<h3>CHAPTER III</h3>
<h5>THE MASTER’S WANDERINGS</h5>
<p class="center"><i>From the Memoirs of the Chevalier de Burke</i></p>
<p class="noind"><span class="sc">... I left</span> Ruthven (it’s hardly necessary to remark)
with much greater satisfaction than I had come to it;
but whether I missed my way in the deserts, or whether
my companions failed me, I soon found myself alone.
This was a predicament very disagreeable; for I never
understood this horrid country or savage people, and the
last stroke of the Prince’s withdrawal had made us of the
Irish more unpopular than ever. I was reflecting on my
poor chances, when I saw another horseman on the hill,
whom I supposed at first to have been a phantom, the news
of his death in the very front at Culloden being current in
the army generally. This was the Master of Ballantrae,
my Lord Durrisdeer’s son, a young nobleman of the rarest
gallantry and parts, and equally designed by nature to
adorn a Court and to reap laurels in the field. Our meeting
was the more welcome to both, as he was one of the few
Scots who had used the Irish with consideration, and as
he might now be of very high utility in aiding my escape.
Yet what founded our particular friendship was a circumstance,
by itself as romantic as any fable of King Arthur.</p>
<p>This was on the second day of our flight, after we had
slept one night in the rain upon the inclination of a mountain.
There was an Appin man, Alan Black Stewart (or
some such name,<SPAN name="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></SPAN> but I have seen him since in France),
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page39"></SPAN>39</span>
who chanced to be passing the same way, and had a jealousy
of my companion. Very uncivil expressions were exchanged
and Stewart calls upon the Master to alight
and have it out.</p>
<p>“Why, Mr. Stewart,” says the Master, “I think at
the present time I would prefer to run a race with you.”
And with the word claps spurs to his horse.</p>
<p>Stewart ran after us, a childish thing to do, for more
than a mile; and I could not help laughing, as I looked
back at last and saw him on a hill, holding his hand to
his side, and nearly burst with running.</p>
<p>“But all the same,” I could not help saying to my companion,
“I would let no man run after me for any such
proper purpose, and not give him his desire. It was a
good jest, but it smells a trifle cowardly.”</p>
<p>He bent his brows at me. “I do pretty well,” says
he, “when I saddle myself with the most unpopular man
in Scotland, and let that suffice for courage.”</p>
<p>“O, bedad,” says I, “I could show you a more unpopular
with the naked eye. And if you like not my company,
you can ‘saddle’ yourself on some one else.”</p>
<p>“Colonel Burke,” says he, “do not let us quarrel; and,
to that effect, let me assure you I am the least patient man
in the world.”</p>
<p>“I am as little patient as yourself,” said I. “I care
not who knows that.”</p>
<p>“At this rate,” says he, reining in, “we shall not go
very far. And I propose we do one of two things upon the
instant: either quarrel and be done; or make a sure bargain
to bear everything at each other’s hands.”</p>
<p>“Like a pair of brothers?” said I.</p>
<p>“I said no such foolishness,” he replied. “I have a
brother of my own, and I think no more of him than
of a colewort. But if we are to have our noses rubbed
together in this course of flight, let us each dare to be
ourselves like savages, and each swear that he will
neither resent nor deprecate the other. I am a pretty
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page40"></SPAN>40</span>
bad fellow at bottom, and I find the pretence of virtues
very irksome.”</p>
<p>“O, I am as bad as yourself,” said I. “There is no
skim-milk in Francis Burke. But which is it to be?
Fight or make friends?”</p>
<p>“Why,” says he, “I think it will be the best manner
to spin a coin for it.”</p>
<p>This proposition was too highly chivalrous not to take
my fancy; and, strange as it may seem of two well-born
gentlemen of to-day, we span a half-crown (like a pair of
ancient paladins) whether we were to cut each other’s
throats or be sworn friends. A more romantic circumstance
can rarely have occurred; and it is one of those points in
my memoirs, by which we may see the old tales of Homer
and the poets are equally true to-day—at least, of the
noble and genteel. The coin fell for peace, and we shook
hands upon our bargain. And then it was that my companion
explained to me his thought in running away from
Mr. Stewart, which was certainly worthy of his political
intellect. The report of his death, he said, was a great
guard to him; Mr. Stewart having recognised him, had
become a danger; and he had taken the briefest road to
that gentleman’s silence. “For,” says he, “Alan Black
is too vain a man to narrate any such story of himself.”</p>
<p>Towards afternoon we came down to the shores of that
loch for which we were heading; and there was the ship,
but newly come to anchor. She was the <i>Sainte-Marie-des-Anges</i>,
out of the port of Havre-de-Grace. The Master,
after we had signalled for a boat, asked me if I knew the
captain. I told him he was a countryman of mine, of the
most unblemished integrity, but, I was afraid, a rather
timorous man.</p>
<p>“No matter,” says he. “For all that, he should
certainly hear the truth.”</p>
<p>I asked him If he meant about the battle? for if the
captain once knew the standard was down, he would
certainly put to sea again at once.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page41"></SPAN>41</span></p>
<p>“And even then!” said he; “the arms are now of
no sort of utility.”</p>
<p>“My dear man,” said I, “who thinks of the arms?
But, to be sure, we must remember our friends. They will
be close upon our heels, perhaps the Prince himself, and
if the ship be gone, a great number of valuable lives may
be imperilled.”</p>
<p>“The captain and the crew have lives also, if you come
to that,” says Ballantrae.</p>
<p>This I declared was but a quibble, and that I would
not hear of the captain being told; and then it was that
Ballantrae made me a witty answer, for the sake of which
(and also because I have been blamed myself in this business
of the <i>Sainte-Marie-des-Anges</i>) I have related the whole
conversation as it passed.</p>
<p>“Frank,” says he, “remember our bargain. I must
not object to your holding your tongue, which I hereby
even encourage you to do; but, by the same terms, you
are not to resent my telling.”</p>
<p>I could not help laughing at this; though I still forewarned
him what would come of it.</p>
<p>“The devil may come of it for what I care,” says the
reckless fellow. “I have always done exactly as I felt
inclined.”</p>
<p>As is well known, my prediction came true. The captain
had no sooner heard the news than he cut his cable and to
sea again; and before morning broke, we were in the Great
Minch.</p>
<p>The ship was very old; and the skipper, although the
most honest of men (and Irish too), was one of the least
capable. The wind blew very boisterous, and the sea raged
extremely. All that day we had little heart whether to
eat or drink; went early to rest in some concern of mind;
and (as if to give us a lesson) in the night the wind chopped
suddenly into the north-east, and blew a hurricane. We
were awaked by the dreadful thunder of the tempest
and the stamping of the mariners on deck; so that I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page42"></SPAN>42</span>
supposed our last hour was certainly come; and the terror
of my mind was increased out of all measure by Ballantrae,
who mocked at my devotions. It is in hours like these that
a man of any piety appears in his true light, and we find
(what we are taught as babes) the small trust that can be
set in worldly friends: I would be unworthy of my religion
if I let this pass without particular remark. For three days
we lay in the dark in the cabin, and had but a biscuit to
nibble. On the fourth the wind fell, leaving the ship dismasted
and heaving on vast billows. The captain had not
a guess of whither we were blown; he was stark ignorant
of his trade, and could do naught but bless the Holy Virgin;
a very good thing too, but scarce the whole of seamanship.
