Catriona
ledgers, in a low parlour, very neat and clean, and set out with china
and pictures, and a globe of the earth in a brass frame. He was a
big-chafted, ruddy, lusty man, with a crooked hard look to him; and he
made us not that much civility as offer us a seat.
“Is James More Macgregor now in Helvoet, sir?” says I.
“I ken nobody by such a name,” says he, impatient-like.
“Since you are so particular,” says I, “I will amend my question, and
ask you where we are to find in Helvoet one James Drummond, _alias_
Macgregor, _alias_ James More, late tenant in Inveronachile?”
“Sir,” says he, “he may be in Hell for what I ken, and for my part I
wish he was.”
“The young lady is that gentleman’s daughter, sir,” said I, “before
whom, I think you will agree with me, it is not very becoming to
discuss his character.”
“I have nothing to make either with him, or her, or you!” cries he in
his gross voice.
“Under your favour, Mr. Sprott,” said I, “this young lady is come from
Scotland seeking him, and by whatever mistake, was given the name of
your house for a direction. An error it seems to have been, but I think
this places both you and me—who am but her fellow-traveller by
accident—under a strong obligation to help our countrywoman.”
“Will you ding me daft?” he cries. “I tell ye I ken naething and care
less either for him or his breed. I tell ye the man owes me money.”
“That may very well be, sir,” said I, who was now rather more angry
than himself. “At least, I owe you nothing; the young lady is under my
protection; and I am neither at all used with these manners, nor in the
least content with them.”
As I said this, and without particularly thinking what I did, I drew a
step or two nearer to his table; thus striking, by mere good fortune,
on the only argument that could at all affect the man. The blood left
his lusty countenance.
“For the Lord’s sake dinna be hasty, sir!” he cried. “I am truly
wishfu’ no to be offensive. But ye ken, sir, I’m like a wheen
guid-natured, honest, canty auld fellows—my bark is waur nor my bite.
To hear me, ye micht whiles fancy I was a wee thing dour; but na, na!
it’s a kind auld fallow at heart, Sandie Sprott! And ye could never
imagine the fyke and fash this man has been to me.”
“Very good, sir,” said I. “Then I will make that much freedom with your
kindness as trouble you for your last news of Mr. Drummond.”
“You’re welcome, sir!” said he. “As for the young leddy (my respects to
her!), he’ll just have clean forgotten her. I ken the man, ye see; I
have lost siller by him ere now. He thinks of naebody but just himsel’;
clan, king, or dauchter, if he can get his wameful, he would give them
a’ the go-by! ay, or his correspondent either. For there is a sense in
whilk I may be nearly almost said to be his correspondent. The fact is,
we are employed thegether in a business affair, and I think it’s like
to turn out a dear affair for Sandie Sprott. The man’s as guid’s my
pairtner, and I give ye my mere word I ken naething by where he is. He
micht be coming here to Helvoet; he micht come here the morn, he
michtnae come for a twalmouth; I would wonder at naething—or just at
the ae thing, and that’s if he was to pay me my siller. Ye see what way
I stand with it; and it’s clear I’m no very likely to meddle up with
the young leddy, as ye ca’ her. She cannae stop here, that’s ae thing
certain sure. Dod, sir, I’m a lone man! If I was to tak her in, its
highly possible the hellicat would try and gar me marry her when he
turned up.”
“Enough of this talk,” said I. “I will take the young leddy among
better friends. Give me, pen, ink, and paper, and I will leave here for
James More the address of my correspondent in Leyden. He can inquire
from me where he is to seek his daughter.”
This word I wrote and sealed; which while I was doing, Sprott of his
own motion made a welcome offer, to charge himself with Miss Drummond’s
mails, and even send a porter for them to the inn. I advanced him to
that effect a dollar or two to be a cover, and he gave me an
acknowledgment in writing of the sum.
Whereupon (I giving my arm to Catriona) we left the house of this
unpalatable rascal. She had said no word throughout, leaving me to
judge and speak in her place; I, upon my side, had been careful not to
embarrass her by a glance; and even now, although my heart still glowed
inside of me with shame and anger, I made it my affair to seem quite
easy.
“Now,” said I, “let us get back to yon same inn where they can speak
the French, have a piece of dinner, and inquire for conveyances to
Rotterdam. I will never be easy till I have you safe again in the hands
of Mrs. Gebbie.”
“I suppose it will have to be,” said Catriona, “though whoever will be
pleased, I do not think it will be her. And I will remind you this once
again that I have but one shilling, and three baubees.”
“And just this once again,” said I, “I will remind you it was a
blessing that I came alongst with you.”
“What else would I be thinking all this time?” says she, and I thought
weighed a little on my arm. “It is you that are the good friend to me.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
TRAVELS IN HOLLAND
The rattel-waggon, which is a kind of a long waggon set with benches,
carried us in four hours of travel to the great city of Rotterdam. It
was long past dark by then, but the streets were pretty brightly
lighted and thronged with wild-like, outlandish characters—bearded
Hebrews, black men, and the hordes of courtesans, most indecently
adorned with finery and stopping seamen by their very sleeves; the
clash of talk about us made our heads to whirl; and what was the most
unexpected of all, we appeared to be no more struck with all these
foreigners than they with us. I made the best face I could, for the
lass’s sake and my own credit; but the truth is I felt like a lost
sheep, and my heart beat in my bosom with anxiety. Once or twice I
inquired after the harbour or the berth of the ship _Rose_: but either
fell on some who spoke only Hollands, or my own French failed me.
