Catriona
Catriona’s bundle where she had dropped it on the stair; and we were
setting forth out of that dangerous house, when Bazin stopped the way
with cries and gesticulations. He had whipped under a table when the
swords were drawn, but now he was as bold as a lion. There was his bill
to be settled, there was a chair broken, Alan had sat among his dinner
things, James More had fled.
“Here,” I cried, “pay yourself,” and flung him down some Lewie d’ors;
for I thought it was no time to be accounting.
He sprang upon that money, and we passed him by, and ran forth into the
open. Upon three sides of the house were seamen hasting and closing in;
a little nearer to us James More waved his hat as if to hurry them; and
right behind him, like some foolish person holding up his hands, were
the sails of the windmill turning.
Alan gave but one glance, and laid himself down to run. He carried a
great weight in James More’s portmanteau; but I think he would as soon
have lost his life as cast away that booty which was his revenge; and
he ran so that I was distressed to follow him, and marvelled and
exulted to see the girl bounding at my side.
As soon as we appeared, they cast off all disguise upon the other side;
and the seamen pursued us with shouts and view-hullohs. We had a start
of some two hundred yards, and they were but bandy-legged tarpaulins
after all, that could not hope to better us at such an exercise. I
suppose they were armed, but did not care to use their pistols on
French ground. And as soon as I perceived that we not only held our
advantage but drew a little away, I began to feel quite easy of the
issue. For all which, it was a hot, brisk bit of work, so long as it
lasted; Dunkirk was still far off; and when we popped over a knowe, and
found a company of the garrison marching on the other side on some
manœuvre, I could very well understand the word that Alan had.
He stopped running at once; and mopping at his brow, “They’re a real
bonny folk, the French nation,” says he.
CONCLUSION
No sooner were we safe within the walls of Dunkirk than we held a very
necessary council-of-war on our position. We had taken a daughter from
her father at the sword’s point; any judge would give her back to him
at once, and by all likelihood clap me and Alan into jail; and though
we had an argument upon our side in Captain Palliser’s letter, neither
Catriona nor I were very keen to be using it in public. Upon all
accounts it seemed the most prudent to carry the girl to Paris to the
hands of her own chieftain, Macgregor of Bohaldie, who would be very
willing to help his kinswoman, on the one hand, and not at all anxious
to dishonour James upon other.
We made but a slow journey of it up, for Catriona was not so good at
the riding as the running, and had scarce sat in the saddle since the
’Forty-five. But we made it out at last, reached Paris early of a
Sabbath morning, and made all speed, under Alan’s guidance, to find
Bohaldie. He was finely lodged, and lived in a good style, having a
pension on the Scots Fund, as well as private means; greeted Catriona
like one of his own house, and seemed altogether very civil and
discreet, but not particularly open. We asked of the news of James
More. “Poor James!” said he, and shook his head and smiled, so that I
thought he knew further than he meant to tell. Then we showed him
Palliser’s letter, and he drew a long face at that.
“Poor James!” said he again. “Well, there are worse folk than James
More, too. But this is dreadful bad. Tut, tut, he must have forgot
himself entirely! This is a most undesirable letter. But, for all that,
gentlemen, I cannot see what we would want to make it public for. It’s
an ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are all Scots folk and all
Hieland.”
Upon this we all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and still more upon the
question of our marriage, which Bohaldie took in his own hands, as
though there had been no such person as James More, and gave Catriona
away with very pretty manners and agreeable compliments in French. It
was not till all was over, and our healths drunk, that he told us James
was in that city, whither he had preceded us some days, and where he
now lay sick, and like to die. I thought I saw by my wife’s face what
way her inclination pointed.
“And let us go see him, then,” said I.
“If it is your pleasure,” said Catriona. These were early days.
