All language subtitles for Kidnapped.1960.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX] eng

He was a good man, Davie.

Yes, sir.

Here's the key
to the schoolhouse, sir.

Thank you.

I'll go with you
as far as the ford.

Yes, sir.

Well, Davie, are you sorry
to leave this place?

I could answer that,
Mr. Campbell,

if I knew where I was going
or what was likely

to become of me.

'Tis a good place indeed.

But then I've never been
anywhere else.

And now that
my father's dead, I'm-

I'm no nearer to him here

than I would be
in the kingdom of Hungary.

To tell you the truth, sir,
if I knew I was going

where I could better myself,

I should be leaving
with a good heart.

Very well, Davie.

Then it behooves me
to tell you your fortune.

Or so far as I may.

You see, Davie,
when your father,

that worthy Christian man,
began to sicken for his end,

he gave me this letter, which
he said was your inheritance.

"So soon as I am gone," said he,

"give my boy this letter
in his hand

"and start him off for the house
of Shaws near cramond.

It was there I came from,"
he said.

"And it's there it befits
my boy should return."

The house of Shaws?

What did my father to do
with the house of Shaws?

Who can say?

But the name of the family
is the name you bear-

Balfour of Shaws.

"To the hand of Ebenezer
Balfour, esquire, of Shaws,

"in his house of Shaws,

this will be delivered
by my son, David Balfour."

Mr. Campbell,
if you were in my shoes,

would you go?
Indeed I would.

A lad like you should get there
in but two days of walk.

Good-bye, Mr. Campbell.

May god be with ye.

And, Davie!
Yes, sir?

Mind you do not shame us

in yon great house
with all those domestics,

upper and under.

Show yourself as nice
and circumspect as any.

Yes, sir.

And as for the laird.

Remember, he's the laird.

I'll say no more.

It's a pleasure to obey a laird

or should be to the young.

Of course, sir.

Good-bye, sir.

Good-bye, Davie.

Which way is cramond?

Down the road, mannie.

Have you heard
of a house by there

that they call
the house of Shaws?

Aye.

'Tis a great house?

Aye.

But the folk that are in it?

Folk?
Are you daft?

There's no folk there

to be called folk.

Not Mr. Ebenezer Balfour?

Ou, ay, there's the laird,
to be sure,

if it's him you're wanting.

It's none of my affairs,

but you seem
a decent-spoken lad.

And if you'll take
a word from me,

you'll steer clear of the Shaws.

Mother.

Which way is the house of Shaws?

The house of Shaws?

Aye.
- That is the house of Shaws.

Blood built it,

blood stopped the building
of it,

and blood will bring it down.

And if you see the laird,

tell him what you hear-

that this makes
the 1, 219th time

that Jennet Clouston
has called down her curse

on his house, byre, and stable,

man, guest, or master,

wife, miss, or bairn!

Black be their fall.

Is anybody there?

Is anybody there?

Is Mr. Balfour there?

Open this door.

You can hear me!

Open this door!

It's loaded.

I'm here with a letter
to Mr. Ebenezer Balfour.

Then put it down on the
doorstep, and be off with ye.

I will not.

'Tis a letter of introduction.

And I will deliver it
to Mr. Balfour's own hands.

And who are yourself?

A Balfour just as he is-

David Balfour.

Is your father dead?

Aye, he'll be dead no doubt,

and that'll be what
brings you to my door.

Enter the kitchen, will ye?

And touch nothing!

Are you sharp-set?

Can you eat that drop
of porridge?

But no doubt
that's your own supper.

Oh, I can do fine wanting it.

I'll take that bit
of small beer.

It slockens my cough.

Now give me Alexander's letter.

How did you know
my father's name?

It'd be strange if I didn't,

for he was my born brother.

And little as you seem
to like me

or my house or my good porridge,

I'm your born uncle
and you, Davie,

my born nephew.

So the letter's for me and
for nobody else in the world.

Now sit down
and fill your belly.

Do you Ken what's in this?

The seal wasn't broken.

You saw that yourself.

Aye, but what brought you here?

You'll have had some hopes,
no doubt.

Aye, sir.

When I heard that I had
kinfolk well-to-do,

I did think they might
help me in life.

But I want no favors
that are not freely given.

Hoot-toot, do not fly up
in the snuff at me.

If you're done with
that bit of porridge,

I could just take
a sup of it myself.

Has your father been long dead?

Three weeks, sir.

He was a secret man, Alexander-

a secret, silent man.

He'll never have spoken
much of me?

I never knew he had a brother

till you told me so yourself.

Dear me.

And the house of Shaws?

He never spoke of that either,
I dare say.

Not so much as the name.

To think of that.

Strange nature of a man.

And now come away to your bed.

Yes, sir.

We'll agree fine yet,
Davie, my man.

I'm just as glad I let you in.

Good night, dear Davie.
- Will you leave me no candle?

Did nobody ever tell you
that a candle costs money?

Ebenezer Balfour, esquire...

Of Shaws...

In his house of Shaws.

Your breakfast's ready!

Bond, wholesome food porridge.

And cheap.

Aye, and cheap.

I don't imagine that you'd take
small beer to your breakfast.

I do, but don't
put yourself out.

No, no, I'll deny you nothing

in reason.

You see, Davie,

you came to the right place

when you came
to your uncle Ebenezer

for I have a great notion
of the family,

and I mean to do right by ye.

But I'm a poor man.

Never forget that.

For my father sinfully
wasted the estate

when he began
to rebuild this house.

Mind ye, I sent the workmen
packing ten minutes

after he was dead,
but it was too late, Davie.

It was too late.

That's not how
Jennet Clouston tells it.

Jennet Clouston?

And what
did Jennet Clouston say?

That blood built it,

blood stopped
the building of it,

and blood will bring it down.

And she told me to tell you

that this makes the 1,219th time

that she called down
a curse on your house.

A witch. A proclaimed witch.

1,219?

That's every day
since I had her sold up.

I'm off to see
the session clerk.

I'll have her roasted
in red peats

before I'm by with her.

There's too much here.

I can't leave you by yourself
in the house.

I'll have to lock you out.

If you lock me out,

it'll be the last you see
of me in friendship.

David, this is not the way
to win my favor.

Sir, with a proper reverence
for our common blood,

I do not value your favor
at the penny's purchase.

And if you are all the uncle

and all the family
I have in the world,

I wouldn't buy your liking
at those prices.

