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02 - Kidnapped - Robert Louis Stevenson · Adventure Books Library

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  Chapter two. I come to my journey's end on the forenoon of the second
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  day. Coming to the top of a hill, I saw all the country
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  fall away before me down to the sea, and in the midst of this
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  descent, on a long ridge the city of Edinburgh smoking like a kiln.
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  There was a flag upon the castle, and ships moving or lying anchored in
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  the firth, both of which, for as far away as they were,
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  I could distinguish clearly, and both brought my country heart into my mouth.
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  Presently after I came by a house where a shepherd lived and got a rough
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  direction for the neighborhood of Cramond, and so from one to another worked my
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  way to the westward of the capital by Colinton till I came out upon the
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  Glasgow Road, and there, to my great pleasure and wonder, I beheld
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  a regiment marching to the fifes every foot in time, an old red faced
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  general on a gray horse at the one end, and at the other the
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  cup of grenadier's were their pope's hats. The pride of life seemed to mount
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  into my brain at the sight of the red coats and the hearing of that
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  merry music. A little further on, and I was told I was in
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  creman of parish, and began to substitute in my inquiries the name of the
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  House of Shaws. It was a word that seemed to surprise those of whom
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  I sought my way. At first, I thought the plainness of my appearance
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  in my country habit, and that all dusty from the road consorted ill with
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  the greatness of the place to which I was bound. But after two or
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  maybe three had given me the same look and the same answer, I began
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  to take it in my head that there was something strange about the Shaws itself.
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  The better to set the sphere at rest. I changed the form of
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  my inquiries, and, spying an honest fellow coming along a lane on the
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  shaft of his cart, I asked him if he had ever heard tell of
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  a house they called the House of Shaws. He stopped his card and looked
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  at me like the others, I said, he what for it's a great
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  house, I asked, doubtless, says he. The house is a big
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  muckle house, I said, I. But the folk that are in it,
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  folk cried, he are ye daft? Then they're folks there to call
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  folk? What say I? Not mister Ebenezer, Oh, I says the
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  man. There's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting,
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  what'll like be your business? Mannie? I was led to think that
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  I would get a situation, I said, looking as modest as I could,
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  What cries the carter in so sharp a note that his very horse started?
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  And then well, Mannie, he added, it's none of my affairs,
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  but you seem a decent spoken lad, and if you'll take a word
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  from me, you'll keep clear of the shaws. The next person I came
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  across was a dapper little man in a beautiful white wig, whom I saw
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  to be a barber on his rounds, and, knowing well that barbers were
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  great gossips, I asked him plainly, what sort of a man was mister
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  Balfour of the shaws? Hoot? Hoot, hoot? Said the barber nat
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  kind of a man, na kind of a man at all, and began
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  to ask me, very shrewdly what my business was. But I was more
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  than a match for him at that, and he went on to his next
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  customer, no wiser than he came. I cannot well describe the blow this
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  dealt to my illusions. The more indistinct the accusations were, the less I
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  liked them, for they left the wider field to fancy. What kind of
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  a great house was this, that all the parish should start and stare to
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  be asked the way to it? Or what sort of a gentleman that his
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  ill fame should be thus current on the wayside. If an hour's walking would
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  have brought me back to Essendean, I would have left my adventure then and
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  there and returned to mister Campbell's. But when I had come so far away
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  already, mere shame would not suffer me to desist till I had put the
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  matter to the touch of proof. I was bound out of mere self respect
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  to carry it through. And little as I liked the sound of what I
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  heard, and slow as I began to travel, I still kept asking my
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  way, and still kept advancing. I was drawing on to sundown when I
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  met a stout, dark, sour looking woman coming trudging down a hill,
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  And she, when I had put my usual question, turned sharp about,
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  accompanied me back to the summit she had just left, and pointed to a
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  great bulk of buildings standing very bare upon a green in the bottom of the
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  next valley. The country was pleasant round about, running in low hills,
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  pleasantly watered and wooded, and the crops, to my eyes wonderfully good.
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  But the house itself seemed to be a kind of room. No road led
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  up to it, no smoke arose from any of the chimneys, nor was
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  there any semblance of a garden. My heart sank that I cried. The
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  woman's face lit up with a malignant anger. That is the house of Shaws,
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  She cried, Blood built it, Blood stopped the building of it.
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  Blood shall bring it down. See here, she cried again. I spit
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  upon the ground and crack my thumb at it. Black be its fall.
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  If you see the laird, tell him what you hear, tell him.
