The marriage took place in the afternoon; and dinner was to follow.
Annie good-naturedly took Fanny to her own room and washed away her
tears.
In due time both sailed down to dinner. And a right jolly dinner it
was, too. Fanny had never seen anything like it before. Of course that
lovely haunch of tender venison was the _piece de resistance_, while an
immense plum-pudding brought up the rear. Dessert was spread, with some
rare wines--including whisky--but Sandie could scarce be prevailed upon
to touch anything. He was almost awed by the presence of the reverend
and aged minister, who tried, whenever he could, to slip in a word or
two about the brevity of life, the eternity that was before them all,
the Judgment Day, and so on, and so forth. But the minister, for all
that, patronised the Highland whisky.
"No, no," he said, waving the port wine away. "`Look not thou upon the
wine when it is red; when it giveth his colour to the cup... at the last
it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.'"
It was observed, however, that as he spoke he filled his glass with
Glenlivet.
Well, I suppose no man need care to look upon the wine when it is red,
if his tumbler be flanked by a bottle of Scotch.
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The dinner ended, there was the march homeward to Sandie's wee house on
the knoll, pipers first, playing right merrily; Sandie and his bride
arm-in-arm next; then, four deep, lads and lasses gay, to the number of
fifty at least.
And what cheering and laughing as they reached the door. But finally
all departed to prepare for the ball that was to take place later on in
the great barn of Bilberry Hall.
And it was a barn, too!--or, rather, a loft, for it was built partly on
a brae, so that after climbing some steps you found yourself on level
ground, and entered a great door.
Early in the evening, long ere lad and lass came linking to the door,
the band had taken their places on an elevated platform at one side of,
but in the middle of, the hall.
The floor was swept and chalked, the walls all around densely decorated
with evergreens, Scotch pine and spruce and heather galore, with here
and there hanging lamps.
Boys and girls, however, hovered around the doorway and peeped in now
and then, amazed and curious. To them, too, the tuning of the
musicians' fiddles sent a thrill of joy expectant to their little souls.
How they did long, to be sure, for the opening time.
As the vultures scent a battle from afar, so do the Aberdeen "sweetie"
wives scent a peasant's ball. And these had already assembled to the
number of ten in all, with baskets filled to overflowing with packets of
sweets. These would be all sold before morning. These sweetie wives
were not young by any means--save one or two--
"But withered beldames, auld and droll,
Rig-woodie hags would spean a foal."
They really looked like witches in their tall-crowned white cotton caps
with flapping borders.
A half-hour goes slowly past. The band is getting impatient. A sweet
wee band it is--three small fiddles, a 'cello, a double bass, and
clarionet. The master of ceremonies treats them all to a thistle of the
wine of the country. Then the leader gives a signal, and they strike
into some mournfully plaintive old melodies, such as "Auld Robin Grey,"
"The Flowers o' the Forest," "Donald," etc, enough to draw tears from
anyone's eyes.
But now, hurrah! in sails Fanny with Shufflin' Sandie on her arm,
looking as bright as a new brass button. There is a special seat for
them, and for the Laird, Annie, and the quality generally, at the far
end of the hall--a kind of arbour, sweetly bedecked with heather, and
draped with McLeod tartan. Here they take their seats. There is a row
of seats all round the hall and close to the walls.
And now crowd in the Highland lads and lasses gay, the latter mostly in
white, with ribbons in their hair, and tartan sashes across their
breasts and shoulders. Very beautiful many look, with complexions such
as duchesses might envy, and their white teeth flashing like pearls as
they whisper to each other and smile.
As each couple file in at the door, the gentleman takes his partner to a
seat, bows and retires to his own side, for the ladies and gentlemen are
seated separately, modestly looking at each other now and then, the lads
really infinitely more shy than the lasses.
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Now Laird McLeod slowly rises. There is a hush now, and all eyes are
turned towards the snowy-haired grand old man.
"Ladies and gentlemen all," he says, "I trust you will enjoy a really
happy evening, and I am sure it will be an innocent one. `Youth's the
season made for joy.' I have only to add that the bridegroom himself
will open the ball with a hornpipe."
