"The Scottish Catechism, my dear, saith that `Man's chief end is to
glorify God, and to enjoy Him for ever.' Grander words were never
penned out of God's own Word. And among the most striking words in it
are those of David, which may be called the response thereto--`When I
awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be satisfied with it.'"
Then Annas and Flora came in.
But I had got what I wanted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bloomsbury Square, London, September 23rd 1745.
While we were travelling, I could not get at my book to write anything;
and had I been able, I doubt whether I should have found time. We
journeyed from early morning till late at night, really almost as though
we were flying from a foe: though of course we should have had nothing
to fear, had the royal army overtaken us. It was only the Elector's
troops who would have meddled with us; and they were in Scotland
somewhere. There is indeed a rumour flying abroad to-night (saith my
Uncle Charles), that the Prince has entered Edinburgh: but we know not
if it be true or no. If so, he will surely push on straight for London,
since the rebellious troops must have been driven quite away, before he
could do that. So my Uncle Charles says; and he saith too, that they
are a mere handful of raw German mercenaries, who would never stand a
moment against the courage, the discipline, and the sense of right,
which must animate the King's army.
Oh dear! where shall I begin, if I am to write down all about the
journey? And if I do not, it will look like a great gap in my tale.
Well, my Uncle Drummond took us to Hawick--but stop! I have not left
Abbotscliff yet, and here I am coming to Hawick. That won't do. I must
begin again.
Mr Keith and Angus marched on Thursday night, with a handful of
volunteers from Tweedside. It was hard work parting. Even I felt it,
and of course Angus is much less to me than the others. Mr Keith said
farewell to my Uncle and me, and he came last to Flora. She lifted her
eyes to him full of tears as she put her hand in his.
"Duncan," she said, "will you make me a promise?"
"Certainly, Flora, if it be anything that will ease your mind."
"Indeed it will," she said, with trembling lips. "Never lose sight of
Angus, and try to keep him safe and true."
"True to the Cause, or true to God?"
"True to both. I cannot separate between right and right."
I thought there was just one second's hesitation--no more--before Mr
Keith gave his solemn answer.
"I will, so help me God!"
Flora thanked him amidst her sobs. He held her hand a moment longer,
and I almost thought that he was going to ask her for something. But
suddenly there came a setting of stern purpose into his lips and eyes,
and he kissed her hand and let it go, with no more than--"God bless you,
dear Flora. Farewell!"
Then Angus came up, and gave us a much warmer (and rougher) good-bye:
but I felt there was something behind Mr Keith's, which he had not
spoken, and I wondered what it was.
We left Abbotscliff ourselves at six o'clock next morning. Flora and I
were in the chaise; my Uncle Drummond, Sam, and Wedderburn (the Laird's
servant) on horseback. At the gates at Monksburn we took up Annas, and
Wedderburn joined us there too. The Laird came to see us off, and
nearly wrung my hand off as he said, to Flora and me, "Take care of my
bairn. The Lord's taking them both from their auld father. If I be
bereaved of my children, I am bereaved."
"The Lord will keep them Himself, dear friend," said my Uncle Drummond.
"Surely you see the need to part with them?"
"Oh ay, I see the need clear enough! And an auld noodle I am, to be
lamenting to you, who are suffering the very same loss." Then he turned
to Annas. "God be with thee, my bonnie birdie," he said: "the auld
Grange will be lone without thy song. But thou wilt let us hear a word
of thy welfare as oft as thou canst."
"As often as ever I can, dear Father," said Annas: and as he turned
back, and we drove away, she broke down as I had never imagined Annas
would do.
We slept that night at the inn at Hawick. On the Saturday morning, my
Uncle Drummond left us, and we went on to Carlisle, which we reached
late at night. Here we were to stay with Dr and Mrs Benn, friends of
Father's, who made much of us, and seemed to think themselves quite
honoured in having us: and Sam went off at once on a fresh horse to
Brocklebank, which he hoped to reach by midnight. They would be looking
for him. I charged him with all sorts of messages, which he said grimly
that he would deliver if he recollected them when he got there: and I
gave him a paper for my Aunt Kezia, with a list of things I would have
sent.
On Sunday we went to the Cathedral with our hosts, and spent the day
quietly.
But on Monday morning, what was my astonishment, as I was just going
into the parlour, to hear a familiar voice say--
"Did you leave your eyes at Abbotscliff, my dear?"
"Aunt Kezia!" I cried.
Yes, there stood my Aunt Kezia, in her hood and scarf, looking as if
only an hour had passed since I saw her before. I was glad to see her,
and I ventured to say so.
"Why, child, did you think I was going to send my lamb out into the
wilderness, with never a farewell?"
"But how early you must have had to rise, Aunt Kezia!"
"Mrs Kezia, this is an unlooked-for pleasure," said the Doctor, coming
forward. "I could never have hoped to see you at this hour."
"This hour! Why, 'tis but eight o'clock!" cries my Aunt Kezia. "What
sort of a lig-a-bed do you think me, Doctor?"
"Madam, I think you the flower of creation!" cries he, bowing over her
hand.
"You must have been reading the poets," saith she, "and not to much good
purpose.--Flora, child, you look but white! And is this Miss Annas
Keith, your friend? I am glad to see you, my dear. Don't mind an old
woman's freedom: I call all girls `my dear'."
Annas smiled, and said she was very pleased to feel as though my Aunt
Kezia reckoned her among her friends.
"My friends' friends are mine," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Well, Cary, I
have brought you all the things in your minute, save your purple
lutestring scarf, which I could not find. It was not in the bottom
shelf, as you set down."
"Why, where could I have put it?" said I. "I always keep it on that
shelf."
I was sorry to miss it, because it is my best scarf, and I thought I
should want it in London, where I suppose everybody goes very fine.
However, there was no more to be said--on my side. I found there was on
my Aunt Kezia's.
"Here, hold your hand, child," saith she. "Your father sends you ten
guineas to spend; and here are five more from me, and this pocket-piece
from Sophy. You can get a new scarf in London, if you need it, or
anything else you like better."
"Oh, thank you, Aunt Kezia!" I cried. "Why, how rich I shall be!"
"Don't waste your money, Cary: lay it out wisely, and then we shall be
pleased. I will give you a good rule: Never buy anything without
sleeping on it. Don't rush off and get it the first minute it comes
into your head. You will see the bottom of your purse in a veek if you
do."
"But it might be gone, Aunt Kezia."
"Then it is something you can do without."
"Is Hatty come home, Aunt?" said Flora.
"Not she," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Miss Hatty's gone careering off, the
deer know where. I dare be bound you'll fall in with her. She is gone
with Charlotte and Emily up to town."
I was sorry to hear that. I don't much want to meet Hatty--above all if
Grandmamma be there.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The great majority of Scottish Jacobites were Episcopalians and
"Moderates," a term equivalent to the English "High and Dry." There
were, however, a very few Presbyterians among them.