David Balfour

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  PART II

  FATHER AND DAUGHTER

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  CHAPTER XXI

  THE VOYAGE INTO HOLLAND

  The ship lay at a single anchor, well outside the pier of Leith, so thatall we passengers must come to it by the means of skiffs. This was verylittle troublesome, for the reason that the day was a flat calm, veryfrosty and cloudy, and with a low shifting fog upon the water. The bodyof the vessel was thus quite hid as I drew near, but the tall spars ofher stood high and bright in a sunshine like the flickering of a fire.She proved to be a very roomy, commodious merchant, but somewhat bluntin the bows, and loaden extraordinary deep with salt, salted salmon, andfine white linen stockings for the Dutch. Upon my coming on board, thecaptain welcomed me, one Sang (out of Lesmahago, I believe), a veryhearty, friendly tarpauling of a man, but at the moment in rather of abustle. There had no other of the passengers yet appeared, so that I wasleft to walk about upon the deck, viewing the prospect and wondering agood deal what these farewells should be which I was promised.

  All Edinburgh and the Pentland Hills glinted above me in a kind ofsmuisty brightness, now and again overcome with blots of cloud; of Leiththere was no more than the tops of chimneys visible, and on the face ofthe water, where the haar[24] lay, nothing at all. Out of this I waspresently aware of a sound of oars pulling, and a little after (as ifout of the smoke of a fire) a boat issued. There sat a grave man in thestern sheets, well muffled from the cold, and by his side a tall,pretty, tender figure of a maid that brought my heart to a stand. I hadscarce the time to catch my breath in, and be ready to meet her, as shestepped upon the deck, smiling, and making my best bow, which was nowvastly finer than some months before when I first made it to herladyship. No doubt we were both a good deal changed; she seemed to haveshot up taller, like a young, comely tree. She had now a kind of prettybackwardness that became her well, as of one that regarded herself morehighly and was fairly woman; and for another thing, the hand of the samemagician had been at work upon the pair of us, and Miss Grant had madeus both _braw_, if she could make but the one _bonny_.

  The same cry, in words not very different, came from both of us, thatthe other was come in compliment to say farewell, and then we perceivedin a flash we were to ship together.

  "O, why will not Baby have been telling me!" she cried; and thenremembered a letter she had been given, on the condition of not openingit till she was well on board. Within was an enclosure for myself, andran thus:

  "DEAR DAVIE,--What do you think of my farewell? and what do you say to your fellow-passenger? Did you kiss, or did you ask? I was about to have signed here, but that would leave the purport of my question doubtful; and in my own case _I ken the answer_. So fill up here with good advice. Do not be too blate,[25] and for God's sake do not try to be too forward; nothing sets you worse. I am

  "Your affectionate friend and governess,

  "BARBARA GRANT."

  I wrote a word of answer and compliment on a leaf out of my pocketbook,put it in with another scratch from Catriona, sealed the whole with mynew signet of the Balfour arms, and despatched it by the hand ofPrestongrange's servant that still waited in my boat.

  Then we had time to look upon each other more at leisure, which we hadnot done for a piece of a minute before (upon a common impulse) we shookhands again.

  "Catriona!" said I; it seemed that was the first and last word of myeloquence.

  "You will be glad to see me again?" says she.

  "And I think that is an idle word," said I. "We are too deep friends tomake speech upon such trifles."

  "Is she not the girl of all the world?" she cried again. "I was neverknowing such a girl, so honest and so beautiful."

  "And yet she cared no more for Alpin than what she did for akale-stock," said I.

  "Ah, she will say so indeed!" cries Catriona. "Yet it was for the nameand the gentle kind blood that she took me up and was so good to me."

  "Well, I will tell you why it was," said I. "There are all sorts ofpeople's faces in this world. There is Barbara's face, that everyonemust look at and admire, and think her a fine, brave, merry girl. Andthen there is your face, which is quite different, I never knew howdifferent till to-day. You cannot see yourself, and that is why you donot understand; but it was for the love of your face that she took youup and was so good to you. And everybody in the world would do thesame."

  "Everybody?" says she.

  "Every living soul!" said I.

  "Ah, then, that will be why the soldiers at the castle took me up!" shecried.

  "Barbara has been teaching you to catch me," said I.

  "She will have taught me more than that at all events. She will havetaught me a great deal about Mr. David--all the ill of him, and a littlethat was not so ill either now and then," she said, smiling. "She willhave told me all there was of Mr. David, only just that he would sailupon this very same ship. And why is it you go?"

