Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 March 1893 — The Master of Ballantrae [ARTICLE]

The Master of Ballantrae

By Robart Louis Stevenson.

CHAPTER XXI (I— Continued. 1 was by the captain's error: abased, also, by the surprise and fear with which the Indian regarded me at first, and the obsequious civilities with which he soon began to cumber me. I know now that he must heve overheard and comprehended the peculiar nature of my prayers. It is certain, of course, that he at once disclosed the matter tohis patron; and looking back with ■greater knowledge, I can now understand, what so much puzzled me at the moment, those singular and (so to speak) approving smiles with which the master honored me. Similarly; 1 can understand a word that I remember to -have fallen, from him in conversation that- same night; when, holding up bis hand and smiling. “Ah, Mackellar,” said he. “not every man is so great a coward as he thinks he is—nor yet so good a Christian.” He did not guess how ( true he spoke! For the fact is, the thoughts which had come to me iu the violence of the storm retained their hold upon my spirit; and the words that rose to my lips unbidden .in the instancy of prayer continued to sound in my ears: with what shameful consequences, it iS”fitting I should honestly relate; for I could not support a part of such disloyalty as. to describe the sins of others and conceal my own. The wind fell, but the sea hove ever the higher. All night “the Nonesuch” rolled outrageously; the next day dawned, and the riextj" and brought no change. To cross the cabin was scarce possible, old, experienced seamen were cast down Upon deck, and one cruelly mauled In the concussion; every board and block in the old ship cried out aloud; and the great bell by the anchorbitts continually and dolefully rang. One of these days the master and I sate alone together at the break of the poop. About the top it ran considerable bulwarks, which made the ship unweatherly; and these, as they approached the front on each side, ran down in a fine, old-fashioned, carven scroll to join the bulwarks of the waist. From this disposition, which seems designed rather for ornament than for use, it followed there was a discontinuance of protection: and that, besides, at the very margin of the-elevated part where (in certain movements of the ship) it ;-ight be the most needful. It was here we were sitting: our feet hanging down, the master betwixt me and the side, and I holding on to the grating of the with both hands; for it struck me it was a dangerous position, the more so as I had continually before my eyes a measure of our evolutions in the person of the master, which stood out in the break of ths bulwarks against the sun. Now his head would be in the zenith and his shadow fall quite beyond the “Nonesuch" on the farther side: and now he would swing down till he was underneath my feet, and the line of the sea leaped high above him like the ceiling of a room. I looked on upon this with a growing fascination, as birds are said to look on snakes. My mind besides was troubled with an astonishing diversity of noises: for now that we had all sails spread in the vain hope to bring her to the sea. the ship sounded like a factory with their reverberations. We spoke first of the mutiny with which we had been threatened; this led us to the topic of assassination; and that offered a temptation to the man

more strong than he was able to . resist. He must tell me a tale and show me at the same time how clever he was and how wicked. It was a thing he did always with affectation and display, generally with a good effect. But this tale, told in a high key in the midst of so great a tumult. and by a narrator who was one moment looking down at me from the skies and the next peering up from under the soles of my feet—this particular tai?, I say, took hold upon me in a degree quite singular. “My friend the count,” it was thus that he began his story, “had for an enemy a certain German baron, a stranger in Rome. It matters not what was the ground of the count’s ennrty; but as he hud a firm design to be revenged, and that with safety to himself, he kept, it secret from the baron. Indeed that is the first principle of vengeance; and hatred betrayed is hatred impotent. The count was a man of curious, searching mind; he had something of the artist; if anything fell for him to do, it must always be done with an exact perfection, not only as to the result but in the very means apd instruments, or he thought the thing miscarried. It chancefl he was one day riding in the outer suburbs, when he came to a disused by-road branching off into the moor which lies about Rome. On the one hand was an ancient Roman tomb; on the other a deserted house in a garden of evergreen trees. This road brought him presently into a field of ruin, in the midst of which, in the side of a hill, he saw an open door and (not far off) a single stunted pine no greater than a currant bush. The place was desert and very secret; a voice spoke in the count’s bosom that there was something here to his advantage. He tied his horse lo the pine-tree, took his flint and Steel in his hand to make a light, und entered into the hill. The doorway opened on a passage of old Roman masonry, which shortly after branched in two. The count took the turning to -the right, and followed it, groping forward in the

