Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1892 — The Master Of Ballantrae [ARTICLE]

The Master Of Ballantrae

In these times es political surprise ft gives mudh pleasure to learn that Hogg, of Texas, saved his bacon. I ' ——■—lMM—tan —— r The Prince of Wales’indebtedness to the extent of over S2OOO to the London Lycebm for box tickets, and the inability of the German Empress • to pay her costumer, should suggest to European shop keepers the advisability of doing a strictly cash business when dealing with royalty. ??' ” '■ - ,iri ' 1 " An exchange says “the new SSOO bill is a fine specimen of the engraver’s art and is adorned by an excel* lent likeness of Senator Sherman.” We hope this is true. Nothing so irritates and unhorses us as to find in our pocket a SSOO bill awkwardly engraved and disfigured by a chromo of a truly illustrious man. It is recalled here that as a remarkable coincidence that two edi* tors of the New York Tribune,Horace Greeley and Whitelaw Reid, the former as candidate for President and the latter for Vice-President, should exactly twenty years apart, have been the losers in the two most disastrousdefeats in th ■» political history of the United States. Greeley carried only eighty electoral votes . out of, 336 in 1872, and Mr. Reid will probably not have over 152 out of 144 in 1892. It is said that the more recent 'forms of telephone apparatus produce wonderful results as compared with those in use, but the reason why they are not placed in every day use arises from the fact that to replace the half million telephones now in use in this country would cost many millions of dollars. Of the newest form of receiver it is stated that if placeffoh the tabTe in a small room, it will reproduce speech spoken over 200 miles away so loudly that it can be distinctly heard by persons sits ting about the room. There are hundreds of thousands of Immigrants in this country who have never renounced their allegience to the governments of the countries from which they came. One of the propositions before the Senate Committee on Immigration is for the enactment of a law requiring all alien immigrants to renounce their allogience to every foreign power as soon as they arrive here if it be their purpose to remain here. Wo had trouble with the Italian Government iver the New Orleans affair because ♦he Italians in whose benatf that Government claimed damages were subjects of the King of Italy, and thus under his gurdianship, though • 'sidents of this country. The Senate committee will probably incorporate the proposition presented to it upon this subject in the bill for ' the better regulation of immigration which it is now preparing for the consideration of Congress.—-N. Y. Sun.

Within the past two months several millions of acres of land have been added to the public domain and opened to white settlers through negotiations with various tribes of Indians in the West, says the New York Sun. The Pawnees have ceded their reservation of 300,000 acres bordering upon the Territory of Oklahoma, and two-thirds of it will soon be offered for sale by the Government at 51.50 per acre of arable land. A considerable tract on the San Juan River in Utah, which was reserved long ago for Indians who would not live upon it, has been restored to the public domain,' and ij will soon be invaded by miners. The Government has completed negotia tions with the ComanchA, Kiowas, and Apache tribes for the relinquishment of their reservations, which embrace 3,000,000 acres in the Indian Territory; but this groat body of land, which is fertile and well watered» will not be opened to settlers pntll 1894. In southern Montana) nearly 2,000,000 acres of land which formerly belonged to the Crow reservation, were declared open on the 15th of October, c.nd many settlers have taken up claims there within the past six weekn. In North Dakota, the Indian allotments on Devil’s Lake reservation were made last month, and the remainder of the reservation was put at the disposal of the Government There are yet many millions of acres of la..d reserved to Indian tribes in the West; but the liftlians everywhere are adopting the personal allotment system, and the white people ore pressing upon all their rese.-va..oa»-I

SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING THE MASTER’S WANDERINGS, s CHAPTER I. The full truth of this odd matter is what the world has long been looking for and public curiosity is sure to welcome. It so befell that I was intimately mingled with the last'years and history of the house; and there does not live one man so able as myself to make these matters plain, or so desirous to narrate them faithfully. I knew the master; on many secret steps of his career, I have an authentic memoir in my hand; I sailed with him on his last voyage almost alone; I made one upon that winter’s journey of which so many tales have gone abroad; and I was there at the man’s death. As for my late Lord Durrisdeer, I served him and loved him near twenty years and thought more of him the more I knew of him. Altogether, I think it not fit that so much evidence should perish; the truth is a debt I owe my lord’s memory and I think my old years will flow more smoothly and my white hair lie quieter on the pitlow. when the debt is paid. The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballan trae were a strong family in the south west from the days of David First. A rhyme still current in the country side: Kittle folks are the Durrisdoers, They ride wi’ ower mony spears bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in another, which common reoort attributes to Thomas of Ercildoune himself—l cannot say how truly, and which some have applied—l dare not say with how much ustico—to the events of this narration: Twa Durlos in Durrisdeer, Ano Urtftr and an o to rid p, ■ All ill day for the groom And a wati r day for the brido Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits which (to our modern eyes) seem not very commendable; and the family suffered its fu'l 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. At that time there dwelt a family of four persons in the house of Durr.sdecr,*near St. Bride's, on tho Solway shore; a chief hold of their race since the Reformation. My old lord, eighth of the name, was not old in vears, but he suffered prematurely from the disabilities of age-; his place was at the chimney side, there he sat reading, in a lined gown, with few words for any man, and wry words for none; the model of an old retired Housekeeper: and yet his mind very well nurished with study, and repute ed in the country to be more cunning than be seemed. The Master of Ballantrae, James in baptism,took from his father the love of serious reading; some of his tact perhaps as well, but that which was only policy in the father became black dissimulation in the son. The face of his behavior was merely popular and wild; he sat late at wine, later at the cards; had the name in tho country of “an utiqo man for the lasses;’’ and was ever’in the front of broils. But for all he was the first to go in, yet it was observed he was invariably the best to come off; and his partners in mischief were usually alone to pay the piper. This luck or dexterity got him several ill wishers, but with the rest of the country enhanced his so that great things were looked for in his future, when he should have gained more grav ty. One very black mark ho had to his name; but the matter was hushed up at the time, and so defaced by legends before I came into those parts that I scrupple to set it dowu. If it was true, it was a horrid fact in one so young; and if false, it was a horrid calumny. I think itj notable that m bad always vaunted himself quite mplacable. and was taken at his word; so that he had tho addition among his neighbors of “an ill man to cross.” Here was altogether a young nobleman (not yet twentyfour in tho year’4s) who had made a figure in the country beyond his time of life. The less marvel if there were little heard of the second son, Mr. Henry (my lato Lord Durrisdeer) who was neither very bad nox* yet very able, but an hottest, solid sort of lad like many of his neighbors. Little heard. I say; but indeed ft was a- «aso of little spoken. He was known among the salmon fishers in ths fir th, for that was a sport that ho assiduously followed; he was an : excellent good horsedoctor besides; and took a chief hand, almost from a boy, in the management of the estates. How hard a part that was, in the situation of that family, none knows better than myself; nor yet with how little-color of justice a man may there acquire the reputation on a tyrant and » miser. Tl»e fourth- person- hr the house was Miss Alison Graeme, a near Idas woman, an orphan, and the heir to a considerable fortune whichjer father had acquired in trade; This money was loudly called for by •»y lord’s necessities; indeed the ■and. was deeply mortgaged; and Miss Alison was designed accordingly to be tho master’s wife, gladly enough on her side; with how much cood will on his, is another matter. She was a comely girl and 'ln those .lays very spirited and self-willed 1 ; ’i.- the old lord having no daughter ' of his own-, and my lady being long | lead. she had grown up as best she migcw ■ K 4V i*b i~i i V .«■*> »■ i-.i.

