CHAPTER IX

THE MAN WITH THE BELT OF GOLD

More than a week went by, in which the ill-luck that had hitherto
pursued the _Covenant_ upon this voyage grew yet more strongly marked.
Some days she made a little way; others, she was driven actually back.
At last we were beaten so far to the south that we tossed and tacked to
and fro the whole of the ninth day, within sight of Cape Wrath and the
wild, rocky coast on either hand of it. There followed on that a council
of the officers, and some decision which I did not rightly understand,
seeing only the result: that we had made a fair wind of a foul one and
were running south.

The tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet, white
fog that hid one end of the brig from the other. All afternoon, when
I went on deck, I saw men and officers listening hard over the
bulwarks--“for breakers,” they said; and though I did not so much as
understand the word, I felt danger in the air, and was excited.

Maybe about ten at night, I was serving Mr. Riach and the captain at
their supper, when the ship struck something with a great sound, and we
heard voices singing out. My two masters leaped to their feet.

“She’s struck!” said Mr. Riach.

“No, sir,” said the captain. “We’ve only run a boat down.”

And they hurried out.

The captain was in the right of it. We had run down a boat in the fog,
and she had parted in the midst and gone to the bottom with all her crew
but one. This man (as I heard afterwards) had been sitting in the stern
as a passenger, while the rest were on the benches rowing. At the moment
of the blow, the stern had been thrown into the air, and the man (having
his hands free, and for all he was encumbered with a frieze overcoat
that came below his knees) had leaped up and caught hold of the brig’s
bowsprit. It showed he had luck and much agility and unusual strength,
that he should have thus saved himself from such a pass. And yet, when
the captain brought him into the round-house, and I set eyes on him for
the first time, he looked as cool as I did.

He was smallish in stature, but well set and as nimble as a goat; his
face was of a good open expression, but sunburnt very dark, and heavily
freckled and pitted with the small-pox; his eyes were unusually light
and had a kind of dancing madness in them, that was both engaging and
alarming; and when he took off his great-coat, he laid a pair of fine
silver-mounted pistols on the table, and I saw that he was belted with
a great sword. His manners, besides, were elegant, and he pledged the
captain handsomely. Altogether I thought of him, at the first sight,
that here was a man I would rather call my friend than my enemy.

The captain, too, was taking his observations, but rather of the man’s
clothes than his person. And to be sure, as soon as he had taken off
the great-coat, he showed forth mighty fine for the round-house of a
merchant brig: having a hat with feathers, a red waistcoat, breeches
of black plush, and a blue coat with silver buttons and handsome silver
lace; costly clothes, though somewhat spoiled with the fog and being
slept in.

“I’m vexed, sir, about the boat,” says the captain.

“There are some pretty men gone to the bottom,” said the stranger, “that
I would rather see on the dry land again than half a score of boats.”

“Friends of yours?” said Hoseason.

“You have none such friends in your country,” was the reply. “They would
have died for me like dogs.”

“Well, sir,” said the captain, still watching him, “there are more men
in the world than boats to put them in.”

“And that’s true, too,” cried the other, “and ye seem to be a gentleman
of great penetration.”

“I have been in France, sir,” says the captain, so that it was plain he
meant more by the words than showed upon the face of them.

“Well, sir,” says the other, “and so has many a pretty man, for the
matter of that.”

“No doubt, sir,” says the captain, “and fine coats.”

“Oho!” says the stranger, “is that how the wind sets?” And he laid his
hand quickly on his pistols.

“Don’t be hasty,” said the captain. “Don’t do a mischief before ye
see the need of it. Ye’ve a French soldier’s coat upon your back and a
Scotch tongue in your head, to be sure; but so has many an honest fellow
in these days, and I dare say none the worse of it.”

“So?” said the gentleman in the fine coat: “are ye of the honest party?”
(meaning, Was he a Jacobite? for each side, in these sort of civil
broils, takes the name of honesty for its own).

“Why, sir,” replied the captain, “I am a true-blue Protestant, and I
thank God for it.” (It was the first word of any religion I had ever
heard from him, but I learnt afterwards he was a great church-goer while
on shore.) “But, for all that,” says he, “I can be sorry to see another
man with his back to the wall.”

“Can ye so, indeed?” asked the Jacobite. “Well, sir, to be quite plain
with ye, I am one of those honest gentlemen that were in trouble about
the years forty-five and six; and (to be still quite plain with ye) if
I got into the hands of any of the red-coated gentry, it’s like it would
go hard with me. Now, sir, I was for France; and there was a French ship
cruising here to pick me up; but she gave us the go-by in the fog--as I
wish from the heart that ye had done yoursel’! And the best that I can
say is this: If ye can set me ashore where I was going, I have that upon
me will reward you highly for your trouble.”

“In France?” says the captain. “No, sir; that I cannot do. But where ye
come from--we might talk of that.”

And then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and packed
me off to the galley to get supper for the gentleman. I lost no time,
I promise you; and when I came back into the round-house, I found the
gentleman had taken a money-belt from about his waist, and poured out
a guinea or two upon the table. The captain was looking at the guineas,
and then at the belt, and then at the gentleman’s face; and I thought he
seemed excited.

