CHAPTER XXVII

I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR

The next day it was agreed that Alan should fend for himself till
sunset; but as soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in the
fields by the roadside near to Newhalls, and stir for naught until he
heard me whistling. At first I proposed I should give him for a signal
the “Bonnie House of Airlie,” which was a favourite of mine; but he
objected that as the piece was very commonly known, any ploughman might
whistle it by accident; and taught me instead a little fragment of a
Highland air, which has run in my head from that day to this, and will
likely run in my head when I lie dying. Every time it comes to me, it
takes me off to that last day of my uncertainty, with Alan sitting up in
the bottom of the den, whistling and beating the measure with a finger,
and the grey of the dawn coming on his face.

I was in the long street of Queensferry before the sun was up. It was a
fairly built burgh, the houses of good stone, many slated; the town-hall
not so fine, I thought, as that of Peebles, nor yet the street so noble;
but take it altogether, it put me to shame for my foul tatters.

As the morning went on, and the fires began to be kindled, and the
windows to open, and the people to appear out of the houses, my concern
and despondency grew ever the blacker. I saw now that I had no grounds
to stand upon; and no clear proof of my rights, nor so much as of my own
identity. If it was all a bubble, I was indeed sorely cheated and left
in a sore pass. Even if things were as I conceived, it would in all
likelihood take time to establish my contentions; and what time had I
to spare with less than three shillings in my pocket, and a condemned,
hunted man upon my hands to ship out of the country? Truly, if my hope
broke with me, it might come to the gallows yet for both of us. And as I
continued to walk up and down, and saw people looking askance at me upon
the street or out of windows, and nudging or speaking one to another
with smiles, I began to take a fresh apprehension: that it might be no
easy matter even to come to speech of the lawyer, far less to convince
him of my story.

For the life of me I could not muster up the courage to address any of
these reputable burghers; I thought shame even to speak with them in
such a pickle of rags and dirt; and if I had asked for the house of such
a man as Mr. Rankeillor, I suppose they would have burst out laughing in
my face. So I went up and down, and through the street, and down to
the harbour-side, like a dog that has lost its master, with a strange
gnawing in my inwards, and every now and then a movement of despair.
It grew to be high day at last, perhaps nine in the forenoon; and I was
worn with these wanderings, and chanced to have stopped in front of
a very good house on the landward side, a house with beautiful, clear
glass windows, flowering knots upon the sills, the walls new-harled[33] and
a chase-dog sitting yawning on the step like one that was at home. Well,
I was even envying this dumb brute, when the door fell open and
there issued forth a shrewd, ruddy, kindly, consequential man in a
well-powdered wig and spectacles. I was in such a plight that no one set
eyes on me once, but he looked at me again; and this gentleman, as it
proved, was so much struck with my poor appearance that he came straight
up to me and asked me what I did.

[33] Newly rough-cast.

I told him I was come to the Queensferry on business, and taking heart
of grace, asked him to direct me to the house of Mr. Rankeillor.

“Why,” said he, “that is his house that I have just come out of; and for
a rather singular chance, I am that very man.”

“Then, sir,” said I, “I have to beg the favour of an interview.”

“I do not know your name,” said he, “nor yet your face.”

“My name is David Balfour,” said I.

“David Balfour?” he repeated, in rather a high tone, like one surprised.
“And where have you come from, Mr. David Balfour?” he asked, looking me
pretty drily in the face.

“I have come from a great many strange places, sir,” said I; “but I
think it would be as well to tell you where and how in a more private
manner.”

He seemed to muse awhile, holding his lip in his hand, and looking now
at me and now upon the causeway of the street.

“Yes,” says he, “that will be the best, no doubt.” And he led me back
with him into his house, cried out to some one whom I could not see
that he would be engaged all morning, and brought me into a little
dusty chamber full of books and documents. Here he sate down, and bade
me be seated; though I thought he looked a little ruefully from his
clean chair to my muddy rags. “And now,” says he, “if you have any
business, pray be brief and come swiftly to the point. _Nec gemino
bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo_--do you understand that?” says he, with
a keen look.

“I will even do as Horace says, sir,” I answered, smiling, “and carry
you _in medias res_.” He nodded as if he was well pleased, and indeed
his scrap of Latin had been set to test me. For all that, and though I
was somewhat encouraged, the blood came in my face when I added: “I
have reason to believe myself some rights on the estate of Shaws.”