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

To these four came the news of Prince Charlie’s landing, and set them presently by the ears. My lord, Eke the chimney keeper that he was. was all for temporizing. Miss Alison held the other side, because it appeared romantical: and the master (though I have heard they did not agree often) was for this once of her opinion. The adventure tempted him, as I conceive; he was tempted by the opportunity to raise the fortunes of the house, and not less by the hope of paying off its private liabilities, which were heavy beyond all opinion. As for Mr. Henry, it appears ho said little enough at first; his part came later on. It took the three a whole day’s disputation, before they agreed to steer a middle course, on son going forth to strike a blow for King James, my lord and the other staying at home to keep in favor with King George. Doubtless this was my lord’s decision; and as is well known, it was the part played by many considerable families. But the one dispute settled, another opened. For my lord, Miss Alison and Mr. Henry all held the one view; that it was the cadet’s part to go out; and the master, what with resentless and vanity, would at no rate consent to stay at home. My lord pleaded, Miss Alison wept, Mr. Henry was very plain spoken; all was of no avail. I “It is the direct heir of Durrisdeer that should ride by his king’s bridle,” says the master. “If we were playing a manly part,” says Mr.’ Henry, “there might be sense in such talk. But what are we doing? ’Cheating at cards!" “We are saving the house of Durrisdeer, Henry,!” his father said. “And see. James,"said Mr. Henry, “if I go, and.the prince lias the upper hand, it will -be easy to make your peace with King James. But if you go, and the expedition fails, we'divide the right aud title. And what shall I do then?” “You will be Lord Durrisdeer,” said the master, “I put all I have upon the tadle-” “Tplay at no such game,” cries Mr. Ileney. I shall be left in such a situation as no man of sense and honor could endure. I shall neither fish nor flesh!” he cried. And a little after, he had another expression. plainer perhaps than he intended. “It is your duty to be here with my father,” said he, “You know well enough, you are the favorite.” “Ay?” said the master. “And there spoke Envy! Would you trip up my heels—Jacob?” said he, and dwelled upon the name maliciously. Mr. Heqry went and walked at the low end of the hall without reply; for he had an . excellent gift of silence. Presently he came back. “I am the cadet and I shall go,” said ho. “And my lord here is master, and he says I shall go. What say ye to my brother?” “I say this. Harry,” returned the master, “that when very obstinate folk aro 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, shields, 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,” sai's Mr. Hoary, aud 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,” she cried. “I could not love you, dear, so well, loved I not honor more,” sung the master. “Oh!” she cried, “you have no heart—l hope you may be killel!” j 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 devii of a wife.”

“I think you are a devil of a son to me." cried his father, “you that has always been the favorite, to my shame be it spoken. Never a goocl hour have I gotten of you since you ; were born ; no never one good hour," and repeated it again the third time. Whether it was the master's levity, or his insubordination, or Mr. Henry's word about the favorite son, that had so much disturbed my lord, ' I do not know; but I incline to think it was the last, for I have it by all accounts that Mr. Henry was more made up to from that hour. Altogether it was in pretty ill blood with his family that the master 'rode to the north; which was the more sorrowful for others to remember When it seemed too late. By fear and favor he had scraped together near upon a dozen men, principally tenants’ sons; they were ah pretty full when they set forth, and rode up the hill by the old abbey, roaring and singing, the white cockado in every hat. It was adesperate venture for so small a company tocrosß the most of Scotland 1 unsupported; and (what made folk think so the mofe) oven as that poor dozen was clattering up the hill a great ship of the king’s navy, that could* have brought them under “With a j single boat, lay with her broad en>

