Chapter XIX. The House of Fear

by Robert Louis Stevenson

　　Night fell as we were walking, and the clouds, which had brokenup in the afternoon, settled in and thickened, so that it fell,for the season of the year, extremely dark. The way we went wasover rough mountainsides; and though Alan pushed on with anassured manner, I could by no means see how he directed himself.At last, about half-past ten of the clock, we came to the top ofa brae, and saw lights below us. It seemed a house door stoodopen and let out a beam of fire and candle-light; and all roundthe house and steading five or six persons were moving hurriedlyabout, each carrying a lighted brand."James must have tint his wits," said Alan. "If this was thesoldiers instead of you and me, he would be in a bonny mess. ButI dare say he'll have a sentry on the road, and he would ken wellenough no soldiers would find the way that we came."Hereupon he whistled three times, in a particular manner. It wasstrange to see how, at the first sound of it, all the movingtorches came to a stand, as if the bearers were affrighted; andhow, at the third, the bustle began again as before.Having thus set folks' minds at rest, we came down the brae, andwere met at the yard gate (for this place was like a well-doingfarm) by a tall, handsome man of more than fifty, who cried outto Alan in the Gaelic."James Stewart," said Alan, "I will ask ye to speak in Scotch,for here is a young gentleman with me that has nane of the other.This is him," he added, putting his arm through mine, "a younggentleman of the Lowlands, and a laird in his country too, but Iam thinking it will be the better for his health if we give hisname the go-by."James of the Glens turned to me for a moment, and greeted mecourteously enough; the next he had turned to Alan."This has been a dreadful accident," he cried. "It will bringtrouble on the country." And he wrung his hands."Hoots!" said Alan, "ye must take the sour with the sweet, man.Colin Roy is dead, and be thankful for that!""Ay" said James, "and by my troth, I wish he was alive again!It's all very fine to blow and boast beforehand; but now it'sdone, Alan; and who's to bear the wyte[21] of it? The accidentfell out in Appin -- mind ye that, Alan; it's Appin that mustpay; and I am a man that has a family."[21]Blame.While this was going on I looked about me at the servants. Somewere on ladders, digging in the thatch of the house or the farmbuildings, from which they brought out guns, swords, anddifferent weapons of war; others carried them away; and by thesound of mattock blows from somewhere farther down the brae, Isuppose they buried them. Though they were all so busy, thereprevailed no kind of order in their efforts; men struggledtogether for the same gun and ran into each other with theirburning torches; and James was continually turning about from histalk with Alan, to cry out orders which were apparently neverunderstood. The faces in the torchlight were like those ofpeople overborne with hurry and panic; and though none spokeabove his breath, their speech sounded both anxious and angry.It was about this time that a lassie came out of the housecarrying a pack or bundle; and it has often made me smile tothink how Alan's instinct awoke at the mere sight of it."What's that the lassie has?" he asked."We're just setting the house in order, Alan," said James, in hisfrightened and somewhat fawning way. "They'll search Appin withcandles, and we must have all things straight. We're digging thebit guns and swords into the moss, ye see; and these, I amthinking, will be your ain French clothes. We'll be to burythem, I believe.""Bury my French clothes!" cried Alan. "Troth, no!" And he laidhold upon the packet and retired into the barn to shift himself,recommending me in the meanwhile to his kinsman.James carried me accordingly into the kitchen, and sat down withme at table, smiling and talking at first in a very hospitablemanner. But presently the gloom returned upon him; he satfrowning and biting his fingers; only remembered me from time totime; and then gave me but a word or two and a poor smile, andback into his private terrors. His wife sat by the fire andwept, with her face in her hands; his eldest son was crouchedupon the floor, running over a great mass of papers and now andagain setting one alight and burning it to the bitter end; allthe while a servant lass with a red face was rummaging about theroom, in a blind hurry of fear, and whimpering as she went; andevery now and again one of the men would thrust in his face fromthe yard, and cry for orders.At last James could keep his seat no longer, and begged mypermission to be so unmannerly as walk about. "I am but poorcompany altogether, sir," says he, "but I can think of nothingbut this dreadful accident, and the trouble it is like to bringupon quite innocent persons."A little after he observed his son burning a paper which hethought should have been kept; and at that his excitement burstout so that it was painful to witness. He struck the ladrepeatedly."Are you gone gyte?"[22] he cried. "Do you wish to hang yourfather?" and forgetful of my presence, carried on at him a longtime together in the Gaelic, the young man answering nothing;only the wife, at the name of hanging, throwing her apron overher face and sobbing out louder than before.