dark, till he was brought up by a kin±fjßCe; about elbow-high, which extended quite across the passage. Sounding forward with his foot, he found an edge of polished stone, and then vacancy. All his curiosity was now awakened, and, getting some rotten sticks that lay about the floor, he made a fire. In front of him was a profound well; doubtless some neighboring peasant had once used it for his water, and it was he who had set up the fence. A long while the count stood leaning on the rail and looking down into the pit. It was of Roman foundation, and, like all that nation set "their hands to, built as for eternity; the sides were still straight and the joints smooth; to a man who should fall into it, ho escape was possible. ‘Now,’the count was thinking, ‘a strong impulsion brought me to this place; what for? what have I gained? why should I be sent to gaze into this well?—when the rail of the fence gave suddenly under his weight and. he came within an ace of falling headlong in. *Leaping back to save himself, he trod out the last "flicker of his_ firej - which gave him thenceforward no more light, Only an incommoding smoke... ‘Was I sent here, to my death?’ says he, and shook from head to foot. And then a thought flashed in his mind. He crept forth on hands and knees to the brink of the pit and felt above him in the air. The rail had been fast to a pair of uprights; it had only broken from the one, and still depended from the other. The count set it back again as he had found it so that the place meant death to the first comer; and groped out of the catacomb like a sick man.

The next day, riding in the Corso with the baron, he purposely betrayed a strong preoccupation. The Other (as he had designed) inquired into the cause; and he (after some fencing) admitted that his spirits had been dashed by an unusual dream. This was calculated to draw on the baron—a superstitious man who affected the scorn qf superstition. Some rallying followed; and then the count (as if carried away) called on his friend to beware, for t was of him that he had d reamed. You know enough of human mature, my excellent Mackellar, to be certain of one thing; I mean, that the baron did not rest till he had heard the dream. The count (sure that he would never desist) kept, him in play till his curiosity was HighlylKflanied, and then suffered himself with seeming reluctance to be overborne. ‘I warn you.’ says he. ‘evil will come of it; something tells me so. But since there is to be no peace either for you or me except on this condition, the blame be on your own head! This was the dream. I beheld you riding, I know not where, yet I think it must have been near Rome, for on your one hand was an ancient tomb and on the other a garden of evergreen trees. Methought I cried and cried upon you to come back in a very agony of terror; whether you heard me, I know not, but you went doggedly on. The road brought you to a desert place among ruins; where w-as a door in a hillside, and hard by the door a misbegotten pine. Here you dismounted (I still crying on you to beware) tied your horse to the pine-tree, and entered resolutely in by the door. Within it was dark; but in my dream I could still jee you, and still besought you to hold back. You felt your way along the righthand wall, took a' branching passage to the right, and came to a little chamber, „where was a well with a railing. At this (I know not why) my alarm for you increased a thous-and-fold, so that I seemed to scream myself hoarse with warnings, crying it was still time and bidding you begone at once from that vestibule. Such was the word I used in my dream, and it seemed then to have a clear significancy; but to-day and awake, I profess I know not what it means. To all my outcry you rendered not the least attention, leaning the while upon the rail and looking down intently in the water. And then there was made to you a communication, I do not think I even gathered what it was, but the fear of it plucked me clean out of my slumber; and I awoke shaking and sobbing. And now,’ continues the count, ‘I thank you from my heart for your insistency. The dream lay on me like a load; and now I have told it in plain words and in the broad daylight, it seems no great matter.’—‘l do not know.’ says the baron. ‘lt is in some points strange. A communication did you say? Oh, it is an odd dream. It will make a story to amuse our friends.’ —‘I am not sure,’ says the count. ‘I am sensible of some reluctancy. Let us rather forget it.’—‘By all means,’ says the baron. And the dream was not again referred to. Somedays after, the count proposed a ride in the fields, which the baron (since they were daily growing faster friends) very rehdily accepted. On the way back to Rome, the count led them insensibly by a particular route. Presently he reined in his horse, clapped his hand before his eyes, and cried. out aloud. Then he showed his face again (which was now quite white, for he was a consummate actor) and stared upon the baron. ‘What is wrong with you?’ cries the baron. ‘What ails you?'—‘Nothing,’ cries the count. ‘lt is nothing. A seizure, I know not what. Let us hurry back to Rome.’ But in the meanwhile tho baron had looked about him; and there, on the left hand side of the road as they went back to Rome, he saw a dusty byroad with a tomb upon the one hand and a garden of evergreen trees upon the other hand. ‘YeS,’ says he, with a Changed voice. ‘Let us by all means hurry back to Roma. I fear you are not well in health.’—

‘Oh, for God’s sake',’ cries the count, shuddering. “Rack to Rome and let me get toiled.’ They made their return with scarce a word; and the count, who should by rightshave gone into society, took to his bed and gave 9 out that he had a touch of country fever. The next day the baron’s horse was found tied to the pine, but himself was never heard of from that hour. And now, was that a murder?" says the master, breaking sharply off. “Are you sure he was a count?” I asked.

