Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
On entering the town, however, and advancing towards the most apparent
public house which presented itself, the numbers of old women, in tartan
screens and red cloaks, who streamed from the barn-resembling building,
debating, as they went, the comparative merits of the blessed youth
Jabesh Rentowel, and that chosen vessel Maister Goukthrapple, induced
Callum to assure his temporary master, 'that it was either ta muckle
Sunday hersell, or ta little government Sunday that they ca'd ta fast.'
On alighting at the sign of the Seven-branched Golden Candlestick,
which, for the further delectation of the guests, was graced with
a short Hebrew motto, they were received by mine host, a tall, thin
puritanical figure, who seemed to debate with himself whether he ought
to give shelter to those who travelled on such a day. Reflecting,
however, in all probability, that he possessed the power of mulcting
them for this irregularity, a penalty which they might escape by passing
into Gregor Duncanson's, at the sign of the Highlander and the Hawick
Gill, Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks condescended to admit them into his
dwelling.
To this sanctified person Waverley addressed his request that he would
procure him a guide, with a saddle-horse, to carry his portmanteau to
Edinburgh.
'And whar may ye be coming from?' demanded mine host of the Candlestick.
'I have told you where I wish to go; I do not conceive any further
information necessary either for the guide or his saddle-horse.'
'Hem! Ahem!' returned he of the Candlestick, somewhat disconcerted at
this rebuff. 'It's the general fast, sir, and I cannot enter into ony
carnal transactions on sic a day, when the people should be humbled,
and the back sliders should return, as worthy Mr. Goukthrapple said; and
moreover when, as the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel did weel observe, the
land was mourning for covenants burnt, broken, and buried.'
'My good friend,' said Waverley, 'if you cannot let me have a horse and
guide, my servant shall seek them elsewhere.'
'Aweel! Your servant?--and what for gangs he not forward wi' you
himsell?'
Waverley had but very little of a captain of horse's spirit within
him--I mean of that sort of spirit which I have been obliged to when I
happened, in a mail-coach, or diligence, to meet some military man
who has kindly taken upon him the disciplining of the waiters, and the
taxing of reckonings. Some of this useful talent our hero had, however,
acquired during his military service, and on this gross provocation
it began seriously to arise. 'Look ye, sir; I came here for my own
accommodation, and not to answer impertinent questions. Either say you
can, or cannot, get me what I want; I shall pursue my course in either
case.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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