He got a paper book out of a drawer and set it before him open. “Well?”
said he.

But I had shot my bolt and sat speechless.

“Come, come, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “you must continue. Where were you
born?”

“In Essendean, sir,” said I, “the year 1733, the 12th of March.”

He seemed to follow this statement in his paper book; but what that
meant I knew not. “Your father and mother?” said he.

“My father was Alexander Balfour, schoolmaster of that place,” said I,
“and my mother Grace Pitarrow; I think her people were from Angus.”

“Have you any papers proving your identity?” asked Mr. Rankeillor.

“No, sir,” said I, “but they are in the hands of Mr. Campbell, the
minister, and could be readily produced. Mr. Campbell, too, would give
me his word; and for that matter, I do not think my uncle would deny
me.”

“Meaning Mr. Ebenezer Balfour?” says he.

“The same,” said I.

“Whom you have seen?” he asked.

“By whom I was received into his own house,” I answered.

“Did you ever meet a man of the name of Hoseason?” asked Mr. Rankeillor.

“I did so, sir, for my sins,” said I; “for it was by his means and the
procurement of my uncle, that I was kidnapped within sight of this town,
carried to sea, suffered shipwreck and a hundred other hardships, and
stand before you to-day in this poor accoutrement.”

“You say you were shipwrecked,” said Rankeillor; “where was that?”

“Off the south end of the Isle of Mull,” said I. “The name of the isle
on which I was cast up is the Island Earraid.”

“Ah!” says he, smiling, “you are deeper than me in the geography. But so
far, I may tell you, this agrees pretty exactly with other informations
that I hold. But you say you were kidnapped; in what sense?”

“In the plain meaning of the word, sir,” said I. “I was on my way to
your house, when I was trepanned on board the brig, cruelly struck down,
thrown below, and knew no more of anything till we were far at sea. I
was destined for the plantations; a fate that, in God’s providence, I
have escaped.”

“The brig was lost on June the 27th,” says he, looking in his book,
“and we are now at August the 24th. Here is a considerable hiatus, Mr.
Balfour, of near upon two months. It has already caused a vast amount
of trouble to your friends; and I own I shall not be very well contented
until it is set right.”

“Indeed, sir,” said I, “these months are very easily filled up; but yet
before I told my story, I would be glad to know that I was talking to a
friend.”

“This is to argue in a circle,” said the lawyer. “I cannot be convinced
till I have heard you. I cannot be your friend till I am properly
informed. If you were more trustful, it would better befit your time of
life. And you know, Mr. Balfour, we have a proverb in the country that
evil-doers are aye evil-dreaders.”

“You are not to forget, sir,” said I, “that I have already suffered by
my trustfulness; and was shipped off to be a slave by the very man that
(if I rightly understand) is your employer?”

All this while I had been gaining ground with Mr. Rankeillor, and in
proportion as I gained ground, gaining confidence. But at this sally,
which I made with something of a smile myself, he fairly laughed aloud.

“No, no,” said he, “it is not so bad as that. _Fui, non sum_. I was
indeed your uncle’s man of business; but while you (_imberbis juvenis
custode remoto_) were gallivanting in the west, a good deal of water
has run under the bridges; and if your ears did not sing, it was not
for lack of being talked about. On the very day of your sea disaster,
Mr. Campbell stalked into my office, demanding you from all the winds.
I had never heard of your existence; but I had known your father; and
from matters in my competence (to be touched upon hereafter) I was
disposed to fear the worst. Mr. Ebenezer admitted having seen you;
declared (what seemed improbable) that he had given you considerable
sums; and that you had started for the continent of Europe, intending
to fulfil your education, which was probable and praiseworthy.
Interrogated how you had come to send no word to Mr. Campbell, he
deponed that you had expressed a great desire to break with your past
life. Further interrogated where you now were, protested ignorance, but
believed you were in Leyden. That is a close sum of his replies. I am
not exactly sure that any one believed him,” continued Mr. Rankeillor
with a smile; “and in particular he so much disrelished me expressions
of mine that (in a word) he showed me to the door. We were then at a
full stand; for whatever shrewd suspicions we might entertain, we had
no shadow of probation. In the very article, comes Captain Hoseason
with the story of your drowning; whereupon all fell through; with no
consequences but concern to Mr. Campbell, injury to my pocket, and
another blot upon your uncle’s character, which could very ill afford
it. And now, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “you understand the whole process
of these matters, and can judge for yourself to what extent I may be
trusted.”

