Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 2Scott, Walter
History
Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 2
Scott, Walter
Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'I did what I thought my duty,' said the good old man, 'and
questionless they are doing what they think theirs. It grieves me
sometimes to look upon these blackened walls of the house of my
ancestors; but doubtless officers cannot always keep the soldier's
hand from depredation and spuilzie, and Gustavus Adolphus himself,
as ye may read in Colonel Munro his "Expedition with the Worthy
Scotch Regiment called Mackay's Regiment" did often permit it.
Indeed I have myself seen as sad sights as Tully-Veolan now is
when I served with the Marechal Duke of Berwick. To be sure we may
say with Virgilius Maro, Fuimus Troes--and there's the end of an
auld sang. But houses and families and men have a' stood lang
eneugh when they have stood till they fall with honour; and now I
hae gotten a house that is not unlike a domus ultima'--they were
now standing below a steep rock. 'We poor Jacobites,' continued
the Baron, looking up, 'are now like the conies in Holy Scripture
(which the great traveller Pococke calleth Jerboa), a feeble
people, that make our abode in the rocks. So, fare you well, my
good lad, till we meet at Janet's in the even; for I must get into
my Patmos, which is no easy matter for my auld stiff limbs.'
With that he began to ascend the rock, striding, with the help of
his hands, from one precarious footstep to another, till he got
about half-way up, where two or three bushes concealed the mouth
of a hole, resembling an oven, into which the Baron insinuated,
first his head and shoulders, and then, by slow gradation, the
rest of his l ong body; his legs and feet finally disappearing,
coiled up like a huge snake entering his retreat, or a long
pedigree introduced with care and difficulty into the narrow
pigeon-hole of an old cabinet. Waverley had the curiosity to
clamber up and look in upon him in his den, as the lurking-place
might well be termed. Upon the whole, he looked not unlike that
ingenious puzzle called 'a reel in a bottle,' the marvel of
children (and of some grown people too, myself for one), who can
neither comprehend the mysteryhowit has got in or how it is to be
taken out. The cave was very narrow, too low in the roof to admit
of his standing, or almost of his sitting up, though he made some
awkward attempts at the latter posture. His sole amusement was the
perusal of his old friend Titus Livius, varied by occasionally
scratching Latin proverbs and texts of Scripture with his knife on
the roof and walls of his fortalice, which were of sandstone. As
the cave was dry, and filled with clean straw and withered fern,
'it made,' as he said, coiling himself up with an air of snugness
and comfort which contrasted strangely with his situation, 'unless
when the wind was due north, a very passable gite for an old
soldier.' Neither, as he observed, was he without sentries for the
purpose of reconnoitring. Davie and his mother were constantly on
the watch to discover and avert danger; and it was singular what
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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