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04 - Kidnapped - Robert Louis Stevenson · Classic Adventure Books Library

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Chapter four, I run a great danger in the house of Shaws for a
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day that was begun, so ill the day passed fairly well. We had
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the porridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night. Porridge and
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small beer was my uncle's diet. He spoke but little, and that in
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the same way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence,
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and when I sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped
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out of it again. In a room next door to the kitchen, where
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he suffered me to go, I found a great number of books, both
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Latin and English, in which I took great pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed,
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the time passed so lightly in this good company that I began to be
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almost reconciled to my residence at Shaws. And nothing but the sight of my
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uncle and his eyes playing a hide and seek with mine, revived the force
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of my distrust. One thing I desiscovered which put me in some doubt.
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There was an entry on the fly leaf of a chap book, one of
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Patrick Walker's, plainly written by my father's hand, and thus conceived to my
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brother Ebenezer on his fifth birthday. Now what puzzled me was this that,
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as my father was, of course the younger brother, he must either have
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made some strange error, or he must have written before he was yet five,
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an excellent, clear, manly hand of writing. I tried to get
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this out of my head, but though I took down many interesting authors,
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old and new, history, poetry and story book, this notion of my
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father's hand of writing stuck to me, and when at length I went back
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into the kitchen and sat down once more to porridge and small beer. The
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first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if my father had
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not been very quick at his book. Alexander, No him, was the
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reply. I was far quicker, mysel I was a clever chappie when I
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was young. Why I could read as soon as he could. This puzzled
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me yet more, and a thought coming into my head, I asked if
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he and my father had been twins. He jumped upon his stool, and
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the horn spoon fell out of his hand upon the floor. Look Garzia,
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ask that, he said, And he caught me by the breast of the
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jacket and looked this time straight into my eyes. His own were little and
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light and bright, like a bird's blinking and winking strangely. What do you
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mean, I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger than he,
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and not easily frightened. Take your hand from my jacket. This is
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no way to behave. My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself,
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Dad Man David. He said, you shouldn't speak to me about your
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father. That's where the massas is. He sat awhile and shook, blinking
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in his plate. He was all the brother that ever I had, he
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added, with no heart in his voice. And then he caught up his
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spoon and fell to supper again, but still shaking. Now, this last
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passage, this laying of hands upon my person, and sudden profession of love
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for my dead father, went so clean beyond my comprehension that it put me
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into both fear and hope. On the one hand, I began to think
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my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous. On the other, there
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came up into my mind, quite unbidden by me, and even discouraged a
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story like some ballad I had heard folks singing of a poor lad that was
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a rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that tried to keep him from his own.
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But why should my uncle play a part with a relative that came almost
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a beggar to his door, unless in his heart he had some cause to
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fear him. With this notion all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmly settled in
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my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks, so that we
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sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing the other.
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Not another word had he to say to me black or white? But
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he was busy turning something secretly over in his mind. And the longer we
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sat, and the more I looked at him, more certain I became that
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something was unfriendly to myself. When he had cleared the platter, he got
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out a single pipe full of tobacco, just as in the morning, turned
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round a stool into the chimney corner, and sat a while smoking with his
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back to me. Davy, he said, at length, I've been thinking.