“Half of it,” he cried, “and I’m your man!”

The other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on again
under his waistcoat. “I have told ye sir,” said he, “that not one doit
of it belongs to me. It belongs to my chieftain,” and here he touched
his hat, “and while I would be but a silly messenger to grudge some of
it that the rest might come safe, I should show myself a hound indeed if
I bought my own carcase any too dear. Thirty guineas on the sea-side, or
sixty if ye set me on the Linnhe Loch. Take it, if ye will; if not, ye
can do your worst.”

“Ay,” said Hoseason. “And if I give ye over to the soldiers?”

“Ye would make a fool’s bargain,” said the other. “My chief, let me tell
you, sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in Scotland. His estate
is in the hands of the man they call King George; and it is his officers
that collect the rents, or try to collect them. But for the honour of
Scotland, the poor tenant bodies take a thought upon their chief lying
in exile; and this money is a part of that very rent for which King
George is looking. Now, sir, ye seem to me to be a man that understands
things: bring this money within the reach of Government, and how much of
it’ll come to you?”

“Little enough, to be sure,” said Hoseason; and then, “if they knew,” he
added, drily. “But I think, if I was to try, that I could hold my tongue
about it.”

“Ah, but I’ll begowk[12] ye there!” cried the gentleman. “Play me false,
and I’ll play you cunning. If a hand is laid upon me, they shall ken
what money it is.”

[12] Befool.

“Well,” returned the captain, “what must be must. Sixty guineas, and
done. Here’s my hand upon it.”

“And here’s mine,” said the other.

And thereupon the captain went out (rather hurriedly, I thought), and
left me alone in the round-house with the stranger.

At that period (so soon after the forty-five) there were many exiled
gentlemen coming back at the peril of their lives, either to see their
friends or to collect a little money; and as for the Highland chiefs
that had been forfeited, it was a common matter of talk how their
tenants would stint themselves to send them money, and their clansmen
outface the soldiery to get it in, and run the gauntlet of our great
navy to carry it across. All this I had, of course, heard tell of; and
now I had a man under my eyes whose life was forfeit on all these counts
and upon one more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents,
but had taken service with King Louis of France. And as if all this
were not enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his loins.
Whatever my opinions, I could not look on such a man without a lively
interest.

“And so you’re a Jacobite?” said I, as I set meat before him.

“Ay,” said he, beginning to eat. “And you, by your long face, should be
a Whig?”[13]

[13] Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were
loyal to King George.

“Betwixt and between,” said I, not to annoy him; for indeed I was as
good a Whig as Mr. Campbell could make me.

“And that’s naething,” said he. “But I’m saying, Mr.
Betwixt-and-Between,” he added, “this bottle of yours is dry; and it’s
hard if I’m to pay sixty guineas and be grudged a dram upon the back of
it.”

“I’ll go and ask for the key,” said I, and stepped on deck.

The fog was as close as ever, but the swell almost down. They had laid
the brig to, not knowing precisely where they were, and the wind (what
little there was of it) not serving well for their true course. Some of
the hands were still hearkening for breakers; but the captain and the
two officers were in the waist with their heads together. It struck me
(I don’t know why) that they were after no good; and the first word I
heard, as I drew softly near, more than confirmed me.

It was Mr. Riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought: “Couldn’t we
wile him out of the round-house?”

“He’s better where he is,” returned Hoseason; “he hasn’t room to use his
sword.”

“Well, that’s true,” said Riach; “but he’s hard to come at.”

“Hut!” said Hoseason. “We can get the man in talk, one upon each side,
and pin him by the two arms; or if that’ll not hold, sir, we can make a
run by both the doors and get him under hand before he has the time to
draw.”

At this hearing, I was seized with both fear and anger at these
treacherous, greedy, bloody men that I sailed with. My first mind was to
run away; my second was bolder.

“Captain,” said I, “the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the bottle’s
out. Will you give me the key?”

They all started and turned about.

“Why, here’s our chance to get the firearms!”

Riach cried; and then to me: “Hark ye, David,” he said, “do ye ken where
the pistols are?”

“Ay, ay,” put in Hoseason. “David kens; David’s a good lad. Ye see,
David my man, yon wild Hielandman is a danger to the ship, besides being
a rank foe to King George, God bless him!”

I had never been so be-Davided since I came on board: but I said Yes, as
if all I heard were quite natural.

“The trouble is,” resumed the captain, “that all our firelocks, great
and little, are in the round-house under this man’s nose; likewise the
powder. Now, if I, or one of the officers, was to go in and take them,
he would fall to thinking. But a lad like you, David, might snap up a
horn and a pistol or two without remark. And if ye can do it cleverly,
I’ll bear it in mind when it’ll be good for you to have friends; and
that’s when we come to Carolina.”

Here Mr. Riach whispered him a little.