Trying a street at a venture, I came upon a lane of lighted houses, the
doors and windows thronged with wauf-like painted women; these jostled
and mocked upon us as we passed, and I was thankful we had nothing of
their language. A little after we issued forth upon an open place along
the harbour.
“We shall be doing now,” cries I, as soon as I spied masts. “Let us
walk here by the harbour. We are sure to meet some that has the
English, and at the best of it we may light upon that very ship.”
We did the next best, as happened; for, about nine of the evening, whom
should we walk into the arms of but Captain Sang? He told us they had
made their run in the most incredible brief time, the wind holding
strong till they reached port; by which means his passengers were all
gone already on their further travels. It was impossible to chase after
the Gebbies into the High Germany, and we had no other acquaintance to
fall back upon but Captain Sang himself. It was the more gratifying to
find the man friendly and wishful to assist. He made it a small affair
to find some good plain family of merchants, where Catriona might
harbour till the _Rose_ was loaden; declared he would then blithely
carry her back to Leith for nothing and see her safe in the hands of
Mr. Gregory; and in the meanwhile carried us to a late ordinary for the
meal we stood in need of. He seemed extremely friendly, as I say, but
what surprised me a good deal, rather boisterous in the bargain; and
the cause of this was soon to appear. For at the ordinary, calling for
Rhenish wine and drinking of it deep, he soon became unutterably tipsy.
In this case, as too common with all men, but especially with those of
his rough trade, what little sense or manners he possessed deserted
him; and he behaved himself so scandalous to the young lady, jesting
most ill-favouredly at the figure she had made on the ship’s rail, that
I had no resource but carry her suddenly away.
She came out of the ordinary clinging to me close. “Take me away,
David,” she said. “_You_ keep me. I am not afraid with you.”
“And have no cause, my little friend!” cried I, and could have found it
in my heart to weep.
“Where will you be taking me?” she said again. “Don’t leave me at all
events—never leave me.”
“Where am I taking you to?” says I stopping, for I had been staving on
ahead in mere blindness. “I must stop and think. But I’ll not leave
you, Catriona; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if I should fail or
fash you.”
She crept close into me by way of a reply.
“Here,” I said, “is the stillest place we have hit on yet in this busy
byke of a city. Let us sit down here under yon tree and consider of our
course.”
That tree (which I am little like to forget) stood hard by the harbour
side. It was like a black night, but lights were in the houses, and
nearer hand in the quiet ships; there was a shining of the city on the
one hand, and a buzz hung over it of many thousands walking and
talking; on the other, it was dark and the water bubbled on the sides.
I spread my cloak upon a builder’s stone, and made her sit there; she
would have kept her hold upon me, for she still shook with the late
affronts; but I wanted to think clear, disengaged myself, and paced to
and fro before her, in the manner of what we call a smuggler’s walk,
belabouring my brains for any remedy. By the course of these scattering
thoughts I was brought suddenly face to face with a remembrance that,
in the heat and haste of our departure, I had left Captain Sang to pay
the ordinary. At this I began to laugh out loud, for I thought the man
well served; and at the same time, by an instinctive movement, carried
my hand to the pocket where my money was. I suppose it was in the lane
where the women jostled us; but there is only the one thing certain,
that my purse was gone.
“You will have thought of something good,” said she, observing me to
pause.
At the pinch we were in, my mind became suddenly clear as a perspective
glass, and I saw there was no choice of methods. I had not one doit of
coin, but in my pocket-book I had still my letter on the Leyden
merchant; and there was now but the one way to get to Leyden, and that
was to walk on our two feet.
“Catriona,” said I, “I know you’re brave and I believe you’re strong—do
you think you could walk thirty miles on a plain road?” We found it, I
believe, scarce the two-thirds of that, but such was my notion of the
distance.
“David,” she said, “if you will just keep near, I will go anywhere and
do anything. The courage of my heart, it is all broken. Do not be
leaving me in this horrible country by myself, and I will do all else.”
“Can you start now and march all night?” said I.
“I will do all that you can ask of me,” she said, “and never ask you
why. I have been a bad ungrateful girl to you; and do what you please
with me now! And I think Miss Barbara Grant is the best lady in the
world,” she added, “and I do not see what she would deny you for at all
events.”
This was Greek and Hebrew to me; but I had other matters to consider,
and the first of these was to get clear of that city on the Leyden
road. It proved a cruel problem; and it may have been one or two at
night ere we had solved it. Once beyond the houses, there was neither
moon nor stars to guide us; only the whiteness of the way in the midst
and a blackness of an alley on both hands. The walking was besides made
most extraordinary difficult by a plain black frost that fell suddenly
in the small hours and turned that highway into one long slide.
“Well, Catriona,” said I, “here we are like the king’s sons and the old
wives’ daughters in your daft-like Highland tales. Soon we’ll be going
over the ‘_seven Bens_, _the seven glens and the seven mountain