The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
His rhetoric was set forth with an ear-piercing elocution, and a voice
that sometimes crashed like cannon. Such as it was, it was the gift of
all hill-preachers, to a singular degree of likeness or identity. Their
images scarce ranged beyond the red horizon of the moor and the rainy
hill-top, the shepherd and his sheep, a fowling-piece, a spade, a pipe,
a dunghill, a crowing cock, the shining and the withdrawal of the sun.
An occasional pathos of simple humanity, and frequent patches of big
Biblical words, relieved the homely tissue. It was a poetry apart;
bleak, austere, but genuine, and redolent of the soil.
A little before the coming of the squall there was a different scene
enacting at the outposts. For the most part, the sentinels were faithful
to their important duty; the Hill-end of Drumlowe was known to be a safe
meeting-place; and the out-pickets on this particular day had been
somewhat lax from the beginning, and grew laxer during the inordinate
length of the discourse. Francie lay there in his appointed hiding-hole,
looking abroad between two whin-bushes. His view was across the course
of the burn, then over a piece of plain moorland, to a gap between two
hills; nothing moved but grouse, and some cattle who slowly traversed
his field of view, heading northward: he heard the psalms, and sang
words of his own to the savage and melancholy music; for he had his own
design in hand, and terror and cowardice prevailed in his bosom
alternately, like the hot and the cold fit of an ague. Courage was
uppermost during the singing, which he accompanied through all its
length with this impromptu strain:
"And I will ding Jock Crozer down
No later than the day."
Presently the voice of the preacher came to him in wafts, at the wind's
will, as by the opening and shutting of a door; wild spasms of
screaming, as of some undiscerned gigantic hill-bird stirred with
inordinate passion, succeeded to intervals of silence; and Francie heard
them with a critical ear. "Ay," he thought at last, "he'll do; he has
the bit in his mou' fairly."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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