Well, we must bear
and forbear.

I'll not go.

That's all
that's to be said of it.

When my father was little,

was he quick at his book?

Alexander?

Not him.

I was far quicker myself.

I was a clever chappie
when I was young.

I found this on the shelf.

"To my brother Ebenezer

on his fifth birthday."

In my father's own hand.

Yet you are the laird of Shaws.

So wasn't he younger than you?

What made you ask that?

Because if he wrote this
when he was only four,

he must have been very quick
indeed at his book.

And take your hands
from my jacket.

This is no way to behave.

You shouldn't speak to me
of your father, Davie.

That's where the mistake is.

He was all the brother
that ever I had.

Nevertheless, there are things
that I don't understand.

And whether you like me
to speak of my father

or whether you do not,

I intend to find them out.

So be it, Davie.

So be it.

Go on up there.

At the top of the tower,
there's a wee room

with a chest in it.

Bring the chest down to me.

There are papers in it
that'll tell you everything.

Very well.

Uh, do not take the light.

I'm not well, Davie.

I'm an old man,
and I'm not well.

Get along, lad.
Get along.

Are you alive?

Oh, man, are you alive?

That I am,
and small thanks to you.

The wee bottle
on the mantelpiece.

It's the trouble.

The trouble, Davie.

It's the heart.

You're quite well enough
to speak now.

So follow on
with your explanation.

And now you have
one more thing to explain-

why you tried to kill me.

For pity's sake,
let me go to my bed, Davie.

I'll tell you everything
the morning.

As sure as death I will.

Very well.

But this is where you'll sleep.

Good night to ye.
- Good night, uncle Ebenezer.

What cheer, mate?
Here's a letter for your master.

From captain Hoseason himself.

And who might
captain Hoseason be?

Never heard of Hoseason,

captain of the brig covenant?

And a man what minds for nothing

in heaven nor on earth.

Why, he'd crack on all sail into
the day of judgment, he would.

And I'm his cabin boy
and proud of it.

You see, Davie,

I have a trading venture
with this man Hoseason.

And now he writes that he's
ashore at Queensferry

and ready to sail.

Look for yourself.

He wants to meet me at the inn

for we have business to settle.

So have we.
And ours comes first.

No, no, Davie man,
do not be hasty.

For after all
that's come and gone,

I doubt if you would believe me
upon my naked word.

Your doubt is right.

But, you see, there he writes

of Mr. Rankeillor,
the lawyer.

Now after we're done at the inn,
we'll jog on to Mr. Rankeillor,

and there's a man
you will believe.

For he's lawyer to half
the gentry in these parts-

an old man, forby,
highly respected,

and he knew your father.

Very well.

We'll go to the inn

and directly afterwards
to Mr. Rankeillor.

What do they think
of Mr. Ebenezer here abouts?

That he's a wicked old man.

Many would like to see him
dancing at the end of a rope.

Jennet Clouston,
all the other folks

he's hurried out
of hearth and home.

He was a fine young fellow once,

but that was before the report
went out about Mr. Alexander.

Mr. Alexander?

What was the report
about Mr. Alexander?

Only that Ebenezer killed him.

You never hear that, man?

What would he kill him for?

Just to get the place.

The house of Shaws?

No other place that I Ken.

Then my... then Alexander
was the eldest son.

Indeed he was.

What else would he
have killed him for?

Master Davie, your uncle
tells me great things of you.

I wish I was for longer here

that we might make
the better friends.

But you must come aboard
my brig for half an hour

till the ebb sets
and drink a bowl with me.

Well, I'm on my way
to Mr. Rankeillor, the lawyer.

And so is my uncle.

Aye, he passed me word of that.

But the boat'll set you ashore
at the town pier.

Rankeillor's...

Take care of that old fox.
He means mischief.

Come on board till
I can get a word with ye.

We must be fast on board.

Welcome to my ship,
Mr. Balfour.

And now let me show you
the lie of her.

Mind ye, she's only
a small, trading boat,

sailing for the most part
from here to the carolinas.

But she's home to me,
Mr. Balfour.

That's my berth.

Now since the mates
are never off duty together.

They use the other-turn
and turnabout.

Here I keep all the valuable
of the ship stores-

brandy, for instance.

But to tell the truth,

my first mate's
only too fond of that.

In here,
pistols, powder, and shot.

You never know
what sort of ruffian

you may ship up on your crew.

Over here...
- Wasn't there something

you were going to tell me?

Something about my uncle?

Was there, young man?

Was something about
my old friend Mr. Ebenezer?

Where is my uncle?

That's the point, young man.

Come back!
Come back!

Bring back that boat!

Take the boy out of this hole

and put him in the forecastle.

Why should he not bide here?

After what you did to him

and the fever he has
in consequence,

it wouldn't be beyond him
to die in a place like this.

Well, you was paid to
get rid of him, wasn't you?

Mr. Shaun, you've been
with me three cruises,

and if you'd spent less time
at the bottle,

you might have got to know me.

I'm a stiff man,
and I'm a dour man,

but I'm a man of principle.

And I'll have no part in murder.

Very noble of you.

Besides, if he's dead
when we reach the carolinas,

he'll not be worth
a scotch shilling.

Mr. Shaun, take the boy
to the forecastle.

Drunk or sober,
you'll obey my orders.

Take him to the forecastle,

and be quick about it.

Told you that's where
he should have been

in the first place.

One day, he'll go too far.

Look. I'm sick and tired
of being knocked about.

And, one day, I'm gonna use it.

Well, who got you into this?

My uncle.

Gah, I'm lucky.

Don't have no relations at all.

I had a father once, though.

I remember he kept
a jackdaw in the parlor

what could whistle
rule, brittania!

But I ain't heard
tell of him or the jackdaw

since I went to sea
when I was nine.

I'd tell you how
long ago that was,

but I lost count.

Come on.

Can you walk, Matey?

I think so.

Lean on me.

I'm little, but I'm strong.

What did your uncle want
to get rid of you for?

I don't know
the whole fact of it yet.

But he's a crafty, old miser
who's stolen an estate

that doesn't belong to him.

Who do it belong to?

Me.

And when I get out of here,
I'll be rich.

Well, ain't that lucky.

But you know something, Matey,
it may be a longish time.

Didn't you hear what they said
about the carolinas?

It's as plain
as the nose on your face.

The captain's planning
to sell you off as a 20-pounder.

A 20-pounder?