He was lodged in the same quarter of the city with his chief, in a
great house upon a corner; and we were guided up to the garret where he
lay by the sound of Highland piping. It seemed he had just borrowed a
set of them from Bohaldie to amuse his sickness; though he was no such
hand as was his brother Rob, he made good music of the kind; and it was
strange to observe the French folk crowding on the stairs, and some of
them laughing. He lay propped in a pallet. The first look of him I saw
he was upon his last business; and, doubtless, this was a strange place
for him to die in. But even now I find I can scarce dwell upon his end
with patience. Doubtless, Bohaldie had prepared him; he seemed to know
we were married, complimented us on the event, and gave us a
benediction like a patriarch.
“I have been never understood,” said he. “I forgive you both without an
afterthought;” after which he spoke for all the world in his old
manner, was so obliging as to play us a tune or two upon his pipes, and
borrowed a small sum before I left.
I could not trace even a hint of shame in any part of his behaviour;
but he was great upon forgiveness; it seemed always fresh to him. I
think he forgave me every time we met; and when after some four days he
passed away in a kind of odour of affectionate sanctity, I could have
torn my hair out for exasperation. I had him buried; but what to put
upon his tomb was quite beyond me, till at last I considered the date
would look best alone.
I thought it wiser to resign all thoughts of Leyden, where we had
appeared once as brother and sister, and it would certainly look
strange to return in a new character. Scotland would be doing for us;
and thither, after I had recovered that which I had left behind, we
sailed in a Low Country ship.
And now, Miss Barbara Balfour (to set the ladies first), and Mr. Alan
Balfour younger of Shaws, here is the story brought fairly to an end. A
great many of the folk that took a part in it, you will find (if you
think well) that you have seen and spoken with. Alison Hastie in
Limekilns was the lass that rocked your cradle when you were too small
to know of it, and walked abroad with you in the policy when you were
bigger. That very fine great lady that is Miss Barbara’s name-mamma is
no other than the same Miss Grant that made so much a fool of David
Balfour in the house of the Lord Advocate. And I wonder whether you
remember a little, lean, lively gentleman in a scratch-wig and a
wraprascal, that came to Shaws very late of a dark night, and whom you
were awakened out of your beds and brought down to the dining-hall to
be presented to, by the name of Mr. Jamieson? Or has Alan forgotten
what he did at Mr. Jamieson’s request—a most disloyal act—for which, by
the letter of the law, he might be hanged—no less than drinking the
king’s health _across the water_? These were strange doings in a good
Whig house! But Mr. Jamieson is a man privileged, and might set fire to
my corn-barn; and the name they know him by now in France is the
Chevalier Stewart.
As for Davie and Catriona, I shall watch you pretty close in the next
days, and see if you are so bold as to be laughing at papa and mamma.
It is true we were not so wise as we might have been, and made a great
deal of sorrow out of nothing; but you will find as you grow up that
even the artful Miss Barbara, and even the valiant Mr. Alan, will be
not so very much wiser than their parents. For the life of man upon
this world of ours is a funny business. They talk of the angels
weeping; but I think they must more often be holding their sides as
they look on; and there was one thing I determined to do when I began
this long story, and that was to tell out everything as it befell.
Footnotes
[1] Conspicuous.
[2] Country.
[3] The Fairies.
[4] Flatteries.
[5] Trust to.
[6] This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first visit.—D. B.
[7] Sweetheart.
[8] Child.
[9] Palm.
[10] Gallows.
[11] My Catechism.
[12] Now Prince’s Street.
[13] A learned folklorist of my acquaintance hereby identifies Alan’s
air. It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell’s _Tales of the West
Highlands_, Vol. II., p. 91. Upon examination it would really seem as
if Miss Grant’s unrhymed doggrel (see Chapter V.) would fit with little
humouring to the notes in question.
[14] A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience of striking.
[15] Patched shoes.
[16] Shoemaker.
[17] Tamson’s mere—to go afoot.
[18] Beard.
[19] Ragged.
[20] Fine things.
[21] Catch.
[22] Victuals.
[23] Trust.
[24] Sea fog.
[25] Bashful.
[26] Rest.