M I am not certain of the title,” said he, “but he was a gentleman; and the Lord del i ver you, Mackellar, from an enemy so subtle!” These words he spoke dowif at me smiling, from high above; the next he was under my feet. I continued to follow his evolutions with a childish fixity; they made me giddy and vacant, and I spoke as in a dream. ■ “He hated the baron with a great hatred?” Tasked. ' belly moved when the man came near him,” said the master. “I have felt that same,” said I. “ Verily!” cries the master. “Here is news indeed! I- wonder —do I flatter myself ? or am I the cause of these ventral perturbations?” He was quite capable of choosing out a graceful posture, even with no One to hold him but myself, and all the more if there, were any element of peril. He sat now with one knee flung across the other, his arms on his bosom, fitting the swing of the ship with an exquisite balance, such as a feather-weight might-overthrow. All at once I had the vision of my - lord at the table with his head upon his hands; only now, when he showed me his countenance, it was heavy with reproach. The words of my own prayer —I were liker a man if I struck this creature down—shot at the same time into my memory. I called my energies together, andfthe ship then heeling downward toward my enemy) thrust at him swiftly with my foot. It was written I should have the guilt of this attempt without the profit. Whether from my own uncertainty or his incredible quickness, he escaped the thrust, leaping to his feet and catching hold at the same moment of a stay. Ido not know how long a time passed by: I lying where I was upon the deck, overcome with terror and remorse and shame: he standing with the stay in his hand, backed against, the bulwarks, and regarding me with an expression singularly mingled. At last he spoke. “Mackellar," said he, _‘.fl make no reproaches, but I offer you a bargain. On your side, I do not suppose you desire to have this exploit made public; on mine, I own to you freely, I do not care to draw my breath in a perpetual terror of assassination by the man I sit at meat with. Promise me —but no,” says he, breaking off, “you are not yet in the quiet possession of your mind; you might think I had extorted the promise?from your weakness; and I would leave no door open for casuis-

try to come in—that dishonesty of the conscientious. Take time to meditate.” With that he made off up the sliding deck like a squirrel and plunged into the cabin. About half an hour later he returned: I still lying as he had left me. “Now,” says he, “will you give me your troth as a Christian and a faithful servant of my brother’s, that I shall have no more to fear from your attempts?” “I give it you,” said I. “I shall require your hand upon it, ” says he. “You have the right to make conditions," I replied, and we shook hands. He sat down at once in the same place and the old perilous attitude. “Hold onl" cried I, ,covering my eyes. ‘‘l can not bear to see you in that posture. The least irregularity of the sea might plunge you overboard.” “You are highly inconsistent,” he replied, smiling, but doing as I asked. “For all that, Mackellar, I would have you to know that you have risen forty feet in my esteem. You think I can not set a price ou fidelity? But why do you suppose I carry that Secundra Dass about the world with me? Because he would die or do murder for me to-morow; and I love him for it. Well, you may think it odd, but I like you the better for the afternoon’s performance. I thought you were magnetized with the Ten Commandments; but no — God damn my soul!" he cries, “the old wife has blood in his body after all! Which does not change the fact,” he continued, smiling again, “that you have done well to give your promise, for I doubt if you would ever shine in your new trade.” “I suppose,” said I, “I should ask your pardon and God’s for my attempt. At any rate 1 have passed my word, which I will keep faithfully. But when I think of those you persecute —” I paused. “Life is a singular thing,” said he, “and mankind a very singular people. You suppose yourself to love my brother. I assure you it is merely custom. Interrogate your memory, and when first you came to Durrisdeer you will find you considered him a dull, ordinary youth. He is dull and ordinary now, though not so young. Had you instead fallen in with, me, you would to-day be as strong on my side.” “I would never say you were ordinary, Mr. Bally," I returned; I‘but here you prove yourself dull. You have just shown your reliance on my word. In other terms, that is my conscience—the same that starts instinctively back from you, like the eve from astrong light.”