It seemed, our one hope was to be picked up by another
vessel; and if that should prove to be an English ship, it
might be no great blessing to the Master and myself.</p>
<p>The fifth and sixth days we tossed there helpless. The
seventh some sail was got on her, but she was an unwieldy
vessel at the best, and we made little but leeway. All the
time, indeed, we had been drifting to the south and west,
and during the tempest must have driven in that direction
with unheard-of violence. The ninth dawn was cold and
black, with a great sea running, and every mark of foul
weather. In this situation we were overjoyed to sight a
small ship on the horizon, and to perceive her go about and
head for the <i>Sainte-Marie</i>. But our gratification did not
very long endure; for when she had laid-to and lowered
a boat, it was immediately filled with disorderly fellows,
who sang and shouted as they pulled across to us, and
swarmed in on our deck with bare cutlasses, cursing loudly.
Their leader was a horrible villain, with his face blacked
and his whiskers curled in ringlets; Teach his name; a
most notorious pirate. He stamped about the deck, raving
and crying out that his name was Satan, and his ship was
called Hell. There was something about him like a wicked
child or a half-witted person, that daunted me beyond expression.
I whispered in the ear of Ballantrae that I would
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page43"></SPAN>43</span>
not be the last to volunteer, and only prayed God they
might be short of hands; he approved my purpose with
a nod.</p>
<p>“Bedad,” said I to Master Teach, “if you are Satan,
here is a devil for ye.”</p>
<p>The word pleased him; and (not to dwell upon these
shocking incidents) Ballantrae and I and two others were
taken for recruits, while the skipper and all the rest were
cast into the sea by the method of walking the plank. It
was the first time I had seen this done; my heart died
within me at the spectacle; and Master Teach or one of
his acolytes (for my head was too much lost to be precise)
remarked upon my pale face in a very alarming manner.
I had the strength to cut a step or two of a jig, and cry out
some ribaldry, which saved me for that time; but my legs
were like water when I must get down into the skiff among
these miscreants; and what with my horror of my company
and fear of the monstrous billows, it was all I could
do to keep an Irish tongue and break a jest or two as we
were pulled aboard. By the blessing of God, there was a
fiddle in the pirate ship, which I had no sooner seen than
I fell upon; and in my quality of crowder I had the
heavenly good luck to get favour in their eyes. “Crowding
Pat” was the name they dubbed me with: and it was
little I cared for a name so long as my skin was whole.</p>
<p>What kind of a pandemonium that vessel was I cannot
describe, but she was commanded by a lunatic, and might
be called a floating Bedlam. Drinking, roaring, singing,
quarrelling, dancing, they were never all sober at one time;
and there were days together when, if a squall had supervened,
it must have sent us to the bottom; or if a King’s
ship had come along, it would have found us quite helpless
for defence. Once or twice we sighted a sail, and, if we
were sober enough, overhauled it, God forgive us! and if
we were all too drunk, she got away, and I would bless the
saints under my breath. Teach ruled, if you can call that
rule which brought no order, by the terror he created; and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page44"></SPAN>44</span>
I observed the man was very vain of his position. I have
known marshals of France—ay, and even Highland chieftains—that
were less openly puffed up; which throws a
singular light on the pursuit of honour and glory. Indeed,
the longer we live, the more we perceive the sagacity of
Aristotle and the other old philosophers; and though I
have all my life been eager for legitimate distinctions, I
can lay my hand upon my heart, at the end of my career,
and declare there is not one—no, nor yet life itself—which
is worth acquiring or preserving at the slightest cost of
dignity.</p>
<p>It was long before I got private speech of Ballantrae;
but at length one night we crept out upon the boltsprit,
when the rest were better employed, and commiserated
our position.</p>
<p>“None can deliver us but the saints,” said I.</p>
<p>“My mind is very different,” said Ballantrae; “for
I am going to deliver myself. This Teach is the poorest
creature possible; we make no profit of him, and lie continually
open to capture; and,” says he, “I am not going
to be a tarry pirate for nothing, nor yet to hang in chains
if I can help it.” And he told me what was in his mind to
better the state of the ship in the way of discipline, which
would give us safety for the present, and a sooner hope of
deliverance when they should have gained enough and
should break up their company.</p>
<p>I confessed to him ingenuously that my nerve was
quite shook amid these horrible surroundings, and I durst
scarce tell him to count upon me.</p>
<p>“I am not very easy frightened,” said he, “nor very
easy beat.”</p>
<p>A few days after there befell an accident which had
nearly hanged us all; and offers the most extraordinary
picture of the folly that ruled in our concerns. We were
all pretty drunk: and some bedlamite spying a sail, Teach
put the ship about in chase without a glance, and we began
to bustle up the arms and boast of the horrors that should
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page45"></SPAN>45</span>
follow. I observed Ballantrae stood quiet in the bows,
looking under the shade of his hand; but for my part, true
to my policy among these savages, I was at work with the
busiest, and passing Irish jests for their diversion.</p>
<p>“Run up the colours!” cried Teach. “Show the ——s
the Jolly Roger!”</p>
<p>It was the merest drunken braggadocio at such a stage,
and might have lost us a valuable prize; but I thought
it no part of mine to reason, and I ran up the black flag
with my own hand.</p>
<p>Ballantrae steps presently aft with a smile upon his
face.</p>
<p>“You may perhaps like to know, you drunken dog,”
says he, “that you are chasing a King’s ship.”</p>
<p>Teach roared him the lie; but he ran at the same time
to the bulwarks, and so did they all. I have never seen
so many drunken men struck suddenly sober. The cruiser
had gone about, upon our impudent display of colours;
she was just then filling on the new tack; her ensign blew
out quite plain to see; and even as we stared, there came
a puff of smoke, and then a report, and a shot plunged in
the waves a good way short of us. Some ran to the ropes,
and got the <i>Sarah</i> round with an incredible swiftness. One
fellow fell on the rum-barrel, which stood broached upon
the deck, and rolled it promptly overboard. On my part,
I made for the Jolly Roger, struck it, tossed it in the sea;
and could have flung myself after, so vexed was I with
our mismanagement. As for Teach, he grew as pale as
death, and incontinently went down to his cabin. Only
twice he came on deck that afternoon; went to the taffrail;
took a long look at the King’s ship, which was still on the
horizon heading after us; and then, without speech, back
to his cabin. You may say he deserted us; and if it had
not been for one very capable sailor we had on board, and
for the lightness of the airs that blew all day, we must
certainly have gone to the yard-arm.</p>
<p>It is to be supposed Teach was humiliated, and perhaps
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page46"></SPAN>46</span>
alarmed for his position with the crew; and the way in
which he set about regaining what he had lost was highly
characteristic of the man. Early next day we smelled him
burning sulphur in his cabin and crying out of “Hell,
hell!” which was well understood among the crew, and
filled their minds with apprehension. Presently he comes
on deck, a perfect figure of fun, his face blacked, his hair
and whiskers curled, his belt stuck full of pistols; chewing
bits of glass so that the blood ran down his chin, and
brandishing a dirk. I do not know if he had taken these
manners from the Indians of America, where he was a
native; but such was his way, and he would always thus
announce that he was wound up to horrid deeds. The
first that came near him was the fellow who had sent the
rum overboard the day before; him he stabbed to the
heart, damning him for a mutineer; and then capered
about the body, raving and swearing and daring us to
come on. It was the silliest exhibition; and yet dangerous
too, for the cowardly fellow was plainly working himself
up to another murder.</p>
<p>All of a sudden Ballantrae stepped forth. “Have done
with this play-acting,” 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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Knock that out of his hand!” says Ballantrae, so
sudden and sharp that my arm obeyed him before my mind
had understood.</p>
<p>Teach stood like one stupid, never thinking on his
pistols.</p>
<p>“Go down to your cabin,” cries Ballantrae, “and come
on deck again when you are sober. Do you think we are
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page47"></SPAN>47</span>
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.</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>One of the men spoke up: he said by rights they should
have a quartermaster; and no sooner was the word out of
his mouth than they were all of that opinion. The thing
went by acclamation; Ballantrae was made quartermaster,
the rum was put in his charge, laws were passed in imitation
of those of a pirate by the name of Roberts, and the last
proposal was to make an end of Teach. But Ballantrae
was afraid of a more efficient captain, who might be a
counter-weight to himself, and he opposed this stoutly.