“Very right, sir,” said the captain; and then to myself: “And see here,
David, yon man has a beltful of gold, and I give you my word that you
shall have your fingers in it.”

I told him I would do as he wished, though indeed I had scarce breath to
speak with; and upon that he gave me the key of the spirit locker, and I
began to go slowly back to the round-house. What was I to do? They
were dogs and thieves; they had stolen me from my own country; they had
killed poor Ransome; and was I to hold the candle to another murder? But
then, upon the other hand, there was the fear of death very plain before
me; for what could a boy and a man, if they were as brave as lions,
against a whole ship’s company?

I was still arguing it back and forth, and getting no great clearness,
when I came into the round-house and saw the Jacobite eating his supper
under the lamp; and at that my mind was made up all in a moment. I have
no credit by it; it was by no choice of mine, but as if by compulsion,
that I walked right up to the table and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Do ye want to be killed?” said I. He sprang to his feet, and looked a
question at me as clear as if he had spoken.

“O!” cried I, “they’re all murderers here; it’s a ship full of them!
They’ve murdered a boy already. Now it’s you.”

“Ay, ay,” said he; “but they have n’t got me yet.” And then looking at me
curiously, “Will ye stand with me?”

“That will I!” said I. “I am no thief, nor yet murderer. I’ll stand by
you.”

“Why, then,” said he, “what’s your name?”

“David Balfour,” said I; and then, thinking that a man with so fine a
coat must like fine people, I added for the first time, “of Shaws.”

It never occurred to him to doubt me, for a Highlander is used to see
great gentlefolk in great poverty; but as he had no estate of his own,
my words nettled a very childish vanity he had.

“My name is Stewart,” he said, drawing himself up. “Alan Breck, they
call me. A king’s name is good enough for me, though I bear it plain and
have the name of no farm-midden to clap to the hind-end of it.”

And having administered this rebuke, as though it were something of a
chief importance, he turned to examine our defences.

The round-house was built very strong, to support the breaching of the
seas. Of its five apertures, only the skylight and the two doors were
large enough for the passage of a man. The doors, besides, could be
drawn close: they were of stout oak, and ran in grooves, and were fitted
with hooks to keep them either shut or open, as the need arose. The
one that was already shut I secured in this fashion; but when I was
proceeding to slide to the other, Alan stopped me.

“David,” said he--“for I cannae bring to mind the name of your landed
estate, and so will make so bold as to call you David--that door, being
open, is the best part of my defences.”

“It would be yet better shut,” says I.

“Not so, David,” says he. “Ye see, I have but one face; but so long as
that door is open and my face to it, the best part of my enemies will be
in front of me, where I would aye wish to find them.”

Then he gave me from the rack a cutlass (of which there were a few
besides the firearms), choosing it with great care, shaking his head and
saying he had never in all his life seen poorer weapons; and next he set
me down to the table with a powder-horn, a bag of bullets and all the
pistols, which he bade me charge.

“And that will be better work, let me tell you,” said he, “for a
gentleman of decent birth, than scraping plates and raxing[14] drams to a
wheen tarry sailors.”

[14] Reaching.

Thereupon he stood up in the midst with his face to the door, and
drawing his great sword, made trial of the room he had to wield it in.

“I must stick to the point,” he said, shaking his head; “and that’s a
pity, too. It doesn’t set my genius, which is all for the upper guard.
And, now,” said he, “do you keep on charging the pistols, and give heed
to me.”

I told him I would listen closely. My chest was tight, my mouth dry, the
light dark to my eyes; the thought of the numbers that were soon to
leap in upon us kept my heart in a flutter: and the sea, which I heard
washing round the brig, and where I thought my dead body would be cast
ere morning, ran in my mind strangely.

“First of all,” said he, “how many are against us?”

I reckoned them up; and such was the hurry of my mind, I had to cast the
numbers twice. “Fifteen,” said I.

Alan whistled. “Well,” said he, “that can’t be cured. And now follow me.
It is my part to keep this door, where I look for the main battle. In
that, ye have no hand. And mind and dinnae fire to this side unless they
get me down; for I would rather have ten foes in front of me than one
friend like you cracking pistols at my back.”

I told him, indeed I was no great shot.

“And that’s very bravely said,” he cried, in a great admiration of my
candour. “There’s many a pretty gentleman that wouldnae dare to say it.”

“But then, sir,” said I, “there is the door behind you, which they may
perhaps break in.”

“Ay,” said he, “and that is a part of your work. No sooner the pistols
charged, than ye must climb up into yon bed where ye’re handy at the
window; and if they lift hand against the door, ye’re to shoot. But
that’s not all. Let’s make a bit of a soldier of ye, David. What else
have ye to guard?”

“There’s the skylight,” said I. “But indeed, Mr. Stewart, I would need
to have eyes upon both sides to keep the two of them; for when my face
is at the one, my back is to the other.”

“And that’s very true,” said Alan. “But have ye no ears to your head?”

“To be sure!” cried I. “I must hear the bursting of the glass!”

“Ye have some rudiments of sense,” said Alan, grimly.