n Africa, and exhibiting some distant
resemblance to that of Gibraltar, towering in its horridness above the
neutral ground.

It was now holiday time, and having nothing particular wherewith to
occupy myself, I not unfrequently passed the greater part of the day upon
the rocks. Once, after scaling the western crags, and creeping round a
sharp angle of the wall, overhung by a kind of watch tower, I found
myself on the southern side. Still keeping close to the wall, I was
proceeding onward, for I was bent upon a long excursion which should
embrace half the circuit of the castle, when suddenly my eye was
attracted by the appearance of something red, far below me; I stopped
short, and, looking fixedly upon it, perceived that it was a human being
in a kind of red jacket, seated on the extreme verge of the precipice,
which I have already made a faint attempt to describe. Wondering who it
could be, I shouted; but it took not the slightest notice, remaining as
immovable as the rock on which it sat. "I should never have thought of
going near that edge," said I to myself; "however, as you have done it,
why should not I? And I should like to know who you are." So I
commenced the descent of the rock, but with great care, for I had as yet
never been in a situation so dangerous; a slight moisture exuded from the
palms of my hands, my nerves were tingling, and my brain was somewhat
dizzy--and now I had arrived within a few yards of the figure, and had
recognised it: it was the wild drummer who had turned the tide of battle
in the bicker on the Castle Brae. A small stone which I dislodged now
rolled down the rock, and tumbled into the abyss close beside him. He
turned his head, and after looking at me for a moment somewhat vacantly,
he resumed his former attitude. I drew yet nearer to the horrible edge;
not close, however, for fear was on me.

"What are you thinking of, David?" said I, as I sat behind him and
trembled, for I repeat that I was afraid.

_David Haggart_. I was thinking of Willie Wallace.

_Myself_. You had better be thinking of yourself, man. A strange place
this to come to and think of William Wallace.

_David Haggart_. Why so? Is not his tower just beneath our feet?

_Myself_. You mean the auld ruin by the side of Nor Loch--the ugly stane
bulk, from the foot of which flows the spring into the dyke, where the
watercresses grow?

_David Haggart_. Just sae, Geordie.

_Myself_. And why were ye thin