When Prince Charlie and Flora Macdonald parted.
And then there wuz sights and sights of weepons, coins, medallions, seals, old implements, etc., etc.
But one thing I see there madded me more’n considerable; it wuz a kind of a gullotine rigged up with a axe, that wuz held up between two posts, and let down on the necks of ’em they wanted to kill. This very thing took the life of the Earl of Argyll, Sir John Gordon, and lots of others.
But what madded me most wuz the name of the creeter.
“The Maiden.”
It is a wonder they didn’t call it the “Old Maiden,” if they’d wanted to be a little meaner.
It rousted me up fearfully to think a lot of men should rig up such a horrid, death-dealin’ thing to carry out their bloody and brutal idees and then call it—“Maiden.”
Why didn’t they call it after their own selves, and call it—the “Old Man,” or “the Feller,” or sunthin’ like that?
“The Maiden!!!”