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Then he paused and said it again. There's a wee bit, Siller,
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that I have promised you before you was born, he continued, promised
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it to your father. Oh, nothing legal. You want to to stand
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just gentlemen daffin at their wine. Well, I keep it that bit of
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money separate. It was a great expense, but a promise. He is
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a promise, and it has grown by now to be a matter of just
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precisely, just exactly. And here he paused and stumbled, just exactly forty
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pounds. This last he wrapped out with a sidelong glance over his shoulder,
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and the next moment he added, almost with a scream, Scott's the pound,
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Scot's being the same thing as an English shilling. The difference made by
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this second thought was considerable. I could see besides that the whole story was
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a lie, invented with some end which it puzzled me to guess. And
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I made no attempt to conceal the tone of raillery in which I answered,
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Oh, think again, sir, Pounds Sterling. I believe that's what I
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said, returned my uncle, Pound Sterling. And if you'll step out by
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to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night it
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is, I get it out to ye and call ye in again. I
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did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think I
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was so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night with a few
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stars low down and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a
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hollow moaning of wind far off among the hills. I said to myself,
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there was something thundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what
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a vast importance that should prove to me. Before the evening passed. When
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I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven and
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thirty golden guinea pieces. The rest was in his hand, in small gold
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and silver. But his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change
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into his pocket. There, said he. That'll show you. I'm a
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queer man and strange with strangers. But my word is my bond, and
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there's the proof of it. Now. My uncle seemed so misily that I
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was struck dumb by this sudden generosity, and could find no words in which
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to thank him. Not a word, he said, no thanks. I
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want noth thanks. I do my duty. I'm no saying that everybody would
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have done it but for my part, though I'm a careful body too.
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It's a pleasure to me to do the right by my brother's son. And
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it's a pleasure to me to think that now we'll agree as such near friends.
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Should I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able. But
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all the while I was wondering what would come next, and why he had
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parted with his precious guineas for as to the reason he had given a baby,
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would have refused it. Presently he looked towards me sideways, and see
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here, said he tit for tat. I told him I was ready to
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prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree, and then waited, looking for some
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monstrous demand. And yet when at last he plucked up courage to speak,
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it was only to tell me very properly, as I thought that he was
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growing old and a little broken, and that he would expect me to help
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him with the house and the binder garden. I answered, and expressed my
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readiness to serve. Well, said he, let's begin. He pulled out
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of his pocket a rusty key. There, says he, there's the key
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of the stair tower at the far end of the house. You can only
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win into it from the outside, for that part of the house is nuffinished.
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Gang ye in there and up the stairs and bring me down the chest
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that's at the top. There's papers in it, he added, Can I
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have a light? Sir said, I nah, said he very cunningly.
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No lights in my house. Very well, Sir said, I are the
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stairs good? They're grand, said he, And then as I was going
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heap to the wall, he added, there's neb banisters, but the stairs
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are grand. Underfoot, out I went into the night. The wind was
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still moaning in the distance, though never a breath of it came near the
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House of Shawls. It had fallen blacker than ever, and I was glad
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to feel along the wall till I came the length of the stair tower door
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at the far end of the unfinished wing. I had got the key into
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the keyhole and had just turned it, when all of a sudden, without
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sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted up with wild fire and
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went black again. I had to put my hand over my eyes to get
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back to the color of the darkness, And indeed I was already half blinded
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when I stepped into the tower. It was so dark inside it seemed a
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body could scarce breathe. But I pushed out with foot in hand, and
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presently struck the wall with one and the lowermost round of the stair with the
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other. The wall by the touch was of fine hewn stone. The steps,
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too, though somewhat steep and narrow, were of polished mason work,
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and regular and solid underfoot. Minding my uncle's word about the banisters, I
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kept close to the tower side and felt my way in the pitch darkness with
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a beating heart. The House of Shaws stood some five full stories high,
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not counting lofts. Well. As I advanced, it seemed to me the
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stair grew airier, in a thought, more lightsome, and I was wondering
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what might be the cause of this change, when a second blink of the
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summer lightning came and went. If I did not cry out, it was
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because fear had me by the throat, and if I did not fall,
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it was more by Heaven's mercy than my own strength. It was not only
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that the flash shone in on every side through breeches in the wall, so
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that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, but the same
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passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length, and that one of
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my feet rested that moment within two inches of the well. This was the
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grand Stare, I thought, and with the thought a gust of a kind
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of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here,
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certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settle
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that, perhaps if I should break my neck, for it got me down
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upon my hands and knees, and as slowly as a snail, feeling before
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me every inch and testing the solidity of every stone, I continued to ascend
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the stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to have
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redoubled. Nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled in my
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mind, confounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the
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tower, and the foul beasts flying downwards sometimes beat about my face some body.
