CHAPTER XIX

THE HOUSE OF FEAR

Night fell as we were walking, and the clouds, which had broken
up in the afternoon, settled in and thickened, so that it fell,
for the season of the year, extremely dark. The way we went was
over rough mountainsides; and though Alan pushed on with an
assured 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 of
a brae, and saw lights below us. It seemed a house door stood
open and let out a beam of fire and candle-light; and all round
the house and steading five or six persons were moving hurriedly
about, each carrying a lighted brand.

"James must have tint his wits," said Alan. "If this was the
soldiers instead of you and me, he would be in a bonny mess. But
I dare say he'll have a sentry on the road, and he would ken well
enough no soldiers would find the way that we came."

Hereupon he whistled three times, in a particular manner. It was
strange to see how, at the first sound of it, all the moving
torches came to a stand, as if the bearers were affrighted; and
how, at the third, the bustle began again as before.

Having thus set folks' minds at rest, we came down the brae, and
were met at the yard gate (for this place was like a well-doing
farm) by a tall, handsome man of more than fifty, who cried out
to 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 young
gentleman of the Lowlands, and a laird in his country too, but I
am thinking it will be the better for his health if we give his
name the go-by."

James of the Glens turned to me for a moment, and greeted me
courteously enough; the next he had turned to Alan.

"This has been a dreadful accident," he cried. "It will bring
trouble 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's
done, Alan; and who's to bear the wyte[21] of it? The accident
fell out in Appin -- mind ye that, Alan; it's Appin that must
pay; and I am a man that has a family."

[21]Blame.


While this was going on I looked about me at the servants. Some
were on ladders, digging in the thatch of the house or the farm
buildings, from which they brought out guns, swords, and
different weapons of war; others carried them away; and by the
sound of mattock blows from somewhere farther down the brae, I
suppose they buried them. Though they were all so busy, there
prevailed no kind of order in their efforts; men struggled
together for the same gun and ran into each other with their
burning torches; and James was continually turning about from his
talk with Alan, to cry out orders which were apparently never
understood. The faces in the torchlight were like those of
people overborne with hurry and panic; and though none spoke
above his breath, their speech sounded both anxious and angry.

It was about this time that a lassie came out of the house
carrying a pack or bundle; and it has often made me smile to
think 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 his
frightened and somewhat fawning way. "They'll search Appin with
candles, and we must have all things straight. We're digging the
bit guns and swords into the moss, ye see; and these, I am
thinking, will be your ain French clothes. We'll be to bury
them, I believe."

"Bury my French clothes!" cried Alan. "Troth, no!" And he laid
hold 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 with
me at table, smiling and talking at first in a very hospitable
manner. But presently the gloom returned upon him; he sat
frowning and biting his fingers; only remembered me from time to
time; and then gave me but a word or two and a poor smile, and
back into his private terrors. His wife sat by the fire and
wept, with her face in her hands; his eldest son was crouched
upon the floor, running over a great mass of papers and now and
again setting one alight and burning it to the bitter end; all
the while a servant lass with a red face was rummaging about the
room, in a blind hurry of fear, and whimpering as she went; and
every now and again one of the men would thrust in his face from
the yard, and cry for orders.

At last James could keep his seat no longer, and begged my
permission to be so unmannerly as walk about. "I am but poor
company altogether, sir," says he, "but I can think of nothing
but this dreadful accident, and the trouble it is like to bring
upon quite innocent persons."

A little after he observed his son burning a paper which he
thought should have been kept; and at that his excitement burst
out so that it was painful to witness. He struck the lad
repeatedly.

"Are you gone gyte?"[22] he cried. "Do you wish to hang your
father?" and forgetful of my presence, carried on at him a long
time together in the Gaelic, the young man answering nothing;
only the wife, at the name of hanging, throwing her apron over
her 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 in
his fine French clothes, though (to be sure) they were now grown
almost too battered and withered to deserve the name of fine. I
was then taken out in my turn by another of the sons, and given
that change of clothing of which I had stood so long in need, and
a pair of Highland brogues made of deer-leather, rather strange
at first, but after a little practice very easy to the feet.