  I told her.

  "Ah, well," said she, "we will be some days in company and then (Isuppose) good-bye for altogether! I go to meet my father at a place ofthe name of Helvoetsluys, and from there to France, to be exiles by theside of our chieftain."

  I could say no more than just "O!" the name of James More always dryingup my very voice.

  She was quick to perceive it, and to guess some portion of my thought.

  "There is one thing I must be saying first of all, Mr. David," said she."I think two of my kinsfolk have not behaved to you altogether verywell. And the one of them two is James More, my father, and the other isthe Laird of Prestongrange. Prestongrange will have spoken by himself,or his daughter in the place of him. But for James More, my father, Ihave this much to say: he lay shackled in a prison; he is a plain honestsoldier and a plain Highland gentleman; what they would be after, henever would be guessing; but if he had understood it was to be someprejudice to a young gentleman like yourself, he would have died first.And for the sake of all your friendships, I will be asking you to pardonmy father and family for that same mistake."

  "Catriona," said I, "what that mistake was I do not care to know. I knowbut the one thing, that you went to Prestongrange and begged my lifeupon your knees. O, I ken well it was for your father that you went, butwhen you were there you pleaded for me also. It is a thing I cannotspeak of. There are two things I cannot think of in to myself; and theone is your good words when you called yourself my little friend, andthe other that you pleaded for my life. Let us never speak more, we two,of pardon or offence."

  We stood after that silent, Catriona looking on the deck and I on her;and before there was more speech, a little wind having sprung up, in thenor'-west, they began to shake out the sails and heave in upon theanchor.

  There were six passengers besides our two selves, which made of it afull cabin. Three were solid merchants out of Leith, Kirkaldy, andDundee, all engaged in the same adventure into High Germany; one was aHollander returning; the rest worthy merchants' wives, to the charge ofone of whom Catriona was recommended. Mrs. Grebbie (for that was hername) was by great good fortune heavily incommoded by the sea, and layday and night on the broad of her back. We were besides the onlycreatures at all young on board the _Rose_, except a white-faced boythat did my old duty to attend upon the table; and it came about thatCatriona and I were left almost entirely to ourselves. We had the nextseats together at the table, where I waited on her with extraordinarypleasure. On deck, I made her a soft place with my cloak; and theweather being singularly fine for that season, with bright frosty daysand nights, a steady, gentle wind, and scarce a sheet started all theway through the North Sea, we sat there (only now and again walking toand fro for warmth) from the first blink of the sun till eight or nineat night under the clear stars. The merchants or Captain Sang wouldsometimes glance and smile upon us, or pass a merry word or two and giveus the go-by again; but the most part of the time they were deep inherring and chintzes and linen, or in computations of the s
lowness ofthe passage, and left us to our own concerns, which were very littleimportant to any but ourselves.

  At the first, we had a great deal to say, and thought ourselves prettywitty; and I was at a little pains to be the _beau_, and she (I believe)to play the young lady of experience. But soon we grew plainer with eachother; I laid aside my high, clipped English (what little there was ofit) and forgot to make my Edinburgh bows and scrapes; she upon her side,fell into a sort of kind familiarity; and we dwelt together like thoseof the same household, only (upon my side) with a more deep emotion.About the same time, the bottom seemed to fall out of our conversation,and neither one of us the less pleased. Whiles she would tell me oldwives' tales, of which she had a wonderful variety, many of them from myfriend red-headed Niel. She told them very pretty, and they were prettyenough childish tales; but the pleasure to myself was in the sound ofher voice, and the thought that she was telling and I listening. Whiles,again, we would sit entirely silent, not communicating even with a look,and tasting pleasure enough in the sweetness of that neighbourhood. Ispeak here only for myself. Of what was in the maid's mind, I am notvery sure that ever I asked myself; and what was in my own, I was afraidto consider. I need make no secret of it now, either to myself or to thereader: I was fallen totally in love. She came between me and the sun.She had grown suddenly taller, as I say, but with a wholesome growth;she seemed all health, and lightness, and brave spirits; and I thoughtshe walked like a young deer, and stood like a birch upon the mountains.It was enough for me to sit near by her on the deck; and I declare Iscarce spent two thoughts upon the future, and was so well content withwhat I then enjoyed that I was never at the pains to imagine any furtherstep; unless perhaps that I would be sometimes tempted to take her handin mine and hold it there. But I was too like a miser of what joys I hadand would venture nothing on a hazard.

