Catriona by Robert Louis Stevenson (read with me .TXT) 📕
Description
Robert Lewis Stevenson continues the story of David Balfour, starting directly where Kidnapped left off. Compared to Kidnapped, Catriona is much more of a comedy of manners, politics, and romance than a simple action-adventure story, but it still has several of Stevenson’s trademark escapades, imprisonments, and daring escapes.
The title character David Balfour attempts to navigate, to his own peril, his apparent role in the Appin murder, the subsequent trial of James of the Glens, life among high society, and the machinations of James Macgregor Drummond, the father of David’s great love, Catriona.
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- Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
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I have been the more careful to narrate this passage of my reflections, because I think it is of some utility, and may serve as an example to young men. But there is reason (they say) in planting kale, and even in ethic and religion, room for common sense. It was already close on Alan’s hour, and the moon was down. If I left (as I could not very decently whistle to my spies to follow me) they might miss me in the dark and tack themselves to Alan by mistake. If I stayed, I could at the least of it set my friend upon his guard which might prove his mere salvation. I had adventured other peoples’ safety in a course of self-indulgence; to have endangered them again, and now on a mere design of penance, would have been scarce rational. Accordingly, I had scarce risen from my place ere I sat down again, but already in a different frame of spirits, and equally marvelling at my past weakness and rejoicing in my present composure.
Presently after came a crackling in the thicket. Putting my mouth near down to the ground, I whistled a note or two of Alan’s air; an answer came, in the like guarded tone, and soon we had thralled together in the dark.
“Is this you at last, Davie?” he whispered.
“Just myself,” said I.
“God, man, but I’ve been wearying to see ye!” says he. “I’ve had the longest kind of a time. A’ day, I’ve had my dwelling into the inside of a stack of hay, where I couldnae see the nebs of my ten fingers; and then two hours of it waiting here for you, and you never coming! Dod, and ye’re none too soon the way it is, with me to sail the morn! The morn? what am I saying?—the day, I mean.”
“Ay, Alan, man, the day, sure enough,” said I. “It’s past twelve now, surely, and ye sail the day. This’ll be a long road you have before you.”
“We’ll have a long crack of it first,” said he.
“Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling you to hear,” said I.
And I told him what behooved, making rather a jumble of it, but clear enough when done. He heard me out with very few questions, laughing here and there like a man delighted: and the sound of his laughing (above all there, in the dark, where neither one of us could see the other) was extraordinary friendly to my heart.
“Ay, Davie, ye’re a queer character,” says he, when I had done: “a queer bitch after a’, and I have no mind of meeting with the like of ye. As for your story, Prestongrange is a Whig like yoursel’, so I’ll say the less of him; and, dod! I believe he was the best friend ye had, if ye could only trust him. But Symon Fraser and James More are my ain kind of cattle, and I’ll give them the name that they deserve. The muckle black de’il was father to the Frasers, a’body kens that; and as for the Gregara, I never could abye the reek of them since I could stotter on two feet. I bloodied the nose of one, I mind, when I was still so wambly on my legs that I cowped upon the top of him. A proud man was my father that day, God rest him! and I think he had the cause. I’ll never can deny but what Robin was something of a piper,” he added; “but as for James More, the de’il guide him for me!”
“One thing we have to consider,” said I. “Was Charles Stewart right or wrong? Is it only me they’re after, or the pair of us?”
“And what’s your ain opinion, you that’s a man of so much experience?” said he.
“It passes me,” said I.
“And me too,” says Alan. “Do ye think this lass would keep her word to ye?” he asked.
“I do that,” said I.
“Well, there’s nae telling,” said he. “And anyway, that’s over and done: he’ll be joined to the rest of them lang syne.”
“How many would ye think there would be of them?” I asked.
“That depends,” said Alan. “If it was only you, they would likely send two-three lively, brisk young birkies, and if they thought that I was to appear in the employ, I daresay ten or twelve,” said he.
It was no use, I gave a little crack of laughter.
“And I think your own two eyes will have seen me drive that number, or the double of it, nearer hand!” cries he.
“It matters the less,” said I, “because I am well rid of them for this time.”
“Nae doubt that’s your opinion,” said he; “but I wouldnae be the least surprised if they were hunkering this wood. Ye see, David man, they’ll be Hieland folk. There’ll be some Frasers, I’m thinking, and some of the Gregara; and I would never deny but what the both of them, and the Gregara in especial, were clever experienced persons. A man kens little till he’s driven a spreagh of neat cattle (say) ten miles through a throng lowland country and the black soldiers maybe at his tail. It’s there that I learned a great part of my penetration. And ye need nae tell me: it’s better than war; which is the next best, however, though generally rather a bauchle of a business. Now the Gregara have had grand practice.”
“No doubt that’s a branch of education that was left out with me,” said I.
“And I can see the marks of it upon ye constantly,” said Alan. “But that’s the strange thing
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