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
The strange nature of this place, and the curiosities with which it
abounded, held me busy and amused. Escape being impossible, I was
allowed my entire liberty, and continually explored the surface of the
isle wherever it might support the foot of man. The old garden of the
prison was still to be observed, with flowers and pot-herbs running
wild, and some ripe cherries on a bush. A little lower stood a chapel or
a hermit's cell; who built or dwelt in it, none may know, and the
thought of its age made a ground of many meditations. The prison too,
where I now bivouacked with Highland cattle thieves, was a place full of
history, both human and divine. I thought it strange so many saints and
martyrs should have gone by there so recently, and left not so much as a
leaf out of their Bibles, or a name carved upon the wall, while the
rough soldier lads that mounted guard upon the battlements had filled
the neighbourhood with their mementoes--broken tobacco-pipes for the
most part, and that in a surprising plenty, but also metal buttons from
their coats. There were times when I thought I could have heard the
pious sound of psalms out of the martyrs' dungeons, and seen the
soldiers tramp the ramparts with their glinting pipes, and the dawn
rising behind them out of the North Sea.
No doubt it was a good deal Andie and his tales that put these fancies
in my head. He was extraordinary well acquainted with the story of the
rock in all particulars, down to the names of private soldiers, his
father having served there in that same capacity. He was gifted besides
with a natural genius for narration, so that the people seemed to speak
and the things to be done before your face. This gift of his and my
assiduity to listen brought us the more close together. I could not
honestly deny but what I liked him; I soon saw that he liked me; and
indeed, from the first I had set myself out to capture his good will. An
odd circumstance (to be told presently) effected this beyond my
expectation; but even in early days we made a friendly pair to be a
prisoner and his gaoler.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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