Teach, he said, was good enough to board ships and frighten
fools with his blacked face and swearing; we could scarce
get a better man than Teach for that; and besides, as the
man was now disconsidered, and as good as deposed, we
might reduce his proportion of the plunder. This carried
it; Teach’s share was cut down to a mere derision, being
actually less than mine; and there remained only two
points: whether he would consent, and who was to announce
to him this resolution.</p>
<p>“Do not let that stick you,” says Ballantrae, “I will
do that.”</p>
<p>And he stepped to the companion and down alone into
the cabin to face that drunken savage.</p>
<p>“This is the man for us,” cried one of the hands.
“Three cheers for the quartermaster!” which were given
with a will, my own voice among the loudest, and I daresay
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page48"></SPAN>48</span>
these plaudits had their effect on Master Teach in the cabin,
as we have seen of late days how shouting in the streets
may trouble even the minds of legislators.</p>
<p>What passed precisely was never known, though some
of the heads of it came to the surface later on; and we
were all amazed, as well as gratified, when Ballantrae
came on deck with Teach upon his arm, and announced
that all had been consented.</p>
<p>I pass swiftly over those twelve or fifteen months in
which we continued to keep the sea in the North Atlantic,
getting our food and water from the ships we overhauled,
and doing on the whole a pretty fortunate business. Sure,
no one could wish to read anything so ungenteel as the
memoirs of a pirate, even an unwilling one like me! Things
went extremely better with our designs, and Ballantrae
kept his lead, to my admiration, from that day forth. I
would be tempted to suppose that a gentleman must everywhere
be first, even aboard a rover; but my birth is every
whit as good as any Scottish lord’s, and I am not ashamed
to confess that I stayed Crowding Pat until the end, and
was not much better than the crew’s buffoon. Indeed, it
was no scene to bring out my merits. My health suffered
from a variety of reasons; I was more at home to the last
on a horse’s back than a ship’s deck; and, to be ingenuous,
the fear of the sea was constantly in my mind, battling
with the fear of my companions. I need not cry myself
up for courage; I have done well on many fields under the
eyes of famous generals, and earned my late advancement
by an act of the most distinguished valour before many
witnesses. But when we must proceed on one of our
abordages, the heart of Francis Burke was in his boots;
the little egg-shell skiff in which we must set forth, the
horrible heaving of the vast billows, the height of the ship
that we must scale, the thought of how many might be
there in garrison upon their legitimate defence, the scowling
heavens which (in that climate) so often looked darkly
down upon our exploits, and the mere crying of the wind
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page49"></SPAN>49</span>
in my ears, were all considerations most unpalatable to my
valour. Besides which, as I was always a creature of the
nicest sensibility, the scenes that must follow on our success
tempted me as little as the chances of defeat. Twice we
found women on board; and though I have seen towns
sacked, and of late days in France some very horrid public
tumults, there was something in the smallness of the
numbers engaged, and the bleak dangerous sea-surroundings,
that made these acts of piracy far the most revolting.
I confess ingenuously I could never proceed unless I was
three parts drunk; it was the same even with the crew;
Teach himself was fit for no enterprise till he was full of
rum; and it was one of the most difficult parts of Ballantrae’s
performance to serve us with liquor in the proper
quantities. Even this he did to admiration; being upon
the whole the most capable man I ever met with, and the
one of the most natural genius. He did not even scrape
favour with the crew, as I did, by continual buffoonery
made upon a very anxious heart; but preserved on most
occasions a great deal of gravity and distance; so that he
was like a parent among a family of young children, or a
schoolmaster with his boys. What made his part the
harder to perform, the men were most inveterate grumblers:
Ballantrae’s discipline, little as it was, was yet irksome to
their love of licence; and, what was worse, being kept
sober they had time to think. Some of them accordingly
would fall to repenting their abominable crimes; one in
particular, who was a good Catholic, and with whom I
would sometimes steal apart for prayer; above all in bad
weather, fogs, lashing rain, and the like, when we would
be the less observed; and I am sure no two criminals in
the cart have ever performed their devotions with more
anxious sincerity. But the rest, having no such grounds
of hope, fell to another pastime, that of computation. All
day long they would be telling up their shares or glooming
over the result. I have said we were pretty fortunate.
But an observation falls to be made: that in this world, in
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page50"></SPAN>50</span>
no business that I have tried, do the profits rise to a man’s
expectations. We found many ships, and took many; yet
few of them contained much money, their goods were usually
nothing to our purpose—what did we want with a cargo
of ploughs, or even of tobacco?—and it is quite a painful
reflection how many whole crews we have made to walk
the plank for no more than a stock of biscuit or an anker
or two of spirits.</p>
<p>In the meanwhile our ship was growing very foul, and
it was high time we should make for our <i>port de carénage</i>,
which was in the estuary of a river among swamps. It
was openly understood that we should then break up and
go and squander our proportions of the spoil; and this
made every man greedy of a little more, so that our decision
was delayed from day to day. What finally decided
matters was a trifling accident, such as an ignorant person
might suppose incidental to our way of life. But here I
must explain: on only one of all the ships we boarded, the
first on which we found women, did we meet with any
genuine resistance. On that occasion we had two men
killed and several injured, and if it had not been for the
gallantry of Ballantrae we had surely been beat back at
last. Everywhere else the defence (where there was any
at all) was what the worst troops in Europe would have
laughed at; so that the most dangerous part of our employment
was to clamber up the side of the ship: and I
have even known the poor souls on board to cast us a line,
so eager were they to volunteer instead of walking the
plank. This constant immunity had made our fellows
very soft, so that I understood how Teach had made so
deep a mark upon their minds; for indeed the company
of that lunatic was the chief danger in our way of life.
