The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 10

  CHAPTER III

  I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE OF MY UNCLE

  Presently there came a great rattling of chains and bolts, and the doorwas cautiously opened and shut to again behind me as soon as I hadpassed.

  "Go into the kitchen and touch naething," said the voice; and while theperson of the house set himself to replacing the defences of the door, Igroped my way forward and entered the kitchen.

  The fire had burned up fairly bright, and showed me the barest room Ithink I ever put my eyes on. Half-a-dozen dishes stood upon the shelves;the table was laid for supper with a bowl of porridge, a horn spoon, anda cup of small beer. Besides what I have named, there was not anotherthing in that great, stone-vaulted, empty chamber but lockfast chestsarranged along the wall and a corner-cupboard with a padlock.

  As soon as the last chain was up, the man rejoined me. He was a mean,stooping, narrow-shouldered, clay-faced creature; and his age might havebeen anything between fifty and seventy. His nightcap was of flannel,and so was the nightgown that he wore, instead of coat and waistcoat,over his ragged shirt. He was long unshaved; but what most distressedand even daunted me, he would neither take his eyes away from me norlook me fairly in the face. What he was, whether by trade or birth, wasmore than I could fathom; but he seemed most like an old, unprofitableserving-man, who should have been left in charge of that big house uponboard wages.

  "Are ye sharp-set?" he asked, glancing at about the level of my knee."Ye can eat that drop parritch?"

  I said I feared it was his own supper.

  "O," said he, "I can do fine wanting it. I'll take the ale, though, forit slockens[1] my cough." He drank the cup about half out, still keepingan eye upon me as he drank; and then suddenly held out his hand. "Let'ssee the letter," said he.

  I told him the letter was for Mr. Balfour; not for him.

  "And who do ye think I am?" says he. "Give me Alexander's letter!"

  "You know my father's name?"

  "It would be strange if I didna," he returned, "for he was my bornbrother; and little as ye seem to like either me or my house, or my goodparritch, I'm your born uncle, Davie my man, and you my born nephew. Sogive us the letter, and sit down and fill your kyte."

  If I had been some years younger, what with shame, weariness, anddisappointment, I believe I had burst into tears. As it was, I couldfind no words, neither black nor white, but handed him the letter, andsat down to the porridge with as little appetite for meat as ever ayoung man had.

  Meanwhile my uncle, stooping over the fire, turned the letter over andover in his hands.

  "Do ye ken what's in it?" he asked suddenly.

  "You see for yourself, sir," said I, "that the seal has not beenbroken."

  "Ay," said he, "but what brought you here?"

  "To give the letter," said I.

  "No," says he cunningly, "but ye'll have had some hopes, nae doubt?"

  "I confess, sir," said I, "when I was told that I had kinsfolkwell-to-do, I did indeed indulge the hope that they might help me in mylife. But I am no beggar; I look for no favours at your hands, and Iwant none that are not freely given. For, as poor as I appear, I havefriends of my own that will be blithe to help me."

  "Hoot-toot!" said uncle Ebenezer, "dinna fly up in the snuff at me.We'll agree fine yet. And, Davie my man, if you're done with that bitparritch, I could just take a sup of it myself. Ay," he continued, assoon as he had ousted me from the stool and spoon, "they're fine,halesome food--they're grand food, parritch." He murmured a little graceto himself and fell-to. "Your father was very fond of his meat, I mind;he was a hearty, if not a great eater; but as for me, I could never domair than pyke at food." He took a pull at the small beer, whichprobably reminded him of hospitable duties, for his next speech ranthus: "If ye're dry, ye'll find water behind the door."

  To this I returned no answer, standing stiffly on my two feet, andlooking down upon my uncle with a mighty angry heart. He, on his part,continued to eat like a man under some pressure of time, and to throwout little darting glances now at my shoes and now at my home-spunstockings. Once only, when he had ventured to look a little higher, oureyes met; and no thief taken with a hand in a man's pocket could haveshown more lively signals of distress. This set me in a muse, whetherhis timidity arose from too long a disuse of any human company; andwhether perhaps, upon a little trial, it might pass off, and my unclechange into an altogether different man. From this I was awakened by hissharp voice.

