IN WHICH ARE SET FORTH HIS MISFORTUNES ANENT THE APPIN MURDER, HIS TROUBLES WITH LORD ADVOCATE GRANT: CAPTIVITY ON THE BASS ROCK, JOURNEY INTO HOLLAND AND FRANCE, AND SINGULAR RELATIONS WITH JAMES MORE DRUMMOND OR MACGREGOR, A SON OF THE NOTORIOUS ROB ROY, AND HIS DAUGHTER CATRIONA: WRITTEN BY HIMSELF, AND NOW SET FORTH BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _TO CHARLES BAXTER_ _WRITER TO THE SIGNET_ _My dear Charles,_ _It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them; and my David, having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustre in the British Linen Company's office, must expect his late re-appearance to be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles. Yet, when I remember the days of our explorations, I am not without hope. There should be left in our native city some seed of the elect; some long-legged, hot-headed youth must repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings of so many years ago; he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow among named streets and numbered houses the country walks of David Balfour, to identify Dean, and Silvermills, and Broughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig, and poor old Lochend--if it still be standing, and the Figgate Whins--if there be any of them left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afield as Gillane or the Bass. So, perhaps, his eye shall be opened to behold the series of the generations, and he shall weigh with surprise his momentous and nugatory gift of life._ _You are still--as when first I saw, as when I last addressed you--in the venerable city which I must always think of as my home. And I have come so far; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me; and I see like a vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the whole stream of lives flowing down there far in the north, with the sound of laughter and tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet, on these ultimate islands. And I admire and bow my head before the romance of destiny._ _R. L. S._ _Vailima, Upolu,_ _Samoa, 1892._ PART I THE LORD ADVOCATE CATRIONA CHAPTER I A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me from their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning, I was like a beggarman by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to my last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my own head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. To-day I was served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank-porter by me carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of the saying) the ball directly at my foot.