The accident to which I have referred was this:—We had
sighted a little full-rigged ship very close under our board
in a haze; she sailed near as well as we did—I should be
nearer truth if I said, near as ill; and we cleared the bow-chaser
to see if we could bring a spar or two about their
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page51"></SPAN>51</span>
ears. The swell was exceedingly great; the motion of
the ship beyond description; it was little wonder if our
gunners should fire thrice and be still quite broad of what
they aimed at. But in the meanwhile the chase had cleared
a stern gun, the thickness of the air concealing them; and
being better marksmen, their first shot struck us in the
bows, knocked our two gunners into mincemeat, so that we
were all sprinkled with the blood, and plunged through the
deck into the forecastle, where we slept. Ballantrae would
have held on; indeed, there was nothing in this <i>contretemps</i>
to affect the mind of any soldier; but he had a quick
perception of the men’s wishes, and it was plain this lucky
shot had given them a sickener of their trade. In a moment
they were all of one mind: the chase was drawing away
from us, it was needless to hold on, the <i>Sarah</i> was too foul
to overhaul a bottle, it was mere foolery to keep the sea
with her; and on these pretended grounds her head was
incontinently put about and the course laid for the river.
It was strange to see what merriment fell on that ship’s
company, and how they stamped about the deck jesting,
and each computing what increase had come to his share
by the death of the two gunners.</p>
<p>We were nine days making our port, so light were the
airs we had to sail on, so foul the ship’s bottom; but early
on the tenth, before dawn, and in a light lifting haze, we
passed the head. A little after, the haze lifted, and fell
again, showing us a cruiser very close. This was a sore
blow, happening so near our refuge. There was a great
debate of whether she had seen us, and if so whether it
was likely they had recognised the <i>Sarah</i>. We were very
careful, by destroying every member of those crews we
overhauled, to leave no evidence as to our own persons;
but the appearance of the <i>Sarah</i> herself we could not keep
so private; and above all of late, since she had been foul,
and we had pursued many ships without success, it was
plain that her description had been often published. I
supposed this alert would have made us separate upon the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page52"></SPAN>52</span>
instant. But here again that original genius of Ballantrae’s
had a surprise in store for me. He and Teach (and it was
the most remarkable step of his success) had gone hand in
hand since the first day of his appointment. I often questioned
him upon the fact, and never got an answer but
once, when he told me he and Teach had an understanding
“which would very much surprise the crew if they should
hear of it, and would surprise himself a good deal if it was
carried out.” Well, here again he and Teach were of a
mind; and by their joint procurement the anchor was no
sooner down than the whole crew went off upon a scene of
drunkenness indescribable. By afternoon we were a mere
shipful of lunatical persons, throwing of things overboard,
howling of different songs at the same time, quarrelling
and falling together, and then forgetting our quarrels to
embrace. Ballantrae had bidden me drink nothing, and
feign drunkenness, as I valued my life; and I have never
passed a day so wearisomely, lying the best part of the
time upon the forecastle and watching the swamps and
thickets by which our little basin was entirely surrounded
for the eye. A little after dusk Ballantrae stumbled up
to my side, feigned to fall, with a drunken laugh, and before
he got to his feet again, whispered me to “reel down into
the cabin and seem to fall asleep upon a locker, for there
would be need of me soon.” I did as I was told, and coming
into the cabin, where it was quite dark, let myself fall on
the first locker. There was a man there already: by the
way he stirred and threw me off, I could not think he was
much in liquor; and yet when I had found another place,
he seemed to continue to sleep on. My heart now beat
very hard, for I saw some desperate matter was in act.
Presently down came Ballantrae, lit the lamp, looked about
the cabin, nodded as if pleased, and on deck again without
a word. I peered out from between my fingers, and saw
there were three of us slumbering, or feigning to slumber,
on the lockers: myself, one Dutton, and one Grady, both
resolute men. On deck the rest were got to a pitch of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page53"></SPAN>53</span>
revelry quite beyond the bounds of what is human; so
that no reasonable name can describe the sounds they were
now making. I have heard many a drunken bout in my
time, many on board that very <i>Sarah</i>, but never anything
the least like this, which made me early suppose the liquor
had been tampered with. It was a long while before these
yells and howls died out into a sort of miserable moaning,
and then to silence; and it seemed a long while after that
before Ballantrae came down again, this time with Teach
upon his heels. The latter cursed at the sight of us three
upon the lockers.</p>
<p>“Tut,” says Ballantrae, “you might fire a pistol at
their ears. You know what stuff they have been swallowing.”</p>
<p>There was a hatch in the cabin floor, and under that
the richest part of the booty was stored against the day
of division. It fastened with a ring and three padlocks,
the keys (for greater security) being divided; one to Teach,
one to Ballantrae, and one to the mate, a man called
Hammond. Yet I was amazed to see they were now all
in the one hand; and yet more amazed (still looking through
my fingers) to observe Ballantrae and Teach bring up several
packets, four of them in all, very carefully made up, and
with a loop for carriage.</p>
<p>“And now,” says Teach, “let us be going.”</p>
<p>“One word,” says Ballantrae. “I have discovered
there is another man besides yourself who knows a private
path across the swamp; and it seems it is shorter than
yours.”</p>
<p>Teach cried out, in that case, they were undone.</p>
<p>“I do not know for that,” says Ballantrae. “For there
are several other circumstances with which I must acquaint
you. First of all, there is no bullet in your pistols, which
(if you remember) I was kind enough to load for both of
us this morning. Secondly, as there is some one else who
knows a passage, you must think it highly improbable I
should saddle myself with a lunatic like you. Thirdly,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page54"></SPAN>54</span>
these gentlemen (who need no longer pretend to be asleep)
are those of my party, and will now proceed to gag and bind
you to the mast; and when your men awaken (if they ever
do awake after the drugs we have mingled in their liquor),
I am sure they will be so obliging as to deliver you, and you
will have no difficulty, I daresay, to explain the business of
the keys.”</p>
<p>Not a word said Teach, but looked at us like a frightened
baby as we gagged and bound him.</p>
<p>“Now you see, you moon-calf,” says Ballantrae,
“why we made four packets. Heretofore you have been
called Captain Teach, but I think you are now rather
Captain Learn.”</p>
<p>That was our last word on board the <i>Sarah</i>. We four,
with our four packets, lowered ourselves softly into a skiff,
and left that ship behind us as silent as the grave, only for
the moaning of some of the drunkards. There was a fog
about breast-high on the waters; so that Dutton, who
knew the passage, must stand on his feet to direct our
rowing; and this, as it forced us to row gently, was the
means of our deliverance. We were yet but a little way
from the ship, when it began to come grey, and the birds
to fly abroad upon the water. All of a sudden Dutton
clapped down upon his hams, and whispered us to be silent
for our lives, and hearken. Sure enough, we heard a little
faint creak of oars upon one hand, and then again, and
farther off, a creak of oars upon the other. It was clear
we had been sighted yesterday in the morning; here were
the cruiser’s boats to cut us out; here were we defenceless
in their very midst. Sure, never were poor souls more
perilously placed; and as we lay there on our oars, praying
God the mist might hold, the sweat poured from my brow.
