaps be kind enough to take this matterresponsibly. I am going to do a bit of play-acting, the bottomground of which is just exactly as serious as the gallows for thepair of us. So bear it, if ye please, in mind, and conductyourself according.""Well, well," said I, "have it as you will."As we got near the clachan, he made me take his arm and hang uponit like one almost helpless with weariness; and by the time hepushed open the change-house door, he seemed to be half carryingme. The maid appeared surprised (as well she might be) at ourspeedy return; but Alan had no words to spare for her inexplanation, helped me to a chair, called for a tass of brandywith which he fed me in little sips, and then breaking up thebread and cheese helped me to eat it like a nursery-lass; thewhole with that grave, concerned, affectionate countenance, thatmight have imposed upon a judge. It was small wonder if the maidwere taken with the picture we presented, of a poor, sick,overwrought lad and his most tender comrade. She drew quitenear, and stood leaning with her back on the next table."What's like wrong with him?" said she at last.Alan turned upon her, to my great wonder, with a kind of fury."Wrong?" cries he. "He's walked more hundreds of miles than hehas hairs upon his chin, and slept oftener in wet heather thandry sheets. Wrong, quo' she! Wrong enough, I would think!Wrong, indeed!" and he kept grumbling to himself as he fed me,like a man ill-pleased."He's young for the like of that," said the maid."Ower young," said Alan, with his back to her."He would be better riding," says she."And where could I get a horse to him?" cried Alan, turning onher with the same appearance of fury. "Would ye have me steal?"I thought this roughness would have sent her off in dudgeon, asindeed it closed her mouth for the time. But my companion knewvery well what he was doing; and for as simple as he was in somethings of life, had a great fund of roguishness in such affairsas these."Ye neednae tell me," she said at last -- "ye're gentry.""Well," said Alan, softened a little (I believe against his will)by this artless comment, "and suppose we were? Did ever you hearthat gentrice put money in folk's pockets?"She sighed at this, as if she were herself some disinheritedgreat lady. "No," says she, "that's true indeed."I was all this while chafing at the part I played, and sittingtongue-tied between shame and merriment; but somehow at this Icould hold in no longer, and bade Alan let me be, for I wasbetter already. My voice stuck in my throat, for I ever hated totake part in lies; but my very embarrassment helped on the plot,for the lass no doubt set down my husky voice to sickness andfatigue."Has he nae friends?" said she, in a tearful voice."That has he so!" cried Alan, "if we could but win to them! --friends and rich friends, beds to lie in, food to eat, doctors tosee to him -- and here he must tramp in the dubs and sleep in theheather like a beggarman.""And why that?" says the lass."My dear," said Alan, "I cannae very safely say; but I'll tell yewhat I'll do instead," says he, "I'll whistle ye a bit tune."And with that he leaned pretty far over the table, and in a merebreath of a whistle, but with a wonderful pretty sentiment, gaveher a few bars of "Charlie is my darling.""Wheesht," says she, and looked over her shoulder to the door."That's it," said Alan."And him so young!" cries the lass."He's old enough to----" and Alan struck his forefinger on theback part of his neck, meaning that I was old enough to lose myhead."It would be a black shame," she cried, flushing high."It's what will be, though," said Alan, "unless we manage thebetter."At this the lass turned and ran out of that part of the house,leaving us alone together. Alan in high good humour at thefurthering of his schemes, and I in bitter dudgeon at beingcalled a Jacobite and treated like a child."Alan," I cried, "I can stand no more of this.""Ye'll have to sit it then, Davie," said he. "For if ye upsetthe pot now, ye may scrape your own life out of the fire, butAlan Breck is a dead man."This was so true that I could only groan; and even my groanserved Alan's purpose, for it was overheard by the lass as shecame flying in again with a dish of white puddings and a bottleof strong ale."Poor lamb!" says she, and had no sooner set the meat before us,than she touched me on the shoulder with a little friendly touch,as much as to bid me cheer up. Then she told us to fall to, andthere would be no more to pay; for the inn was her own, or atleast her father's, and he was gone for the day to Pittencrieff.We waited for no second bidding, for bread and cheese is but coldcomfort and the puddings smelt excellently well; and while we satand ate, she took up that same place by the next table, lookingon, and thinking, and frowning to herself, and drawing the stringof her apron through her hand."I'm thinking ye have rather a long tongue," she said at last toAlan."Ay" said Alan; "but ye see I ken the folk I speak to.""I would never betray ye," said she, "if ye mean that.""No," said he, "ye're not that kind. But I'll tell ye what yewould do, ye would