  "Your father's been long dead?" he asked.

  "Three weeks, sir," said I.

  "He was a secret man, Alexander--a secret, silent man," he continued."He never said muckle when he was young. He'll never have spoken muckleof me?"

  "I never knew, sir, till you told it me yourself, that he had anybrother."

  "Dear me, dear me!" said Ebenezer. "Nor yet of Shaws, I daresay?"

  "Not so much as the name, sir," said I.

  "To think o' that!" said he. "A strange nature of a man!" For all that,he seemed singularly satisfied, but whether with himself, or me, or withthis conduct of my father's, was more than I could read. Certainly,however, he seemed to be outgrowing that distaste, or ill-will, that hehad conceived at first against my person; for presently he jumped up,came across the room behind me, and hit me a smack upon the shoulder."We'll agree fine yet!" he cried. "I'm just as glad I let you in. Andnow come awa' to your bed."

  To my surprise, he lit no lamp or candle, but set forth into the darkpassage, groped his way, breathing deeply, up a flight of steps, andpaused before a door, which he unlocked. I was close upon his heels,having stumbled after him as best I might; and then he bade me go in,for that was my chamber. I did as he bid, but paused after a few steps,and begged a light to go to bed with.

  "Hoot-toot!" said uncle Ebenezer, "there's a fine moon."

  "Neither moon nor star, sir, and pit-mirk,"[2] said I. "I canna see thebed."

  "Hoot-toot, hoot-toot!" said he. "Lights in a house is a thing I dinnaagree with. I'm unco feared of fires. Good-night to ye, Davie my man."And before I had time to add a further protest, he pulled the door to,and I heard him lock me in from the outside.

  I did not know whether to laugh or cry. The room was as cold as a well,and the bed, when I had found my way to it, as damp as a peat-hag; butby good fortune I had caught up my bundle and my plaid, and rollingmyself in the latter, I lay down upon the floor under lee of the bigbedstead, and fell speedily asleep.

  With the first peep of day I opened my eyes, to find myself in a greatchamber, hung with stamped leather, furnished with fine embroideredfurniture, and lit by three fair windows. Ten years ago, or perhapstwenty, it must have been as pleasant a room to lie down or to awake inas a man could wish; but damp, dirt, disuse, and the mice and spidershad done their worst since then. Many of the window-panes, besides, werebroken; and indeed this was so common a feature in that house, that Ibelieve my uncle must at some time have stood a siege from his indignantneighbours--perhaps with Jennet Clouston at their head.

  Meanwhile the sun was shining outside; and being very cold in thatmiserable room, I knocked and shouted till my gaoler came and let meout. He carried me to the back of the house, where was a draw-well, andtold me to "wash my face there, if I wanted"; and when that was done, Imade the best of my own way back to the kitchen, where he had lit thefire and was making the porridge. The table was laid with two bowls andtwo horn spoons, but the same single measure of small beer. Perhaps myeye rested on this particular with some surprise, and perhaps my uncleobserved it; for he spoke up as if in answer to my thought, asking me ifI would like to drink ale--for so he called it.

  I told him such was my habit, but not to put himself about.

  "Na, na," said he; "I'll deny you nothing in reason."

  He fetched another cup from the shelf; and then, to my great surprise,instead of drawing more beer, he poured an accurate half from one cup tothe other. There was a kind of nobleness in this that took my breathaway; if my uncle was certainly a miser, he was one of that thoroughbre
ed that goes near to make the vice respectable.

  When we had made an end of our meal, my uncle Ebenezer unlocked adrawer, and drew out of it a clay pipe and a lump of tobacco, from whichhe cut one fill before he locked it up again. Then he sat down in thesun at one of the windows, and silently smoked. From time to time hiseyes came coasting round to me, and he shot out one of his questions.Once it was, "And your mother?" and when I had told him that she, too,was dead, "Ay, she was a bonny lassie!" Then after another long pause,"Wha were these friends o' yours?"

  I told him they were different gentlemen of the name of Campbell:though, indeed, there was only one, and that the minister, that had evertaken the least note of me; but I began to think my uncle made too lightof my position, and finding myself all alone with him, I did not wishhim to suppose me helpless.