Indeed he was more pedantic than I can represent him, and placed more
scraps of Latin in his speech; but it was all uttered with a fine
geniality of eye and manner which went far to conquer my distrust.
Moreover, I could see he now treated me as if I was myself beyond a
doubt; so that first point of my identity seemed fully granted.

“Sir,” said I, “if I tell you my story, I must commit a friend’s life
to your discretion. Pass me your word it shall be sacred; and for what
touches myself, I will ask no better guarantee than just your face.”

He passed me his word very seriously. “But,” said he, “these are rather
alarming prolocutions; and if there are in your story any little jostles
to the law, I would beg you to bear in mind that I am a lawyer, and pass
lightly.”

Thereupon I told him my story from the first, he listening with his
spectacles thrust up and his eyes closed, so that I sometimes feared
he was asleep. But no such matter! he heard every word (as I found
afterward) with such quickness of hearing and precision of memory as
often surprised me. Even strange outlandish Gaelic names, heard for that
time only, he remembered and would remind me of, years after. Yet when I
called Alan Breck in full, we had an odd scene. The name of Alan had of
course rung through Scotland, with the news of the Appin murder and the
offer of the reward; and it had no sooner escaped me than the lawyer
moved in his seat and opened his eyes.

“I would name no unnecessary names, Mr. Balfour,” said he; “above all of
Highlanders, many of whom are obnoxious to the law.”

“Well, it might have been better not,” said I, “but since I have let it
slip, I may as well continue.”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Rankeillor. “I am somewhat dull of hearing, as
you may have remarked; and I am far from sure I caught the name exactly.
We will call your friend, if you please, Mr. Thomson--that there may
be no reflections. And in future, I would take some such way with any
Highlander that you may have to mention--dead or alive.”

By this, I saw he must have heard the name all too clearly, and had
already guessed I might be coming to the murder. If he chose to play
this part of ignorance, it was no matter of mine; so I smiled, said it
was no very Highland-sounding name, and consented. Through all the rest
of my story Alan was Mr. Thomson; which amused me the more, as it was a
piece of policy after his own heart. James Stewart, in like manner,
was mentioned under the style of Mr. Thomson’s kinsman; Colin Campbell
passed as a Mr. Glen; and to Cluny, when I came to that part of my tale,
I gave the name of “Mr. Jameson, a Highland chief.” It was truly the
most open farce, and I wondered that the lawyer should care to keep it
up; but, after all, it was quite in the taste of that age, when there
were two parties in the state, and quiet persons, with no very high
opinions of their own, sought out every cranny to avoid offence to
either.

“Well, well,” said the lawyer, when I had quite done, “this is a great
epic, a great Odyssey of yours. You must tell it, sir, in a sound
Latinity when your scholarship is riper; or in English if you please,
though for my part I prefer the stronger tongue. You have rolled much;
_quæ regio in terris_--what parish in Scotland (to make a homely
translation) has not been filled with your wanderings? You have shown,
besides, a singular aptitude for getting into false positions; and,
yes, upon the whole, for behaving well in them. This Mr. Thomson seems
to me a gentleman of some choice qualities, though perhaps a trifle
bloody-minded. It would please me none the worse, if (with all his
merits) he were soused in the North Sea, for the man, Mr. David, is a
sore embarrassment. But you are doubtless quite right to adhere to him;
indubitably, he adhered to you. _It comes_--we may say--he was your
true companion; nor less _paribus curis vestigia figit_, for I dare say
you would both take an orra thought upon the gallows. Well, well, these
days are fortunately by; and I think (speaking humanly) that you are
near the end of your troubles.”

As he thus moralised on my adventures, he looked upon me with so much
humour and benignity that I could scarce contain my satisfaction. I had
been so long wandering with lawless people, and making my bed upon the
hills and under the bare sky, that to sit once more in a clean, covered
house, and to talk amicably with a gentleman in broadcloth, seemed
mighty elevations. Even as I thought so, my eye fell on my unseemly
tatters, and I was once more plunged in confusion. But the lawyer saw
and understood me. He rose, called over the stair to lay another plate,
for Mr. Balfour would stay to dinner, and led me into a bedroom in the
upper part of the house. Here he set before me water and soap, and a
comb; and laid out some clothes that belonged to his son; and here, with
another apposite tag, he left me to my toilet.