You know what they is.

Indentured servants
on the plantations.

Yes, Matey,

you may be rich,

but you'll be hoeing tobacco
in the carolinas

for the next seven years.

Mr. Balfour, you mustn't think
I hold anything

against you personally.

An uncle must be judge
of what's best for his nephew,

for the ways of providence
are inscrutable.

Very well.
If you wish-

Mr. Shaun!
Mr. Shaun!

I knew it would come.

Mr. Shaun has done
for him at last.

Mr. Balfour...

Mr. Balfour,
move your berth aft.

You'll serve in
the deckhouse in his place.

You were not here before.

There was another boy.

Yes, sir.

I thought so.

The boy is dead,
Mr. Shaun.

The boy is dead?

That was the other boy.

The other boy's dead.

You sot and you swine,

do you know what you've done?

You've murdered the boy.

Balfour, put him in his bunk.

Go on.
Do as I say.

He made me throw away
a bottle of brandy,

and there's no sense in that.

Here, get me another one
from the locker over there.

Balfour, this night's work
must never be known.

The lad went overboard,
that's it.

That's what the story is.

And I'd give five pounds
out of my pocket

if it were true.

Listening for the breakers.

We're not past the hebrides,

and weather like this
you don't see in Ireland,

you hear it.

Look out!

Starboard!
Hard to starboard.

Hard to starboard, sir.

A fishing boat from the shore.

We must have cut her in two.

What were they about
on a night like this?

It's no use lowering a boat.

There's a man here
on the bowsprit.

When we struck,
her stern went in the air.

He must have jumped
for the bowsprit.

There's something strange
about this.

That's no ordinary fisherman.

Good evening to you, captain.

It seems to me you keep
a poor lookout on this ship.

I could say the same
about the crew of your boat.

You have nothing
against them, sir.

They were my friends,

and now they're
at the bottom of the sea.

You have a Scottish tongue
in your head,

but the French king's
uniform on your back.

You see ill in that, sir?

Now there's no need
to do a mischief

before you see the need of it.

There's many
a highland gentleman

who fought for prince
Charlie in the year '45

and, when he was beaten,
followed him to France.

Are you one of us, captain?

No, sir.

I'm for king George,
I'm a true-blue whig,

and I thank god for it.

But for all that,
I can be sorry to see a man

with his back to the wall.

David.

Very well,
I'll be plain with you.

I was on my way back to France,

and there was a French ship

cruising here to pick me up,

but we missed in the fog.

And if I get into the hands

of any of the red-coated gentry,

very likely it'll
go hard with me.

So if you can take me
to where I was going,

I'll reward you highly
for your trouble.

To France?

No, sir, that I cannot do.

But to set you ashore
where you came up from...

Now we might talk about that.

Half of what's here,
and I'm your man.

The money's not mine.

It belongs to my chief.

And I wouldn't use it to buy
my carcass any too dearly.

30 guineas if you set me
on shore at the linnhe loch.

You can take it if you like,
or do your worst.

And if I hand you
over to the red coats?

You'll be making
a fool's bargain.

My chief has forfeited,
and his estates are in the hands

of the man from Hanover
that they call king George.

And his officers collect
the rents or try to,

because,
for the honor of Scotland,

the tenants have not forgotten
their chief in exile,

and they send their rents to him
under the nose of king George.

And this is it... the money
king George is looking for.

So, you see, sir,

you could bring it
within reach of the government-

how much of it will come to you?

Little enough to be sure,

if they knew whose money it was.

But I think, if I was to try,

I could hold my tongue
about that.

And I'll have you there too.

Play me false,
and I play you cunning.

If a hand is laid upon me,

they'll know what money this is.

Very well.
What must be must.

30 guineas and done.

Here's my hand on it.
And mine.

Well, boy, doubtless
this is the first time

you've seen a wicked rebel.

Aye, sir.

By your long face,
you should be a whig.

I am for king George,
my lawful king.

He's not the... well, we won't
quarrel about that just now.

Your bottle's dry.

It's hard if I'm to pay
30 guineas to be denied a dram

on the back of it.

I'll fetch the key, sir.

It's not an easy thing
with no pistols with us,

only our cutlasses.

And the man has a look
of a fighting man.

I take your meaning,
Mr. Shaun,

but I'll give you my word.

You'll get your finger on half
the guineas in his purse.

Does that satisfy you?

Aye.

Better where he is.

He hasn't room to use his sword.

We'll keep the man in talk.

Well, what is it?

The gentleman's seeking a dram,

and the bottle's out.

Very well.

David.
- Yes, sir?

Do you know
where the pistols are?

In the locker by the other door.

You see, David,
that wild highlander

is a danger to my ship,

besides being a foe
to king George, god bless him.

Now the trouble is
that all our firelocks

are in the deckhouse
under this man's nose,

likewise the powder.

Now, if we were to go in
and take them,

he might fall to thinking.

But a lad like you might snap up

a powder horn
and a pistol or two

without remark.

If you can do it cleverly,

I'll bear it in mind

when it'll be good
for you to have friends-

and that's when we come
to the carolinas.

Aye, sir.

One of our good captain's pipes

and his excellent
Carolina tobacco.

There's no other way, sir.

I have to tell you.
Tell me what?

That they're planning
to kill you.

But it's true, sir.

They're all murderers here.

They've murdered a boy already,

and now it's to be you.

Would you stand with me?

I will.

It'll be the two of us
against the whole ship.

I'll stand with you, sir.

Well, then.
What's your name?

David Balfour...
Of Shaws.

And mine's Stewart.

Alan Breck Stewart.

Now, Mr. Balfour,
let's look to our defenses.

I have my sword and my dirk.

You'll have to make do
with a sailor's cutlass.

I have the key
to the pistols, sir.

Good. Then you can fight
like a gentleman.

Now there are two doors,
four windows,

all weather-boarded.

You bolt your door...

Yes, sir.
And I'll open mine.

Why open it?

Now don't argue with me
so soon, Mr. Balfour.

That door is the best part
of my defenses.

I only have one face,

and if the door is open

and my face towards it,

the best part of my enemies
will be in front of me,

where I would always
wish them to be.

Your post is at the window.

And don't fire to this side
unless they get me down.

I'd sooner have ten foes
in front of me

than one friend
cracking pistols at my back.

This is a strange return
of a hospitality.

Sir, I am come of kings.

And I bear the king's name,

and this sword has slashed
the heads off more whigs

than you have toes to your feet.

So call your vermin
to your back...

And fall on.

I'll mind this, Balfour.

Now let your hand
rule your head,

for the grip is coming.

Mr. Shaun, you will attack
to the open door

where no doubt
they expect the main battle.

While you engage them there,

my men will break through
the door on the other side.

As you will.

Ye afraid, Mr. Balfour?

Yes, sir.

Yes, sir, I am.

Bravely said.

There's many a fine,
handsome gentleman

that wouldn't a-dared to say it.

Very well, Mr. Shaun.

Come on.

That's him that killed the boy.

Look through your window.

Right, break it down.

Hey, come back!

Come back!

I've settled two.
How about you, Mr. Balfour?

I think I winged the captain.
- Good.

That makes three.

There's not enough blood let.

They'll be back again.

I can hear them.

I think
they're planning something.

That's just what we want.

Unless we can give them
a distaste of us

and be done with it,

there'll be neither sleep
for you nor me.

They're all around us.

Aye, Mr. Balfour.

And this time,
they'll be in earnest.

Mr. Balfour,
Mr. Balfour!

Mr. Balfour!

Get below, you scurvy rats.

Man, am I not a bonny fighter?

David Balfour, I love you
like a brother.

Oh, is it because
you've killed a man?

I Ken what you're feeling.

I remember it myself.

When I was an age to you.

It's rest you're needing.

I'll take the first watch

and clean up this filth.

There's one thing I mislike
about your tale

than the villainy of your uncle,

and that is that your minister
has the name of Campbell.

Mr. Campbell.

But he's a man you'd be proud
to give your hand to.

I'd give nothing to a Campbell,

unless it were a leaden bullet.

If I was dying,
I'd crawl on my knees

to a window
to get a shot at one.

What ails you at the Campbells?

I'm an appine Stewart.

And the Campbells
have long harried and wasted

the people of my name.

Aye, and taken lands of us
out of treachery

and never with a sword.

Heh. What happened

when the clans were broken
at culloden,

and the good cause came down,
and the horses ran up

to their fetlocks
in the best blood of the north,

and my chieftain had to flee
like a deer in the mountain

and his lady and his bairn?

And the Campbells
stripped him of his land

and plucked the weapons
out of the hands of the clansmen

that held arms for 30 centuries.

Aye, and the very clothes
from their backs,

for now it is a crime
to wear a plaid tartan.

And a man may be cast into jail

that he has a kilt
about his legs.

But the one thing
they couldn't kill

was the love
they bore their chieftain.

These guineas are proof of that.

Then there steps in a Campbell-

red-headed Colin Roy
that men call the red fox.

He gets a paper from king George

that he's an agent
in the lands of appin.

And when he finds out

the tenants are sending
their rents overseas

to their chieftain, the black
Campbell blood in him runs wild.

Oh, will a Stewart
get a piece of bread

that I cannot prevent it.

So he's sending for lawyers
and papers and red coats

to stand at his back.

And soon the kindly folk
of the country

will have to pack and tramp,

each father's son
from his father's home

and from the lands
where he was fed and bred

and played as a lad.

The red fox... if ever
I get you at gun's end,

the lord have pity on you.

I mean that, David.

If a day comes when
I have time and leisure

for a bit of hunting,
there's not enough heather grows

in Scotland that can hide him
from my vengeance.

It seems to me,
Mr. Stewart,

that you're neither very wise
nor very Christian

to blow off so many words
in anger.

For they will do the man
you call the red fox no harm

and yourself no good.

That's a good observe,

barring that about christianity,

of which my opinion
is quite otherwise,

but I'm much of your mind.

Opinion here or opinion there,

it's a known fact that
christianity forbids revenge.

Aye?

It's easily seen
that a Campbell taught you.

It'd be a very convenient world
for them and their sort

if there was no such thing

as a lad with a gun
behind a heather bush.

But you're a grand man
in a fight, David,

even though you have
whig blood in you.

These I had from my father.

And he from his father
before him.

Here, a keepsake
for the fight we made together.

And wherever you go,
if you show that button,

the friends of Alan Breck
will come around you.

Balfour, tell your friend
I'm here for a parlay.

Will you give me your word
you'll try no treachery?

I do.

I give my word.

Put those things up.

Have I not passed my word?

I doubt not your word
is breakable.

Last night, you haggled
and argle-bargled

like an apple-wife,
then gave me your word

and your hand to back it,

and you Ken well
what was the upshot.

Be damned to your word.

You'll get little good
by swearing.

And there are other things
to speak of.

You've made a sore hash
of my brig.

I've not men enough to work her.

There's nothing left
but to run south to Glasgow

for fresh hands.

And you'll have a bonny tale
to tell there.

A dozen tarry sailors
on the one side,

a man and a halfling boy
up on the other.

Oh, it's pitiful.

Tell 'em what you like.

But first set me ashore
as we agreed,

and my friend too,

for I intend to see him
on his way to his estate.

How can I put you ashore?

My first officer's dead.

You know best how.

There's none of us
acquainted with this coast.

And it's one very
dangerous to ships.

You want the 30 guineas
or do you not?

If you do, set me on dry land
at appine,

morven, or ardgour-

anywhere within 20 miles
of my own country,

excepting the country
of the Campbells.

That's a broad target.

If you miss it,
you must be as feckless

at sailoring as I found you
at fighting.

It's to risk my brig
and your lives along with her.

Take it or want it.

As you will.

But if I'd lost less money
on this unchancy cruise,

I'd see you with a rope's end
before I risked my ship.

Are you acquainted
with this coast?

I've been picked up and set
down in it often enough.

Then come and
help me pilot my ship.

Is this one of your tricks?
Do I look like tricks?

My brig's in danger.

What do you call that?

The sea breaking on the reef.

So you know where the reef is.
What better do you want?

Aye, if it was the only one.

If I'd known about these reefs,
it's not 30 guineas,

no, nor yet 300 would have
made me risk my brig

in such a stone yard.

I'm thinking that's what
they call the torran rocks.

Are there many of them?

I'm no pilot,
but it sticks in my mind

that there's ten miles of them.

Is there a way through them?

Doubtless, but where?

It also runs through my mind

it's clearer in under the land.

Very well, sir.
We'll try your way of it.

But I may as well trust
to a blind fiddler.

Pray god you're right.

Pray god I am.

Hard to port!
Hard to port.

Hard to port, sir.

This is not the kind
of death I fancy.

You're not afraid, are you?

No, but I'm more of a fighting
man than a sailor man,

and you'll allow
it's a very cold ending.

Clear water ahead, sir!

You were right, sir.

You've saved my brig.

And I'll mind that when we
come to clear accounts.

Bring her up a point.

One more reef to leeward.

A point to port.

A point to port, sir.

Easy now.
Easy.

Look out, forward!

Hold on.
Hold on!

You're wasting your breath.

I'm no highlander,
and I have no Gaelic.

You mean you're going to steal
from that stinking tub.

Don't fuss yourself, for
I'll not interfere with you.

Och, no.

I was swept ashore last night

on the other side of the island.

And all I want is someone
to guide me to the mainland.

Well, that'll cost you
two shillings.

So you do have English.

Only when it's needful.

Did you see anyone
from the ship?

Aye.
- Did any get ashore?

Aye, they went away
to the mainland.

A man dressed like a gentleman

with a uniform under his coat?

Aye, there was a
great gout like that.

Oh, no two shillings
to guide you,

but then you'll be hungry,
and I'll have to give you food.

And when I'm gone,
maybe someone else will come

and find this wreck of mine

and take what
doesn't belong to him.

All together it'll cost
you five shillings.

You said two shillings!

Oh, well, find your
own way then, Manny.

Very well.

Five shillings.

Come then.

There's where you go, Manny.

Over the hills and far away.

And where you go too.

I paid you good silver
to guide me.

I know what will bring
your English back.

Aye, another five shillings,

and I'll lead you to the ferry.

You're a cheat,
and you're a liar.

And I'd starve to my
death in the mountains

before I gave you
one penny more.

Give me five shillings
in my hand.

Is it you that keeps a ferry?

Everybody knows that.

I'm seeking somebody,

and it comes in my mind
that you may have news of him.

His name is Alan Breck Stewart.

I am very much affronted.

This is not the way

the clan gentleman
should behave to another.

The man you ask
for is in France,

but if he were in my sporran and
your belly full of shillings,

I would not hurt
a hair of his head.

Now pick up your dirty
money and be off with you.

Yes, sir.

Just a minute.

Are you, by any chance,
a shipwrecked man?

Aye.

And have you,
by any other chance,

a silver button?

Yes, sir.

Well, I think
you might have started

with that end of
the stick, whatever.

Now come you with me to my boat,

for I've the word
to see you come safe.

Two things I tell you plain,
young man.

There is a name you must
never take in your mouth,

and that's the name
of Alan Breck.

And there's a thing
you must never do,

and that is to offer your money
to a highland gentleman.

Well, I've just left one
over on the other side

who wouldn't do anything
without it.

There are highland gentlemen
and highland gentlemen.

And as you are only a lowlander,

you have not the sense
to tell the one from the other.

It's the land of appin-

and a hard country for men
to care as much about

as the appine stewarts do.

Yonder is duror of appin,

and there you must ask
for James of the glens,

who is brother to the chief.

Your friend is on his way there

and will join you when he can.

When he can?

The noise is
that Colin Roy Campbell,

the man they call the red fox,

is coming with his soldiers
to turn the stewarts

out of hearth and home.

It's a chancy day in appin,

and you must take care
to walk softly.

But I'm no jacobite or no rebel,

for I was born a true-blue whig.

We can none of us help
what we were born.

Well, boy, where are you off to?

To duror of appin, sir.

And if you know it,
I'd be obliged

if you'll tell me where I will
find James of the glens.

James of the glens.

There's many a man who would
think this is an omen.

Here am I on my road to duror

for the job that you Ken,

and a young lad waits in a wood

and asks me
for James of the glens.

This is an ill subject
for jest, Mr. Campbell.

Very well.

What does it mean?

Does it mean that James is
gathering his people against us?

If you're thinking of me, sir,

I am neither of his people
nor of yours,

but an honest subject
of king George,

owing no man and fearing no man.

Very well said, sir.

But if I may make so bold,

what does an honest man
so far from his country?

And why does he seek
James of the glens,

brother to the chief of appin?

I have power here, sir,
I must tell you.

I am the king's agent

with 12 files
of soldiers at my back.

If you'd asked me
for James of the glens

on any other day but this,

I should have set you right
and bidden you godspeed.

But today when you ask me this,

today-

take care, sir.

Mr. Campbell.
Mr. Campbell.

There he is!

Stop that boy!

He's an accomplice,
posted here to keep us in talk.

Ten pounds if you take him.

Follow them!

In here.
- Alan.

Come on.

Spread out!
Spread out!

There they go.

In here.

Come on.

Well, yon was a hot burst.

Are you still wearied?

No, I'm not wearied now,

and I can speak.

I liked you very well,
Alan Breck,

but now a Campbell man
lies dead on the road,

and your ways are not my ways,

and they're not god's ways.

And the long and the short
of it is that we must part.

Oh, so that's it.

Well, let me tell you,
Mr. Balfour of Shaws,

if I was gonna kill a man,
I wouldn't do it

in my own country
and bring trouble on my clan,

nor would I set out to shoot him
without any gun in my hand.

You mean you had nothing
to do with it?

I swear by the holy iron

that I had neither art nor part,
thought nor act in it.

Such a fuss about a Campbell.

They're not so scarce.

That I Ken.

Still, you do know
who did do it.

Well, I wouldn't
conscientiously swear to it.

But he must have run
close past you.

Aye, to be sure.

But it's a strange thing that,
just at that moment,

I was tying my shoe.

Further more, if I had seen him,

I have a grand memory
for forgetting.

And another thing,

it seemed to me that,
once or twice,

you exposed yourself
to draw the soldiers after us.

That's very likely.

And if you were in the shoes of
the lad that fired the bullet,

you'd be a deal obliged for it.

You see, Mr. Balfour, them that
haven't dipped their hands

in any little difficulty
should be very mindful

of the case of them that have.

And that's
the good christianity.

Well, I'll not say
it's the good christianity

as I understand it,

but it's good enough.

Tomorrow there'll be
a fine to-do in appin.

You and I must be far away.

You and I?

You may have reason
to run from the red coats,

but it seems to me
that I'm running away

from plain, common sense.

Alan, this is no
quarrel of mine.

My quarrel is with my uncle,

and eager I am to
get back to settle it.

So let me go my way
as an honest traveler.

And if they take me,

I've done nothing wrong.

