Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — CompleteScott, Walter
History
Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Complete
Scott, Walter
Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'And well I may,' answered Ballenkeiroch; 'the flash of the gun cost me
a fair-haired son, and the glance of the sword has done but little for
King James.'
The Chieftain, in two words of French, explained to Waverley that the
Baron had shot this old man's son in a fray near Tully-Veolan, about
seven years before; and then hastened to remove Ballenkeiroch's
prejudice, by informing him that Waverley was an Englishman,
unconnected by birth or alliance with the family of Bradwardine; upon
which the old gentleman raised the hitherto-untasted cup and
courteously drank to his health. This ceremony being requited in kind,
the Chieftain made a signal for the pipes to cease, and said aloud,
'Where is the song hidden, my friends, that Mac-Murrough cannot find
it?'
Mac-Murrough, the family bhairdh, an aged man, immediately took the
hint, and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a profusion of
Celtic verses, which were received by the audience with all the
applause of enthusiasm. As he advanced in his declamation, his ardour
seemed to increase. He had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the
ground; he now cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if
commanding, attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned
notes, accompanied with appropriate gestures. He seemed to Edward, who
attended to him with much interest, to recite many proper names, to
lament the dead, to apostrophise the absent, to exhort, and entreat,
and animate those who were present. Waverley thought he even discerned
his own name, and was convinced his conjecture was right from the eyes
of the company being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously.
The ardour of the poet appeared to communicate itself to the audience.
Their wild and sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer and more
animated expression; all bent forward towards the reciter, many sprung
up and waved their arms in ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their
swords. When the song ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused
feelings of the poet and of the hearers gradually subsided into their
usual channel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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