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The tower, I should have said, was square, and in every
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corner the step was made of a great stone of a different shape to join
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the flights. Well, I had come close to one of these turns,
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when, feeling forward as usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found
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nothing but emptiness beyond it. The stair had been carried no higher. To
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set a stranger mounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his
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death. And although thanks to the lightning and my own precautions. I was
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safe enough. The mere thought of the peril in which I might have stood,
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and the dreadful height I might have fallen from, brought out the sweat
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upon my body and relaxed my joints. But I knew what I wanted now,
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and turned to grope my way down again, with a wonderful anger in
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my heart. About half way down, the wind sprang up in a clap
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and shook the tower, and died again. The rain followed, and before
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I had reached the ground level it fell in buckets. I put out my
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head into the storm and looked along towards the kitchen. The door which I
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had shut behind me when I left, now stood open and shed a little
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glimmer of light, and I thought I could see a figure standing in the
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rain, quite still, like a man hearkening. And then there came a
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blinding flash which showed me my uncle plainly just where I had fancied him to
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stand, and hard upon the heels of it a great tow row of thunder.
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Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my
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fall, or whether he heard in it God's voice denouncing murder, I will
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leave you to guess certain it is at least that he was seized on by
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a kind of panic fear, and that he ran into the house and left
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the door open behind him. I followed as softly as I could, and,
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coming unheard into the kitchen, stood and watched him. He had found
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time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great case bottle of Aqua
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vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table. Ever
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and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering, and grown
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aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drinked down the raw spirits
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by the mouthful. I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat,
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and suddenly, clapping my two hands down upon his shoulders, ah,
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cried I My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat,
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flung up his arms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man.
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I was somewhat shocked at this, but I had myself to look to first
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of all, and I did not hesitate to let him lie as he had
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fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard, and it was my design
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to furnish myself with arms before my uncle should come again to his senses and
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the power of devising evil. And the cupboard were a few bottles, some
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apparently of medicine, a great many bills, and other papers, which I
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should willingly enough have rummaged had I had the time, and a few necessaries
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that were nothing to my purpose. Thence I turned to the chests. The
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first was full of meal, the second of money, bags and papers tied
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into sheaves. In the third with many other things, and these for the
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most part clothes. I found a rusty, ugly looking Highland dirk without the
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scabbard. This, then I concealed inside my waistcoat and turned to my uncle.
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He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up
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and one arm sprawling abroad. His face had a strange color of blue,
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and he seemed to have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was
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dead. Then I got water and dashed it in his face, and with
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that he seemed to come a little to himself, working his mouth and fluttering
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his eyelids. At last he looked up and saw me, and there came
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into his eyes a terror that was not of this world. Come, said
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I sit up. Are you alive? He sobbed, Oh man, are
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you alive? That am? I said, I small? Thanks to you?
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He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. The blue
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file, said he in the Olmri, the blue vial. His breath came
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slower still. I ran to the cupboard, and sure enough found there a
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blue file of medicine with the dose written on it on a paper. And
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this I administered to him with what speed I might. It's the trouble,
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said he, reviving a little. I have a trouble, Davy, it's
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the heart. I set him on a chair and looked at him. It
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is true. I felt some pity for a man that looked so sick.
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But I was full besides of righteous anger. And I numbered over before him
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the points on which I wanted explanation. Why he lied to me at every
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word, Why he feared that I should leave him, why he disliked it
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to be hinted that he and my father were twins? Is that? Because
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it is true? I asked why he'd given me money, to which I
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was convinced I had no claim, And last of all, why he had
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tried to kill me? He heard me all through in silence, and then,
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in a broken voice, begged me to let him go to bed.
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I'll tell you the morn, he said, as sure as death, I
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will. And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent.
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I locked him into his room, however, and pocketed the key, and
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then, returning to the kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not
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shown there for many a long year, and, wrapping myself in my plaid,
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lay down upon the chests and fell asleep. End of chapter