  What we spoke was usually of ourselves or of each other, so that ifanyone had been at so much pains as overhear us, he must have supposedus the most egotistical persons in the world. It befell one day when wewere at this practice, that we came on a discourse of friends andfriendship, and I think now that we were sailing near the wind. We saidwhat a fine thing friendship was, and how little we had guessed of it,and how it made life a new thing, and a thousand covered things of thesame kind that will have been said, since the foundation of the world,by young folk in the same predicament. Then we remarked upon thestrangeness of that circumstance, that friends came together in thebeginning as if they were there for the first time, and yet each hadbeen alive a good while, losing time with other people.

  "It is not much that I have done," said she, "and I could be telling youthe five-fifths of it in two-three words. It is only a girl I am, andwhat can befall a girl, at all events? But I went with the clan in theyear '45. The men marched with swords and firelocks, and some of them inbrigades in the same set of tartan; they were not backward at themarching, I can tell you. And there were gentlemen from the Low Country,with their tenants mounted and trumpets to sound, and there was a grandskirling of war-pipes. I rode on a little Highland horse on the righthand of my father, James More, and of Glengyle himself. And here is onefine thing that I remember, that Glengyle kissed me in the face, because(says he) 'my kinswoman, you are the only lady of the clan that has comeout,' and me a little maid of maybe twelve years old! I saw PrinceCharlie too, and the blue eyes of him; he was pretty indeed! I had hishand to kiss in the front of the army. O, well, these were the gooddays, but it is all like a dream that I have seen and then awakened. Itwent what way you very well know; and these were the worst days of all,when the red-coat soldiers were out, and my father and my uncles lay inthe hill, and I was to be carrying them their meat in the middle night,or at the short side of day when the cocks crow. Yes, I have walked inthe night, many's the time, and my heart great in me for terror of thedarkness. It is a strange thing I will never have been meddled with abogle; but they say a maid goes safe. Next there was my uncle'smarriage, and that was a dreadful affair beyond all. Jean Kay was thatwoman's name; and she had me in the room with her that night atInversnaid, the night we took her from her friends in the old, ancientmanner. She would and she wouldn't; she was for marrying Rob the oneminute, and the next she would be for none of him. I will never haveseen such a feckless creature of a woman; surely all there was of herwould tell her ay or no. Well, she was a widow, and I can never bethinking a widow a good woman."

  "Catriona!" says I, "how do you make out that?"

  "I do not know," said she; "I am only telling you the seeming in myheart. And then to marry a new man! Fy! But that was her; and she wasmarried again upon my Uncle Robin, and went with him awhile to kirk andmarket; and then wearied, or else her friends got claught of her andtalked her round, or maybe she turned ashamed; at the least of it, sheran away, and went back to her own folk, and said we had held her in thelake, and I will never tell you all what. I have never thought much ofany females since that day. And so in the end my father, James More,came to be cast in prison, and you know the rest of it as well as me."

  "And through all you had no friends?" said I.

  "No," said she; "I have been pretty chief with two-three lasses on thebraes, but not to call it friends."

  "Well, mine is a plain tale," said I. "I never had a friend to my nametill I met in with you."

  "And that brave Mr. Stewart?" she asked.

  "O, yes, I was forgetting him," I said. "But he is a man, and that isvery different."

  "I would think so," said she. "O, yes, it is quite different."

  "And then there was one other," said I. "I once thought I had a friend,but it proved a disappointment."

  She asked me who she was?

  "It was a he, then," said I. "We were the two best lads at my father'sschool, and we thought we loved each other dearly. Well, the time camewhen he went to Glasgow to a merchant's house, that was his secondcousin once removed; and wrote me two-three times by the carrier; andthen he found new friends, and I might write till I was tired, he tookno notice. Eh, Catriona, it took me a long while to forgive the world.There is not anything more bitter than to lose a fancied friend."

  Then she began to question me close upon his looks and character, for wewere each a great deal concerned in all that touched the other; till atlast, in a very evil hour, I minded of his letters and went and fetchedthe bundle from the cabin.

  "Here are his letters," said I, "and all the letters that ever I got.That will be the last I'll can tell of myself; you know the lave[26] aswell as I do."

  "Will you let me read them, then?" says she.

  I told her, _if she would be at the pains_; and she bade me go away andshe would read them from the one end to the other. Now, in this bundlethat I gave her, there were packed together not only all the letters ofmy false friend, but one or two of Mr. Campbell's when he was in town atthe Assembly, and to make a complete roll of all that ever was writtento me, Catriona's little word, and the two I had received from MissGrant, one when I was on the Bass and one on board that ship. But ofthese last I had no particular mind at the moment.

