Philip Rollo; or, the Scottish Musketeers, Vol. 1 (of 2)Grant, James
General
Philip Rollo; or, the Scottish Musketeers, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Grant, James
Thirty Years' War, 1618-1648 -- Fiction
About mid-day our surly corporal halted at a little farmhouse. The
proprietor, proving to be a good Catholic, escaped shooting, and his
house escaped the flames. Being an honest fellow, he made us--though
prisoners--quite as welcome as the military ragamuffins who guarded
us, and we all dined jovially together on fried bacon and Danish
beer. Dandy Dreghorn ate voraciously to make up for the loss of his
breakfast; and his applications to the "gudeman for anither slice o'
the grumphie," and to the corporal for "anither cogue o' the yill,"
were incessant. A fair-haired and blue-eyed little girl (the
daughter of our host) gazed at me with terror, from time to time,
from behind her father's chair.
"Come hither, Wilhelmina," said he, with a broad laugh; "thou seest
these Scottish soldiers have but one head, like ourselves--not two,
as Father d'Eydel told thee."
I soon made a friend of this little lady, and hastened to assure her
that I never had more than one head; I placed her on my knee, where
she laughed and pulled my mustaches; while her little brother was
peeping fearfully towards the end of my kilt, to see that forked tail
which he understood all Protestants possessed.
Contrasted with the horrors of war, I envied the contentment that
pervaded this good man's hearth; but the sentiments of repugnance to
rapine and strife, became fainter the more often we are impressed;
till at last they are worn out, like the rough thistles on our
Scottish pennies, which obliterate as they are used. I can remember
all the horror, the breathless shrinking, I felt on first seeing a
poor fellow near me torn in two by a cannon-shot at Boitzenburg; but
a time came when I could gaze without emotion at the sack of a city
and the slaughter of a multitude. Curiosity and horror were then
alike effaced; they had passed away, and callousness alone remained
behind, till peace again restored the feelings to their proper tone.
However, I sighed as I left the house of the German farmer, and
resumed that weary march, the end of which I could not foresee.
On the road I was frequently accosted by Scots Imperialists, who
spoke to me kindly, and expressed indignation to see me marched thus
on foot, and fettered to a private soldier. In short, a general
excitement on the subject soon prevailed among them; and, after
Gordon's musketeers had passed me, Tilly's aide-de-camp, Count
Kœningheim, came up with an order to relieve me from the ignominy
I endured, and the fetter was transferred to poor Dandy's _other_
hand. He stared meanwhile in blank astonishment at the count, who
had addressed me in our pure native dialect.
"So you are a Scot, sir?" said I.
"Had I not been that," said he, "I had left you to wear your
bracelet; but dinna think o' escape; for Tilly's a dour auld carle,
and never tholes muckle."
"You have become so foreign in aspect and manner, that I never could
have recognised in you a kindly Scot."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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