sign streaming in the bay. The next qfternoon, having given the master a fair start, it was Mr. Henry’s turn, and he rode off, all by himself, to' offer his sword and carry letters from his father to King George's government. Miss Allison was shut in her room and did little but weep till both were gone; but she stitched the cockade upon the master’s hat and (as John Paul told me) it was wet with tears when he carried it down to him. CHAPTER H. In all that followed Mr. Henry and my old lord were true to their bargain. That ever they accomplished anything is more than I could learn; and that they were any way strong on the king’s side mote than I believe; but they kept the letter of loyalty, corresponded with my lord president, sat still at home, and had little or no commerce with the master while that business lasted. Nor was he, on his side, more communicative. Miss Allison, indeed, was always sending him expresses, but I do not know if she had many answers. Macconochie rode for her once, and fouud the Highlanders be-, fore Carlisle, and the master riding by the prince’s side in high favor; he took.the letter (so Macconochie tells me), opened it, glanced it through with a mouth like a man whistling, and stuck it in his belt, whence, on his horse passageing, it fell unregarded to the ground. Lt was Macconnochie who picked it up, and he still kept it, and indeed I have seen it in his hands. News came to Durrisdeer, of course, by the common report, as it goes traveling through a country, a thing always wonderful to me. By that means the family learned more of the master’s favor with the prince and the ground it was said to stand on: for by a strange condescension: in a man so proud—only that he was a man still more ambitious —he was said to have crept into notability by truckling to the Irish. Sir Thomas Sullivan, Colonel Burke and the rest were his daily comrades, by which course he.withdrew himself from his own country , folk. All the small intrigues he had a hand in fomenting; thwarted my lord George upon a thousand points; was a’ways for the advice that seemed palatable to the prince, nd matter if it was good or bad; and seems upon the whole (like the gambler he was all through life) to have had less regard to the chances of the campaign than to the greatness of favor he might aspire to if (by any luck) it should succeed. For the rest he did very well in the field; qo one questioned'that; tor ho was na coward. The next was tho news of Cuuoden, which was brought to Durrisdeer by one of the tenant's sons, the only survivor, be declared, of all those who had gone singing up the hilL By an unfortunate chance, John Paul and Macconochie had that very morning found the guinea piece (which was the root of all the evil) sticking in a holly bush; they had been “up the gait,” as the servants say at Durrisdeer, to the changehouse; and if they had little left of the guinea they bad less of their wits. What must John Paul do but burst into the hall where the family sat at dinner and cry the news to them that “Tam Macmorland was but new lichtit at tne door, and—wirra, wirra—there were qjine to come behind him!” They took the word in silence like fold condemned; only Mr. Henry carrying his palm to his face, and Miss Alison laying her face outright upon her bands. As for my lord, he was like ashes. “1 have still one son,” says he.’ “And, Henry, I will do you this justice, it is the kinder that is left.” It was a strange thing to say in such a moment; but my lord had -never forgotten Mr. Henry’s speech, and he had years of injustice on his conscience. Still it was a strange thing; and more than Miss Alison could let pass. She broke out and blamed my lord for his unnatural words, and Mr. Henry because be was sitting there in safety when bis brother lay dead, and herself because she had given her sweetheart ill words at his departure; calling him the flower of the flock, wringing ber hands, protesting her love, and crying on his by his name; so that the servant stood astonished. Mr. Henry got tohis feet arid stood holding his chair; it was he that was like ashes now. “Oh," he burst out suddenly, “I know you loved him I” “The world knows that, glory be to God!” cries she; and then to Mr. Henry: “There is none but me to know one thing—that you were a traitor to him in your heart!” “God knows.” groans bo, “it was lost love on both sides I" Time went by in the house after that without much change, only they were now three instead of four, which was a perpetual reminder of their loss. Miss Alison's money, you are to bear in mind, was highly needful for the estates; and the one brother being dead, my old lord soon set his heart upon her' marrying the other. Day in, day out, he would work upon her, sitting by the chimney side with his finger in his Latin book and bis eyes set upon her face with a kind of pleasant intentness that became the old gentleman very well. If she wept he would condole with her, like an ancient man who has seen worse times and begins to think lightly even of sorrow; if she raged, he would fall to reading again in nis Latin book, but always with some civil excuse; it she offered (as she often did) to let them have her money in a gift, he would show ber bow little! t consisted with his honor, and reminded ber, even if be should consent, Mt. Henry would certainly Nor vi sod eoepe eadeude