Presently we heard one of the boats where we might have
thrown a biscuit in her. “Softly, men,” we heard an
officer whisper; and I marvelled they could not hear the
drumming of my heart.</p>
<p>“Never mind the path,” says Ballantrae; “we must
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page55"></SPAN>55</span>
get shelter anyhow; let us pull straight ahead for the
sides of the basin.”</p>
<p>This we did with the most anxious precaution, rowing,
as best we could, upon our hands, and steering at a venture
in the fog, which was (for all that) our only safety. But
Heaven guided us; we touched ground at a thicket;
scrambled ashore with our treasure; and having no other
way of concealment, and the mist beginning already to
lighten, hove down the skiff and let her sink. We were
still but new under cover when the sun rose; and at the
same time, from the midst of the basin, a great shouting of
seamen sprang up, and we knew the <i>Sarah</i> was being
boarded. I heard afterwards the officer that took her got
great honour; and it’s true the approach was creditably
managed, but I think he had an easy capture when he
came to board.<SPAN name="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></SPAN></p>
<p>I was still blessing the saints for my escape, when I
became aware we were in trouble of another kind. We
were here landed at random in a vast and dangerous
swamp; and how to come at the path was a concern of
doubt, fatigue, and peril. Dutton, indeed, was of opinion
we should wait until the ship was gone, and fish up the
skiff; for any delay would be more wise than to go blindly
ahead in that morass. One went back accordingly to the
basin-side and (peering through the thicket) saw the fog
already quite drunk up, and English colours flying on the
<i>Sarah</i>, but no movement made to get her under way. Our
situation was now very doubtful. The swamp was an
unhealthful place to linger in; we had been so greedy to
bring treasures that we had brought but little food; it was
highly desirable, besides, that we should get clear of the
neighbourhood and into the settlements before the news
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page56"></SPAN>56</span>
of the capture went abroad; and against all these considerations
there was only the peril of the passage on the
other side. I think it not wonderful we decided on the
active part.</p>
<p>It was already blistering hot when we set forth to pass
the marsh, or rather to strike the path, by compass.
Dutton took the compass, and one or other of us three
carried his proportion of the treasure. I promise you he
kept a sharp eye to his rear, for it was like the man’s soul
that he must trust us with. The thicket was as close as a
bush; the ground very treacherous, so that we often sank
in the most terrifying manner, and must go round about;
the heat, besides, was stifling, the air singularly heavy,
and the stinging insects abounded in such myriads that
each of us walked under his own cloud. It has often been
commented on, how much better gentlemen of birth endure
fatigue than persons of the rabble; so that walking officers,
who must tramp in the dirt beside their men, shame them
by their constancy. This was well to be observed in the
present instance; for here were Ballantrae and I, two
gentlemen of the highest breeding, on the one hand; and
on the other, Grady, a common mariner, and a man nearly
a giant in physical strength. The case of Dutton is not
in point, for I confess he did as well as any of us.<SPAN name="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></SPAN> But
as for Grady, he began early to lament his case, tailed in
the rear, refused to carry Dutton’s packet when it came
his turn, clamoured continually for rum (of which we had
too little), and at last even threatened us from behind with
a cocked pistol, unless we should allow him rest. Ballantrae
would have fought it out, I believe; but I prevailed with
him the other way; and we made a stop and ate a meal.
It seemed to benefit Grady little; he was in the rear again
at once, growling and bemoaning his lot; and at last, by
some carelessness, not having followed properly in our
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page57"></SPAN>57</span>
tracks, stumbled into a deep part of the slough where it
was mostly water, gave some very dreadful screams, and
before we could come to his aid had sunk along with his
booty. His fate, and above all these screams of his,
appalled us to the soul; yet it was on the whole a fortunate
circumstance, and the means of our deliverance, for it
moved Dutton to mount into a tree, whence he was able
to perceive and to show me, who had climbed after him, a
high piece of the wood, which was a landmark for the path.
He went forward the more carelessly, I must suppose; for
presently we saw him sink a little down, draw up his feet
and sink again, and so twice. Then he turned his face to
us, pretty white.</p>
<p>“Lend a hand,” said he, “I am in a bad place.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that,” says Ballantrae, standing
still.</p>
<p>Dutton broke out into the most violent oaths, sinking
a little lower as he did, so that the mud was nearly to his
waist, and plucking a pistol from his belt, “Help me,” he
cries, “or die and be damned to you!”</p>
<p>“Nay,” says Ballantrae, “I did but jest. I am coming.”
And he set down his own packet and Dutton’s,
which he was then carrying. “Do not venture near till
we see if you are needed,” said he to me, and went
forward alone to where the man was bogged. He was
quiet now, though he still held the pistol; and the
marks of terror in his countenance were very moving to
behold.</p>
<p>“For the Lord’s sake,” says he, “look sharp.”</p>
<p>Ballantrae was now got close up. “Keep still,” says
he, and seemed to consider; and then, “Reach out both
your hands!”</p>
<p>Dutton laid down his pistol, and so watery was the top
surface that it went clear out of sight; with an oath he
stooped to snatch it; and as he did so, Ballantrae leaned
forth and stabbed him between the shoulders. Up went
his hands over his head—I know not whether with the pain
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page58"></SPAN>58</span>
or to ward himself; and the next moment he doubled
forward in the mud.</p>
<p>Ballantrae was already over the ankles; but he
plucked himself out, and came back to me, where I stood
with my knees smiting one another. “The devil take you,
Francis!” says he. “I believe you are a half-hearted
fellow, after all. I have only done justice on a pirate.
And here we are quite clear of the <i>Sarah!</i> Who shall
now say that we have dipped our hands in any irregularities?”</p>
<p>I assured him he did me injustice; but my sense of
humanity was so much affected by the horridness of the
fact that I could scarce find breath to answer with.</p>
<p>“Come,” said he, “you must be more resolved. The
need for this fellow ceased when he had shown you where
the path ran; and you cannot deny I would have been
daft to let slip so fair an opportunity.”</p>
<p>I could not deny but he was right in principle; nor yet
could I refrain from shedding tears, of which I think no
man of valour need have been ashamed; and it was not
until I had a share of the rum that I was able to proceed.