  He seemed to turn this over in his mind; and then, "Davie, my man," saidhe, "ye've come to the right bit when ye came to your uncle Ebenezer.I've a great notion of the family, and I mean to do the right by you;but while I'm taking a bit think to mysel' of what's the best thing toput you to--whether the law, or the meenistry, or maybe the army, whilkis what boys are fondest of--I wouldna like the Balfours to be humbledbefore a wheen Hieland Campbells, and I'll ask you to keep your tonguewithin your teeth. Nae letters; nae messages; no kind of word toonybody; or else--there's my door."

  "Uncle Ebenezer," said I, "I've no manner of reason to suppose you meananything but well by me. For all that, I would have you to know that Ihave a pride of my own. It was by no will of mine that I came seekingyou; and if you show me your door again, I'll take you at the word."

  He seemed grievously put out. "Hoots-toots," said he, "ca' cannie,man--ca' cannie! Bide a day or two. I'm nae warlock, to find a fortunefor you in the bottom of a parritch-bowl; but just you give me a day ortwo, and say naething to naebody, and as sure as sure, I'll do the rightby you."

  "Very well," said I, "enough said. If you want to help me, there's nodoubt but I'll be glad of it, and none but I'll be grateful."

  It seemed to me (too soon, I daresay) that I was getting the upper handof my uncle; and I began next to say that I must have the bed andbedclothes aired and put to sun-dry; for nothing would make me sleep insuch a pickle.

  "Is this my house or yours?" said he, in his keen voice, and then all ofa sudden broke off. "Na, na," said he, "I did na mean that. What's mineis yours, Davie my man, and what's yours is mine. Blood's thicker thanwater; and there's naebody but you and me that ought the name." And thenon he rambled about the family, and its ancient greatness, and hisfather that began to enlarge the house, and himself that stopped thebuilding as a sinful waste; and this put it in my head to give himJennet Clouston's message.

  "The limmer!" he cried. "Twelve hunner and fifteen--that's every daysince I had the limmer rowpit![3] Dod, David, I'll have her roasted onred peats before I'm by with it! A witch--a proclaimed witch! I'll affand see the session-clerk."

  And with that he opened a chest, and got out a very old andwell-preserved blue coat and waistcoat, and a good enough beaver hat,both without lace. These he threw on anyway, and, taking a staff fromthe cupboard, locked all up again, and was for setting out, when athought arrested him.

  "I canna leave you by yoursel' in the house," said he. "I'll have tolock you out."

  The blood came to my face. "If you lock me out," I said, "it'll be thelast you'll see of me in friendship."

  He turned very pale, and sucked his mouth in. "This is no' the way," hesaid, looking wickedly at a corner of the floor--"this is no' the way towin my favour, David."

  "Sir," says I, "with a proper reverence for your age and our commonblood, I do not value your favour at a bodle's purchase. I was broughtup to have a good conceit of myself; and if you were all the uncle, andall the family, I had in the world, ten times over, I wouldn't buy yourliking at such prices."

  Uncle Ebenezer went and looked out of the window for a while. I couldsee him all trembling and twitching, like a man with palsy. But when heturned round, he had a smile upon his face.

  "Well, well," said he, "we must bear and forbear. I'll no' go; that'sall that's to be said of it."

  "Uncle Ebenezer," I said, "I can make nothing out of this. You use melike a thief; you hate to have me in this house; you let me see it,every word and every minute: it's not possible that you can like me; andas for me, I've spoken to you as I never thought to speak to any man.Why do you seek to keep me, then? Let me gang back--let me gang back tothe friends I have, and that like me!"

  "Na, na; na, na," he said, very earnestly. "I like you fine; we'll agreefine yet; and for the honour of the house I couldna let you leave theway ye came. Bide here quiet, there's a good lad; just you bide herequiet a bittie, and ye'll find that we agree."

  "Well, sir," said I, after I had thought the matter out in silence,"I'll stay a while. It's more just I should be helped by my own bloodthan strangers; and if we don't agree, I'll do my best it shall bethrough no fault of mine."

  FOOTNOTES:

  [1] Moistens.

  [2] Dark as the pit.

  [3] Sold up.