“Ah!" says he, “but I mean other! wise. I mean bad I met you in my youth. You are to consider I was not always as I am to-day; nor (had I met with a friend of your description) should I have ever been so." “Hut! Mr. Bally," says I, “you would have made a mock of me; you would never have spent ten civil words oh such squaretoes." But he was now fairly started on on his new course of justification, with which he wearied me throughout the remainder of the passage. No doubt in the past he had taken pleasure to paint .himself unnecessarily black and made a vaunt of his wickedness, bearing it as acoat-of-arms. Nor was he so illogical as to abate .one item of his old confessions. ‘ ‘But now that I know you are a human being," he would say, “I can take the trouble to explain myself. For I assure you I am human, too, and have my virtues, like my neighbors.” I .say he wearied me, for I had only the one word to say in answer; twenty times I must have said it: “Give up your present, purpose and return with me to Durrisdeer; then I will believe yotr Uj== “ Thereupon he would shake his head at me. “Ah, Mackellar, you might live a thousand years and never understand my nature,” he would say. “This battle is now committed, the hour for reflection is quite past, the hour for mercy not yet come; It began between us when we spun a coin in the hall of Durrisdeer, now twenty years ago; we have had our ups and downs, but never either of us dreamed of giving in; and as for me, when my glove is cast life and honor go with it. ”

“A fig for your honor,” I would say. “And by your leave, these war like similitudes are something too high sounding for the matter in hand. Yott want some dirty money, there is the bottom of-your contention; and as for your means, what are they?— to stir- up sorrow in a family that never harmed you, to debauch (if you can) your own born nephew, and to wring the heart of your born brother! A footpad that kills an old granny in a woolen mutch with a dirty bludgeon, and that for a shilling piece and a paper of snuff—there is all the warrior you are.” When I would attack him thus (or somewhat thus) he would smile and sigh like a man misunderstood. Once, I remember, he defended himself more atlarge, and had some curious sophistries, worth repeating for a light upon his character. ‘‘You are. very like a 'civilian to think war consists in drums and banners,” said he. “ War (as the ancients said very wisely) is the ultima ratio. When we take our advantage unrelentingly then we make war Ah, Mackellar, you are a devil of a soldier in the steward's room at Durrisdeer, or the tenants dp you sad injustice!” ‘‘l think little of what war is or is not,” I replied. “But you weary me with claiming my respect. Your brother is a good man, and you are a bad one—neither more nor less.” “Had I been Alexander —" he began. “It is so we all dupe ourselves,” I cried. “Had I been St. Paul, it would have been all one; I would have made the same hash of that ca-

reer that you now see me making of my own.” “I tell you,” he cried, bearing down my interruption, “had I been the least petty chieftain in the Highlands, had I been the least king of naked negroes in the African desert, my people would have adored me. A bad man, am I? Ah, but I was born for a good tyrant! Ask Secundra Dass; he will tell you I treat him like a son. Cast in your lot with me tomorrow, become my slave, my chattel, a tfflHW“T*can command as I command the powers of my own limbs and spirit—you will see no more that dark side that I turn upon the world in anger. I must have all or none. But where all is given I give it back with usury. I have a kingly nature; there is my loss!” “It has been hitherto rather the great loss of others,” I remarked; “which seems a little on the hither side of royalty.” “Tilly vally!" cried he. “Even now, I tell you T would spare that family in which you take so great an interest? yes even now —to-morrow 1 would leave them to their petty welfare, and disappear in that forest ol cut-throats and thimble-riggers that we call the world. I would do it tomorrow!” says he. “Only—only—” “Only what?” I asked. “Only they must beg it on their bended knees. I think in public too,” he added, smiling. “Indeed, Mackellar, I doubt if there be a hall big enough to serve my purpose for that act of reparation.” “Vanity, vanity!”! moralized. “To think that this great force for evil shouldbe swayed by the same sentiment that sets a lassie mincing to her glass!” “Oh, there are double words for everything; the word that swells;the word that belittles; you cannot fight me with a word!" said he. “You said the other day that I relied on your conscience; were lin your humor of detraction, I might say I built upon your vanity. It is your pretension to be un homme de parole ftis mine not to accept defeat. Call it vanity, call it virtue, call it greatness of soul—what signifies the expression? But recognize in each of z us a common strain: that we both live for an idea. ” (to bk continued.) (

It is recalled that the lato tlcn. Beauregard built the first cable railroad in the country. The road was constructed just after tho war, and extended from tho city of New Orleans to the suburb of Carrollton.