I repeat, I am far from ashamed of my generous emotion;
mercy is honourable in the warrior; and yet I cannot
altogether censure Ballantrae, whose step was really
fortunate, as we struck the path without further misadventure,
and the same night, about sundown, came to the
edge of the morass.</p>
<p>We were too weary to seek far; on some dry sands,
still warm with the day’s sun, and close under a wood of
pines, we lay down and were instantly plunged in sleep.</p>
<p>We awaked the next morning very early, and began
with a sullen spirit a conversation that came near to end
in blows. We were now cast on shore in the southern
provinces, thousands of miles from any French settlement;
a dreadful journey and a thousand perils lay in front of us;
and sure, if there was ever need for amity, it was in such
an hour. I must suppose that Ballantrae had suffered in
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page59"></SPAN>59</span>
his sense of what is truly polite; indeed, and there is
nothing strange in the idea, after the sea-wolves we had
consorted with so long; and as for myself, he fubbed me
off unhandsomely, and any gentleman would have resented
his behaviour.</p>
<p>I told him in what light I saw his conduct; he walked
a little off, I following to upbraid him; and at last he
stopped me with his hand.</p>
<p>“Frank,” says he, “you know what we swore; and
yet there is no oath invented would induce me to swallow
such expressions, if I did not regard you with sincere
affection. It is impossible you should doubt me there:
I have given proofs. Dutton I had to take, because he
knew the pass, and Grady because Dutton would not move
without him; but what call was there to carry you along?
You are a perpetual danger to me with your cursed Irish
tongue. By rights you should now be in irons in the cruiser.
And you quarrel with me like a baby for some trinkets!”</p>
<p>I considered this one of the most unhandsome speeches
ever made; and indeed to this day I can scarce reconcile
it to my notion of a gentleman that was my friend. I
retorted upon him with his Scots accent, of which he had
not so much as some, but enough to be very barbarous and
disgusting, as I told him plainly; and the affair would have
gone to a great length, but for an alarming intervention.</p>
<p>We had got some way off upon the sand. The place
where we had slept, with the packets lying undone and the
money scattered openly, was now between us and the pines;
and it was out of these the stranger must have come.
There he was at least, a great hulking fellow of the country,
with a broad axe on his shoulder, looking open-mouthed,
now at the treasure, which was just at his feet, and now
at our disputation, in which we had gone far enough to
have weapons in our hands. We had no sooner observed
him than he found his legs and made off again among the
pines.</p>
<p>This was no scene to put our minds at rest: a couple
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page60"></SPAN>60</span>
of armed men in sea-clothes found quarrelling over a
treasure, not many miles from where a pirate had been
captured—here was enough to bring the whole country
about our ears. The quarrel was not even made up; it
was blotted from our minds; and we got our packets together
in the twinkling of an eye, and made off, running
with the best will in the world. But the trouble was, we
did not know in what direction, and must continually
return upon our steps. Ballantrae had indeed collected
what he could from Dutton; but it’s hard to travel upon
hearsay; and the estuary, which spreads into a vast
irregular harbour, turned us off upon every side with a
new stretch of water.</p>
<p>We were near beside ourselves, and already quite spent
with running, when, coming to the top of a dune, we saw
we were again cut off by another ramification of the bay.
This was a creek, however, very different from those that
had arrested us before; being set in rocks, and so precipitously
deep that a small vessel was able to lie alongside,
made fast with a hawser; and her crew had laid a plank
to the shore. Here they had lighted a fire, and were sitting
at their meal. As for the vessel herself, she was one of
those they build in the Bermudas.</p>
<p>The love of gold and the great hatred that everybody
has to pirates were motives of the most influential, and
would certainly raise the country in our pursuit. Besides, it
was now plain we were on some sort of straggling peninsula,
like the fingers of a hand; and the wrist, or passage to the
mainland, which we should have taken at the first, was by
this time not improbably secured. These considerations
put us on a bolder counsel. For as long as we dared, looking
every moment to hear sounds of the chase, we lay
among some bushes on the top of the dune; and having
by this means secured a little breath and recomposed our
appearance, we strolled down at last, with a great affectation
of carelessness, to the party by the fire.</p>
<p>It was a trader and his negroes, belonging to Albany,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page61"></SPAN>61</span>
in the province of New York, and now on the way home
from the Indies with a cargo; his name I cannot recall.
We were amazed to learn he had put in here from terror
of the <i>Sarah</i>; for we had no thought our exploits had been
so notorious. As soon as the Albanian heard she had been
taken the day before, he jumped to his feet, gave us a cup
of spirits for our good news, and sent his negroes to get
sail on the Bermudan. On our side, we profited by the
dram to become more confidential, and at last offered ourselves
as passengers. He looked askance at our tarry
clothes and pistols, and replied civilly enough that he had
scarce accommodation for himself; nor could either our
prayers or our offers of money, in which we advanced
pretty far, avail to shake him.</p>
<p>“I see, you think ill of us,” says Ballantrae, “but I
will show you how well we think of you by telling you the
truth. We are Jacobite fugitives, and there is a price upon
our heads.”</p>
<p>At this the Albanian was plainly moved a little. He
asked us many questions as to the Scots war, which
Ballantrae very patiently answered. And then, with a
wink, in a vulgar manner, “I guess you and your Prince
Charlie got more than you cared about,” said he.</p>
<p>“Bedad, and that we did,” said I. “And, my dear
man, I wish you would set a new example and give us just
that much.”</p>
<p>This I said in the Irish way, about which there is allowed
to be something very engaging. It’s a remarkable thing,
and a testimony to the love with which our nation is regarded,
that this address scarce ever fails in a handsome
fellow. I cannot tell how often I have seen a private
soldier escape the horse, or a beggar wheedle out a good
alms, by a touch of the brogue. And, indeed, as soon as
the Albanian had laughed at me I was pretty much at rest.
Even then, however, he made many conditions, and—for
one thing—took away our arms, before he suffered us
aboard; which was the signal to cast off; so that in a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page62"></SPAN>62</span>
moment after we were gliding down the bay with a good
breeze, and blessing the name of God for our deliverance.
