Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

THE   DEATH   OF   THE   RED   FOX.                    159
I asked my boatman what it should be; and he
answered he supposed it was some of the red soldiers
coming from Fort William into Appin, against the poor
tenantry of the country. Well, it was a sad sight to
me; and whether it was because of my thoughts of
Alan, or from something prophetic in my bosom, although
this was but the second time I had seen King George's
troops, I had no good will to them.
At last we came so near the point of land at the
entering in of Loch Leven that I begged to be set on
shore. My boatman (who was an honest fellow and
mindful of his promise to the catechist) would fain have
carried me on to Balachulish; but as this was to take
me farther from my secret destination, I insisted, and
was set on shore at last under the wood of Lettermore
(or Lettervore, for I have heard it both ways) in Alan's
country of Appin.
This was a wood of birches, growing on a steep,
craggy side of a mountain that overhung the loch. It
had many openings and ferny dells; and a road or bridle
track ran north and south through the midst of it, by
the edge of which, where was a spring, I sat down to
eat some oat-bread of Mr. Henderland's, and think upon
my situation.
Here I was not only troubled by a cloud of stinging
midges, but far more by the doubts of my mind. What
I ought to do, why I was going to join myself with an
outlaw and a would-be murderer like Alan, whether I
should not be acting more like a man of sense to tramp