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12 - Kidnapped - Robert Louis Stevenson · Adventure Books Library

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  Chapter twelve, I hear of the Red Fox. Before we had done cleaning
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  out the round house, a breeze sprang up from a little to the east
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  of north. This blew off the rain and brought out the sun. And
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  here I must explain, and the reader would do well to look at a
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  map. On the day when the fog fell and we ran down Allan's boat,
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  we had been running through the little minch at dawn after the battle,
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  we lay be calm to the east of the Isle of Kenna, or between
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  that and Isle Eriska, in the chain of the Long Island. Now to
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  get from there to the Linney Lock, the straight course was to the narrows
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  of the Sound of Mull, but the captain had no chart. He was
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  afraid to trust his brig so deep among the islands, and the wind serving
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  well, he preferred to go by west of Tyree and come up under the
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  southern coast of the great Isle of Mull. All day the breeze held in
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  the same point, and rather freshened than died down, And towards afternoon a
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  swell began to set in from round the outer hebrides our course to go round
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  about the inner Aisles was to the west of south, so that at first
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  we had the swell upon our beam and were much rolled about. But after
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  nightfall, when we had turned the end of Tyree and began to head more
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  to the east, the sea came right astern. Meanwhile, the early part
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  of the day before the swell came up was very pleasant sailing, as we
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  were in a bright sunshine and with many mountainous islands upon different sides. Allan
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  and I sat in the round house with the doors open on each side,
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  the wind being straight astern, and smoked a pipe or two of the captain's
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  fine tobacco. It was at this time we heard each other's stories, which
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  was the more important to me, as I gained some knowledge of that wild
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  highland country on which I was so soon to land. In those days,
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  so close on the back of the great rebellion, it was needful a man
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  should know what he was doing when he went upon the heather. It was
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  I that showed the example, telling him all my misfortune, which he heard
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  with great good nature. Only when I came to mention that good friend of
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  mine, mister Campbell, the minister Alan fired up and cried out that he
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  hated all that were of that name? Why, said I? He is
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  a man you should be proud to give your hand to. I know nothing.
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  I would help a Campbell, too, says he, unless it was
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  a leaden bullet. I would hunt all of that name like black Cock's.
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  If I lay dying, I would crawl upon my knees to my chamber window
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  for a shot at one. Why allan, I cried, what ails ye
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  at the Campbells? Well, says he, Ye ken very well that I
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  am an app and Stuart and the Campbells have long harried and wasted those of
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  my name, aye, and got lands of us by treachery, But never
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  with the sword, he cried loudly, and with the word brought down his
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  fist upon the table. But I've paid the less attention to this, for
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  I knew it was usually said by those who have the underhand. There's more
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  than that, he continued, In all in the same story, lying words,
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  lying papers, tricks fit for a peddler, and the show of what's
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  legal overall to make a man the more angry. You are so wasteful of
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  your buttons, said I, I can hardly think you would be a good
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  judge of business. Ah, says he falling again the smiling. I got
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  my wastefulness from the same man I got the buttons from, And that was
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  my poor father, Duncan Stuart. Grace be to him. He was the
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  prettiest man of his kindred and the best swordsman in the Highlands, David.
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  And that is the same as to say, in all the world I should
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  ken, for it was him that taught me. He was in the Black
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  Watch when first it was mustered, and like other gentlemen privates, had a
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  gilliatus back to carry his firelock for him on the march well. The King,
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  it appears, was wishful to see Highland's swordsmanship, and my father and
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  three more were chosen out and sent to London town to let him see it
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  at the best. So they were had into the palace and showed the whole
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  art of the sword for two hours at a stretch before King George, and
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  Queen Carline, and the Butcher Cumberland, and many more of whom I have
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  no mind. And when they were through, the King, for all he
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  was a rank usurper, spoke them fair and gave each man three guineas in
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  his hand. Now as they were going out of the palace, they had
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  a porter's lodge to go by, and it came in on my father,
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  as he was perhaps the first private highland joe gentlemen that had ever gone by
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  that door. It was right he should give the poor porter a proper notion
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  of their quality. So he gives the king's three guineas into the man's hand,
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  as if it was his common custom. The three others that came behind
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  him did the same, and there they were on the street, never a
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  penny the better for their pains. Some say it was one that was the
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  first to feed the king's porter, and some say it was another. What
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  the truth of it is that it was Duncan Stuart, as I am willing
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  to prove with either sword or a pistol, and that was the father I
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  had God rest him. I think he was not the man to leave you
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  rich, said I, And that's true, said Allan. He left me
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  my breeks to cover me and little besides. And that was how I came
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  to Enlist, which was a black spot upon my character at the best of
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  times, and would still be a sword job for me if I fell among
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  the red coats. What cried I were you in the English army, that
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  was, I, said Allan. But I deserted to the right side it
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  pressed in pants, and that's some comfort. I could scarcely share this view,
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  holding desertion under arms for an unpardonable fault in honor. But for all
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  I was so young, I was wiser than say my thought. Dear,
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  dear, says I. The punishment is death, aye, said he.