A deafening cheer rang out, the musicians struck up that inimitable
College Hornpipe, and next moment, arrayed in his best clothes,
Shufflin' Sandie was in the middle of the floor. He waited, bowing to
the McLeod and the ballroom generally, till the first measure was
played. Then surely never did man-o'-war sailor dance as Sandie danced!
His legs seemed in two or three places at one time, and so quickly did
he move that scarce could they be seen. He seemed, indeed, to have as
many limbs as a daddy-long-legs. He shuffled, he tripled and
double-tripled, while the cracking of his thumbs sounded for all the
world like a nigger's performance with the bones. Then every wild,
merry "Hooch!" brought down the house. Such laughing and clapping of
hands few have ever heard before. Sandie's uncouth little figure and
droll face added to the merriment, and when he had finished there was a
general cry of "Encore!" Sandie danced another step or two, then bowed,
took a huge pinch of snuff, and retired.
But the ball was not quite opened yet. A foursome reel was next danced
by the bride and Annie herself, with as partners Shufflin' Sandie and
McLeod's nephew, a handsome young fellow from Aberdeen. It was the Reel
of Tulloch, and, danced in character, there is not much to beat it.
Then came a cry of "Fill the floor!" and every lad rushed across the
hall for his partner. The ball was now indeed begun. And so, with
dance after dance, it went on for hours:
"Lads and lassies in a dance;
Nae cotillion brent new frae France;
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels
Put life and mettle in their heels."
Sandie hardly missed a dance. He was indeed the life and soul of the
ballroom.
The sweetie wives were almost sold out already, for every Jock must
treat his own Jeannie, or the other fellow's Jeannie, to bags and
handfuls of sweets. And the prettier the girl was the more she
received, till she was fain to hand them over to her less good-looking
sisters.
But at midnight there came a lull--a lull for refreshments.
White-aproned servants staggered in with bread, butter, and cheese, and
bucketfuls of strong whisky punch.
There was less reserve now. The lads had their lasses at either side of
the hall, and for the most part on their knees. Even the girls must
taste the punch, and the lads drank heartily--not one mugful each, but
three! Nevertheless, they felt like giants refreshed.
"And now the fun grew fast and furious"--and still more so when, arrayed
in all the tartan glory of the Highland dress, two stalwart pipers
stalked in to relieve the band, grand men and athletes!
"They screwed their pipes and made them skirl,
Till roofs and rafters all did dirl.
The pipers loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew."
But at two o'clock again came a lull; more biscuits, more
bread-and-cheese, and many more buckets of toddy or punch. And during
this lull, accompanied by the violins, Sandie sang the grand old
love-song called "The Rose of Allandale." It was duly appreciated, and
Sandie was applauded to the "ring of the bonnet," as he himself phrased
it.
Then Annie herself was led to the front by her uncle. Everyone was
silent and seemingly dazzled by her rare but childlike beauty.
Her song was "Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming." Perhaps few were near
enough to see, but the tears were in the girl's eyes, and almost
streaming over more than once before she had finished.
And now McLeod and his party took their leave, Sandie and his bride
following close behind.
The ball continued after this, however, till nearly daylight in the
morning. Then "Bob at the Booster"--a kind of kiss-in-the-ring dance--
brought matters to a close, and, wrapped in plaids and shawls, the
couples filed away to their homes, over the fields and through the
heather.
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Next day Shufflin' Sandie was working away among his horses as quietly
and contentedly as if he had not been married at all yesterday, or spent
the evening in a ballroom.
Before, however, leaving his little cottage by the wood, he had
dutifully made his wife a cup of tea, and commanded her to rest for
hours before turning out to cook their humble dinner. And dutifully she
obeyed.
The Laird and Sandie came to an arrangement that same forenoon as to how
much work he was to do for him and how much for himself.
"Indeed, sir," he told McLeod, "I'll just get on the same as I did
before I got the wife. My kail-yard's but small as yet, and it'll be
little trouble to dig and rake in the evening."
"Very well, Sandie. Help yourself to a glass there."
Sandie needed no second bidding. He was somewhat of an enthusiast as
far as good whisky was concerned; perfectly national, in fact, as
regarded the wine of "poor auld Scotland."
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Nearly three years passed away. The ship had not returned. She never
would, nor could.