[22] Mad.This was all wretched for a stranger like myself to hear and see;and I was right glad when Alan returned, looking like himself inhis fine French clothes, though (to be sure) they were now grownalmost too battered and withered to deserve the name of fine. Iwas then taken out in my turn by another of the sons, and giventhat change of clothing of which I had stood so long in need, anda pair of Highland brogues made of deer-leather, rather strangeat first, but after a little practice very easy to the feet.By the time I came back Alan must have told his story; for itseemed understood that I was to fly with him, and they were allbusy upon our equipment. They gave us each a sword and pistols,though I professed my inability to use the former; and withthese, and some ammunition, a bag of oatmeal, an iron pan, and abottle of right French brandy, we were ready for the heather.Money, indeed, was lacking. I had about two guineas left; Alan'sbelt having been despatched by another hand, that trustymessenger had no more than seventeen-pence to his whole fortune;and as for James, it appears he had brought himself so low withjourneys to Edinburgh and legal expenses on behalf of thetenants, that he could only scrape togetherthree-and-five-pence-halfpenny, the most of it in coppers."This'll no do," said Alan."Ye must find a safe bit somewhere near by," said James, "and getword sent to me. Ye see, ye'll have to get this businessprettily off, Alan. This is no time to be stayed for a guinea ortwo. They're sure to get wind of ye, sure to seek ye, and by myway of it, sure to lay on ye the wyte of this day's accident. Ifit falls on you, it falls on me that am your near kinsman andharboured ye while ye were in the country. And if it comes onme----" he paused, and bit his fingers, with a white face. "Itwould be a painful thing for our friends if I was to hang," saidhe."It would be an ill day for Appin," says Alan."It's a day that sticks in my throat," said James. "O man, man,man--man Alan! you and me have spoken like two fools!" he cried,striking his hand upon the wall so that the house rang again."Well, and that's true, too," said Alan; "and my friend from theLowlands here" (nodding at me) "gave me a good word upon thathead, if I would only have listened to him.""But see here," said James, returning to his former manner, "ifthey lay me by the heels, Alan, it's then that you'll be needingthe money. For with all that I have said and that you have said,it will look very black against the two of us; do ye mark that?Well, follow me out, and ye'll, I'll see that I'll have to get apaper out against ye mysel'; have to offer a reward for ye; ay,will I! It's a sore thing to do between such near friends; butif I get the dirdum[23] of this dreadful accident, I'll have tofend for myself, man. Do ye see that?"[23] Blame.He spoke with a pleading earnestness, taking Alan by the breastof the coat."Ay" said Alan, "I see that.""And ye'll have to be clear of the country, Alan -- ay, and clearof Scotland -- you and your friend from the Lowlands, too. ForI'll have to paper your friend from the Lowlands. Ye see that,Alan -- say that ye see that!"I thought Alan flushed a bit. "This is unco hard on me thatbrought him here, James," said he, throwing his head back. "It'slike making me a traitor!""Now, Alan, man!" cried James. "Look things in the face! He'llbe papered anyway; Mungo Campbell'll be sure to paper him; whatmatters if I paper him too? And then, Alan, I am a man that hasa family." And then, after a little pause on both sides, "And,Alan, it'll be a jury of Campbells," said he."There's one thing," said Alan, musingly, "that naebody kens hisname.""Nor yet they shallnae, Alan! There's my hand on that," criedJames, for all the world as if he had really known my name andwas foregoing some advantage. "But just the habit he was in, andwhat he looked like, and his age, and the like? I couldnae welldo less.""I wonder at your father's son," cried Alan, sternly. "Would yesell the lad with a gift? Would ye change his clothes and thenbetray him?""No, no, Alan," said James. "No, no: the habit he took off -- thehabit Mungo saw him in." But I thought he seemed crestfallen;indeed, he was clutching at every straw, and all the time, I daresay, saw the faces of his hereditary foes on the bench, and inthe jury-box, and the gallows in the background."Well, sir" says Alan, turning to me, "what say ye to, that? Yeare here under the safeguard of my honour; and it's my part tosee nothing done but what shall please you.""I have but one word to say," said I; "for to all this dispute Iam a perfect stranger. But the plain common-sense is to set theblame where it belongs, and that is on the man who fired theshot. Paper him, as ye call it, set the hunt on him; and lethonest, innocent folk show their faces in safety." But at thisboth Alan and James cried out in horror; bidding me hold mytongue, for that was not to be thought of; and asking me what theCamerons would think? (which confirmed me, it must have been aCameron from Mamore that did the act) and if I did not see thatthe lad might be caught? "Ye havenae surely thought of that?"said they, with such innocent earnestness, that my hands droppedat my side and I despaired of argument."Very well, then," said I, "paper me, if you please, paper Alan,paper King George! We're all three innocent, and that seems tobe what's wanted. But at least, sir," said I to James,recovering from my little fit of annoyance, "I am Alan's friend,and if I can be helpful to friends of his, I will not stumble atthe risk."I thought it best to put a fair face on my consent, for I sawAlan troubled; and, besides (thinks I to myself), as soon as myback is turned, they will paper me, as they call it, whether Iconsent or not. But in this I saw I was wrong; for I had nosooner said the words, than Mrs. Stewart leaped out of her chair,came running over to us, and wept first upon my neck and then onAlan's, blessing God for our goodness to her family."As for you, Alan, it was no more than your bounden duty," shesaid. "But for this lad that has come here and seen us at ourworst, and seen the goodman fleeching like a suitor, him that byrights should give his commands like any king -- as for you, mylad," she says, "my heart is wae not to have your name, but Ihave your face; and as long as my heart beats under my bosom, Iwill keep it, and think of it, and bless it." And with that shekissed me, and burst once more into such sobbing, that I stoodabashed."Hoot, hoot," said Alan, looking mighty silly. "The day comesunco soon in this month of July; and to-morrow there'll be a fineto-do in Appin, a fine riding of dragoons, and crying of'Cruachan!'[24] and running of red-coats; and it behoves you andme to the sooner be gone."[24] The rallying-word of the Campbells.Thereupon we said farewell, and set out again, bending somewhateastwards, in a fine mild dark night, and over much the samebroken country as before.