—— • ■ was a favorite word cf bis; and nofl doubt this quiet persecution wore away most of her resolve; no doubt, besides, Be had a great influence on the girl, z mg stood in theplace of both her parents; and» for that matter she whs herself filled with tho spirit of the Duries, and would hx. gone a great way glory of Dqrrisdeer, not so far, I think, as to marry my --’-.r patron, had it not been (strangely enough) for the circumstance of extreme unpopularity. This was the work of Tam Macmorland. There wa~ not much harm in Tam, but he baa that grievous weakness a long tongn.' and os the only man in that country who had been out (or rather who hat. "ome in again) he was sure of lis«.?ners. Those that have the underhanu : n any fighting, I have observed, at c ever anxious to persuade themsai ;es they have been betrayed. By Tam s account of it the rebels had been betrayed at every turn and by every officer they had; they had been betrayed at Derby and betrayed at Falkirk; the night march was a step of treachery of my Lord George’s, and Culloden was lost by the treachery or the Macdonalds. Thia habit of imputing treason grew upon the fool until ut last he must have in Mr. Henry also. Mr. Henry (by his account) had betrayed the’ lads at Durrisdeer; he had promised to follow with more men and instead of that he had ridden to King George. “Ay, and the next day!” Tam would cry, “the puir bonnie master and the puir, kind lads that rade wi" him, were hardly ower the scaur, or he was ass—the Judisl Ay, Weel— he has his way o't; he’s to be my lord, nae less, and there’s mony a cauld corp amaug the Hieland heatherl" And at this, if Tam had been drinking, he would begin to weep. Let any one speak long enough and he will get believers. This view of Mr. Henry’s behavior crept about the country by little and little; it was talked upon by folk that knew the contrary but were short of topics, and it was heard and believed und given out for gospel by the ignorant andjthe ill-willing. Mr. Henry began to be shunned; yetawtile and the commons began, to murmur as he went by, and thio women (who are always the most bold because they most safe) to cry out their reproaches to his face. The master was cried up for a saint. It was remembered how he had never had any hand in pressing the tenants; as. indeed, no more be had, except to spend the money. ■ He was a very little wild, perhaps, the folk said; but bow mucn better was a natural, wild lad that would soon have settled down, than a skinflint and a sneckdraw, sitting with bis nose in an account book to persecute the poor tenants. One who had a child to the master and by all accounts been very badly used, yet made herself a kind of champion of his memory. She flung a Stone one day at Mr. Henry. “Whaur’s the bonnie lad that trustit ye?” she cried. “Mr. Hery reined in his horse and looked upon her, the blood flowing from his lip. “Ay, Jess?’' says he, “you too? And yet ye should ken me better.” For it was he who had helped her with money. The woman had another stone ready which she if she would cast,’and he, to qrard hitffself, threw up the hand that held his riding rod. * What would ye beat a lassie, ye cries she, and ran away screamingas though he had struck •terr — Next day word went about the country like wildfire that Mr. Henry had beaten Jessie Broun within an inch of ber life. I give it ag one instance of how this snowball grew and one calumny brought on another until my poor patron was so perished in reputation that he began to keep the house like my lord. All this while you may be sere he uttered no complaints at home: the very ground of the scandie was too sore a matter to be handled, and Mr. Henry was very proud and strangely obstinate in silence. My old lord must have heard of it, by John Paul, if by no one else, and be must at least have remarked the altered habits of his son. Yet even he, it is probable, knew not how high the feeling ran; and as for Miss Allison, she was ever the last person to hear news and the least interested when she beard them. In the height of tho ill-feeling (for it died away as it came, no man could say why) there was an election held in the towa of St. Bride's, which is the next to Durrisdeer, standing on the water of S#ift; some grievance was fermenting I forget what, if ever I heard, and it was currently said there would be broken heads ere night, and that the sheriff had sent as far as Dumfries for soldiers. My lord moved that Mr. Henry should present, assuring him it was necessary to appear, for the credit of the bouse. “It will soon bo reported, ” said he. “ that we do not take the lead in our own country-” “It is a strange lead that I can take, ” said Mr. Henry ; and when they had pushed him' further, “ I tell you the plain truth, *' he said, “I dare not show my face. ” “You are tho first ot the house that ever said so, ” cries Miss Altsou. •• We will go all three, ’’ said my lord; and sure enough he got into his boots (the first time in four years —a sore business John Paul bud to get them on) and Miss Alison into her riding coat, and all three rode together to St. Bride's. The streets were full of the riffraff of all the country side, who had no sooner claoped eyes on Mr. Henry than tbs hissing begun, and the

bhooting, and the cries of ■ >» 1 and “ Where was the master anil “ Where were the poor lads that rode with him ? ” Even a stone was cast; but tho more part cried shame at that, for my old lord's sake and Miss Alison’s, it took not ten minutes to persuade my lord that Mr. Henry i—d been right. He said never a w 0.4, but turned his horse about, and home again, with-his chin upon his bosom. Never a word said Miss Alison ; no doubt she thought tlie more ; no doubt her pride was stung for she was a bone bred Durie ; and no doubt ber heart was -touched to see her cousin so unjustly used. That night she was never in bed ; I have often blamed my lady—when I call to mind that night, I readily forgive her all; and the first thing in the morning, she came to the old lord in his usual seat. “Sf Henry still wants me, ” sh\ can have me now. ” To himser.r ♦ <ie had a different speech • “I youJove, Henry; but God knows, ah + he pitj in the world. ” June the first, 1748. was the day of their marriage. It was December ol the same year that first saw me alighting at the doors of the great house ; and from there I take up the history of events as they befel under my own observation, like a witness in* a court. (to be continued.)