Almost in the mouth of the estuary, we passed the cruiser,
and a little after the poor <i>Sarah</i> with her prize crew; and
these were both sights to make us tremble. The Bermudan
seemed a very safe place to be in, and our bold stroke to
have been fortunately played, when we were thus reminded
of the case of our companions. For all that, we had only
exchanged traps, jumped out of the frying-pan into the
fire, run from the yard-arm to the block, and escaped the
open hostility of the man-of-war to lie at the mercy of the
doubtful faith of our Albanian merchant.</p>
<p>From many circumstances, it chanced we were safer
than we could have dared to hope. The town of Albany
was at that time much concerned in contraband trade across
the desert with the Indians and the French. This, as it
was highly illegal, relaxed their loyalty, and as it brought
them in relation with the politest people on the earth,
divided even their sympathies. In short, they were like
all the smugglers in the world, spies and agents ready-made
for either party. Our Albanian, besides, was a very honest
man indeed, and very greedy; and, to crown our luck, he
conceived a great delight in our society. Before we had
reached the town of New York we had come to a full
agreement, that he should carry us as far as Albany upon
his ship, and thence put us on a way to pass the boundaries
and join the French. For all this we were to pay at a high
rate; but beggars cannot be choosers, nor outlaws bargainers.</p>
<p>We sailed then, up the Hudson River, which, I protest,
is a very fine stream, and put up at the “King’s Arms”
in Albany. The town was full of the militia of the province,
breathing slaughter against the French. Governor Clinton
was there himself, a very busy man, and, by what I could
learn, very near distracted by the factiousness of his
Assembly. The Indians on both sides were on the war-path;
we saw parties of them bringing in prisoners and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page63"></SPAN>63</span>
(what was much worse) scalps, both male and female, for
which they were paid at a fixed rate; and I assure you the
sight was not encouraging. Altogether, we could scarce
have come at a period more unsuitable for our designs; our
position in the chief inn was dreadfully conspicuous; our
Albanian fubbed us off with a thousand delays, and seemed
upon the point of a retreat from his engagements; nothing
but peril appeared to environ the poor fugitives, and for
some time we drowned our concern in a very irregular
course of living.</p>
<p>This, too, proved to be fortunate; and it’s one of the
remarks that fall to be made upon our escape, how providentially
our steps were conducted to the very end. What
a humiliation to the dignity of man! My philosophy, the
extraordinary genius of Ballantrae, our valour, in which
I grant that we were equal—all these might have proved
insufficient without the Divine blessing on our efforts.
And how true it is, as the Church tells us, that the Truths
of Religion are, after all, quite applicable even to daily
affairs! At least, it was in the course of our revelry that
we made the acquaintance of a spirited youth by the name
of Chew. He was one of the most daring of the Indian
traders, very well acquainted with the secret paths of the
wilderness, needy, dissolute, and, by a last good fortune,
in some disgrace with his family. Him we persuaded to
come to our relief; he privately provided what was needful
for our flight, and one day we slipped out of Albany, without
a word to our former friend, and embarked, a little
above, in a canoe.</p>
<p>To the toils and perils of this journey it would require
a pen more elegant than mine to do full justice. The
reader must conceive for himself the dreadful wilderness
which we had now to thread; its thickets, swamps, precipitous
rocks, impetuous rivers, and amazing waterfalls.
Among these barbarous scenes we must toil all day, now
paddling, now carrying our canoe upon our shoulders; and
at night we slept about a fire, surrounded by the howling
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page64"></SPAN>64</span>
of wolves and other savage animals. It was our design to
mount the headwaters of the Hudson, to the neighbourhood
of Crown Point, where the French had a strong place in the
woods, upon Lake Champlain. But to have done this
directly were too perilous; and it was accordingly gone
upon by such a labyrinth of rivers, lakes, and portages as
makes my head giddy to remember. These paths were in
ordinary times entirely desert; but the country was now
up, the tribes on the war-path, the woods full of Indian
scouts. Again and again we came upon these parties when
we least expected them; and one day, in particular, I shall
never forget how, as dawn was coming in, we were suddenly
surrounded by five or six of these painted devils, uttering
a very dreary sort of cry, and brandishing their hatchets.
It passed off harmlessly, indeed, as did the rest of our
encounters; for Chew was well known and highly valued
among the different tribes. Indeed, he was a very gallant,
respectable young man; but even with the advantage of
his companionship, you must not think these meetings
were without sensible peril. To prove friendship on our
part, it was needful to draw upon our stock of rum—indeed,
under whatever disguise, that is the true business of the
Indian trader, to keep a travelling public-house in the
forest; and when once the braves had got their bottle of
<i>scaura</i> (as they call this beastly liquor), it behoved us to
set forth and paddle for our scalps. Once they were a
little drunk, good-bye to any sense or decency; they had
but the one thought, to get more <i>scaura</i>. They might
easily take it in their heads to give us chase, and had we
been overtaken, I had never written these memoirs.</p>
<p>We were come to the most critical portion of our course,
where we might equally expect to fall into the hands of
French or English, when a terrible calamity befell us.
Chew was taken suddenly sick with symptoms like those of
poison, and in the course of a few hours expired in the
bottom of the canoe. We thus lost at once our guide, our
interpreter, our boatman, and our passport, for he was all
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page65"></SPAN>65</span>
these in one; and found ourselves reduced, at a blow, to
the most desperate and irremediable distress. Chew, who
took a great pride in his knowledge, had indeed often
lectured us on the geography; and Ballantrae, I believe,
would listen. But for my part I have always found such
information highly tedious; and beyond the fact that we
were now in the country of the Adirondack Indians, and
not so distant from our destination, could we but have
found the way, I was entirely ignorant. The wisdom of
my course was soon the more apparent; for, with all his
pains, Ballantrae was no further advanced than myself.
He knew we must continue to go up one stream; then,
by way of a portage, down another; and then up a third.
But you are to consider, in a mountain country, how many
streams come rolling in from every hand. And how is a
gentleman, who is a perfect stranger in that part of the
world, to tell any one of them from any other? Nor was
this our only trouble. We were great novices, besides, in
handling a canoe; the portages were almost beyond our
strength, so that I have seen us sit down in despair for half
an hour at a time without one word; and the appearance
of a single Indian, since we had now no means of speaking
to them, would have been in all probability the means of our
destruction. There is altogether some excuse if Ballantrae
showed something of a glooming disposition; his habit of
imputing blame to others, quite as capable as himself, was
less tolerable, and his language it was not always easy to
accept. Indeed, he had contracted on board the pirate
ship a manner of address which was in a high degree unusual
between gentlemen; and now, when you might say he was
in a fever, it increased upon him hugely.</p>
<p>The third day of these wanderings, as we were carrying
the canoe upon a rocky portage, she fell, and was entirely
bilged. The portage was between two lakes, both pretty
extensive; the track, such as it was, opened at both ends
upon the water, and on both hands was enclosed by the
unbroken woods; and the sides of the lakes were quite
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page66"></SPAN>66</span>
impassable with bog: so that we beheld ourselves not only
condemned to go without our boat and the greater part of
our provisions, but to plunge at once into impenetrable
thickets and to desert what little guidance we still had—the
course of the river. Each stuck his pistols in his belt,
shouldered an axe, made a pack of his treasure and as much
food as he could stagger under; and deserting the rest of
our possessions, even to our swords, which would have
much embarrassed us among the woods, we set forth on
this deplorable adventure. The labours of Hercules, so
finely described by Homer, were a trifle to what we now
underwent. Some parts of the forest were perfectly dense
down to the ground, so that we must cut our way like mites
in a cheese. In some the bottom was full of deep swamp,
and the whole wood entirely rotten. I have leaped on a
great fallen log and sunk to the knees in touchwood; I
have sought to stay myself, in falling, against what looked
to be a solid trunk, and the whole thing has whiffed at my
touch like a sheet of paper. Stumbling, falling, bogging
to the knees, hewing our way, our eyes almost put out with
twigs and branches, our clothes plucked from our bodies,
we laboured all day, and it is doubtful if we made two
miles. What was worse, as we could rarely get a view of
the country, and were perpetually justled from our path
by obstacles, it was impossible even to have a guess in what
direction we were moving.</p>
<p>A little before sundown, in an open place with a stream,
and set about with barbarous mountains, Ballantrae threw
down his pack. “I will go no further,” said he, and bade
me light the fire, damning my blood in terms not proper
for a chairman.</p>
<p>I told him to try to forget he had ever been a pirate,
and to remember he had been a gentleman.</p>
<p>“Are you mad?” he cried. “Don’t cross me here!”