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  This makes the twelve hundred and nineteen times that Jennak Gluston has called down the
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  curse on him and his house byre and stable man, Guest and master wife
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  miss or Bairn. Black, black be their fall. And the woman,
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  whose voice had ridden to a kind of eldritch sing song, turned with a
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  skip and was gone. Stood where she left me with my hair on end.
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  In those days, folk still believed in witches and trembled at a curse,
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  and this one falling so pat like a wayside omen to arrest me.
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  Ere I carried out my purpose, took the pith out of my legs.
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  I sat me down and stared at the house of shaws. The more I
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  looked, the pleasanterer that countryside appeared, being all set with hawthorn bushes full
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  of flowers, the fields dotted with sheep, a fine flight of rooks in
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  the sky, and every sign of a kind soil and climate. And yet
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  the barrack in the midst of it went sore against my fancy. Country Folk
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  went by from the fields as I sat there on the side of the ditch,
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  but I lacked the spirit to give them a good inn. At last
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  the sun went down, and then right up against the yellow sky, I
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  saw a scroll of smoke go mounting, not much thicker, as it seemed
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  to me, than the smoke of a candle, but still there it was,
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  and meant a fire and warmth and cookery, and some living inhabitant that
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  must have lit it. And this comforted my heart. So I set forward
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  by a little faint track in the grass that led in my direction. It
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  was very faint, indeed, to be the only way to a place of
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  habitation, yet I saw no other. Presently. It brought me to stone
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  uprights, with an unroofed lodge beside them, and coats of arms upon the
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  top. A main entrance it was plainly meant to be, but never finished.
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  Instead of gates of wrought iron, a pair of hurdles were tied across
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  with a straw rope. And as there were no park walls nor any sign
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  of avenue, the track that I was following passed on the right hand of
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  the pillars, and went wandering on toward the house. The nearer I got
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  to that, the drearier it appeared. It seemed like the one wing of
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  a house that had never been finished. What should have been the inner end
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  stood open on the upper floors, and showed against the sky with steps and
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  stairs of uncompleted masonry. Many of the windows were unglazed, and bats flew
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  in and out like doves out of a dove cote. The night had begun
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  to fall as I got close, and in three of the lower windows,
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  which were very high up and narrow and well barred, the changing light of
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  a little fire began to glimmer. Was this the palace I had been coming
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  to. Was it within these walls that I was to seek new friends and
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  begin great fortunes? Why in my father's house on essen water side, the
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  fire and the bright lights would show a mile away, and the door opened
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  to a beggar's knock. I came forward, cautiously and giving ear as I
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  came, heard some one rattling with dishes, a little dry, eager cough
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  that came in fits, But there was no sound of speech, and not
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  a dog barked. The door, As well as I could see it in
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  the dim light was a great piece of wood, all studded with nails.
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  And I lifted my hand, with a faint heart under my jacket, and
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  knocked once. Then I stood and waited. The house had fallen into a
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  dead silence. A whole minute passed away, and nothing stirred but the bats
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  overhead. I knocked again, and hearkened again. By this time my ears
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  had grown so accustomed to the quiet that I could hear the ticking of the
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  clock inside as it slowly counted out the seconds. But whoever was in that
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  house kept deadly still, and must have held his breath. I was in
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  two minds whether to run away, but anger got the upper hand, and
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  I began instead to rain kicks and buffets on the door and to shout aloud
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  for mister Balfourt. I was in full career when I heard the cough right
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  overhead, and jumping back and looking up, beheld a man's head in a
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  tall nightcap and the bell mouth of a blunderbuss at one of the first story
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  windows. It's loaded, said a voice. I have come here with a
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  letter, I said, said to mister Ebenezer Balfour of Shaws. Is he
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  here? From whom is it? Asked the man with the blunderbuss. That
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  is neither here nor there, said I, for I was growing very wroth.
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  Well was the reply. YE can put it down upon the door step
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  and be off with ye. I will do no such thing, I cried.
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  I will deliver it into mister Balfour's hands, as it was meant I
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  should. It is a letter of introduction. A what cried the voice sharply,
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  I repeated what I had said. Who are ye yoself? Was the
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  next question, after a considerable pause. I am not ashamed of my name,
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  said I. They call me David Balfour. At that I made sure
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  the man started, for I heard the blunderbuss rattle on the window sill.
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  And it was after quite a long pause, and with a curious change of
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  voice, that the next question followed, Is your father dead? I was
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  so much surprised at this that I could find no voice to answer, but
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  stood staring Aye, the man resumed, He'll be dead, no doubt.
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  An that'll be what brings ye chappin' to my door. Another paused, and
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  then defiantly, well man, he said, I'll let ye in, and
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  he disappeared from the window. End of chapter