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  If they got the hands on me, it would be a short shrift and
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  a long tow for Allan. But I have the King of France's commission in
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  my pocket, which would I be some protection? I misdoubt it much,
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  said I. I have doubts myself, said Allan dryly. And good heaven,
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  man, cried I. You that are a condemned rebel and a deserter
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  and a man of the French King's what temptship back into this country? It's
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  a braving of providence, not, says Alan. I have been back every
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  year since forty six. And what brings you? Man? Cried I?
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  Well, you see, I weary for my friends and country, said he.
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  Friends is a broad place, no doubt, But I weary for the
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  heather and the deer. And then I have bit things that I attend to
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  whilst I pick up a few lads to serve the King of France recruits.
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  Ye see, and that's I a little money. But the heart of the
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  matter is the business of my chief, Ardshield. I thought they called your
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  chief Appen, said I aye. But Ardshield is a captain of the clan,
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  said he which scarcely cleared my mind. Yes, say David, He
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  that was all his life so great a man, and come of the blood
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  in bearing the name of kings, is now brought down to live in a
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  French town like a poor and private person. He that had four hundred swords
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  at his whistle. I have seen with these eyes of mine buying butter in
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  the market place and taking it home in a keil leaf. This is not
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  only a pain, but a disgrace to us of his family and clan.
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  There are the barns foreby the children and the hope of Appen, that must
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  be learned their letters and how to hold a sword. In that far country.
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  Now the tenants of Appin have to pay a rent to King George.
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  But their hearts are staunch, they are true to their chief, and what
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  with love and a bit of pressure. It may be a thread or two.
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  The poor folks scrape up a second rent for Ardshield. Well, David,
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  I'm the hand that carries it. And he struck the belt about his
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  body so that the guineas rang. Do they pay? Both cried I aye,
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  David, Both says he what two rents? I repeated I David said
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  he. I told a different tale, the ung captain man. But this
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  is the truth of it, and it's wonderful to me how little pressure is
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  needed. But that's the handiwork of my good kinsman and my father's friend,
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  James of the Glens, James Stewart, that is Ardshield's half brother. He
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  it is that gets the money in and does the management. This was the
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  first time I heard the name of that James Stuart, who was afterwards so
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  famous at the time of his hanging. But I took little heed at the
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  moment, for all my mind was occupied with the generosity of these poor highlanders.
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  I call it noble, I cried. I'm a whig or little better,
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  but I call it noble. Ay said he you're a whig, but
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  you're a gentleman. And that's what does it now? If you are one
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  of the cursed race of Campbell. You had nash your teeth to hear tell
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  of it if ye were the red Fox. And at that name his teeth
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  shut together, and he ceased speaking. I've seen many a grim face,
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  but never a grimmer than Allan's when he had named the red Fox. And
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  who is the red Fox? I asked, daunted but still curious, who
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  is? He cried Allan? Well, And I tell you that when the
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  men of the clans were broken at Cladden, and the good cause went down,
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  and the horses rode over the fetlocks, and the best blood of the
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  north Guardshield had to flee like a poor deer upon the mountains. He and
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  his lady and his bairns. A sad job we had of it before we
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  got him shipped. And while he still lay in the heather, the English
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  rogues that couldn't come at his life were striking at his rights. They stripped
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  him of his powers, they stripped him of his lands. They plucked the
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  weapons from the hands of his klansmen that had borne arms for thirty centuries ay,
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  and the very clothes off their backs, so that it's now a sin
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  to wear a tartan plaid and a man may be cast into a jail if
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  he has but a kilt about his legs. One thing that couldn't kill that
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  was the love the clans membore their chief. These guineas are the proof of
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  it. And now in their steps a man, a campbell, red headed
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  colon of Glenure. Is that him you called the red fox? Said I,
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  oh, you bring me his brush, cried Allan fiercely. Aye.
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  That's the man. In he steps and gets papers from King George to be
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  so called King's factor on the lands of Appen. And at first he sings
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  small and his hail fellow, well met with Seamus. That's James of the
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  Glens, my chieftain's agent. But by the bye that came to his ears
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  that I have just told you how the poor commons of Appin, the farmers
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  and the crofters and the bowmen were ringing the very plaids to get a second
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  rent and send it overseas for Ardshield and his poor barons. What was it
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  you called it? When I told you? I called it noble, Allan
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  said, I I knew little better than a common wig, cries Allan.
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  And when it came to Colin Roy the black campbell blood in him ran wild.
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  He sat gnashing his teeth at the wine table. What should a steward
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  get a bite of bread and him not be able to prevent it? A
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  red fox? If ever I hold you at the guns in the Lord have
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  pity upon ye. Alan stopped to swallow down his anger. Well, David,
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  what does he do? He declares all the farms to let, and
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  thinks he, in his black heart, I'll soon get other tenants that are
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  overbid, these Stuarts and that Calls and the crubs, while these are all
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  names in my clan, David, And then thinks he Ardshield will have to
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  hold his bonnet on a French road side. Well, said I What followed?
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  Allan laid down his pipe, which he had long since suffered to go
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  out, and set his two hands upon his knees. Aye said he.
