The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 20
Stevenson, Robert Louis
French -- England -- Fiction; Prisoners of war -- Fiction
It seemed this was the signal for the engagement to be discontinued. The
other combatants separated at once; our foes were suffered, without
molestation, to lift up and bear away their fallen comrade; so that I
perceived this sort of war to be not wholly without laws of chivalry,
and perhaps rather to partake of the character of a tournament than of a
battle _a outrance_. There was no doubt, at least, that I was supposed
to have pushed the affair too seriously. Our friends the enemy removed
their wounded companion with undisguised consternation; and they were
no sooner over the top of the brae than Sim and Candlish roused up their
wearied drove and set forth on a night march.
"I'm thinking Faa's unco bad," said the one.
"Ay," said the other, "he lookit dooms gash."
"He did that," said the first.
And their weary silence fell upon them again.
Presently Sim turned to me. "Ye're unco ready with the stick," said he.
"Too ready, I'm afraid," said I. "I am afraid Mr. Faa (if that be his
name) has got his gruel."
"Weel, I wouldna wonder," replied Sim.
"And what is likely to happen?" I inquired.
"Aweel," said Sim, snuffing profoundly, "if I were to offer an opeenion,
it would not be conscientious. For the plain fac' is, Mr. St. Ivy, that
I div not ken. We have had crackit heids--and rowth of them--ere now;
and we have had a broken leg, or maybe twa; and the like of that we
drover bodies make a kind of a practice like to keep among oursel's. But
a corp we have none of us ever had to deal with, and I could set na
leemit to what Gillies micht consider proper in the affair. Forbye that,
he would be in raither a hobble himsel' if he was to gang hame wantin'
Faa. Folk are awfu' throng with their questions, and parteecularly when
they're no' wantit."
"That's a fac'," said Candlish.
I considered this prospect ruefully; and then making the best of it,
"Upon all which accounts," said I, "the best will be to get across the
Border and there separate. If you are troubled, you can very truly put
the blame upon your late companion; and if I am pursued, I must just try
to keep out of the way."
"Mr. St. Ivy," said Sim, with something resembling enthusiasm, "no' a
word mair! I have met in wi' mony kinds o' gentry ere now; I hae seen o'
them that was the tae thing, and I hae seen o' them that was the tither;
but the wale of a gentleman like you I have no' sae very frequently
seen the bate of."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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