And then, shaking his fist at the hills, “To think,” cries
he, “that I must leave my bones in this miserable wilderness!
Would God I had died upon the scaffold like a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page67"></SPAN>67</span>
gentleman!” This he said ranting like an actor; and
then sat biting his fingers and staring on the ground, a
most unchristian object.</p>
<p>I took a certain horror of the man, for I thought a
soldier and a gentleman should confront his end with more
philosophy. I made him no reply, therefore, in words;
and presently the evening fell so chill that I was glad, for
my own sake, to kindle a fire. And yet God knows, in such
an open spot, and the country alive with savages, the act
was little short of lunacy. Ballantrae seemed never to
observe me; but at last, as I was about parching a little
corn, he looked up.</p>
<p>“Have you ever a brother?” said he.</p>
<p>“By the blessing of Heaven,” said I, “not less than
five.”</p>
<p>“I have the one,” said he, with a strange voice; and
then presently, “He shall pay me for all this,” he added.
And when I asked him what was his brother’s part in our
distress, “What!” he cried, “he sits in my place, he bears
my name, he courts my wife; and I am here alone with a
damned Irishman in this tooth-chattering desert! O, I
have been a common gull!” he cried.</p>
<p>The explosion was in all ways so foreign to my friend’s
nature that I was daunted out of all my just susceptibility.
Sure, an offensive expression, however vivacious, appears
a wonderfully small affair in circumstances so extreme!
But here there is a strange thing to be noted. He had only
once before referred to the lady with whom he was contracted.
That was when we came in view of the town of
New York, when he had told me, if all had their rights, he
was now in sight of his own property, for Miss Graeme
enjoyed a large estate in the province. And this was
certainly a natural occasion; but now here she was named
a second time; and what is surely fit to be observed, in
this very month, which was November, ’Forty-seven, and
<i>I believe upon that very day as we sat among these barbarous
mountains</i>, his brother and Miss Graeme were married. I
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page68"></SPAN>68</span>
am the least superstitious of men; but the hand of Providence
is here displayed too openly not to be remarked.<SPAN name="FnAnchor_5" href="#Footnote_5"><span class="sp">5</span></SPAN></p>
<p>The next day, and the next, were passed in similar
labours; Ballantrae often deciding on our course by the
spinning of a coin; and once, when I expostulated on this
childishness, he had an odd remark that I never have forgotten.
“I know no better way,” said he, “to express my
scorn of human reason.” I think it was the third day that
we found the body of a Christian, scalped and most abominably
mangled, and lying in a pudder of his blood; the
birds of the desert screaming over him, as thick as flies.
I cannot describe how dreadfully this sight affected us; but
it robbed me of all strength and all hope for this world.
The same day, and only a little after, we were scrambling
over a part of the forest that had been burned, when
Ballantrae, who was a little ahead, ducked suddenly behind
a fallen trunk. I joined him in this shelter, whence we
could look abroad without being seen ourselves; and in
the bottom of the next vale beheld a large war-party of
the savages going by across our line. There might be the
value of a weak battalion present; all naked to the waist,
blacked with grease and soot, and painted with white lead
and vermilion, according to their beastly habits. They
went one behind another like a string of geese, and at a
quickish trot; so that they took but a little while to rattle
by, and disappear again among the woods. Yet I suppose
we endured a greater agony of hesitation and suspense in
these few minutes than goes usually to a man’s whole life.
Whether they were French or English Indians, whether
they desired scalps or prisoners, whether we should declare
ourselves upon the chance, or lie quiet and continue the
heart-breaking business of our journey: sure, I think these
were questions to have puzzled the brains of Aristotle
himself. Ballantrae turned to me with a face all wrinkled
up, and his teeth showing in his mouth, like what I have
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page69"></SPAN>69</span>
read of people starving; he said no word, but his whole
appearance was a kind of dreadful question.</p>
<p>“They may be of the English side,” I whispered; “and
think! the best we could then hope is to begin this over
again.”</p>
<p>“I know—I know,” he said. “Yet it must come to
a plunge at last.” And he suddenly plucked out his coin,
shook it in his closed hands, looked at it, and then lay
down with his face in the dust.</p>
<p><i>Addition by Mr. Mackellar</i>.—I drop the Chevalier’s
narration at this point because the couple quarrelled and
separated the same day; and the Chevalier’s account of
the quarrel seems to me (I must confess) quite incompatible
with the nature of either of the men. Henceforth
they wandered alone, undergoing extraordinary sufferings;
until first one and then the other was picked up by a party
from Fort St. Frederick. Only two things are to be noted.
And first (as most important for my purpose) that the
Master, in the course of his miseries, buried his treasure,
at a point never since discovered, but of which he took a
drawing in his own blood on the lining of his hat. And
second, that on his coming thus penniless to the Fort, he
was welcomed like a brother by the Chevalier, who thence
paid his way to France. The simplicity of Mr. Burke’s
character leads him at this point to praise the Master exceedingly;
to an eye more worldly-wise, it would seem it
was the Chevalier alone that was to be commended. I have
the more pleasure in pointing to this really very noble trait of
my esteemed correspondent, as I fear I may have wounded
him immediately before. I have refrained from comments
on any of his extraordinary and (in my eyes) immoral opinions,
for I know him to be jealous of respect. But his version
of the quarrel is really more than I can reproduce; for I
knew the Master myself, and a man more insusceptible of
fear is not conceivable. I regret this oversight of the Chevalier’s,
and all the more because the tenor of his narrative
(set aside a few flourishes) strikes me as highly ingenuous.</p>
<hr class="foot" />
<div class="note">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></SPAN> <i>Note by Mr. Mackellar</i>.—Should not this be Alan <i>Breck</i> Stewart,
afterwards notorious as the Appin murderer? The Chevalier is
sometimes very weak on names.</p>
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></SPAN> <i>Note by Mr. Mackellar</i>.—This Teach of the <i>Sarah</i> must not be
confused with the celebrated <i>Blackbeard</i>. The dates and facts by
no means tally. It is possible the second Teach may have at once
borrowed the name and imitated the more excessive part of his
manners from the first. Even the Master of Ballantrae could
make admirers.</p>
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></SPAN> <i>Note by Mr. Mackellar</i>.—And is not this the whole explanation?
since this Dutton, exactly like the officers, enjoyed the
stimulus of some responsibility.</p>
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_5" href="#FnAnchor_5"><span class="fn">5</span></SPAN> <i>Note by Mr. Mackellar</i>.—A complete blunder: there was at
this date no word of the marriage: see above in my own narration.</p>
</div>
<hr class="art" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="page70"></SPAN>70</span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />