The Master of Ballantrae

The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong family in the southwest from the days of David First. A rhyme still current in the countryside⁠—

“Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers, They ride wi’ ower mony spears”⁠—

bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in another, which common report attributes to Thomas of Ercildoune himself⁠—I cannot say how truly, and which some have applied⁠—I dare not say with how much justice⁠—to the events of this narration:

“Twa Duries in Durrisdeer, Ane to tie and ane to ride. An ill day for the groom And a waur day for the bride.”

Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits, which (to our modern eyes) seem not very commendable: and the family suffered its full share of those ups and downs to which the great houses of Scotland have been ever liable. But all these I pass over, to come to that memorable year 1745, when the foundations of this tragedy were laid.

“I am the cadet, and I should go,” said he. “And my lord here is the master, and he says I shall go. What say ye to that, my brother?”

“I say this, Harry,” returned the Master, “that when very obstinate folk are met, there are only two ways out: Blows⁠—and I think none of us could care to go so far; or the arbitrament of chance⁠—and here is a guinea piece. Will you stand by the toss of the coin?”

“I will stand and fall by it,” said Mr. Henry. “Heads, I go; shield, I stay.”

The coin was spun, and it fell shield. “So there is a lesson for Jacob,” says the Master.

“We shall live to repent of this,” says Mr. Henry, and flung out of the hall.

As for Miss Alison, she caught up that piece of gold which had just sent her lover to the wars, and flung it clean through the family shield in the great painted window.

“If you loved me as well as I love you, you would have stayed,” cried she.

“ ‘I could not love you, dear, so well, loved I not honour more,’ ” sang the Master.

“O!” she cried, “you have no heart⁠—I hope you may be killed!” and she ran from the room, and in tears, to her own chamber.

It seems the Master turned to my lord with his most comical manner, and says he, “This looks like a devil of a wife.”

All of a sudden Ballantrae stepped forth. “Have done with this playacting,” says he. “Do you think to frighten us with making faces? We saw nothing of you yesterday, when you were wanted; and we did well without you, let me tell you that.”

There was a murmur and a movement in the crew, of pleasure and alarm, I thought, in nearly equal parts. As for Teach, he gave a barbarous howl, and swung his dirk to fling it, an art in which (like many seamen) he was very expert.

“Knock that out of his hand!” says Ballantrae, so sudden and sharp that my arm obeyed him before my mind had understood.

Teach stood like one stupid, never thinking on his pistols.

“Go down to your cabin,” cries Ballantrae, “and come on deck again when you are sober. Do you think we are going to hang for you, you black-faced, half-witted, drunken brute and butcher? Go down!” And he stamped his foot at him with such a sudden smartness that Teach fairly ran for it to the companion.

“And now, mates,” says Ballantrae, “a word with you. I don’t know if you are gentlemen of fortune for the fun of the thing, but I am not. I want to make money, and get ashore again, and spend it like a man. And on one thing my mind is made up: I will not hang if I can help it. Come, give me a hint; I’m only a beginner! Is there no way to get a little discipline and common sense about this business?”

No sooner was the boat away with my sworn enemies than I took a sort of half courage, came forth to the margin of the thicket, and there halted again, my mind being greatly pulled about between natural diffidence and a dark foreboding of the truth. Indeed, I might have stood there swithering all night, had not the stranger turned, spied me through the mists, which were beginning to fall, and waved and cried on me to draw near. I did so with a heart like lead.

“Here, my good man,” said he, in the English accent, “here are some things for Durrisdeer.”

I was now near enough to see him, a very handsome figure and countenance, swarthy, lean, long, with a quick, alert, black look, as of one who was a fighter, and accustomed to command; upon one cheek he had a mole, not unbecoming; a large diamond sparkled on his hand; his clothes, although of the one hue, were of a French and foppish design; his ruffles, which he wore longer than common, of exquisite lace; and I wondered the more to see him in such a guise when he was but newly landed from a dirty smuggling lugger. At the same time he had a better look at me, toised me a second time sharply, and then smiled.

It was one very wild night, after supper, and when we had been making more than usually merry, that the blow fell on me.

“This is all very fine,” says the Master, “but we should do better to be buckling our valise.”

“Why so?” I cried. “Are you leaving?”

“We are all leaving tomorrow in the morning,” said he. “For the port of Glascow first, thence for the province of New York.”

I suppose I must have groaned aloud.

“Yes,” he continued, “I boasted; I said a week, and it has taken me near twenty days. But never mind; I shall make it up; I will go the faster.”

“Have you the money for this voyage?” I asked.

“Dear and ingenuous personage, I have,” said he. “Blame me, if you choose, for my duplicity; but while I have been wringing shillings from my daddy, I had a stock of my own put by against a rainy day. You will pay for your own passage, if you choose to accompany us on our flank march; I have enough for Secundra and myself, but not more⁠—enough to be dangerous, not enough to be generous. There is, however, an outside seat upon the chaise which I will let you have upon a moderate commutation; so that the whole menagerie can go together⁠—the house-dog, the monkey, and the tiger.”

“I go with you,” said I.

“I count upon it,” said the Master. “You have seen me foiled; I mean you shall see me victorious. To gain that I will risk wetting you like a sop in this wild weather.”