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An illustration from the first edition of
âThe Master of Ballantraeâ
“I was walking one night in the verandah of a small house in which I lived, outside the hamlet of Saranac. It was winter; the night was very dark; the air extraordinary clear and cold, and sweet with the purity of forests. From a good way below, the river was to be heard contending with ice and boulders; a few lights appeared, scattered unevenly among the darkness, but so far away as not to lessen the sense of isolation. For the making of a story here were fine conditions. ‘Come,’ I said to my engine, ‘Let us make a tale, a story of many years and countries, of the sea and the land, savagery and civilization.'”