Kidnapped (Illustrated): Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the Year 1751Stevenson, Robert Louis
History
Kidnapped (Illustrated): Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the Year 1751
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Kidnapping -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
This state of my affairs dashed me still further; and indeed my plight
on that third morning was truly pitiful. My clothes were beginning to
rot; my stockings in particular were quite worn through, so that my
shanks went naked; my hands had grown quite soft with the continual
soaking; my throat was very sore, my strength had much abated, and my
heart so turned against the horrid stuff I was condemned to eat, that
the very sight of it came near to sicken me.
And yet the worst was not yet come.
There is a pretty high rock on the northwest of Earraid, which (because
it had a flat top and overlooked the Sound) I was much in the habit of
frequenting; not that ever I stayed in one place, save when asleep, my
misery giving me
[Illustration: ON THE ISLAND OF EARRAID
_But the second day passed; and as long as the light lasted I kept a
bright look-out for boats on the sound or men passing on the Ross_]
no rest. Indeed, I wore myself down with continual and aimless goings
and comings in the rain.
As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of that
rock to dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing I cannot
tell. It set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which I had
begun to despair; and I scanned the sea and the Ross with a fresh
interest. On the south of my rock, a part of the island jutted out and
hid the open ocean, so that a boat could thus come quite near me upon
that side, and I be none the wiser.
Well, all of a sudden, a coble with a brown sail and a pair of fishers
aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle, bound for Iona.
I shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the rock and reached up my
hands and prayed to them. They were near enough to hear--I could even
see the colour of their hair; and there was no doubt but they observed
me, for they cried out in the Gaelic tongue, and laughed. But the boat
never turned aside, and flew on, right before my eyes, for Iona.
I could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from rock
to rock, crying on them piteously; even after they were out of reach of
my voice, I still cried and waved to them; and when they were quite
gone, I thought my heart would have burst. All the time of my troubles I
wept only twice. Once, when I could not reach the yard, and now, the
second time, when these fishers turned a deaf ear to my cries. But this
time I wept and roared like a wicked child, tearing up the turf with my
nails, and grinding my face in the earth. If a wish would kill men,
those two fishers would never have seen morning, and I should likely
have died upon my island.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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