And I'll trust to the
justice of my country.

Justice!

Man, sometimes I wonder
about you.

That was a Campbell
that was killed.

If you're taken,
you'll be tried at inverara,

the head place of the Campbells,

with Campbells swarming
all over the jury box

and the biggest Campbell of them
all lording it on the bench.

No, David,
we're in the highlands,

and if I tell you to run,

take my word and run.

Mind you,
I'll be no small thing.

You'll have to lie bare and hard
and brook many an empty belly.

Your bed'll be the moorcocks,

and your life will be
like a hunted deer's,

and you'll drag many
a weary foot ere we get clear.

But if you ask me
if you have another choice,

I'll answer, "none."

Either you take to the
heather with me, or... ssk!

You'll hang.

Well, that's a choice
very easily made.

I'll prove myself a gomerel.

The day has found us
where we never ought to be-

glencoe, and a pass
they're bound to watch.

Well, now it's no worse
to go forward than back.

Spread out on the right!

Down there.

Come on.

Come on. Jump!

Jump!

I'm me, Alan Breck Stewart.

Alan Breck Stewart.

We couldn't have fallen
better. These are cluny's men.

We're to bide with them
until they get word

to their chief that I'm here.

Well, I do not Ken who cluny is,

and I do not care for his men,

but I would like finally
to get some sleep.

Well, Mr. Stewart,
come awa', sir,

and bring in your friend that as
yet I do not Ken the name of.

And how's yourself, cluny?

You do brawly, I hope, sir.
I'm proud to see you.

And to present my friend, the
laird of Shaws, David Balfour.

I'm glad to make the both
of you welcome to my house.

It's a queer, rude place
for certain,

but since my estates are forfeit
and there's a price on my head,

this is one of the burrows
that serves me well.

And now we'll
take a dram for luck.

And as soon as these rascals
of mine have the venison ready,

we'll dine.

And then we'll take
a hand at the cards

as every gentleman should.

My life is very dry.

I see little company.

Just sit and twiddle my thumbs

and think of a great
day gone by,

and weary for another great day

that we all hope
is upon the road.

And so here's a toast to it-

to the restoration
of our own true king.

Mr. Balfour was born a whig.

But I believe he's learning.

And now, gentlemen, let's
stick a hand at the cards, eh?

Good.
- Come, Mr. Balfour.

Sit you down.

I don't play at cards, sir.

You... you... you do not play?
Why not?

Well, I've no call
to judge others,

but I was taught
that it was wrong to gamble.

In the devil's name, what kind
of whiggish, canting talk

is this for the house
of cluny MacPherson?

Sir, I'll put my hand
in the fire for Mr. Balfour.

I bear a king's name,

and any man I call friend
is company for the best.

But now Mr. Balfour
is tired and must sleep.

In this poor house of mine,
I'll have you to Ken

that any gentleman
may follow his pleasure.

If your friend would like
to stand on his head,

he's welcome, but if he or you
or any other gentleman

is not precisely satisfied,

I'll be proud
to step outside with him.

Sir, I am very wearied,
as Alan says.

And what's more, as you're a man
who likely has sons of your own,

I may tell you that it was
a promise to my father.

Well...

Say no more.
Say no more.

There's good heather to lie on,

and you may sleep if you must.

Yes, sir.

Have you got any money?

A little.
- Well, give it to me.

What for?
- For the loan, man.

Just for a loan.

But why?
We'll need the money.

David, would you begrudge me
a loan?

For five guineas...

For five guineas, aye.

Well, have you rested
quite enough, Mr. Balfour?

For the news is that the road
is clear in the south.

The sooner we start, the better.

The little money we have has
a long way to carry us.

I've lost it, and
that's the naked truth.

My money too?

You shouldn't have
given it to me.

I'm daft when I
get at the cards.

Toots-toots, man,
you'll have your money back.

It's not to be supposed
that I'd be a hindrance

to gentlemen in your situation.

But can I take it, sir?

For my friend fairly
lost my money,

and it puts me
in a painful position.

You attack my conduct, sir?

No, but I ask your advice,

for whatever I do, it must be
hard on a man with any pride.

Aye, and it's hard on me too,

for you give me
the look of a man

who has cheated poor people
to their hurt.

I wouldn't have my friends
come to my house

to accept affronts,
no, nor yet to give them

as it seems that you're doing.

You see, sir, there is something

to be said on my side-

that gambling is a very poor
employ for gentlemen.

Mr. Balfour,

you're too nice and covenanting,

but, I must confess,
you're a gentleman of spirit.

On my honest word,
you may take this money.

It's what I would say
to my own son.

And there's my hand on it.

Uh, this is no way
for two friends

to take a small accident.

I-I have to say I'm sorry,

so it's said.

If you have anything,
you better say it.

No, I have nothing.
- Nothing?

After I said I'm to blame?

Why, of course you're to blame,

and you must bear me out
that I never reproached you.

No, you've done worse.

I've long owed you my life,

and now I owe you money too.

You must try to make
that burden easy for me.

You ask me to speak.

Well, then I will.

You own that you have done
me a disservice.

And now you blame me
because I cannot laugh or sing

as if I was glad of it.

And the next thing will be
that I'm to go down on my knees

and thank you for it.

You should think more
of others, Alan Breck,

and then perhaps you might
speak less about yourself.

And when a friend has passed
over an offense

without so much as one word,

you would be glad to let it lie

instead of making it a stick
to break his back with.

Oh, well, we'll say no more.

Seems to me that you're ill
and can stand no more.

I am ill.
I know I'm ill.

But as to the other,

I can stand anything
you can, Mr. Stewart.

Further down the burren,
there's bound to be a croft

where I can find you shelter.

And the red coats too?
What silly talk is that?

David, I'm not a patient man.

I never said you were.

Mr. Balfour of Shaws,

you're a stiff-necked,
ignorant whig.

And you, sir, are old enough
to know your manners.

And from now on, I'll thank you
to speak civilly of my king

and of the Campbells too,
who have never done me any harm.

Have a care, sir.

Do not forget I'm a Stewart.

Oh, I know you bear
a king's name.

But since I've been
in the highlands,

I've seen many of those that do,

and the best I can say
of them is this-

that they'd be none the worse
for a good washing.

There are some things said
that cannot be passed over.

I never asked you to, for I am
as ready as yourself.

And I am no blowhard and boaster
like some that I could name,

so come on!