help.""I couldnae," said she, shaking her head. "Na, I couldnae.""No," said he, "but if ye could?"She answered him nothing."Look here, my lass," said Alan, "there are boats in the Kingdomof Fife, for I saw two (no less) upon the beach, as I came in byyour town's end. Now if we could have the use of a boat to passunder cloud of night into Lothian, and some secret, decent kindof a man to bring that boat back again and keep his counsel,there would be two souls saved -- mine to all likelihood -- histo a dead surety. If we lack that boat, we have but threeshillings left in this wide world; and where to go, and how todo, and what other place there is for us except the chains of agibbet -- I give you my naked word, I kenna! Shall we gowanting, lassie? Are ye to lie in your warm bed and think uponus, when the wind gowls in the chimney and the rain tirls on theroof? Are ye to eat your meat by the cheeks of a red fire, andthink upon this poor sick lad of mine, biting his finger ends ona blae muir for cauld and hunger? Sick or sound, he must aye bemoving; with the death grapple at his throat he must aye betrailing in the rain on the lang roads; and when he gants hislast on a rickle of cauld stanes, there will be nae friends nearhim but only me and God."At this appeal, I could see the lass was in great trouble ofmind, being tempted to help us, and yet in some fear she might behelping malefactors; and so now I determined to step in myselfand to allay her scruples with a portion of the truth."Did ever you, hear" said I, "of Mr. Rankeillor of the Ferry?""Rankeillor the writer?" said she. "I daur say that!""Well," said I, "it's to his door that I am bound, so you mayjudge by that if I am an ill-doer; and I will tell you more, thatthough I am indeed, by a dreadful error, in some peril of mylife, King George has no truer friend in all Scotland thanmyself."Her face cleared up mightily at this, although Alan's darkened."That's more than I would ask," said she. "Mr. Rankeillor is akennt man." And she bade us finish our meat, get clear of theclachan as soon as might be, and lie close in the bit wood on thesea-beach. "And ye can trust me," says she, "I'll find somemeans to put you over."At this we waited for no more, but shook hands with her upon thebargain, made short work of the puddings, and set forth againfrom Limekilns as far as to the wood. It was a small piece ofperhaps a score of elders and hawthorns and a few young ashes,not thick enough to veil us from passersby upon the road orbeach. Here we must lie, however, making the best of the bravewarm weather and the good hopes we now had of a deliverance, andplaning more particularly what remained for us to do.We had but one trouble all day; when a strolling piper came andsat in the same wood with us; a red-nosed, bleareyed, drunkendog, with a great bottle of whisky in his pocket, and a longstory of wrongs that had been done him by all sorts of persons,from the Lord President of the Court of Session, who had deniedhim justice, down to the Bailies of Inverkeithing who had givenhim more of it than he desired. It was impossible but he shouldconceive some suspicion of two men lying all day concealed in athicket and having no business to allege. As long as he stayedthere he kept us in hot water with prying questions; and after hewas gone, as he was a man not very likely to hold his tongue, wewere in the greater impatience to be gone ourselves.The day came to an end with the same brightness; the night fellquiet and clear; lights came out in houses and hamlets and then,one after another, began to be put out; but it was past eleven,and we were long since strangely tortured with anxieties, beforewe heard the grinding of oars upon the rowing-pins. At that, welooked out and saw the lass herself coming rowing to us in aboat. She had trusted no one with our affairs, not even hersweetheart, if she had one; but as soon as her father was asleep,had left the house by a window, stolen a neighbour's boat, andcome to our assistance single-handed.I was abashed how to find expression for my thanks; but she wasno less abashed at the thought of hearing them; begged us to loseno time and to hold our peace, saying (very properly) that theheart of our matter was in haste and silence; and so, what withone thing and another, she had set us on the Lothian shore notfar from Carriden, had shaken hands with us, and was out again atsea and rowing for Limekilns, before there was one word saideither of her service or our gratitude.Even after she was gone, we had nothing to say, as indeed nothingwas enough for such a kindness. Only Alan stood a great whileupon the shore shaking his head."It is a very fine lass," he said at last. "David, it is a veryfine lass." And a matter of an hour later, as we were lying in aden on the sea-shore and I had been already dozing, he broke outagain in commendations of her character. For my part, I couldsay nothing, she was so simple a creature that my heart smote meboth with remorse and fear: remorse because we had traded uponher ignorance; and fear lest we should have anyway involved herin the dangers of our situation.