Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)

The soldier who was our guide told us that an old ruin which we came to at the top of the higher eminence had been a wind-mill--an inconvenient station, though certainly a glorious place for wind; perhaps if it really had been a wind-mill it was only for the use of the garrison. We looked over cannons on the battery-walls, and saw in an open field below the yeomanry cavalry exercising, while we could hear from the town, which was full of soldiers, "Dumbarton's drums beat bonny, O!" Yet while we stood upon this eminence, rising up so far as it does--inland, and having the habitual old English feeling of our own security as islanders--we could not help looking upon the fortress, in spite of its cannon and soldiers, and the rumours of invasion, as set up against the hostilities of wind and weather rather than for any other warfare. On our return we were invited into the guard-room, about half-way down the rock, where we were shown a large rusty sword, which they called Wallace's Sword, and a trout boxed up in a well close by, where they said he had been confined for upwards of thirty years. For the pleasure of the soldiers, who were anxious that we should see him, we took some pains to spy him out in his black den, and at last succeeded. It was pleasing to observe how much interest the poor soldiers--though themselves probably new to the place--seemed to attach to this antiquated inhabitant of their garrison.