David, don't be daft.

I cannot draw on you.

That was your lookout
when you insulted me.

David, I cannot, I cannot.

Defend yourself,
Mr. Stewart.

Defend yourself!

Defend yourself.
Defend-

David!

"Described as 5'10" in height,

"brown, bushy hair,

"round-shouldered,
and a little knock-kneed.

Shabby with an inclination
to be genteel."

So you've finished
your sleep at last.

I told you we'd find
a croft along the burren.

And by good fortune, Donald dhu
maclaren is of the right party.

Alan.
- Hmm?

Can you forgive me
for what I've said?

Hoot-toot,
you were so taken with fever,

you didn't know a thing you did.

Besides, that's precisely what
I thought I liked about you,

is the fact
that you never quarreled.

Now I find I like you better.

When I heard
there was a stranger here,

I did not think I would be
so unchancy

as to find an appine Stewart.

And when yon door opened,

the last kind of man
I hoped to see

was the son
of Rob Roy macgregor.

Oh, indeed, sir.

Then I must console myself

with the bill I found
on the way,

which tells me that this
painful meeting may be turned

to the profit of 100 pounds.

By a macgregor, no doubt.

For your tribe have long held
money above honor.

There are words
that I could say to that, sir,

but I think I will have heard

that you are a man
of your sword.

Unless you were born deaf,

you'd have heard
a great deal more than that.

Now when my chief drew steel
on a gentleman of your name,

I never heard
that it was a macgregor

that got the best of it.

You mean my father, sir,
Rob Roy macgregor?

I wouldn't wonder at it.

My father was an old man,

and the match was unequal.

You and I would make
a better pair.

I was thinking of that.

Gentlemen, gentlemen,

I've been thinking
of a different matter, whatever.

Here are my pipes.

And here are you two gentlemen,

both acclaimed pipers.

It is an old dispute
which one of you is the best.

Here is a broad chance

to settle it.

Well, sir, have you music?

I can play like a macrimmon.

That is a very bold word, sir.

I've used bolder words
before this...

And against better adversaries.

*

That's not very bad,
Mr. Stewart,

but you show poor device
in your warblers.

Me! I'll give you the lie.

Do you own yourself
beaten at the pipes

that you seek
to change them for the sword?

Well said, Mr. Macgregor.

So I'll appeal to Donald.

You need appeal to no one, sir,

for it's the god's truth
you're a creditable Piper.

For a Stewart.

*

Enough.
You can play the pipes.

Make the most of that.

*

You're a great Piper,
Robin macgregor.

I'm not fit to play
in the same kingdom with you.

A while ago, I could have given
you a lesson with my sword,

but no more.

It'd go against my heart

to slice a man up that can play
the pipes like you can.

There it is,
the old bridge of stirling.

When we get across that, we can
throw our bonnets in the air.

We're away from the highlands.

Ah, to have come this far

and be bocked at the last step.

We could set about him.

And have the whole Garrison
after us at his first cry.

Could we swim across?

I swim like a stone.

But there are boats.

If I set my mind to it,
doubtless I could steal one.

No. If you pass the bridge,
you can tell no tales,

but if you leave a boat
on the other side,

somebody must have brought it.

And the whole countryside's
in an uproar.

Well, there's nothing
else for it.

We'll have to go back
the way we came

and creep around
the head of the river.

Look.

Well?
Did you not observe?

He didn't even turn
his head to see

whether it was a man or a woman,

which means they're not
on the lookout for us here.

They didn't think
we'd be such gulks as to cross

under the noses of the Garrison.

David, it's a chief
military principle

to go where you're
least expected.

So this is where we cross.

Your very humble
and obedient servant, madam.

Have you got a twist of tobacco?

For which I'll give
you sixpence.

I'll need something
to light it with,

so if you've got a tinderbox,

I'll give you a shilling.

But, madam, I'll need something
to smoke it in.

So make it two shillings
for your pipe.

May god bless you, madam.

What are those for?

I'll tell you, since
you seem so inexperienced

in such matters.

Hunted men are always
on the run.

You'll Grant that?
- Aye.

So we must seem to be
in no hurry at all.

That's what I want this for.

I'll wander up there,
and then light it

as slowly as can be.

You saunter by,

and after a while, I follow.

Look at that.

At least it's not raining.

Hoot-toot, twice the redcoats,
half the risk.

Now he's got someone to talk to,

why should he
fuss himself over us?

Now, David, keep a cool head.

If you lose your courage
and take to your heels,

we're both dead men.

And what a time I had.

Didn't we just?

Five weeks
in the punishing mountains

and not a thing
to show at the end of it.

Fellow by the name
of Campbell, wasn't it?

I don't know.

One scotsman's
just like another to me.

But we were supposed to be there

to guard him,
so when he got done in, well,

we had to chase off after
the two blokes what done it.

You never nabbed
either of 'em, eh?

Nah, and couldn't they run?

Like a pair of blooming rabbits.

Took us over half of Scotland
they did.

I heard they got a reward
out for 'em now.

Yeah, yeah, they have.

100 quid for the big one,

and 50 for the little one.
Bloody hell.

Blimey, what I could do
with 150 quid.

Yeah.
Yeah, you know what I'd do?

Yeah, what?

I'd buy myself
a nice, little pub

right in front of the barracks.

I would.

And I'd sit there
out in the sun,

drinking me own beer
from noon onward...

Mr. Rankeillor?

Are you Mr. Rankeillor,
the lawyer?

I am, but I do not know
your name nor yet your face.

My name is David Balfour, sir.

And I believe I have some rights
on the estate of Shaws.

David Balfour.

And where did you come from,
Mr. David Balfour?

From many strange places, sir.

'Tis six weeks since
I started for that door,

but I was kidnapped on the way

by someone who did not
want me to reach it.

And who was this villainous
person, Mr. Balfour?

Someone whom I think
you know, sir-

my uncle Ebenezer.

Pray come inside.

No, Mr. David,
your uncle did not steal

the house of Shaws.

It came to him
in a much more singular way

as the result of a love affair.

A love affair?
- Yes, Mr. David.

Your uncle was not always old,

and, what may surprise you
more, not always ugly.

So when he and your father
fell in love

with the same young lady,

oh, he made mighty certain
of the victory.

But when instead the young lady
chose your father,

he screeched like a peacock.

Well, Mr. David,
the end of it was

that they came
to a sort of bargain.

