Chapter 4
More than a week went by on the tenth afternoon there was a falling swell and a thick, wet, white fog that hid one end of the brig from the other. I felt danger in the air and was excited.
Maybe about ten at night, I was serving Mr. Riach and the captain their supper, when the ship struck something with a great sound.
“It’s struck!” said Mr. Riach.
“No, sir,” said the captain, “we’ve only run a boat down.”
We had run down a boat in the fog. And all her crew but one had drowned. The moment of the blow, he had leapt up and caught hold of the brig’s bowsprit. That had taken luck and much strength.
The man was small, but nimble as a goat. His eyes were light and had a kind of dancing madness in them. He wore fine clothes: a feathered hat, breeches of black plush, and his coat had silver buttons. Fine clothes, but they were spoiled a bit by fog and being slept in. He laid a pair of pistols decorated with silver on the table, and I saw he wore a great sword. I thought, at first sight, that here was a man I would rather call my friend than my enemy.
They sent me for food. When I returned, the gentleman had his money belt full of gold guineas on the table, and the captain was agreeing to set him ashore at a safe place.
Here’s my hand upon it,” said the captain, and then he left. While I served the man supper, he told me that he was a smuggler of rents and had served King Louis of France. He was a rebel against the English King, and his life would be in danger the moment he set foot on land.
When I went to get him some wine, I heard Hoseason and Riach plotting against him for his money. I was filled with anger at the greedy, bloody men that I sailed with.
They called me in because they needed me to get powder and guns from the roundhouse. They knew that the stranger would not suspect me.
“I’ll remember it when we come to Carolina,” said Hoseason, “And David, that man has a beltful of gold, and I give you my word you shall have some of it.”
What was I to do? They were dogs and thieves. They had stolen me from my country; they had killed poor Ransome. Was I to help in another murder? But what could a boy and a man do against a whole ship’s company?
I returned to the roundhouse and put my hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Do you want to be killed? said I.
He sprang to his feet.
“They’re all murderers here.”
“Will you stand with me?” said he.
“That I will!” said I.
“Why, then,” said he, “what’s your name?”
“David Balfour,” said I, “of Shaws.”
“My name is Stewart,” he said, “Alan Breck, they call me.”
We set to securing the roundhouse. When I moved to slide shut the stout oak door, Alan stopped me.
“It would be better shut,” said I.
“Not so, David,” said he, “I have but one face. So long as that door is open and my face to it, my enemies will be in front of me, where I would wish to find them. How many are against us?”
“Fifteen,” said I.
Alan whistled, “Well,” said he, “as soon as the pistols are charged, then you must climb into your bed, so you’re ready at the window. If they lift a hand against that door, you’re to shout. It is my part to keep this door. And don’t fire over here unless they get me down. I’d rather have ten foes in front of me than one friend cracking pistols at my back!”
The captain appeared in the open door.
“Stand!” cried Alan and pointed his sword at him.
Hoseason said nothing to Alan, but looked over at me with an ugly look. “David,” said he, “I’ll remember this,” and the sound of his voice went through me. Next moment, he had gone.
A little while after, there came a clash of steel upon the deck. I knew they were dealing out cutlasses and one had fallen. After that, silence prevailed again.
It came all of a sudden when it did, with a rush of feet and a roar, then a shout from Alan, and a sound of blows and someone crying out as if hurt. I looked back over my shoulder and saw Mr. Shaun in the doorway, crossing blades with Alan.
“That’s him that killed the boy!” I cried.
“Look to your window!” said Alan.
Five men took places to drive the door in. I had never fired with a pistol in my life, never against a fellow creature. But it was now or never. I cried out, “Take that!” and shot.
The whole place was full of smoke. My ears seemed to be burst with the noise of the shots. There was Alan, standing as before, only now his sword was bloody to the hilt. Right before him on the floor was Mr. Shuan. Those behind him dragged him out of the roundhouse. He was dead.
I told Alan I had winged one and thought it was the captain. Keeping watch with eye and ear, I recharged the three pistols I had fired. The thought of sharp swords and cold steel was strong in me. When I began to hear stealthy steps and knew they were taking their places in the dark, I almost cried out.
I heard seamen drop softly on the roof above me. A knot of them, cutlasses in hand, made one rush against the door. At the same moment, the glass of the skylight was dashed, and a man leapt through and landed on the floor. He grabbed me. I gave a shriek and shot him in the middle of the body. A second fellow I shot in the thigh.
The door was crowded with faces. I was thinking we were lost, when lo! Alan was driving them along the deck as a sheepdog chases sheep.
The roundhouse was in shambles. Three were dead inside, another lay dying across the doorway. Alan and I were victorious and unhurt. He came up to me with open arms. “Come to my arms!” he cried, and embraced and kissed me hard upon cheeks. “David,” said he, “I love you like a brother. And O man! Am I not a bonny fighter?”
The thought of two men I had shot was like a nightmare, and before I had a guess of what was coming, I began to sob and cry like and child. Alan clapped my shoulder and said I was a brave lad and only needed a sleep.
He took the first watch, pistol in hand and sword on knee. Then he roused me up and I took my turn of three hours. It was then broad day and a very quiet morning. There was a smooth rolling sea that tossed the ship and made the blood run to and fro on the roundhouse floor, and a heavy rain that drummed upon the roof. I learnt later that so many of the men were hurt or dead, and the rest of them in so ill a temper, that Mr. Riach and the captain had to take turns at the watch like Alan and me. Otherwise, the brig might have drifted ashore. No one would have known because there was no one at the tiller.
Alan and I sat down to breakfast at about six o’ clock. We had all the drink in the ship and all the dainty food, but the broken glass and horrid mess of blood on the floor took away my hunger.
Alan, taking a knife from the table, cut off one of the silver buttons from his coat.
“I got them,” said he, “from my father, Duncan Stewart, and now give you one of them to be a keepsake for last night’s work. Wherever you go and show that button, the friends of Alan Breck will come around you.”
We were hailed by Mr. Riach, asking for a parley. I climbed through the skylight and sat on the edge of it, pistol on hand. He looked out of heart and weary.
“This is a bad job,” said he at last, shaking his head.
“We didn’t choose it,” said I.
“The captain,” said he, “would like to speak with your friend.”
The captain came to one of the windows and stood there in the rain, with his arm in a sling. He looked stern and pale and so old that I was sorry I had fired at him.
“You’ve made sore hash of my brig. I haven’t men enough to sail it. There is nothing left me but to put back into the port of Glasgow.”
“Why?” said Alan, “Unless there’s nobody who speaks English in that town, I’ll have a bonny tale for them. Fifteen sailors upon one side, and a man and a Halfling boy upon the other. O man, it’s pitiful!”
Hoseason flushed red, “But my first officer is dead; there’s none of us who knows this coast. It’s one very dangerous to ships.”
It was finally decided that the captain would risk the brig to set Alan safely along the coast. The last part of the treaty was a trade: a bottle of brandy for two buckets of water. Alan and I could at last wash out the roundhouse, and the captain and Mr. Riach could be happy again in their way, with a drink.
