Kidnapped

  He said it was a bad business. "It's wonderful," said he, "where thetenants find the money, for their life is mere starvation. (Ye don'tcarry such a thing as snuff, do ye, Mr. Balfour? No. Well, I'm betterwanting it.) But these tenants (as I was saying) are doubtless partlydriven to it. James Stewart in Duror (that's him they call James of theGlens) is half-brother to Ardshiel, the captain of the clan; and he isa man much looked up to, and drives very hard. And then there's one theycall Alan Breck--"

  "Ah!" I cried, "what of him?"

  "What of the wind that bloweth where it listeth?" said Henderland. "He'shere and awa; here to-day and gone to-morrow: a fair heather-cat. Hemight be glowering at the two of us out of yon whin-bush, and I wouldnaewonder! Ye'll no carry such a thing as snuff, will ye?"

  I told him no, and that he had asked the same thing more than once.

  "It's highly possible," said he, sighing. "But it seems strange yeshouldnae carry it. However, as I was saying, this Alan Breck is a bold,desperate customer, and well kent to be James's right hand. His lifeis forfeit already; he would boggle at naething; and maybe, if atenant-body was to hang back he would get a dirk in his wame."

  "You make a poor story of it all, Mr. Henderland," said I. "If it is allfear upon both sides, I care to hear no more of it."

  "Na," said Mr. Henderland, "but there's love too, and self-denial thatshould put the like of you and me to shame. There's something fine aboutit; no perhaps Christian, but humanly fine. Even Alan Breck, by all thatI hear, is a chield to be respected. There's many a lying sneck-drawsits close in kirk in our own part of the country, and stands well inthe world's eye, and maybe is a far worse man, Mr. Balfour, than yonmisguided shedder of man's blood. Ay, ay, we might take a lesson bythem.--Ye'll perhaps think I've been too long in the Hielands?" headded, smiling to me.

  I told him not at all; that I had seen much to admire among theHighlanders; and if he came to that, Mr. Campbell himself was aHighlander.

  "Ay," said he, "that's true. It's a fine blood."

  "And what is the King's agent about?" I asked.

  "Colin Campbell?" says Henderland. "Putting his head in a bees' byke!"

  "He is to turn the tenants out by force, I hear?" said I.

  "Yes," says he, "but the business has gone back and forth, as folk say.First, James of the Glens rode to Edinburgh, and got some lawyer (aStewart, nae doubt--they all hing together like bats in a steeple) andhad the proceedings stayed. And then Colin Campbell cam' in again, andhad the upper-hand before the Barons of Exchequer. And now they tell methe first of the tenants are to flit to-morrow. It's to begin at Durorunder James's very windows, which doesnae seem wise by my humble way ofit."

  "Do you think they'll fight?" I asked.

  "Well," says Henderland, "they're disarmed--or supposed to be--forthere's still a good deal of cold iron lying by in quiet places. Andthen Colin Campbell has the sogers coming. But for all that, if I washis lady wife, I wouldnae be well pleased till I got him home again.They're queer customers, the Appin Stewarts."

  I asked if they were worse than their neighbours.

  "No they," said he. "And that's the worst part of it. For if Colin Roycan get his business done in Appin, he has it all to begin again in thenext country, which they call Mamore, and which is one of the countriesof the Camerons. He's King's Factor upon both, and from both he has todrive out the tenants; and indeed, Mr. Balfour (to be open with ye),it's my belief that if he escapes the one lot, he'll get his death bythe other."

  So we continued talking and walking the great part of the day; untilat last, Mr. Henderland after expressing his delight in my company, andsatisfaction at meeting with a friend of Mr. Campbell's ("whom," sayshe, "I will make bold to call that sweet singer of our covenantedZion"), proposed that I should make a short stage, and lie the night inhis house a little beyond Kingairloch. To say truth, I was overjoyed;for I had no great desire for John of the Claymore, and since my doublemisadventure, first with the guide and next with the gentleman skipper,I stood in some fear of any Highland stranger. Accordingly we shookhands upon the bargain, and came in the afternoon to a small house,standing alone by the shore of the Linnhe Loch. The sun was already gonefrom the desert mountains of Ardgour upon the hither side, but shone onthose of Appin on the farther; the loch lay as still as a lake, onlythe gulls were crying round the sides of it; and the whole place seemedsolemn and uncouth.

  We had no sooner come to the door of Mr. Henderland's dwelling, than tomy great surprise (for I was now used to the politeness of Highlanders)he burst rudely past me, dashed into the room, caught up a jar anda small horn-spoon, and began ladling snuff into his nose in mostexcessive quantities. Then he had a hearty fit of sneezing, and lookedround upon me with a rather silly smile.

  "It's a vow I took," says he. "I took a vow upon me that I wouldnaecarry it. Doubtless it's a great privation; but when I think uponthe martyrs, not only to the Scottish Covenant but to other points ofChristianity, I think shame to mind it."

  As soon as we had eaten (and porridge and whey was the best of the goodman's diet) he took a grave face and said he had a duty to perform byMr. Campbell, and that was to inquire into my state of mind towards God.I was inclined to smile at him since the business of the snuff; but hehad not spoken long before he brought the tears into my eyes. There aretwo things that men should never weary of, goodness and humility; we getnone too much of them in this rough world among cold, proud people; butMr. Henderland had their very speech upon his tongue. And though I was agood deal puffed up with my adventures and with having come off, as thesaying is, with flying colours; yet he soon had me on my knees beside asimple, poor old man, and both proud and glad to be there.

  Before we went to bed he offered me sixpence to help me on my way, outof a scanty store he kept in the turf wall of his house; at which excessof goodness I knew not what to do. But at last he was so earnest with methat I thought it the more mannerly part to let him have his way, and soleft him poorer than myself.