  I was in that state of subjection to the thought of my friend that itmattered not what I did, nor scarce whether I was in her presence or outof it; I had caught her like some kind of a noble fever that livedcontinually in my bosom, by night and by day, and whether I was wakingor asleep. So it befell that after I was come into the fore-part of theship where the broad bows splashed into the billows, I was in no suchhurry to return as you might fancy; rather prolonged my absence like avariety in pleasure. I do not think I am by nature much of an Epicurean;and there had come till then so small a share of pleasure in my way thatI might be excused perhaps to dwell on it unduly.

  When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful impression as of abuckle slipped, so coldly she returned the packet.

  "You have read them?" said I; and I thought my voice sounded not whollynatural, for I was turning in my mind for what could ail her.

  "Did you mean me to read all?" she asked
.

  I told her "Yes," with a drooping voice.

  "The last of them as well?" said she.

  I knew where we were now; yet I would not lie to her either. "I gavethem all without after-thought," I said, "as I supposed that you wouldread them. I see no harm in any."

  "I will be differently made," said she. "I thank God I am differentlymade. It was not a fit letter to be shown me. It was not fit to bewritten."

  "I think you are speaking of your own friend, Barbara Grant?" said I.

  "There will not be anything as bitter as to lose a fancied friend," saidshe, quoting my own expression.

  "I think it is sometimes the friendship that was fancied!" I cried."What kind of justice do you call this, to blame me for some words thata tomfool of a madcap lass has written down upon a piece of paper? Youknow yourself with what respect I have behaved--and would do always."

  "Yet you would show me that same letter!" says she. "I want no suchfriends. I can be doing very well, Mr. Balfour, without her--or you."

  "This is your fine gratitude!" says I.

  "I am very much obliged to you," said she. "I will be asking you to takeaway your--letters." She seemed to choke upon the word, so that itsounded like an oath.

  "You shall never ask twice," said I; picked up that bundle, walked alittle way forward and cast them as far as possible into the sea. For avery little more, I could have cast myself after them.

  The rest of the day I walked up and down raging. There were few names soill but what I gave her them in my own mind before the sun went down.All that I had ever heard of Highland pride seemed quite outdone; that agirl (scarce grown) should resent so trifling an allusion, and that fromher next friend, that she had near wearied me with praising of! I hadbitter, sharp, hard thoughts of her, like an angry boy's. If I hadkissed her indeed (I thought), perhaps she would have taken it prettywell; and only because it had been written down, and with a spice ofjocularity, up she must fuff in this ridiculous passion. It seemed to methere was a want of penetration in the female sex, to make angels weepover the case of the poor men.

  We were side by side again at supper, and what a change was there! Shewas like curdled milk to me; her face was like a wooden doll's; I couldhave indifferently smitten her or grovelled at her feet, but she gave menot the least occasion to do either. No sooner the meal done than shebetook herself to attend on Mrs. Gebbie, which I think she had a littleneglected heretofore. But she was to make up for lost time, and in whatremained of the passage was extraordinary assiduous with the old lady,and on deck began to make a great deal more than I thought wise ofCaptain Sang. Not but what the captain seemed a worthy, fatherly man;but I hated to behold her in the least familiarity with anyone exceptmyself.

  Altogether, she was so quick to avoid me, and so constant to keepherself surrounded with others, that I must watch a long while before Icould find my opportunity; and after it was found, I made not much ofit, as you are now to hear.

  "I have no guess how I have offended," said I; "it should scarce bebeyond pardon, then. O, try if you can pardon me."

  "I have no pardon to give," said she; and the words seemed to come outof her throat like marbles. "I will be very much obliged for all yourfriendships." And she made me an eight part of a curtsey.

  But I had schooled myself beforehand to say more, and I was going to sayit too.

  "There is one thing," said I. "If I have shocked your particularity bythe showing of that letter, it cannot touch Miss Grant. She wrote not toyou, but to a poor, common, ordinary lad, who might have had more sensethan show it. If you are to blame me--"

  "I will advise you to say no more about that girl, at all events!" saidCatriona. "It is her I will never look the road of, not if she laydying." She turned away from me, and suddenly back. "Will you swear youwill have no more to deal with her?" she cried.

  "Indeed, and I will never be so unjust then," said I; "nor yet soungrateful."

  And now it was I that turned away.

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