Your father took the lady,
who became your mother,

but he left your uncle Ebenezer
with the estate.

They talk a lot
about generosity,

but I often think
the happiest consequences flow

when a gentleman consults
his lawyer.

Certainly, your father's hasty
decision brought no joy at all

to your uncle Ebenezer,
as you've seen for yourself.

I have indeed, sir.

Money was all he got
out of his bargain.

And he came to think
the more of money.

He was selfish
when he was young.

He's selfish now he's old.

And the latter end to all this
selfishness you know yourself.

Yes, sir, but in all this,
what is my position?

Oh, the estate's yours.

Beyond a doubt, your father
might give up his own rights.

He couldn't sign away yours.

So the day he died,

you became the laird of Shaws.

However, getting possession-
quite another question.

A lawsuit is expensive,

and a family lawsuit
is always scandalous.

But what possible answer
could my uncle have?

Well, he would begin, no doubt,

by denying you were his nephew.

How could he?

He as much as admitted it
by having me kidnapped.

Very true.

How are we to prove
that he had you kidnapped?

Mr. Rankeillor,
I do not intend

to haul down my colors
and leave my uncle

a fortune that isn't his.

Quite so.

So the only thing to do

is to make him admit
the kidnapping

in front of witnesses.

And just how
are you gonna manage that?

Oh, I could not manage it,

and I do not think
that even you could,

for it needs a violent man
without too much concern

for what is proper and correct.

And for that, sir, I think
I know just the man we need.

Well?

Have a care
with that blunderbuss.

They're nasty things to burst.

Who are ye,
and what brings you here?

What brings me here
is more your affair than mine.

And if you're sure
it's what you'd like,

I'll set it to a tune
and sing it to you.

Well, what is it?

David.

I'm thinking
I had better let ye in.

I dare say that,
but the point is, would I go in?

And I'll tell you
what I'm thinking.

I'm thinking it's here
upon this doorstep

that we must confer
upon this business.

And it shall be here
or nowhere at all,

for I'll have you to understand
that I'm as stiff-necked

as yourself, and a gentleman
of better family.

Oh, well,

what must be must be.

One step nearer,
and you're as good as dead.

A very civil greeting,
to be sure.

This is a very chancy kind
of a proceeding,

and I'm bound to be prepared.

And now that we understand
one another,

you can name your business.

Well, you that are
a man of understanding

will doubtless have perceived
that I am a highland gentleman.

My name has no business
in my story.

But the country of my friends

is not very far
from the torran rocks.

Well, it seems that there was
a ship that went aground there.

A gentleman of my family
came upon a lad

that was half-drowned.

He brought him to,
and he and some other gentlemen

clapped him
in an old, ruined castle where,

from that day to this, he's been
a great expense to my friends.

Now they, not being
so particular about the law

as some I could name,

in finding out the lad owns
some decent folk,

asked me to give you a call
and confer upon the matter.

And I can tell you this
from the start-

that unless we can agree
on some terms,

you're not likely
to set eyes on the lad again.

For my friends
are not very well off.

I'm not very caring.

He was never a good lad
at the best of it,

and I have no call to interfere.

Oh, come on, you wouldn't
desert your brother's son.

It wouldn't make you
very popular in the countryside.

I'm not just very popular
the way it is,

so that's idle talk, my buckie.

Mr. Balfour,
we thought you liked David,

would pay to get him back.

But it seems
that's not the case.

And I'm thinking
you've very good reasons

for not wanting him back,

and, instead,
you'll pay us to keep him.

That'll put as pretty a penny
in our pocket as the other.

I do not follow you there.

Now see here,

you don't want the lad back,

what do you want done with him

and how much will you pay?

Come, sir.
I'm a highland gentleman,

not a sniveling beggar to kick
my heels at your hall door.

Either give me an answer
in civility,

or I'll run three feet of steel
in your vitals!

Hey, sir, give me a minute.

I'm trying to be as civil
as it's morally possible.

Just tell me
what you'll be wanting,

and we'll agree fine.

In two words... do you want
the lad killed or kept?

Oh, kept, kept.

Have no bloodshed,
if you please.

That'll be the dearer.

The dearer?
What for the dearer?

Killing is easier and quicker.

To keep the lad
will be a troublesome business.

I'll have him kept, though.
I'm a man of principle.

And if I have to pay for it,
I'll pay for it.

Ah.

What about the price?

Of course,
I'll have to Ken first

what you paid captain Hoseason.

Captain Hoseason?
What for?

For kidnapping the boy.
- It's a lie!

It's a black lie.
He never was kidnapped.

He lied in his throat
that told you that.

Hoseason wouldn't like
to hear you say so.

What do you mean?
Was it Hoseason that told ye?

How else you think I Ken,
you stupid, old runt?

Oh, Hoseason and I
are partners.

We gang shares.

But I'm bound to say
you struck a fool's bargain

when you let a man like that
sail a man so far forward

in your private affairs.

The point in hand is this-

how much did you pay him?

How much does he say I paid him?

That's my concern.

Well, I do not doubt
that he lied.

I don't care what he said.
I tell you that he lied.

And the solemn
god's truth is this-

I paid him no more
than 20 pounds.

You paid him 20 pounds?
- Aye.

To kidnap the lad?
- I swear it.

20 pounds.

Mind ye, I'll be perfectly frank
with you.

He was to have the selling
of the lad in Carolina,

which would be 20 pounds more,

but not out of my
pocket, you see.

Thank you, Mr. Stewart.

I think we have
just what we need.

Good evening, uncle.

It's a fine night, isn't it?

David, is that you, man?

Yes, it's me, uncle.

Then I have wasted my 20 pounds.

It's a braw new suit,
Mr. Balfour of Shaws.

I don't have
just the hang of it yet.

You're none too early, Davie.

The tide's on the turn.

I'm waiting for a signal
to go aboard.

So you have a ship.

There she is.

The captain's the right party.

I'll be in France
within the week.

How about you?

It's all settled and sealed.

To think of it, Davie,

only a week ago, you lay under
heaven with an empty belly

and in fear of death.

And now you're
the laird of Shaws.

I suppose so.

You don't seem very joyful
about it.

I'll get used to it.

There's the signal.

When will you be back?

The highlands
will be no safe place

for Alan Breck for a while.

But, later on,
when the noise dies down,

you'll come away one day
behind a heather bush

or watching you
from the wood about you.

Well, good-bye.

Good-bye, Alan Breck.