Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
At the bottom of the descent, and, as it seemed, by the side of a brook
(for Waverley heard the rushing of a considerable body of water,
although its stream was invisible in the darkness), the party again
stopped before a small and rudely-constructed hovel. The door was open,
and the inside of the premises appeared as uncomfortable and rude as
its situation and exterior foreboded. There was no appearance of a
floor of any kind; the roof seemed rent in several places; the walls
were composed of loose stones and turf, and the thatch of branches of
trees. The fire was in the centre, and filled the whole wigwam with
smoke, which escaped as much through the door as by means of a circular
aperture in the roof. An old Highland sibyl, the only inhabitant of
this forlorn mansion, appeared busy in the preparation of some food. By
the light which the fire afforded Waverley could discover that his
attendants were not of the clan of Ivor, for Fergus was particularly
strict in requiring from his followers that they should wear the tartan
striped in the mode peculiar to their race; a mark of distinction
anciently general through the Highlands, and still maintained by those
Chiefs who were proud of their lineage or jealous of their separate and
exclusive authority.
Edward had lived at Glennaquoich long enough to be aware of a
distinction which he had repeatedly heard noticed, and now satisfied
that he had no interest with his attendants, he glanced a disconsolate
eye around the interior of the cabin. The only furniture, excepting a
washing-tub and a wooden press, called in Scotland an ambry, sorely
decayed, was a large wooden bed, planked, as is usual, all around, and
opening by a sliding panel. In this recess the Highlanders deposited
Waverley, after he had by signs declined any refreshment. His slumbers
were broken and unrefreshing; strange visions passed before his eyes,
and it required constant and reiterated efforts of mind to dispel them.
Shivering, violent headache, and shooting pains in his limbs succeeded
these symptoms; and in the morning it was evident to his Highland
attendants or guard, for he knew not in which light to consider them,
that Waverley was quite unfit to travel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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