By the time I came back Alan must have told his story; for it
seemed understood that I was to fly with him, and they were all
busy upon our equipment. They gave us each a sword and pistols,
though I professed my inability to use the former; and with
these, and some ammunition, a bag of oatmeal, an iron pan, and a
bottle of right French brandy, we were ready for the heather.
Money, indeed, was lacking. I had about two guineas left; Alan's
belt having been despatched by another hand, that trusty
messenger had no more than seventeen-pence to his whole fortune;
and as for James, it appears he had brought himself so low with
journeys to Edinburgh and legal expenses on behalf of the
tenants, that he could only scrape together
three-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 get
word sent to me. Ye see, ye'll have to get this business
prettily off, Alan. This is no time to be stayed for a guinea or
two. They're sure to get wind of ye, sure to seek ye, and by my
way of it, sure to lay on ye the wyte of this day's accident. If
it falls on you, it falls on me that am your near kinsman and
harboured ye while ye were in the country. And if it comes on
me----" he paused, and bit his fingers, with a white face. "It
would be a painful thing for our friends if I was to hang," said he.

"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 the
Lowlands here" (nodding at me) "gave me a good word upon that
head, if I would only have listened to him."

"But see here," said James, returning to his former manner, "if
they lay me by the heels, Alan, it's then that you'll be needing
the 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 a
paper 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; but
if I get the dirdum[23] of this dreadful accident, I'll have to
fend for myself, man. Do ye see that?"

[23] Blame.


He spoke with a pleading earnestness, taking Alan by the breast
of the coat.

"Ay" said Alan, "I see that."

"And ye'll have to be clear of the country, Alan -- ay, and clear
of Scotland -- you and your friend from the Lowlands, too. For
I'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 that
brought him here, James," said he, throwing his head back. "It's
like making me a traitor!"

"Now, Alan, man!" cried James. "Look things in the face! He'll
be papered anyway; Mungo Campbell'll be sure to paper him; what
matters if I paper him too? And then, Alan, I am a man that has
a 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 his
name."

"Nor yet they shallnae, Alan! There's my hand on that," cried
James, for all the world as if he had really known my name and
was foregoing some advantage. "But just the habit he was in, and
what he looked like, and his age, and the like? I couldnae well
do less."

"I wonder at your father's son," cried Alan, sternly. "Would ye
sell the lad with a gift? Would ye change his clothes and then
betray him?"

"No, no, Alan," said James. "No, no: the habit he took off -- the
habit Mungo saw him in." But I thought he seemed crestfallen;
indeed, he was clutching at every straw, and all the time, I dare
say, saw the faces of his hereditary foes on the bench, and in
the jury-box, and the gallows in the background.

"Well, sir" says Alan, turning to me, "what say ye to, that? Ye
are here under the safeguard of my honour; and it's my part to
see nothing done but what shall please you."

"I have but one word to say," said I; "for to all this dispute I
am a perfect stranger. But the plain common-sense is to set the
blame where it belongs, and that is on the man who fired the
shot. Paper him, as ye call it, set the hunt on him; and let
honest, innocent folk show their faces in safety." But at this
both Alan and James cried out in horror; bidding me hold my
tongue, for that was not to be thought of; and asking me what the
Camerons would think? (which confirmed me, it must have been a
Cameron from Mamore that did the act) and if I did not see that
the lad might be caught? "Ye havenae surely thought of that?"
said they, with such innocent earnestness, that my hands dropped
at 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 to
be 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 at
the risk."

I thought it best to put a fair face on my consent, for I saw
Alan troubled; and, besides (thinks I to myself), as soon as my
back is turned, they will paper me, as they call it, whether I
consent or not. But in this I saw I was wrong; for I had no
sooner said the words, than Mrs. Stewart leaped out of her chair,
came running over to us, and wept first upon my neck and then on
Alan's, blessing God for our goodness to her family.

"As for you, Alan, it was no more than your bounden duty," she
said. "But for this lad that has come here and seen us at our
worst, and seen the goodman fleeching like a suitor, him that by
rights should give his commands like any king -- as for you, my
lad," she says, "my heart is wae not to have your name, but I
have your face; and as long as my heart beats under my bosom, I
will keep it, and think of it, and bless it." And with that she
kissed me, and burst once more into such sobbing, that I stood
abashed.

"Hoot, hoot," said Alan, looking mighty silly. "The day comes
unco soon in this month of July; and to-morrow there'll be a fine
to-do in Appin, a fine riding of dragoons, and crying of
'Cruachan!'[24] and running of red-coats; and it behoves you and
me to the sooner be gone."

[24] The rallying-word of the Campbells.


Thereupon we said farewell, and set out again, bending somewhat
eastwards, in a fine mild dark night, and over much the same
broken country as before.

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