David Balfour: Being Memoirs Of His Adventures At Home And Abroad, The Second Part: In Which Are Set Forth His Misfortunes Anent The Appin Murder; His Troubles With Lord Advocate Grant; Captivity On The Bass Rock; Journey Into Holland And France; And Singular Relations With James More Drummond Or Macgregor, A Son Of The Notorious Rob Roy, And His Daughter CatrionaStevenson, Robert Louis
History
David Balfour: Being Memoirs Of His Adventures At Home And Abroad, The Second Part: In Which Are Set Forth His Misfortunes Anent The Appin Murder; His Troubles With Lord Advocate Grant; Captivity On The Bass Rock; Journey Into Holland And France; And Singular Relations With James More Drummond Or Macgregor, A Son Of The Notorious Rob Roy, And His Daughter Catriona
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Historical fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
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-wagon, which is a kind of a long wagon 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 pretty brightly lighted and
thronged with the 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 harbor 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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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