Chapter XI. The Captain Knuckles Under

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　Alan and I sat down to breakfast about six of the clock. Thefloor was covered with broken glass and in a horrid mess ofblood, which took away my hunger. In all other ways we were in asituation not only agreeable but merry; having ousted theofficers from their own cabin, and having at command all thedrink in the ship -- both wine and spirits -- and all the daintypart of what was eatable, such as the pickles and the fine sortof bread. This, of itself, was enough to set us in good humour,but the richest part of it was this, that the two thirstiest menthat ever came out of Scotland (Mr. Shuan being dead) were nowshut in the fore-part of the ship and condemned to what theyhated most -- cold water."And depend upon it," Alan said, "we shall hear more of them erelong. Ye may keep a man from the fighting, but never from hisbottle."We made good company for each other. Alan, indeed, expressedhimself most lovingly; and taking a knife from the table, cut meoff one of the silver buttons from his coat."I had them," says he, "from my father, Duncan Stewart; and nowgive ye one of them to be a keepsake for last night's work. Andwherever ye go and show that button, the friends of Alan Breckwill come around you."He said this as if he had been Charlemagne, and commanded armies;and indeed, much as I admired his courage, I was always in dangerof smiling at his vanity: in danger, I say, for had I not kept mycountenance, I would be afraid to think what a quarrel might havefollowed.As soon as we were through with our meal he rummaged in thecaptain's locker till he found a clothes-brush; and then takingoff his coat, began to visit his suit and brush away the stains,with such care and labour as I supposed to have been only usualwith women. To be sure, he had no other; and, besides (as hesaid), it belonged to a king and so behoved to be royally lookedafter.For all that, when I saw what care he took to pluck out thethreads where the button had been cut away, I put a higher valueon his gift.He was still so engaged when we were hailed by Mr. Riach from thedeck, asking for a parley; and I, climbing through the skylightand sitting on the edge of it, pistol in hand and with a boldfront, though inwardly in fear of broken glass, hailed him backagain and bade him speak out. He came to the edge of theround-house, and stood on a coil of rope, so that his chin was ona level with the roof; and we looked at each other awhile insilence. Mr. Riach, as I do not think he had been very forwardin the battle, so he had got off with nothing worse than a blowupon the cheek: but he looked out of heart and very weary, havingbeen all night afoot, either standing watch or doctoring thewounded."This is a bad job," said he at last, shaking his head."It was none of our choosing," said I."The captain," says he, "would like to speak with your friend.They might speak at the window.""And how do we know what treachery he means?" cried I."He means none, David," returned Mr. Riach, "and if he did, I'lltell ye the honest truth, we couldnae get the men to follow.""Is that so?" said I."I'll tell ye more than that," said he. "It's not only the men;it's me. I'm frich'ened, Davie." And he smiled across at me."No," he continued, "what we want is to be shut of him."Thereupon I consulted with Alan, and the parley was agreed to andparole given upon either side; but this was not the whole of Mr.Riach's business, and he now begged me for a dram with suchinstancy and such reminders of his former kindness, that at lastI handed him a pannikin with about a gill of brandy. He drank apart, and then carried the rest down upon the deck, to share it(I suppose) with his superior.A little after, the captain came (as was agreed) to one of thewindows, and stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling,and looking stern and pale, and so old that my heart smote me forhaving fired upon him.Alan at once held a pistol in his face."Put that thing up!" said the captain. "Have I not passed myword, sir? or do ye seek to affront me?""Captain," says Alan, "I doubt your word is a breakable. Lastnight ye haggled and argle-bargled like an apple-wife; and thenpassed me your word, and gave me your hand to back it; and ye kenvery well what was the upshot. Be damned to your word!" says he."Well, well, sir," said the captain, "ye'll get little good byswearing." (And truly that was a fault of which the captain wasquite free.) "But we have other things to speak," he continued,bitterly. "Ye've made a sore hash of my brig; I haven't handsenough left to work her; and my first officer (whom I could illspare) has got your sword throughout his vitals, and passedwithout speech. There is nothing left me, sir, but to put backinto the port of Glasgow after hands; and there (by your leave)ye will find them that are better able to talk to you.""Ay?" said Alan; "and faith, I'll have a talk with them mysel'!Unless there's naebody speaks English in that town, I have abonny tale for them. Fifteen tarry sailors upon the one side,and a man and a halfling boy upon the other! O, man, it'speetiful!"Hoseason flushed red."No," continued Alan, "that'll no do. Ye'll just have to set meashore as we agreed.""Ay," said Hoseason, "but my first officer is dead -- ye ken besthow. There's none of the rest of us acquaint with this coast,sir; and it's one very dangerous to ships.""I give ye your choice," says Alan. "Set me on dry ground inAppin, or Ardgour, or in Morven, or Arisaig, or Morar; or, inbrief, where ye please, within thirty miles of my own country;except in a country of the Campbells. That's a broad target. Ifye miss that, ye must be as feckless at the sailoring as I havefound ye at the fighting. Why, my poor country people in theirbit cobles[16] pass from island to island in all weathers, ay,and by night too, for the matter of that."[16]Coble: a small boat used in fishing."A coble's not a ship" sir" said the captain. "It has naedraught of water.""Well, then, to Glasgow if ye list!" says Alan. "We'll have thelaugh of ye at the least.""My mind runs little upon laughing," said the captain. "But allthis will cost money, sir.""Well, sir" says Alan, "I am nae weathercock. Thirty guineas, ifye land me on the sea-side; and sixty, if ye put me in the LinnheLoch.""But see, sir, where we lie, we are but a few hours' sail fromArdnamurchan," said Hoseason. "Give me sixty, and I'll set yethere."" And I'm to wear my brogues and run jeopardy of the red-coats toplease you?" cries Alan. "No, sir; if ye want sixty guineas earnthem, and set me in my own country.""It's to risk the brig, sir," said the captain, "and your ownlives along with her.""Take it or want it," says Alan."Could ye pilot us at all?" asked the captain, who was frowningto himself."Well, it's doubtful," said Alan. "I'm more of a fighting man(as ye have seen for yoursel') than a sailor-man. But I havebeen often enough picked up and set down upon this coast, andshould ken something of the lie of it."The captain shook his head, still frowning."If I had lost less money on this unchancy cruise," says he, "Iwould see you in a rope's end before I risked my brig, sir. Butbe it as ye will. As soon as I get a slant of wind (and there'ssome coming, or I'm the more mistaken) I'll put it in hand. Butthere's one thing more. We may meet in with a king's ship andshe may lay us aboard, sir, with no blame of mine: they keep thecruisers thick upon this coast, ye ken who for. Now, sir, ifthat was to befall, ye might leave the money.""Captain," says Alan, "if ye see a pennant, it shall be your partto run away. And now, as I hear you're a little short of brandyin the fore-part, I'll offer ye a change: a bottle of brandyagainst two buckets of water."That was the last clause of the treaty, and was duly executed onboth sides; so that Alan and I could at last wash out theround-house and be quit of the memorials of those whom we hadslain, and the captain and Mr. Riach could be happy again intheir own way, the name of which was drink.