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  You never guess that for these same Stuarts and Maccalls and mac crumbs, that
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  had two grants to pay, one to King George by stark force and one
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  to Ardshield by natural kindness, offered him a better price than any Campbell in
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  all broad Scotland. And far he sent seeking them as far as to the
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  sides of Clyde and the cross of Edinburgh, seeking and fleeching and begging them
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  to come where there was a stewart to be starved and a red headed hound
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  mc Campbell to be pleasured. Well, Allan said, I that is a
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  strange story, and a fine one too, And whig as I may be,
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  I am glad the man was beaten, him beaten, echoed Allan.
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  It's little ye ken of Camble's and less of the red fox him beaten,
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  no, nor will be till his blood's on the hillside. But if the
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  day comes, David, man that I can find time and leisure for a
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  bit of hunting that grows not enough heather in all Scotland to hide him from
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  my vengeance. Man Allan said, I you are neither very wise nor very
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  Christian to blow off so many words of anger. They will do the man
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  you call the fox no harm, and yourself no good. Tell me your
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  tale plainly out what did he next? And that's a good observed David,
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  said Allan. Troth and indeed they will do him no harm. The more's
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  the pity. And barring that about Christianity on which my opinion is quite otherwise,
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  or I would be no Christian. I am much of your mind,
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  opinion here or or opinion there, said I. It's a kent thing that
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  Christianity forbids revenge, Aye, said he. It's well seen. It was
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  a Campbell toccia. It would be a convenient world for them and their sort
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  if there were no such thing as a lad and a gun behind a heather
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  bush. But that's nothing to the point. This is what he did,
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  Ay said, I come to that well, David said he. Since he
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  couldn't be read of the loyal commons by fair means, he's swoar, he
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  will be rid of them by fowl hardshield was the star. That was the
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  thing he aimed at. And since them that fed him in his exile wouldn't
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  be brought out right or wrong, he would drive them out. Therefore he
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  sent for lawyers, papers and redcoats to stand at his back. And the
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  kindly folk of that country must all pack and trap every father's son out of
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  his father's house and out of the place where he was bred and fed and
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  played when he was a callant, and who ought to succeed them bear legged
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  beggars. King George's to whistle for his rents. He mount do with less.
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  He can spread his butter thinner. What cares Red Collin? If he
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  can hurt hard shield, he has his wish. If he can pluck the
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  meat from my chieftain's table and the bit toys out of his children's hands,
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  he will gang home singing to Gleneur. Let me have a word, said
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  I be sure if they take less rents, be sure government has a finger
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  in the pie. It's not this Campbell's fault, man, it's his orders.
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  And if he killed this colin to morrow, what better would ye be?
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  There would be another factor in his shoes. As fast as spur can
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  drive. Here a good lad at a fight, said Allan. But man,
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  yo have wig blood in ye. He spoke kindly enough, but there
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  was so much anger under his contempt that I thought it was wise to change
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  the conversation. I expressed my wonder how with the highlands covered with troops and
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  guarded like a city in a siege, a man in his situation could come
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  and go without a rest. It's easier than you would think, said Allan.
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  A bare hills side, you see, is like all one road.
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  If there's a sentry at one place, you'd just go by another. And
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  then the heather's a great hill, And everywhere there are friends, houses and
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  friends, buyers and haystacks. And besides, when folk talk of a country
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  covered with troops, it's but a kind of a byword. At the best.
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  A soldier covers no more of it than his boots soles. I have
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  fished a water with a sentry on the other side of the bray and killed
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  a fine trout. And I have sat in a heather bush within six feet
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  of another and learned a real bunny tune from his whistling. This was it,
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  said he, and whistled me. And then besides, he continued,
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  is no so bad now as it was in forty six? The highlands are
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  what they call pacified, small wonder, with never a gun or a sword
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  left from Cantire to Cape Wrath. But what tentyfolk have hidden in the thatch.
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  But what I would like to ken, David, is just how long
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  not long, you would think, with men like hard Shiel in exile and
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  men like the Red Fox sitting burling the wine and oppressing the poor at home.
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  But it's a kittle thing to decide what folks will bear and what they
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  will not, And why would Red Colin be ride in his horse all over
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  my poor country of Appen, and never a pretty lad to put a bullet
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  in in? And with this Alan fell into a muse, and for a
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  long time sat very sad and silent. I will add the rest of what
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  I have to say about my friend, that he was skilled in all kinds
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  of music, but principally pipe music. Was a well considered poet in his
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  own tongue, had read several books, both in French and English, was
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  a dead shot, a good angler, and an excellent fencer with the small
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  sword as well as with his own particular weapon. For his faults, they
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  were on his face, and I now knew them all, but the worst
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  of them, his childish propensity to take offense and to pick quarrels, he
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  greatly laid aside, in my case, out of regard for the Battle of
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  the round House. But whether it was because I had done well myself or
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  because I had been a witness of his own much greater prowess, is more
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  than I can tell. For though he had a great taste for courage and
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  other men, yet he admired it most in Alan breck end of chapter